One year

It's been a hard few days. Today marks the one year anniversary of my Dad's death. Unfortunately, it's actually a three day even because there's the day he had his accident, the day we waited to hear about what organs he'd be able to donate and then finally, today, when he was taken off the machines.

I started a more lengthy letter to my Dad on Thursday but it just didn't feel right. Mostly because I didn't know exactly how I felt. One minute I'm ok, the next I'm crying during the warm up to my Friday morning run and sobbing during my cool down. I've spent the last few days trying to be gentle with myself and others.

I've had a few moments of peace and I've had some that are not. The final goodbye is yet to come. On August 3 we will be interring his ashes in a family plot in rural southern Saskatchewan. It is a very small cemetery where all of his family are or will be buried near the farm that he was raised on. We will make our way there through Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota. On the way home we're going to take a slightly different route and go through South Dakota as well as Iowa.

I don't really know what to expect of this trip, just as I don't always know what to expect from my grieving process. But I do know it is all a sort of pilgrimage for me. Learning to let go of the hurt from a relationship where a father and his daughter could never find a way to hear one another, letting go of the guilt for cutting him out of my life, coming to terms with the fact that I will never have the chance to reconcile with him and that he never met my kids.

I'm learning to forgive myself. It is harder than forgiving him at this point. But I am learning so much. It seems that in some ways I am learning more from my Dad in his death than I did before.

Right now.

I need to learn to love myself. To believe in myself. To have courage in being who I am.

For many years I was taught that I could not trust my feelings. As an INFP, that's a pretty large part of myself that I am told isn't allowed to be heard. I'm starting to feel more and to take a chance in believing in it. Letting it show me more of who I am.

I've been self-abusive towards my physical appearance for many years. In my last year of high school, the day I stepped on the scale and it read 97 pounds was one of the greatest moments I had that year. Not good. I can tell you that I was probably 155 when I stepped on the scale four years later at the end of my Bachelor's degree. I was 130 just before I got pregnant with Sweet One, 135 after and now I'm sitting just under 140. All the running and pilates and yoga and chasing after children that I've been doing hasn't been helping as much as I hoped. Part of the problem was that I'd often eat out of boredom. So I started with MyFitnessPal.com and the first few days were hard but I think they're going to be ok. It is somewhat empowering to learn how much my body needs to be a comfortable weight (perhaps I'll even find my 'happy weight') and then to find foods that will leave me feeling nourished at the end. The foods I am putting in my mouth are quite healthy and I like that. (I also have a friend who has been doing this and knows that it scares me a bit so I'm sure she'll keep tabs to make sure I don't get stupid.)

I've been pretty angry over the past few weeks. It comes in flashes. I keep wondering if it is part of Kubler-Ross' stages of grief. I kind of hope so. Because that way I'll know that it will end at some point and I'll be better because of it. But I don't want it to cause any damage to my kids. It's always my kids. Every time I get mad and yell I look at them and remember how much it hurt me when my Dad would scream at me. How I promised my babies I would never do that. And now I do. But I can stop.

Less than a month until my pilgrimage. I have no idea what it is going to be like to travel so many miles with the kids, inter my father's ashes and then drive back. I hope I learn a lot.

I was sitting here, drinking my coffee and reading Glennon Doyle Melton's Carry On, Warrior. A friend and I went to see her in Pittburgh at a book signing and it was fun. I like her writing. While none of this is 'new', she writes honestly. Without holding anything back. With love and truth. To fully accept what she writes will mean that I have to fully accept myself. As I finished up this afternoon, something inside of me settled and said, "you will."

Go, Roughriders!

I'm not sure what I find more shocking, that I emailed ESPN customer service or that I had a personal response within an hour of my original email! Neither of this equals the surprise and excitement that Big Love shouted out when he realized that not only did we get ESPN2 but they were showing a CFL game and the Roughriders were kicking the Eskimo's butts! (He hasn't finished the game so maybe that has changed.) Big Love doesn't shout. And if he does, I look at him with a look of, "Is that the best you can do?"

Big Love's family pretty much all live in the capital of Saskatchewan. And they are all die-hard Roughriders fans. My Dad was raised in the very southern part of Saskatchewan and he, too, was a die-hard fan. I remember having fancy turkey dinners with the tv sitting on the kitchen counter so he could watch the game while we ate.

So thank you, ESPN2. You made the day for my husband who takes care of his family so well and rarely asks for something for himself. Crazily enough, I might even watch part of the game myself!

Unexpected days

I've spent a lot of time in the past few weeks yelling at my kids. Not because they deserve it but because every time something got hard I got angry. I thought a lot of it was because of the journey we have ahead of us to inter my father's ashes. That with my kids fighting bedtime, I was a mess.

Two days before Father's Day was here, my friend mentioned how hard it is. And I wanted to cry. I didn't think Father's Day was going to be anything for me because I hadn't made it anything for my Dad over the past few years. On Saturday, I had two lemonade and vodkas before supper. I loved the buzz. On Sunday, I just kept breathing and tried to make it through. The first hymn at church was one we often sang as I was growing up and I could hear my Dad's voice. I couldn't sing. Too many tears were ready.

Monday we started a project on our porch that I thought would be quick. Pressure washing away the paint on the ceiling of our porch and then letting it dry so I could start painting on Friday. That was not the case. There's been a lot of scraping. I hate scraping.

This morning I woke up and I was on the verge of tears. I'm sad. I'm grieving. It's an unexpected stage but it is still hard. I kept trying to put one foot in front of the other but I was stuck. I didn't know how I'd make it through with the kids. My feet have been bothering so I decided I'd load them up in the car and head north 35 miles to get some  insoles as well as play at a park that was near enough to the store. I didn't leave on time so that I could get back for nap time. But instead of getting stressed out, I let go. (This is my biggest lesson right now, learning to let go.) I stopped at a St. Arbucks, grabbed a fully-caffeinated latte and headed to the park. The kids played for an hour and I love drinking my coffee as they had fun. Then we got my insoles and headed to a fast food chicken restaurant-A for lunch. Little Man fell asleep on the way home and continued to sleep when the car was parked at home.

I usually plan things. I hold on to nap time with white knuckles so I can keep my sanity. But today, my sanity was found as I threw away the usual schedule and allowed myself to be sad. It's nice to be sad. It's easier to be angry but actually allowing the hard part, the sadness, through, then the healing can begin.

Another unwearable sewing project is the reason why I will feel like shit about myself for the next few hours.

So I got back to the shirt I had started a few days before my Dad has his accident. It is Simplicity 2594 view E. I was quite surprised when I pulled it out of the box because I had gotten further ahead than I had remembered. And it actually looked promising to me. Now because of when I had started it, it took a little emotional encouragement to get back at it. Once I did I was excited because I had high hopes that it would turn out alright. Not as perfect as this one but something I could add to my sad summer wardrobe (my daughter keeps telling me I need new shirts because I have holes all over the area where it rubs on my pants button).

The yoke totally got me. I had to undo the shoulder seams because I thought I messed up and so I just did what I thought might work out. But it didn't because somehow when I went to attach the yoke and do the top stitching, it didn't line up and I had to fold over some of the collar. Ok. I can deal.

At this point I put the shirt over me and because I didn't use a knit, nor did I cut the bottom three inches 2 sizes bigger than the rest, I don't think it is going to get pulled over my body. And then I think it is going to be much too tight around the muffin top.

The problem with each and every attempt at making a top for myself flopping, I start to beat myself up. I really want to be able to make myself something here and there and I know I need to keep working at it to get any better, but I feel like every attempt gets all fukked up! It's a waste of money for me to buy the material and never wear the shirt.

If the top part does end up being somewhat wearable, maybe I can add a zipper in the side near the bottom, but then that is going to be very stiff compared to the rest of the soft cotton material that I used. Why can I make such nice stuff for my kids and when it comes to attempting something for myself, it looks like shit?!

And yet, I still want to keep trying. There's a top pattern floating around on the interwebs that I might try. Maybe I'll have better luck with a PDF pattern than the ones I get from the usual suppliers.

Sounds like summer

What I wish it was like:

Ahhh, summertime. The kids can run around the backyard while I putz in my garden, we can drink lemonade to our hearts' content, they can run through the sprinkler, I can sit and read my book .... all the wonderful simplicities that we can enjoy in our backyard.

What yesterday really was:

I want a fence. Just like last year at this time, I desperately want a fence. Then I wouldn't have to put up with so many kids using our backyard as theirs. Ok yes, I told the parents the kids could walk through so they didn't have to walk along the busy street but seriously, they're turning it into an extension of their own backyard. And seriously, kid. Is yelling the whole time actually considered communication in your house because it's been over an hour and that is all I've heard. A loud, guttural yell that doesn't make you sound cool, it exhausts me and makes me want to shove that football-with-a-tail-on-it down your throat. The kids jumping on the trampoline which is on the other side of the fence from you aren't yelling half as much as you! And really, if you're going to throw that damn thing over the fence, perhaps actually get it over the fence. I know it gives you one more thing to yell about and feel like your cool and perhaps actually getting the attention that you want. But if it ends up landing in my garden you sure as hell better not think that you are allowed to walk in it and stomp all over the little plants that are just starting to emerge. Great, here's comes neighbor kid. I can only imagine how many hours I'm going to have to spend involuntarily babysitting you once you're all done Kindergarten because rather than play with you themselves, your parents will tell you that Sweet One is outside and you should go play with her and teach her all sorts of nasty, spoiled girl ways to disrespect everyone else around you. Did you seriously just walk up to my daughter only to tell her that you're not going to play with her? I can see from the look on your snotty little face that you are doing it only for your own little power trip. Please let us be busy when it is your birthday party this year because I really don't want to have to spend any money on you nor socialize with your extended family that pretended we weren't there last year!

What I hope might happen:

That we will move. To a sweet area in a larger center where we can have a house with a fence. And that when it comes time to move, this house which I do so love, won't take more than a year to sell!

Thought I should stop in

I haven't been here very much lately. Not a single post in May. It wasn't because things weren't happening because it was actually quite a busy month. The kids and I traveled up to Toronto to meet my mom for a few days and then near the end of the month my sister and her kids made it to our house. This visit was a big deal in my world because it was the first time my sister came to my house.

I'm not sure why it is but when I'm visiting with my family there is so much that happens for me emotionally. With my mom, it was learning to let go of the mother I often wish she would be and know that I am still ok if she is unable to listen to what I'm saying. With my sister, well I can't sum it up into a little sentence but I do know that I started the visit out feeling like I desperately needed her approval for so much but it didn't end that way. I really loved having her here. The week ended too quickly.

Now I'm stuck in the stage of kids who will go to bed perfectly one night and then they spend a chunk of time the next talking to each other. Right now, Little Man is calling his sister over and over. Sometimes in the morning Sweet One tells me that she snuggled Little Man so that he could go to sleep. I absolutely love it. She is becoming incredibly protective of her little brother. Just the other day he was almost knocked over by a 5 year old on his bike. It took her very little time to be by his side with her arm around him to make sure he was perfectly fine. If there is one thing I hope to do as their mother is to teach them to care for one another.

Now my focus is on trying to get a few things done around the house and prepare for our road trip. We will have close to 30 hours of traveling (in one direction) to get to the place where we will bury my Dad's ashes. We're driving mostly because it is much cheaper than flying and also because we thought it might be fun to see the sites on the way. Also, if the kids get restless, we can just get out of the car and go explore something. We'll have 6 states to check out as we head west and then return. It could be very interesting! Our furthest point west is going to be Mount Rushmore. I was there once a long time ago with my family on one of our trips.

So nothing too exciting but still a lot in my world. Now to get the motivation to get some work done on my damn porch!