Rhubarbsky

My local paper was kind enough to publish another article that I wrote. This one is about raising service-minded kids.  You can read the article by clicking on the pdf below.

Here’s a teaser:

Raising service-minded kids starts with how we live our day to day lives and how we treat others. Children definitely do what we do and not always what we say. So, whatever you choose to do with your kids, the most important thing is to do something, anything that makes this world even a tiny bit better.

Service-Minded Kids 1.22.12

Snowy Sunrise

I’ve been plugging along. Taking care of myself. Not fighting the depression, because fighting doesn’t help me. It’s more of a quiet acceptance, coupled with forward motion toward health. It’s exhausting trying to fight it. More exhausting even than the actual depths of depression. So, I move about my days looking for small victories.

A day without tears.
An afternoon that I don’t snap at the kiddo.
An hour that I laugh more than I cry.

I lower the bar for myself. I usually operate with such high standards that it’s hard for me to let go of so much and just be. Because just being is enough. I try to treat myself with the kindness I would offer a friend who felt like this. I go through my “to do” list and delete mercilessly. I prioritize my child, my husband, my health. That’s it.

Part of my march toward health is an actual march. I’ve been walking 5 days a week with a dear friend for over two years. She comes and faithfully drags my butt outside. She patiently walks slower than usual when I’m not up to our normal quick clip. She listens when I rant. And, I do the same for her when I’m on my game. She’s a sister to me.

So, we’re out walking last week and she tells me about this crazy dream she’d had the night before.

She went outside to check on her chickens and was overwhelmed by what she saw. Put simply, she saw shit. Piles of it. Small shit, big shit. Buckets of shit all over the place in her yard. A steaming pile of elephant shit. Dung everywhere. She was completely surrounded. She couldn’t believe someone would come to her yard, her home and leave so much crap in her path. Everywhere she looked, there was shit. Just as she was going to back away and hide inside, she realized something so important. She looked out and saw that her sidewalk was completely clear.

Despite all of the crap that had been thrown at her, she had a clear path straight ahead.

“It was so real, Carrie. I was convinced I would find piles of shit along my sidewalk when I went outside after I woke up.” But in the end, even if it HAD been real, she had the presence of mind to see a way out. . . to notice that not all ways were blocked.

I was gobsmacked by this image. A clear path. It loosened something in me. . . cracked a little bit of the hold I’ve been under. And, I laughed. I mean, I really laughed. My friend giggled too. And we walked through a windy day and waved at the same people we pass every day and I thought:

I can focus on the crap, or I can focus on the path.

Knowing what’s best for me doesn’t change the chemical imbalance that happens with depression, but it DOES help me lose a bit of the feeling that I’m completely helpless.

I’m feeling better. I still want to rent all of the horror movies and buy all of the skittles, but I am on the right path. I see light ahead and humor and love.

And, I’m full of gratitude.

And we were running.
For a reason.
Left our cubicles in little flaming piles.
And we were running.
For a reason.

I need to feel something different for just a little while.

What comes will come.
What goes will go.
The wind will blow where the wind is blowing.
Let go of where you think you’re going.
We’ll never know why it flows where it’s flowing.

We’ve always been what we will always be.

Thanks for the love and support, y’all. I’m on the mend. . . listening to really good music helps.

There is something about this song that gets me feeling good every.single.time. I hear it. “Hear all the bombs fade away. . . . ” While we were in New Zealand, it was a sort of family battle cry. We sang it all together after an epic hike. So good.

A few years ago, I sorta lost it. It was an un-glueing of my mind from the rest of me and it scared the bejeezus outta me and I made my way back again. . . slowly and with the  help of a therapist and friends and my wonderful husband.

Since then, I’ve been exceedingly mindful of taking care of my mental health. . . and really aware of when I’m slipping into a depression or funk and proactive to beat it before it hits hard. Hanging onto a thread of control is what keeps me from going completely over the edge. Asking for help and being vulnerable enough to accept help is what gets me through a rough patch.

On New Year’s Day, I was especially cranky with Tom and Abby, unable to multi-task, and had tears brimming all morning. It wasn’t until much later in the day, that I realized I’d hit a wall emotionally that I didn’t even see coming. I sobbed through New Year’s Day. I immediately started with some serious self-care and Tom put together a little spotify mix for me. (Ahem. . . . if I’m not laughing through my depression, well then, it’s VERY serious. . . so I’ll take this all as a sign that I’m not TOO far gone this time!).

The recovery period after the holidays caught me off guard this year. Since we skipped the mayhem of Christmas and all it entails last year, the insanity of travel and family and everything was a little distanced and removed from my memory.

So, I cried on New Year’s Day and then my husband put on loud music and danced until I laughed and then we watched Twin Peaks episodes and Portlandia (which is on Netflix instant now!!!!) and I curled myself into ball and slept hard. Yesterday was a tad better and today the sun is doing it’s thing and shining on my everyday stuff in such a beautiful way.

Jenny (aka The Bloggess) shared the most amazing post yesterday. So brave. So authentic. So real. Though I can’t relate to the second half of her post (the part in italics), the FIRST part is so amazingly spot on that I cried again, but this time it was tears of recognition and hope.

I came a little unglued, and it’s an unnerving way to start a new year, but I’m finding my way out (again) and up (again).

And, as always, the ratio of laughter::tears is still very heavily tipped toward laughter.

So, 4 years ago, I took a deep breath and pushed “publish” in this format for the first time.  And, it was more than 6 years ago that I wrote my first blog post ever.

I’d love to wax poetic about blogging and ooze a bit of sweetness here about the friends I’ve made through blogging and this space, but I’m busy over here. . .

The kid’s weaving.

Tom’s making Naan and Chicken Tikka Masala.

I’m making a few (late) birthday gifts.

And, I have a deadline tomorrow and another just a few days after that.

So, this is just to say Happy New Year and MWAH!

I know I already posted some Zooey this month, but this one has been making the rounds and I find it so sweet.
Here’s to a blessed and lovely 2012!

Here’s a winter playlist I built for YOU. No overt Christmas Carols, but wintery and still seasonal.  This is how I’m getting away with playing music that still fills my need for holiday-ish music without Tom going crazy on me.  You’re welcome.

Winter

I woke up with a massive headache yesterday. A post Christmas hazy headache. Tom and Abby went with his parents on a city adventure while I stayed behind and tried to get rid of said headache. No luck for me.

About halfway through the day, I thought I’d attempt getting out of the house and thus, went to a Fred Meyer in the suburbs on Boxing Day with a headache. Not my smartest move.

Going to places with those sorts of crowds on ANY day is a bad idea for me, but add in my headache and the crazy-eyed shopping frenzy that is epitomizes the holiday season in the U.S. . . . well. . . I got kinda ticked off about seemingly little stuff.

So, when I saw this video of a little girl ranting about gender specific marketing, I REALLY got it.

Good girl, Riley.