Round here…

I lose my voice from time to time, because I start over thinking things. I have been trying to make this blog a better place for readers to stop. I want this blog to mean something to someone else; to have purpose and so I have been really struggling with the purpose of this blog. Struggling with who the audience is. Struggling with writing what they want to read. I even struggle with the whole notion of writing, but I think I was born to write – I am compelled to write against my better judgement. Somehow I always find myself behind this keyboard writing a message that comes from my spirit; my intuition – there is no logic or exact plan to what I write. And somehow by that same grace more than 100 people stop here. Visited and have decided to stay and follow what I write. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for stopping. Thank you for validating my intuition that I am supposed to be here typing away.

In this space I write about random things like how I cut my hair and I really don’t like it. I cut about 6 inches off and died it dark brown. The picture below was my inspiration, but it did not turn out like that; damn that Katie Holmes and her cute little hair cut. Any way, I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror thinking, “Good God, I need to call someone in case I die like this so they can put a nice wig on me or have someone dye this mop blonde again. Oh I hope that is even possible.” But after deeper introspection I realized I would want to be remembered as the girl who was brave enough to try something totally different. Remembered as the girl who believed it’s just hair and it will grow back. So no need to worry – we can keep my hair as is mortician.

This blog talks about how I see and hear and feel dead people. Spirits have communicated with me all my life and yes, it is REALLY REAL (yes, that is opposed to fake real which is a whole other blog entry). The spirits don’t scare me (mostly) what really scares me is how some people react; what really scares me is getting the message wrong and delivering it incorrectly to the loved one. What really scares me is that I might be meant to be a medium on a large scale and I am not sure that I am brave enough. I am just not sure God chose the right person, but I remember God is all knowing and she doesn’t make mistakes even if we happen to think it’s possible. So here I am stuck in a debate with my intuition and fear. My intuition is winning already obviously because here it is in black and white for all of you to read. Spirits speak to me. No hiding now.

I write about how I make a zillion mistakes with my kids. But that sometimes the new things I do are making a difference – like this note my daughter wrote me two weeks ago.

Worthiness. I write about how my worthiness is a tight rope and God’s Grace is my net and that somehow I am trying to turn that tight rope into a bridge (preferably wood covered out in the country- but that doesn’t really matter I just like visual). About how I worry that my lack of worthiness is setting a bad example for my children.

I share bad pictures of signs I made out of gift bags.

I write about seat warmers and that even though I live in California where they should be worthless I love them. Absolutely adore them. I guess that makes me beyond spoiled, but it doesn’t change that fact that I love them.

I write about how I need to be a better listener. That I suck at conversation. That I use so many “I”s in this blog it actually makes me cringe because I am not that self centered and yes I can hear you laughing through the Internet.

Silly illogical things from out of the blue are often the topic of this blog. For example, someone once said that they hated self pity. Why that still bothers me 6 years later is probably because I think many people think depression is a form of self pity. Depression IS NOT self pity – depression is illogical self hatred. Depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain – we can’t help it, we don’t like it, we don’t do this for attention, it truly is just how we are born. I write about stuff like that.

I write about how a six year old dying, a six year old I had the privilege of meeting once, went to heaven this past week has completely knocked me off balance. How I am so concerned for her family, not only today, but for two years, ten years, twenty years from now when all the attention they are receiving fades and how they will have to find a new normal – if that is even possible. I write about how that scares me to death and that feeling of helplessness – that I don’t want to ever be one of the people that forgets – I write about that.

This blog is about my struggle with weight and that I lost that battle this week to a box of freaking Somoas. Stinking Girl Scout Cookies – and I let them win. How I think I am a food addict. I am always hungry, never full. I am thankful it is just food and not some other horrible demon.

That my house is run by three-year-old dictators (please don’t tell them that – I am not sure they really truly know that yet) and that every day my life is mostly made up of negotiations with them.

• How am I going to keep them in their clothes? My youngest thinks hanging out in his underwear is totally cool (please those of you that think this is totally cool, do not encourage him – he will have to wear pants in public).
• How are we going to get to school without a fit? Is nap time going to be successful?
• What I am going to find outside of the bathroom today?

And how most nights lately I collapse into sleep the minute I hit the pillow because I am spent – 100% completely spent.

Ridiculous, boring problems. Regular life. Grace and forgiveness. Failing out loud. Learning to love myself and love others better in the process. Wanting to become the adult I want my children to become. That is all here…and I write it out because I think that society is too caught up in making things look good; we need to remember that life is messy, hard and that is what makes it so great. I would like this blog to be a place where readers can come and hear honesty, feel like they can share honestly, and also see some of themselves here. Know they aren’t alone out in the world that messy and hard and beautiful are what real life looks like.

Thanks for reading,

M