It is widely known that the depth of my nature appreciation extends to B's 20'x20' garden, whose occupants I am only just starting to remember. At last I can distinguish peas from swiss chard, which I insist on being proud of, even though peas are the least mysterious of all the plants, being that they grow in multitudes right before your eyes. My affection for this garden is rooted (no pun intended) solely in the delight it holds for B. I love, on her behalf, that all her roses have bloomed in the front yard, and I can definitely see the fruits of her labor (pun intended). Aside from this, and my occasional surprise twinge of happiness at seeing my mom's lovely little garden, I don't really give a shit about nature. Not photosynthesis, not the ozone layer, hell not even the weather. (B and Todd would have me beheaded for this.)
Imagine, will you, my excitement when Todd said all he wanted for Fathers Day was a long walk in the Oregon Garden, followed by lunch. Okay well we all know perfectly well that I am a faithful champion of lunch, but the garden part was reeeeaaaaallly a stretch. I didn't so much smile as not frown, for I was determined to grant T this one wish. I woke up in considerable pain, the source of which I think you all know, so I dutifully popped 95 Excedrin and off we went. En route, my apprehension enveloped me, with thoughts of tour guide teaching us to pronounce the latin names for the flowers, and asking us if we knew what coniferous meant. As we parked, I shot Todd a fraudulent smile and we headed for the gate. I was immediately impacted by the serenity of the garden. It was quiet in the perfect sense, the displays were bountiful but not obnoxious, there were no tour guides in sight, and best of all, the refreshment stand was mere feet ahead!
As a first-timer, I followed T and the kids, who knew just where to go, which winding paths to follow, and exactly where all the slug-shaped drinking fountains were. We ambled through luscious rose gardens, which even excited my inner garden grinch, as well as poppy fields, water falls, koi ponds, and a giant hill perfect for rolling down. (Note: Only those weighing under one ton were permitted to roll, so I took pictures.)
Ordinarily I would have seized up in such a place, so anxious to leave I might go so far as to "trip and fall" or try to hit my head on something. But this place is gorgeous, so lush and tranquil, and all the usual nature-loving clichees. I truly derived pleasure from the ambiance, and we were able to give T the experience he sought.
A fetching yellow (rose?): My favorite rose, because it looks like it's made out of icing: Happy Fathers Day: Quinn and Rei on a waterfall: The whole gang: Quinn of the cacti:
So my mom picked this little runt of a rose and sent it home with my kids a couple nights ago. When I saw it on the counter, I didn't hesitate to toss it right in the trash because I have a mental illness that forces me to keep all surfaces clean even if it means throwing away your precious belongings or my mom's paycheck. (Yes, that actually happened in high school.) Anyway, my kids noticed me giving the shrimpy little roseling the boot, and immediately intercepted. They asked if we had a vase to put it in, and I explained that since the rose was like 2.5 inches long, I doubted we had anything that would suffice. Leave it to my get-it-done-girl, Reilly, to find one, and I humored the kids by putting it in.
Cut to last night when I got home late, and was at the tail end of a panic attack rooted in a fear of being pulled over and arrested because I had had a glass of wine five hours earlier. As I set my keys down and began my nightly counter sweep, which I also do in the morning and midday, I saw this beautiful little engine-that-could rose staring up at me. Far be it from me to be connected to nature but it literally made me smile. This little fella was almost a goner and now it's brandished in a place of honour on my otherwise clean counter, making me ever-so-happy.
I planned to write, "Here is a rose my kids brought home," but, well, you all know me.
It seems everyone is compiling/posting a happy list lately, and while I could never consolidate my master list into something blogable, I have opted to share many versions of one thing that makes me happy. I've loved rainbows all my life. Not necessarily the faint ones in the sky, but tangible items in rainbow colors. Long before I knew the implications of brandishing them, I have been drawn to their cheerfulness. As a card-carrying depressive, very few things in life hold a reliable appeal to me, and rainbows do. Obviously there is somewhat of a polarity in a rainbow's connotation, but I'm just posting a few of the objects which catch my eye each day and remind me that there is always something about which to smile.
My umbrella. A GUND worm I bought Reilly a long time ago, because I like rainbows, lol.
What's left of a stationery set B got me... My fabulous earrings that don't go with ANYTHING! Grrr... A cute variation of the traditional stacking ring toy, minus the head, which Maia lost. :) A bracelet I made because I HEART the beads. Oh Sharpies. I could include them in every post. Special nod to Gail and Gab! A fantabulous silky hangy-thing in my car, which enhances each and every day. Reilly's socks, which I covet. And of course, Obama + rainbows = MANIA!
Yeah, this pretty much sums up my electrifying dalliance with Barack Obama today: (Please excuse the fact that I look like the undead.)
(I would also like to point out that he looked at and spoke to me directly while answering. Ask B.)
In case you have something really wrong with you, and couldn't tell, I was so nervous speaking in front of 4,000 people I almost passed out. Instead, I just stuttered and trailed off like a simp. And what you could not possibly know is that the senator called on Brandy and me, since were both waving our hands, and it was only because she selflessly bestowed the floor on me that I was able to mutter what little I did get out. I owe her big, and B, at about 4:19 into that video, you will recognize a beautiful familiar face smiling brightly. Thank you so much.
B and I waited in the freeeeezing-ass cold (in t-shirts) in a line that snaked from the armory to Timbuktu, along with what appeared to be half the state, just to get a glimpse of this man Obama. It was a good couple hours until we finally inched our way inside, past the windy vortex at the entrance, past the 10 ft. x 10 ft. protest posters of mutilated babies, through various turn styles, and a few metal detectors. Once inside, where I was determined to get floor seats, we were told the floor was full. This didn't deter me in the least, and I proceeded to lie and say that our party of four already had seats. I have exceptionally good rally karma, and spied exactly four empty chairs in the last row. Our enthusiasm gave way to full-blown adrenaline as it became clear that our man was close, and we were standing on our chairs screaming our fool heads right off.
And then it happened. This man, this almost mythical figure, this embodiment of hope and change, appeared before our very eyes, and I honestly started to weep. I must clarify that I am not as concerned with his celebrity as I am with his message, his movement, if you will, and seeing him before us brought the dream very close to home. He spoke with comfort, ease, authority, and vigor about everything from how to strengthen Oregon, to how to restore America's luster, and finally, how to bring our men and women home from Iraq. The crowd responded with deafening applause, so many times. There was no one highlight for me, as I was just awestruck by his vision, and his execution. Having my own little conversation with him, amidst the sea of people, still has me swooning, but B and I go to heighten our experience by rushing the stage (is that what it's called?) at the end, and getting up close and personal. In addition to photographic proof of our miraculous proximity, we both shook/held hands with him, and we both got to speak with him briefly. I looked him squarely in the eye and said, "I cannot wait to call you my president," to which he replied, while leaning waaay in, "thank you." Several people told me later it looked like he kissed me, which I like to think was his intention, lol. B took her moment to thank him, and he replied with a very genuine "no, thank you."
I really don't know how much better it could have gone, short of being recruited by his personal staff to work on his campaign, or maybe for all the people from my high school and college to have seen me connect with my hero. I can tell you that I have stormed the stage to shake hands with Bill Clinton, John Kerry, Howard Dean, and recently my kids and I were photographed with Senator Ron Wyden (a favorite of mine). And with all due respect, those brilliant men are forgettable by comparison. At the risk of losing all credibility, my experience today was magical, and I have hope that Obama's grass roots, from-the-bottom-up politics is the answer. The answer. That is what I told the Statesman Journal, the freelance journalist who interviewed us, and that is what I will continue to say until we catapult Barack Obama into the White House, where he belongs.
Yes We Can. Si Se Puede.
Just what the doctor ordered:
And we even got closer than this...
And so we've shaken on the deal.
He is worthy of the hype. And you all KNOW I never say that.
Sometimes even a serial over-scheduler outdoes herself, and today is one of those days. I say is because, well, there are many ways in which to interpret 'is,' as we learned from President Clinton, but I used it because my days is still in progress. My Tuesday looks like this.:
Wake up early and not resent everything
Clean my house, including hanging 4,500 of my wet garments so they don't shrink.
Get kids up and ready without yelling.
Post a blog for Gail.
Answer four urgent emails, despite running late.
Straighten my hair (talk about tedium).
Drop the kids off with my mom, after mediating the fight over the BACK SEAT!?!?!?!
Go to the dentist for a cleaning; force them to reiterate how beautiful my teeth are.
Pick up my gym clothes.
Buy .7 cents worth of son-of-a-bitchin' gas.
Hit Old Navy in search of more of a certain kind of elusive socks for Quinn.
Drop in to B's to rifle around for some grub.
Rendezvous with my FANTABULOUS psychiatrist; confirm that I am still crazy.
Return to B's to wait for (K).
Write this blog.
Have dinner with (K), and hopefully drinks.
Have tea with Megan at Starbucks, DON'T FORGET MORE COFFEE GROUNDS for B's garden.
Drop off B's dad's birthday gift in NE Salem.
Hit the gym with B, work our guts out.
Drive B home.
Call Todd to tell him to let the kids stay up so they remember who I am.
Come home and kiss them until they push me away.
Read chapters 3 and 4 to them.
By then it will be sunrise and we'll have Wednesday's list to contend with.
I couldn't have asked for a sweeter rebound from the science fair debacle. This is what I saw when I peeked into the kids' room just now as I was vacuuming. As delightful as it is to see my children reading voluntarily, I was over the moon to catch them practically nose-to-nose while doing so. (And can I just add that they cleaned up the entire house so I could vacuum, without being asked?)
Strange bedfellows indeed. A lifelong nemesis, I never thought I'd get within an inch of math of my own volition. (Yes I know that an inch is a mathematical term.) But last night, with the pundits ready to coronate Hillary for taking California, math was all I had to keep me warm and hopeful that Obama could close the gap by morning. And what a worthwhile tryst it was! With those oh-so-baffling super delegates trickling in, our boy not only closed in, but he has pulled ahead! As I type, Obama has 910 delegates to Hillary's 882, and I am trembling with excitement.
Of course, math is no slave to sentiment, nor does it make promises. And don't forget that pledges aren't carved in stone.
But there is a surge of hope rising up in me the likes of which I've never felt. Hope that he can restore America's luster, and her shine. Hope that the majority will vote for change. And hope that math will make it a reality.
He has already shown that he has what it takes to lead us to victory.
Turns out our humble little house party was just a cover. Tonight was electrifying. Granted, we weren't exactly turning people away at the door, and our donations won't make any headlines, but I can feel the inspiration in the marrow of my bones, and I have never said that in all my years as a voter.
I've known for weeks that I'd be bidding adieu to John Edwards, and was fully prepared to shift my support to Obama, but in preparing for this party, listening to our guests, and re-watching some kick-ass speeches online, I have been infused with a fervor that almost defies description. You see, I am a half-hearted Democrat who believes that the system, justice, even the voting process, are all so corrupt as to belie the freedom we hold so dear. I think even the good politicians are crooked, that the ones who might actually make a difference die in small plane crashes, and I have serious doubts as to many of events we are taught as historical fact. I think we're in it pretty deep, and it's going to take a lot more than some shiny Democrat to muck us out. So you could say I have a pretty thick crust of apathy around my heart these days, and that is what I brought to the table tonight.
We on the left have some serious barriers to contend with if we're going to conquer what has become our collective voice of cynicism. The media's for sale, the voting is rigged, the good guys aren't much better than the bad guys, everyone's in it for the oil, and so on. Enter Barack Obama. While I applaud Hillary Clinton's global strategizing, I am moved almost to tears by a man who has a plan to strengthen the bodies, minds, and homes of every American, so that before long, we are the voice of power, not the elites, that we may see a restoration of the America that once was. His focus is on building up our rapidly deteriorating country one inner-city street at a time, and giving voices back to those of us left reeling and empty by the haves.
Ordinarily I would hesitate to say this because I try not to lose credibility by the gallon when I can help it, but I believe Obama's words. I believe that he is about more than a platform, and I can honestly see him rolling up his sleeves to fight for what he's promising. He's not being compared to and endorsed by the Kennedys for nothing. This guy's the real deal, and I encourage everyone whose apathy has paralyzed them to take a gander here.
Read it. Repeat it. To anyone who will listen. Thanks.
It wasn't so long ago that I kept us on such a manic schedule that Mondays were literally our only day at home, a fact which I found simultaneously comforting and terrifying. You see, of my many idiosyncrasies, racing thoughts is perhaps the most prevalent, and the one I describe as my kryptonite. In a nutshell, the problem is that I try to function at the speed at which I think, and mercilessly force everyone else, including my children, to try and keep up as well. But for some time, Mondays have been exempt from this cycle, and we have enjoyed some of our most quality time doing everything we normally do, just in slow motion.
Lately Mondays have gotten lost in the shuffle, and have found us scurrying around like any other day, which has been issue #405 on my list of things to address. Then today, we woke up to snow in some parts of the city, and the roads covered in ice. There were strict warnings not to drive at all. Like any addict, my first thought was missing my Starbucks run. Would making my kids walk a mile in 18 degrees be a wonderful rustic homeschool PE experience, or child abuse? Anyway, I settled for a homemade espresso. Sigh. As I enjoyed the waning moments of solitude before my kids began rustling in their bunks (fourth night sleeping through!), it occurred to me that this was my chance to recapture our magic Mondays. I consciously took several deep breaths, looked around my house so I could radically accept its imperfections, and pledged not to dwell on all the things I wish were different. Just for today. And I have made the following goals.:
* no yelling, no matter what * eat breakfast and lunch at the table with my kids * crank up our favorite music and do chores at a natural pace * take a shower before I grow barnacles * prep lessons while feeling consciously grateful that I have the privilege of staying home with my babies and teaching them, my way, everyday, even if it's a chore * doing aforementioned lessons with the kids, hoping my new-found sunshine appreciation will radiate from within and motivate them with glad hearts, lol * a light round of pick-up after lessons, again, set to music * one hour of quiet reading, for mama too, sometime this afternoon * call the Gilbert House to confirm that we're signed up for the science fair * make four separate dinners for four picky eaters (spare me the lectures) * take deep, deliberate breaths all day long, to keep anxiety at bay * play a game with the kids * no yelling no matter what
And if all goes well, we will reward ourselves by risking the two-block drive to my mom's to watch Jon & Kate tonight. (One of my recent attempts at good parenting was having our cable television turned off, and Jon & Kate is the one show we still follow.)
And eat Fruity Pebbles.
And work on conquering the other days of the week.
The depth of my candor in last night's post has given me a case of the morning-afters, but I'm resisting the urge to delete it, hoping that all my squirming signifies some measure of personal growth. No pain no gain right?
The fact is, in spite of my misgivings, I'd have to say the process was at least 25% cathartic, if for no other reason than an obsessive mind such as my own loves to have messy things such as thoughts neatly compartmentalized into crisp white bins, or in this case, paragraphs.
Today things are markedly better, and I woke up ready to reclaim my life, even as I stepped over, and on, the sea of wayward kid bedroom overflow, toys displaced by the bunk beds. For the past week I've been cowering at the sight of this heap, but today I am ready to kick some ass.
I'm hopeful that with another coffee, (that's right, I'm back on coffee, I told you I live in the danger zone) and some Footloose, I can show this house who's boss.
For those of you who have been thoughtful enough to inquire as to my recent reclusion, I thought the decent thing to do would be to explain. And, against my better judgment, I've decided to be honest.
As most of you know, my Goliath takes the form of manic depression, better known as bipolar disorder (which I am averse to calling it), and by golly if I didn't hit the skids in a major way a few weeks ago. Mind you, I am in the care of extremely capable doctors, the most stellar friends and family, and have been getting successful treatment for a couple years, but lo and behold that relentless bastard depression can still emerge from the recesses and grab ahold when you're not looking, even when you're doing everything right. So that is what has happened, and that is my blanket reason (note I don't use the word excuse) for everything I've said/not said/done/not done for the past, let's say, month.
To say that I'm a very busy person is a gross understatement, and pretty much every extreme tale of my burning the candle at both ends is true, only in my case, it's a stick of dynamite, so give yourself a bit of clearance. I am fortunate enough not to experience a backslide into depression but maybe two times a year, but as those of you with any history can attest, every moment spans a black eternity, and nary a second is to be minimized. I don't usually notice I'm wobbling until I start sleeping in and/or friends call to ask why I'm not out and about as much. But I never think to say that I must be backsliding. Because in my mind, in my decidedly compromised state, what has really happened is that all my friends, even the very ones who are calling, have finally abandoned me, alone and naked, shivering in the cold of my sudden confused bleakness. I question their motives, their sincerity, their ability to help, even as I wish I could enjoy their company, as I know I so often have. I am blessed with many friends, all of whom have proven themselves to be the truest of the true, with Brandy at the helm, tirelessly championing me to success in so many realms I can't even say, but when the dynamite blows, I find myself literally rocking in the corner wondering how it is I have lived thirty years on earth having never made a friend. Even in acute moments, or "episodes," as we call them, I am intellectually aware that I have friends, but emotionally, I don't feel any more connected to them than I do to the man on the street. What's worse, I shroud myself in guilt over burdening these gems, my friends, yet again, with my irrational and sometimes hurtful behavior, and am thusly even more inclined to avoid them. And yet they continue to reach out to me, to bring me coffees, to listen to me whine incessantly, and issue me so many free passes on everything from missed dates to criminally poor conduct all around. I'm telling you people, were it not for these friends...(getting teary)
So that's where I've been. Around the block. The block. As I traversed this harrowing landscape (read: scraped along), I was also transitioning my seven and nine year olds from our very overflowing family bed into bunk beds in their own room (can I get an AMEN?!?), which has definitely been one for the Fitzpatrick Family Follies in every possible sense. I have also recently conceded to the fact that denial is not an effective treatment for endometriosis, and have been forced to put that on the front burner, along with, once again, my children's education, joining the gym, and surrendering my mind to the fact that my house will never be clean enough. Period. Did I mention that in the interim I literally worried away my stomach lining and Sam had to take me to the ER for esophagitis, resulting in my giving up coffee (HELL-O caffeine withdrawal!)? So needless to say I'm a skoch behind on my prize-winningly absurd/obsessive/grandiose new years resolutions.
But I'm officially on the mend, and will resume running myself ragged in no time. I intend to cash in on all your offers of coffee, tea, knitting, movies, and anything else I can squeeze out of you suckers before you all get wise. :) See you soon.
It's simple but far from easy. Today I vow not to yell. No matter how much time it takes to get our shoes on, no matter how far behind we fall. I will keep a soft jaw, and remember that no to-do list takes precedent over being a loving, smiling, open-armed mama.
