The me I don't want to be

Where once I felt shattered, I don't anymore. Where once I felt broken, I'm not.
And yet, I don't feel whole either.

How is that possible? How does that even make sense?
How is it that I can feel so much healing has taken place, so much recovery, and still feel the way I do?

For a week or two I sailed on golden seas. Everything was possible, anything could be done. I felt great, and it felt so good to feel good.

And then, I stepped into a deep hole. I climbed out, and kept walking forward, but every few steps, I drop back down a deep, deep hole. And just by admitting it, I feel guilty and fall down again. Because I who have been given so much, so much love, so many friends, so much healing, I should not feel this way. I should not be as low as I have ever been.

But I do. And it hurts.

I know part of what I'm struggling with are the food allergies I have and the way that is affecting my life. Each time I eat, I get sick. Painfully sick. Or, I can't breathe, which as you can imagine, isn't any fun either.

That is only part of the picture though, and I know that I can't blame everything on that. Through a lot of work and effort on my part, and some kind and helpful friends, I have learned to dig deeper and find the root of my lows. There is always an emotion triggering a relapse, and usually if I can identify and name the emotion and the cause of it, I can work through it and pull myself back together.

That was so much easier to write than it is to actually do, especially when there is more than one emotion and more than one source involved.

Still, I have to boil it down. .I have to unravel it. If I don't, it chokes me. And I'm tired of choking.

The past week or so has been exceptionally difficult. Yes, dealing with the food allergies has definitely been part of it. After several severe reactions lately, and getting sick after every time I eat, Ryan made me an appointment to go in and see an allergist.  Turns out I am allergic to more than I thought I was and everything that didn't show up on the skin prick test is still making me painfully sick every time I eat.

I'm angry. I'm tired of being sick. I just want to feel good. What is so wrong with that?

I just want butter and sour cream on my potatoes. I want to eat a bite or two of sinfully delicious ice cream. I want to enjoy a mouthful of chewy sourdough bread. I want to take the buttermilk in the fridge and make some fluffy pancakes or tender, flaky biscuits shaped into hearts for my kids. I want to make some tangy Orange Chicken for Amanda and then sit and enjoy eating it with her. I want to dip strawberries in Val's homemade chocolate ganache and in every bite, find more love.

I want to make gingerbread cookies with my kids, and sour cream cookies for the neighbors. I want to make omelets and crepes and have friends over for breakfast. I want to help Mercy make Monkey Bread like we do every year for Thanksgiving, and sit and share the first loaf with her and Ryan when it comes out of the oven.  I want the Reeses Peanut Butter cookies Mom Mel made growing up. I want to be able to bake a birthday cake for my kids without dying.

I'm angry. And I'm grieving. And I'm empty and hollow.  And I feel like I've lost a part of me.

Food isn't just about eating. Not for me. It's the joy of making something good and sharing it with someone I love. It's the memories for my kids as I make a dinner they love and then draw pictures on their plate with sour cream. It's the time I spend in the kitchen unravelling my thoughts as I do something so comforting and assuring as melting butter, whipping cream, folding egg whites, or measuring flour.

Like it or not, my memories are often tied to food. The rye sandwich my brother and I shared in Disneyland, and the hamburger he bought me after they got back from the theatre. It was my first time on a plane, first trip to the ocean, times I'll always remember, food I'll never forget.  The french fries and frosty shakes I shared with Ryan after the dance. The barbecue sauce on the ribs - our first date. The spaghetti that was for dinner the night we first kissed. The steak at Carver's, the lobster dipped in butter while we were in Boston, trying to make things work in our failing marriage.  The loaded potato skins, baked potato soup, caramel apple crisp and heavenly cheesecake we'd share as we repaired our relationship.

Candy sticks from Harmon's with Dad, and sometimes ice cream cones while we shopped for Sunday morning cereal. The dinner he complained about after I made it especially for him. The chicken fried steak I refused to eat after he bought it for me (because I thought it looked like worms). The pineapple shake I hated that he bought in anger because he couldn't hear me as I requested another flavor.

Basil and swedish meatballs are joined at the hip with memories of Danielle. Without her, I wouldn't know what a tomato concasse is, or how to properly blanch broccoli. Paring knives, pomegranates, and orange rolls immediately make me think of Mom Mel, not to mention Pot Pie, warm white bread, and slumgolium. Brenda is tied to peaches, and Debbie - twice baked potatoes and cabbage salad. Jason is forever tied to Banana Bread, and yellow Zingers to Barb, Jared, and Hossie. I know in a pinch, Eliza will always love a well made Homemade Hostess Cupcake. And because I make them, Mercy is proud.

Cooking is love to me. If I bake, you know I love you. If I make something you like, It's almost a hug.

It's not just what I can give to others, or what I remember others for, it's for me too. It's something with constants in a constantly changing world. It's something I can count on when I can't even count on myself.  It's something I know I do well when I feel like I fail at most everything else.

Why can't I just keep this one good part of me?

But, that's not all. I know it's not. Food and all it represents both in eating and being taken away from me is not all I'm struggling with. It's not the real reason I'm falling into holes with each step I take. It's an extension of the root of what I feel.

It's rejection. Rejection by those I love most. Rejection of what I have to offer. Rejection because I'm not good enough. Rejection because I mess up.

Loss. Of friendship. Of trust. Of hope.

And fear. Fear that I won't be accepted. Fear that I'll be rejected again. Fear I can't even verbalize.

Somehow my heart or brain is saying that since I'm not shattered, I should be whole. Since I'm not drowning, I should be good. I should be able. I should be likeable, at least to myself. But what I see is someone who although not shattered still holds the same hurtful heart within her chest. The one that never sees her mistakes until it's too late because she's messed up again. Hurt someone again. Or ruined something again.

How can I fix it all? How can I get past the me I see? How can I believe that it will ever feel right? That I'll ever get it right? That I'll ever be good enough?

I guess you could say, I'm rejecting me. And everyone I see.
Because I see in them a reflection of myself.

The me I don't want to be.

A Princess Party

It's been a long month without Ry being home... and we sure are missing him.  He was sad he had to miss this birthday. Daisy was excited that his gift arrived in the mail right before the party started.  

We enjoyed having her friends helped her celebrate her birthday -- princess style. 

PS... A big Thank You to Cinderella for making her party awesome!

 

The roses were made from sticks of bubble gum. The beads were Strawberry Whoppers. 

Sweet Nothings...

Homemade Hostess Cupcakes. Best eaten semi-frozen. Mmmm...

Piped curlicues make them look like the ones from the store. But once you taste them, you'll never get them mixed up again :)

Homemade Hostess Layered Cake. So delicious and rich (and tall!), you can only eat a sliver at a time.

There is miraculously still a few Homemade Hostess Cupcakes and the remaining half of this beautiful Homemade Hostess Layered Cake sitting in my freezer, begging to be eaten. I made it for Amanda's birthday, and she requested I make it again for her last week so her friends could taste the cake she's been raving about. With luscious layers of moist brownies, covered with homemade chocolate ganache, and more layers of my special Homemade Hostess Cream Filling, it's quite delicious. But no, instead of indulging, I am sauteing up a pan of vegis with quinoa for a late night dinner. 

We've been at the lake with the kids and I've just changed out of my wet clothes and into a comfy top and some grey knit capris. You know the kind, with the University of Utah logo written across one side. So there I stand in front of the stove, seasoning the colorful mix of snow peas, carrots, and squash, stirring contentedly as I wait for the vegis to cook. Ryan walks up behind me, puts his arm around me, and leans his head down to my ear. "Rachel," he says, in a sultry voice. (I think he's going to whisper something sweet in my ear, like maybe how nice I looked in my bathing suit, or how delicious the pumpkin bread I baked for our treat at the lake was, or how much he loves me. Right??)

No. Not at all. Nothing of the sort.

Instead, this is what I hear.

"Rachel," he says.

"Yes?" I answer, smiling hopefully.

"Your pants are on backwards."

And then he walks away as my face turns bright red.

Visitors

A week ago, the kids and I came back from a long trip away from home. Anyone who has seven kids and has been gone for a week knows that you have a lot of clean up, sorting laundry, and work to do when you  finally get home. Well... we hadn't done all the work yet, and the house was still a mess. In fact, a little before we got home, Jonnie piped up in his carseat and said,  

"Mom, I'm pooped."

"Okay," I said, "We'll change you as soon as we get home."

"You're not going to throw me in the bathtub," he said worriedly. (He hates to bath!)

"No. We'll just change your diaper, okay?"  

Well, he was asking if I was going to give him a bath for good reason.  We went to get him out of his carseat and realized he had done more than just filled his diaper - he had a poop explosion!  It was everywhere!  We spent the next half hour cleaning everything up, and then I jumped into the van again and ran to a job interview. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. The kids were exhausted. I decided we would clean the house the next day.

BAD IDEA. The next morning I let the kids sleep in, and as I'm sitting on the porch couch enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning, here comes a big shiny suburban pulling into my long driveway. "Who is that," I wonder. Pretty soon, out pops our good friends Mark, Paul, Steve, and their Dad.

Now, let me paint this picture a little more clearly.  I'm sitting on the couch on the front porch, lounging while I look up job listings on my laptop. I have no bra on yet, I haven't combed my hair, brushed my teeth, or put my makeup on. The porch is crowded with furniture we are storing for someone as a birthday surprise, and EVERY room in the house is messy. Every. Single. One.  In fact, when I came home, I had dumped my suitcase on my bed frantically trying to find something I needed from it before I left for my job interview.  I came back from the interview and shoved everything onto the floor before I fell into bed, exhausted. The room was bombed.  I'm not the world's best clean freak housekeeper to begin with... but that day, every room looked awful.  The food storage we had relocated to the playroom while we were working on a project was all still sitting there. The huge beanbag full of foam squares had broken the week before we left and since I didn't have time to sew it up, the kids had them scattered everywhere downstairs.

Mark gives me a hug hello and walks into the house to see how the basement turned out, which he had helped us do the drywall on. He goes downstairs, where Amanda is still sleeping.  I awkwardly give the others a hug and excuse myself for a minute while I go get my brassiere on. When I come back, Steve says he wants to see the house so I start showing them around, cringing at every room we walk into.  We go upstairs, and meanwhile Amanda comes up to the main floor, oblivious that we have visitors. When we come back down, she is sitting at the dining table in her nightgown eating a bowl of cereal, totally unaware they were even here.  They all want to see the work Mark did down in Amanda's room too... and Amanda is freaking out because her room looks about as good as my room.

Ugh. Normally, I love visitors. But sometimes I think I need to get one of those signs on my door that says...

"If you come to see me, come anytime.  If you came to see my house, make an appointment."

I can just imagine the stories they had to tell their wives when they got home.

Oh well....

Dishes, Laundry, and Dinner

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

SLAM!

That's the sound of love coming from my 11 year old right now.

Get the dishes done, or go to bed. That's all I asked. Dishes that I've been asking you to do since 5:00.  Dishes that you should have had done this morning without me asking.  Dishes that are piling up even worse because you won't get them done. Dishes you only have to do two days a week!

No. Stomping and slamming doors is soooo much better than just getting the job done.

Am I asking too much of my kids?  Are they better off just doing nothing around the house and me not having to deal with slamming doors? Sometimes I wonder. Please tell me I'm not the only Mom who deals with this.


Anyway....

Socks. Socks on my hands, that's the trick to doing laundry.  Has been since I was little.  I know, you can start laughing now at the mental picture you just formed in your head.  Me with mismatched socks on my hands bumbling around in the laundry room,  head cocked to one side as I try pathetically to remember which one is the washer and which is the dryer. Disoriented stutters as I try to sort darks and lights.

Well, thankfully it's not that bad. Really. At least not most days :)

I just can't handle the thought of sticking my hands into the laundry hamper and having the germs clobber me as I load the dirty clothes into the washer. Given the smelly treasure we found in the load of little boys pants we washed yesterday, I probably have good reason for that phobia. So, I put clean socks onto my hands as I reach into the hamper and throw the laundry in.Then I throw the socks in too.

Well, the dryer isn't working right now, so despite the rainy weather, we have laundry hanging from baskets, couches, chairs, and whatever else we can find all over the house while we wait for it to dry.  Fun times!

... Not really. There are times when being here alone without my handyman Ryan to fix everything really stinks. Literally. After all, 7 kids create dirty laundry faster than the clean laundry can airdry. That's all I'll say.


And the last thing on my mind right now, but not the least, are my friends. My anxious heart. And my choice of self-medication. Which leads me to dinner.   What???

Yes, Dinner.  (Come on now, keep up with me!)

But, I'll post separately for that. This is too long already. :)

Snakes and Updates

Picture this.  I have a nice long sleep, finally, and get up to go take a nice hot shower.  Still a little sleepy, I reach in the shower to turn on the water so it can run for a minute and get hot before I get in.  But instead, just as I touch it, I also see out of the corner of my eye that there is a brownish, creepy looking thing coiled around it.

A snake.

I'll leave you to imagine what I did next.

My son Tyler is the sweetest kid. Good natured and funny, loves to make people smile. And scream too, apparently.

Now, it is no secret that I have many fears or phobias. Heights, we've already discussed here on this blog. Compared to my fear of snakes... heights are a piece of cake!

(Why do I get the feeling Shauna Rose and Kris are laughing right about now as they remember scaring me to pieces with the whole innocent sounding "Rachel, what should I do with this?" mouse incident?)

Luckily for me -- or should I say, luckily for him -- it was a fake, rubber snake he bought for Jonnie the other day.  Of course, his brother had to buy it for him, since I won't buy a toy snake.  Or look at snakes in books.  I look at the ceiling the whole time the kids drag me through the reptile house at the zoo. The whole snake pit part of the new "True Grit" movie was just way more than I could handle and my anxiety levels went through the roof as I sat there shaking and crying. Again.  I know -- I'm a freak.

So, here is a picture of Jonnie with his rescued snake... and a few more updates.  You can tell I haven't taken many pictures over the last few months, luckily someone has grabbed my camera and taken a few. And sadly, have posted even fewer.

Enjoy!

Rachel

Girls at Halloween... you read about their costumes already.

 Amanda and Laura tackled giving the boys haircuts. First time for both of them... the boys were less than thrilled to be their victims. I was thrilled that finally the boys hair was getting cut!

Can you tell how thrilled he is?

 I think they turned out pretty well though, especially since neither of the girls had cut hair before :)

 Taliesin was less than thrilled with his haircut.... but that's par for the course. He never likes ANY haircut.

 And here is my little snake culprit with his best friend and sister, Miss Carolina.

Tyler also bought Jonnie this new teddy bear.  What a sweetie!

There's No Place Like Home...

I woke up yesterday in a tiny town on the west border of Kansas where the cattle outnumber humans 1000 to 1. I'd been staying with Ry for a couple days while he worked. He drove home to Utah for Thanksgiving, and then I drove back with him to Leoti.  It was wonderful to see him, and talk and laugh with him.  We definitely needed the time together. While I may be used to having him gone for long periods of time, it is an understatement to say that I am certainly not cut out for a long distance relationship.  Alas, all good things usually come to an end, and so after eating breakfast together, I drove home yesterday without him.

Driving long distances doesn't bother me, in fact it I actually like driving alone for long distances as long as the roads are dry.  Give me a great audiobook, a roadmap, a pack of gum, some snacks and I'm good to go.

Vail pass was icy and snowy when Ry and I drove out on Wednesday night so going back, I decided to take Highway 50 across Colorado.  Sayanora Dorothy.  See ya later Toto.  Goodbye Kansas.  I miss you already Ry.

The drive went well and the roads were dry. The long, flat roads out of Kansas pass by peaceful fields of dry, brown sunflowers with drooping heads bereft of their fullness. Tall grain silos and small clusters of farm houses and aging barns along the way gave a feeling of warm, rich life in contrast to the silent, empty fields. I found my self wondering about the people who lived and worked there, what patterns their daily living followed, and the fabric of their family's lives.  I also wished I had my camera with me.

The cool weather turned warm as I sped across southern Colorado where the once straight roads now twisted and curved as they began to wind along the Arkansas River.  As I climbed up Pauncho Pass, snow appeared along the sides of the roads, and ice crackled over the bluish-gray water.  The car followed the curving road up and then back down the San Juan mountain passes, the wind whipped and the sky began to darken with sullen clouds. Sunlight faded, and inky darkness prevailed.

It was cold, dark, and windy when I stopped to refuel in Grand Junction.  I looked forward to crossing into Utah where the silent mountains formations that make up Central Utah would surround me as I traveled across to I-15, and then finally south, and home.

It was refreshing to me to just be alone for a long time. Perhaps I'm a bit odd that way, but driving alone calms me. No expectations. No requests from kids. No dishes or laundry staring me in the face. Just me, my thoughts, and the open road.

I watched the gauge showing the outside temperature climb as I dropped down past New Harmony and into Toquerville, and then into town. It was about midnight when I pulled in the drive, parked the car, and carried in my bags. Mercy was stretched out on my bed snuggled next to Jonnie, and as I put the bags down on my bedroom floor, I noticed a package and a handmade card sitting on my nightstand.

Rachel,

I hope you have a great birthday. 
It has been fun getting to know you and your cute family. 
I have enjoyed your friendship. 

Happy Birthday!

Camille


Inside the box was a beautiful "WillowTree" figurine, a brown haired woman breathing in the aroma of the bundle of flowers in her arms.  Graceful, simple, and perfect.

My eyes misted as I read the card, but when I opened the box, I sat and cried for 20 minutes. How did she even know when my birthday was?

Thank you Camille, more than you know.

And thank you to all of the rest of you who sent me such wonderful birthday texts and messages as I drove.  I had a nice birthday chat with Danielle and Mom, and one with Joe the night before. Plus Amanda sang me a Happy Birthday song on my phone messages, and Mercy, Alex, and Kenzie sang to me as well.

The kiddos must have missed me too, because before the morning light filled the sky, there were four  of my kids in my bed, and I had to get up and move to one of their beds to get any sleep!  They showered me with wonderful homemade cards and notes this morning when I awoke, and later Amanda and my sweet friend Sheila both gave me gifts as well.

Thank you all for being a part of my life, and for touching my heart.

It was definitely a Happy Birthday.

Friday comes too fast.

It should be no surprise that I'm not the most excited person to dress up for Halloween.  If I am going to draw attention to myself -- I'd rather not be dressed up as a clown while doing so. There's also the whole part about Halloween that I just don't see anything positive being celebrated by people walking around as witches, skeletons, and zombies. It's also silly to tell your kids all year not to take candy from strangers, and then send them to as many houses as their little legs can carry to ask for candy from strangers.  If I really am in the Halloween Grinch mode, I could also go into the history of the "holiday" and how it really started.... but I don't want to be too preachy. 

Suffice it to say Halloween is not my favorite holiday. 

And therefore, I have not been ultra prepared for it.  On Thursday night, Carolina starts asking me to come to the Halloween party at school tomorrow, and do we have any crowns she can wear as part of her costume. It's 8:30 at night and I am working on editing the photos of a wedding that I've promised will be ready for proofs this weekend. 

As Carolina is talking, I am thinking"Why are they celebrating Halloween in the middle of the week?  I don't understand why they would have the kids dress up already? Tomorrow is Wednesday, this is crazy.  Why don't they wait til Friday for the Halloween parties?"

Then, the kids all clue me in.

"MOM!  It IS Friday tomorrow.  Today is THURSDAY!"

News to me!  I don't know where my brain has been all week but I am completely thinking that I still have 3 days to figure out costumes AND finish editing several hundred photos I've promised would be ready. Why am I always doing stuff like this???

Gratefully -- Amanda came to the rescue!  She turned my little girls into fairies, and hot glued smarties to pants for two of the boys turning them into "Smartie Pants". The other three went as cowboys and a cowgirl. All while I edited away.  So -- thanks Amanda!!

And here is a sneak peak of Shawn and Ananda's very non-traditional wedding.

Vows...

Family Medallion

Remembering Mother...