Anger, I Loathe Thee

Ho boy. I don't really want to write this post. Honestly, I'm kind of tired and all cried out. I had therapy tonight and it was probably the toughest, emotionally speaking, I've had since I started.

I was doing fine today. Well, mostly fine. It's been a few days since I've seen the sun. This is no good for me. I need at least a peek of sun, even if it's in an obnoxious, streaming-into-my-eyes-while-I'm-cooking-lunch way. Last night, Tuesday, Doug decided he would both not stay in his crib and stay up until 11:30 PM. It was really awesome.

Then this morning, my kids forgot again how to get ready for school. I had to tell them basic things like, "get dressed, put your snow pants and boots on, eat your breakfast, don't forget to take your shoes with you." Oh, and I told them each line at least 4 times. Each. Good times.

I had to run a bunch of errands, which I hate doing as a general rule. I don't like to spend money and I especially hate to travel to multiple stores to do so.

The really bad part of the day started when I made an attempt to complete my Bible study homework.

(As an aside, I am a quick study in profanity. This is not something I advertise. There are a few friends who know that about me. I clean up my act for appropriate company, but there are times when "shut the front door" and "gee whiz" just don't cut it. This will be an important point in a few minutes.)

So I started on my homework. It was a nightmare. I tried to take a nap, which was a fail. I started doing the homework when the big kids got home. Doug hadn't napped, so he was a pill. The big kids were all over me, I had to start dinner, etc., etc. I have been doing this Bible study since September, but I've only been present in class twice. I've missed it all other times due to illness of either my children or myself.

Consequently, I've not kept up with my homework. I haven't seen a need since I've not been there. Every time I stare at the cover of my binder, my scalp prickles. It's a precept study on Philippians and the tag line is, "how to have joy."

I typically like Philippians. A lot of my favorite verses are contained in Philippians. Seems like a nice enough book of the Bible.

The problem is that the chapters for today were talking about suffering, how really God uses suffering for good, how it produces good things.

Yeah.

My family and I have been suffering/struggling/fighting and clawing for almost 7 years. It has been at turns humiliating, depressing, soul-crushing and just plain awful. We have been praying for Brian to get a new job, a better-paying job, for five solid years. We have been praying for provision, for all sorts of things.

Our friends and family have been incredibly generous with us. We have had our basic needs met. I understand that we live better than most of the people in the world. In my logical mind, I can see some blessings.

It. Has. Been. Painfully. Slow. Progress. Back. To. Normal.

I was reading these scriptures today and getting more and more frustrated. The text was referring to Jesus, who came to earth as a man, suffered and died and was raised again. I get all of that. I believe all of that. It talked about Jesus' suffering. My issue is that Jesus had to know what the grand plan was. He had to know that he would be suffering, but in the end his death would mean that millions of people would be able to be redeemed. So it sucked, but the whole time he knew that there was a purpose and what the purpose was.

Yeah, I don't know the big picture of my life. I don't see any grand plan. I have no idea what the purpose is for any of what I'm going through. In the moment, as I was reading through all the scriptures, I felt like God had abandoned us. I felt like all of the goodwill he tries to convey in the text was like a taunt. Like Jeremiah 29:11, "for I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you..."

We have not prospered for at least 7 years. I don't see that we will be prospering in the foreseeable future. I'm sure that "prosper" doesn't mean financially, but really, in 2015, there is no way to prosper if you don't have money. Any idea I can come up with for my family to do/enjoy/see/etc. this year involves money in some way, shape or form. I have no intention of selling all of my possessions and moving overseas. My place is here in Crystal Lake, where they take dollars, not goats, for goods and services.

Am I prospering spiritually? Not so much. I am feeling angry and bitter with a God who seems to be hearing my prayers and doing nothing more than holding his finger in the universal sign of "wait one minute, I'll be right with you." It seems like he is interested in doing nothing more than giving us dribs and drabs of provision. I can't imagine that God, in his infinite wisdom and knowledge, can't find another job for my husband. Or help in any other measurable way.

And now the swearing. The question in the study, which I don't really remember but was somewhat condescending and rose-colored, talked about what reading all of these texts meant to us. I will paraphrase my answer, but basically I said that I think it's all bullshit. God says in Matthew that he wants to give rest to those who are weary. I tell you what. My family and I are weary. We are heavy-burdened. We have been given brief, momentary rest. Not anywhere close to the magical rest God seems to promise.

I feel like we have been asking God for water to slake our thirst and in response, he's been giving us water from a dirty stream.

I am sick of platitudes, of "hang in there" and "it's gonna all work out, just wait and see." I am livid at God right now, for being mute and unmoved when I am begging him, pleading with him, to show up not for me but for my husband. It's true that I would benefit financially from my husband getting a better job, but that doesn't mean it's a selfish prayer. I think it's unselfish to ask that my husband, who is giving maximum effort, would be able to see some more fruit from his labor.

I have had to scrimp and save for a long time. It's taught me a lot, like how to go to direct marketing parties and not buy anything. Or how to rarely go on a date with my husband, or how to never ever go on vacation with my family (in fairness, that last one is probably for the best--my kids are nuts and I don't have enough energy).

I was never a clothes horse, but all of this has meant that I very, very rarely get new clothes. Then, when I do, they are from a consignment shop. (I have tried to go to Savers but it always seems like a sad garage sale. Can't do it.) I last purchased jeans in December of 2013, also consignment. I have worn them almost every day since then, even in the summer. They are fraying at the cuffs, thinning out in the legs and are now baggy.

The thing is, I feel guilty for going to get new jeans. I feel like I shouldn't do it, that I'm wasting money that could be better spent elsewhere. Every financial decision that I have to make causes anxiety and stress. I have to make sure I make exactly the right decision, I do the right thing, I choose wisely. There are no margins for error. It is frustrating and feels sisyphus-ian. I feel like no matter how wise I try to be, it's just never going to be enough. I'm trying to put together a 1000 piece puzzle with only 900 pieces.

It's exhausting. All of it, the day-in, day-out practice of working at 100% power and not getting anywhere, is exhausting. I feel like I am walking the wrong way on a moving sidewalk without any hope of getting where I need to go.

I don't want to keep doing this Bible study. I feel lied to and betrayed by a God who I have learned my whole life is never far away. I don't want to go tomorrow and hear about how much God loves all the people in my study. I feel like I am set apart from the rest of the class, on the outside looking in. Everyone else seems to be basking in the glow of God's love and I am out in the cold.

I want to rest. I want to work 100% power and get 100% results. I was taught that if I worked hard, things would work out. God doesn't close a door without opening a window. I have to say, we've been sitting in the dark for so long the light, when it does finally come shining in, is going to burn my corneas. Not that I'm holding my breath.

I hate to write like this. I guess I'm hoping that in twenty years, when we maybe start to see some relief, I can look back on this and laugh at my former self.

Okay, forty.

I plan on attending this Bible study. I will not read the comment where I use the word "bullshit" (or even the one where I used #sarcasmfont). I will probably sit there, quietly, while trying to bite back the urge to yell and scream at how angry I am at God right now.

And probably swearing under my breath.

A Pit of Passion

There is something freeing for me in using my words. I was up until about 3 AM last night, working on a novel I started during the Christmas season in 2013. I never thought I really had a novel lying around between my ears. I started writing then and got about 60 pages (in a Word document) completed.

Then, of course, life got in the way. It's not healthy or practical to stay up until 3 AM (ever really, but even to do it a couple of nights a week really takes it toll. The solution would seem to be that I should write while Doug is napping. In reality, I am exhausted usually by the time he is napping. I like quietly sitting on the couch, watching Bones and playing on my phone.

I think fundamentally, though, I am a creative type who can't have fulfillment or peace if I am not creating something. I desire to get my house in order so that I can start scrapbooking again. I started scrapping back in 2002 and then I started working at Hobby Lobby. That meant I accumulated a lot of scrapping stuff but never really had time to scrap.

My kids have started studying one of the two scrapbooks I've completed and they seem to enjoy them. I will say, I don't make exquisite layouts or craft masterpieces, but I am good at telling stories that accompany the pictures. That, to me, is an important and enduring quality for scrapbooking. Someday, I won't remember what it was like to show Scout and Rascal snow for the first time. But my kids can look at the book and the words I've printed will help them.

I get so stuck in the mire of my depression (from what I've been told, very creative people are quite prone to depression...and alcoholism, for that matter) that I forget how soothing it is to immerse myself in creative activities.

I recently reread the Hunger Games trilogy. In the second book, Catching Fire, Katniss and her cohorts encounter a deadly fog in the arena. It leaves them with awful sores all over their bodies. After they manage to drag themselves out of the jungle, they crawl to the water. Katniss is the first to discover that putting her damaged skin under the water draws the poison out. I think I can understand the feeling she has, which is described as both painful and wonderful.

That's how I feel when I write, create, dream, draw, etc. It's funny because I had written about 60 pages last year. This past Christmas, when I went to revisit the novel, I realized that by some twist of fate, about 40 pages had gone missing. Not sure what happened and I am not taking extra measures to save my work. That being said, the novel is progressing in a different way than I thought it would when I started a year or so ago.

It was tough to find out I had lost so much effort, but then it's been wonderful to be able to keep moving forward in the direction I want (without having to go back and change as much). I don't expect that this novel will make me rich and famous. That's really okay with me. I was glancing at the stats for this little blog, the one with a squidgy focus and a small readership.

I am reaching people in Poland, Canada, Russia, places I've never visited. That blows my mind. I have decided that I appreciate the fact that my words are universal to all walks of life. I am going to pursue this passion I have for writing. I don't know where it will lead. (I'm not gonna lie, if they ever make it into a movie and I get to meet some celebrities, that would be mind-blowing. Not at all probable, but it's something I daydream about. Have to be real about what is going on in the grey matter.) I am hoping that it leads me closer to feeling fulfilled and peaceful.

I hope my readers will stay with me for this journey. I promise, you'll probably have a good time.

Words, Words, Words

I'm going to prepare you now for some eye-rolling. Go ahead, stretch those eyes. I am fairly positive that one or more of my most loyal readers will be rolling their eyes at some point during reading this. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I had a really rough week last week. Very dark. Probably one of the darkest weeks I've had since early last summer. I didn't write about it, I didn't talk to anyone about it, I didn't reach out to anyone for help. When it gets that dark in my head, I don't want to have to describe the darkness. Even considering how to describe it gives me the shivers. I am grateful that all I had were thoughts and not actions. I am grateful that the part of my brain governing logic was not asleep at the switch.

I wrote a lot last year about my struggle with depression and my family's financial struggles. That was tough for me to do, honestly. For those who know me, it may seem laughable to think there is a topic about which I don't talk. In reality, I use words as a buffer.

I had a therapist when I was in high school. Her name was Linda. I loved her. I had a series of therapists from age 11 on and she has always been my favorite. I remember sitting in her office one time, chattering away about school, swim team, church, etc. She sat there, a small smile on her face, and let me talk myself out.

After I finished, she said, "okay, now how are you, really?"

And then I really told her.

I am so good at words. Big words, small words, emotive words, encouraging words, ten-dollar words, ridiculous words. They are the bricks out of which I build a fortress around myself. I let almost everyone in, really I do. I have been told I shouldn't play poker because I can't hide my emotions well.

The problem has become I don't feel like I can be me, the real Sue, around too many people. (Cue eye rolling.) Yes, I know. My friends, my true friends, (of which there are many) love me unconditionally. There is nothing off-limits. They accept everything about me.

I am afraid, though, that there really is something off-limits, but it's not been discovered yet. I know off-limits territory is there. I am a navigator operating in the dark, pushing my toe further and further out to find the boundary. Until I've found it, I'm fairly certain I need to hedge my bets because once I find it, I will lose these friends, the ones who are so loving and accepting.

I stopped blogging about my depression because I didn't want to scare people. I also didn't want people to think they had to intervene. Words are the bricks in my fortress but they are also heavy to carry around. Sometimes I use them to build gravestones, to commemorate something I've lost or can't have. I need a place to offload them but am not always ready to mourn them publicly.

The other reason I stopped blogging had to do with people's generosity. It's interesting how the mind works, because sometimes I mis-remember things. Shocking, I know.

See, when I talk about how my family is struggling, I am frustrated and venting. I am not intending that people will act on what I write. There are two reasons for that. First, this blog is not very widely-read. That's really okay, for now. Second, I hate for people to be nice to me.

Let me clarify.

I find certain aspects of myself tolerable. I like my hair, my sense of humor, my laugh, my verbal abilities, my random knowledge of useless trivia and my thighs.

The rest is a toss-up. On some days, I enjoy that I cry randomly at odd intervals. It's endearing. Mostly, though, I want to constantly tell myself to suck it up and get over myself. No one should be crying over their daughter receiving a brand-new pair of ballet shoes (for example). There are times when I am thoughtful and compassionate. This is a good thing. Just as often, I am prickly and curmudgeonly and unkind to people. Okay, maybe not out loud to people and maybe not on purpose, but still! I have really ugly thoughts a lot. I am judgmental and thoughtless and callous.

Now, when one lays eyes on me, they will probably see the former, the funny, clever, word snob lady with nice thighs (well, not that you'd mention it because I usually always wear pants, but trust me, they are nice thighs). Reading my blog, one would see that this nice lady's family is in need. It might occur to you to be kind to said lady.

So let's say you decide to be kind. My immediate response is tears (because oh, lord, there are always tears). Then, I start scrolling through all the hateful things I've ever said and done. I might even go to the tapes, the ones that show me being ugly and awful to many, many people. Upon reviewing the evidence, I would conclude that I don't deserve said gift.

As an aside, yes, this is probably why I'm exhausted most of the time. My brain operates about 10 times faster than my mouth and my mouth runs like the Ramones. So, yeah. I wouldn't recommend a vacation to my brain.

In any case, I had a couple of friends be very kind to me last year. It might have seen like small things, these kindnesses, but they absolutely meant the world to me.

And here's why it's important to sometimes hang onto things.

I am in the process of organizing my house. I am taking 14 weeks to do it. I am following a strict program, I have lists, I am going slowly, not trying to multitask and being methodical. In cleaning my kitchen, I came across a letter one of the kind friends wrote me along with some money to buy a new CD player.

This friend told me that she (I'm paraphrasing and so forgive me...she is a very precise person and probably still has the letter, so I will beg forgiveness if I'm misrepresenting what she wrote) was glad I was writing about my struggles. She applauded me. After receiving her letter, I texted her and thanked her profusely, saying I wanted to find a way to thank her.

Here's the thing. She told me specifically that she knew I wasn't trying to solicit money or help with my blog post. I told her that I hope one day I can financially bless people. I am going to quote her text here, because what she said has stuck with me: "I just wanted to do something to support and love on you. The time will come when you will be able to bless others with money, but until then you will bless others in other ways: with your spirit, your faith, your humor, your story. You have blessed me with all of those already."

See, I had only known this chick for a few months at the time this happened. It was so humbling to hear, from a new friend, that she had already been blessed just by knowing me. It was painful to hear, of course, because I'm the prickly cactus of a person on the inside. Nice things hurt because I have to let the prickly out to allow room for the nice. And that can be a painful process, not unlike draining a wound in order for it to heal. Not pleasant, but for really deep wounds to heal, they need to need to be drained.

2015 was supposed to be our year. We felt like we had a foothold on things, that this was the year we were actually going to be able to climb above all of it. Then, of course, another setback. I found out about it almost two weeks ago. I didn't tell anyone about it immediately because I didn't know how. I wasn't sure how to insert, "the guys my husband works for are jerks and I hate them" into polite conversation.

It all spilled out at small group last week. I cried, not tears of sorrow but the bitter tears of anger, frustration, resentment and disgust. It kills me that my husband, who is college-educated, intelligent, articulate and talented, is wasting away at a company that doesn't recognize or appreciate his talents. It's a special kind of hell to see the one you love torture himself for shortcomings that are not of his own making.

It's been tough, too, because our things are starting to give out. My pots and pans are losing their teflon and shape because they have been used as drums, boats and hats. My favorite lifter is starting to deteriorate. My oven mitts are all crusty and gross.

I mentioned all of this not because I wanted all the things. I mentioned it because my crappy kitchen stuff is a daily reminder of the struggle we've been walking through for years, the one I thought would only last for a little while. I have delayed and delayed getting new things because I figured the next paycheck would allow me to do so...and then the next one...and so on. Instead, I've had to be a crazy steward with every penny and not been able to see fit to get new things.

Of course, the people in our small group love us. They, in the words of my friend, wanted to do something to support and love on us. So they got us a gift card to Bed, Bath and Beyond. They gave it to me in a bag with new oven mitts, which in itself I considered an amazing gift. Really, if it had just been oven mitts I would be writing the same post and crying at the same points. I am a dork about small gifts.

The thing is, when I got home and realized how generous they had been, it was painful. And I knew I had to write about it. Well, to be fair, I started thinking of ways I could thank everyone. Mostly with my baking, which I will. Cause I do that well. Just sayin.

I had another friend be generous with me Saturday. And I have had other unexpected kindnesses. And they all hurt. I am fairly certain I deserve none of them. (Cue more eye rolling.)

I keep hoping for the time I will be able to be financially generous. I hate that my generosity seems to end up looking like a kindergartner's art project, homemade with pasta and glitter. I want it to look crisp and pretty.

God seems to have a different story written for me. Naturally, I want to help him edit it. Naturally, he has password-protected the document and hidden it from me. Being humble is something I would never have asked for on my own. It's less painful, in my opinion, to be able to do for myself, to be self-sufficient. It's less messy, less emotionally involved.

God doesn't want less from me. He wants more, and he doesn't mind pasta and glitter. He knows that what I offer to people is my best, even if it's not as pretty as some of the other gifts. (Please note that my description of my gifts as children's crafts and others as pretty is my own construct. I am not trying to disparage any gift that we have received. Rather, I am disparaging my own.)

Of course I hate all of this. I spent most of last week feeling snarky and prickly and angry. I walked around feeling like I was wearing an itchy sweater. I wanted to fling myself to the ground and have a good, old-fashioned tantrum. I didn't really, but I feel like I may have been unkind to people. Because lastly, words are my weapons. I am not agile with my legs but am quick to throw words like ninja stars. They have surprising accuracy and are deadly.

So thank you, to all who have shown me kindness and have built into my family by praying for us. We appreciate all of the prayers and know that God has us in his hands. My apologies, for the unkind words and lack of disclosure about my dark times. I'm a work in progress and am working to break down rather than build up walls. It's a new skill and I'm clumsy at it still.

Thanks for reading, really. There's something powerful in knowing that people are connecting with my words and thoughts. I appreciate all of you.

Toward a New Year

Holy cow. It's been a long time since I've had the time and compunction to sit down and write something. I've been spending my writing time on shorter things--e.g. texts, e-mails, posts on Facebook. Here we are, rounding on another flip of the calendar, and I've not written in more than 5 months.

Part of me stopped writing because I was tired of what I had to say. One of the drawbacks of mental illness (at least for me) is that one can get stuck in the same spot for too long. I felt frozen, both with fear and boredom, by the fact that I could only find words to write about my depression.

The monster is still present, I will say that. The holidays are rough not because of loss of person or for sentimental reasons, but because my routine is gone and I flounder. I struggle with this over the summer break, too, but at least then I can send the kids outside for a bit, or sit in the sun, or go running.

I've not been for a run in quite a while. I want to run, don't get me wrong. The trouble has again become an equipment shortage. I have some clothes appropriate for running in cold weather, but not for running in a Chicago winter. I had hoped to join a gym for these long winter months, but that continues to be an elusive dream.

In happier news, I am grateful that Bekah has decided not to have a Pump It Up! party. Phew! I love her and would have made it work, but the thought of sinking $200-300 into a kids' birthday party was tough to consider. She is opting for a small party at home. We recently attended a birthday party at one of her friends' houses. It was a garden party, but not in a My Secret Garden sense. Instead, each attendee painted a terracotta pot and planted a square of grass in it. It was really cute, affordable and simple. The decorations were handmade (something at which I excel), the favors were little watering cans and hair bands with a flower crocheted on them. All manageable, affordable things.

Bekah has also decided she wants to perform in the Nutcracker next December with her dance studio. I am excited for her to perform but overwhelmed at the financial commitment. I am going to be praying that God will provide for her in a tangible, measurable way.

Meanwhile, I take some satisfaction in having accomplished my resolutions for this year. I saved more money than I've ever saved before, I lost weight, I read more. Those will be my goals again for 2015. I have about 45 pounds to go before I am under 200. I feel like I can achieve that. I am going to chat with my trainer and see what her input is, but I feel like that is a manageable goal.

I am also hoping this coming year is the one where I complete the novel I started working on last year. I've not been able to carve out time to write this year--my hope is that I am able to do so in 2015. We shall see what comes of it.

I am grateful for so much this year and wish that would overpower the depression that has crept upon me. I know that once we start school again, the fog in my brain will clear and I will be able to move forward toward achieving my goals.

Time is (not) On My Side

I just stood at my daughter's bedside, tears streaming down my face, begging her to let me be. She was still up as of 9:45 and wanting a lullaby. I have been doing a little better the past couple weeks but this week has been rough. 

I told her, between sobs, that I just didn't have a lullaby in me. Definitely not my proudest parenting moment. It didn't come out of nowhere, though. It was building up for quite a while. It was inevitable that it would happen, though I never thought the request for a lullaby would take me over the edge. 

It all started yesterday, when some plans for a night out fell through. I had been excited to get out but my friends were exhausted. They offered to still hang out and set their exhaustion aside. I considered that noble but unnecessary. 

It did get me thinking, though, about how much time Brian spends away from home everyday. When we first moved in, he worked from home. He was very disciplined about it and it worked out quite well for all of us. Upon Bekah's second birthday, his boss told him he had to start reporting to the office again. 

It impacted our budget a great deal. More than I have realized, though, it has impacted the emotional health of my family. 

I did the math yesterday. Let's say I go to sleep at midnight, which is fairly typical for me. I won't apologize for it and I don't feel ashamed. I love the nighttime because I have some measure of solitude. 

So I fall asleep at midnight. The next time I see my husband is 18 hours later. Yep. His alarm goes off at 5:15 AM. He is gone long before my eyes open. He gets done with work at 4:30 and doesn't walk in the door until 6:00 PM (7:00 PM on Thursdays). 

I am almost always antsy to get out of the house. I've never been able to figure out why. I've honestly felt guilty about it from time to time. I talk to other moms and they are never as eager to get out as I. This baffled me, frankly. 

I realized today why I'm so antsy to get out. I am alone with my kids for 18 hours. Of course, they are not early risers and so it's not a true 18 hours, but ultimately I am responsible for my kids, on my own, for 18 hours. 

I am an extrovert. I love to be around people. If someone asks me 10 times to hang out, I will say yes 9 times. It energizes, centers and calms me to be out among other adults. 

And there's the rub. 

One may point out that I am around people for 18 hours a day. One would be correct. What one doesn't understand is that the people who form my herd are not adults. They don't converse well (mostly we talk at each other, not to each other). Not only that, they are mostly dependent on me. I have to cook for them, dress them, wrangle them and amuse them (or direct them to amuse themselves). 

It's exhausting. 

I don't want my readers to conclude that I don't like my spouse or enjoy spending time with him. I do. We have a great time together. The problem is, at best we get an hour to an hour and a half of time together at night. Usually that time is interrupted by requests from kids up way past their bedtime. Usually I'm either working on housework or feeling guilty that I'm too tired or lazy to work on housework. Usually I'm distracted because I'm trying to finish a book (I'm not joking, I've been reading a book a day for at least two weeks). 

The only way I can actually unwind and relax is to be physically removed from my home. I need to not see the dishes, clothes and clutter that glares at me all day. I need to not be grilled about the coming day's activities. 

It seems logical, then, that I should find ways to get out. And I do. I run, I go to counseling, I go to the library, I go shopping. Those are solitary activities. I joined a moms group in order to have organized activities at night. I used to make it to every activity; now, I'm lucky to make it to one activity a quarter. Finances have started impeding my ability to join the other moms for the activities. 

I know I need to get out and I know other moms need to as well. I couldn't understand why they don't all share the same enthusiasm as I for getting out. A couple of thoughts emerged as I pondered this dilemma. 

First, only some of my friends are extroverts. Those that are extroverts may not be the same kind of "out and about" extrovert that I am. Then there are the introverts, for whom the prospect of going out is exhausting. I hadn't really factored that into the equation. 

Point two is that for some people, their husbands are not gone for quite so long. Some may have their husbands home for the summer. Some might have non-traditional work schedules that allow them long, uninterrupted hours of adult interaction. They are basking in the opportunity to spend time with them, to accomplish projects around the house, to travel, etc. They are also able to get out during the day-sometimes (gasp) all my themselves!! They don't arrive at the end of the day as drained as I. (Or maybe they do but then are trying to stock up on time with their hubbies because they know it's only for a short time. Who knows.)

At the beginning of the summer, I thought husbands being home more would mean I could hang with friends more. That hasn't been the case and as I am prone to insecurity and self-doubt, I was taking this personally. Over the past few days, I've seen how childish that is. There are logical explanations for lack of time spent together that have nothing to do with me. As usual, I am always in trouble when I have unrealistic expectations. It sets me up for resentments every single time. Instead of starting off assuming people are avoiding me, I can start to understand that not everyone's day is like mine. The lack of time spent together is temporary, not permanent. It's a season (sometimes literally, sometimes not). It will pass or it will change and I will grow through it. 

Maybe God has a lesson he wants me to learn and I won't be able to learn it while I'm out all the time. Who knows. 

I am never sure what the solution is to my problems. I am never sure how to approach a solution. I certainly don't want to twist people's arms to spend time with me. I understand people's limitations and I don't want to impose on anyone. 

Over the next week, I do have one night planned with a night out. I'm carpooling with someone, so even though it's in Woodstock it's not going to break the bank. Other than that, it's a week that will be long and mostly unbroken from my responsibility for my kids. I am anxious about a meeting next Wednesday night. It's going to be crazy and I'm dreading it. 

I am committed to running three times next week. Somehow I feel like if I can focus on that for now, a solution might present itself. 

One can hope. 

Sum, Sum, Summertime

Oh, my. This summer is blazing by very quickly. I spent some time today really cleaning the house. Picked up my bedroom, did some laundry, vacuumed, put laundry away, had the kids clean their bedroom. I feel like it was a very productive day.

I have been trying to run at least twice a week (really I aim for three times, but am happy with two). I am moving into the last third of a training program on my phone. It's running punctuated by some sprinting. I like it because it's laid out so specifically. Every segment is announced as I'm running, so I know exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

The other night, though, I had a rough go of things. It was more humid than it's been for most of the summer. I have a water belt but it doesn't fit me yet. It fit me at one time but now it doesn't. I refuse to get rid of it because I'm hopeful that by next summer it will fit me.

Meanwhile, I have been running without water. It's not ideal, even on a cool day. On a humid day where the sun is blazing, it's really quite dangerous.

I tend to run in the evening, around 6, after Brian gets home from work. On Wednesdays I go out at about 7:30. Sometimes, if I'm very ambitious, I go on a Sunday night, usually a bit earlier. I don't like to eat a lot before I go but that gets tricky, too.

I am at a point where I need new shoes. I am planning on making a stop at The Running Depot in downtown Crystal Lake. I have wide feet and typically wear New Balance stability shoes, owing to the orthotics I wear to correct pronation. I haven't changed my brand of shoe in a few years and I think it's time to get reevaluated. The problem is of course the finances. I spend more money on my running shoes than I spend on clothes and shoes combined for a year. And I buy at least 4-5 pairs a year. In fact, I've not bought a pair of shoes (new or otherwise) aside from running shoes for at least 3 years. I'm actually quite proud of that, owing to the fact that I have several pairs of pretty nice shoes in my closet. Maybe they're in style, maybe they're not. It used to be quite an addiction for me and so I'm glad I've been able to quit it.

I see buying high-quality running shoes as a worthy investment. I spend a lot of time on my feet, even when I'm not running. I need the extra support in general, but you add in my burgeoning back problems and I need them even more. I have some things in the pipeline that should enable me to buy a new pair of shoes before mid-August. I'm a little excited about that, honestly.

Meanwhile, Jeremy's birthday is upon us. Last year we weren't able to give him any kind of party. We just didn't have the budget for it. He told us he wanted a party at Monkey Joe's. We were determined to do just that for him this year.

Then a funny thing happened. Monkey Joe's closed and Jeremy decided he wanted a party at our house. That, in my opinion, is a double jackpot. Parties at Monkey Joe's cost $150-200 easy. I can produce a very nice party at our house for a fraction of that cost. Second, I liked Monkey Joe's okay but there were limits to how many kids you could invite. That's always a tricky thing. Now, we can invite everyone he wants (I'm sure some won't be able to make it) and not have to worry about the extra cost.

I've already decided we are getting pizzas from Little Caesar's. I personally can't stand them and think they taste like crap. The kids, though, don't have quite as discerning palates as I. It's really the $5 price that I like the best. Throw in some snacks, a homemade cake, juice boxes and decorations and I'd say we'll spend no more than $75. Phew!!

Jeremy has been a handful at times this summer. It has been tough to manage the emotions I know got managed by his teachers over the school year. The bright spot has been that he's been invited to 3 different birthday parties. It makes me happy because it reminds me that though he drives me nuts, he has some friends. He has kids in his life who are willing to look past the quirks and tics and see that he's a good kid. He had a meltdown the other day at a play date. There were about 10 kids and they were picking teams. He was upset not because he didn't get picked but because he and his sister (his best friend, according to him) weren't put on the same team.

It's hard sometimes to separate the autism from Jeremy. It seems like they are inexorably enmeshed in one another. I have to remember that he doesn't get embarrassed about his behavior the way I do. I won't apologize and I don't feel ashamed about that. It's tough to admit but it's the truth. I get embarrassed when he flings himself down on the ground, screams or in other ways makes a scene.

Oddly enough, he doesn't.

I prayed all summer last year that God would send kids into his life that would be good to him. I have seen a few kids treat Jeremy as inferior. For the most part, though, I have seen kids embrace him and welcome him into their lives. It helps me to remember that God has his hand on Jeremy. I picked his name before we ever got pregnant. I found out later that it means "God will exalt."

And really, He has.

Month in Review

I haven't blogged in a month. I was starting to get tired of seeing myself write about depression so much. I decided to take a break until I didn't feel quite so bad. 

That was actually a few weeks ago, but then life got in the way. I'm not really complaining because we have been very busy in a good way. 

I am in week 4 of an 8 week training program called Running for Weight Loss Pro. I made an attempt to complete it last year but got bronchitis and then the weather got real cold real fast. This made it impossible for me to finish it. 

I decided to start back at the beginning. It had been a while since I had been running and I wanted to ease back into it. I feel like I made the right decision. It is just starting to be mostly running (it started as running/walking). 

I love running, I've mentioned that before. It's always been the thing that winds my clock. I had an epic run last Wednesday night. Over the past couple of years, I've managed to shave close to 4 minutes off my mile pace. 

I wish every run was epic but it's not. There are ones like Monday where I plod through, my legs heavy and uncoordinated. It seemed like every stretch of road was uphill. I finished strong but I didn't hear Chariots of Fire playing at any point during the 45 minutes I was running. 

Luckily, I know not to throw in the towel because of a run like that. My FB fanbase likes to cheer me on and I appreciate it because I draw a lot of strength from the positive words. 

In other news, I have started seeing a counselor. I am going to give a shout-out to EFCCL once again. This is the first time in years that I've found a Christian counselor with hours that fit my schedule and isn't costing a fortune. It's kind of a miracle. 

I have seen her three or four times and I'm enjoying it immensely. She is a counselor with the added benefit of being a Biblical scholar. It is helpful because I've had many questions about my faith lately. I'm not considering another faith, but I am trying to mature and it's tough. I've spent a long time being angry with God. Luckily, He's big enough to take my anger and my questions. My counselor is helping clarify doctrine and I really appreciate having someone willing to do that with me one-on-one. 

Meanwhile, we are still struggling financially. I am encouraged lately because I feel like the job market is starting to loosen a bit. I just confirmed that I would work childcare for an event at The Chapel-Barrington. That will be a nice bump in funds for my semi-annual KidStuff Resale trip. My mom is helping me a bit with school supplies. I am starting to find deals for other things I will need. All in all, while things haven't changed drastically for the better, they've also not changed drastically for the worse. 

Finally, I need to give a shout-out to my FB friends. I had three different people (who know me from three different places) share the Weird Al song Word Crimes with me. It warms my heart! It means I've done a good job communicating my hatred of word and grammar abuse. 

Word. 

(Drops microphone and walks away.)