The Itch

A few weekends ago I decided to be overly ambitious and weed and mulch all my flower beds. I had big goals and good intentions, and my industrious nature took hold. I was so focused, so intent on my tasks at hand, that I payed little attention to anything else around me.

It was like I was wearing blinders, unable to really see what was right in front of me. There's that saying, "leaves of three, let it be...." which never even came to mind. Seeing that vine with it's three individual little leaves of poison didn't even trigger the memory of that saying, not until it was far too late.

It began as an itch, just under the skin, so slight at first that I barely noticed it, or at least managed to ignore it. Before long, I noticed a small bump, a miniature blister here, there, all up along my forearms, as if I had crawled in it. I decided to ignore it, to convince myself it didn't itch at all. If I didn't give in to it, it didn't exist, right?

 I'd be lying if I said that my super powerful mind managed to overcome and subdue my festering itch, because it didn't. Eventually, at the end of my rope, I gave in, and began scratching and digging my fingernails into it as if I were trying to rip my flesh off. I knew better than to think that scratching it would make it go away, but I did it regardless. It felt so good! But, with most things, that good feeling of relief was temporary and soon gave way to something worse, the increased itching that comes with it's spread.

There are situations in life that are one and the same. They are always there beneath the surface, just waiting to irritate you enough to make you scratch, to make you acknowledge their presence. You can ignore them for as long as you want, but eventually that itch will start, slowly at first, then eventually crescendo to a dull roar, at which point you give in and begin to scratch. Sometimes the scratching feels good, but more often than not, it just makes things worse.

I don't always say much, unless I really feel compelled to, usually if I feel passionately about something, or feel that the need to speak up far outweighs the risk of being quiet. Like the itch, I can usually ignore it for some time, before it eventually gets the best of me. I reach a breaking point, where I can't be quiet any longer, and when I have to speak my mind. Sometimes ignoring the pain, heartache,  and frustration with something only festers into something that eventually once unleashed, we cannot control. It's a gamble really, trying to decide whether or not something is worth acknowledging, worth scratching. Are the resulting scars worth it? Is ignoring it saying more about me as a person, than if I face it head on?

I happen to feel that it's always important to be honest, to be true to who you are. If you can't do that, then who are you really? If the poison ivy vines of the world seem as though they're constantly getting to you, then sometimes you just have to acknowledge them ("leaves of three, let them be"), tell them "I know what you are, and you can't infect me with your nasty, festering, blistering rash" and then either dig it out of your beautiful garden, or choose to weed around it, always knowing it's there, but never getting close to it, never letting it's itch consume you.

More often than not, it's better to avoid the weeds and ignore the painful rash that comes with it, but quite honestly, I feel I'd rather fight back against the weeds, against the poison ivy vines and rid my life of them altogether. My flowers bloom brighter and my garden grows more beautiful in their absence. Or does it? After all, maybe the only reason I can appreciate the beauty of the flowers, is because of the wrath of the weeds. Ultimately, it's knowing who I am that determines my reaction and the power I give to the weeds and their presence in my garden. Today I will leave them alone, contained in their current location, preventing them from spreading and gaining power. Tomorrow however, is another day.

What's your pace?

I love people watching, and there's no better place to people watch, than the airport. I often try to imagine where they're going, what their lives are like, and who they are. I observe these various individuals,  and their equally varying paces, some walking leisurely,  some sauntering, some speed walking, and others in an all out sprint toward their connection. It's like watching a movie, the characters frantically racing through the airport, desperate to be on time, to not miss their flight.
I feel like life is much like this. I'm certainly more often than not, most like  the person frantically running, hair on fire, shoelaces untied, running around in a constant state of disorientation, while juggling 10 different balls in the air blindly...I know, it seems severe, but that's  how it feels.
No matter how hard we try to keep it together, sometimes it's just not realistic. Taking care of the kids (human or otherwise) keeping the house tidy, cleaning, staying on top of the laundry, vacuuming, dusting, and remembering to get the trash to the curb can all be overwhelming. The important thing to remember is that it's OK to drop a ball....because you will. No one can keep them in the air forever, without taking a break, resting, and regaining their strength.
Being a grownup is hard. No one tells us how hard it is, really...but I think that in the end, it's worth it. Life and the people in it are worth it. The experiences, both good and bad make us who we are, and makes life worth living, the race worth running. Whether you are someone who strolls, saunters, or frantically sprints through life with their hair on fire like me, it's okay....after all, you're moving toward something, which is far better than not moving at all.

Small Packages

Sometimes in life the biggest things seem to come in the smallest packages. Our small package came a few weeks ago, although we had been expecting it for some time. A simple white envelope containing something that would alter the next year of our lives.

It shouldn't be a surprise, or much of a big deal, really. We knew it might happen, and even expected it, but that small, simple white envelope makes it official, makes it real. That single piece of mail has an enormous impact, and can't be ignored, or placed aside as if it's nothing. Inside were Nate's orders from the US Navy informing of his upcoming deployment. 

Being a military family, whether reserve or full time enlisted, means that deployments are to be expected. Even so, it's never something you're looking forward to, especially when you have a family. You never stop worrying about your spouse or family member and the dangers they might face. You just don't show it. You can't let your fear consume you, because it can if you let it. 

I think Nate worries more about me having to handle everything at home while he's gone, probably more than I do. He feels the need to prep and fix everything he possibly can, ahead of time, as if he were here all along, and so I won't have to. He wants to be present as much as he can, without physically being here. He wants to be able to fix the toilet, jump start the car, and take out the trash, all while being half way around the world. He wants all this because he loves me. Because he wants to make it okay for me.

In all honesty, I don't worry about myself at all.  I worry about him of course, and I worry about the girls. I may feel a wide array or emotions, but I can't let it show. I can't dwell on the "what if's." It's not just to protect myself, but my girls.  This deployment, I know, will be different because the girls are all older, which means more awareness, more questions,  and more memories of it.

I choose to hide those feelings, knowing that my girls are a reflection of me and the emotions I display. If I worry, they'll worry. If I am stressed, they will most likely feel that stress and react accordingly. I don't want them growing up in fear, or constant worry. I want them to have faith, and trust that everything will be okay. Even though I'm hoping to suppress any feelings I might have,  I'm afraid they'll see though me and sense my fears. I'm afraid to fail at being strong for them. 

Despite everything, I'm incredibly proud of  Nate's Navy service and humbled by the love, support, and gratitude given to us, not only from people we know, but complete strangers as well. I have a great appreciation of all military personnel and their families, having shared common experiences; because they too have received that same small package, containing the same big important information. That small package may bring fear along with it, but I truly believe that faith and trust in God, and the love of our family and friends, can help us overcome anything...

Status Change

December marked the end of my stay-at-home-mom status, as I started my new part-time job at a local doctor's office. Being able to stay home with the girls had been good, bad, beautiful, ugly, happy, sad, frustrating, and rewarding. Ultimately it had little to do with whether I was cut out to be a stay-at-home-mom, and more to do with needing a routine paycheck.  I had expanded my small side-jobs over the summer which helped, but really wasn't enough. I had to find a job.

Because I knew there was always a chance Nate could get deployed, I didn't want to get a job too far away, or even resume my previous routine of driving a moderate distance at my previous place of employment. I couldn't go back. I was wanting convenience, and something close to home. I wanted a fresh new place to work where I could learn new things. I wanted to start over. 

It's funny how things turn out, whether due to divine intervention, fate, or just luck, although I've never considered myself to be a lucky person.  This past fall I had recently started writing some human interest stories for a local online news source here in my hometown, and I even share my blog there. I happened to be checking the status of one of my stories when I accidentally clicked the wrong tab, which led me to the classifieds, where I found my current job, posted right there, as if it were calling to me. I told Nate about it, and applied that night. A few days later I had an interview, and three weeks later I was back to work. 

That was the end of my SAHM job, and the return to the familiar normalcy of having a routine again. Honestly, working again has been somewhat of a relief, not because I can't handle being home, but because I just function better when I have a schedule to abide by, a schedule that is not my own. 

Sometimes small steps lead us on an even larger journey. Staying home allowed me to spend time doing the things that I love and ultimately led me to where I am now. I've finished a few projects, started some new ones, met some wonderful new people, spent time with my friends, and had the chance to spend a lot of time with my kids. Now I'm back to work at a job that I have to admit I actually really enjoy. I get to be a nurse (which you really can't ever be rid of once you become one), be a mom, enjoy my side-jobs, including writing, crafting, blogging, oiling, cleaning, and still have time to be me....and I'm loving it.