I stopped blogging. I felt like too much of myself was somewhere else, instead of home, like some crazy creature from Harry Potter, my thoughts were characters, floating in the ether, instead of in my head helping me to find whatever it is JH needed me to find, or come up with an idea for dinner, or remember to make appointments with specialists for JH... or one of a thousand other things that I could NO LONGER REMEMBER TO DO WITHOUT WRITING IT DOWN.
But last night, C showed me this this book review about this book and it got me to thinking: while using my limited menopausal brainpower to find JH's underwear/socks/asthmainhaler/phone/sunglasses/librarybook in his room, I realized that I was a) not doing my son any favors, and b) I missed writing. I missed recording the stories. So - new rule. If it's in your room and you can't find it, that's tough luck. Keep track. Put it away. You're on your own. That decision freed up 2 mb of brainspace, and I oughta be able to blog a little, right?!
Much has happened since I was last here. JH played in Little League for the first time; he graduated from elementary school and will be going to a different school in the fall; he didn't get in to the Arts School, which was a devastating head smacker, but we are all moving on to the best of our ability (I now only cry myself to sleep three nights out of the week instead of all 7); JH's leg is getting harder to lug around, he gets tired easily, he's growing like a weed; and to top it all off, he's going through puberty, which if you think it's easier for boys than girls, you have a nuther think comin' (as my dear departed daddy used to say!) JH has been using wheels more and more - he has two skateboards now, he rides his bike, and he used a wheelchair for the first time at the Art Institute of Chicago, which he thought was the best thing ever because he could actually enjoy the art instead of trying not to make a fuss about his leg hurting. Recently we were in the car and he was absent-mindedly rubbing his leg, and I asked if it was hurting, and without any attitude at all he said "it always hurts". I knew that it might feel heavy. I knew that it bothered him sometimes. I knew it made him run a bit slower than the rest. But it killed me that, as his mom, I was not aware that it hurt all the time. Always.
I missed having a place to put these things down in writing. And while I don't feel a need to shape the story, I do feel a need to share it, again. And like old friends, even though life has moved me down the river a bit, it seems like no time has passed since last we met.
But last night, C showed me this this book review about this book and it got me to thinking: while using my limited menopausal brainpower to find JH's underwear/socks/asthmainhaler/phone/sunglasses/librarybook in his room, I realized that I was a) not doing my son any favors, and b) I missed writing. I missed recording the stories. So - new rule. If it's in your room and you can't find it, that's tough luck. Keep track. Put it away. You're on your own. That decision freed up 2 mb of brainspace, and I oughta be able to blog a little, right?!
Much has happened since I was last here. JH played in Little League for the first time; he graduated from elementary school and will be going to a different school in the fall; he didn't get in to the Arts School, which was a devastating head smacker, but we are all moving on to the best of our ability (I now only cry myself to sleep three nights out of the week instead of all 7); JH's leg is getting harder to lug around, he gets tired easily, he's growing like a weed; and to top it all off, he's going through puberty, which if you think it's easier for boys than girls, you have a nuther think comin' (as my dear departed daddy used to say!) JH has been using wheels more and more - he has two skateboards now, he rides his bike, and he used a wheelchair for the first time at the Art Institute of Chicago, which he thought was the best thing ever because he could actually enjoy the art instead of trying not to make a fuss about his leg hurting. Recently we were in the car and he was absent-mindedly rubbing his leg, and I asked if it was hurting, and without any attitude at all he said "it always hurts". I knew that it might feel heavy. I knew that it bothered him sometimes. I knew it made him run a bit slower than the rest. But it killed me that, as his mom, I was not aware that it hurt all the time. Always.
I missed having a place to put these things down in writing. And while I don't feel a need to shape the story, I do feel a need to share it, again. And like old friends, even though life has moved me down the river a bit, it seems like no time has passed since last we met.
3 comments:
So happy to see you blogging again. I love reading your writing and getting a glimpse into that beautiful mind of yours. Miss you my friend!
It's nice to have you back!!
So happy you're back!
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