Therapy, Phase One

In times of acute emotional distress, I tend to follow a fairly predictable recovery pattern. Phase One begins when the crying and plate-throwing has (mostly) stopped.* This is the phase in which I Make things.

Ok, I make things all the time, but Phase One usually involves a slightly maniacal construction of something new. (On rare occasions, the recovery of a long abandoned project occurs in cases when Phase One is prolongued).

So today, I made bandanas. And a cape. And I knit on Owl 2 (the colors of which were selected by Sonar X5 and which has been named Hedwig—go read the books). And I pondered buttons for Owl 1 (which is purple and grey, a birthday gift for a wee friend, and which has been named Errol by the Sonars, probably because he’s a bit squashy looking—again, go read the books). And there is a very good chance I will work on the abandoned socks for Partner.

I rationalize, of course, that the preponderance of birthdays we have among our family and friends here in the middle of March is justification enough of such a craft frenzy. Some of the bandanas are for pure whimsy, to be used locally by the Sonars for whatever a bandana can do (cape, mask, pirate scarf, apron, wee blanket, handkerchief, mini-toga, halter top, insert your own bandana use here). Two others are destined for a six-year-old friend, to be accompanied by a compass, flashlight, string, and bandaids for a gift inspired by The Dangerous Book for Boys and The Daring Book for Girls. Call it an adventure pack. The cape will be wrapped around Errol for environmentally friendly wrapping and surprise super-hero garb for a three-year-old friend.

Side note: When I mentioned last night that I was thinking of making bandanas, Sonar X7 said, “Hey, we can tie one around the end of a stick and run away from home now!!” Nearly killing the bandana project before it got off the ground.

Normally, I just think making things is fun. There is something very satisfying about knowing that I have used my hands to craft something fun or useful or interesting.

In times of stress, I find comfort in being a creator as opposed to a consumer or a destroyer. The practice of craft is a good analogy for the way I want to function socially and emotionally. And by taking fabric, or yarn or paper or glue and making something and pondering the idea of creating healthy connections and emotions among people, I find that I am able to calm myself from the inside out, to feel stronger and more stable and more able to fulfill my roles and responsibilities in a healthy, sane and satisfying way.

The craft doesn’t take me all the way though. At some point, when I am sitting in a puddle of fabric clippings and bits of thread and yarn, with glue in my hair, I will decide that I can no longer tolerate the mess.

Thus begins Phase Two, in which I clean with a slightly maniacal vengeance, thus exerting a sense of control and organization. Stressful experiences often feel outside the realm of our control. Another good analogy here. Cleaning and organizing the tangible objects that are around me gives me a sense of control over at least one part of my life. It has the added benefit of creating a serene space in which to contemplate my emotions. I often find that as I organize the stuff and sweep away the debris, that feelings start making sense, that ideas fall into line, and that I feel more calm. A clean house does not necessarily change the stressful issues themselves, but it does create a reserve inside me that feels healthy and strong. Plus, it’s one of the rare occasions in which our house is really and truly and fastidiously clean.

People are sometimes freaked out by both phases. Not the actions themselves, but the, uh, shall we say Enthusiasm (aka Single Minded Vengeance) with which I take on the creation and the cleaning. The Sonars seem to enjoy Phase One. No one likes Phase Two. But I reassure them, that the mama who doesn’t care whether the living room table is covered with ten gallons of K’Nex as long as none of them is on the floor to hurt her feet will return soon.

*No, I have not actually ever thrown plates, but I’ve wanted to. I’m really more of a slammer, which has, of occasion, resulted in broken things. Just this morning I happened to close the dishwasher in a particularly enthusiastic manner and managed to smash a glass.

The Offspring Formerly Known as Sonar X4

Let it be known that the offspring formerly known as Sonar X4 shall hereafter (until the next round of March 11th) be known as Sonar X5.

Happy Birthday Kiddo. ;)

Madcap Hilarity

Note: I find this a difficult blog to post. It’s taken me a while to work up the nerve to hit the Publish button. There are some things that I just don’t talk about freely, and if the following post feels vague in some details, that’s why. The Yarn Harlot (see her link in the sidebar) has posted about her general guidelines for online etiquette: if you wouldn’t say something to someone’s face in his or her own living room, then don’t post it in his or her web space. That strikes me as a really good way to function on the web in general. This post is full of emotion for me, and there are places where I say things that I generally wouldn’t say to anyone’s face in any space, but as I have actually already communicated much of this to the parties in question, I suppose I haven’t entirely broken that rule. And yes, I’m fine. Or, you know, I will be.

***

I did something hard yesterday.

You know that phrase, ‘If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all’?

I could rephrase it, ‘If I only have something nasty, unpleasant, or generally complicated and uncomfortable to say, I talk about my kids.’

I’m not very good with confrontation, especially if the confrontation is pointless. So I generally deflect, attempting to steer the conversation away from needless aggravation or irritation, mainly to save myself the stress of a potentially sticky conversation. You might say this is dishonest. You might say it’s tactful. Suit yourself. It’s just the way I am.

But sometimes, I can’t let the confrontation go by. I can’t let a comment pass, even when I know that what I have to say is going to hurt someone’s feelings or make someone mad or even cause someone not to speak to me. Even so, it still is very very difficult for me.

Yesterday, someone in my extended family, referring to a really horrifying set of life events, cast them, as a group as “nutty crazy things of the past”—(today it still makes me mad and my hands are shaking as I type them)—and suggest that We Just Forget About Them and try to find some way to Comfort the Agent of those events.

I couldn’t take that one. Frankly, I find it a stupid thing to say. Not the forgetting part, so much as the “nutty” part. Insensitive and selfish and shortsighted.

I will be the first person to say that we should not dwell in the past, but live fully in the present moment. But I also believe that we cannot deny the manner in which all things that we have experienced in the past have shaped the person we are today—good and bad, for better or worse. When those oh-so-hilarious abuses of the past continue to have damaging repercussions in the present of people that I love, I cannot stand by while someone with an important role in making future decisions dismisses that pain and horror.

I wrote back and really unloaded. That was the hard thing. I was, quite frankly, surprised at the vehemence of my reaction. I’ve been very middle-of-the road in my stance toward the whole situation. But when I had put down all the words, I was even more angry at what he thinks I owe him, at what he thinks we all owe the Agent. What I said will likely have challenging and complicated repercussions in my extended family. Or maybe it won’t. But I’m tired of people Forgetting. Forgetting that some crimes have more than one victim. That a single heinous act might be accompanied by others, less published, less punishable. And that although I respect the humanity of all people, I do not necessarily wish to participate in the Comfort of someone who has harmed people I love. Particularly someone who has never indicated any remorse, any desire for reconciliation, or offered any Comfort to those harmed by her actions.

I don’t want anything from the family member who used these words, and I don’t want those of us who were victimized to continue to be considered Victims, but the more I think about it, the more mad I get. What Comfort has he ever offered Us, and yet he asks us to come and Comfort the Agent, to Forget what she has done.

Note, that he does not ask us to Forgive her, only to Comfort her, by forgetting what she has done, by dismissing her actions as not worth remembering. The request to forget doesn’t seem to be spiritual in nature, though I might be able to respect it more if it had been. I know that this type of caring and forgiveness can be healthy, but there is a reason that is is rarely witnessed among mere mortals.

The worst part for me, is that his dismissive phrase feels like it has undone progress I had made toward an internal reconciliation of those things he dismisses. That really pisses me off.

Venous Reverb, or the Untold Story of Eglentyne's First 5k Day

Waking up early and getting ready for the fun run went very smoothly, but there were two things I didn’t have time for: finishing my morning caffeine and stretching properly. I have subsequently paid for both of these things.

The run went well, the weather beautiful and the wind light. I accidentally met some great people who happen to live in my little town. Small world. And I might have an occasional running partner now.

I did not expect the course to be as hilly as it was. My wee town is as flat as flat can be, and the biggest incline I tackle during a run is a sidewalk ramp. The race began with a steep uphill climb, and then meandered up and down, finishing on a long slow downhill slope. The hills and the lack of a good knee stretch have left my calves and knees very unhappy today.

After the race, there was a lot of standing around, sweating, chatting, and waiting for race results while they passed out some raffle prizes. That was fun, and the Sonars thought it was great to play on the fantastic structures at the park, as well as to run up and down up and down up and down a steep hill about five-thousand times. When we finally left the park, they were covered head to foot in mud.

After cleaning up the Sonars, Partner hauled them off for much-begged-for haircuts, while I showered and stretched and snacked and blogged.

When I posted my triumph yesterday, I was already feeling the aura of an impending migraine. It hit hard and fast, and was complete with the most lovely and distressing visual aura (pretty golden wavery lines at the edges of my field of vision). Medicated, hydrated, caffeinated, showered, and stretched, I sprawled out on my bed.

Now, some people can’t stand light or sound when they have a migraine. I don’t mind either of these in moderation. What kills me is movement. Even the slightest little muscle twitch is amplified through my veins and into my head, making it feel like my skull will surely explode. So stillness, profound stillness, is the key to migraine comfort for me. Difficult in the best of circumstances considering I must continue to breathe, which moves my body ever so slightly.

The good news is, that after a hearty lunch and a long, quiet nap, the pain had receded somewhat. I was left with an uncomfortable sort of hollow feeling, but that too waned before dinner time.

What has yet to wane are the cranky after-effects on three children of getting up too early and running up and down a hill five-thousand times. They totally had a blast. I’m sure they ran more than I did yesterday. The experience has even inspired Sonar X7, equipped by Partner yesterday with fresh shoes, to start training with me. But their little bodies are worn a bit tired. And tempers are frayed around the edges. No insult or discomfort passes today without dramatic complaint.

Still a bit tired myself, I’m having to work very hard to maintain my patience and understanding with them, and admit to flipping out once this morning over yet another whiny breakdown by a child. But calm has settled over the house as everyone rests quietly. We have plenty of groceries and I made some rosemary foccaccia this morning that is begging to be eaten. We have nowhere to go, and nothing to do but enjoy our day.

Now, if I can just finish this d#$% sweater.

Two Months of Running

Start time was 7:30 a.m. at Cole Park in Corpus Christi Texas, for the 21st annual Goodwill Spring Fun Run. My number was 147.

There were some beautiful views of the city…

And the sky…

And I met some interesting people…

Coming in for the finish.

I started running at the beginning of this year, and at the end of two months, I ran my first 5k race, finishing in just under 35 minutes. Hooray for me!!