Cups and Such

“Personal musings.” What a load of hooey. That’s what I said in my first blog, below. Just a little below, as I’ve only blogged one other time since. I started Screaming Lobsters 8 months ago, with the intention of letting all that sarcasm and introspection I seem to be finding at 40 out on to paper.

Hooey.

Excuse #1: My usual. I’m often paralyzed by the idea of doing something perfectly. I can’t have a half-assed blog entry! No errors, for God’s sake.

My second excuse is life got a bit zaney and out of control the first 7 months or so of 2010. Not our best year. It’s been a ride: 128 showings on our house in MD; a major butt whooping by the real estate market; 7 months as a single mom; an exploding brain tumor named Wheldon; yet another depressing birthday; a profound loss; a heart-wrenching goodbye in Maryland; and, the doozey: Living 6 weeks with my parents in Denver.

OK ok, the doozey was Wheldon. But I digress.

Our life has done a 180 since last December. It’s done a 180 since May. And I am oh so thankful. Yesterday on Facebook I almost spontaneously posted: “My cup runneth over,” a testament to the pure joy at being here in Tucson. I feel it every single day when I see the mountains as I drive away from our neighborhood. I feel it when I step outside and watch the sun rise and set (nothing beats an Arizona sunset). I feel it when I drop off my son at preschool and get to see one of my very best besties from college as she drops off her youngest.

So my cup runneth over enough I wanted to post it to the world. But I figured some of my FB Friends would start making cracks about my bra cups, and then Sheldon’s more conservative family in Indiana would think I’m some middle-aged whore and start a Facebook prayer chain. So I resisted the urge. But it was a from-the-gut urge, nonetheless. One I haven’t felt in a very long time.
 

In fact, I can’t really remember feeling the peace and—dare I say it—contentment—that I find here in our new life. At least for today, and I’ll take it while I can get it. Maryland was a period of indescribable bleakness, and I'm not sure I can pinpoint any one single reason. A conglomeration of elements, I suppose. And a life lesson. Perhaps its the ability to compare--here to there, now to then--that makes the here and now more tangible than I really ever remember.
 

No doubt a good portion of my new-found zen is because I just had six weeks of leave from work to try to get this rag tag and war-weary family of mine back on track. I’m not sure I did a darn thing, other than enjoy, for the first time, the purity of being Mommy without the constant tug of “But I should be doing x for work.” I truly checked out from work for the first time, ever. Including a trip out of the country where I—gasp—did NOT take my laptop. It was a tough habit to break, but, as with all things I eventually choose to do, I did it to perfection.
 

I think I was the best mommy I’ve ever been, and I am grateful for that lesson. It has significantly altered my perception of the trivial aspects of my job (most of my job) and the priority it takes in my day. So sorry, dear company, you will undoubtedly notice. And I really don’t mind if you do. I am comfortable in the knowledge that Aidan didn't miss out while I was toiling for The Man in Maryland. He had his Miss Maureen, and he was far better off with her part of the week than moi. But now that we have left the luxury--the gift--that was Maureen, all the perspectives are clearer.

So while some writers find that the exercise of writing, journaling, or blogging is best suited for times of angst, drama, pain, and suffering, apparently I am just the opposite. I think I’m more inclined to want to keep the things that are really bothering me inside. Along with a nice loaf of garlic bread when available. But now that I can see the forest through the trees, and my cup is spilling, and my meds have kicked in, my fingers are twitching to talk.

I’m baaaaaaaaaaack.