Tuesday, June 21, 2011

My Life, Day 3: This is "Something," right?

It turns out nothing much happens when you're laid up with a broken toe, except playing poker and losing to an eight and ten year old.

I decided three days ago I was going to do Something.

It's been almost eight months now. How much longer will This go on? How much longer will I stay like This? I don't like This. I don't want to fight and resist This, because I understand This is all part of The Process. There are no rules for grief, after all. But neither do I want This to become a permanent state, my main mode of existence. When your kids begin asking, "Mom, are you okay?" a couple of times a day, This has to begin to change.

I need Something. Something to propel me forward.

Over the weekend, I stumbled across one of my old Mouthy Housewives post and read it and immediately thought...

Heh, I was funny!


Then I realized I've lost almost eight months of recording memories. Granted, it's eight months of memories I don't want to remember, so I guess it's okay. But my writing/blogging - it was never about money or attention from the internet. Okay, so maybe it was a bit about attention from the internet. But it was also about remembering.

Remembering to laugh at life as I raise two boys. Remembering to record the ridiculous. The insane. How the fire alarm became the way the boys knew dinner was almost ready.

I miss being funny. I'm not sure I know how anymore.

I miss capturing those little moments that add up to Life. I want to read back over our life in 15 years, 20, 30, and say, "Look boys. We lived."

So I decided on Something.

I decided I would begin recording our life in pictures, until words could come to me again...until I find who I am after tragedy.

Stand like a flamingo. It's all the rage in my house

And apparently this "new me" resembles a flamingo since this is how I currently stand 75% of the time I'm upright. At least every time P is near me. He has a propensity for stepping my toes anytime he comes within three feet of me.

P.S. My knee, which used to look like a smiling face, now looks like an old man without his dentures. Thank you, middle age.


  1. Oh, thank god. I thought you went through an amputation.

  2. Hey, my kneecaps look like that, too. good to know I'm not alone.

    And good for you for doing something. I've been struggling with pretty profound depression since the winter, and most days I have a hard time doing anything other than making sure my kids are fed.