Marsbarn Designs...

An object in motion.... gets forgetful

I am

(prepare yourself)

sitting down to eat breakfast this morning.  
This means, I am drinking my coffee while
(ahem)
seated.  

(Technically, this is my second cup, the first one
having been a half cup of microwaved rerun coffee
from yesterday, drunk upright, while making breakfasts
and sack lunches for the girls.  That cuppa obviously
doesn't count.)

The girls are off at school. Both of them.
(Oh, I love saying that.) 

I am making To Do lists that contain things like:
-Put on earrings.
This is because I'm having a day where I can't seem
to keep thoughts in my brain.  Perhaps this is the
head cold I've been resisting forever (resistance is futile),
or perhaps it is a side effect of too much rolling with
change.  If one rolls with the punches for too long,
do they get a figurative imbalance of the inner ear?
A sort of vertigo of the personality?  I think so.
Thus the sitting to eat breakfast. On a Thursday.

I do sit to eat breakfast with some regularity,
but that is usually reserved for weekend mornings
when we eat as a group.  Weekday eating is done
in tandem with lunch making and children wrangling.

Perhaps if I sit, and pause, and take a moment to
blather, I won't need to make notes about remembering
to shower. (Doh! I forgot to put that on the list!) 
See, clarity comes with lack of motion.

I have begun a new school project. It's a smaller one
than last year's QUILT PROJECT. (Yes, it warrants All
Caps.)  This is a small project, with one classroom,
for a family in a hard place.  It feels good to be doing
something not for us.  

Coffee is gone. Breakfast consumed.
Time to return to the rest of the day.
Earrings, shower, dishes, sewing work,
sewing fun, dentist, and rolling. 

transitions: from theoretical to life

I am watching The Tank and Mr Fuzzypants play.
The old man-cat thumps around and seems
game, if ungainly.  The younger Mr F is in his
element; racing, jumping, flipping into rolling
dives.  Afterward, The Tank looks a tad grim,
and Mr Fuzzypants has moved on to hunting socks.

We are switching gears here in the Marsbarn.
One routine is merging into another as Miss G
transitions back into school life.  She's starting
six weeks after her friends, and they are so, so
glad to have her.

None of us are sorry to leave the previous routine.
This move forward feels good, if not awkward.
There is a bit of a grinding sensation as the
metaphorical wheels grind asphalt and all of the
planning and preparation merges into the
rough start of gaining speed on the tarmac,
before the first, fitful bounds of tentative fight. 
We are in motion, which is good, but there is
that lurching sensation that pulls on the gut.

There will be a long process of finding what works,
what doesn't, and putting into practice what was
theoretical.  I have moments of breathlessness
when I look at how far we've come, and how good
the view looks from here.   We're not done.
We're a long way from done, but this particular
leap forward feels like we've reached an entirely
different dimension. 

A return to known and new

Sweet G went to a dear friend's sleep over birthday 
party last night.  As I awaited her return this morning,
I thought about how this latest phase of G's recovering
health feels like a venture into new and known territories.
That sense of anticipation, of waiting to hear about the
night's adventure and if it was a success (it was),
reminded me of when G was little and was first going
to birthday parties.  New steps, new beginnings, but
what is new is also a return to what is old. She is 
launching again toward Independence, as her body
strengthens and recovers. We have  been here before,
but the view looks a little different from this vantage. 

I find myself pausing to stare at her when she talks with
vigor about her day's adventures.  Her cheeks glow,
her skin is pink and vibrant, her hands are warm, and
I want to mention all of this. I want to tell her how
beautiful she looks as she pulls Bananagrams from the
closet, but that's not what normal Mom's do.  

 It is a funny, tenuous place, between dire illness
and remission.  That line between saying too much
and too little is faint and moving, like seaweed 
on the tide line. We do not like to be complimented
for something we used to do without effort.   To have
your Mom comment on how good you look in everyday
activities is at best embarrassing, and at worst a
reminder of where you've been.

We have our eyes on our ultimate destination.  We are
looking for that place where everyday activities, and
even special occasions, do not warrant planning and
back up planning and check-in at completion.  We are
waiting for simple things to be common place, and for
the glow of health to be unremarkable. 

 

we were built for long distance, not eternal sprints

I had the most delicious cup of coffee last week.
It was hot, so hot, but not burning. Dark, but not
bitter, it was just so perfect. I was out for breakfast
by myself, on my way to a massage at a spa.
Yes, a spa. Alone. For a massage.

We have begun the transition, I think, from all out 
sprint to long term lope.  The urgency that has gripped
us since Sweet G's diagnosis and hospitalization is
transforming into a slower, careful rebuilding of life.
The framework is in place, and the major supports
are in play and can bear weight.  She is still in a partial
hospitalization situation, but we can see that next
new road up on the horizon, when she is able to return
to school.  It will happen, and we are almost ready. 

Perhaps I need a crew to keep me in line

So, life continues moving forward.

Big E is back at work! 

Which makes us all very happy! Knees are an important 
thing, and knees that bend are a good thing.

And while I would like to think that as life slowly moves
toward normal speed, I would be able to blog as often
as I did when nothing was normal....

I can't.  I keep writing these posts in my brain, but 
they don't automatically transfer from brain to screen.
It is vexing.  I keep thinking, "I posted that!", but I 
didn't.

So, here is my deal.  I am going to try and make the
time to sit and write.  I like writing. Writing is good.
I still have things to say, and I really think I can
bridge that gap between mental meanderings and
published blather.  Really, I do.

After all, I've found the time to sew up some friends. 
Maybe they'll help keep me on target.