Summertime

Summer is for bare hands popping bubbles and tossing balloons;

For bare feet feeling the soft green grass;

For bare legs that want to show off a year’s worth of work;

For bare bums of babes that refuse to put on clothes on such a beautiful day;

For bare hearts ready for the ultimate summer love.

Why then do I feel so melancholy, depleted, apathetic, meh?

Have I experienced something so special, so sacred that I cannot recover?

Am I going through the grief cycle and finally hit the depression stage, where I sit

Waiting for acceptance?

I’m tired.

I’m tired from the preparations and anticipations of rejection.

I’m burnt out from setting up high walls to protect me from a small word.

There are things to do: chores, errands, but I feel like sitting here doing

Nothing.

I sit here watching YouTube, searching for the meaning of

Life.

Depression? Maybe, but I feel fine as long as you don’t ask me to do

Anything.

Depression, except the pills say I should be fine.

Depression, except yesterday was okay.

A hug, a touch, a familiar voice, I feel alive,

I feel.

Silence brings apathy on a summer’s day where the ground feels warm beneath my

Feet.

Where I see green grass, blue skies, and children chasing the ice cream truck.

But I see it all from my living room window

and feel it briefly as I walk the dog in and

Out.

Barely acknowledging, barely aware, where I feel I could burst into song or

Not.

February: My Miracle Month

February is filled with so many things to do and be for me. My sister's birthday starts off the month. My husband and I usually try and throw an elaborate Valentine's Day dinner and dance. My husband's birthday is next, then Valentine's Day proper. We switch the Day around so that Ben is the recipient of the Day and he does stuff for me a month later. This way there's no pressure to give and be for him.

(I hate the commercials and ads stating that if you didn't get this expensive jewelry/flowers/chocolates/gift/etcetera for your wife/girlfriend/significant other, then you are LAME! You have failed! You are not a man and should be shamed! At least that's how we've perceived it anyway.)

Then there's my kid's birthday. It's the DOG'S birthday, too, if you can believe that!

There are parties that are added onto those special days (except the dog) because often the birthday itself doesn't land on a convenient day for a party but you can't just ignore the actual DAY. So there are about three to four parties to plan, and that's just the first half of the month! I also have college to freak out about on top of that. Days off from my kid's school that don't correlate with my school. Not to mention all the other weekly tasks and being-a-good-friend moments sprinkled here and there.

But those are just icing. Yes, all the craziness is like a gift because it reminds me of the miracles I have in my life.

I have had seven pregnancies. I only have one child. After miscarriage number five, we spent a year figuring out the issue and finding ways to solve it so I could have a successful birth. By baby number six we figure it out, just a little too late. We wait for my body and mind to heal and then gave our everything, time, money, medication, to squeak out one last opportunity. (My soul could only afford one more time.)

We prayed. We fasted. We hoped, and when those two little blue lines showed up (five tests later) I punch-fisted the air KNOWING this was it! I KNEW our prayers had been answered.

It wasn't easy. Lots of shots. Lots of throwing up. Lots of freak-outs, but in the end we received a squished-headed, scrawny and screaming baby boy. He was smaller than everybody but me expected. I couldn't even look at him when my husband showed him to me because I didn't want it to be just a dream. But he was real!

He was my miracle.

During the last few months of my pregnancy, my husband's health was showing signs of something serious. We weren't sure how serious until just two weeks after our son was born. Cancer. Colo-rectal. Stage 3. How could that be?! He was only 26 years old! But it was. So off to Arizona we went. We spent our first Mother's and Father's day there. We met amazing people and had some very difficult times, but then it was over...

Not really...

But we made it...sort of... We still suffered hardship after hardship, but we did it together! Through it all we received SO MANY blessings! One of which was that we have had the opportunity to be together all time. We both have been around to raise our son together! We have been a 24-hour/365 days family. The first one to really start to break off and go on their own was our son when he went to school for the first time last year. It truly has been a blessing!

So, My Miracle Month. I have the responsibility to care for not one but TWO miracles: my husband and my son. It truly is a miracle that they are both still around and continue to grow and learn and that I'm here to see it all happen.

 If I include all the Specials in this month, there is still my dog, Lucie. You may not think that's very special and that I'm some dog nut, you'd only be half right! Lucie, is herself a miracle! She was an abused dog and was left out on her own when she was found and taken to the SPCA. She's a black lab which means she should be this crazy and goofy dog, but she isn't. She is this totally sweet and calm and loving dog. She's intuitive and won't leave my side when I'm not well. I was training her to be a therapy dog, but due to her abuse and abusers she is unable. BUT she's plenty of therapy to me and those she comes in contact with.

There's also my sister. We haven't been as close as may have wanted over the years, but I think she's amazing! She has been through SO much and she has become so much more than I think even SHE thought she could be. She is an inspiration to many around her. If you knew her story you would agree that she is a Miracle as well.

Despite all the crazy that is February, I am GLAD I have it! I feel blessed to be a part of so many Miracles! I'm happy that I get reminded every year of these blessings. You may think that sounds petty, that I should know that and celebrate it all year round. And I do, but February gives me a month to renew and remember more thoroughly. I get to evaluate how I show my appreciation to all involved and try to perfect my ways.

My Miracle Month, I love you!

To Be Found Peculiar Among the Peculiar People: I Jumped

I jumped. I didn't know too much about it. I was quite naive really. You see, I thought I jumped a LONG time ago...

I thought I jumped when I LITERALLY jumped out of an airplane (a few times) with a parachute. That was just falling with style.

I thought I jumped when I decided to be baptized LDS with little to no support. That was a following in His footsteps.

I thought I jumped when I put my whole faith in God the Father and live His ways and leave mine behind completely. That was a leap of faith.

I thought I jumped when I got married to a man much younger than I am. That was a step in the right direction.

I thought I jumped when I chose to take painful shots to sustain a difficult but blessed pregnancy each and every day. That was walking on the right path.

I thought I jumped when my husband was trying to make it through Hell. I just fell into a bellyflop.

I thought I jumped when we decided to leave everything we knew behind and move to a place so foreign to us it felt like we belonged. That was choosing the right.

No, I jumped just a few days ago without really understanding what I was doing. I thought I was jumping onto a scary ride for me. Something akin to Tower of Terror at Disneyland's California Adventure. Where the journey was scary and I wanted to jump out of line several times, even back out at the last moment. But I didn't because I saw younger, smaller, bigger, taller, everywhere in between going on with little to no care. I thought the ride would be scary but when I got off I would realize it wasn't as bad as I thought.

I was wrong.

What I did was something I've been doing for a year now. I signed up for yet another semester of college. I've been at this "starting over" point for some time and thought nothing of returning to the stressful horrors that is college for your not-so-average student. I was weary and frustrated, but still a willing participant.

And then I jumped.

Just like in Steve Harvey's pep talk video, I crashed into the side of the cliff, clothes torn, shoe lost. And it hasn't even been a week yet!! I feel like I have no direction but down. I have jumped from a very high place and no one can do anything except watch in horror and pray for me. I will get shouts of help on when and how to steer so as to avoid the mountain side. But other than that, I'm on my own. Just me and God.

And I'm feeling it. I'm feeling the loneliness, the desperation, the struggle, the desire to just give up on any hope of my parachute opening before I painfully make that *SPLAT* sound on the ground.

I have seen those who make a literal jump and literally crash to the ground. To be found broken and bruised and their lives changed forever...or not.

I don't know what is to become of me. I don't know when my parachute will open. I don't know how to let go and let God take the reigns so I stop ramming my body into the wall. Or maybe that's what He wants and I'm supposed to learn from that.

I. Don't. Know.

I jumped at first with a smile on my face but now I'm terrified. But fall I must. I must also have faith that this is all for my benefit. That someday this pain will pass and I can brush off and think that this ride wasn't as bad as I thought it was.