little house with a big heart

Life, and most importantly, motherhood, is a balancing act.
Lately I've been soaking it up. The dishes can wait, the laundry can pile up. I just soak up the baby kisses and long nurses and all his big learning and growing. And all the laughter. This kid is a giggle machine, and it's so magical - best music on earth.

This leads me to a quiet peace and comfort I found tonight. I've been a wound-up, stressed-out mess the past couple weeks. I will fully admit how awfully I deal with waiting and 'limbo'. I've been in some sort of limbo for a long time now, but once I finally set my sights on my Big Goal, I just wanted it. Right then, in that moment. Unfortunately, the Universe had other ideas.

I found my perfect little dream home. In my price range, great location, big yard, fantastic landlady. Everything. My heart pretty nearly explodes every time I drive by it. (Secretly -- oops -- I have huge huge hope wish dreamy dreams about this house for the future).

I took no time in applying, and went to sign the lease weeks ago. To find out the house had been broken into and vandalized. I was so shook up. I went ahead with the lease and we worked out details of getting everything fixed. But I was so shaken and so hurt. I couldn't figure it out, couldn't place the emotion, until late that night. That was my home. It wasn't yet, but it was in my heart.

And it has taken so much longer to even start the work that needs to be done. Waiting on the insurance check, my move in date has been pushed out further and further and is now a full month after I was originally scheduled to move in. It's hard, and frustrating, and maddening. I cannot start making an income until I move in, I can't move forward. I am angry and frustrated and sad.

And then tonight I realized how lucky I am that I have had this time with Eli. I know the moment I get the go-ahead, it will be a mad whirlwind of packing, moving, unpacking, working working working. I might have missed the revelry of his first steps, or not felt I had the time to nurse all day and snuggle just because. He's growing fast and in leaps and bounds. I don't want to miss a single becoming-rare quiet moment with him.

And so, 2 weeks will fly by. I will move, and settle into our home. I will line the mantle with candles, the walls with pictures, and the windowsills with plants. I will work and love in this home for years. I can wait for that.

And when I'm sad or frustrated, I take a quick drive by my house and a grin lights up my face. I tell Eli that's your home.

I think perhaps some people don't understand the magnitude of this move for me. Or what this house and home means to me. It means family and life and love, it means the ability to stay home with my boy. It is the home Eli will grow in, and a home I can finally be proud of. It will be mine, as I am now. This is a dream, more than I knew I had been dreaming.

It's nothing fancy, it's quirky and special and sweet. It's bright and homey and honest. This house, this home, has roots and a soul - a personality. I'm aching to learn it's unique noises and shadows and creaks in the floor. I'm dying to pour my own family love into it and paint the walls with child's laughter.

I never thought a house could mean so much to me.

on being bold; reconciliation

I am a big believer in letters. Mostly unsent letters. They lighten my heart-load and give me pause; they let me resolve myself and learn my own truths.

But, something like a year and a half ago, I sent a letter. I dropped in a mailbox and sped away. And it ultimately changed my life completely. It brought me the beautiful baby snoring in bed, but it also brought me soulbreak. Since then, I have lost so much of my passion and ability to be bold when it really counts.

I have been clear and honest and bold and brave: truth.
But my heart was not on the line. I had nothing to risk, and I wasn't exposing my raw raw self. I don't think I knew how to, not anymore.

In light of my resolve to, well, resolve and find closure - I tried. Oh, I tried. And in the big bright middle of trying, I realized I wanted to be that woman again.

I wanted to be the woman who wrote a letter splashed in tears and smudged with ink. I wanted to be the woman who would never give up, and never back down. I wanted to be bold.

My friend asked me if I regretted it. Then, and now.
Not at all. My cheeks might be a little red, my heart a little skipping-a-beat, my throat a little dry. But there is no regret in a life led.

I feel lighter, lifted. It isn't about the outcome, it's about the act.

Tell your story, show your cards, splay your heart, and cry your tears.

Be authentic and real and honest. There is nothing more empowering or sexy.

I have learned, and I am taught.

fearless constance

It takes a village. Not only to raise a child, but to live.
I am a fiercely to-a-fault independent. It's how I am wired. It takes great strength and humility and bravery for me to ask for help. Especially with the big stuff.

But I still. I reached out, and what boomeranged back was simple and sweet and heartfelt and shook it all up for me.

I've been big big struggling with the journey I'm on, with the path I've taken, and mostly all with the deep running rejection I feel.

All of this crap in my head and heart about why Eli's biological father isn't involved, and more more more my fears. It's...well, it's a product of why isn't he trying? I don't want him to, let's make that clear. I would turn into the most absolutely dangerous mama bear if he did. BUT. It is unfathomable to me that a father could not be effected by, could not want to know, his own flesh and blood. It is so insane to me that I just keep thinking he'll try. Yeah, guess what? He doesn't care.

Equal parts heartbreaking and liberating. 

So huge, unwavering gratitude to the beautiful women who responded to my heartfelt plea for simple understanding. To the women who lifted me, with simple words and a lot of love.

I will not hide, and fear will not rule me.

spring cleanse; closure

Spring is always a fresh start for me, a new beginning. I don't do new years resolutions, but I do spring cleanses.

There are many this year.

And one of biggest?

Finding closure.

I have always needed a finality to everything. Jobs, relationships, everything. I need to know what happened, why, what did I do wrong/right, is there anything more I can do, etc. etc. I cannot walk away without 'closure'.

I am working incredibly hard on finding closure internally. To stop seeking, demanding, and requiring closure from another person. To instead find a way to peace and acceptance in my own heart.

This is coming on the heels of a big fat I'm-not-over-you week. It's been hard and emotional and came out of the blue. (Really, it didn't. Really I totally know why). When someone who means something big and real to you just disappears, vanishes from your life, it's damn hard to find any closure or peace. To move on in any real way.

And in the wake of moving, and everything leaving this place means (the bittersweet tears are flowing already), there is another lack of closure. A why-don't-I-hate-you-more open-ended string of questions.

The first step here, for me, in both?

Don't push away my memories or feelings. Feel all the feelings. Remember all the details. Remember the good, feel the love. Because that was part of it, too. Burying the positive feelings is not a step along the path to peace.

What is that step? Letting my heart feel what it needs to feel. Allowing myself that.

Do I want to daydream about what could have been? Allowing myself moments for that. Does something make me remember that certain smile? Allowing myself that memory.

I have focused on the bad to forget the good, and that's not the right direction to be taking.

It's hard, and it hurts. Like hell.

But this process needs to happen. Two fold over.

fearless

I have dinner dishes to do, packing to (re)start, endless toys to pick up. Instead, I'm sipping pink champange and writing.

I have been woefully absent for my blog world, and I'm working to remedy the situation. Because I need this space, for me.

My life is still quietly in limbo, but the sunshine is peeking through the grey dim, and I'm seeing so much light headed my way.

My sweet little dream home is getting fixed up, just for me. I like to think that it was built for me, for my little family. The search for The House was so much harder in so many ways than I expected. My goal was not only a home for my family, but also a house from which to run a business - a daycare. That's a tall order on one (so far non-existent) income. I still have huge huge fear about this endeavor, this giant leap of so much faith. But this house, this is home. We had a huge set back in the renting process, and it shook me kind of deeply. It also, ultimately, made me realize how in love I had fallen and how sure I am that this is The House.

I can't sleep at night because I'm busy dreaming up DIY projects and seeing my family grow, watching Eli learn and discover in a real home. This house, this is going to be the stuff of magic and dreams and big love. I know it.

My every moment focus is on moving, packing, money, classes, list list list after list. I'm overwhelmed, and sometimes have to step away and reconnect with Eli. I feel scattered and a little muddled. But it's coming together. Slowly, surely. Sometimes in a swoop. The Universe is wholly providing.

The list of daycare license requirements is long and frustrating and time consuming. Classes, certificates, tests. I have never worked so hard for something before. I have never had a tangible goal like this. It feels good, and odd. And sort of foreign.

And, deep down, I have big big dreams for this blog. Huge.

And, and, and? For the first time in my 24 years, I am not afraid to try.

I swear, this kid is teaching me to be fearless. And bold. And strong.

My life is taking shape. And it looks good.

quiet nights; hard nights

So much has been on my mind and in my heart lately, and I have had no time or space to express it.

Long, tear-filled nights of mama begging baby to sleep while he destroys the apartment. We have been at odds. Frustrated with each other, neither one getting what we need. Today I finally gave in. I stopped saying "no", stopped trying to redirect, stopped everything. You want to climb the table? Okay, I'll take everything off. You want to be up? Okay, up we go. Down? Alright. Mamamamamamama? I'm right here. Bored? Here's tupperware; eat that book, it's yours.

And we're okay today. We're good, even. Asleep by 10, and that's a big step. Only a few moments of big big frustration on my part. We are starting to find a groove and sync up.

I didn't expect this. I thought, as rough as daycare had been, that it would be a breeze to be able to be with him every day, all day. And while it's beautiful and sweet and glorious to not miss a moment, it's been so hard. So hard to realize that in the time I was working, he flourished from teeny baby to big bad almost-toddler. One toy for an hour isn't cutting it. Baby is bored. And mama has to be on top of it. So no more 3 day rainy stretches at home, and no more endless snuggles. This busy boy needs to get out and conquer the world.

And so, we do. And in that, I step so very far out of my comfort zone. I am not a social person at heart, nor am I good at doing new things alone. I feel awkward and uncomfortable and afraid. And this kid? He makes me better. For his sake, I make friends. For his sake, I leave the house. For his sake, I am bold and strong.

When I say he saved me, I mean it. I looked at him tonight, in a brief moment of snuggles, and burst into tears. Took those chubby cheeks in my hands and kissed that drool right off his face. It's so hard, and so much, and so sweet.

I try not to feel resentful, or angry, or anything like that. And mostly, I succeed. But then I think (okay, so often I think...), nobody really gets this. I have single mom friends, who get nights off when their ex takes the baby and child support. Yeah, you don't get it. I have married mom friends who say "I might as well be single" or complain (fairly) about their husbands. Shut up. I smile with something akin to grace and empathy. But inside? I'm screaming.

I feel deeply lucky and blessed for my life and my son. But if only I had one person who could actually understand. But, I know deep down, no one ever will. My path is hard and strange and unique. My fears are huge and no amount of empathy salves them. My late-night pain? It's just mine. And mostly, I take deep breaths. I hold my son and promise him big big promises that he will know the best life possible.

Some days, I don't think I can come close to raising him right. Some days, it feels hopeless and endless and tired and pain and grey. Some days I wonder and wish and dream and want how it was before. And then there's this little person, this special perfect little person who chose me. Who screams and laughs and smiles and tells me mamamamama and claps and dances and  loves me. This little baby turned boy who looks at me with open, endless, unaltered love. And I think, this is the love I've dreamed of. This sweet soft cheek against mine, this bright eyed smile, this playful little dreamer. This baby is all me, and all mine.

It doesn't change anything, but it helps.

And the friends. The friends who, while they cannot understand, they know. They know my story and my path and all the reasons why I am who I am. Why this boy is extra special material.

Eli, my big strong crazy monkey man, you are it. I made you from starlight, all by myself. And you can do anything; just watch your mama. I'll make you proud; and of you I always will be.

warrior woman; hear me roar

My eyes are barely open, and yet I cannot sleep.
Such nervous excited anxious emotions running through me.

I feel on the very precipice of everything good.

I hold bated breath and let the hopeful joy spring up in my heart, flow out and shine up the world.

Pushing off the doubt and fear and let the dreams wash over me.

Also? This is big. The quiet, near silent, and completely personal letting go of The Big Fear. It's happened in stages and taken far over a year. But my heart no longer leaps to my throat and I'm no longer search search searching in fear. I am glad, despite it all, that I stayed in this apartment. I no longer feel like I am running away, but running towards.

And that's a big difference.

Also also? Being myself is the most freeing feeling on earth. Trusting myself? Way better.

I am recovering, recovered? I am no longer ruled, or governed, or shadowed. This huge huge shaking off is so un-apparent, but oh how it's happening. Each day, with tears and anger and release. With long talks, baby and I. With explanations and sharing and talking and believing. With openness and honesty and faith in myself.

The people in my life who know, they know. I chose you all for a reason. To know my story, to trust with my heart. I am stronger because of you.

I'm coming out the other side a warrior.