This Guy

i <3 musics

Unfinished sketch

Getting Back

In the last week, I've done a few things to break out of the downward cycle I was in.  Am still kind of in, if we're being honest here.  One of the key factors in my personal well-being improvement was definitely driving to the Dayton area to spend a few days with Cathlinka and her three darling boys.

Here we are clowning for the camera right before I left, and right after Cathlinka discovered her basement had flooded in all the rain we had over those three days.  And the discovery was made as I was packing the car.  Right at nap time.  And with a big move coming up in the next month.  Perfect storm?  Yeah.  So This is what two makeup-less and just barely showered mamas look like when they're making the best of their respective overwhelming lives.  I'd say we've still got it goin' on.

In other self-care news, I finally went back to my yoga studio yesterday.  I haven't gone to a class in-studio since the end of February!  Ca-ray-zy.  And stupid, really, because it's so good for me in every way, but more and more the benefit is as much in my mind and heart as it is in my body.  I was reluctant to return because I'm 27 weeks pregnant and they don't offer specifically prenatal classes.  I knew all of the heated yoga classes would be too much for me since I've been dealing with dizzy spells all the way back to January.  But the Foundations class was great, even though the focus was on twists.  My strength hadn't regressed as much as I expected it to and  I almost did an inverted child pose on the ropes, but thought maybe that'd be pushing it, so I finagled a slightly inverted child's pose with some bolsters.  Not the same, so I might actually try goin' jungle style next week.  I did, however, get into a supported shoulder stand and Moe went nutso in the anti-gravity.  And I feel less tense and more mellow.  My body is more comfortable.  I can feel the channels of energy, fluid, emotion, and life flow through me more easily.

Home sweet home

Finally, I'm more than half finished with Come As You Are and am planning to email Emily Nagoski to get more resources on resolve stress cycles as well as digging into some of the other topics (like her "Perel vs. Gottman" bit, because I think I know what she means but I'm not positive) and to compliment her brief, clear, and understandable explanations of concepts like non-concordance and attachment styles.  In fact, I signed on to the computer this morning to word process some of my notes so  I could pull out my post it notes and reuse them (Hi.  I secretly grew up in the Great Depression).  I'll get to that right after I brew some more coffee using the grounds from earlier this morning.  Ha. 

So far this summer, I've read Adverbs, The Pursuit of Happiness, Sex at Dawn, most of Mating in Captivity, and I've started four other books but keep switching between them.  That's not bad for being on break less than three weeks.  =)

Simple Joys

Tiny post-it notes are one of the key tools in my intellectual and spiritual pursuits. 

Grateful for Lyricists

Two songs that have spoken to me this past week:

"In a Week" by Hozier.  Alana Henderson is the vocalist we saw in concert and I go back and forth between preferring that version or the album version, featuring Karen Cowley.  Here's Alana.

Hearing it has me cooking up lesson plan ideas about love and death and why we like to put them together, comparing this to other death love songs.  But that's neither here nor there.  What's here is the song and the beautiful lyrics and the comfortable range and then my little voice carrying over the engine of the Corolla over and over.  Some snatches I particularly enjoy:

I have never known peace

Like the damp grass that yields to me

I have never known hunger

Like these insects that feast on me

A thousand teeth

And yours among them, I know

Our hungers appeased

Our heartbeats becoming slow

We lay here for years or for hours

Your hand in my hand

So still and discreet

So long we become the flowers

We'd feed well the land

And worry the sheep

And they'd find us in a week

When the cattle show fear

After the insects have made their claim

After the foxes have known our taste

I'd be home with you

I'd be home with you

Every time I get to hear "After the foxes have known our taste," I get that resonant thrill of a well-written line building in my chest to shake out the hurt and soar up out of my throat.  Yeah.  And seeing it live transformed that song into something more beautiful to me than it was on the album.  Man, I remember why I used to spend so much money on live music when I was younger and didn't need babysitters to leave the house.  Makes me want to go to a bunch of other shows this summer.

The other is "Clean" by Taylor Swift, which has a comforting structure the way it begins and ends with the same metaphor of flowers dying of thirst.  And something about that baptism imagery, facing the deluge, I appreciate that whether it's in song or poem or novel.  The part of the song that I want to identify with is that paradoxical bit when the rain came pouring down and she was already drowning, only then could she breathe.  I am not there yet;  still in the drowning part right now.  But I'm starting to work more actively toward swallowing the rain and breathing again.  

I've said over and over that I know I'll come out of this okay, but for a while it has just been getting worse and worse.  In the last few weeks, I know my reactivity is through the roof and my peace and self-preservation skills have been at an all time low.  My reserves of patience and forbearance through pain have dwindled to the point of unsustainable shortage.  But  (And there must be a but when it's like this), things like waking at 4:30 am and then getting up to write and listen to the rain from 5:30 until after 7am, to write for myself, without much interruption except a roof leak (again. of course), was what I needed to recapture some clarity and illuminate some next steps.  

Mornings are so good to me.  I need them, the quiet study time, the nearness of God.  And I've got to start re-integrating yoga into my routine.  Can't wait to buy that pass after Chris's conference so I can make the most of it.  

In my mind, I still play that game where I design my future ideal home.  It's not built of sweeping expanses of rooms or closets to make Real Simple blush with envy.  The vision of this dream home in my head comes in the form of nooks and details like the spot by the sink where the sponge rests, the different places to read at night or write in the morning.  A small house comprised mostly of cozy nooks?  Looks like I'll be perusing tiny home pics again in the nearish future.  Ha.  Girls can dream, right?  Maybe the best solution is to move to a warmer climate after all?  Or two side by side tinies-- one for me and one for the kids.  Connected by a long, windowy hallway that can double as a greenhouse.  And that slopes up and down so that the modest flock sheep (and goats!) can walk under it as they tend the lawn.  Ha.  Signs Thehelen is returning to her proper self:  she's dreaming again.  Even if the dreams have bald spots:  Who will be there with me?  Where would I go?  How and the when?  All missing parts of the picture.  

It's a small step forward, these dreams of goat bridges and nooks, but it's another little thing that I can cling to that gives me hope.  

Hope.  Now that's a beautiful word.  

(I'd include a video of the song, but the album version isn't on youtube)

The drought was the very worst, ah ah

When the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

It was months, and months of back and forth, ah ah

You're still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore

Hung my head, as I lost the war, and the sky turned black like a perfect storm

Rain came pouring down when I was drowning

That's when I could finally breathe

And by morning, gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean

There was nothing left to do, ah ah

When the butterflies turned to dust, they covered my whole room

So I punched a hole in the roof, ah ah

Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing

This last video is a treat for this boy I know.

Lost

And then he left the house and I'm sitting here alone feeling both abandoned and somewhat less anxious;  confused and hurt.

The slow erosion of me and of us that has been going on for the last few years has hit a point of steep crumbling like when the tree at the edge of the river finally gives in and tumbles into the water.

I'm sad and when I tell him I can't breathe and he leaves me and leaves the house I only know one thing:  this is not the face of love.

There's no more pretending I'm strong and can handle this.  There is no more pretending because I can't.

Tomorrow is the ultrasound to see how much Moe is behind in growth and if everything is okay.  If he asked how I was feeling about this, his child's growth within me, he would know how I was feeling:  Anguish, guilt, worry, sadness, loneliness, hope that things are okay...

Spa Treatments

Some days you get the very last cut of brie in the whole store and it gives you hope. 

I've been educated,  nurtured with essential oils and green smoothies,  allowed to sleep in, and I'm feeling stronger. 

The future.  Saying things out loud and hearing them.  Baffling, humbling reality.  Wondering how it got to this point and where to go next. 

And mainly going over 24 hours without feeling like my chest is caving in and I can't breathe.  Heavenly.  

Words Like This

Sad
Hurt
Angry
Escape
Despair
Invisible
Hopeless
Deadly
Alone
Gone
Cold
Cry

Can't.

Baby brains

It's amazing to see how my daughter's brain is developing.

She thinks about conditions that may exist in the future. For example, last week at bedtime she asked me, "Will Mister Major miss me?"
And I said, "I don't know honey. I think so."
And then she asked, "Will Danielle miss me?"
"Yeah, I think so."
Then she asked again, "And... but will Mister Major miss me?"

 It's amazing how perceptive she is-- that at some point she must have picked up on the fact that both of those people are changing jobs and becoming more distant from our family life.

And then today at naps, she's having her bottle and ran over to me and said, "Baby Moe needs a beautiful bottle too."  We talked about that for a little bit and agreed that she would get to pick one out for him.   Then, a few minutes later, she said that we have to get him a soft blanket, too.

She's like a little adult the way she has to ponder the future and her little worries before she can rest and sleep.  I can't believe she's just two years old.

Four Year Old Photographer

These are from Friday but I'm just putting them up now.  Enjoy our picnic through Jonah's eyes:

A Bookish Girl

This is what I've purchased or checked out in the last 48 hours.  Not pictured: Sex at Dawn, which I just finished and returned (Lots of thoughts on that one and how it connects to other books I've read recently.  Look out for some thoughts later), and three more used books that ought to arrive today or tomorrow. 

Man,  I love summer!  And I got to do my morning pages (as recommended in The Artist's Way,  by Julia Cameron) while Chris got the kids dressed.

More to come,  my friends.  So much mental energy, so many ideas!  Oh snap!  There were two others on the table right beside me that I totally missed:

 

When we are considering whether or not it would be more prudent to take the rest of the year for maternity leave vs. just the first 12 weeks, one of the secret things I've been considering but not wanting to say aloud is that staying home will allow me to do so much freakin' reading!  That's a pretty awesome prospect.  Maternity leave gives a girl so much time-- I mean, yeah, you're exhausted and struggling and always meeting the needs of 1, 2, 3, or 4 little people.  But there are naps and evenings and all that time spent nursing each day.  And this time I WON'T BE IN GRADUATE SCHOOL!!!!  That's insanely appealing.  I keep forgetting how crazy it is to balance coursework with newborns and how much more pleasant leave with Jones was vs. Nora or Em because of that.  And Chris was still in school during Jones' leave, so there was still all that balancing to do.  This time, nobody is going to be in school and at work and raising babies!  How liberating.  And holy heck, there is so much to read!  My brain is happy.

4:44 Again

Here's a happy image from yesterday,  to remind me that the hellish end does not equal the entire story. 

There is more than the pain.  It is easy to lose sight of that sometimes.

My girl fights for her special time and I love her for it. 

In Praise of Hedges, Strangers, Healing

I remember many smells of early summer when I was growing up at my parents' house, but one in particular that I always associated with my neighbor's pool. I remember sitting in the window in the upstairs bedroom because from there I could look past the hedges dividing our yards and down on that pool and its promises of being included in the neighborhood play, enveloped in its coolness and its coolness, and breathing in that smell.  It was a sweet smell and just screamed summer.  

Later, after having my own home and my own hedges, I learned that the smell was not the pool but the variety of privet hedges we have growing in the neighborhood.  Funny, that.

Those hedges were annoying to me when we first moved in to our grown up house.  Unruly, needing to be trimmed more often than I judged appropriate for such hedges, taking up valuable snow-dumping space when I shoveled in the winter, being too tall.  But Dee next door loved them, so we kept them.  She used to insist on doing most of the upkeep herself, but now that job has fallen to me and I honestly enjoy getting out the hedge trimmer, climbing up on the ladder, and getting sunburned a few times each summer.  I like waging war against the tangle at the top of the hedgerow, and the deep pruning I do about every other year that leaves them looking kind of scraggy for a while but reliably ends up with healthier, prettier plants.

But best of all, I like when the hedges bloom and fill our yard with that sweet summer smell.  All those promises of hope and fun and inclusion and sweet, sweet coolness come flooding back.  And now, with my gardener's eyes, I'm more attuned to the miniature trumpets of each branch crying "summer!  summer!" and the delicate droop of the buds before they open.  I like to see them after the rain and how each branch seems to respond differently to the water.  And the way the boughs cascade over each other differently under the weight of all those tiny blooms.  Once the flowering tapers off, I'll mount that ladder again and tame those bushes into a quieter, less fragrant submission.  But for now, I enjoy their wilder, more organic form, the stray arms reaching skyward, and each sweet breath I savor in the driveway.

In other life observations, I'm noticing something happening to me more and more often when I am out shopping alone:  other women, strangers to me, approach me for advice and opinions.  To be quite clear, I am usually out and about looking rather homeless and harried, a fist fulla coupons and a serious thinking face as I calculate discounts and add up totals in my head, sizing up impulse purchases against savings and so on.  

And yet, a few weeks ago a younger-than-me woman approached me for help writing out the inside of a wedding card for a dear friend while her gift was being wrapped.  Another woman turned to me for assistance in picking out candy in line (you'd think this was a momentous decision the way she weighed and pondered chocolate versus sour patch kids).  Today, a lady came up to me in the pajama section of Target asking about those trendy soft pants and whether you could wear something out and about if you bought it in the sleepwear sections and we had a nice little chat.  Afterwards, I was baffled that in my headscarf and flipflops anyone would come to me for a second opinion about fashion.  But yeah.  This kind of thing is happening to me more frequently and I'm not sure why, but it's enough to be a noticeable pattern.  I take this as some kind of compliment from the universe at large -- or at least acknowledge that there's something about the way I carry myself that makes me seem approachable and ... a little wiser, perhaps, than the next guy on the street.  Maybe that's reading too much into things, but it feels like affirmation and I'm going to take it.

Finally, in terms of healing, I am learning how important framing is.  My first year teaching, I turned to one of the guidance counselors at the school for, well, guidance.  She helped me understand student misbehavior and how to talk to kids about ways they were acting out.  She helped me adjust my own thinking about some of the things that went on in that school.  One term she used often was "reframing."  That if you can just reframe a problem and see it in a different, fuller context, you can often react more wisely, understand it more fully, deal with it more compassionately, and more forward more better-ish-ly-ful.  English teacher.  Yep.

So I've been trying to put that to practice in my own life, especially as recent situations have been so hard to get my heart around and to face fully.  In my work with my own counselor, I recognize that often what she does is hand me some of the tools for doing this reframing on my own:  a little suggestion here, an observation there.  She plants seeds and they grow in my heart and mind as the two work together like sun and soil to germinate some understanding, compassion, and fullness in me.  I remember to do this on my own as well, and the more I do it, the easier it is for me to face adversity with grace.  The pain is still there, but the understanding of why things are happening they way they do, the reframing, helps me face things more calmly.  It's like how you feel more steady walking when you can see than when your eyes are closed.  Either way, you know how to walk, but one feels much better than the other.  

I need to remember this as I continue to work on my marriage, my life, my family (nuclear, of origin, and constructed).  Learning more about the human heart and the human mind helps, too.  I do so enjoy this digging into myself and the world around me.  It's as if digging tangibly in the earth itself isn't enough, so I must dig with my mind.  I must dig with my emotions.  I must mine all the world around me -- which, I am learning, kind of isolates me sometimes (a lot of the time) because not everyone likes dirt under their nails like I do-- but it's okay, because you know what?  There are so many treasures I'm unearthing.  Precious, semi-precious, and fool's gold alike, but all are delightful, and each discovery helps me feel more in communion with the earth I'm planted on and with the One who created it.

First Day Off

Up just after five.
Laid around enjoying sheets on skin.
Walked two miles (in a skirt).
Leaned in to my feelings.
Didn't put on my headphones after all.
Picked a Chinese dogwood flower and wore it in my hair.
Sat in the park and wrote.
Came home to chat with my early rising girlchild. 
Tea is on,  banana bread is toasting,  and it's not even 7:30.

So much to read!  Another post soon.

So much

So much gratitude for my Godly sister,  amazing friends, understanding husband, and the undying and overwhelming love and mercy of my incredible Lord.   It was a rough morning and a sticky afternoon,  but I have more faith than ever that things will be okay.

Gratitude gratitude gratitude.

Glitter explosion.

Whale in a top hat.

Peace
Love
Joy

Light

Goodness.

This Struck Me Today

A partial quote from The Chosen:

"But he has learned... I do not see his eyes?  I do not hear his soul crying?  Of course I know.  For a long time I have known." (287)