It's true.  I am.

It just keeps LOOKING at me!  I just know it's thinking....

"HA!  That girl wants to learn to sew and she is going to be rotten at it! I am going to be so complicated she will NEVER be able to figure me out!  BWAHAHAHAHA!"

My husband urged me to buy it a month ago because I have always wanted one.  So when it decides to eat me I am going to blame him. 

I have all the stuff to start.

  I have pretty scraps of fabric to make small projects.




 I have tools and big pieces of fabric that someone gave me.




I bought a book.





I have scoured the Internet and downloaded several tutorials.  I have only turned it on twice.  And made one row of stitches.


 I'm afraid.
  I'm afraid I won't be good at it. 

But then I found this....




I believe that's my sewing machine.  In a little girls room.  Which can I just say....if I had a girl this is the kind of room I would want her to have.  Not matchy matchy, but full of things she loves. Go take a look at the website.  And while you are there, check out the momma's craft room (button on the side bar)  WOW!!! 
raisinguprubies.blogspot.com

So I'm thinking that if this sweet girl has a sewing machine in her room, she knows  how to use it.  By looking at her room I'm guessing she is under the age of ten. 

WHAT AM I WAITING FOR?

I need to just go for it.

What's going to happen if I completely stink at sewing!  Nothing!  I mean, sure I would love to be a natural but it's not like I have to make something to provide money for my family.  I am doing it for me.  If it doesn't work I can move on and try something else that I can do better. 

 This weekend I'll carve out some time.  Just focus on stitching straight lines.  No projects or patterns.  And if my lines are crooked or loose or not perfect then who cares.  I can throw the fabric away and start again. 

And who knows. Maybe next month I'll be modeling the skirt I made! 

Or, more likely, the skirt that turned into a purse but then turned into a  pillow, which then became a pin cushion.  (:

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The weather finally broke. 

After six months.

OF WINTER!

Friday night I sat outside for a bit. I ignored the chill in the air and focused on just being outside for the first time in months.

I noticed a smell.  Somewhere.  Was it my dog?  Very likely.

The flowers that have been dead for a year?  Possible. 

The dog poo that the boys are supposed to be picking up twice a week?  No doubt. 

Maybe it was just the earth.   Saturated with winter for far to long. 

I never figured it out and I wasn't going to dig around trying to find it. 

Despite the smell,  it was so nice to be outside. My poor yard needs some major work.  Maybe this week I'll plant some flowers. 

My neighbor has a beautiful back yard.  Even in the winter it's nice.  But in the summer...if I took a walk in his little piece of paradise every day, I bet I would find something new.  Although small, he has a couple of fruit trees, two gardens and flowering vines growing through wire racks. 

Today I watched him from my kitchen window.  Hes a older gentlemen, slightly stooped, and always wearing a wide brimmed hat.  He was slowing raking one of his garden boxes.  He stopped, leaned the rake against the fence and knelt down in the earth.  Taking off his glove, he scooped up a handful.  He put it to his nose, breathed it in.  Then let it slip through his fingers.  He slowly got up and continued raking. 

I was mesmerized.  Why did he do that?  What did he expect to learn from the dirt?  Did he smell my back yard and had to make sure my dirt hadn't contaminated his?!?!  Or was he just testing the waters, by the feel and smell of the dirt, maybe he knows exactly what needs to be added to grow the perfect vegetable.

 Or maybe he just likes to get his hands dirty. 

I was tempted to go ask him but then decided it was time to put away the fourteen bags of groceries on the floor.  I had stalled long enough. 

I have already apologized to him about the state of my yard.  And this was last year when it looked half way decent!  It will always pale in comparison to his. 

Maybe I need to smell my dirt.  Maybe that's the trick.  Be one with the dirt! 

This year I'm going to try harder with my yard.  I don't want my neighbor to shiver in disgust when he looks at it.

Sorry for the lack of pictures. I did attempt to take some of me and my girl Ginger while I was outside that chilly night. 

She wanted to eat my phone so they didn't turn out so great. 



 





This was the best I could get. 





After getting that close to her...I did confirm that at least she wasn't the smell. 

Maybe after the earth dries out a bit, after I plant some flowers, after the poo is scooped,  the smell will be gone.

Or maybe I'll just have to wait till summer, after the sun bakes everything to a golden crisp. 

Here in Nebraska, that could be as soon as next week. 

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Remember that song?

Sesame Street.  Oscar the Grouch. 

I was humming it when my husband and son came home from dirt bike riding. 

By the way...

I should have subtitled my  blog..."Love, Hope and the Depression War AND adventures of dirt bike riding."

Because that's kind of our thing you know?

Well, I take that back.  It's my husband and son's thing.  I just toodle(spell-check says "toodle" isn't a word but I'm using it anyway!) along on my four wheeler and watch them ride. Hoping and praying that I don't see them wipe out.   

So here are some BEFORE pictures....



 Nice clean bikes.



Nice clean boys.





Can I just say how much i love this kid?





I think he's adorable. 

Ok, fast forward three hours.....

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Remember that scene in the movie Pure Luck when Eugene Proctor (Martin Short)  gets stung by a bee? He is deathly allergic to bee stings.  Raymond (Danny Glover) turns around and looks at Eugene and he is swollen and obviously in trouble. 


Raymond:  Are you Alright??!?!!

Eugene:  Fine!  You?

His head has swollen to the size of a beach ball.  It is quite apparent that he is NOT alright. 

Some things are obvious. 

Other things....not so much. 




People who suffer from depression are experts at hiding things. They can smile and laugh and be successful.  They can carry on for years and years and no one would ever know that inside they feel like dying. 

For instance.....

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One of Jamie's (my therapist) goals is to convince me that I am a good person. 

Poor girl.

That's a tough job.

However, there is one thing in my life that I have been fairly consistent with.   No matter how bad I was feeling.  I knew I was good at this one thing.  

Feeding my family. 


I make dinner about six days out of seven.  That's pretty good.

 Don't get me wrong.  I would love to bring home take-out or even go out to dinner twice a week. But I can't afford that. 

So I cook. 





Saturdays have become my meal preparation day.  I work during the week and the last thing I want to do when I get home is decide what I'm making for dinner.  So on Thursday I decide on the menus. Friday I grocery shop. Saturday I make at least three to four dinners for the week.  I try to double the recipe so that I can make two dinners. One to eat and one to freeze.   








Even though it's alot of work, I really look forward to Saturdays.  I put on a apron, crank up some music and make a giant mess in the kitchen. 




It feels good to make dinner for my family.   



It's nice to eat together.  At the table. We talk.  And laugh.  And sometimes fight.  And sometimes say inappropriate things.  And then laugh some more. 



Please don't judge that I let my kids drink Mountain Dew.


Or that we use styrofoam cups at times. 

We are not a perfect family. 

But we do eat together almost every night. 

I hope my kids remember this. 

I know I will. 

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My boss is dying. 

I realize that we are all dying.  But some of us are closer to death then others. 

My boss?  She really is dying. 

The last few weeks have been tough.  I am in her home at least four, sometimes five times a week.

 The last few weeks have been tough. 

Did I already say that?

She is still up and around.  But not "out and about" anymore.  Going from room to room takes GREAT EFFORT. 

We talk alot because sometimes she is sitting where I am working.  I love it. 

I have worked in her home for 14 years.  Aside from her husband, I spend more time with her then anyone else. 

And she is dying. 



I went to a shoe repair shop to drop off some of her shoes to be resoled.  The shoemaker  looks exactly what you would expect a shoemaker to look like.  A older gentlemen with a round head, white hair, soft eyes and wearing a jean colored apron.  He asked how my boss was.  I told him without saying to much.  Privacy is a big thing for her. 

But he could see it on my face. 

He said,  "I am going to lose my wife to bone cancer in about two months."

My eyes filled up. 

He said, "She's been fighting it for two years.  It's almost over now."

I whispered, "Its hard to watch it happen."

He said, "Its the hardest thing I have ever done."

I looked at him.  He looked at me.

Then a customer came in.

He said, "The shoes will be ready on the 27th."




I know your wondering what donuts have to do with this post.

My boss has lost alot of weight.  To much weight.  The doctors tell her to eat whatever she feels like, whenever she feels like it.  About twice a week she has a taste for donuts.  She asks me...

"Is it a donut day?"

And I always say, "Of course it's a donut day!"

Then I make a donut run and try to find her the biggest fried cinnabun that I can.  Those are her favorites.

I prefer apple fritters.  Or cream (NOT Bavarian!  EW!)  filled chocolate covered Bismarck's.  I tell her she is going to make me fat. 

I would gain twenty pounds if it made her happy.  I would gain a hundred if it kept her alive. 

I can't stop death from happening. 

But I can always say yes to a donut day.  And I will enjoy every single bite.  And every single moment. 

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There are thousands of crafty blogs out there.

This is not one of them.

I really have no idea what I'm doing.

But it's good therapy for me to make things.  Sometimes I load my table with materials and just start cutting.  I usually do have some sort of vision of how I want things to turn out.  And more often then not....they never turn out how I like. 




It's very frustrating.





  But sometimes.....





.....everything comes together. 





And I'm actually happy with what I've done.






I love it when that happens.

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I think I may be the last one on the planet to climb aboard.  But I'm glad they saved a seat for me.

I had been looking for some new music.  I'm kind of sensitve to songs.  They can trigger memories that I don't want to have.  So I was looking for something new and fresh that wouldn't remind me of the not so good times in my life. 

I downloaded this entire CD on a whim that they MUST be good if everyone liked them so much. 

The first time I listened to them I was a bit confused.  Were they rock?  Country?  Folk?  The music was different then what I'm used too. 

But the words...they drew me in.  The songs are beautifully written. 

The thing about Mumford & Sons is that they have a song to match every single mood  I have.

 And I have alot of them. 

A song that I really love is "After the Storm".  It's on the Sigh No More album. This may sound cheesy but the lyrics are so inspiring. 

I bought a print with the chorus.  Sometimes when I'm feeling really low....I stare at the words. 



I love those words. I have a burning desire to "get over my hill".

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I saw my therapist on Thursday.  She helps me work through things.  I know this. And yet every time as I drive to my appointment,  I am talking myself out of going.  Telling myself I don't need it.  I'm perfectly fine!  I have nothing to talk about! The brain is a tricky thing.

Especially mine apparently. 


Thursday she told me that I  have a bit of a disassociation problem.  Not in a "Sybil/multiple personality" way.  But in a...".my mind takes me places I don't want to go and it's hard to come back to reality" sort of way. You know how it is when you are at a funeral and you get the giggles?  And you know you shouldn't and it's so inappropriate and it's not even that funny but you just can't help yourself? 

It's sort of like that. 

Sometimes my mind is flooded with things. Things I don't want there.  It's images and sounds and feelings and they are popping all over the place, overlapping and  loud, crowding out everything else.  And they are as real as the keyboard I am typing on  now.  And it takes great effort to concentrate on anything else.  I sing songs in my head.  I count to 100.  I pray.  I try to remember every single teacher in elementary school I had. 

Anything to get back to reality.

My therapist said the emotional part of my brain is so powerful right now and the thinking part.....not so much.  I need to retrain that part.  Give less attention to the emotional part when it gets noisy and eventually it will lose it's power over me.

But how?

I asked for a pill to make it all go away.

She sort of laughed. 

She gave me some suggestions.  Concentrate on my  breathing.  Listen to the sounds around me.  How does the air feel on my skin?  What does the air smell like?  Anything to bring me back to here and now. 
She suggested I trace my hand.  List the five senses.  Write out what soothes me.  And when I get lost in my mind and can't crawl out...think about those things. 

So I got my markers out and pretended that I was in Kindergarten again.



I felt kind of silly. But also enlightened.   I thought for sure I would have endless ideas for "Taste" and "Sight."  But the one I could have filled up the whole page with was "Smell."  I must have a sensitive sniffer.  Smells soothe me.  Say that five times fast!

I was in my own little world today.  Folding a mountain of clothes in the bedroom.  My son had just mowed the front lawn.  My husband came in and said..."go outside for a minute."

I did.

I stood on the front porch and closed my eyes.  I smelled the freshly cut grass.  I felt a warm breeze on my skin.  I heard the birds singing.  And I felt good. 

Then I remembered that I was in my pajamas with no bra on and the church parking lot across the street was starting to empty out. 

I scurried inside.

But I felt lighter.  My mind was calmer.  Clearer. 

It worked. 

I doubt everything.  I doubt that I will ever get better.  I doubt that my medication is working.  I doubt that my sessions with Jamie are helping me.  I doubt my ability to do anything right.  I doubt I doubt I doubt.

This gave me hope.  Maybe I am getting better.  Everyday is a struggle.  My mind feels thick and it's hard to navigate through it.  But today I felt.....normal.  Maybe normal isn't the right word.  How about.... I felt  "here".  Present.

 I felt real today. 

Like a person. With five senses.  And it feels really good. 

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His name is Micah.

Micah: Mom, can I use your camera?

Me: Yes.  But don't break it.  And put the strap around your neck. And don't take any pictures of me!!!  (No makeup and fuzzy hair. Gross)

Micah:  I'll just take pictures of Darren.



Me:  Fine.  Since I'm in the picture anyway, let me be a rock star.



Micah:  Your hands are turned the wrong way mom.  That's not cool at all.

Me: Darn it!  Can you take another one?

Micah: No

Me: Please?

Micah: No

Me: Fine.

I like this kid.  He is funny and strange and cool and also kind of weird.



He has been watching "The Young Riders" on DVD and wants to be a cowboy/gunslinger.





I think he has the gun slinging thing down.

 He hugs me willingly and lets me kiss the top of his head. He makes me smile and laugh.  He also irritates the heck out of me.  Yesterday I came home and he hands me a paper that has been stashed in his room.
We were supposed to register for junior high on Tuesday.  It was Wednesday.  Apparently he thought that letters addressed to "The PARENTS of Micah" meant it was for him. 

I yelled to loud.  Then apologized later. 

Junior High.
That's just so weird.
I will always kiss the top of his head no matter how old he is.  Even if I have to stand on a chair to do it.

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