30 Days of Gratitude: Day Four.

Day four! I'm not going to lie, now that I've started this challenge and am about wrist deep, I find myself thinking "what the hell was I thinking?" Then I remember I was thinking that I am changing my major and will be doing something with creative writing so I need practice in any way that I can get it. Thank goodness I am also in comp 2 this month while I do this challenge, so I will get all the practice. If I could instert an eye roll/laughing emoji here, I so would.

Anyway. Today is all about what food I am grateful for. How is a person supposed to just pick one food? Shouldn't you be grateful for any food you get? Lord knows I am. In my adult life there have been plenty of times that I didn't have enough money to pay my bills and buy groceries so I went without food. It was rough, but I made it through to have a better understanding of what it is really like to go without. Now there is always food on my table, even if it is just fried bologna sandwiches.

I don't know that I could pick just one food that I am grateful for. Italian and Mexican are my favorite styles of food. But I wouldn't say I am thankful for either of them, because they give me horrible heartburn. I also love seafood and some fish. But again, not really something I'd say I am most thankful for. I guess I would have to say that any meal that I can make for my family is the food I am most grateful for.

Since Robbie was born, I have really come into my own in the kitchen. I've always been able to cook well, I just didn't like it. But having family meals everyday seem to make the chore of cooking a little more enjoyable. Especially when Robbie actually eats what I make, and Cameron goes back for seconds. All that hard work slaving over a hot stove and scalding my hands in boiling dishwater suddenly become one of the most important parts of my day. Funny how that works isn't it?

So there you have it. I'm most grateful for the food that I prepare for my little family. What food are you most grateful for? 

30 Days of Gratitude: Day Three.

Happy Independence Day! It's finally the 4th! This is my favorite holiday for many reasons; like celebrating our freedom, getting to yell "'MERICA", wearing American flag shirts, shooting off fireworks, and drinking beer. So it's fitting that today's question is "what color are you grateful for?" I'm changing this to fit the patriotic theme and I'm going to use three colors, red, white, and blue.

So what makes me grateful for these colors? Well, I have many trivial reasons. Red looks good on me. White looks good on me when I'm tan. Blue always looks good on Cameron and is one of his favorite colors. 

I'm not really that shallow, but our closets really do have loads of red, white, and blue clothing. Anyway, back to why these are important to me!

Red is probably my favorite color. It is the color of Oklahoma sunrises and sunsets. It reminds me that I am beyond blessed to live in a fly over state. Red is the color of the blood of Christ. Red is the color of the blood of the soldiers who have fought for our nation. It keeps me humble and kind. It reminds me of what has been sacrificed to save me from sin and protect my freedoms. 

White is what my walls are painted in my house. I am lucky to live in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, with my beautiful family. The receiving blankets Robbie was wrapped in when she was born are white. Not everyone is given the chance to be a parent, and not everyone gets the chance to raise a healthy child. White keeps me grounded. It reminds me to hold my baby tight and love her dearly.

My brother wore dress blues in the Navy. He put his life on the line for a country full of people he didn't even know. Blue represents pride. It is thankfulness beyond measure or words for those who are willing to give the ultimate sacrifice.

These aren't just colors in a flag, or on a shirt. They represent everything we believe in and stand for in this country. They hold the blood, sweat, and tears poured in to everything we have here. Today, I hope you celebrate and hug your loved ones. I hope you think about what colors you are grateful for. And I hope three of them are the red, white, and blue.

30 Days of Gratitude: Day Two.

Today's prompt is "what technology are you grateful for?" While I would really like to answer this with "cellphone and tablet technology", I will try to come up with something else. I started typing out the post and it just seemed trivial and a little dull. We are all thankful for our devices. They keep us connected to the world and our loved ones, and they let us access Pinterest which is almost as important as keeping up with your family. 

Okay, maybe Pinterest is only that big of a deal in my house. Cam and I both have a horrible addiction. Robbie has benefitted from it though.

Anywho, back to the topic at hand. I truly don't know what to pick other than devices. I mean, I'm grateful for coffee makers and stand/hand mixers. I also thoroughly enjoy the Internet and my Roku player. YouTube has brought my little family hours of entertainment in the form of toy unboxing videos (another serious addiction that all three of us will never be able to kick.) Beachbody On Demand is whipping my tail end into shape. Amazon and my Kindle app have allowed me to go broke and read countless books. Blog platforms give me access to the Pioneer Woman's posts which in turn feeds my family and gives me a good laugh (Ree Drummond is my spirit animal).

I guess I am just thankful for all of the above mentioned items. We are a first world family for sure. That being said, there is a lot that has impacted my life and allowed me to live as I do. You know, running water, electricity, indoor plumbing, heat and air units, automobiles, anything medical. All of those things that we in developed countries take for granted. I should really just say I am grateful for just about any and all technology and its advancements; because without it I'd still be living in a cave somewhere.

30 Days of Gratitude: Day One.

So I found a 30 day writing challenge on Pinterest, and I'm going to make you, dear readers, suffer through it. The challenge is supposed to be about letting gratitude into your life, which is something I try to practice daily already. So this is really just going to be about me getting in some much needed wordsmith practice. I really do hope you enjoy it though. I think it will be interesting to go down the list and talk about what I am truly grateful for. Being satisfied and thankful is a choice we have to make daily and some times the little things can slip through the cracks. I am certain this challenge will be eye and heart opening.

Day number one's prompt is "what smell are you grateful for today?" I'm not going to lie, this is going to be one of the more difficult ones for me to narrow down. I have a list of scents that are near and dear to my heart and I could go on for hours about them. Seriously, I really could. But for the sake of this challenge, I'll just write about one. The obvious choice here would be my Grandfather's cologne. If you've read just one of my posts, you know Pa was my very best friend. So I keep his cologne sitting on my vanity and I smell it when I feel sad. But that is not the one I'm going to pick!!

You didn't see that coming did ya? I'm sneaky like that.

Instead I'm going to write about what I have often thought of as the scent of my life. It is the combination of sweat, dirt, lake water, and off-road diesel. I know you're probably like where the heck did that come from? Well, I'll tell you. My absolute, hands down, all time favorite past time is riding four wheelers, specifically below the dam at Grand Lake. I spent all of my teenage years there, and a good chunk of my adult years as well, and this smell is everywhere. It is all-consuming. It is present in summer and in winter. It is almost like lifeblood for the area. If the dry side of the dam had a vein you could split, this smell would pour out.

So why am I thankful for it? Because it was the scent of my first real relationship, which taught me to love. It is the smell of heartbreak and bad tattoos. It is the smell of warm bud light and Marlboro menthols. It is the smell of money and time spent. It is the smell that helped shape who I am now. It is forever in my memory and heart. If I had never smelled it, been bathed in it, all but worshipped it, I would have never had the hell of a journey I've had in my 25 years. I would have never met Cameron. I wouldn't have Robbie Jo. I would have never learned to live loud and bold.

So you can see, this dirty, gritty, scent means so much to me. It is me. Because of it, my life is what it is and I would never trade that or go back and change it. 

Holding Hands With the Devil

Tonight I am finding myself a little heartbroken. A few minutes ago, I wandered into RJ’s room. She was sleeping peacefully, all snuggled up with her six or seven stuffed animals and her blankie. I couldn’t help but notice that for a moment she looked so much like my new born baby that I brought home from the hospital almost two years ago. Her sweet little mouth curved the same way. Her long dark eyelashes fell on the tops of her cheek bones. Her hair looked as dark as it was the day she was born, and it brushed the beautiful smooth skin of her forehead.

My beautiful, peaceful angel.

And then I tried to remember the times I stood next to her bed when she was an infant and watched her sleep…

There were very few of those tender moments.

I can think of only one time specifically. She wasn’t in her bed though. I was holding her in the middle of the afternoon. We were sitting on the couch. RJ looked just like she did tonight, only smaller. I just couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. So perfect. So sweet. I have a picture of her laying there in my arms from that moment. But it is one of maybe three or four.

That’s not to say that I didn’t take pictures of her or hold her. I have hundreds of pictures.I held her a lot. I snuggled her and smelled the top of her head. I played with her. I sang to her. I rocked her. I did all of those motherly things. But her first year of life was so hard on me that I didn’t enjoy the majority of it. I look back, and it is a foggy, hellish nightmare.

I am and was so blessed. My pregnancy, labor, and delivery were text book and uncomplicated. RJ was healthy at birth and is still healthy to this day. We had a blissful, sleep filled newborn period. But around the 8th week postpartum, something inside me shifted.

No, shifted isn’t correct. It slipped, fell, and busted wide open. I lost myself.

I think it started a few days after Cameron’s great grandmother passed. Unfortunately her passing was unanticipated and she never got to meet RJ. Nana’s death was rather tragic and it took quite a toll on our family. I’m not sure if it was the guilt I felt about RJ not meeting Nana, or residual guilt from my pregnancy. But something started eating away at my insides.

It turned me into a monster.

I became impulsive and obsessive. I stopped sleeping. I started fighting with Cameron constantly. I was so stricken with anxiety that I couldn’t leave the house unless I knew I would be with my mother or my best friend. Then the horrible, intrusive thoughts came.

I was convinced if I had to hold RJ over a hard surface that something would happen and I would lose my grip on her. I would see the scene play out behind my eyes every time. I could see her falling and her head splitting open as it hit the kitchen floor.

So I stopped going into the kitchen if I had RJ in my arms. I started keeping bottles and formula next to my chair so I didn’t have to leave her side or carry her across the hard floor.

Cameron and I had had a plan that I would go back to school after I left work. But I couldn’t bring myself to even think about applying for college.

I just knew in my core that I would put RJ in daycare and some horrible person would abuse her. Eventually I wouldn’t be able to think of leaving her with family members. Not even to step out of the room to use the restroom. I didn’t  want them touching my baby. At all.

Then my grandfather was hospitalized. He was my rock. His illness wasn’t new, but it still shook my foundation. He was in and out of the hospital for months. Seeing the man that I never imagined could fall ill in a bed hooked up to machines was horrific. But I was obsessed with making sure I was with him as much as possible. I wanted him to know how much I cared.

It felt like I was constantly in the car. In reality once, maybe twice a week RJ and I would take off to see him. He was the only person I could be around and not fear but the hospital staff and family coming and going during our visits put me on edge. I was afraid they could see my anxieties written on my face and that they would rip my baby away because I was crazy and an unfit mother.

A little more time passed and I started noticing I had some very obsessive behaviors. I would lay RJ in her bed, but I was certain she had died of SIDS. So I would run in and check on her two or three times an hour every night. I would check and recheck that I had locked the door, the car, and turned all but the laundry room light off.

In the time I wasn’t going through my check list, I was scanning all of the mommy forums online to make sure I was doing everything just right. If I wasn’t parenting perfectly, in my mind, I was failing my daughter.

In the middle of all of my checking and rechecking, Cameron’s father passed away unexpectedly, and I had a sudden moment of clarity.

I needed help right away.

Clarity gave way to fog quickly, however. I became convinced that if I spoke to my doctor she would institutionalize me. Or worse, Cameron would leave me and take RJ because he would think I was just a druggie out to get pills to fuel my addiction. After all, my searching forums and Web MD told me that I was NOT suffering from postpartum depression and anxiety. I was just plain crazy. So it was rational to me that no one would believe me.

The fog turned into a heavy precipitation with little visibility.. We were in a bad car accident. Because of limitations on our insurance, we had to take RJ to the emergency room afterward to be checked out. She was fine thankfully. We all were. But that sparked a horrible fear of driving and accidents.

I remember driving home from Claremore one day. I was just coming in to town. I had to cross a couple of small creeks. In front of me and in my mind I could see myself losing control and hitting the guard rail. I could see my car flipping over the rail, landing on its top and killing us. Of course the only solution was to start exclusively taking back roads to get anywhere I had to go. Driving the highway was just too much of a risk that I was unwilling to take.

A little more time passed. My grandfather’s health further deteriorated, and he eventually passed. I was completely broken. For a few weeks leading up to his death and a few weeks after, I cried myself to sleep during nap times and bedtimes. But I was sleeping again. And strangely I was starting to feel a little better.

RJ was now crawling so I didn’t have to carry her across the kitchen floor. Some of my behaviors started to dwindle. I didn’t dare to think that maybe I was on the mend though.

It took very little time for everything to come crashing back. We were transitioning RJ to solid foods and a sippy cup. She was teething. She was starting to nap less.

I was uncertain of my survival at this point. In fact a couple of times I wondered if she would be better off without a mother who couldn’t handle raising her. But ultimately not being with my daughter was a more terrifying thought and I never considered leaving her side ever again.

We pulled through and one bright summer morning I woke up and the clouds parted. It was like coming up for air after having held my breath underwater for awhile. I don't know what changed. But I imagined some black hole or vortex that sucked all of the negative of the last year up and sent it to God only  knows where.

In about three weeks time, it will have been a year since I regained my footing. I still struggle daily, but not nearly to the extreme that I did. I made it through by the grace of God. But I am now realizing that I was robbed of my only child’s infant hood. What should have been the most joyous time of my life was a walk through hellfire holding hands with the devil, postpartum obsessive compulsive disorder.

And so we’ve come full circle. Back to tonight where I am standing crib side, marveling in the wonder that is my beautiful daughter. I wish to have the time that I missed out on back. But I know that is not how life works. So, I will choose to enjoy the moments I get now. I will do my absolute best to enjoy RJ’s childhood.

Blog Mom, Blog!: Musings of A Wannabe Writer

Blog Mom, Blog!: Musings of A Wannabe Writer: The last few days I’ve been reading the Anne of Green Gables series. It is my most recent old/new obsession. And stupid ol’ Anne, she dreams...

Musings of A Wannabe Writer

The last few days I’ve been reading the Anne of Green Gables series. It is my most recent old/new obsession. And stupid ol’ Anne, she dreams of romance and poetical living. She’s my literary kindred spirit. She inspires me to write sappy poems about love and kittens and sunshine. But if you know me, you know I am a dog person. And that love and sunshine are just not my topics. Forget butterflies and flowers, give me doom and gloom. I can write a depressing and dark story or blog until I’m blue in the face…or fingers. You know, since we don’t write with our faces.

So trying to break out and write a poem, A HAPPY POEM *insert gagging emoji* is quite the challenge.

I just desperately want to write at least one piece that blows everybody’s minds. I mean that in the most disgusting, self centered, and attention seeking way. I want to write at least one piece that gains me an insane amount of notoriety. I want people to read my work and think “Dude, where did this Alex girl come from? Her work, I just can’t even. It’s totes amaze.”. Of course, this will give me the big head, and then I will humble brag to my siblings about how famous I am and remind them that they are butt faces until the end of time.

Is it too much to ask of my brain to formulate words in to sentences that are wondiferous? Is wondiferous even a word? Maybe I should just start making up words. Damn it. According to Urban Dictionary, wondiferous is already a word. I guess I better try harder if I want any recognition for my mediocre at best writing.

Back to this poem business. How do I even begin? Do you actually have to feel emotions like a real human to tackle such writing? That could be the problem. Little known fact, I’m actually a robot cat in a dog loving, human body.

This just got weird. Sorry about that.

I just don’t know how to write without sounding lame…and emo. Everything comes out pathetic and whiny. When I read what I’ve written, I feel like I need to sing it in a nasally voice, while I apply too much black eyeliner and rat up my overly razored scene hair. I just can’t get it right. But this honestly reflects my inner romantic child poet. Could it be that the world needs my angsty dribble about heartache, glitter, and raccoon eyes? Maybe I am at Anne of Green Gables poetical status after all!