Less gloom, more zoom!

In less gloomy Gas Food Lodging news, both girls did a painting for the school talent show.  Each girl wanted to paint something near and dear to her heart, so Hannah painted a picture of her favorite stuffed pony, Sharley.

Claire painted her cousin engaged in her "all Katniss, all the time" favorite activity.

At the talent show I felt blessedly grateful that neither of my children plays the clarinet or drums, and had a very strange conversation with a very conservative friend about her daughter's hula hoop skills and the lack of a future in hula hooping although pole dancing might be lucrative in the health and fitness realm.

Hannah is suddenly very attached to her Daddy shirt which still smells faintly of her father and which she can roll up, cuddle, and seemingly animate with emotions and interest. "No, Daddy shirt wants to go, too!" I put the brakes on Daddy shirt going into the store, and thought it best he not attend church, though he will be allowed to stay in the car.

At church today, as we took communion, Hannah chewed the host after dipping it in the chalice, and her response to the phrase "the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation" . . . was "oh, juicy."

We went tubing with a friend, and Claire did not love it as much as Hannah did. Hannah loved it a lot. Fortunately for me we got a picture of the joy that did not include my mountainous er, um, mountains, which remain larger than Hannah's head and dominate most pictures.

Put out the sun, dismantle the moon, tear up all the flowers

The bloom is off the rose of love.  Or so it seems when your Valentine killed himself one year ago. How did I mark the anniversary of being notified of my husband's suicide? I had a couple kids over for a sleepover and let the four younguns trash the house.  How did I mark the anniversary of the Valentine's Day I had last year, when I was tearing about buying pills and clothes for my kids to wear to their father's funeral?  I had a cookie decorating and craft party for my daughters and friends, and let the five younguns trash the house. Despite my fifty dollars worth of icing, cookies, new scissors and rolls of tape, they ended the affair not with things of pink but with making Fairy Soup by grinding grass and bits of plants with rocks into a wooden bowl of water on the front porch.  And I let the bowl stay there, to attract the odd Fairy who might happen by. I hope she might put the bloom back on the rose. Maybe even plant the rose.  And when we got good and exhausted, the next day, to mark the anniversary of the funeral, we stayed in our pajamas and hung out, and hung on, and we rested.  Enough grieving. I've been a widow for one year, and the book sucks, so now I need to add some new chapters,

Back to bracing basics

Hannah must have just stretched or something and her wrist is kinking up a bit. We braced for so very long, and when, over the last year, and after the last brace had such fatigued fabric that it couldn't hold the stay in the palm of her hand anymore, we stopped bracing. Her OT said when her wrist didn't flex and drop her hand, as was not happening much last summer, she would do just as well without it so it wouldn't impair her volitional movements.  Happily, we stopped bracing. Suddenly Hannah recently noticed she couldn't hold a paper down with her affected hand while writing with lefty and she wanted to spend more time at OT.  We went in this week to get new ideas and I had thoughts of a new brace, and came home with two, one to help hold her hand down during school work and the other to provide a better grip on swings and playground equipment and the like. Now of course she doesn't want to wear either one, so we are back to that nasty place of trying to create a commitment to therapy after taking a break. This is not my favorite place, as it brings up all my issues of wanting to encourage her to build skills and strength and confidence and lay down neural pathways for the future, all conflicting with my desire not to ever communicate to her that she is anything other than wonderful, perfect, not broken, and not in need of fixing. This is something I will never feel I really have down.

However, in other Hannah news, communication skills are really on an upswing.  Han has fully embraced and adopted the family practice of making old songs new again, changing the lyrics to songs of interest and renown to fit the topic in one's mind.  Now "I just wanna see you ... I just wanna see you-oo, see you be brave" becomes "I just wanna see you, I just wanna see you-oo, see you be ... FART!"

Bracing.

You snarky little turd, Depression

You have a mouth like a sailor. Why do you curse like that? I see you coming but I will not fall prey to your wiles. You will not convince me of any more drama.  I see you, sneaking about, peering around the corners of my mind.  Piss off and take your demon brother Anxiety with you. I will let you in if I must but we are not going to bed. We will be business acquaintances at best.  I will not even friend you.  You may be reliable, familiar, even seductive, but this is a dance I prefer to sit out.  Ropes course?  No.  Not more than a promise of hypothetical coffee. I would rather keep it down to a polite nod to acknowledge we know one another but no longer really connect.  Take care.  Call me.  (I will consider it a butt dial).

Pop, pop, pop music!

So, what is getting me through, these days? Pop music! Everybody talk about, as in . . . and so I continue to miss Adam Ant, derailed by mental illness, but at least we now have Bruno Mars. M, anybody? I am all about inspiration these days, as I still battle the depression, the anxiety, the PTSD, recovery from addiction, death of my spouse, blah-de-blah endless blah and yuck and yet I am hanging on by embracing the beautiful, the divine, the brave, the innocence, the happy.

Right now my happy music is Brave and Happy.  Thank you pop music, just for being you.  And courtesy of Hope over at Grace in Small Things, I am adding on Mariachi music today and I will let you know how that goes (probably with horns).

If the people who live in my house will stop being ill or getting head lice or both (thank you grade school in all your hat sharing, scarf swapping, up close and personal glory) then I will return to blogging my way through the blues.  Right now I am charged with keeping up our spirits without spreading illness or despair. Those of you who know young children will correctly guess that this involves a lot of craft supplies and clean up, so you know I am otherwise occupied.

Whoever you are who Googles MCADD and lands here, please contact me if you need to talk about it.  We still have it and still find it to be the least of our worries, actually.