Party

December 9 – Party

Prompt: Party. What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

(Author: Shauna Reid)

Hahaha, when I read this Reverb10 prompt, I had to laugh because I felt like it spoke to a demographic other than my own ... which made me wonder if I'm really the target audience for THIS party? And so began the ruminating, the self-doubting, the back-and-forth in my mind about where I fit in. Whether I fit in. Why it matters, if other people feel this way as often as I do, how this happened to me.

Let's start with the "party" thing. This year, I was invited to a few parties. I think some of this is because of Facebook, and since I am Facebook friends with a lot of my co-workers, when they post a party or gathering, I end up "invited" sort of, I suspect, by accident. I initially feel delighted and excited, because I actually really like most of the people I'm Facebook friends with from work ... then I start wondering whether they really want me there. Pathetic, I know. But, a few times this year, we (my husband and I) did go, and we brought our children, who love an excuse to eat junk food and run around and play in someone else's yard, or to watch a movie someone else brought for his or her kids. I'd have to say the experiences were pleasant, affirming (it didn't appear anyone was whispering behind my back that they hoped I'd leave soon or that they wished I hadn't shown up), but not exactly "knocking my socks off."

Then there's holidays. I desperately want to afford my children the rhythm of a "normal" year, even though our family life is anything but normal, what with Daddy playing trumpet gigs all weekend on Easter; both of us working on 4th of July, Memorial Day, and Labor Day; the only time we're allowed to travel is in mid-July and at Christmastime, and we feel obligated to visit our parents, therefore can't really GO anywhere interesting or fun like other families do. We don't get most weekends off, either. It feels really disjointed and I'm frustrated by it. There are other families that have a similar situation to ours, families in our workplace, but until this year, we felt largely isolated by those other families. We've reached out, opened our home to them on Thanksgiving and Christmas, but we haven't settled into a "tradition" with anyone ... until this year. Lois, a longtime friend (she used to be in the band, but after birthing two, yes, two sets of twins, made the near-impossible but oh-so-lucid decision to leave her position, and her husband remains a member of the band -- smart smart smart!!!) saw my sad outcry that Thanksgiving doesn't feel good to us at all when we have no one to celebrate it with. She immediately (really, within minutes) invited my family to join hers in a Thanksgiving meal ... on Friday. Her daughters are teenagers now, and they spend Thanksgiving Day with their father upstate. Lois didn't feel like it was really Thanksgiving without her daughters, so decided to have Thanksgiving on Friday.

The whole thing was genius. Her husband's father and stepmom, both affable people, were there for the festivities, as were my three children and her two sets of twins. The children got along swimmingly, and we adults enjoyed the relaxed company of one another until way past the kids' bedtimes. Lois and her husband put out a plentiful appetizer spread, made two turkeys (one stuffed, one gluten-free), twice-baked potatoes, a rice dish we forgot to put out (isn't there always something you forget to put out on Thanksgiving?), salad, and more ... we brought several side dishes, all gluten-free (much to the delighted surprise of visiting dad and stepmom!), and Bryan made 3 amazing pies (the man can make a dessert, let me tell you).

My socks stayed on, but I felt welcome, warm, and part of something reciprocal and positive. And, for sure, I was incredibly thankful.

Beautifully Different

December 8 – Beautifully Different.

Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

(Author: Karen Walrond)

I've struggled all day with this one.

See, I don't really consider myself beautiful. Oh, I've been told that I have a great smile, there are people who think my impossibly dark and curly hair is gorgeous. Some say I have a "put together" style of dressing, which is a positive thing, I suppose. But, as I learned in the last 18 or so months, I've had a serious dearth of "mirrors" throughout my life. I've lacked those solid, reliable people in my life that can accurately reflect ME back to ME.

That's not to say I have no one ... to the contrary, I have many, many amazing friends in my world. Well let me back up a second. My life is full of people. Full. If I tried to count my interactions each day, I'm sure my brain would explode by 10 a.m. (and I don't like to get up before 8:30). But, I've noticed throughout my life that, somehow, people either ADORE me or they ABHOR me. There doesn't seem to be a middle ground with me. Therefore, I have very few "acquaintances" because the people on the "she's all right" side of the fence actually seem to think "she's awesome!" and we become friends. Conversely, there are a lot of people over there on the "what a bitch" side of the fence. And, try as I might to fight this, they take my power. They stick me in a corner with a dunce cap on my head and for awhile, I sit there.

For awhile.

Then I start getting restless because, well, that's one of the things that's different about me. I am incredibly passionate about things and when there's a fire lit under me (and there always is), I can't sit still. I have to move toward the passion. Another thing that's different about me is that I'm honest. Some might call it "boundary issues" but I'm that woman who's not afraid to put the pink elephant on the table and tell everyone in the room to get their heads out of their asses and come LOOK AT THIS THING. The people who love me think this is pretty cool, that I challenge them as I'm challenging myself to be better every day in some way. The other people, though ... well, they can't accept that there's an elephant in the room in the first place, and they sure as heck don't want to put it on the table or talk about it. And the fact that I've made them stop, look, and FEEL something just makes them really, really mad.

What do I do that "lights people up?" Again, I'll say that I've spent a lot of time in my life without a good mirror. The people closest to me, who theoretically are supposed to light up when I do something beautiful, have characteristically been missing the light bulb. I'm learning that this isn't my fault, and it's very liberating, really. I do think that when I follow my passions, when I throw myself into the acts of service that I really, truly believe in, people appreciate the role I've played in their lives, and I suppose that endears me to them.

I believe that daily demonstrations of love/compassion/patience/generosity/grace, not just love for family or for friends, but love for everyone with whom I come in contact as I go through life, are at the root of my beauty. Perhaps I will someday have a good, reliable mirror close by and eventually, I will learn to trust the beauty it reflects back to me.

Community

December 7 – Community.

Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

(Author: Cali Harris)

I've been desperately searching for community in some ways; in other ways, I'm overwhelmed by the generosity with which I am both welcomed and received for the gifts I bring. On the surface, I feel very alone. My parents moved away when my first baby was 2 months old. I had taken this job nearly 8 years prior because it would afford me the opportunity to be close to them as they aged. The news of their plans to move to South Carolina, a 14-hour drive away, devastated me. I have not yet been able to forgive my father for taking my mother away from me just as I was becoming a mother myself.

So, isolated from family (my husband's family is half a country away, in Iowa ... not always a bad thing) and not sure where I fit (I wasn't like the "working moms" I knew but I didn't feel accepted by the stay-at-home moms, either), I began to feel very alone. I found my community in La Leche League, with difficulty at first, but as I followed my heart in my mothering and gained support for the choices I found myself swept into by the immense love I felt for my daughter, I knew I was "one of them."

I was among the first accredited Leaders to be employed outside the home; throughout my application process, I clearly articulated my understanding and embracement of the philosophy that "a baby has an intense need for his mother which is as basic as his need for food," and therefore was welcomed by the organization (but not, at first, by all of its members!) to support other mothers in their quest to mother through breastfeeding. I continue to enjoy helping mothers nurture and enjoy their babies as they were created to do. I know that this community -- La Leche League and the wider community of International Board-Certified Lactation Consultants (IBCLCs) I have become a part of -- provides an outlet for my calling.

In considering my desire for community in 2011, I realize two important things: one, that breastfeeding and mothering through breastfeeding is the biological norm for a mother and her baby, created by God. To me, this understanding has put to rest any feelings of doubt that have been shoved down my throat by the society of which I am part ... my need to mother my children and to be present for them, at any cost, is something I am no longer afraid to honor, because this is how God intended for it to be. I would like to find and connect with my Catholicism through the community of other Catholics, so that I may learn from them and teach them as I have learned to do in La Leche League. The second realization I've made is that our society makes it difficult, if not impossible, for mothers to connect with this instinctual need to BE mothers. Pacifiers, the "freedom" of bottle-feeding, forcing mothers to return to unfriendly workplaces, the resistance to breastfeeding in public are all parts of this whole that create a disconnect. Until this undercurrent of policy and cultural norms is altered, the obstacles will stand. I will begin, in 2011, down a path toward a master's degree in public health, so that I may use my skills and passion to help enact those changes.

It takes a village to raise a child. No mother should have to feel alone.

Make

December 6 – Make.

What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

(Author: Gretchen Rubin)

Today, Anna, age 8, was home sick from school. She's had a fever over 102 since for about 36 hours now. It's stressful, because at my workplace, there is no tolerance for parents with sick kids. For most people, it's not an issue, because their spouses are either at home or in more flexible jobs. But for us, it's a nightmare because one of us has to stay home and we're supposed to "let" the "leadership" (ahem) choose which of us is "expendable" that day. Suffice it to say I haven't left the house since Thursday of last week, between everyone else being sick and my husband clearly being the more important of the two of us. Clearly.

Anyway, Anna was home, and she said to me, "Mamma, you're a very soupy person." I laughed, but I knew what she meant. I love making soup. In fact, I think there is very little that brings me as much joy in my life as preparing a soup for my family. Sometimes I follow a recipe, but more often, I'm just trying to incorporate as many vegetables from our CSA share as I possibly can. Sometimes, if we have beef from the mixed quarter (a quarter cow) we get locally each year, I'll add that. I rarely add chicken, just because raw chicken from the store grosses me out. As it should.

I always start with the big, blue Le Creuset Dutch oven I got on clearance several years ago. I put it on the stove and turn the heat on medium-high, and add the olive oil. I finish chopping the onions and garlic and add them to the pot. As they start to cook, I'm finishing peeling and chopping the firm vegetables ... carrots, bok choy stems, celery, usually. I throw those in there and let them start to hiss with the onions and garlic. This makes the whole downstairs smell heavenly. Next, I add the broth, usually chicken from a gluten-free broth concentrate I found and really like. Or, if I'm using beef, I'll add that and let it brown with the vegetables. I add water, too. It gets interesting after this. In the summer, I might add zucchini and tomatoes; in fall and winter, I'm more likely to add potatoes, maybe a can of beans. Frozen corn is popular in our house, so I try ti incorporate that when I can. If I'm looking for some color, I'll use canned, diced tomatoes and their juice (usually goes well in a beef-based soup).

What makes these soups amazing, to me, at least, is the addition of greens. Something leafy and green, maybe cabbage (which I know isn't considered a "green" but I love it anyway), bok choy, mustard greens, kale ... I know this is something most families don't consume regularly, and I'm proud that my children eat leafy greens without protesting.

Lots of salt and pepper go into each of my soups. Sometimes, in the summer, I have fresh herbs to chop; in other seasons, I try to decide whether I need to add a seasoning. Most often, the answer is no, and I encourage my husband to add crushed red pepper flakes or some strong pecorino romano to his dish. I like shredded asiago, cheddar, swiss, or even a slice of provolone lazily laid over my steaming bowl of soup.

I might add canned beans, or make pasta or rice (on the side, I never add these things to my soups because they drink up all the liquid ... besides, now that I'm off gluten, pasta is always made on the side!) to stretch the soup a bit. Sometimes, I take a picture, because it's just that beautiful.

Let Go

December 5 – Let Go.

What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

(Author: Alice Bradley)

This is a tough one to commit to paper (screen).

Several years ago, I decided to "let go" of my identity as a musician. I had defined myself as a clarinet player since I was an adolescent; so much of who I became was a direct result of my experiences as a musician. But, in 2006, I realized my job, which is as a member of a band, had become about much more than being a clarinet player, and the combined demands of the "extra duties" (which are really more time-consuming than the clarinet playing) and motherhood had become more than I could realistically handle.

I gave what was to be my last solo recital, and resigned myself to being someone who plays the clarinet, but not a clarinet player.

I let go of the identity, but I didn't let go of the career, which would have been just fine, except for the fact that the extra duties were still more than I could realistically handle in consideration of motherhood and self-care.

Ah, yes. Self-care. That was the magic ingredient that had been lost for so long! Sleep, food, exercise. I'm easy like that. Sure, I'd love a shopping trip, a spa visit, mani-pedis all the time ... but really, all I NEED is sleep, good food, and exercise (and daily vitamin D supplements). When everything fell apart for me health-wise in 2009, I knew it was time to make a major change. I quit my second job, which then resulted in not being able to have an au pair anymore when our contract was finished. So Gabriella got signed up for pre-school and I started the juggling act of not having live-in, full-time childcare.

I drop a lot of balls.

But I'm letting go. I'm letting go of the need to please all of the people all of the time. I'm not perfect, so I'm not going to try to look perfect. I'm letting go of the need to be accepted and praised at work. It's not gonna happen. I don't take this personally; rather, I realize, through very rewarding work I'm doing toward my next career, that I am incredibly valuable, but my workplace has consciously chosen to condemn me to a corner. Frankly, it's their loss, not mine. And I'm letting go of the anger I've been feeling since I realized they stuck me in this corner.

It might appear, to some, that I'm giving up ... but I'm letting go.

Wonder

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Author: Jeffrey Davis)

That's my Choopie girl in the picture. She was nursing to sleep. She'll be three tomorrow (well, really today since it's past midnight). I have three children, and she's the youngest. She is, unquestionably, a child of light. She's happy, carefree, loving, and easygoing. She's affectionate, smart, and fun to be with, even when she's struggling because she's tired or hungry or wants to push the shopping cart and mamma won't let her.

Mothering her, as well as my other two babies (now 8 and 6! Still babies? Indeed!) cultivates my sense of wonder. I hug them and remember when they were first born. I smell them and wonder how come my babies have such a sweet scent, but other people's children don't? I hold them close and marvel at the miracle each one is, knowing that my body was but the vehicle for their creation. I didn't make skin cells, I didn't program an endocrine system, I didn't craft hair follicles to make spiral ringlets, and I didn't put tiny nails on fingers and toes. All I can do is support what God has created by giving them what they need: love, touch, wholesome food, a warm bed. I can also invest in their formation, and respect my role in helping each one to become a positive, loving contributor to society.

The real sense of wonder comes when I consider how much I love my children, how there is nothing I won't do for them and how it would be impossible for them to lose my love. I am awestruck not only because, before they arrived, I knew nothing of such love, but because now, I understand: this is how God loves me. He loves all of his children as I love mine, only on an unfathomable, infinite scale. I gaze upon my beautiful children and my faith is strengthened. My sense of wonder grows every day.

A Moment of Feeling Alive

Today's Reverb10 prompt:

December 3 – Moment.

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

(Author: Ali Edwards)

Hmm. This one is tough, because it's hard to choose just one moment in a year that has been very full of life for me. I'm going to cheat a little bit and describe a weekend that was a real turning point for my life.

It was the weekend before Halloween, the weather was sunny, breezy, and mild; perfect for driving down to Washington, D.C. to run the Army 10-Miler, an annual race I had been itching to run for over 12 years. This year was my first chance because our work schedule permitted the absence and my children are now all old enough for me to A) train for a race and B) spend some time away from home without them. In addition to the race, which was on Sunday, I was looking forward to a mini-reunion with a few close friends from high school, most of whom I hadn't seen in years.

I enjoyed the solitude on Saturday, driving down, getting my race packet, a solo hotel stay. Sunday morning was such a high, I finished the race within my goal and enjoyed every step, even the ones that hurt! After resting a bit and getting some Chipotle for lunch, I headed over to my friend Cheri's apartment, where I was to stay Sunday night.

Cheri was one of my closest friends in high school, and we've stayed in touch over the years (even pre-Facebook but that sure has made things easier in recent years!). Cheri, with her Ph.D, is serving this year as a Congressional Fellow. We sat on her couch and talked about so many things, including how our lives brought us to where we are today and in what directions we were headed.

I picked her brain about her job and her path. There were many similarities between us; she started out doing one-to-one help with at-risk adolescent girls, then educating others in adolescent mental health, then evaluating and designing programs that served this population, and finally making her way to Washington so that she could work to bring about policy support for the needs of those she has spent her adult life helping. Similarly, I have been helping mothers and babies breastfeed; I've begun writing and speaking to parents, helpers, and healthcare providers about breastfeeding and lactation, and now I find myself with the desire to make global changes so that it's not so difficult for mothers to honor their creation and their babies in the way they choose.

Talking with Cheri, walking with her to dinner with other friends from high school, accompanying her to work on Monday and seeing the inner workings of our nation's policy process left me buzzing with optimism ... a very, very rare sensation for me in these days of feeling defeated in my career and grounded by responsibilities. I remembered when I visited D.C. earlier in the summer, and couldn't really put a finger on what I was feeling, couldn't really identify the pull I experience when I am there.

I love the architecture, the layout of the streets, the transparent mysteries that occur within the walls of the historic buildings on every corner ... I love the energy there, which is not quite as harried as New York but definitely purposeful. I belong in Washington, D.C., and after my time with Cheri, I believe I belong on Capitol Hill, delivering relevant research results to lawmakers, educating them about what our nation's maternal/child health and nutrition needs really are, so that we, as a society, as a generation, can leave a legacy of healthier norms for our children and our grandchildren to build upon.

On my drive home, I made the decision to investigate, in earnest, graduate programs in public health. I learned from Cheri that a background in policy would be best, and knew where to begin my search.

Everything from that point on seemed to make more sense. My job suddenly feels more purposeful; I need to finish out positive years as a member of the military and as an artist in order to really fulfill that point on my resume (a 20-year veteran who was also a musician, with a specialty in maternal/child public health might be just the diversity a lawmaker is looking for on his staff!). My mothering is energized. I feel like I'm moving, albeit slowly, in a direction. The right direction.

Second Prompt ... Writing

Today's prompt, ironically, came on a day when I actually took some time at my favorite coffee place and wrote. Of course, it is also the day I go to my weekly memoir workshop, which is seriously the one thing I think I've ever done in my life that has been totally motivated by only the desire to have fun. And I love it.

December 2 - Writing.
What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
(Author: Leo Babauta)

Today, tonight, really (since I got home from my class after 10), cupcakes didn't contribute to my writing. Sort of. Gabriella is going to be 3 on Sunday, and we're bringing in cupcakes for her to celebrate her birthday with her preschool class tomorrow. She's been talking about the cupcakes all week.

This morning, my husband felt cruddy, and I sent him to the doctor instead of to work. There, he was given 48 hours "quarters" (which, in the Army, means he was supposed to go home and rest for 2 days), but he requested instead to only have to stay home for 24 hours, since that's how we roll as musicians ... we hate to miss rehearsals and jobs. It's totally true.

So, he came home and rested. And I ran errands and wrote, then we picked up our kids from their after school activities and got them going on homework. At that point, I offered to stay home from writing class. He insisted I go, because the kids would all be in bed in an hour and a half, and he knew I'd hate to miss class.

He had agreed earlier to make the cupcakes for Gabriella's class. At 11:30, when I thought I had everything staged for the morning, I realized the cupcakes weren't here. And we had no frosting. I went out to the grocery store, in my pajamas, and bought a boxed cake mix (a first for my kids) and some frosting. (I also stocked up on foodstuffs for next Saturday's long, long job in Philadelphia, so that eliminated one errand for the morning.) I came home and made the cupcakes, and the truth is I did it with great joy. Gabriella is going to feel so special at school tomorrow, and if staying up all night is the way to create that for my youngest child, I'll do it!

But cupcakes aren't what keep me from writing, really. And here's where it gets complicated. On one hand, life is what "doesn't contribute" to my writing ... but, without life, what is there to write about? And, without writing, my life is kind of drab. I am so much more aware of everything when I'm actively writing a few times a week. If I stop, it's like the super-sensors shut down, and I'm ambling aimlessly, not really experiencing anything -- for better or for worse.

On the other hand, and this is hard to say out loud: writing is something I do for me, and for me alone. I like to run, as well, but I have to do that for my job, so there's some extrinsic motivation in that, even though I enjoy it. But writing serves no one, it satisfies nothing. Oh, sure, being able to articulate my thoughts on paper is a wonderful transferrable skill I'm using now and will continue to use later in life, but I'm not going to make money writing memoir. I do it for the sheer joy. But it's selfish. When my family is stretched to the limit (and with both of us working this crazy job and 3 little kids having so many needs, when aren't we stretched to the limit?), writing is the very first thing to go.

Can I eliminate "it?" I think that depends. I could make more time for writing by giving up time I spend doing other things. Instead, I'm accepting that today, I made cupcakes for my almost-3 year old little girl. Before I know it, there won't be any little girl left to make cupcakes for. My guess is I'll have plenty of time to write then.

Diagnosis ... and Healing

Well, today is December 1st, and it is not lost on me that the day I'm starting reverb10 is also the 8th anniversary of the day I became a mother to my beautiful Anna. She taught me how to be a mother, and I'm so thankful she refused to accept anything but the very best I had to offer.

So, if you haven't clicked around yet to learn, reverb10 is a month of prompts designed to get us writing, reflecting on the year that has passed and preparing in a positive way for the year to come. Since it encompasses those things I either want to do more of (writing, reflecting, goal-setting, being positive) or ought to do more of (acknowledging, letting go, moving on), I decided to give it a go, even though there's a Twitter component I don't feel like I have the hang of yet ...

Anyway, today's prompt:

December 1 One Word.

Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

(Author: Gwen Bell)

I played around today with a few words. Redirection, regrouping, reconstruction, (I've been likening my life lately to a house of cards, so elaborately and carefully constructed but flattened into a meaningless pile by a mere sneeze or loud noise from the other room), rebound ... all of these spoke to the fact that 2010 has been, er, messy, but also that things seem to be turning around, or moving in a more positive direction. I thought about the major events, the news I'd put in a "Christmas letter" if I were the sort of person to send such things (I'm not, though I do enjoy receiving them from people who are), if my boundary issues were socially acceptable (they're not, which is why I'm not a Christmas letter sort of person ... why put up the facade that all is well when really, things are freaking hard and I get to the end of every day filled with both relief that it's over and dread that it's going to start up again in a few hours?).

My word for 2010 is diagnosis. Merriam-Webster states my Word of the Year as follows:

3. a: investigation or analysis of the cause or nature of a condition, situation, or problem

b: a statement or conclusion from such an analysis

Diagnosis speaks to my 2010 on many levels. There is the literal one, the moment in late August when, after years of suffering from debilitating fatigue, rashes that made my body feel like it was on fire, digestive ups, downs, twists, and turns that left me feeling like a competition yo-yo, arthritic aches and pains, and other mysterious afflictions that came and went with no explanation ... a diagnosis: gluten intolerance, perhaps celiac disease. Frankly, I didn't (and still don't) care whether an endoscopic biopsy of my small intestine would reveal damaged villi, it doesn't matter to me that I haven't been tested for the celiac gene. On September 1, I began following a gluten-free diet, and the change in my life has been monumental. My skin is no longer angry, my sleep is sound and refreshing, and I feel, I believe, as a 37-year old mother of three in better-than-average physical condition should feel. In addition to the dietary change, I'm correcting a long-standing vitamin D deficiency, which undoubtedly deserves some credit for my being more vibrant than I've felt in years. Years!

In 2010, there were other conditions, situations, and problems that were cause for investigation or analysis. There was a crisis of my Catholic faith this spring when my daughter received the sacraments of Reconciliation and Holy Communion for the first time, and I could either choose to blindly go through the motions of supporting her or put my heart and soul back into Catholicism. I chose the latter, and began voraciously reading the significant papal writings of the last half-century, amazed by their applicability today in my life and for society at large. A situation that continues to require investigation and analysis is that of my 15-year old career as a professional clarinet player in the military; I have diagnosed a loss of purpose, value, and direction in my daily work, which results in feelings of futility and worthlessness. I began to understand the deep regrets I feel about my mothering, as my youngest child began pre-school this fall, I became consumed by the sadness that her baby days are not only over, but I believe I missed most of them -- not only hers, but my older two children's, as well. The discovery of this cancer in my life, the feeling that my motherhood has been less than my children deserve because of my career and that my career has been less than it might have been had I stayed childless opened the door to countless other nagging symptoms that have plagued me for years, and prompted me to stop, look, listen, and breathe.

I began to write this year, because I felt like I was missing life. Writing classes became a soothing balm over my wounded heart and I found myself more aware of my surroundings and my reactions to them. I wrote about the past, so that I could perhaps unlock some more mysteries of the present. It worked. I felt the pain and let myself bleed. I stopped using band-aids and analgesics.

I'm beginning to understand things that before were too difficult to face. And so, I look toward 2011, and the word I've chosen is healing:

2. growing sound; getting well; mending.

I'm learning to take care of my body in ways that never occurred to me before, to respect its limits and honor the wonder of its creation. I'm praying, all the time I'm praying and learning and strengthening my relationship with God, and I'm coming to understand love as I've never known it before. I'm loving on my children, because I can't get back yesterday but I can cherish today. I'm listening to my heart and I'm letting my sadness and frustration motivate me toward a new career, one I can begin when my 20-year military career comes to an end in 2015. I'm writing, because these thoughts I have, these experiences are real, and, while I may remember many of them, I will forget more, unless I stay awake, alert, and present as I must in order to write effectively. I'm growing sound; getting well; mending.

Welcome, 2011. I'm looking forward to healing.