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.

Slowly

Slowly, I am learning to be enough, to be okay with me.

Slowly, I am able to smile as I watch my boys alternately fight and play, scream and laugh.

Slowly, I am find myself being okay with just watching them, knowing I am here for them if they need or want to run to me, instead of filling myself with anxiety at how much they fight and how bad of a Mom I am.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for drowning in postpartum depression after Jonnie was born.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for not being able to give Braelin the one on one attention he neeeded as he had to learn to adjust to the new baby that took his place.

I am recognizing that they already have forgiven me. They still run to me and hug me, smiling, after I come home from a day at work.

They still want to sit on my lap and read stories in the rocking chair, still want to walk with me to the park.

Slowly, I am able to see the love my older kids still have for me. They have traded in that tiny child relationship for a pre-adult relationship, and while they may not run to hug me when I come home from work... they still smile when I make them dinner.

Slowly, I am able to see that even though my relationship with them is not the picture I had painted in my head... it is a good relationship still. 

I am recognizing that my daughter will still ask for help with homework when she needs it, and still hugs me tightly each morning and night... even if I was a little hard on her that day.

My son still, occasionally, talks for 20 minutes straight about one subject, even though I can only get one or two word answers from him any other time.

He'll still connects, albeit on his own terms, and I am slowly becoming okay with that.

Slowly, I am allowing me to see myself as something besides a horrible mom.

Slowly, I am able to see that the things I see myself lacking in have actually broadened their abilities and independence.

Slowly, I am seeing that the important thing isn't for me to have already done it right -- but for me to keep doing my best.

Slowly, I am finding an acceptance for me.

I like it. I am enough.

My Sweet Chili Peppers

It's amazing how much better the house stays clean when I'm not working 40 hours a week.  Hmmm... maybe I'm not as horrible a housekeeper as I've felt like for the past few months. It's amazing how much more I can get done too! In the past week, I've painted the girls room (cream), the boys room (butterscotch brown), the stairway landing (white), the front porch (sandy red), the front steps, back steps, back stairway and railing (forest green), half the picket fence (white), and touch ups all over the house.

I'm painted out, for the moment... and although I would love to be at the lake right now, soaking up some sun, someone borrowed my pass. So... I decided instead to edit some photos I took of the kids in May.

I hope you enjoy them.  My Chili Peppers are the highlights of my life :)

- Rachel

A good day...

A good day is when...

They fight like cats and dogs most of the time, but occasionally they find something in common... like when they both want to do something they shouldn't, such as trying to start Amanda's scooter and ride it.  Good thing she doesn't leave the key in it!  Notice Jonnie's hat.  He wouldn't take it off for weeks... it has now disintegrated completely.

• You find a bunch of money in your old wallet while cleaning your room. (Yay!!  I was trying to figure out how to buy paint I needed for the deck.) 
• You get to sing "Love Story" and "Crazier" with your five and seven year olds. (Daisy and Lina are adorable, if I do say so myself :) 
• Good friends stop by because they miss you and have been thinking of you. (Love you Sheila and Kelly!)
• You find pictures you forgot about while emptying your camera's memory card. (See below...)
• Your 14 year old helps you de-clutter your room. (Thanks Mercy!!!)
• You get a call in for an interview and your husband has one too. (Hmmm.... which direction will our lives take?)
• Your husband sends you a sweet text saying how much he misses you. (Miss you too Babe!)
• You fit into pants you haven't fit in for a very long time! (Just three more pounds til my next goal!)

Cream Puffs, Eggs, and Nests

Here is an update WITH PICTURES can you believe it? In no particular order, here are some recent pics!

Easter was fun! We decorated eggs with the chili peppers on Friday and Saturday was spent making yummy Easter treats.  I let each of the kids choose a treat to make and by the end of the day I was beyond frazzled. Thank goodness Eric and Eliza rescued me and took all the younger kids to get french fries and hamburgers and play at the playland while I basked in the calmness of the quiet house.

I get to be a proud mama and brag for a minute here... Mercy wanted to make cream puffs and as you can see from the pictures, they turned out beautifully!!  Now, cream puffs are not the easiest thing in the world to make. The dough is finicky and if you don't bake them just right they either turn out dry and crusty or fall flat.  Mercy found the recipe herself, made the dough herself, baked them herself, and WOW.  They were perfect!! Then she proceeded to make the Bavarian Custard from scratch and followed THAT recipe by herself too :)  I am pretty proud of her.

Eliza and Eric moved in that weekend (we have LOVED having them here!!) Jason and his girls surprised us with a visit Easter weekend too and it was awesome to see them and having them stay.  And then, the day after Easter MOM surprised us with a visit too.  Taliesin and Mercy had fun playing tetherball with her.  It was fun to see her enjoying the grandkids for a bit.

Anyway, enjoy the pics!!

Daisy's Coconut Jelly Bean Nests

Tyler's Chocolate Cereal Jellybean Nests

Taliesin's Cupcakes

Kitty Kat riding the wiggle car :) 

As you walk through the front door of my house, the window will rattle as the door slams shut, which is the only way it will close is if it is slammed. The dining table has sticky handprints and oatmeal crumbles left from breakfast. There are bowls of half eaten ramen noodles left from dinner (the third or fourth time the kids have had ramen in the past week). On the side table, there is a case of marinara sauce that has been sitting for a while now. Looking off to the left you'll see a big blue couchbed thing that has been in my family room for the past two months, waiting to be hauled downstairs. Walking into the kitchen you would think that the dishes haven't been done for a week or so... not true.  They were done yesterday morning. At least I think they were. Still, the counter is full of stacks of used cereal bowls and the sink has a collection of unwashed forks, spoons, and pans.

The little breakfast room has a random and unsettling collection of grocery odds and ends yet to be put away.  Cans of soup, a large package of noodles, and three number ten cans of refried beans dot the table and although you can tell we aren't starving, the question begs... why hasn't all this been put away?

The collection of coats along the pathway to the stairs leading up to the kids' rooms suggest we haven't needed them for a few days, which is true - the weather has been lovely!  We won't discuss the kids rooms, or my room.  Suffice it to say they could use a bit of straightening. The laundry room? Frightening.

The taxes are halfway finished, will require a long day of concentration plus one semi short visit to an accountant, and hopefully I can have them wrapped up before too long. Are they done yet?  No.

Meals at my house have been haphazard at best, though Ryan did make Root Beer Pork on Sunday and our weekend guests didn't go home unfed. If the trail of half eaten bites of hot dogs leading to my bedroom or the breadcrumbs all over my bed have any tale to tell, they'd say the kids are eating well enough for now at least. The mashed berries I wiped up off my carpet today say they are getting a variety of food besides ramen too, so I won't feel too guilty, yet. Still, it's time I put together some real meals.  Did I get them made today?  No.  Of course not.

So then if the taxes aren't done, the kids are making their own meals, the house isn't clean, and the van still hasn't been washed or vaccumed,  what DID I do?

I'll tell you.

I slept in til 6:30 and then took Ryan to work in St. George. I enjoyed breakfast with my kids and curled up in bed, chilly and apparently still exhausted from yesterday. I slept, slept, and slept some more.

I rocked my baby Jonnie, who isn't much of a baby anymore, until he fell asleep in my arms. And then, I rocked him some more. I talked with Braelin while Jonnie slept, helped Ty log on to his schoolwork online, and popped onto Facebook for a bit too -- lame, I know.

I walked to get the girls from school. I talked with Tyler as we walked. I played with Jonnie on the slide.  I laughed with my girls while we happily walked home. Taliesin showed me the homework he was working on, while Mercy flopped down on the blue couchbed thing to take a much needed nap. I sang the Monkey Song with Braelin. I got Jonnie some milk in his cup.  And then, I went to pick up Ry and spend some time with him.

We talked, I cried. We shared Cafe Rio on the patio, and watched a movie afterward.  When we came home, the kids were already sleeping, curled up in bed on time for once - just like I'd asked.

The house will get cleaned up, tomorrow probably. The groceries will get organized in the pantry, and the dishes washed and put away. I'll throw something in the crockpot before I go to work, and Ryan will make sure they get dinner when he comes home.

For today, I'm glad I didn't clean. Glad I didn't cook. No taxes got done. Instead, I enjoyed my babies... and my man.

Life is good. Sometimes messy, but life is good.

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.

My Mercy

Braelin fell asleep early tonight as I stroked his back in front of the fireplace, and later as I snuggled Jonnie up in his blanket and laid him down to sleep, he asked me to sing to him. And so, of course, I did.

I love singing to my kids. Ryan told me years ago that the kids would never remember if Mom sang a bit off tune to them, but they would always remember that she sang to them. For a very long time when we lived in Roosevelt, I would sit out in the hallway between their two bedrooms after evening prayers and sing hymns and lullabies. Many times Ry would come home after working into the evening and sing with me.  Good memories.

Tonight after Jonnie went to sleep, I kept on singing a few more hymns and Mercy grabbed a book and started singing with me. All the rest of the kids are up in Salt Lake with Amanda, so it was just me and her, singing away. No piano, no audience -  I loved it.  I hope that she does remember that we sang, and that I love her.

Thanks for being my Mercy Angel.

Mom

Friends

Originally posted February 4, 2009

Christmas morning, best friends.

Have you ever imagined life without friends?  I told you this blog was partly to answer the question “how do I do it?”  I can tell you - the only way my family has made it through the past two months is because of help and love and support from friends.  So this post is a tribute to them.  Thought it seems woefully inadequate for what we feel in our hearts -- Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I am humbled by the love and friendship you have all given me in so many ways, and by the grace of God that I have so many friends when I feel so undeserving.

To Alina and Ellen, for rescuing my house, taking such a tremendous load off of Ryan, and helping me laugh. 

To Rich, for giving Ryan a much needed break.

To Nan, for loving me and caring. 

To Joe, for being the best big brother anyone could ever ask for. 

To Vicki, for taking me to the sunshine, and reaching out to me with so much understanding.  

To her kids and family, for letting her and Alina leave for so long!

To Becky, for letting me get some much needed naps!

To Cicile, for the VERY well timed treat of pizza for dinner!

To Valena, for caring and understanding. 

To Sil, for giving me a hug and reminding me sometimes a mother’s love doesn’t always have to come from my mom.

To Vana, for sending hope along with the sweet letter.

To Carmen, for stopping by and asking questions, and for your sweet concern. Thanks.

To Danielle, for calling to see if I was okay, and calling again when I didn’t answer the phone. 

To Val, for not freaking out when I was freaking out.

To Natalie, for being a friend without needing to understand.

To Laura, for babysitting and being so willing to. 

To Mercy, for smiling and being my right hand.

To Taliesin, for rocking Jonnie and taking care of Brae.

To Tyler, for missing me.

To Valena, for letting your girls come help clean the house.

To Grandma Nancy, for the blanket of love and sweet note.

To Jill for taking over the regional presentation - and for helping me talk through my fears. 

To Shauna, for picking up what I had to drop, and not making me feel bad for it.   

To Laura and Heather for picking up the pieces of my team.

To Rebecca, AnnMaree, Tina, Susan, Heather, Laura, Shauna, Bobbi, Valena, and everyone else, who have emailed your love and support.

And to all of your families too!

And last but not least, to Ryan.  Thank you for not leaving me alone, for holding me when I cried, and for helping me take it one day at a time.  You’ve been amazing.