self-care

The last two weeks have been, well, terrible.

She'd been sick with a cold(s) since Christmas, but that seemed normal. Then a stomach flu, which I got the next day, then the day after a double ear infection diagnosis. Ugh, what a week, right? Two or three days with slight improvement then back at the doctor with a fever of 105.4. A virus probably. Then back at the doctor, and again, and again. An allergy to amoxicillin, a head to toe case of hives that will last for a week or more, a blood test and a catheter. Back at the doctor. 5 times in 9 days. Still getting over this weird virus, and tugging at her ear again this morning.

I had a two part root canal in there too.

I mean, oy vey.

I'm not going to lie, it's been a rough go, and I am at the end of my rope. Tears come easily and my patience is worn quite thin. I'd be happy cuddling her and holding her to the end of time, but laying on the couch and watching Dora is getting a little old. And I miss my daughter. I miss my mobile daughter. I miss her laughter and smile. I miss her funny, active, busy self. I've had a miserable, rashy, whiny lump of a mess who won't get off my lap but won't be kissed or touched. I want her healthy, I want to know that she's OK. I want her back. I want me back.

She's napping today, one of the first real naps in weeks. And instead of watching the last Downton Abbey, I'm in my bedroom, burning a candle, listening to Joni Mitchell, writing thank yous and catching up on some things.

I can feel myself creeping back.

I guess this is what they call self-care.

resolving, again.

Last year I made some not 'new year resolution' resolutions. I wanted to be more intentional with my life and make more room for the good and less room for the bad.

So how did I do?

more reading - B. I certainly read more, but still not nearly enough.
more writing - I get a D. I blogged less. oops.
more exercise - B. I did exercise more. And loved it.
reinvestment in lapsed friendships - eh, C+? Taking it one by one I guess.
less McDonalds - proud to give myself a B here.
baby free time - ehhhh, a D+...
something new - OK, I did join MOPS, and take classes with Anna. That's a start, right?
more DIY - A+ We built Anna a play kitchen, I painted an ottoman and made her a doll house. Not bad.
less selling myself short - sure.
less worrying, more hoping, more enjoying, more grace, more peace - I think I'll give myself an A for effort.

Circumstances were undoubtedly better this year, but I've dealt with them better too.

Last year I needed to work on some basic emotional care-taking and attend to some insidious thought patterns. While this work needs to continue, I also need to build on it. Take next steps. The list doesn't look that different from last year, but the emphasis has shifted. I've been able to put more shape to my hopes and dreams and now have to muster the courage to realize them.

drum roll please...

1. more writing. The thing is, I write all the time. In my head that is. In the shower, lying in bed, I'm always writing. I compose blog posts and chapters to books, and I fail to write them down because as much as writing has always been a part of my life, I don't identify as 'a writer' and am scared to admit that I am one, scared of the expectations that come with that. But writing makes me happy so for my own sake, I need to carve out the time to do just this, just for myself. I have some plans.
2. more reading - I am always happier when I'm reading more.
3. more exercise - renew gym membership. simple.
4. reinvest in lapsed friendships - my work here is not done.
5. eat better/easier - a little planning goes a long way.
6. baby free time - my plans here dovetail with item #1 and include hiring a Mother's Helper, or equivalent.
7. something new - I have a few things in the works, plus I AM going to finally start that book club.
8. less selling myself short - refer to #1
9. less excuses. Just do it. All of it. Any of it.
10. and still, less worrying, more hoping, more enjoying, more grace and more peace.

Mostly more enjoying. I am blessed with a fantastic life. I plan on soaking up every single glorious minute of it, and forgiving myself when I don't.

This house that is my home

It's been over 13 years since I last lived at home, in this house.

I don't feel like I live here anymore, exactly. But then I hear the linen closet door creak the same creak it always has and suddenly I'm 12 again. A sudden glimpse of something in my childhood room or the smell when I walk inside the door brings me right back again. I know exactly what to expect when I sit on a certain chair or walk into a room. That intimate familiarity with a house, a connection so comforting, so grounding.

I feel it when I find the fresh flowers waiting in my room every time I come home. When dad changes after work and mom irons the sheets. It's knowing that the tylenol is in the 'waffle iron cupboard' and instinctively stepping over where the cracks on the driveway used to be. It's expecting to find Carmella - our long gone cat - to be around the corner, or hiding under my bed. It's still being scared of the basement after dark, and wondering why a piece of furniture isn't where it was 15 years ago.

It's the contentment that descends with my plane and the peace that settles deep in my bones as I walk up the front steps. This house contains my history, it's the place in which I became me. I belong to that house, and it belongs to me.

I can remember pretty much all of the so-called mundane details of my childhood, an 8 track movie played on demand. But when I'm at home there is a soundtrack. When I'm home my memories are in HD.

Now Anna is at home with me and the house becomes my past, but our present. I watch her play with my old toys, dressing her doll in my doll clothes. She plays on new playground equipment but in the same park. I  teach her to play pinball and grandpa shows her air hockey. She runs through the sprinkler in the summer and sleds on the same hill in the winter. I watch her treading a path up and down the stairs to the family room that I have walked thousands of times, grateful for this simple gift, this continuity. I witness her making her own memories, memories reflecting mine, but shiny and new.

I used to tell my parents that I wanted to buy this house from them when I grew up. Circumstances have changed but the sentiment remains. It's a reflection of how happy I have been here, how happy they have made me. In this house that is my home.

Merry Christmas (card) 2012

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

After a good six months of some formal Chief duties, a little research and plenty of moonlighting, Adam will be acting Chief Resident at the Seattle Veteran's hospital in January. We're hoping that the new year will also bring him an official job offer here in Seattle come July. Seattle has become our home in the last year and a half and you'd have to drag s kicking and screaming out of the Pacific Northwest. We are grateful every day for this beautiful city and the life we are building here - our church, our family, our friends. Sheri dreams about what is next while enjoying this gift of time at home with Anna who in all her two-ness keeps us busy, and guessing. She is sweet, affectionate, hilarious, defiant and completely crazy. We can only marvel in wonder at her.

Thanks for all your love, prayers and support. We are truly grateful for you.

Praying that peace, goodwill, with all abide this Holy Christmastide,

Adam, Sheri & Anna Johnson

I look at their faces

Every night when I put Anna to bed I look her straight in the eye and say, 'Anna, mama loves you more than anybody has ever loved anything ever before.'

I don't really believe that anyone can love as deeply and completely as I love her. I can't fathom how that can be true.

Yet I know that somehow this most singular, personal, individual emotion is universal.

It's being a parent.

And now, Sandy Hook.

Oh God. There are no words.

The horror is too great, and the realization in a new and most terrifying way, that our children are not safe is too much.

I can say nothing, and can do nothing. I can hold my own daughter tight and love her. I can pray desperate prayers for safety, of health and protection for her and for all children. And I can cry, and grieve. And when the news covers the funerals of those precious innocent victims and their pictures are plastered on the screen I can make myself look, really look, as much as it hurts. I can listen to their stories and to the horrible details of their death. I can listen to their names and try to forget his. And I cry.

That's all I can do, is let myself cry. Not try to heal, nor try to forget. But just let it hurt.

Because this should hurt.

I make myself look at their faces, and I let it hurt.

{Rest in peace sweet angels, we will never forget you.}

- Charlotte Bacon, 2/22/06, female
- Daniel Barden, 9/25/05, male
- Rachel Davino, 7/17/83, female.
- Olivia Engel, 7/18/06, female
- Josephine Gay, 12/11/05, female
- Ana M. Marquez-Greene, 04/04/06, female
- Dylan Hockley, 3/8/06, male
- Dawn Hochsprung, 06/28/65, female
- Madeleine F. Hsu, 7/10/06, female
- Catherine V. Hubbard, 6/08/06, female
- Chase Kowalski, 10/31/05, male
- Jesse Lewis, 6/30/06, male
- James Mattioli , 3/22/06, male
- Grace McDonnell, 12/04/05, female
- Anne Marie Murphy, 07/25/60, female
- Emilie Parker, 5/12/06, female
- Jack Pinto, 5/06/06, male
- Noah Pozner, 11/20/06, male
- Caroline Previdi, 9/07/06, female
- Jessica Rekos, 5/10/06, female
- Avielle Richman, 10/17/06, female
- Lauren Rousseau, 6/1982, female (full date of birth not specified)
- Mary Sherlach, 2/11/56, female
- Victoria Soto, 11/04/85, female
- Benjamin Wheeler, 9/12/06, male
- Allison N. Wyatt 7/03/06- female

tears

I cried through the Jul Fest program at church the other day.

I cried watching all the little kids in their costumes singing the cute Swedish songs. Some of these kids I'm getting to know; all of these kids I already love. 

I cried looking at the various people from church who played instruments, and sang, and made cookies, and volunteered so many hours and poured their hearts into this concert. I was moved to tears thinking about their devotion and love for our church. I cried because I love these people, and because I love this church.

I cried looking at the faces of dear friends who have made all the difference in our lives this last year and a half. Friends who snuck into our hearts and lives in unexpected ways and make them so much better, fuller.

I was crying because it will only be two years before Anna is up there in a silly gingerbread costume in front of all these people. It's easy to picture her little eager face up there singing her heart out and it's already too much for me to take. She's two too soon and when I blink she will be four and I cry because it's flying by, and life moves so quickly and this is our only shot, our only life and I keep waiting thinking it's supposed to be something more when it is already so much more than enough.

I was moved to tears singing the old swedish hymns thinking how much my grandparents would love Jul Fest and how I should have found a way to get Grandpa here for it this year. I cried because I miss them, I feel guilty for not seeing them more and because it will be my first Christmas home in Calgary without them. I couldn't control my emotions as a particularly beautiful memory came to mind of when Adam and I drove home from Banff with them one Christmas and sang our favorite hymns together a cappela in the car. I cried because I love them so much, and I cried because for most intents and purposes, Grandma is already gone. 

I most definitely cried watching sweet Linnea, a girl from our church with some significant limitations, beaming with delight as she participated in the Lucia pageant. Waving at everyone with such unadulterated joy and pride. She was so poignantly beautiful. 

And for sure I cried while we closed the service with Silent Night. Hundreds of voices echoing through the sanctuary that beautiful, haunting carol. Thinking of the many Christmas Eve services at my home church and how incredibly grateful I am for those people and that church and the legacy of faith that I have been gifted with. 

I have been crying a lot lately, but mostly tears of joy, or gratitude. Bittersweet tears, many of them. Thankfulness mingling with loss. Relief mingling with grief. A beautiful release.

I chose myself

I saw Adam and Anna off to Chicago and watched as my heart got on the plane with them. I sat staring through blurry tears as the plane took off and prayed that my love would be enough to keep it in the sky, to return them safely to me. They pulled away, my whole world on that plane, slipping further from my sight, my grasp, my control by the second. It would be four days until I saw her again, and all I could think was that I was the one who had made this choice.

It was absolutely what I needed, and it was a win-win-win situation for the three of us. For Adam it was golfing in Chicago, for Anna time with her Grammy and Grampy, and for me -oh for me - a glorious child-free California weekend with my best friend. I bought a plane ticket to the opposite end of the country with equal parts giddiness and dread, knowing how hard it would be to walk away, yet knowing how much good it would do me. I welcomed the thought of days where I would be just me, the parts of me that I haven't been in so long. I longed to be just Sheri and not mama-Sheri. I chose independence over her. I made that choice.

And the weight of that choice hit me like a ton of bricks when I realized I would miss four days of this, and four nights would pass where I wouldn't kiss her goodnight  and remind her that I love her more than anyone has ever loved anything ever before. What if she forgot? What was I thinking?

She would yell 'mama!' and I wouldn't come running and she would look for me and I wouldn't be there. She would want me and I wouldn't be there. She might need me and I wouldn't be there. What kind of damage would I inflict on her with all this not being there? How would she ever trust me again? I mean, she was going to need me, she had to need me... oh... what if she didn't need me?

God forbid... what if something terrible actually did happen... and I wasn't there, all because I chose myself.

The burden of choice was too much.

So I sat there and cried.

Then I got up, bought a latte and read my newspaper.

And got on that plane... gloriously alone.