identifiably and tragically changed

I've spent the last several days really doing some soul searching. Recent events drove this to a top priority level on the necessity scale. You know, when you sit and try to figure things out and you just can't wrap your brain around that thing? Certain situations have made me think so hard, probably over-thinking, but really trying to process what I'm taking in. It's almost as if the motor in my brain is overheating—I've fried everything just trying to figure this thing out. I've literally expelled all my energy, emotionally and mentally just trying to make sense of this thing.

I had a good long cry the other night. A trillion and one little thoughts ranging from "I'm a freak" to "what's for supper" to "I just don't get it" to "what did I do so wrong" to "why did A do this" and "why did B do that to "I could eat a donut right now". I know, right? Insane. There are times, I admit, when my brain just flails out of control. But these tears were accompanied with this feeling that I was sort of washing out some of the hurt; the rest will heal over time. It's been a while since I cried. (Which is kind of weird.) Sadly my emotions as of late come out via the anger channel. A sarcastic quip, or raised voice, or angry combative exchange of words. The emotion has to get out—I'd explode otherwise. But why yell at my kids when its not the kids I'm upset with.  Or why be angry when you're really just sad? So I cried. And I felt better.

Along with the tears came something which really helped more than anything. The truth. That moment when I was able to name the reason I felt the way I did. Tangled up with that, was also where I owned the responsibility for my thoughts, actions, and inaction. That equals some level of freedom for sure. Allowing myself to verbalize the truth or identifying the root of the issue also allows me to breathe. When that brief moment of clarity snapped for me, it helped this situation make a little more sense. I have to stop looking at why "so in so" does this or "so in so" does that. I have to look at me.

I can't hide the fact that events in life have led me to fashion this little "fortress of solitude" around my little heart. We all do it. It's safe. But for me, it's like I literally cut-off the lifeline to my heart. Nothing in and nothing out. Sometimes I feel like that little heart became cold, dead, and black. Is that normal? Well, I can't speak to what normal is exactly, but I do think it makes sense. I suppose after a person has been broken, you'd be crazy to think that they'd remain the same after being put back together. Look at Humpty Dumpty; all the kings' horses and all the kings' men could not put him together again.

 

My heart suffered a tragic accident. The recovery is taking for-ev-er. I've made great progress, but I've also run into many obstacles that set the recovery back a few steps. It's painful and incredibly frustrating. When will I be strong enough to forget? How can I define myself in other ways, without considering the accident? When will people realize that their cure to everything doesn't always make sense to me. What a completely frustrating and trying process. And what if I go through this refining process of sorts only to learn that I'm just part of the dross?

I have been identifiably and tragically changed. I'm not the same; I am the one that has changed. I'm not the same person I was three years ago, not the same person I was five years ago or even a year ago. If I recognize change in certain situations, it's because I have changed, not necessarily anyone else. And while the change is good in many instances, my change is also tragic by definition which speaks to the depth of those alterations. Healthy growth of the human heart and soul is desirable and recommended. With those healthy changes also come the not so healthy. But I'm sure it's safe to say that this is something all humans deal with. That whole "you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there ya have, the facts of life" thing.

So it's me that has changed and it's me that needs to make changes. It rests on me. Honestly, I'm just out of energy. Spinning my wheels in directions that I'm not meant to go in and on things that aren't a reality for me. I'm not done with this soul searching; there is still much to decipher. No, I don't believe that I'm a waste. I firmly believe that I am a work in progress and I have a lot of questions along the way. I'm not afraid to ask them and I'm not afraid to be honest. It helps me live this crazy life of mine and be who I was created to be!

It is nice to open my eyes in the morning and know that I'm not who I was yesterday, but I'm who I was created to be today. The junk from yesterday is gone, I let it go. That's the best I can do for now. Today is a new day.

When life hands you bananas…

...make a banana oatmeal almond smoothie, duh. 

I stumbled upon a recipe that I have been absolutely desperate to try. Finally was able to assemble the concoction this morning. Wowzer! This combo is absolutely yum-o-luscious. 

Now, I did review the recipe, but upon further review, I did not follow it correctly—imagine that! I realized that I was supposed to cook the oatmeal first. I didn't cook the oatmeal. Oops. The directions said to add the ice last, but I read "pour all ingredients in blender" and didn't finish the sentence. When cooking, always read the entire recipe FIRST. I literally poured all ingredients in and well, nearly killed the blender. Smoke started coming out of the back and I thought to myself "huh, maybe I should turn it off?" Ya think? I guess I almost blew the motor which filled my home with a disgusting odor. I kinda made a mess too, slinging this banana creation all over the kitchen. Oh boy. But I did spare my clothing even though I was not donning a cutesy apron.

Having the recipe and following the recipe and two different things for me. How true to life is that? Extremely. The recipe for disaster is one that I'm very good at. I'm a pro at the cataclysmic! The recipe for the joyous? Ah well, I struggle with that. You know what makes me happy? Eating is one of those things that make me happy. But the older I get, the more obvious it is that I need to rehabilitate my eating habits. There's nothing wrong with food making me happy. Food is fantastic; I've always loved it and I always will. It's more what I eat, not that I eat. I've had fun looking for creative, fun, colorful, and health-full recipes.

This is a fun recipe I found and it's too good not to share. I can attest to the fact that the finished product was yum-o and semi-healthy. 

Banana Oatmeal Smoothie Recipe

 

Ingredients: 

• 2   whole Chiquita Bananas (best with brown flecks on peel) 
• 2   cups Ice
• 1/3   cup Yogurt - preferably Greek yogurt flavored with honey
• 1/2   cup Cooked oatmeal
• 1/3   cup Almonds 

Pour all ingredients in blender pouring ice in last. Blend on high for 30 seconds or until smoothie thickens. 

Nutrition Information per Serving: Calories 380; Total Fat 15 g (Sat 2 g, Trans 0 g, Poly 4 g, Mono 8 g); Cholesterol 5 mg; Sodium 35 mg; Potassium 690 mg; Total Carbohydrates 53 g; Dietary Fiber 9 g; Total Sugars 19 g; Protein 12 g. Percent Daily Value: Vitamin A 2%; Vitamin B6 25%; Vitamin C 20%; Vitamin D 0%; Calcium 15%, Iron 15%. 

 

Found the full recipe at http://www.chiquitabananas.com.

A Week of Firsts

I ate cottage cheese for the first time in my life.
Sam had pneumonia for the first time in my life and his.
Jamie spilled ice-cream, water, and cream soda on the freshly cleaned carpets, all within a 30 minutes time span.
First time I've been 160 days past my 34^th birthday.
Abby screamed and cried more this week than EVER.
I participated in a spin class at the gym where I thought for sure I would breathe my last.
While watching a painter paint a column at said gym, I leaned against the wall to wait; guess he could have told me the wall was still wet.
Come Thursday afternoon, I will be the mother of a middle school boy.

 
So it's officially a week of firsts. A lot of strange things happen to me, anyone that knows me can attest to this. Of course, a lot of strange things happen to you too, but you may not want to tell anyone. I, for one, do not mind telling people of my crazy. There is so much significant about some of these firsts.
I'm a picky eater. My diet does not consist of healthy fare, it's typically as fatty and fried as you can get. I'm finally trying to broaden my horizons and try some new things. I like cheese. Therefore, I should like cottage cheese. I've never eaten before mainly because it looks gross. The consistency freaks me out, but I'm trying it again today.
I don't work-out in public. Well, until recently. It's embarrassing to me, but I suppose an early death leaving my children without their mother would be cruel, so I really need to do what I can to take care of myself. I can get over my embarrassment and do my part to be healthier.
When Sam was 10 days old, he was hospitalized with RSV. There began our journey with a frequently sick little boy. Hundreds of ear infections, bronchitis, cold after cold after cold, and now, pneumonia. It happens and he's getting better.
Jamie is my clumsy child. I really should not fuss at him when he has these episodes—he's just like me. I just get tired of cleaning up my messes AND his messes.
Abby is a diva. We've contributed to that, no doubt. It's my responsibility to rehabilitate her diva tendencies. I can't take the screaming when she doesn't get her way. I've swatted that girls legs so many times in the last couple of days. And in all her defiant glory, she screams some more. Time out works sometimes… she is a different animal from the boys. This is going to be a long process.
I feel particularly old today despite the fact that I know I am not. But with each passing second, minute, hour, day, week, month… I grow more weary. I can't seem to focus on what's happening around me. It's as if I'm driving in a car, on the highway of my life, and when you look out the passenger window, things fly bye so rapidly, you can barely see them sometimes. And once you pass it, it's gone. Just a fading sight in the rearview. Ugh.
So tonight I go out with my 11 year old, 5^th grade soon-to-be graduate and buy him a suit for graduation. Tonight, I will snuggle my 9 year old, accident prone comedian and listen to him crack a silly joke. I'll pick up my daughter and hold her light-as-a-freakin-feather little body and listen to her tell me "I'm her best mama". All is right with the world when I am in their worlds. It's hard to watch them gain their independence. I know that's my job as their mother, but I sure don't like teaching this to them.
*tear*tear*

ps- the paint... it did come out of my pants and yes, it got it on my booty.  Naturally. Makes sense that I should draw more attention to my self by walking through the gym with paint on my can.  It was funny, so I can't be mad at the weirdo painter who failed to warn me.