MIA

Sorry folks but there are many things going on with the short people in this house right now (teething, sleeping issues, sibling jealousy,and at least 1 sick child) and I just don't have the time to pen my thoughts. Will try to get one finished by tonight.

These are the days

that I most likely will not remember. Why - you ask? Because I am utterly sleep deprived.

I remember sleep. The refreshed feeling: the ability to move, to function, to speak coherently. I fondly recall all of it. There is a reason that sleep deprivation is a form of torture. I believe it. And I have no doubt of its effectiveness on the recipient.

Now, couple of things here ; I have brought this on myself. I'm aware. I chose to have kids. This is my own doing. Got it. But still. DAMN ya'll.

For the last several days I have not had more than 1 hour of straight, uninterrupted sleep. ONE hour. I have literally seen each hour during the wee morning times tick off on the clock.

I have a 7 month old baby. And she is going through some sort of developmental leap/growth spurt. This means very bad sleeping for the parental units - or in my case - the mommy. Also - she likes to eat; this, too, because of said development leap/growth spurt.

I also have a 3 yr old son. He has decided he will no longer sleep in his own bed in his own room. He must sleep in our bed in between us. Sideways. Kicking. Often times randomly slapping me in the face as he flails his arms around.

So - not much sleep for mom. Interestingly enough my husband seems to have NO TROUBLE sleeping through any of this. I'll let you all chew on that a bit. I digress.

I need sleep people. Not just so I can properly function and parent these here kiddos - but also because of all these here freaky ailments. One of the MAIN things the Bell's Palsy sites will tell you is that to heal and heal properly (read to NOT have residuals) - you must sleep. Sleep they say - rest they say - as much as possible they say. They talk of rest/sleep for 12 - 14 hrs per day.
*bawahahahahahahahhaahhahahahahahahaahahaaa* *snicker* *snort*
Sorry - please excuse the sleep deprived hysterical laughter.
So...Wait, uh. Where was I? Oh, ya.
Ok. *slaps face*
I need more sleep or at least better quality sleep. I fear this may not occur for some time though. See it's just not real likely to happen when you have kids and virtually IMPOSSIBLE when you just gave birth.

Yesterday was bad. I noticed the first clues to just how bad at 2:30am yesterday morning when I woke up to LET THE DAMN MEOWING CAT OUT and noticed how dizzy I was - just sitting up in the bed. Dizzy: like being too high up and looking down dizzy: room spinning dizzy: omg I may hurl dizzy. It did not get better. I was lightheaded. My head hurt constantly and I was just slow/punchy all day long. (yes, more so than usual - shut up.) I'm actually surprised I was able to string enough words together on my blog to inform you all of my non-writing. AND I had zero patience. ZERO. NOT a good thing when you have a 3 yr old whose very existence is one that is hell bent on testing said patience.

I need to have patience and understanding with my children but when I am *this* tired - I honestly can't. I feel like I do not know how to even relate to them. Then I read this* :

The link between sleep deprivation and psychosis (psychiatric disorders) was further documented in 2007 through a study at Harvard Medical School and the University of California at Berkeley. The study revealed, using MRI scans, that lack of sleep causes the brain to become incapable of putting an emotional event into the proper perspective and incapable of making a controlled, suitable response to the event.

So it wasn't just in my head. I feel validated and depressed all at the same time.

It was a bad day.

So I got a wee bit of sleep last night. I slept two different times last night for 2 hour stretches each. The rest of the time I was up about every hour. But it was a little better and I feel slightly more human today. I can function a bit. I'm not standing in the center of the room screaming today.

I am aware this is not a riveting blog post but it's all I'm capable of right now. Write what you know. Well, what I know intimately right now is sleep deprivation. This too shall pass. And it will most likely pass in a sleepy, foggy haze.

I'm out for today. Off to try and sleep while the short people nap.


*The quoted material is from Wikipedia's page on Sleep Deprivation.

No Post Today Folks

I am not feeling very good today so I'm laying low.

See ya'll on the flip side.

bravery

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do. - Eleanor Roosevelt

When I was 8 years old I won several regional piano competitions and earned myself a trip to the State competition and recital at OBU in Shawnee, Oklahoma. This was a really big deal for an 8 year old. The two hour trip up to Shawnee that morning in our Conversion Van (ya, I know - shut up) with my Mom, Step-Dad and Grandparents went by in a stomach - knotted haze.

I remember getting through the first part of the competition - the written test, and then the second part - playing my song in front of a room full of judges - with relative ease. Then came the scary part; I was to play my song in the main music hall in front of approximately 400 people, on a real life, full length, black GRAND PIANO.

I was completely enthralled at getting to play on one. It was huge and it looked like something out of a movie. I remember gazing at it from the side of the stage and thinking two things: 1. it was the biggest, most beautiful piano I had ever seen in my life, and 2. that I was scared to DEATH. I remember waiting there for the man to call my name - ticking off the seconds but feeling them as hours.

When it was my turn, and he finally announced me, he announced my last name wrong. Something clicked inside of me and I wasn't afraid anymore - I was irritated. Back straight, head held high, I walked onto the large stage straight up to the announcer, tugged his jacket sleeve, and corrected him. Then, I walked back OFFSTAGE. I waited on him to announce me again, this time saying my name correctly; and he did. The audience chuckled but I remember thinking, 'this is my moment to be up here - I want to hear you pronounce my name right'. Then I sat myself down at the biggest, most beautiful, black grand piano I had ever seen and I played.

I want to be that little girl again: unafraid to walk the path in front of her and absolutely sure of herSelf.

I wonder where it went - my courage. How did I go from being THAT person to the person I have become? Where did my courage go? Where did my FAITH in mySelf go? How did I go from KNOWING that I could do something, and do it well - mind you, to KNOWING that I could do nothing well? Is it a girl thing? Is it person thing? Is it a child of dysfunction thing?

I don't know.

What I do know is that I need that courage back; that unfailing sense of Self and sureness and willingness to walk forward. I know that the road in front of me is going to be difficult. I know that I am going to be terrified a good many times. So many of the medical procedures facing me are nearly as bad for me as the damn disease said procedure is treating. Seriously. Undertaking these things - these "treatments" will be a test of my will, my character, and my ability to endure.

So here I sit. I am waiting to hear when my next MRI is going to be and it occurs to me that writing this blog - that THIS, all of this, takes a good deal of courage too. To do it - to put it out there - to tackle the "white demon" that is the empty page; takes courage. So maybe this writing out loud is my dosage - small drops of courage on my tongue to get me ready to do the big things: to pick up the phone and schedule those appointments, to face the images on the MRI films, to read the doctor's reports.

Courage in small doses then - when things are bad and my joy is full of gray. Small doses and small steps down the path. Here's hoping.

We could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world. - Helen Keller

my house is a wreck

I love my house. I love being a stay at home mom. I love that this is my life. But my house is a wreck.

We currently live in a Craftsman style bungalow that was built in 1918. When we bought it, it had 1900 sq ft, 3 bedrooms and 1 bathroom. When we moved in - it was the two of us and our 7 year old son. Now, five years later, we have 3 children and us - see the problem? We are currently a bedroom short. The boys each have a bedroom and we have the little princess in our bedroom. Her - along with her crib, changing table and dresser and OUR bed, dresser, chest of drawers and other assorted crap - and I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic. To say there is a need for 4 bedrooms is a giant understatement. She is almost mobile and her toys are beginning to take over the house simply because we have nowhere to put them. Also - I flat out want to have our bedroom back; just me and my husband; a kid-free zone.

That means either move or add on.

Because we are Masochists, we have chosen to add on. We are not new to the addition process. Our home now has 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms thanks to our last big renovation undertaking. So here we are again; there are but two options.

Option 1:
We have an attic space that runs the length and width of the home but with steep sides from the pitch of the roof. There is only room to stand straight up in the very middle of the attic. We could add on up there - another bedroom and bathroom - possibly an office. This idea will add another 400 sq ft to our home. But it will also add a new roof line, dormers, re-run HVAC, and plumbing. And how cool would it be to be a teenager with your own room and bathroom upstairs and away from the small people?!?!

Option 2:
Our home also has a basement that runs the length of the home - a real rarity in Oklahoma. The basement is not finished and it is not water tight: the water seeps in from the floor when we get a lot of rain. We could finish it and add *almost* another 1000 sq ft to the home - I think it would add 890 square feet to be more precise. We could put, in theory, 2 bedrooms, a play room for the kids/craft room for me, laundry room AND storage room down there. BUT we would also have to do a french drain around the perimeter of the existing basement floor. And dig out the windows, and seal the floor and walls, and add HVAC and probably a wood stove.

I want to do the basement.

My husband wants to do the attic.

This past week he tore out part of my mudroom (that we just finished in October)
and put in 3 stringers for a staircase leading up to the attic. The stairs will be nice when they are finished - I'll give him that. He maintains that this is to make it easier to store everything up in the attic while we are doing the basement. I think it was really his weaselly way of beginning his project..."well, the stairs are already in baby"....uh-huh...

So anyway - my house is wreck. Not just the typical wreckage from Christmas and the holidays. But now from the next huge renovation project as well. I can't believe we all don't have asthma there is so much dust.

Not much of a post today because I am going to attempt to clean this place. I can't even focus on organizing it yet - I just need to get the layer of sheet rock dribble and sawdust OFF of everything.

I'll try and get back to more interesting posts tomorrow.

Pruning

Throughout my life I have given thought to trees. I rather enjoy trees. I have a soft spot in my heart for the Oak. It is useful. It provides shade, provides us with a show throughout the year as she changes her colors, and, if need be, provides us with a good, solid wood with which to build on and walk. What a grand, magnificent tree the Oak.

I also have loved the Weeping Willow. Its graceful arches and soft listing branches swaying in the wind; a sad tree if ever there was one. It did not go unnoticed by me when I found our little dream house - that it lived on Willow Street. It was a further sign to me that this was our house - but I digress. I fancy myself stuck between these two trees. Often finding myself being the Willow - sad but still standing; but always hoping I would end up as the Oak - deep roots, strong sheltering branches and always standing tall. But now, I don't feel much like either. I feel more like the little Bonsai tree.

Timeline

• June 5 - daughter was born - spent next week in NICU
• June 12 - woke up with Bell's Palsy on right side of face
• June 15 - started round of steriods - no visible improvement
• July 1 - had first MRI - am told they found 1 Meningioma
• July 13 - had second MRI - am told they found a second Meningioma and that I have Optic Neuritis affecting my right Optic Nerve - I may have MS
• - took a break from doctors for the rest of the summer -
• September 30 - met with brilliant NeuroSurgeon in Dallas - he reviews my MRI films
• October 5 - have 3rd MRI
• October 23 - get letter and report from NS in Dallas regarding 3rd MRI - his findings are that I do NOT have Optic Neuritis OR MS but I do have a THIRD Meningioma on my right Optic Nerve. He does NOT recommend radiation therapy, yet.
• November 10 - met with a Neuro-Opthamologist in OKC. He examines me, examines all the MRI films - says he agrees with NS - 3rd Meningioma, no MS, tells me I will go blind in my right eye - recommends radiation therapy and refers me to another Neuro-Opthamologist. Also recommends Lumbar Puncture.
• November 11 - present - break from docs again.

It has all been too much too fast.

During all of this people have tried to make me feel better about what is happening to me. I get a lot of, "You are being shaped by these experiences." "God is molding you - shaping you into your best expression of Him." "Through you, people will see God."
Ya?
Really?


I don't want anymore shaping; no more PRUNING. Pardon me, but I want to keep what branches I have. I feel as though I'm being hacked at, pruned with left out in the rain too long, rusty, old hedge clippers.

*snip*

The branches of my tree - the branches of the possibility of my life - my future - pruned by diagnosis after diagnosis: Meningioma, *snip* Bell's Palsy, *snip*. Pruned by medical procedure after medical procedure: MRI, *snip*, Lumbar Puncture, *snip*, Radiation, *snip*. Pruned by the medical certainty of my outcome: Blind in right eye *snip*, BP residuals - Synkinesis *snip*, Cranial Surgery, *snip*.

I feel like a bloody stump of what I once was: of what I hoped to be, of what I COULD be.
*snip...snip...snip*

So now I have to find a way to acclimate myself to this new sense of reality, of future, of possibility. Or maybe I need to find a way to just live in the now. Limit my hope to tomorrow or the end of next week rather than twenty years from now. Maybe both.

I am learning how to be the Bonsai tree.
Perhaps I am being shaped with a purpose. Perhaps it only looks as though I'm being hacked at because I'm still in the "middle" of the work. After all, Bonsai is considered an art form in Japan. And maybe there is a hope of a long future as a Bonsai tree. The oldest known living Bonsai tree is over 500 years old and is considered a national treasure in Japan: 500 years of something pruned and, in its own way, beautiful: 500 years of inspiration given to a people and a culture.

Maybe being a Bonsai tree is not so bad after all. Part of the art of Bonsai is patience. I know that patience is a big part of my lesson in all of this. So this is me then - the little Bonsai tree. Pruned, bruised and battered, but still growing - still trying to BE something. I am learning. And I am trying: with love, with hope, and with patience.

A Writer writes

I love me some Marge Piercy. She is my favorite poet and I'll be quoting her from time to time in here. She has a way of putting things. It fits. This from her poem
"For the Young Who Want To"

The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.

I tend to loose myself in my wife/mom duties - they are for the others in my life and not for mySelf and, selfish as it sounds, I need something for mySelf again. I want to have a purpose outside of family. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with your only purpose being family - it is a good purpose - a noble one; I'm talking about me here and what I need as a person. It's not so much that I want to feel that I matter in this world, but more that I want to contribute. I want, no I need to feel that something I do, something I can produce, means something out there. I want to know that my thoughts exist somewhere outside of myself too.

So I am writing again. I have left it from time to time but to it I have always returned. It has been the one constant in my life. I have always written; for newspapers, yearbooks, professors, and in journals for myself. I have journals of poetry going back to seventh grade. Before that I poured my soul into music. I played the piano, the violin, and the cello. Somewhere around puberty I decided that I was no longer capable; that I couldn't do anything right; that I had no talent. So I stopped playing and started writing.

For me, writing was deeply personal. And it was private. It was MINE. No one saw it but me and so I didn't have to suffer through others' opinions of it. There was no recital, no judges, no teacher's metronome ticking off the beats which I was expected to hit. It was just me and my paper and my thoughts. It was a gift. It was my safe place. Because of this I was terrified every.single.time I turned in a newspaper column or a paper to a professor. Writing was like laying a piece of my soul bare - something akin to the dream where you are in public and naked and everyone is staring and pointing and laughing? Yep. Exactly the same feeling for me. But I wrote anyway.

Obviously all the medical craziness in my life has me thinking about why it's all happening; why I was chosen. And I'm thinking that maybe this mountain of crap I'm being forced to climb is for a reason. Maybe that reason is for me to use. A very painful Muse to inspire me to write. Maybe something I'm going through - if I write it down - will help someone else on their journey. Or maybe I'm reaching. I don't know. I just know I need to write. Write about all of it: the good, the bad, and the real damn ugly.

So all that to say this; here I am. Writing out loud. This is scary as hell ya'll. Putting it out there. Letting the world (or even a scattering few people whom I love and trust) see this. But it's scary all the same. Judgment, ridicule, ugly anonymous comments; those are the what-ifs. I am not going to let the what-if's stop me. As Chuck Wendig challenged his fellow writers to do; I am throwing my pebble.

Let's see how many waves I can make.