Croup and Poop

Having a two year old in the house keeps me on my toes day and night.  This story involves poop; no pictures of said incident, thank goodness.   Even I don't take pictures of EVERYTHING.  I wanted to though.   I have included a few cute pictures to remind myself that time flies, she won't always be this fun age and to enjoy every event--even the stinky ones.

Yesterday morning I sensed the quiet and released my desire to check on Finnley.  How could I not?  A few minutes of uninterrupted solitude allowing me to dress, brush my teeth and reheat my coffee.  450 steps from one room to the next without a mini legion of sirens tracking my every turn.

I embraced the few moments to think.  To think about my weekend.  To reflect on my week.  To just be me for a few minutes.

Then IT happens.  I realize that it's much too quiet.  The fear and anticipation of finding the worst knocks on door number three in my mind and sounds an alarm. Big arrows flash with bold colors.  Something inside of me tells me to get my ass in high gear and soon.

I smell it first.  Poop.  Shit.  Holy hell its on the stairs.  Its on her hands.  In her hair.  Its smeared like war paint across her bulging baby belly.  I panic for a moment.

Inside I scream.  I can't scream out loud because I can hear Cory on a conference call.  Not just any call but one that he is in charge of.  I can tell by the way he is saying Andy's name that he is up next to give a report of the day.

Shit.  I say this inside over and over.  Then I laugh.  The older two kids are still asleep, Cory is on his meeting, Isabella won't be able to help much.  Just me.  I am on my own to deal with child number 4.  She is creative I have to give her that.  She was reaching for the wipes--a helper in the making.

I watch her from the top of the stairs and see that she is afraid I may be upset.  I react with a smile.  I gently grab her and take her to the bathroom.  The tub is the only safe venue I can think of to try to deal with the poop body art.  I think that maybe this is a sign and she will be our tattoo artist.

I wipe her down first, start the tub and sit by the tub watching our two year old. Potty training has to be on the agenda next.  This is the second time she has taken her diaper off and I am afraid to experience the next time.  You know there will be a next time.  There always is.

Cory comes up stairs and he can see that something of an epic occurrence has occurred.  My face says it all.  Frustration first then complete exhaustion from the two year old who is only being that: two.

I am determine to not have this happen again today. Although tomorrow is another day. The options of how to handle this flash through my mind: lock and key on diapers, duct tape (I hear it works for everything) or a bubble suit.  I opt for a Onsie that snaps. She has not figured out how to unsnap these as of today.

It works.

Our day ends with a night of croup.  All night, the seal bark reminds us that winter is right around the corner.  She is the first to get the "change of the season" cold.  Bark, bark, bark all night long.

I awake exhausted.  Having a two year old is a lot of work.  Living on no sleep is challenging.  Coffee will be a necessary side dish with each meal as I endure the next 10 hours before my bed beckons my return.

The good news is there will be no poop outside of the diaper today.  We have figured it out.  Snaps are our hero and for a little while we have escaped another diaperless fiasco.

I can live without sleep as long as there is no creative poop stories in my future today or tomorrow.

Coffee

I question my coffee after 4 reheats in the microwave.  I wonder if I am drinking a big old cup of damn radiation.

Rest assured I did some research and discovered that if I use my microwave correctly it should not harm anything that I reheat in it.  I found this site to answer some questions for me:  HERE  The key word here is SHOULD.  My fingers are crossed each and every time.  I am not sure this is what they had in mind.

Thank goodness the coffee is okay!  It's not that I don't want to drink a piping hot cup of coffee its just that my cup of coffee takes me about 4 hours to drink. Hence the 4 reheats.

I make the coffee.  Baby wakes up.  I reheat the coffee.  In walks the hubby to eat lunch.  I reheat the cup.  I forget about it as I run to do the laundry.  Reheat the cup again.  

By this time I should just get a new cup.  Who has time for this craziness?  I don't though.  I just reheat the cup again.  By this time I am down to one swallow.  I hope and pray that I don't find a fly in its final resting place.

Sounds gross but our new house collects dead flies.  Our home has a corner that is warm and filled with large windows.  On any given day I see and hear the final stages of a fly's life.  My floor is scattered with dead fly bodies.  It can be shocking for new visitors.  I do my best to stay on top of the "great fly suicide" so as not to offend anyone.

On this day there are not any dead flies.  Thank you universe.

Drinking coffee makes me funny.  I snort as I have this thought.  Not really but I think it does.  My thoughts are always on the move.  They like to flitter about like a butterfly.  Coffee is not needed.  I just like it.  I need it.  I want it.

Every day I want one cup.  Not two.  Just one.

Like a school girl with a huge crush I write in my green notebook:

COFFEE 4 EVER

To say that I love it is a true statement.

I just do.

Walking Alone

I have anxiety attacks.  They randomly occur in strange places: trails, beaches, or on college campuses.  I don't know where the anxiety or fear comes from.  It just exist and presents itself at odd times.

This past week the weather has been ideal.  I talk about our second summer in the post before this one and how delightful this time of year is.  Warm with cool undertones.  Still and fresh.  The perfect blend of summer as it bumps into fall. Both season representing themselves with acute differences as well as an indistinguishable likeness.  I forget if it is summer or fall.  The weather is perfect.

My pulse quickens.  Screw the weather.  My thoughts change and I am brought back to the idea of taking myself for a walk around the campus.  The prospect of walking the campus by myself is about to send my blood pressure through the roof.  Over the edge.  Into despair.  Sweat is rolling down the inside of my shirt.

Like a flash my mind wonders if I am wearing deodorant.  Just as quickly it replies--Shut up!  Who cares!

It would be easy to stay inside and let myself succumb to the anxiety I feel.  To listen to my crazy mind convince my heart to skip a night outside exploring the college campus that I adore.

The light is dimmer than when I arrived to the gymnastic center.  The air is crisp.  I should have worn a sweater.  Damn.  I tell myself to get going.

STAND....WALK...MOVE TO THE DOOR....WALK DOWN THE STAIRS

 I do it.  I get up and walk outside.  I am driven by Isabella's desire for a slice of cheese pizza.  Pizza will make me feel better.  One foot in front of the other.  I walk to the center of the walkway and look straight ahead.  I see students, teachers, other kids.  Smiling.  Heads held high.  Confidence in each stride.  I feel like a fraud.

They can't hear my heart skip and dance like a fast cha-cha.  Nor do they notice my clenched fist.  White knuckles hugging my phone like a security blanket. Nervous eyes.

I mimic what I see.  I walk.  Look confident.  Find my destination.  The pizza place is right before my eyes.  I made it.  I am here.  I order what I need.  I do NEED pizza and find a seat.

Isabella will be happy after practice to see that I have managed to make her dinner dreams come true.  While I sit I think.  I question where the anxiety comes from.  Why does it happen?  I write in my journal. This helps to read about my experience. It's silly.  A bit embarrassing.

Aging is a mind game sometimes.  The years of experience exist deep inside.  That experience and knowledge allows me to have a loud voice.  I need to be strong to fight the real-time reality that creeps out of the darkness and into my life.  This time in the form of an anxiety attack.

The anxiety makes me feel like a prisoner.  I am learning to use my strong voice to coach me through these times of self doubt and fear. I know this is helping because a few years ago I would have sat for three hours on a hard bench waiting for Isabella to be done with practice.

I beat the anxiety today.

On Thursday it never crossed my mind to sit and wait.  I dropped Isabella off and left the training facility alone.  I walked 4500 steps that night on campus.

Another night down.  Walking alone is still scary for me.  I fear being lost.  It makes me nervous to meet new people in strange places.  Mostly though, the anxiety is a result of fear and being lost.  I don't like to be lost.

The college campus is large.  I am learning my way around.  This helps a lot. I am learning to enjoy the silence.  The alone time.

I am finding that I enjoy my walks alone on campus.

Abandoned Sandcastles

Our beaches draw thousands of visitors each weekend.  The Oregon Coast invites families, couples, and singles from all over the world to come and explore our beautiful coastlines up and down scenic highway 101. Newport sits on the Yaquina Bay and feeds into the Pacific Ocean.

We have officially ended what is known in our tiny town as the "tourist season" and gently rolled into our second summer.  Second summer is something we learned recently from a local update we subscribe to.  We get a few weeks of warm summer-like days that are sprinkled with rolling fog, misty mornings and cooler nights.  The days are delicious to our souls.  We savor each one with the knowledge that soon we will be cold and our homes will be hit with high winds and rain...lots of rain. Ten inches of rain in one month.

Crazy!

Our nights find us walking along the beaches at low tide in search of finding treasures from the water.  We find shells, drift wood and the occasional flip flop. We find toys, shirts, shorts, dead birds, bits of jelly fish and abandoned sandcastles.

On Saturday we headed to South Beach State Park over the Yaquina Bridge to check out a new beach.  The beaches have similarities but each beach also has its own personality.  Yaquina Head State Parks beach is covered in basalt.  Little black rocks covering the shore.  This creates a "shhhhhhh" sound as the water passes through each rock.  Nye Beach has dunes for the kids to run up and down on.  

 We have so many beaches to explore.

South Beach has shells.  We are discovering stretches of the coastline that do not have shells.  If they do, they are often busted and in pieces.  This beach has a bit of both.  I usually return home with a few "whole" shells.  I clean them and add them to the table in our living room for the kids to touch, see and admire. I love bringing the outside indoors.  

My home is filled with bowls of rocks and shells. Vases with driftwood.  Fake beach grass.  Anything to remind me that we live at the beach.

While walking, I stop and notice the sandcastle that is posted at the top of the page.  It is covered with crab shells and a few broken sand dollars.  I stand there for a moment looking and inspecting the sandcastle.  My mind drifts in and out of our own family's escapades to the beach and building sandcastles.  A smile gently rises to greet the warm feelings I am remembering.

Heading to the beach empty handed is never an option.  We must come prepared for epic expectations of building the largest sandcastle in town.  Cory hauls our wagon through deep sand,  laden down with shovels, buckets, sifters, rakes, gold panning pans, and towels.  If we are lucky we return home with our beginning inventory, if not, then we have shared a bit of our family with the next beach dweller.  It happens.  

Abandoned sandcastle sounds so lonely and deserted. It expresses the circumstances that most sandcastles meet at the end of a fun weekend or a single westward excursion to find some sand.  We don't build sandcastles with the thought of leaving them behind at the end the day.  We dream about the imaginary lives that will be lived inside, the battles that will be fought, and victories won.

There is an experience that happens between the time a decision to build a sand castle is made and the final moments of realizing you must leave it behind. Minutes are devoted to the design, hours to the building and a few seconds left for goodbyes.  It all happens so fast.  Time does slip away when making memories in the sand. Our kids never want to leave.

We don't want to leave either if I am being honest. 

Our sandcastles are abandoned as the weekend draws to an end.  They are empty because families must return home to their busy lives.  Adults work and kids have school and everything in between. Each builder leaves their sandcastle reluctantly, with a backward glance, as the tide slowly rolls in.  A long day spent digging, packing sand, carrying buckets of water, and finding adornments.  It ends.

It is over.

The deserted sandcastle will not be there in the morning.  The tide will roll in and take back each grain of sand. The waves that have brought the sand to shore, pulls them into the water.  Pushing them farther and farther out to sea until all that is left in its place is a memory.

Each day these memories are made for locals and visitors on the beaches of our Oregon Coast.  At the end of each day or long weekend, we take with us the memories of building our sandcastle.  The memories of time spent with family, friends and the sea.

Next weekend will bring a new idea.  New designs.  New treasures to decorate with.

More abandoned sandcastles.

Coming Home

We arrived in Oregon after driving 3000 miles in 6 days.  Our house is a week away from closing and I have never felt happier to be home with my sisters and family.

It's been 30 years since I graduated from this little towns old brick high school (which doesn't exist anymore) and the 1st time that coming home felt right.

It took that long for me to grow up beyond the expectation of others, to learn forgiveness, to value where I came from, to see that a simplier life is a great life, and finally, to be okay with the little country girl that lives inside my heart.

I am writing this from my phone sitting underneath an old black cherry tree. My view is the old red barn that my brother in law grew his prized 4H pigs in as a kid.  I am surrounded by acres of Christmas trees at all stages of life.  A few even dead and left behind.   I haven't sat in front of a computer in a month and it feels great.

I love Oregon or maybe I just love home. A place where they know me and yet still accept me with all my flaws, bumps, and rough edges.

Being with my sisters is a treasure box of memories, ideas, and moments of pure laughter.  It's been 20 plus years since we all lived in the same state.

Our trip to Oregon took us 6 full days. We had 1 flat tire in South Dakota on a pretty hot day in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately we were towing our extra car.  We unhooked and the girls and I hit the next little town for lunch.  We ended up on an  Indian Reservation at a local grocery store.  We bought lunch and they directed us to a park where we soon met up with Cory and Drake.

We continued on to Cory's aunt and uncle's home for two days of fun and family stories.  In Montana the temperatures reached over 100 degrees. We stayed cool by the pool during the day and enjoyed the cooler nights with our windows wide open.

Coming home is a journey; physically driving here but mentally wanting to be with my family too.  I can say it is worth every mile we traveled.

I have been cooking up a storm but nothing new.  Just simple homemade delicious meals.  Sitting outside under the shade of the huge oak trees and just outside the flower gardens where the hummingbirds and bees never stop buzzing and fluttering.

It's good to be home.

Being Crumb Free

Release the negative and move forward.

Stop shoving things under the carpet.  Like I did this morning. The flakes of cereal that I didn't feel like sweeping at that very moment I lifted the rug and swept them under the carpet for no one to see. I was wrong. I should have gotten up right then and retrieved the broom to take care of my mess. Instead I pushed the small pieces under my huge living room carpet with the intention of dealing with it at a later date.

The problem is that no one sees the crumbs;  even I can't see them, but I know they are there.  The knowing is worse than the actual deed of getting the broom and sweeping it up. It is a constant reminder to my subconscious mind that I was putting off something that I could have easily fixed by grabbing the broom and dust pan.

What if a later date never comes and we have all of these crumbs of our lives shoved under  the carpet of life?  This is not what I am striving to do each day.  I need to focus on being the best me.  I want to be crumb free. There in lies the challenge.  Trying to be crumb free each and every day.

These little life lessons that I am becoming aware of daily in my life are so rewarding.  When I first began writing I focused on my past. Those stories the shaped me as a person, a mother and a wife.  I thought all of my writing time would be spent dealing and sifting through my past.  I am learning and discovering it has nothing to do with my past but more about my present. My now.  Today.

I can only control this very moment.  I make choices that define me and my family with each waking breathe that I take.  Wasting any time on the "crumbs" of our past leaves us empty and deflated.

I am seeing life differently because I am looking for it.  I am not hiding it under a carpet with the intention of finding time  at a later moment to clean it up, explore it, move it, shape it, or discover it.

When I release the need to "put off todays crumbs until tomorrow", I enjoy life more.  Release yourself from the what ifs, the what fors, the wonderment of a better day, a brighter future, a future plan.

Live today.
Act now.
Be mindful of everything around you.
Stay connected. Live.

The crumbs of our lives have a way of holding us back.  It took me a long time to realize this.  Sometimes I still struggle to remind myself that this simple idea is key to a happier way of living.

I sweep my floor about four times a day.  I am always amazed at what I find in the dustpan and how much crap I sweep up every day.  I hate carpet.  I don't like to use that word very often but I do dislike carpet with a passion.  Carpet hides so much shit: dirt and crumbs.  Have you ever taken carpet out of a home and were surprised that underneath the carpet was a whole village living and functioning on its own.  Scary huh?

I am reminded of the movie, Horton Hears a Who, and how they had this complex life living on a dust speck.  What if that is us?  We have this complex life and we live on this dust speck and yet we choose to see things on a larger scale when in reality we are small.  Very small beings trying to do the best we can with what we have.  Eating our bread and leaving a trail of crumbs behind us.

Should we leave a trail or should we clean up our messes?  This is one of those questions of our lives that leave me scratching my head.  To clean or not to clean is not the question here.  To live presently or to live in the past is.   Spend your days channeling the present.  Stay connected to the now.  Find a way to let go of the excess baggage that your ego feels defines who you are.  These past crumbs do not make you who you are NOW.  They led you down a path but you are still walking the steps that are guiding your body during this lifetime.

Crumbs are messy.  They deserve to be attended to and not swept under the rug. Our lives and families deserve our very best at every second of the day.  There are times when those crumbs will hold us back or keep us distracted but they shouldn't define us or take away from those that we love.

Start lifting the rug and sweeping out the crumbs.  Release yourself from the weight of mistakes, failed attempts, mangled relationships, judgement or anything that you deem a crumb in your life.

Just let it go.

You deserve to be your best.

Being Something

To become something you must first become nothing. In nothingness will you find the will and drive to do something and eventually, becoming something if not the nothing, keeps us moving forward.

It is a vicious cycle of chasing our tails. We want to be and then we don't.  We want to do and then we stop.  Our goals change and shift until we become stagnant and lithless.  We struggle to find peace and balance only to discover that we flourish in chaos and adventure.   

Our attempt to walk the tight rope that connects our sanity to the insanity becomes thin and wayward.  We move in the wind to find our balance and then shift our feet to continue in one direction or the next.  Which direction we are walking in is only beholden to those who are watching.  We don't see within ourselves the way of our world.  Our senses are in turmoil as we try to navigate this thin line under the weight of our consciousness.

Crazy is a state of mind that requires work and effort.  It is lazy then to want to be anything but mad and driven by the chase of reality.  Listening to the voice that constantly tells us to be something but realizing that it is easier to be nothing.

I am reminded that I need to constantly hold a vigil within my inner self to keep my mind open and moving.  I cannot stop or try to understand the restlessness that drives my thoughts.  I must be open to the flow of energy that keeps me grounded.  

To reflect on the past only causes the demon within to rise to the challenge of finding the thrill in a world of nothingness driving me deeper within myself until there is nothing left.  

Fighting the whole time to stay above the thunder of my own souls screams as it agonizes and tries to define who the real person is that drives this body, mind and soul.  

Seeking for serenity has become a challenge that is met with resistance and failure.  Looking for something to help me out of this feeling of nothingness is a greater challenge than anyone can imagine.  

Finding a balance and being perched in the middle is the safest place to be but this idleness leads to its own sense of insanity.  Repetition and doing the same things over and over are mind numbing.   Change is what keeps the fire flame alive.  When the wind blows it ignites the coals.  When it stops they die.  

Changing something will allow us to channel our way out of nothing.  In my nothingness I am reminded that, to others, it is something.

Looking into my eyes is not the same as seeing my view from behind the two brown eyes that guide my vision in this life.  I am not on the inside who I appear to be on the outside.  

Therefore two people must reside inside this earthly body.  One to be seen by others and one to be seen by only me.  Together we fight this battle and struggle to stay balanced and centered.

It is a dance of passions, wills and desires combined with responsibility and need.  Twirling in rhythm with a song that plays the same tune over and over. Will the song change the dancer over time or will the dancer make the song new again?  

Do I believe I am crazy?  Sometimes I do.  Sometimes I want to be crazy so that I can be nothing.  The reality is that I am not and, for this reason, I must do something.  The fact that I recognize that I am not crazy or insane allows me to become what ever I want to become without fear of being nothing.

Rattling on and on about something, when in reality, this is nothing but the idle thoughts of a Mom who spends too much time washing dishes and changing diapers.  

This drive to do something keeps me from the fountain of nothing.  I can't help the fact that I am driven to do.  To be.  To want.  To desire.  With this desire comes errors and confusion.   Choices and decisions.  Failures and triumphs.

So be something already. 

Anything. 

Or... be content to do nothing.

In what ever the decision love, acceptance and happiness must be present.   I look at my so called day of nothing and realize that I did something.  I fed my family.  I cleaned our home.  I exercised.  I did some writing.  I taught Isabella.  I read to Finnley.

I did a bunch of little things that add up to something.

When the lens is turned, my nothing, is in reality....something. My perspective changed.  Oh what a difference it makes when we see the little things in life and realize that our nothingness is something after all.