What the....?

I've been having a strange out-of-body experience lately. Or maybe it's more like an intense in-body experience. That's probably a lot more accurate.

I've never suffered from depression, even after I had my kids, which I am extremely happy about. I always said that I was way too busy to have a nervous breakdown or lie in bed for days on end, much as I would love to (not that anyone who suffers from depression wants to do any of that, just so we're clear on that point). But now that I'm feeling better, I think I was probably in somewhat of a depressed state for many of the last, oh, 19 years or so. Nothing too severe, but enough to dull a lot of what was going on around me, which honestly wasn't such a bad thing sometimes.

It was inevitable that I would eventually reawaken and take a good look around, and frankly, I'm a little shocked at what I see! Whose house is this? Since when do I like oak? Why is there wallpaper anywhere, let alone in my kitchen? Whose clothes are these? OMG! Whose thighs are those? You get the picture.

Focus, deep breaths, visualize happy times at the beach... I can accept that this is what my life looks like at this time. Yes, I did choose an impractical, tiny house--I can live with that. At least the antiques are quarter-sawn oak--they can stay. Wallpaper is awful, but I'm pretty good at stripping it off and will be more than happy to do it again. Accessories can do wonders for a T-shirt and jeans ensemble. Right, about those thighs... This is indeed your body, and it is still alive in spite of your gross negligence. Not to worry! That's why you walk and should probably start running stairs right after you finish this post. For every problem, there is a solution. I'm pretty sure that's a law of physics or something.

Hope my lights don't keep you up too late, Sue. I've got a bit of catching up to do.

Love On the Rocks

After 21+ years, it's a little hard sometimes to keep the spark going. A houseful of kids, pets, chores, and work take their toll. For years, Sweetie used to unwind by going for long hikes in the mountains, but I never went with him. The kids were too little to go with us, I had too much to do at home--there was always some reason why he hiked solo. Then he started having lots of problems with his joints, and even he didn't hike anymore.

Last night we had a big Philosophy department dinner at our chair's cabin up at Sundance. It's a gorgeous old place that his wife's parents built in the 40s, right on the creek up a private road. There were so many new faculty members that I had never met and I got to visit with the lovely ones I've known all these past 19 years. We had such a great time, and near the end several of us decided to take off on a hike to Stewart Falls.

I've been feeling so amazingly great lately, especially these last few weeks, that I was more than game for it. Tinkerbell joined us, and Sweetie and I took our first hike together in years. We walked on a private path until it joined up with the main trail, then about 1/2 mile beyond there we reached the falls. By this time it was getting pretty cool out, and the water was freezing coming off the rocks. But after teasing Tinkerbell that I would throw her in, she dared me to go under myself.

Completing this hike was huge for me. My joints didn't hurt at all, not even a little, for the first time in years. I walked across logs to cross streams and didn't fall in, which is also pretty rare, kept up a good steady pace, didn't even get out of breath because I've been walking so much lately. I did not make it all the way up to those falls just to walk back down again. So I walked right into that water and let it drench me. It was definitely cold, but euphoric in a certain respect. Then Tinkerbell hopped under too. Sweetie thought we were both insane and was not tempted to join us.

It was dark by the time we reached the cabin, with a bright white moon coming over the mountain. While our lovely hostess let Tinkerbell soak her cold feet in some warm water, I walked down to the meadow to drive the van closer to the house. The whole way down, the words to Jem's song "Got It Good" kept running through my mind. Having a good attitude is important, but having my health return makes life worth living again. I truly am a lucky girl.

Rock On Drummer Boy

Last night Sweetie and I spent the evening at BYU attending the new student/parent barbeque. It was so much fun! There were thousands of people there--the line stretched from the west end of Helaman Field all the way through the southeast gate and up the street in Helaman Halls, and it stayed that long for an hour or more, no matter how many people went through. Somebody from BYUSA (student government) had good taste in music and was blasting it through some serious speakers. Lots of sun (I've got that summertime glow back again on my neck and face), happy kids, proud parents, energy galore. We even got to see him perform for the first time with the band as they rocked the house. Those 14 hours days have really paid off!

I was talking to a man behind us in line who also has a son in the Cougar Marching Band. I mentioned that I keep having to remind myself that this college experience is what we've been working for all these years and not a sad thing, so I don't get teary. He smiled at me and said he has been telling his wife the exact same thing. I'm sure I went to school with many parents there that I would never recognize now. We all looked the same! Sun damage, crow's feet, gray hairs here and there--all with stupid grins on our aging faces. It was hugely validating and inclusive, in an odd way. Further reinforcement that time has marched on was the tent where they sold shirts commemorating the 25th anniversary of BYU's 1984 national football championship season. I went to every one of those home games with my boyfriend. 25 years?! But we were just there!

So off he goes into the dorms this week. My wonderful kid is moving out. When he was a baby older moms would urge me to enjoy every moment with him because the time would fly by. I took their advice to heart, even though there were days that felt like an eternity all by themselves. I have loved every minute of being his mom! I'm enormously proud of him, and everyone who meets him thinks I'm totally justified. I will definitely miss having him here every day, but he's just up the street really. He is my partner in crime when it comes to our music tastes since no one else has an appreciation for 80s music and Michael Jackson around here.

You rock my world, Chris!

Song of the Day

Oftentimes a blog post will be inspired by a particular song I've recently listened to, though it's just as likely I guess that the post itself will inspire the song choice. With that in mind, I've created "Diane's Song of the Day" over on the sidebar. It's just another bellweather of the state of mind I'm in when I write, which is fun for me to revisit.

Or sometimes I think the song really rocks and I just want to share. I'm really generous like that :)

Happy Birthday to Me!

For my birthday present, please leave a comment. Even if you never have before for whatever reason in the world, I would love to hear from you.

I'm so curious to see who reads my blog!

Wild Child

I had a great day Sunday. I couldn't sleep, so I snuck out of the house early in the morning, cranked up Jem on the CD player, drove all through Provo Canyon, and ran away for the day. I drove fast on winding roads, got lots of sun and fresh air, had an amazing chair lift ride up the mountain, ate a crazy good sandwich at Sundance, and had a fabulous time. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'll be 46. Not that 46 is old--I've heard that 50 is the new 30 after all, so I'm really only going to be about 26. But even so, I've been around awhile now. Some days my 20s seem like just yesterday, and others so long ago that I think they were just a dream. When opportunity smacks you upside the head and gives you a chance to look your past square in the eyes and reconcile it with your present--that, my friends, is an eye-opener. You may not be where you want to be in life, or look the way you want, or a host of other things, but do it anyway. You have to take those opportunities when they come, because if there's one thing that growing older has taught me, it is this: those chances don't always come back around for a second try. Carpe diem.

I had so much time up there to think and work things out, and I really created a fresh start for myself. Look at your true self, see where you are, reassess, correct your course, and move on. I'm not going to beat myself up anymore for what I did or didn't do. I keep looking at the past from my current position, and of course everything I did looks insane! That's why we get better with age (in most respects). But at the time, I struggled with things, made decisions one way or the other, and tried to make the best of whatever the consequences of those decisions entailed. Is that something to regret? Of course not!

So it's all good, things have a way of working out, and I am embracing it and being happy.

A Love Letter To Sweetie

Many years ago I met a brilliant, funny, intriguing grad student. He wasn't like other men I'd met. He liked to talk about art, film, and literature with me, subjects which I knew next to nothing about, but which he enthusiastically taught me. He cooked for me, we went for long walks together, and stayed up late talking and talking. One October night after a particularly hard day, he searched all over Chicago to find me daffodils and dutch iris, my very favorites. He was so concerned with making me happy, that I actually started to be again.

But there was a part of me that was still unhappy, and that part would leave the rest of me and race around the cosmos, frantically searching for something it didn't understand or recognize. And he took care of the rest of me during these voyages until that part came back for a moment or two. I knew he loved me, because he showed me every day, but I still wasn't sure if I was ready.

Then one night he read a poem to me, and it changed everything.

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

--W. B. Yeats

I knew that he understood me, and that if I wasn't careful I would lose out on the opportunity to share a life with this wonderful man.

So I fell in love with him, and my pilgrim soul came home to rest.

Fresh Starts

When this picture was taken, I was 22 and fresh out of BYU. I had just landed my dream job with Leo Burnett in Chicago and left a few days later to start my new life. I ended a long-term relationship, packed up my stuff, and left Provo for good (or so I thought). I had a decent salary, was young, healthy, and, dare I say it, kind of cute. Within days I found a tiny but cheap apartment in Lincoln Park and jumped into yuppydom full force. So many great experiences and people came into my life, including my husband. There were definitely growing pains, but it was all leading me to a place I couldn't see in the beginning.

As I was walking tonight, I had so much to think about. I feel a bit like I did back in 1986 when the world was my oyster and the sky was the limit. So many interesting experiences and people have come into my life this year, and I'm trying to learn what I can from each. I feel like something big is about to happen to me, something that I can't imagine right now. There have definitely been some growing pains, as there always are, but I feel more confident than I did 23 years ago and am not quite so worried that I can't see around the corner.

Back To School

I started back to work today. It felt great to see everyone and be back where I feel like I contribute something. My opinions mattered and I felt real affection from everyone. Thanks for making me feel so loved, girls!

When I got out of college I got a hot-shot job in Chicago where I got to spend other people's money by the bucket load and was wined and dined every day by very nice people with bottomless pockets. It was awesome! Lunches, dinners, parties on boats, seaplanes at my disposal--what a great job. Of course it was the 80s and no one bothered about silly details like where the money was coming from to actually pay for it all. Not my problem! Then I got married, and we decided that I would stay home with the kids when we had them. By that point, I was so starved for babies that I couldn't wait to stay home and sew Halloween costumes and bake cookies.

Well, we were naive about how far money really stretches. Sure, you can make your own baby wipes and drink only powdered milk. I know people who have done just that. But it wasn't long before the needs of our family outstripped my economizing skills. Little jobs started coming my way for lots of different things, but I was always able to still be at home.

When Tinkerbell started first grade, I realized how much I hated being in an empty house. Of course there is still a mountain of things I could spend my time on--ironing, laundry, dishes, paperwork, cleaning--but it was miserable not having a little voice in the house with me. So I started working at her school.

My first job there was teaching Gifted/Talented in grades 1-6. I had never taught before, and suddenly I had to come up with a curriculum map and daily lesson plans for the entire year. It was overwhelming and I really didn't know if I could do it. But with lots of help from my colleagues I slowly got the hang of things and began to settle in. Soon I wasn't just trying to keep the kids corralled but actually sitting with them and laughing over their writing and silly jokes. I got hugs in the hall, sweet love notes from six year-olds, and parents told me how much the kids loved my class. My day was full of positive reinforcement and I found that working with kids, even other people's kids, was the most fun I'd ever had on a job.

As my own kids have gotten older, my desire to stay home has lessened and lessened. Of course I love summer vacation--who doesn't love sleeping in and having no particular place you have to be every day--but once school starts back up again I couldn't imagine being home alone to work on projects, no matter how desperately they need it. I feel like I've found something I'm good at and really love, and that's more important even than the pay cut we all took this year to keep doing it. And that's truly saying something.

The Things We Don't Say

I just spent a fab morning making crepes with Kata and Rachel. Sweetie spoils us with them sometimes, but this time I learned how to make true Hungarian ones, with a real Hungarian chef.

This started out as a group Visiting Teaching meeting. We invited the girls we teach over to Kata's and she was going to instruct us in the art of crepe-making. As it turned out, only Rachel could come, which is honestly how I would prefer it anyway. The three of us have a great time talking and things get pretty candid, which is how I like it.

If the only perception a girl/young woman had of motherhood was from Relief Society on Sundays, they would only scratch the tip of the iceberg. What about when someone is horrified that they got pregnant--again? How about the children of neighbors that you can't abide and want to torment in subtle ways? What if we give birth to an ugly baby? How many kids can I stop at without feeling guilty?

Church leaders try to sanctify mothers and endow them with the noblest of hearts and intentions. The pressure! We're only human, and have as many frailties, doubts, and anger management issues as anyone else. We love our own children, but no way are we changing the neighbor kid's diaper. And do we really need to be eternal Primary teachers? Do you not trust us with the general population of young marrieds and empty-nesters? How about giving us time off for good behavior, at least? Though I must confess, you will have to pry my Primary piano accompanist job from my cold, dead hands.

And then we admit that being a mom isn't nearly as bad as we thought it would be. We kind of dig being pregnant, at least most of us do. Being a chick isn't that bad, we guess. That having a baby fall asleep in your arms is one of the most amazing experiences one can have. We could even learn to love an ugly baby in time, or at least try to.

These talks are good for the soul, even if they involve things we'd never discuss in polite society. There are some women who seem to handle motherhood with such natural ability and grace that the rest of us feel inadequate. There are others who make us feel pretty darned proud of ourselves after encounters with their horrible offspring. We're all just doing our best, most days, and hoping the kids are so distracted by their crazy mothers that they don't remember the other ones.

Finally

Well, I think I've finally got all the answers I was looking for. "I've said my peace and counted to three," as Penny said in O Brother, Where Art Thou? I can walk away from my past life with my head held high and leave it 22 years in the past where it belongs. It is what it is, and that's all it will ever be. I'm amazed that three years of my life could take so many more to reconcile.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Wow, what an exhausting summer. It's almost over--this is my last Friday of freedom. Boo hoo. But the kids are bored and missing their friends, so I suppose the time has come. And I'm a bit bored and missing my friends, too! It will be nice to be with grown-ups again and torment the little kiddles with endless math flash cards and sight words.

I'm excited for a new project that starts this weekend. I'm taking part in a moleskine exchange with a group of other knitters from around the world. We'll each have our own book that we'll take turns mailing to one another. Each participant will do a page or two in the book in whichever artistic medium they choose. Most books will have themes, but how one executes that theme is completely up to that person. At the end, all twelve of us will have a completed book of our own with pages done by each member of the group. It will take several months, but Emily (my darling sister) and my wonderful friend Pat (in London) will both be in my group, which makes me very happy. I'm relatively creative but not all that artistic, so this will be a fun challenge for me. Or I'll just get Sweetie to paint in each one for me! He'll probably do that for Em and Pat's books anyway, but I'll do my own page too. And of course I have the usual stack of books and collection of knitting projects to work through. I love it when my brain hums away with activity! Or maybe that's me humming my way into a catatonic state... Hmmm.

Drummer Boy has been getting in his end-of-summer parties with his friends before they all split up and head off to college. Most are going to UVU, a few to BYU, but nearly everyone at least will stay in Utah. I hope he keeps in touch with a lot of them. He has very nice friends. He also saw several DCI competitions, both live and in the theater. He will be auditioning for the Santa Clara Vanguard this November. He's excited to move into the dorms week after next. His new roommates have friended him on Facebook and they're all from Utah. This after me telling him he'd meet kids from all over the country and world! But he will--he just won't be living with them this year.

Elvira has spent her summer catching up on homework, writing, and avoiding friends. She's a funny girl. The kids that hang out together at school have no contact with each other during the summer, and the kids she doesn't really care for call endlessly. She has a killer schedule this junior year, to make up for a few blips over the last couple, so she'll be very busy. I keep telling her to keep her eyes on the prize, which is getting out of the house and off to college. That doesn't seem to motivate her as much as I would like.

Kitty Boy turned 13 the other day, has grown several inches over the summer, and is ready to be top dog in middle school. The pecking order in a school with only two grades is a big deal, as I remember. He has spent his summer swimming, riding his bike down on the river trail, and just hanging out. He got a massive Nerf gun for his birthday and he and his friend had a battle royale on our stairs complete with barricades and the soundtrack to "Das Boot" blaring through the speakers. So funny, but it kept them entertained for hours. I will be finding foam darts all over the house for months, I think!

And little Tinkerbell had a hard summer. She did swim team but didn't like it. Too early and too many laps. We stuck it out until we went to St. Louis, but it ended while we were there. Lots of friend issues, worrying because some arch enemies will be in her class next year, some lonely afternoons. It's hard to be nine. Fourth grade was my very favorite year in elementary school, as I told her, and I hope she ends up having a much better time than she thinks. Still trying to decide if she wants to stick with ice skating or go back to ballet this next year. I worry about her.

Sweetie has worked himself to death this summer, thankfully only figuratively. Lots of film stuff going on at BYU, several papers finished up and sent in for publication, getting ready to go up for full professor this fall, and of course, THE REMODEL. I put it in bold letters because it has a life of its own now. I had no idea how long this would take, but the words "this is a 20 minute job, max" just make me laugh now. I try not to get frustrated because he's the one doing all the work, after all. I'm just his surgical nurse, handing him drill bits and sheetrock screws. It looks great, but still has a ways to go. One of the rooms will become Elvira's new lair, and she is most anxious for that. She has plans to paint it all black. I have other plans.

What's ahead? Let's see... Hopefully a BYU football game to see Drummer Boy in action--he will be playing 2nd bass on their drumline. Already marked up my calendar with lots of concerts, plays, and operas to attend. Haven't seen the new International Cinema calendar yet, but I'm sure there will be some goodies on it. Emily has a conference in Seattle this October and I'm going to try to sneak up there for a few days. I do love that city. Sweetie will probably go to one more conference somewhere this fall. We'll finish the three rooms and start planning our next project. I want to start laying down hardwood floors. Sweetie wants to tear off the back of the dining room and put in a sliding door.

He swears it's a 2-3 day project--max.

Excuse Me For Living

I can't sleep tonight for some reason. Actually, I know the reason, but knowing it isn't going to change the fact that I can't sleep.

I've been thinking tonight about lots of things. I wrote a post last January called "Stalker Redux" and deleted it because I didn't want someone in particular to read it. Now I wish I hadn't. Oh, the person did read my blog, cover to cover, but I should have owned my thoughts enough to keep them there. I talked to this person at length about my feelings 20+ years ago that prompted me to write that post, and according to them I completely misinterpreted their intentions. Rather than being sure of myself, I caved and apologized for feeling afraid and looking over my shoulder for years on end. I was wrong, they were right, silly me for being so paranoid.

I hate that about myself. So quick to apologize and take the blame for any situation.

As you know, I recently returned from a long trip to St. Louis and Chicago. Life is different outside of our little Wasatch Bubble, and not necessarily in bad ways. One thing that I really loved was how people just flat-out speak their minds. They like something or they don't. They believe something or they don't. End of story. There doesn't need to be confrontation or argument--that's just one more piece of information about the person that you have. Isn't it great we're all different?

Not here. The very day after I got back to Provo, I was shopping at the Orem Wal-Mart. Aside from grown women shopping in their pajama bottoms (don't even get me started on that one--a future post for sure), women were apologizing right and left for absolutely everything. They needed something off the shelf, they passed me in an aisle, they were ahead of me in line, behind me in line, had a crying child, blah blah blah. Good grief people, those situations don't require an apology! An "Excuse me" or "Thanks!" would suffice, but no, we apologize for everything the entire day. And I was doing it right along with them. "Sorry!" "No, you're fine, it's totally my fault!" Grow a backbone, woman!

I'm not going to make some broad-based sociological impact statement on this, but I truly believe in my case it has made me too quick to find myself in the wrong in general. I know that the whole shopping trip is such a tiny blip on the radar, but when you spend the better of 45 years apologizing for taking up space on the planet, it gets to you. Well, it gets to me.

When I was growing up in the military, we moved nearly every year with only a few exceptions. My way of dealing with relationship problems with anyone at all (boyfriend, neighbor, classmate, employer, etc.) was to just wait a few months and then move. Problem solved. I just bided my time and skipped town. This was actually a rather effective way to deal with conflict, though I admit not particularly character-building.

I've employed this little trick for many years, with mixed results, especially since I haven't moved in nearly 15 years, not to mention that I've been married for more than 21. That does complicate things a bit. So my new trick is to just apologize and get on with life. Doesn't matter what the issue is, I'm sure I'm at least partly to blame so what's the big deal in taking the rest of it on and putting everything behind us?

But I've grandfathered that into my incredibly messy college life, even though there is ample evidence that I was definitely not to blame for a large part of it. I look at way too many events that happened to me and excuse away the other person's role in it almost entirely until I look like a one-woman wrecking ball hurtling through BYU at warp speed. And if that didn't work, I burned pages of my journal, shredded pictures, and effectively obliterated any evidence that I was ever present in the situation at all. That's my forgive/forget process--just pretend it never happened.

This year has been like an extended version of "This Is Your Life" for me. I've been working to patch things up with my extended family, who I have neglected shamefully for many years. I've talked to aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, my former sister-in-law, past roommates from college, friends from high school, and feel closer to my own sisters than ever. But on the flip side, I've also had the "opportunity" to sort through some very ugly stuff with some people I knew in college a lifetime ago. And you know, it really has been an opportunity. Any one of these people (or me) could have disappeared from my life permanently (though admittedly I expended a fair amount of time on my knees praying for that exact thing), which would have left me with endless questions and doubts. I still need some questions answered, but the list is dwindling.

But now that I'm so conscious of it, I'm handling it different. "I was a jerk!" one said. "Why yes you were," I said. "I'm so sorry for everything," they declared. "Thanks," was my response. Not an apology escaped my lips unless it was for something which I was truly responsible for. And I took none of the blame for the fact that they were a jerk and treated me abominably (which actually applies in more than one of these situations. In another, it was pretty equal).

I still have a looong way to go. There are people I will probably never get to that point with, including my dad, and to some extent my own sweet husband, who I just hate to disappoint. I already keenly feel that he got the short end of the stick in marrying me, so how could I ever blame him for anything? It's definitely my fault no matter what the issue is, at least in my assessment. But I'm working very hard to clean out the attic of my memories, open the windows, and shed some truly illuminating light on my own life and not only forgive myself for being such an idiot but in many cases absolve myself completely.

As far as the future goes, I will try to speak my true mind (which to some of you will come as shock that I don't always do that) and not apologize unnecessarily, though I'll still try to be nice.

Even to women wearing pajamas in public.

An Unlikely Inspiration

I recently spoke with an old friend of mine who was, to put it nicely, not someone I generally considered a good example for me to follow. I have been very critical of this person both publicly and privately because of some pretty unpleasant stuff that happened between us many years ago.

It's amazing what a few years and some growing up can do to a person. Though there will always be issues between us, and with just cause on both sides, I came away from the conversation with a new respect for this person and a lot to think about, particularly in light of the post I made last night. In many ways, I have ample reason to look to them as a good example of grown-up interactions, which stuns me more than I can say.

I know that a lot of the posts I write are vague at best and nonsensical at worst. I write a lot of things in "code" that make no sense to anyone but me. But writing helps me look at the things I'm dealing with at the time and try to sort them out and make sense of my world. With that said, the hot coals I'm willing to extinguish are talking to strangers with candy and playing in traffic. Still working on running with scissors.

It feels so good to write again!

This has been a weird summer in a lot of ways. Lots of doctors appointments, lots of pills, lots of driving (3,972 in 12 days to be exact), lots of construction--just weird. Drummer Boy is heading off to college in two weeks and I've been trying to get him ready for dorm life. Still have to do a few "life skill" lessons with him. I will miss him very much--he's a terrific guy and fun to have around. I get a little weepy when I think of all the time we spent together when he was tiny--just the two of us. He wasn't even two when Elvira was born, and all that one-on-one was over way too soon. But then I smack myself and think how fun it will be to see him in college and start planning all the cookies I'll take over to his apartment for him and his roommates. (Don't you think "flatmates" sounds so cool? Maybe I should switch to the British version!)

And happy birthday to my youngest sister, Caroline. She's just turning 27, is a drop-dead-gorgeous redhead with a killer body trying to kick her career as a classical pianist into gear in New Orleans. I think she rocks! And my mom was 46 when she had her, so Mom rocks too!

Fire Walking

A few months ago Danielle wrote an awe-inspiring post about her adventures in fire walking. Apart from the obligatory mom-response of "You'll shoot your eye out one day, Missy," I was secretly pretty impressed. I can't remember the last time I sought out physical pain in an effort to prove something to myself, even working out at the gym. Danielle is pretty gutsy, that's for sure. She walked gingerly for at least a week after that incident, and her poor feet looked very sore.

I take lots of chances in other ways, some even more dangerous than fire walking. I do the adult equivalent of talking to strangers with candy, running with scissors, and playing in traffic nearly every day, not to mention the occasional walking on hot coals and sleeping on beds of nails. I know I'm a bit self-destructive, but with a husband and four kids it's not really fair for me to indulge in that these days. I know this, and yet I don't know if it's laziness or a death wish that interferes with doing what I know I should.

I really thought I'd grow out of this, but I don't think I have. Never a dull moment around me, that's for sure.

The Real Reason I'm Looking Forward To Going Back To Work