And I’m sorry about that.
No heartbeat at yesterday’s prenatal appointment.
Based on size, Fuzzball made it to 11 weeks, 4 days.
In a sense, there’s nothing more to say.
And still, there’s so much more to say.
So little desire.
Don’t tell me… you don’t… BELIEVE!?
Give your serious side a break this month and get wrapped up in the idea that some fat guy who lives with a bunch of midgets is going to break into your house while you’re sleeping and stuff random crap into your socks!
COME ON, IT’S FUN!
Seriously, though, writing a little letter to Santa with your kids is a fun way to let the imagination and magic sparkle at this time of year.
And right now Macy’s is making it even better, with their Believe Campaign.
In 1897 a little girl named Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the Editor of The New York Sun:
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says if you see it in The Sun it’s so. Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?
The Editor published his response in The New York Sun. An excerpt:
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists just as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.
You can see the full response here.
Right now, Macy’s Believe Campaign is asking you to help preserve that magic for your kids by writing letters to Santa with them. And for every letter you bring to Santa’s Letterbox at Macy’s, they will donate $1 to the Make-A-Wish Foundation (a non-profit charity that grants wishes to children with life-threatening medical conditions).
So let yourself Believe.
Yesterday’s post is an illustration of the Seasonal Cycle I’ve identified in myself. It’s a literary painting, in extreme, of the way I almost always feel the worst during the bleak months. I have never been diagnosed by a professional, so I am loathe to apply any kind of disorder or condition by name (and I really dislike it when other people do that, with all manner of psychological disorders).
To be more detailed about what it’s like for me – it’s not as though Spring and Summer are magically free of any sadness. In fact, I ride a roller coaster all year long… but when the sun is high I’m on the Kiddie Coaster. During Fall, I transition and climb the peak to the Mega Drop-Off of Winter’s Coaster of Malcontent and Despair.
I’m also not so deep in depression during my Winter Lows that John has to hide my razors. I am, for lack of a better term, a functioning depressive. I can smile, laugh, and force myself to do what it takes to get by from day to day. I can even fake it hard enough to make people fairly unaware. And beyond that, I have moments where I am content. They seem to flit by, and they are fewer and shorter than during the warm months, but they are there.
It’s the core of me that changes. It’s the ability to keep things flowing regularly. It’s the feeling inside my heart. It’s the blank stretches inside my head. It’s the drowning desire to lock myself in a closet and close my eyes more often than not. It’s a lack of motivation that was there before, an inability to care as much about myself and others. It’s having to force action rather than being propelled from within with ease.
At some point after Fall has begun, I just wake up one day and realize that I don’t care about anything in the same way as I did the day before.
And I have no desire to care, either.
This year, that happened to me last Thursday. I got up with Braden and came downstairs. Before we had breakfast, I opened the blinds in the living room and looked out at the leafless trees. Standing close to the glass that separated me from the icy chill outside, I felt the cold leaching through. It nipped at my arms, it taunted me. And my head just… went numb.
I blinked, staring out at the gray.
And I didn’t care. I didn’t want breakfast, I didn’t want to look at my computer, I didn’t want to sing songs with Braden, or call my husband. I didn’t want to want to and I didn’t care.
And my realization of the lack of motivation in my heart just sunk me. I think that every year, I hope as I climb the ladder that there will be an escalator at the top this time. Or an elevator. Or a jet-pack. Anything to keep me from sliding down again.
After breakfast, I got on my computer anyway, out of a sense of obligation (and because it is here that I search for something to buoy me, so often). And I did something I haven’t taken the time to do much at all in a long while – I actually opened my blog reader. (Yes, I’m a crappy blog reader when I get too wrapped up in deadlines. Which is always nowadays.)
And right around the same time I was hitting the top of that ladder, waiting for that icy push on the small of my back, I found something better than an escalator, an elevator, or a jet-pack.
Sometimes it’s inspiring enough to watch someone else beat The Slide that you start thinking maybe you can, too.
I may not grow wings of my own, but here’s to never giving up on the possibility.
All spring and summer long (but for bouts of the bitchiness I’m cursed with, both by Nature and Nurture) I spend my time climbing the ladder.
I kick my feet back into the air after each step up, with a little grinning head toss and a shimmying booty shake, as I climb up, and up and up. Is that a spicy little theme song playing?
I hum a song as I let the sun shine on my face, feeling that warmth.
I look up and see myself getting closer to the top as time passes, but mostly, the peak holds no meaning for me. Sometimes a memory tickles buttons in my mind, but the sun has permeated even there, and its rays push those memories into corners unreachable for now.
The smile on my face keeps spreading.
I still shake my booty and kick out my feet as I step up, up, up the ladder.
By the time it’s bleak and cold outside, I reach the top. There’s nowhere left to go.
I look down at the sleek, cold, metal of the slide and I shiver.
My smile starts to fade. I’m cold. The corners of my mind come alive with recognition of what’s happening.
As the wind blows through me, rattling my bones, I look around and can no longer find the light of the sun.
My teeth chatter.
Before long, a sudden gust of wind slaps a strong, icy hand into the small of my back and gives a malicious PUSH, and with a gasp, I tumble into the metal.
There are no sides to hold. There is no amount of scrambling that can stop my descent.
As if it matters… for as soon as my flesh makes contact with that metal, the cold seems to leach out of my very soul all desire to fight the obvious.
As my face falls slack, I quickly begin the long slide down for The Winter.
November 30th – December 6th
Since our whole family was leaking anally last week while traveling, I posted no photos – this post will have the past 2 weeks of my winners in them as a result.
And Pssst… In case you hadn’t already heard? Photo Bliss is giving away a copy of Corel Paint Shop Pro Photo X2 Ultimate. Don’t miss out on your chance!
Canon Powershot G9
PLEASE LEAVE THE DIRECT LINK TO YOUR CURRENT WEEKLY WINNERS POST ON MR. LINKY. PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE THE LINK TO YOUR MAIN WEBSITE. I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO FIND YOUR POST EASILY WHEN I CLICK HERE LATER IF YOU DON’T DO THIS PROPERLY! Thanks!
Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Breakfast”
In this photo, taken last year on Christmas morning, Braden is enjoying his first of many special Christmas breakfasts.
Christmas Breakfast has always been a big deal to me. My family didn’t splurge or indulge in really special foods regularly, but only on special occasions like holidays and birthdays. Part of what I looked forward to on Christmas morning was the food – I literally got almost as excited about that upon waking as I did about the gifts.
We’d have a spread of amazing cheeses, usually including things like Brie, Havarti (my fav evah) and Gruyere. Alongside the cheeses would be salamis and summer sausages – Mmmmmm: MEAT. Rounding out my favorite breakkie would be the truly amazing bread that my mother makes only twice a year – it’s called Zopf and it is a melt in your mouth bread that will change your life.
Do not scoff at me. You have NO idea.
I wanted to maintain this holiday tradition within our own family, and last year was my first attempt. I was so proud of my bread!
And eating that meal made me feel like I was with my parents and siblings, even though they were all far away.
What’s your favorite breakkie?
So nice to be home
but soon we will leave again -
I feel like I need
a good trip to a Spa to
get over last trip.
Anyone want to
buy me a massage, facial?
I didn’t think so.
Getting to spend time
with family is worth it…
but DAMN, the drive sucks.
Was thinking of a
larger family car soon…
But now I’m thinking
a cab with divider glass
is the way to go.
At least I can buy
a set of earplugs before
we leave this next time.
And maybe also
a large bottle of some nice,
groovy, sleeping pills.
I thought about whining to you some more about the awful moments we had during our travels this past week. I even started writing the post. It went something like this:
“Whine whine whine tantrums blah blah blah vomit simper wimper fuss diarrhea waaaahhhmbulance traffic jams, blah blah etc, etc, poor me, whine.”
About halfway through I reflected upon things and thought, hey! Maybe they don’t want to read that regurgitated poop (puns intended) that I’ve really already mentioned in quite enough detail to please everyone.
So instead? More answers to your questions – because really, I have yet to break into this homework assignment far enough, and I shall continue hammering at it, You Wonderful People! This may take some time – I don’t answer questions in a brief manner very well, so I really only have room for a handful in each post before the darn thing is long and unruly.
Feel free to add more questions on to the original questions post, and as I move through, I’ll just continue answering whatever you want to know. I’m happy to do it, as I get to it. (Yay for stupid rhymes!)
Previous Posts Containing Answers:
- Answers to “Food-Based” Questions
- The Nipple Showing Question
- Second Installment of Answers
- Third Installment of Answers
Kat asked: “How many kids do you want to have?”
Well, when I was a kid, I thought I’d have “several.” As I grew older, “several” became more like “3.” I suppose maybe that has something to do with feeling comfortable with what you’re used to, as there were 3 children in my immediate family growing up.
I still felt that way until my recent miscarriage. During the time directly following that unfortunate event, I had episodes where I was pretty sure I never wanted to have another child. Instead, I wanted to cling to the idea of getting back the one that had died. Whatever your ideas about the death of a child may be, it is of no consequence, because what I wanted was that very same child, at that very same time, in that very same flesh. And that, friends, is impossible, so I was coming to the point of stubbornly wanting none if I couldn’t have exactly what I had wanted.
The proverbial sour grape, I guess. Probably more like the tortured, wounded heart. I needed more time to grieve.
There’s no amount of “healing” that can happen to make it all better. Writing helped. Reading and talking to others helped. Being there for other people now helps. I do better on a day to day basis, as far as managing my emotions.
Of course, being pregnant again also helps, even if I’m a nervous ninny a lot of the time. It gives me something else to worry about and look forward to, so my emotional cup is crowded with other things, and there is less room for the swirling currents of pain and sadness.
I do keep thinking about December 24. That is the day the baby was due, and it is creeping up on me. I’m not sure what I will feel on that day. Today when I thought about it, I cried a little. Perhaps playing Santa will take away some of the pain.
I am just fine now with having 2 children, but I am anticipating the impending stress of having a newborn, a 3 year old, a husband on the road, and several Internet jobs calling for my attention, all at one time. I’m thinking maybe 2 children will be enough to drive me completely batshit nuts fulfill my life.
LONG ASS ANSWER short? Two children, kthxbai.
Kerrianne asked: “Heels or flats?”
OH BABY. Shoes? We’re talking shoes, here?
I love shoes. Flats, heels, whatever!
For pity’s sake, I even over-shoe-shop for my kid! He has 6 pair that fit him right now. (Even if he did call them “shits” at one point.) Yup. I have a problem. Heh.
Now THAT will show you how dated these questions are.
Yes, I was nervous about the results. In many ways, I am very laid back. But I am driven, and if I enter into something, I cannot fail. Must not fail.
We both lost to that outlandish whore, Jezebel.
Bah! We are better than Jezebel. And way, way hotter. So there.
(Seeing this hot piece win her category made it all better, though.)
Marylin asked, “When are you going to get that monkey you were on about in the Blog365 forums?”
HAHAHAHA! I told practically EVERYONE that I had a monkey and it would dance for them, or I was going to get a monkey and they should pet him, etc, etc when I was on cocaine (aka participating in Blog365).
But, Marylin, I DO have a monkey.
He’s 2 and his name is Braden. You may have seen me talk about him? *snort*
As for the Hippopotamus I also mentioned a lot during NaBloPoMo? No comment. *coughmyownasscoughsneeze*
Is this post too long? Did you read it all? Do you give a crap at all anymore? No?
Good, me either. More later!