I am in a dark place right now. A place I would never admit to most people I know. Yet, I long to write about it here, to lay bare the ugliness of my heart to the blogosphere and let it be soothed by your balm of wisdom and commiseration and intuitive words. I have found that soul-baring posts are good for my soul. It takes time for me to pour myself out into words and make certain that those words are honest - as honest as I can stand - and unambiguous. The process itself of defining my thoughts, setting my emotions into boxes neat enough to be labeled with tags like 'despair' or 'inadequacy', is therapeutic. Nailing down the swirling angst to portray what I think, how I really feel, so I can give it a shape. A name. A word. It's journaling at it's finest. And here, in this place, the journal talks back with a voice of acceptance that is unique to those who don't really know us.
But oh, all that introspection, and the subsequent expression takes time. And all the time I have - all I have had for weeks - is a few borrowed moments while older children are occupying younger ones, and dishes sit congealing on the counter.
(But to keep from being cryptic, and sounding all coy, I'll just tell ya...this parenting gig. It's kicking my tail friends. Kicking. My. Tail. And I am finding myself constantly praying. And looking around for a life preserver.)
But instead of that mess, I am going to write about the frivolous and the happy, because, quite simply I feel the urge to write something. It nags at me when I don't. And those topics are easy, and quick. And like the rest of my neglected children, I would rather give my blog some superficial attention than none at all. And because writing about the happy moments is, in itself, a kind of therapy. Avoidance therapy. I know it well.
In fact, I am going to write about snow, again. Because it snowed on Saturday, again! I can feel the collective eye rolling from my Yankee and Canadian readers. (I know! Can you believe people all the way in Canada read this stuff?) But really, Y'all..snow! Twice in one week. In Georgia! It was like a bona fide miracle. There were songs of praise to Jesus being lifted up by four foot people all over the state.
And even more gloriously, this time The Man was off work for the great event. And he took Ben outside for two entire hours of snowtastic fun while Clara and I watched from inside the house. They built a snowman. And had snowball fights. And would you believe that because of this miracle of nature, and The Man's remarkable endurance for snowtime activities with a three-year-old, I actually got to take a bath and a shower in the same day? Without a single knock at the bathroom door, for either. Not even one.
Now that truly was miraculous. And you can bet I was singing my own praises right along with the four foot crowd.
And in the process of this soap and water windfall, I finished a book. Reading is another thing I haven't had much time for lately and I was starting to think my literary list for 2008 was going to read:
"Started Odd Thomas, review coming in 2009."
But I finally finished it. And it was a huge departure from anything I would normally read. I can't imagine why I put it on my reading list to start with. I can't even watch 24 without having nightmares. I am bewildered by the sudden burst of valor that inspired me to take on Dean Koontz. The plot wasn't terribly original. A man who sees dead people - where have I heard that before? But the endearing first person voice and the quirky characters gave it heart, and even humor. Overall I enjoyed it, even if I did have to put it down at one point and run, scampering, to my husband for protection. And even if he did laugh at me. And offer to protect me, from my big scary book. Even so, I still devoured those last several chapters like a pint of New York Super Fudge Chunk. And that's saying something.
And now I have one book to put on my list for 2008. My accomplishments are overwhelming.