four.

= feeling freakishly fantastic

finally fulfilling, not fantasizing,

this far-flung flight of fancy!

No Mom, I still haven't packed.
At this rate, I'm showing up for the 1st day of school naked.

five.

= feeling a flurry of frantic, fidgety frenzy.

Damn, I really should consider packing.
Doing so would be admitting I'm actually leaving.

Eeesh.

six.

= scholastic success,
i'm seriously stalling.

I really should start to pack.

and then there were seven.

= skittishly scared shitless.

Guess I should at least start to pack.

edgy.

= extremely emotional.

nelly.

= NERVOUS.

so much still to do...

days!!!

now...

days!!!

eager beaver.

days!!!
('til I leave for mortuary school)

excitement & anxiety abound.

that damn shoe.

PREFACE:
I'm not terribly superstitious. My Grandma Fern was though. She put lots & lots of crazy thoughts in my head that aren't easily erased.


Not the easiest thing to admit: I've carried around a lot of self-defeating behaviors in my lifetime. Thoroughly convinced happiness is something destined only for others, I've carried around my very own gray cloud on a balloon string for most of my life. A few years ago I set out to make some changes. I was determined to finally make my life something worth living.

2008 was the year I lost weight. 55 lbs. to be exact. I've gained some back but I'm ok with it. Not ok enough to keep it on my butt forever but ok enough not to continuously beat myself up over it either. I'm going to be a lifelong work in progress as far as my weight is concerned, of that I know for sure.

2009 was the year I thought I'd get my relationship life back on track. It didn't turn out exactly as I'd predicted and I am so very grateful for that. My relationship wasn't my problem. I was. What an eye-opener. I thank God daily for brutal eye-openers and for my Garfy. We can come through anything together I'm now convinced.

2010. Here we are. The year I finish school. Never thought I'd actually see it come to fruition but I sure talked a good talk throughout the years. Once I learned to truly believe in myself I realized I could either continue to be a good talker or finally become a walker. Down the path I go, walking. Nervous as heck, but walking nonetheless.

I am happy. I feel content.
In 36 years I've never had the ability to say those 6 words and actually, truly mean it. I find a sense of happiness and contentment in just being able to say those words. It's cylical.

My marriage is solid. My children are awesome. My family is intact. My sister & I are close. My parents are alive and (getting) well. The friendships I maintain are healthy. I love my job.

Hey Grandma Fern,
Though I still fear it sometimes, I'm finally not afraid of waiting for the other shoe to drop. (I only whispered that though - I wouldn't want anyone to actually hear me say it, for fear of jinxing myself).
Love,
Ris

sent out to the cosmos...

I looked online. I looked in the phone book. I asked around.
There were simply no kids yoga classes in our area to be found.

I put it on my blog ~ sent the idea through the internet straight out to the cosmos and boom. Within days a kids yoga class flyer appeared in the exact right child's backpack just a few days later.

The studio is 5 minutes from our home.
The classes started the following Saturday.
A phone call was placed, his spot reserved.

He was nervous. He wanted Jack to sign up with him. No buddy, this is for you. You'll do great. And he did. And will, for the next 7 weeks and possibly beyond.

A happy Wilson = A happy Mama.
Love you, ya spaz. :)

Thank you God...

for answered prayers.
for my family.
for great doctors.
for amazing, warm hospital staff.
for Your hand in all of this.
for my dad's continued recovery.

I feel extremely blessed.
Even more so than usual.

Thank you God. You are so good.
So very, very good.
I held trust in You
& I always will.

life, as it smacks you square in the jaw.

Dad, don't die.
Dad, don't die.
Dad, don't die.
I love you.

I repeated these words on auto-pilot the entire drive to the hospital.

Please don't die.
I need you here.
I love you.

Yesterday my dad had a heart attack. He's headed into surgery this morning.

Dad, please don't die.
When Grandma died my life was forever altered.
I don't know what I'd do without you too.
I love you, Dad.

Please take better care of yourself.
Please eat better.
Please start walking more.
I know it hurts your legs and back but please try.
For us.
For you.

I'm not ready, Dad, please don't die.
I love you.

maternal bonding, guilt and me.

Temple Grandin, a new HBO movie. If you have access to HBO, please watch it one of the majillion times it will be on this month. You won't regret it.

Temple Grandin. <-- click the link to read more about her & this fabulous movie.

Temple Grandin is based on a real story of a woman with autism and all that she deals with, is put through, overcomes and achieves. She truly is amazing.

Side note: some characters/people need to be bitch slapped. I feel the incredible urge to declare that on her behalf.

Diagnosed with autism at age 3, also known as infantile schizophrenia at the time (1950), Temple's mother was told it was due to a lack of maternal bonding. It was her fault. Garth and I both physically dropped our jaws during that scene. How asinine and cruel. It's no wonder that's about that same time period when women started popping presciption pills like candy.

The movie was eye-opening and really made me think. I'm inspired by people like Temple Grandin.

-----------------------------

Since seeing Temple Grandin I've felt further heightened anxiety. I'm leaving for school in three weeks. While I know I won't come home and find my own 3 year old autistic, I feel this new sense of, "will she be mad at me? will it ever be the same? am i ruining this fantastically close bond i have with my daughter?"

A mother's guilt runs deep. It's who we are. It's what we do. Guilt. It's what we feel.

I know I'm not leaving. I'll see her almost as many days per month as I won't for the next year. The time really will go by quickly. The boys understand. She says she does but I know she doesn't. She can't.

This morning she climbed into my lap and covered my face in kisses. "You my best fwend! I just love you soooo much!" as she squeezed my cheeks together. I never want that bond between us to change.

I'm agonizing over it being my fault if it does.

My Prettiest Princess.

Evie's 1st birthday party invitation, where our boys weren't also invited, arrived. She hasn't stop talking about it since the invitation was delivered 2 weeks ago. Her first 'big girl' party.

Note of caution: If I receive an invitation that instructs Evie to dress as a princess, my wheels spin. Wildly.

New dress. check.
New tights. check.
Shoes? whew, they still fit. check.
Hair bow that matches the dress since tiaras seem to hurt The Princesses head and make her whine in a very unprincess-like manner? check.


Speaking of bows and tiaras.... hair. HAIR?!
I guess 3 is about the right age for a girl to get her 1st hair piece.
In our family it is.


Make-up.
Princesses wear make-up, right?
But no little-girl-turned-hooker beauty pageant look here.
That's gross and wrong.
I suppose a little make-up will do.


Per usual fashion, we may have overdid it all a bit.
Per usual, I don't care.
Nothing is 'overdid' when it comes to being girly.
Evie had so very, very much fun.
So did the birthday girl & all of the other little girls.
And Evie's Mommy too.
The princess birthday party was a huge success.


For 2 hours yesterday Evie really thought she was a princess.
Actually, she thinks she's a princess everyday.
There really is no past tense about it.

(Cinderella did great but I really could have rocked that party...)