Barking Mad

Looking Back Over My Shoulder

 
(Photo credit: www.pbase.com/camera0bug/image/13107594)

I am trying my hardest to fight off whatever bug that's decided to settle itself in my throat and chest and hoping it's nothing more than an early winter cold.  I truly feel like crap though. I'm also trying to cool a fever that is determined to not go anywhere.  Hopefully this last dose of Tylenol will do the trick.  It's most likely nothing more than a cold and a combination of the stress of the upcoming move and...finding out last night that Meg was told there is a 90% chance she will be deployed to Afghanistan.  

Deployed.  Afghanistan. The middle east.  War Zone. My daughter. Deployed.  My daughter deployed to a war zone. 

I keep saying the words over and over again and not letting the meaning behind them sink in.  I tell myself I'm not "going there" until I have to because if I go there and work myself up over something that's not happening for a few more months, I might completely come unglued.  In addition to that, I don't feel like I have any right to loose it over Meg being deployed because so many other parents have gone before me and so many parents have nothing to show for it.  The bottom line...I don't want to be one of those parents...again.  So I'm not going to think about it or deal with it until I have to.  I'm going to put it in a box, put the lid on the box, seal it and then shove it in the deepest, darkest recesses of my internal closet; out of reach. 

In light of all the "feeling crappy" and the thick coat of denial that I'm wearing, I'm going to repost something from around this time last year.   I wanted to take a proverbial look back over my shoulder to see if I really have made any progress and after reading several posts from last winter, I think I can say that finally, I see the outlines of baby steps forward through the dirty mud I've been trying to trudge through.  Occasionally I can see the treads from where I've fallen and slipped backwards again, but there are always a set of hand prints next to the reminders of where I've fallen, showing me where I pushed myself up off of the ground and picked myself back up.  More than that, there are the heavy marks in the ground around me of the steadfast footholds of those near me who continue to reach into the darkness and pull me forward, up and out into the light. 

I really feel like I am, for once, beginning to not only see the light at the end of the tunnel, but feel it's warmth.

*********

Reposted from December 6th 2008 

On a Completely Different Note

Wow, a non-paint related post!

Believe me, I'm still suffering from severe paint-angst; I just decided to step away from the situation to try and gain a little perspective.  I thought for sure I was sold on Sagey and that was going to be the final chapter in the "Auds Paints Her Kitchen" saga, but then I started fooling around with the colour-picker-thingy on the Behr site and now I can't decide between Sagey and Bahia Grass.  On the computer, Bahia Grass looks lovely.  But with my luck, on my walls here at home...not so much.

In all honesty, it's sort of a bad thing that I don't have any more colour-crisis' to share with you because if it weren't for the past couple days of bad paint choices, I'd have nothing for ya.  Technically I still have nothing. 

I'm sitting on the precipice of wanting to open up to you guys and spill my guts about a couple of things that have been bothering me but I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do.   I feel like I have spent so many of the last several months complaining and moaning and groaning about the depression, the "very bad thing" (which, legally speaking, I can't talk about anyhow - and probably, once all is said and done I most likely still won't be able to - - which sucks balls!), weaning the little imp, and all other various and sundry issues that my few readers have little tolerance for anything more in that vein.  It almost makes me wish I'd find myself entangled with another household appliance, jump through yet another window, or maybe even have a paint crisis of such immense proportion that you'd all be weeping with laughter at my comical misfortune.

The cold hard fact of the matter is; little by little every day I feel like I'm losing a bit of myself because I can't get it together.  I didn't think, nearly a year after the "very bad thing" happened, I'd still be on anti-depressants, nor did I think we'd be ages away from closure, and I certainly didn't think that I would have fallen head-first into a vat of teeming, steamy, disgusting eating disorders.  But this is the kind that no one likes to talk about because it's not pretty (anorexia - yes I say pretty because Hollywood and the media have made it glamorous), or acceptable.  I'm trying to bury the ugly fat girl with more and more food, and it's gotten to the point where if I don't make myself sick because I'm intentionally eating something that makes me ill in the first place, I'll intentionally make myself ill just to get rid of it.  Not such a glamorous picture is it?

Let's just say that I'm pretty fucked up right now. 

To make matters worse I went and read this post over at Dooce and not only did I read the post, I read the comments.  Comment #167 (I can't hotlink to it directly) particular has stuck in my head and I can't seem to see past it:

167. Anonymous said:

"I really really hate to add a slightly different note to the barrage of positivity, but it is very weird to a European reader such as myself to read about all these drugs. Prozac, Wellbutrin, Zoloft - antidepressants are very rarely prescribed to anybody in a national health service before you get sectioned and not necessarily if you do. I had a nervous breakdown five years ago during which I was perpetually suicidal and was never once offered drugs and I am glad that I was forced to rehabilitate without developing a substance dependence. Oh, and since we're not 'customers' who pay our doctor's wages you can't just shop around until you find a doc who will. I just think it's worth bearing in mind that this is not the way that the whole world is - most people out there are not medically treated in this way and it might be a little dangerous to presume it's totally normal and high-fiveable. Blah, by all means ignore me - it's honestly just a bit odd."

12.02.08 - 05:48 PM

You might come away, after reading that comment, thinking that anti-depressants are rarely prescribed in Europe, even after being committed (sectioned) to a mental crisis until/asylum.  That's  not the case at all!  I lived over there and know first hand that the rate at which anti-depressants are prescribed is not too far off the American averages.

What really got me about the comment was the phrase; "...rehabilitate without developing a substance dependence." 

Truthfully that little sentence has been much like a thorn in my side.  Is that what's going to happen with me?  Will I never be able to live off of these meds again?  Will I ever be able to rehabilitate/get over what's happened and move on, without the aide of an anti-depressant?

Everyone who reads this blog, or those who have read it for a while know that I have been battling with debilitating depression as a result of the "very bad thing" which left me with PTSD, and I finally bit the bullet and took the meds that were offered.  Well, there were problems.  Huge problems!  Add to that, I wasn't fully informed about possible side effects of some of these drugs and as a result I spent a couple of weeks wanting nothing more than to sit in my bathtub and slit my wrists and watch myself, and my life, slowly bleed out.  Prior to that I was nauseatingly dizzy and sick to my stomach on an almost perpetual basis.  I tried Zoloft, Cymbalta and finally Lexapro before finding a happy medium where I could function and wasn't crying all the time, or wanting to sleep 24 hours a day. 

Even when it's all said and done and everyone involved in "the very bad thing" have all gone their seperate ways, I will still be the one left dealing with the after effects.  I will still be the one sitting here wondering if I will ever be able to stay completely away from the edge of the abyss without the aide of pharmaceuticals.  And I am forever going to wonder if everyone in the world sees me the same way as the assholes that did this to me, see me? 

Maybe my issues with trying to find the perfect colour paint are symptomatic of a much bigger issue. It's easy to paint a wall a new colour if you don't like what's there.  It's not so easy to take a brain that's been chemically altered and change it back to the normal (well OK, I don't think I've ever been normal!) organ it was before.  More than that, I can't just slap a few coats of paint on myself and assume it's going to take care of the shit that's broken on the inside.  I wish it were that easy.  I have a feeling though that I'm going to have to raze the entire building, and not just redo the outer facade, in order to get through this. 

I never used to think that the words and actions of others could be so emotionally and physically devastating.  Sadly, they are.

 

Blame it on the Cats!

When Gareth called home the other night to sing bedtime songs with Gaby and chat about our respective days...his in New York and mine here at the asylum, he asked me how many boxes I'd gotten packed.

It took me a few minutes to peel myself off the ceiling and when I'd calmed down I told him that not as many as I would have liked because I had a lot of "interference."  He then asked me, "Right, what do you mean interference?"

I told him I'd send him a couple of pictures of exactly the kind of "interference" I was dealing with. 

So now, when anyone has the nerve to ask me how much packing I'm getting done and how things are coming with the move, I'm just going to direct them to this post.  Seriously people, I can't get a damn thing done with these cats around.   I don't know whose idea it was to have FOUR cats.  FOUR damned cats that love boxes and eating paper.  And when they aren't eating paper, the little shits are shredding it. 

Pardon my messy cabinets.  I've been neglecting them as I slam boxes around my kitchen and haven't had a chance to wipe the smoodge off the front of them.

Damn cats!

 

 

Those two boxes pictured above, just happened to be the boxes I was planning on putting things in to go to Goodwill.  So, if someone out there gets a overweight Ragdoll cat along with their hand mixer or electric can opener, it's not my fault!

*******

Realistically, as far as the packing goes, that situation has changed rather dramatically recently.  The company that offered Gareth his new job has a very small relocation assistance program and we originally had planned on taking care of it ourselves...packing and doing all the moving.  Hence my current mental state of mind.  A move this big on less than two weeks notice was going to send me completely 'round the bend, which honestly is not that long of a  trip for me as it is.  We had talked about getting a few quotes from movers but assumed it would be way out of our budget so I didn't seriously pursue it.

Ever since we got home from NY late Saturday night I have been stressing worse than anything over the move.  There's just absolutely no way I can handle this alone.  Even having Matt here to help wasn't enough as he has been working more hours with the approaching Christmas holiday.  I was feeling overwhelmed and at loose ends with the whole thing. 

Gareth asked me if I'd ever gotten around to calling any movers and I told him no and he asked me just to do it anyhow to humor him.  So I did.  We had three companies come in and do a walk-through of the house and all the crap and give us estimates.  I asked them to give us separate estimates for load and unload only and then a full service pack, load, and unload. 

One of the companies we asked to give us a quote was someone Gareth had worked with at his former company.  They'd moved them and were, in Gareth's words, "Brilliant and utterly professional."   The VP of the company was the one who actually showed up to do our walk-through and he was beyond professional and answered all of my questions and even took time to answer Matt's questions as well...this can be a challenge at times because Matt gets a little overly-focused and tends to be repetitive and sometimes has trouble understanding more than one concept at a time. Mr. Mover Man was patient with him and spent a lot of time explaining everything to him.  To be honest, I didn't think we had a chance in hell of any of these three companies coming back with a quote/estimate in our budget, but if by some chance they did, I wanted it to be this company.  Mr. Mover Man impressed me, while the others?  Not so much.  I have "issues" dealing with men anyhow, especially strange men, and the other two men who were here were a tad abrupt, almost cold and didn't even bother to ask me if I had any questions.

Mr. Mover Man's company (that's not the real name of the company...if you want to know who it is, email me.  They are international and very reputable), was even recommended to us by other people when they first heard there was a chance we'd be moving.  No one had a bad word to say us except that "they tended to be on the pricey side" but to be honest, I was expecting that.

After the all of the walk-throughs were completed I had a mini-meltdown and I'm not real proud of how I handled the stress.  I felt like things were spinning out of control and I ended up binging and purging.  Yeah, I know...I've still got a long ways to go. 

Anyhow, after about an hour of crying, I went out and sat on the back deck and looked up at the sky.  I threw my hands in the air and said, to no one in particular, "OK I give up!  I'm obviously a physical failure and a mental reject, so help me out!"  I guess I said a little prayer because I asked God to either grant me more mental  and physical stamina and sanity to cope with this and get me through all the packing and moving, or bring me more help in the form of other people - hell I'd even settle for green aliens from Mars just as long as they helped, or provide me with copious amounts of Valium and Xanax and enough string to make myself a necklace and bracelet out of both.

A couple of hours later I got the first quote back from Mr. Mover Man himself.  I had a slight heart attack when I saw the quoted price for a full service move which meant they come in and do the packing, loading, move all the shit to NY and then unload.  It was within our budget. 

I waited a few more hours to hear from the other two and nothing came in, not until the next day and both were more than $1500 over the price given to us from Mr. Mover Man. 

Long story short...Mr. Mover Man's company will be packing up the asylum and moving us. 

There is one caveat.  I have to get rid of 3000lbs of stuff before the 12th.  This is harder to do than I thought because Gareth isn't here to tell me not to take something to Goodwill, but then again, maybe that's a blessing.  Besides, if he hasn't used whatever it is, in the 2+ years we've been here, what are the chances he's going to miss it?

I guess God decided that dealing with the money end of things was a hell of a lot easier than dealing with my sanity (or lack thereof) and physical coping issues...

Toady I got rid of somewhere between 250lbs-350lbs of clothing, kitchen crap, toys and odds and ends.  Only 2750lbs to go!

  

 

Barking Mad's Crazy Christmas $300 Target Giftcard Giveaway!

 

Let's get right to the point shall we (before I go completely stark raving mad and pull all of my hair out because all of this packing and the mess and don't even get me started on the dust it's stirring up is going to make me completely CRAZY...hence the giveaway!) because time is of the essence!

Between now and 10PM on December 14th, 2009 you can enter for a chance to win a $300 Target gift card...just in time for Santa's Big Day!

I have been so richly blessed in so many ways.  I think it took some really hard times (not that we're completely through the woods yet, but I think I stand a much better chance of surviving them today than I would have a year ago at this time) to make me realize how truly wealthy I am when it comes to things that can not be quantified or hold no real value in the material world.   One of the things I've come to discover lately is that I have this absolute gift of joy that's been gifted to me.  I'm stressed beyond belief over this short-notice move and all that comes with it, but all I need do is look around me at the smiles that grace my life and I am immediately filled with a sense of joy and gratefulness. 

You must have a blog to enter.  No ifs, ands or buts about it!  Gotta have one.  

Write a post about what brings you joy in your life.  I don't care if it's warm puppy dog noses, pink kitten paws, snuggles in the morning with your kids, or enjoying a hot cup of coffee in the still, small, quiet of the breaking dawn.  If it brings you any measure of joy, write about it and share that joy with us.  Once your post is up, link back here in the MckLinky area so that we can all click over (linky love...tis the season!), and read about it.  At the end of your post make sure you link back here to this post.  Also, display the button below in your post too! Oh and don't forget to leave me a comment...I love comments!

That gets you an initial entry into the giveaway.

For further chances to win, you can do any or all of the following...

Tweet about the giveaway and be sure to link to this post in the body of the tweet and include @Barking_Mad in the tweet as well.

Display the button, below (I'll put the code up by 11PM tonight), on the sidebar of your blog...THIS WILL GET YOU TWO ADDITIONAL ENTRIES!

For a chance to get an additional possible SIX entries you'll need to do some sleuthing around the asylum.  Answer the following six questions by digging through my archives and EMAIL the answers to me at iambarkingmad@gmail.com .  For each correct answer you'll get another entry into the giveaway. DO NOT ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS IN THE COMMENTS!  Any comments with the answers to the following questions will be DELETED!

1.  What did I do that caused me to loose most of my eyelashes? 

2.  What are the names of our four cats?

3.  I have certain "Mad Skillz"...what might those be?

4.  What part of my body did I glue to what part of my automobile?

5.  Gaby said something really naughty once upon a time and I got a video of it.  What did she say?

6.  What was the name of the lead singer in what band that I had a mad crush on and then found out he   was actually kinda creepy in real life?

There you go! Easy as that.  You have a chance for your name to go in the pot a total of 10 times.

THE FINE PRINT: Void where prohibited...which really is just my fancy way of saying that if I've had sex with you,  you gave birth to me, if I gave birth to you,  if you are a sibling (rivalrous or not), or in any, way, shape, or form related to me, nanny nanny boo boo, you can't enter the contest. Dear FCC, no one paid me or compensated me for this post, or the gift cards. They were self-provided!

 

code for the above button is below

<a href="http://www.iambarkingmad.com/spotted_dick_and_other_mu/2009/12/barking-mads-crazy-christmas-300-target-giftcard-giveaway-.html"><img src="http://www.iambarkingmad.com/christmas09giveawaybutton.jpg" border="0"></a>

GOOD LUCK!!!!

 

Relocating an Asylum is a lot of Work!

Our quick trip to upstate NY this past weekend netted faster results than we thought possible.  We were able to find a place to rent and settle on a move-in date, which is good seeing as how Gareth started his new job....TODAY!  When is the move in date you ask?  Pardon me whilst I cackle uncontrollably and then sit in the corner, and rock back and forth while licking my Valium necklace.

We move in on the 12th of December.  Let the insanity begin!

I'd be remiss if I didn't say a huge THANK YOU to all of you who sent texts of encouragement, called us,  and thank you for all of the prayers and well wishes for our trip to NY.   We were worried we wouldn't find a place on such short notice and just the overwhelming nature of this sort of change, happening so fast...well we were really afraid that things wouldn't work out.  But for once, I let that tiny silver strand of faith, that same strand that's been pulling me along lately - well I fell back on that string and let it once again, pull me along.  It wasn't all roses, puppy dogs and lollipops though.  Friday night at the hotel Gaby had a slight meltdown around 12:30AM (so I guess that makes it, technically, Saturday morning) saying that she wanted to go home because this place didn't smell like home and she missed her kitties. 

I crawled into her bed with her, drew the covers over both of us and pulled her tight into an embrace.  Her meltdown and the tiny teardrops that ran down her cheeks in that dark, distant hotel room mingled with salty bitter tears of my own.   I did the "silent cry" that moms the world over and for eons, have perfected.  Eventually her snuffles quieted and her tears dried and she fell asleep.  I piled some pillows around her and then climbed back into my own bed and snuggled next to Gareth and drifted into a fitful sleep with dreams where question marks chased me down dark corners and blankets of thick fog billowed around my ankles. 

I woke Saturday morning to a full on anxiety attack and made Gareth, Gaby and Matt go and get breakfast while I tried to pull myself together.  For the first time in years, probably more than 20 years, I got down on my knees and through the hysterical hyperventilating I begged God and whatever Powers That Be to grant me the presence of mind to reign myself back in, get it under control and be there, fully, for my family.   I eventually hauled myself back up and managed to send out a message to close friends and family that I could really use the prayer and then got myself into the shower.

I don't know what it is about a good, long hot shower that's somehow so restorative, but I felt so much better once I got out of the shower.  I felt like not only had I cleansed my body, but my soul as well.  OK, and I managed to wash off all the tear-smudged make-up that I'd forgotten to remove the night before which was making a rapid descent down the sides of my face, which I'm sure, added to my very frightening appearance.  By the time Gareth and the kids came back from breakfast I was completely calm and I daresay, peaceful too.

In reality, I had no reason to be calm or peaceful.  I hadn't had a great deal of success finding places to rent and we only had three to look at.  I know that our timing sucked because it was a holiday weekend but for us anyhow, time was of the essence.  Early Friday morning, two of the scheduled homes we were supposed to view canceled and asked us to come back the following weekend.  We tentatively rescheduled and then made our way to NY anyhow with the one home that we reconfirmed for 2PM Saturday, and two possible others that were pretty much drive-bys. 

For some reason, when we initially drove by the 2PM house, I wanted to turn around and go home. I wasn't sure I could cope with meeting a potential landlord and having to explain any possible "issues" that might come up with our home here in Maine.  We have absolutely sterling rental refs and I wasn't concerned about that as much as I was what we'd say if he asked about what we were going to do with this house.  I was also worried about being judged because lets face it...fat people are judged a lot more harshly than the beautiful people.

It turned out my fears were absolutely needless.  The moment the homeowner opened the door and embraced my extended hand, a feeling of absolute warmth enveloped my whole body.   He really was very nice and whilst he and his son were repainting much of the home and making a few small repairs here and there, he talked to us at length about the home, the area and the lake that the house is adjacent to.

Despite the severe lack of storage and the home being almost 800sq. ft. smaller than our current home, we were hooked.   The homeowner was even amenable to our bushel of cats!

So m'dears, it does indeed appear that the asylum has found itself a new home for the next however long it's meant to be our home.  While I absolutely dread the thought of packing all this crap up and the process of moving, I am looking forward to settling in and having a most joyful and jubilant Christmas celebration, followed the next day by a very exciting 4th birthday for a certain little girl who just happened to be born the day after Christmas, otherwise known as Boxing Day for all of our fellow members of the Queen's Commonwealth.

Here are a few pics of the new place.  Oh and for all you creepy, internet stalkers - the rental insurance consists of a Glock and a SIG Sauer and there's also a highly trained, lethal, attack cat on the premises at all times.  Just sayin...

click to enlarge images

Right side of the house.  Exciting, no?

 

Look!  A portable dock!  I've never seen one of these but Gareth is already talking about getting some sort of contraption for the body of water across the street from the house.  That's a rather frightening thought.

 

Now we move into the inside of the house.
 From the side entrance you walk into the mudroom where there is some lovely blue tiles that I hope we don't smash.

  

Pardon the mess as we continue our little tour.  Like I said earlier, painting and all...

From the mud room you can go a few places.  Into Matt's room, through the downstairs loo and into Gaby's bedroom, or down a long L-shaped hallway and into Gaby's bedroom through the other door, or out into the living area.

 
This is the view to the south east, over the lake, from our dining area.  The downstairs eating and living area is one huge space that seems pretty massive.

  

Kitchen

 

Matt and Gaby goofing off up in the loft which overlooks the living areas downstairs...

 

Looking down from the loft.  You can only see about 1/3 of the living area from this view...

 

The master-suite is kind of oddly shaped.  It's U-shaped with the loo right in the middle.

 

Through the master-suite you can access the loft...Matt was horsing around up there when I took this shot...

 

And that concludes the tour of the new Barking Mad Asylum.

Oh, wait a minute, I found another photo!  Here's the view from our driveway!

 

Looking back, it's odd how everything worked out the way it did.  All of our worries were basically unfounded and both Gareth and I felt at ease with our decision to go ahead and rent this house and do what we can to make it our home...for however long it's meant to be.

Gareth has a strong feeling that in the long run we'll be back here in Maine at some point.  No matter where we put our heads down at night, Maine will always be the place we call our heart's home.  There's just something about this place, despite how hard it can be to survive here full-time, that draws us close to it and beckons us to it's shores.  It has since I was a little girl. 

Slowly I'm coming to terms with leaving for however long I have to.  I'm not going to promise that there won't be the occasional weepy, homesick post where I do little but whine and complain about missing Maine.   But I have a feeling that upstate NY will be good for us.  I think the change is what I need right now in order to continue to heal my body, mind and soul from the past two years.   I'm going to do everything I can to embrace our new life and all the adventures that await us.  After all, this is me you're talking about...adventures are bound to loom around every corner!

**************

 

Tomorrow I'm kicking off the Barking Mad's Crazy Christmas $300 Target Giftcard Giveaway!  It's going to run from December 1st to December 14th.  I'll overnight the gift card to whomever wins it so that you have it in time for Santa's Big Day! 

Mr. Linky will be involved so get ready to tell us about what makes you joyful and share your favorite Christmas traditions as well!  Or something similar anyhow!  Oh and for this one, you absolutely MUST have a blog in order to enter.  No exceptions! 

See ya tomorrow!

 

Joy...Unexpected and Unexplained

 
image courtesy of art.com

For the first time in nearly two years I can say, with complete and unabashed honesty that what I am experiencing right now is a sense of almost overwhelming joy.

If I were being brutally honest, I don't think I've experienced this kind of pure, unadulterated joy since we found out that Gaby was out of woods and would live, after a very scary entrance into the world.   So I guess it's been longer than two years.

Since January of 2006, when we knew we'd bring home a healthy, whole, and very happy baby girl, our lives have been a whirlwind of almost constant motion, change, crisis, more change, stress, yet more change and then trauma of an unspeakable and foul nature.   It seems like we hardly get a chance to sit down, gather our thoughts and center ourselves before the next thing comes at us.  Some of it I have chronicled here at Barking Mad, whilst other things are contained within the walls of our family and not meant to be shared with the world at large.  

Through the tumult of the past two years especially, our little family has clung fast to one another and rode the waves of all of the stress, trials and tribulations.  We cling to one another much the same way a person tossed overboard at sea would cling to a life raft.   We'll continue to hold tight to one another as we navigate the waters of yet another change...a happy change for once!

Regardless of what I've shared or omitted out here, those of you who I've grown close to via this funny little community called the Blogosphere, remain steadfast in our corner, offering us support, compassion, encouragement and unfailing friendship.  You've reminded us to have faith - be it in God, a higher power or the Universe itself, and most importantly to have faith in ourselves that we can persevere though anything!  Miraculously, I have held fast to your words and tried to see past the self-loathing, hatred and depression and the quagmire of mud I've been trudging through and have dragged my family into.   You've all been standing around the corners of this abyss, reaching out to us, via friendship, phone calls, emails, texts, and embraces in person, to reassure us that we will get through this all. 

I have always said that I wanted to be a survivor.  I don't ever think I realized how badly I wanted it until I had the dream in which Josh spoke to me.  Then when the other shoe dropped and Gareth lost his job I had been at the point where I knew I wasn't done with all the struggles and that we had some hard choices ahead of us, but we'd get through it, start over if need be and come out the other side.  The loss of his job was devastating - like being punched in the gut.  Despite how awful it was, something pulled me along and assured me things would be OK.  Don't get me wrong, I had visions of us living out of our car or having to go back to southern California and crash at my little sister's place until the economy regained it's footing and we regained ours.  However, I didn't let those feelings overwhelm me or control how I responded to the situation.  What good would it have done?  It would have done my husband, who was absolutely reeling from the shock of being unemployed for the first time ever, absolutely no good, and it would have set the worse example for my children.

But there was something, like a tiny silver strand of silk, pulling me along, helping me stand up straight and control how I reacted rather than in a typically destructive and emotionally out-of-control way.  I started to grasp the small seeds of faith that had been buried deep inside me - seeds of faith that ultimately I was in control of how I handled this, not the other way around and I could either slip back into the depths of despair, or get my act together and help my family get through this.  I also had to do something I haven't done in ages...well, probably since I lost Joshua.  Place my faith back in God and trust that he'd take care of us.  I've been so angry with him for so very long.  I've been angry at him, and it's been a misplaced anger.  I got even angrier when The Very Bad Thing happened and honestly, it wasn't Him I should have been angry with.  I know that now.  Like any relationship that's been damaged, it's going to take me time to make things right with Him again.  I do know that ultimately it's been Him that has carried my family through this and He who has held tight to me as I walked a tight-rope between trying to decide whether I wanted to live or die.

My relationship with God has not been an easy one.  At times I've wanted a divorce.  Something tells me that God doesn't do divorce and he leaves us with our free will to do as we please.  At times I still waiver and am not completely sure that it's God that is responsible for this joy in my heart and faith that I will be a survivor.  But the undeniable fact is that I am filled with a rather unexpected sense of joy and hope for myself that I've not felt in a very long time and whether it's God finally figuring out that I've been dealt a bad enough hand for a while, or just the fates aligning, I am grateful for this feeling.  

I know we still have some tough times ahead.  Oh believe me, we have a lot of hard decisions that have to be made...especially those that have to do with our home here in Maine, now that we're relocating to upstate NY.  However, I no longer feel like those decisions and whatever the outcome is (and they're probably going to be pretty nasty), will be more than I can handle. I've come a long way and I don't want to lose this feeling that's blossomed inside me.  I'll use this new found joy to help carry me through whatever might come my way, leaving Maine and starting a new life in NY and dealing with the changes that are bound to come along with it.  Change doesn't have to always be bad.  I know that now. 

So, once more I come to you, my friends and readers, and ask for your well wishes, thoughts and prayers as we head to upstate NY in just a few hours to look around the area we'll be living in and try and find a place to rent.  I'm excited and nervous and hoping that the knocks we've taken financially over the past two years won't be too big a hindrance in securing a place to live.  Gareth starts his new job on Monday...as in THIS COMING MONDAY.  We head back here to Maine late Saturday night and then he turns around and goes back Sunday afternoon and won't be back until late Friday night.  I'm either going to need an extra dose of prayers to help Matt and I get through all the packing that we have to do, or a hell of a lot more Xanax!  We're hoping to be over there and in the process of getting settled, by Christmas. 

I'll be back with a new post either late Sunday night or Monday! Be sure and come back because Monday, for absolute certain, I will be kicking off the Crazy Christmas $300 Target Gift Card Giftaway! More than anything I want to share some of this joy!  What's the good of being this completely happy if I can't share it? 

 

It is the Happiest of Thanksgivings!

 
“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.”

~ Albert Schweitzer~

We have much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving...

Our four beautiful children, Matt, Meg, Zack and Gaby.

Our oldest daughter Meg who proudly serves her country. ***Edited at 1:35PM EST Thanksgiving...Meg called home!  I got to talk to her for 40 (forty!!) whole minutes!  BLISS!  I am so grateful!  Remind me to tell you all about the "M-16". ***

Our families who support and love us through thick and thin regardless of what coast or country they are in.

Our wealth of friends, including you all, who have reached out and supported us, encouraged us, prodded us on, and loved us through the last two years and most especially this last uncertain four weeks.  We are so richly blessed by your presence in our lives and grateful for your extension of friendship and compassion.

And we are certainly grateful for the offer of employment that was extended to Gareth which he accepted yesterday!

We wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! 

 

I Can't Breathe!

 

I was NOT going to post about this on the blog until we knew one way or another.  And I'm not going to post all the details because, well just because I'm not. I do feel like I'm walking around on pins and needles though and I can scarcely take a breath in.  I'm not exactly sure if I'm having a cardiac event or a massive anxiety attack.

Long story short, Gareth traveled to a job interview over the weekend and just phoned me, after having spent the entire morning and most of the early afternoon meeting with several people and he LOVES it!  Another big bonus of this potential position is that there seems to be a huge Ex-Pat community there (for those that don't know what that means, it's just a fancy way of saying there are a lot of Brits there and in the surrounding community...people who won't constantly ask him whether he's from Australia and who will know what the hell he's talking about when he says shedjoole and calls someone gobshite or a wanker!), which is great for Gareth. 

Don't even ask me, if they make him an offer, when they want him to start because I don't happen to have a defibrillator nearby and I'm seriously needing one right about now. 

This Friday will mark four weeks since Gareth was laid off. This will have been his 4th interview.  The others went well but no one is in a position to offer a job right now, especially in his industry.  We know that this is a relatively short amount of time to be unemployed compared with national averages, and we're aware that millions of others have been waiting months and months for a job to come around.  It makes me feel guilty to even talk about it because I don't want to come across as boastful or vain and I know that others out there are struggling with unemployment and depression and are in a very scary place.  We're rapidly approaching that place.  Gareth's unemployment benefits haven't even started yet because there is a massive backlog in Maine and he still has to go through a phone interview with a case-worker there to sort out some things and that won't happen until the second week in December.  Until then he won't get a dime of unemployment.  Although they already determined he's eligible, they have to figure out when exactly those benefit weeks will start because of the pittance of a severance he received. 

We have realistically been preparing ourselves for the worst, knowing we'll get through it, but just mentally getting ready for that wave of crap to wash over us.  I'm really trying NOT to get my hopes up.  I am.  I swear I am.  Whatever happens, in the end we'll be OK.   I just want this so badly for Gareth.   He sounded so upbeat and positive and I've noticed lately that he's been pretty frustrated and I think the reality has been hitting him pretty hard.  He's never been unemployed before and this has been a huge blow to his self-esteem, professionally and personally.  Even though it was a lay-off for purely financial reasons and wasn't because of anything he did, it still hurts. 

It's now been several hours since I originally started this post.   My sister Amanda called and when the two of us get on the phone it's never a short "Hello, how are you and the kids, OK great, talk to ya soon!" sort of thing.  She talked me down off of my ledge and reminded me that no matter what happens, we'll be OK.   Gaby can't figure out why I feel as if I'm walking around on pins and needles and all she wants is for her daddy to hurry and come home because, "Mumma, you better at playing tea party but not so good at Legos!" so at least one of us in the house has our priorities straight.  And honestly?  Gaby is right.  I'm crap at Legos!  I have no eye-hand coordination and she and her daddy build these amazing structures and lots of other things that I couldn't even begin to comprehend trying to how to put together! 

Oh and by the way...Meg got to make her first call home last night!!! Gareth was so sad to have missed it!  I can not even begin to tell you how wonderful it was hearing her voice.  There were lots of tears to begin with and then Gaby grabbed the phone and there were even more tears!  However, she sounds good though.  She's hating it a little less and still trying to figure out what the hell she's doing but she's OK.  It was such a short call and we tried to fit in so many words into ten minutes! Mine overlapped hers and hers overlapped mine in between the sniffles and nose-blowing and laughter.  Words...words of love and pride and joy!  So many words crossing vast miles and a time zone.  It was just so lovely to hear those words coming from Meg's mouth.  I'm so very proud of her.  I know this is the hardest thing she has ever done and at times she really hates it, but she's pushing through it and will come out on top!  As proud of her as I am, I love her so much more.   Her phone call was an amazing gift and I'm still sitting here replaying it in my head. 

I guess this has pretty much been a huge waterfall of verbal vomit huh?  It's the nerves.  It makes me rambly and sound like I have ADD.  Just ask my sister.  She just spent and hour listening to me say things like, "Oh he sounded REALLY positive and he talked to so many people and he said something about, oh wow, look at those damned lady bugs..."  So if this post doesn't make much sense, don't feel bad because I think Amanda's head is still spinning!  

 

Bliss

 
His name is "Little Bliss"...I didn't have anything on my own hard drive that epitomized "bliss" so I stole him from these guys... he is kinda cute! 

***

I know that I totally suck lately as a blogger.  I keep saying I'm going to write more and I mean to, because there is SO MUCH I WANT TO WRITE ABOUT!  And I still want to shake things up and "go there"...but I get so distracted by everything else going on that I don't know where to begin.  Then today something wonderful happened...

I FINALLY got a letter from Meaghan!  It was wonderful and heartbreaking and thrilling and frustrating and awe-inspiring all that the same time.  I miss her so much...but I love her so much more and I am so very proud of my beautiful daughter.  This one letter means the world to me! I knew she was OK but it's been the longest I've gone without talking to Meaghan since she came to live with us more than two years ago.  Even when she was in college we would text, phone or send messages via email and Facebook.  So hearing absolutely nothing has been hard, to say the least!

She's tired.  She's worn down, empty, feeling defeated and exhausted, but she's pushing on.  She knows the first 4-5 weeks the TI's intentionally rip the kids down and then they spend the last 4 weeks building them back up so that they are on top of the world and feeling better about themselves than ever!

Meaghan said that one of the things she's having the most trouble with is trying to keep from laughing in the TI's face when they get up in her face and start yelling at her.  To be honest I'm really surprised she hasn't already!   She went on to say that she loves the physical aspect of it and how challenging it is (oh how I wish I had some of that stamina and willpower!) but she's getting tired of all the other girls in her flight, there are 47 of them, bitching and complaining, moaning and groaning about everything.  She says when they sit there and cry and complain through the drills that she just pushes on and screams.  That's my girl!

I'll try to scan the letter in a little later as she told me I could share it with you guys if I wanted to. That is, if I can figure out why the scanner isn't communicating with the computer. It's never done this before and I'm at a total loss as to why it's just started doing it this week.  There have been some other documents I've needed to scan in and it just won't work!  Grrrrrr.

However, it will be the ONLY one I'm going to share publicly (by sharing the actual letter itself, via scanning in and displaying on the blog), regardless of whether she gives me permission to share any more or not.   I'll keep everyone up to date on what's going on, but very selfishly I want to keep the rest of this story - her story, to myself and my family. 

There is so much other stuff...potentially GOOD stuff going on right now and I want so badly to share it with you guys, but we've decided to keep a couple of things very close to the vest.  Ya'll know what a big mouth I have, so you know that this is really hard for me.  I also know that none of this may transpire and even if it doesn't, we'll be OK.  I know we may have to muck through more mud and slime, but we'll do it together, as a family...the way it should be.

Finally, thanks for putting up with me and keeping me strong, and helping me stand upright when all I want to do sometimes is fall over and not get back up again.  I've been such a total flake lately and I'm so consistently inconsistent that it's a miracle anyone reads this drivel at all any more.

I've said this before, but I'll say it again - even though it's been uttered previously, it hasn't lost any of the heartfelt sentiment I say it with...

Our little family that inhabits the walls of this virtual asylum doesn't have a lot right now, but what we have in the way of friends and those who surround us with love, prayers and friendship makes us wealthy beyond measure.   We are so very blessed and for that, I am eternally grateful...grateful for each and everyone of you who have reached out in one way or another to us.  Perhaps you will never know how much it means to us and how much it matters.  Thank you.

Now that I've said all that, I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor and go up and click the button that says Praying For Anissa on my upper left sidebar.  I don't know how many of you are aware, but this incredible woman, Anissa Mayhew, suffered a stroke on Tuesday afternoon.  She is incredible and totally full of awesomesauce...so much so that I can't really touch on how great she is without writing a book.  She's touched so many lives with her candid chronicle of living with a child with cancer...a child, Peyton, who has now been happily been cancer-free for an entire year!  She's witty and brilliant and just a really wonderful woman.  You might know her from her former blog, Hope4Peyton, or her other merry troupe of colorful bloggers, Aiming Low.  Or you just might have heard about her via the Twittersphere.  Either way, could you take a second to click that button and go offer a couple of words of encouragement, support, or prayer to her family?  And if you feel led to, I know they could use a donation right now, either in the form of a gift card, or via paypal.  Information on how to do that is available via the site that button links to.

 

The Last Light

Hey, would ya look at that?  This week Sunday Snapshots is only ONE day late. Who knows, maybe by next Sunday I might actually have gotten my act together enough to post on Sunday itself!

Once a week we pack up Gabzilla (she really is being rather beastly of late!) and a camera or two and head out to a nearby beach and hike around the rocks, sit and talk and just try and decompress from the past week.   This past Sunday was typical - we were running late because of our propensity to be layabouts on the day that The Big Guy designated as a day of rest.  Or something like that. 

Matt stayed home this time and did whatever is is that 19 year old males who don't feel the need to spend time with the 'rents, do.  Please don't fill me in on what those activities might be as I'd really rather remain ignorant.  Although, when we got home, the back deck was cleared up of all the leaves and other assorted debris from Meg's last shindig before she left for BMT.  His room was also cleaned up and he had a load of laundry going.  If that's typical 19 year old male behavior I am more than happy to support that kind of thing...if it's not, then don't blow my little bliss-bubble by telling me what they really get up to!

We got out to Land's End just as the sun was beginning to sink into the western horizon so the light wasn't exactly wonderful.  Gaby was absolutely mesmerized by the noise that a large metal deck that was attached to a small island, with a single home perched on it, was making in the wind.  She was certain there was a sea monster trying to swim for the shore at Land's End and stalked around the beach trying to keep a wary eye out for the approaching monster.

Whilst Gaby and the hubby kept a mindful watch for the sea monster, I tracked the incoming fog from the ocean...

click to enlarge all photos

 

I decided that the shots of whatever the heck that pointy thing out in the distance, (I've been shooting that thing for nearly three years now and I have no earthly clue as to what it is) is, was beginning to get boring so I thought I'd head up over the western slope of the cliffs at Land's End and see if I could get some shots of the fog rolling in and ascending the cliff.  Gareth and Gaby had no desire to come with me as they were far to engrossed in the sounds the sea monster was making and Gaby was bound and determined to catch said sea monster and protect the beach at Land's End by throwing rocks into the frothy surf in an attempt to keep the beast from landing ashore!

Did any of you happen to notice the most important part of that last run-on sentence masquerading as a paragraph?  Come on, take another look...did you catch it yet?  Here, I'll help you. "...head up over the western slope of the cliffs..." 

Cliffs.  Slopes with cliffs. Sharp pointy cliffs with brown craggy rocks...slippery rocks from a Saturday spent being deluged by nearly 5 inches of rain. Moss covered nooks and crannies filled with salty sea water.  Cliffs. 

I wasn't planning on scaling to the top, but I didn't think trying to get a better vantage point along the lower side of the cliffs, where a path was still visible and other intrepid photographers had gone, was going to be such a big deal...so why couldn't I inch my way along the cliff's side?

Ha!  Using the word "intrepid" as any sort of adjective in regards to me is a joke! 

I spent more time navigating those nooks and crannies and trying to balance myself, rather precariously I might add, while futilely trying to hold my telephoto lens still while I tried to pop off a moody shot of the fog edging it's way in from the water and up the cliff-side.  The damned camera lens threw me off balance more than once.  Well it was either that or my fat ass. I tried to compensate by sticking all the junk in my trunk out a little bit as the lens and the camera pulled me forward.  Then my massive camera bag swung forward and nearly toppled me over.  I must have looked like Madea doing the Electric Slide as I tried to regain my balance! 

This is my totally non-awesome shot of that cliff from my very precarious perch...

 

But hey...I tried.  I came, I saw, I just didn't do so much of the conquering.  Although, had I slipped and fell, it would have made for pretty good blog fodder...well, that is, had my brains not ended up splattered all over the cliff side at Land's End.  

By the time I turned around and was making my way back towards Gareth and Gaby, Gareth was actually not too far away and that big vein on the side of his head was bulging which told me he'd seen my endeavors to get the shot I wanted and it was making him very nervous.  He just looked at me and said, "Bloody Hell woman, thank God you're not a wild life photographer!"   Give me time dearest...give me time!

With the last of the day's light rapidly fading I decided to get a couple shots of the statue that looks out over the bay at Land's End, and of course, some of the sea monster hunter herself.

 

Gaby wanted in on the action with the big greenish-rusty guy, so we sat her up there, where she promptly held onto her sea shell and would not move her hand from that position or let anyone hold her shell for her, no matter what we said!  And what is up with the crossed legs?  *lol*  The more I think I have her figured out, the more she confounds me...and makes me laugh!

 

 

 

After a few more shots it was time to head home and put dinner together, but not without one final stop to try and get a shot of the fog rolling into an inlet that I have been dying to get for years.  I hadn't taken into consideration all the trees that lined this inlet and there is no way in hell I would have gotten down the slope and back up again without seriously maiming myself!  How I wish those trees didn't line that slope!  I couldn't quite capture how spooky and eerie the Maine-coastal-ghost-story-vibe it was giving off, was.

 

One of these days I'm going to actually get the shot I want.  We have hundreds of these inlets, if not thousands of them.  And when I do finally get it, I'm probably going to have a massive cardiac event out of sheer shock and no one will ever know I got it because I'll either be dead or comatose. So hubby dearest, let that be a lesson to you to always check my flash cards in the event that I have a heartastroke whilst out shooting! 

OK so I fibbed.  We made one more impromptu stop along the way home when I noticed the fog rolling in across the marsh.  One last click before the light was gone altogether and my chances for the day, gone with it.  One last photo before my family took my camera strap and strangled me with it!

 

**********

I've gotten a couple of really touching emails over the last two weeks, since we announced that Gareth had lost his job.  I am not sure how to answer them.  A few really lovely people wanted to know how we were doing.  At this point we're OK.   Things are tight and we have no clue when Gareth's unemployment benefits will come through but we're holding tight to the fact that another job will come along in due time. Realistically we know that we're probably looking at 3-6 months and that scares me.  

My mental health care provider is willing to work with me on my bill which is a huge blessing seeing as how we only have coverage through December and can't afford COBRA after that, even with the reductions that were put into place by the government.

As far as the house?  To be honest, we don't know.  It might be futile to try and hang onto it and just hope that we have enough time before the foreclosure proceedings force us out, for Gareth to get another job.  That's a horrible thing to admit.  But the plain truth of the matter is, there is not enough money to make the mortgage payment and take care of our basic needs. 

And as far as work out there?  There just isn't any.  I hate to talk about it though because there have been some rather unfeeling people that have said to us, "Well isn't it great that Obama's plans are working and look at all the jobs he's saved and is creating!"   No, I don't think it's great.  We are surrounded by people losing their jobs and their homes and everything that means anything to them and now we're in the same boat.   I don't know a single person who is reaping the rewards of the stimulus plans.  

I know I might sound bitter, and I'm not.  Just feeling a little weather-worn and beaten.  Despite all of that, we might be down, but we are not defeated.   We'll get through this.  It may come to the point where we have to ask for help, and we'll deal with it when the time comes.  The thing is, we'll survive and we'll be stronger and better for it in the end...of that, I've never been more sure.

 

Do You Know What You Want to be When You Grow Up?

 

When I was younger, I used to sit and listen to the radio, in particular, Dr. Demento and Jim Ladd and I'd tell my mom, "Mom, that's what I want to do when I grow up!  I want to be on the radio and talk about music and talk to bands!"   I also knew, within the deepest recesses of my brain, that I wanted to write. I've been writing since before I think I was even cognizant that that's what I was doing.   I would write about anything and everything.  I used to fall asleep when I was a teenager thinking about writing about my adventures on the radio and all the bands I'd meet. 

I'm ashamed to admit that at one point, when I was maybe 13 or 14, I sent the band Styx, several letters where I may or may not have mentioned wanting to have Tommy Shaw's babies and write a book about the band.  If I close my eyes I can still see the wide-ruled paper and bright pink ink and my flowery handwriting with the curly-ques and flourishes and the "I's" dotted with hearts.   I may or may not have given each one of those letters a healthy squirt of perfume too.  

Writing, music and archery were all I thought about when I was a kid.  However, I never really paid much attention to whether I was good at any of them...well, archery I knew I was.  It took work and dedication and practice.  Hours and hours of practice, but I was damned good at it.  I wouldn't call myself a natural talent though.  As far as writing, I just knew that I loved doing it and it never occurred to me to even wonder if I had any talent.  No one could say whether I would have been any good on the radio.  All I knew when it came to being on the radio; Jim Ladd had it goin' on and I wanted what he had...a sweet gig in the studio at KMET in Los Angeles; hanging out with bands.

In between my desire to be a DJ (now we call them "Air Talent"...of course in my case, sometimes "Air Head" was more apropos!), and my goal of quite literally shooting towards a gold medal in Archery in the Olympics (it's embarrassing to admit how close I got to being able to achieve that goal, had it not been for some very poor choices on my part.), somewhere along the line I managed to derail myself.  Oh, I kept writing through it all...my journals were as much a part of my life as anything else, as well as letters to friends and long time pen-pals.

I got pregnant almost immediately out of high school, had to get married and damned if I didn't keep getting pregnant.  All those school-girl fantasies of being on the radio and being uber-cool were little more than distant memories that made me giggle, and sometimes cringe in embarrassment when I'd recall the sappy love letters written to bands.  As far as archery I never gave picking up my bow, and strapping on my quiver, another thought.  

I was raised in the Mormon church and surrounded by wonderful examples of amazing mothers.  Our Bishop's wife, Sister Neeley was "everybody's mom!"  And she was talented.  The Relief Society President was the mom of one of my close friends, Kim, and she was as gifted and wonderful as Sister Neeley.  These women were musically inclined, could sing, could out-bake anyone and held college degrees.  My own mother can pick up any musical instrument and play it with ease.  She is a gifted vocalist and I can't even tell you how many times I recall someone asking her to sing at an event they were hosting.  Pretty much anything my mom sets her mind to, she masters.  She's a brilliant attorney and decided to take up Hebrew and was able to speak fluently on a recent trip to Israel. 

All of my siblings possess at least one particular talent...some innate gift that they seemed born with and have been able to take that gift and mold their lives into something positive and rewarding using those gifts.   All three of them can play a musical instrument.  Me?  Um...I tried back when I was in the 6th grade and lets just say it ended badly.  Don't ever give your child an expensive flute without first knowing whether they can read music or not and then send them off to school to join the band and be kicked out the same day.  To this day I still can't read music and I can't carry a tune to save my life.  Imagine growing up Mormon, where singing and musical gifts are highly prized, and not being able to do either. 

When I gave birth to Joshua my world became one with a singular purpose.  Be a good mother. It seemed that was my sole purpose.  I wanted to be sure to notice and foster any inborn talents my children had but I never gave any thought to whether they would ask me, or ever wonder if I had any special talents or gifts?  Until recently, I don't think I have ever questioned whether my own children would ever think less of me if I didn't exhibit a talent of my own.  However, lately, I've been thinking about it and wondering if, when they remember me, anything will stand out in their minds, as it does mine, about my own mother, or friends' mothers...

Don't get me wrong, I think being a good mother is wonderful.  It's one of the best things you can do for your children.  However, I can't even claim to be that because for a long time I wasn't there.  Granted, the past few years I've rebuilt bridges and mended fences and have made inroads when it comes to that sort of thing, but I still feel like there's this huge gap.   I have miles of road left to travel with Gaby before I'm ready to send her off into the world and sometimes I wonder if my lack of any natural talent won't leave her feeling like her childhood was rather flat and boring? (Having a mom who can step on her own feet and trip UP the stairs doesn't count!)  Hopefully one day she'll be able to say I was a good mom and she knows she is loved and valued more than anything, but will she also be left with a hollowness because there was no special talent that I could share with her? 

I have so many memories of my mom playing the piano, or singing along with whatever was on the radio, or putting on a record (yep, an actual album, way back in the day!), of the Pirates of Penzance - the version with Rex Smith and Linda Ronstadt - and her out-singing Ronstadt.  I can also recall her ability to sew and my sisters and I all wearing handmade dresses that she had carefully sewn for us.  My own adventures with needle and thread are best left unmentioned. 

More than two decades after graduating from high school, I've sat back and looked at the lives of my friends and how they were able to mold their lives based on their God-given talents and how they've used those gifts to shape their lives, contribute to the lives and well-being of others and to give back to society.   I often wonder if it was any easier for them, being naturally gifted at something? 

Did you grow up with certain talents or gifts and were you able to build your future around those gifts?  Or did you grow up wanting to be something specific and worked towards that goal?  Do you like where you are now?

Eventually I did end up on the air.  I had a very good run for nearly a decade and worked with some amazing people.  I was mentored by the best and the brightest air and voice talents and eventually broke into the voice-over business.   Like a lot of things in life, the honeymoon ended and I grew tired of moving from radio station to radio station.  The business itself became less about the music and more about the "brand" of the corporate owners.  I spent too much time working for one of America's largest media conglomerates and I outgrew my love affair with being on the air.  When it stopped being about the music and become all about the money, I got out.

If you went after your dreams, were they everything you thought they would be?  Is the honeymoon still hot and heavy? 

I'm 41 now and I'm actually OK with that.  What I'm not OK with is that finally I know what I want to be when I grow up, but...I think it's too late.  Not only do I think it's too late, but I wonder if I'd actually be any good at it especially when so much of what I want to do revolves around being able to motivate others and speak to others when I'm in the midst of a very scary period in our lives?

How do I avoid being like that rusty tractor and bike?  How do I keep my kids from looking back and saying, "Yeah, she could have been useful, had she only done something with her life! But instead, she sat around and rusted!"

Bottom line...I want to write and I want to motivate others who have been where I am, and show them it's possible to get through it.  But how do I do that when so much in my own life is so uncertain now and my own deepest darkest fears of having to live out of our car, may become a reality because I'm not doing anything useful to contribute to my family to help get us out of this dark scary place? 

I can scarcely believe I just gave voice to all of this.  It's out there now and while I suppose I don't have to hit the publish button, I will.

I know what I want to be when I grow up...I just wonder if I'm too grown up already to actually be that person?