Lamenting

I’ve been in such an unpleasant state of mind lately. ‘Unpleasant’ is a nice way of putting it. Try as I may to subdue my mood I feel like I am spiraling downward and it has managed to manifest itself into physical attributes. My hair is standing on end, the claws and fangs have come out, and I seem to have developed a growl.

I need to vent:

1. I’m tired. I’m tired of being tired all the time. I regularly have good intentions of going to bed early yet somehow that never happens. This is in part due to Sierra having a late bed-time so my alone time with Trevor would get cut short. I’m so awful to be around lately so I should just save the poor man and go to bed! Going to bed early isn’t the only solution – not getting woken up at night would also really help the sleeping. If it’s not the cats fighting or one of them yowling for no reason it’s Trevor snoring! Or I’m hot. Or I’m cold. Or my back hurts. Or I have indigestion There seems to always be something.

2. The novelty of work has worn off. I will still gladly say I don’t hate it, most of the time I would still use the word ‘like’. I almost cried Sunday night, all I want(ed) was to be a stay-at-home mom again. Work takes so much dang time and energy out of one’s day. Full-time work is definitely much harder with a child.
3. I feel fat and bloated and unattractive. (That is such a girl thing!) Getting back into working has meant that exercise is lacking but the eating isn’t. You do the math. I have only gained maybe a couple of pounds and I know it’s more mental than anything. I try but the ‘tired’ part is making it feel like I'm climbing a mountain with no end.
4. My chronic indigestion/heartburn is back. Stress, lack of exercise, and coffee are the instigators of that. This malady doesn’t help with the bloating department either. I feel yucky most evenings.
5. Working full-time and having no holiday is contributing to me feeling gypped out of summer. I don't to do the delightful summer things like go the pool with Sierra.
6. Sierra has turned into the worst and picky eater. She insist on eating most food by herself - what a disaster that is! - and only eats Arrowroot cookies, oatmeal, yogurt, and grilled cheese sandwiches. I worry that my child is malnourished and starving but I suppose she'll eat if she's hungry.
   
7. I live with my parents in a dark basement. It is a nice basement but the whole idea of it…30years old and back at home!
8. I can’t seem to make time for God. Likely - this is the main culprit of me turning into an animal.

Sorry to do this do you. I promise I won’t post again until I am cheerful. It’s a drag to feel this way so it can’t be any better to read about it! I know that my life is actually quite good and there are a lot of things going for me and I shouldn't feel like this.

But I do and I need to wallow for a bit.

Early Morning Solitude

I'm sound asleep in dreamland when a persistent beeping and prodding husband bring my senses into consciousness. I roll over and smack the alarm off, almost smack my husband, and then curse being awake.

6:30a.m.

I should just roll over and get another hour in....

my eyes are so heavy....

the bed is so comfy....
but the wrath I would receive from Trevor for resetting the alarm and waking him again wins out and I fall out of bed.
After about fifteen minutes of stumbling around I'm actually able to keep my eyes open.
I dress, go upstairs, and open the back door to a deliciously crisp wave of fresh morning air. I go for about a half hour run/walk. My route so far has been along an irrigation canal that runs behind my parents’ house and along the south edge of the town. There's houses on one side and field on the other. I hardly ever encounter anyone else.
It's peaceful. I breathe deeply and enjoy.
I return invigorated.
Lately I've been feeling a bit smothered. I work around people all day, come home to a husband who's mostly been alone all day and wants my company, and an adorable little girl also starving for my attention. I'm not really complaining because I like work and love my family but there comes a point when some "me" time is necessary to maintain my sanity. The only time of day that is possible is the early morning.

If only it didn’t involve the “early” part.

We Have A Hole!!

Intoxicating Incident

I’ve been in an ‘off’ mood with an ‘off’ week and I’m glad that it’s over. I’ll spare you a grump session but I must tell you about my first customer this morning. He was an experience unlike any other in my tens years in optical. I still feel my skin crawling and like I need to take a shower.

I’ll begin by describing him: he was tall and very thin wearing a faded black tee-shirt, black jeans, and a black hat. He had a long, scraggly, grey, goatee and colourful tattoos decorating the entire length of his arms. He was 54 years old and looked every day of those years if not more. He also had an ornate wooden walking stick.

It was just after nine in the morning and he was already quite inebriated (or perhaps still so from the previous night) with the breath to prove it. His manner indicated that he thought himself a charming man when in reality he was quite the opposite. Once the doctor went back to the exam room he proceeded to loudly acknowledge the fact that he was surrounded by women and felt very fortunate about that. He punctuated continuous lewd remarks with barks, and meows and purrs. He was so crude that I refuse to repeat them. At one point another customer came in, a woman approximately in her mid-fifties, and he greeted her with an exuberant

“Well, hell-llo mama!”

She immediate got a rather scared look on her face. Fortunately that was the only dealings she had with him. She discretely wished me luck when she passed me as she left a few moments later.

It was probably only ten minutes that I had to spend with him but it was an extremely uncomfortable, squeamish ten minutes! Had he not left when he did I wouldn’t have been able to endure him much longer. I likely would have simply disappeared to the back until he left. There was nothing appropriate about his words and actions and I was extremely uncomfortable and didn’t know how to respond. Somehow I got through the ordeal.

A little later the doctor came out and there were no patients around so I asked how he was to examine considering his intoxication. The doctor said it went all right, and he wasn’t really drunk since he was not slurring his words or tipsy.

Hmmmm.

He was definitely more than just “happy” but the good doctor is a Mormon and not likely been around many drunks so I let that slide. I don’t have excessive experience either but enough to know this man had been drinking a fair amount. Then I delicately asked about refusing service to a person in that state, to which the doctor replied,

“It’s my call to make,”

in a tone that implied I had no right to even think of suggesting such a thing.

Then I became infuriated.

Did the doc have to listen to crude, suggestive comments? Not likely, being a man and all. If the doctor had heard what this man said and his wife was the one trying to serve him….I bet he’d change his tune!

So I ate two chocolate chip cookies and had a cup of coffee and felt a little better.

Getting Around

On May 20 or so, Sierra figured out how to get around. She tucks her right leg under her and propels herself forward with her hands on her bum. It is the cutest little scoot!

Three weeks ago Sierra decided that she wanted to walk unassisted between Trevor and me across the living room. Now she walks and runs everywhere! There are many interruptions by falling but she as long as there's something nearby to pull herself up with she keeps on going.
She absolutely loves the independence and is into everything!

To Dig...Or Not

If you care to know, or even if you don't I'm going to tell you, where we are at on our new house.
We were all set to dig the basement today, have the water line put in tomorrow and the footings poured on Friday with the foundation done next Tuesday. Our excavator showed up promptly at 7:30 this morning and began with the services trench.
Then he stopped.
Something didn't add up.
Apparently the way the land is graded the slope is not steep enough to allow for the depth of a walk-out bungalow. The hole has to be shallower than planned which means a higher basement which means re-working the plans. The drawings have passed all architect and development controls and one would think that someone there would have thought to mention this 'minor' detail before.
Excavator stopped, plumber canceled, truss order canceled because who know what the change will do to the roof pitch, and two rather frustrated home builders!
The plans are back with our drafter who knows a surveyor and hopefully they'll figure out how to modify the house design this weekend so it works. It's not a floor plan change or anything, just the elevations.
Now we're behind a couple of weeks without even starting.
The depressing part....this is only the beginning.

The Sound Of Music

Beware - this is along one!

I was six years old, nearer to seven actually, when I excitedly watched the piano being lugged and heaved by strong, sweating men into my parents house. (Pianos are incredibly heavy beasts!) It was carefully brought in through the front door and placed along the far wall of the living room. As soon as those men were gone I was at that piano, my little fingers pressing the ivory keys in wonder.

My lessons began that fall with a kindly lady who lived across the street, her name was Mrs. Doerksen. I was hooked and diligently continued lessons up to and including my first year of Bible school. I had four different teachers during those twelve years: after Mrs. Doerksen there was meticulous Mrs. Pahl, then eccentric Glen Montgomery, and I concluded with a pretty young blond lady who I can’t remember the name of. (I only studied under her for one year so I won’t feel too bad.) I truly enjoyed playing the piano and coaxing songs out of the intricately written notes. There were definitely times when I wished that the piano had never been invented but overall I loved it. The music that I was able to create carried my soul into a unique, fulfilling place.

The piano wasn’t the only form of music I was blessed with being able to create. I also sang in many choirs at church, school and Bible College. My voice wasn't/isn't what one would call superb, and to this day I’m too chicken to sing solos, but I can nicely hold my own. Then flute became my emphatic choice of instrument when band entered the picture in school. I picked it up naturally and blew my way into being one of the better flutists our bands had while I was a student. I even took private lessons for a year but then my mom made me choose between flute or piano and piano won. Gradually music became my “thing”. I was a member of every choir and band I could be. Music made me feel alive and important. It was the perfect way for me to express my inner being and feel fulfilled. I rarely tired of my musical activities.

I majored in music at Bible College for two years, although the program wasn’t particularly good. After graduating with a diploma I contemplated studying music more seriously at university. The reality of taking music to a career level is that you either had to be exceptionally good at an instrument and become a performer (which I wasn’t) or plan to teach it (which wasn’t me either). On top of that, the idea of university didn’t really thrill me so I decided against that idea. I ended up getting engaged shortly after Bible College, working for a year before getting married and than settling into the reality of life. Music, although still present, took a secondary seat.

I played in a community band for a year and then my husband got a job as a youth pastor in Calgary. At our church there we got involved with leading the youth worship team. Our weekly practices and the Sundays we lead worship became my highlights. Five years were spent in Calgary and then life took us back here. We took a year off from church involvements then I once again joined a worship team and the church choir. Rehearsals and the Sundays I was required in either role were my favourite times. I loved nothing more than singing to my Lord.

Then this past year everything changed. Our church hired a new, very skilled worship pastor. His talent and personality and the fact that he was new encouraged many musically gifted people to appear and volunteer their talents. The choir grew into a huge and impersonal group from the intimate social gathering it once was for me. Suddenly, without explanation, I was also no longer a member of a worship team. The thrill I once got our of music waned but I persevered because I knew that change always brings about challenges and adjustments.

My voice then began to fail me which didn’t help matters. One thought is that due to allergies I had nasal drip which affected the vocal chords. Another thought is that the type of music sung in choir didn’t stretch my voice enough so it got rusty. A third thought is at that pregnancy changes a body and my singing abilities were included in that. Whatever the reason for my vocal deterioration I grew increasingly frustrated with singing but continued with choir, not willing to give it up. I was asked to play my flute in the orchestras for the Christmas and Easter productions which was a fun, rejuvenating change that gave my voiced a break. My singing voice still isn’t up to par though.

All in all music-and-me has changed and I can no longer ignore that fact. I’ve never been phenomenal or one that people would comment on how nice I sound using whatever instrument. That was okay because I believed I had adequate talent (I hope so anyway, I trusted my husband and family to be honest with me in that area) and I had fun. Now I don’t enjoy it nor do feel good enough anymore.

Is it the new worship pastor?

Is it me?

Is it God urging me in other directions through these factors?

For the first time in my life I am seriously considering putting music aside. The mere thought of it saddens me to the depths my being but that appears to be where circumstances are leading me. My soul is screaming “NOOOO!!!”. But my mind is starting to give up and give in to the reality that music is not what it once was for me.

I’ve always had music. It is what has defined a large part of me. Now I may have to let it go which means rediscovering that part of ‘me’.

I should be excited because if this is how things are to be than that means that God has something else in store for me.

I’m still not 100% convinced that this is what I need to do.

For now I’m hanging on to my music and thinking and searching.

Home Sweet Home

Did I ever think that at 30 years old I'd be moving back "home" with my parents? Back in my same old bedroom in the basement, back in my same old bathroom with the leaky shower door....

Nope, definitely not on my list of life goals.

But alas, that is exactly what has occurred. Fortunately the list of "sames olds" isn't much longer than those mentioned above. The house has been renovated and updated quite a bit since I moved out when we got married.

The move went relatively well. It was a huge amount of work and our new basement abode is quite a mess. I loathe packing and moving. Actually, I don't know anyone who enjoys it but if you do, we need to talk. After moving into our future new house I'm determined never to go through his again. Trevor seems to think that we might sell this next one and engage in this process (minus the moving in with parents) again to make money and attempt to eradicate our mortgage. I, on the other hand, plan to live there until a ripe old age and then die in this next house. Moving is murder on one's physical and mental being. I am weary to the core. Yet somehow my body and my mind are still running full bore on adrenalin from all the activity. We put in many long days that sapped all my energy and yet I've still had trouble sleeping!
Cleaning our house was the worst. Trevor's parents were here so they watched Sierra leaving us to ourselves to make our house worthy for someone else to move into. We basically worked alone which left me to my thoughts which was not good. Many memories came flooding back. Memories of our move to the house from Calgary - how much I didn't want to leave our life there and didn't like the house. Memories of how much sweat equity we put into the house to get it where we did like. Memories of how good life here has turned our and the fun we've had in the house. (I am such a woman!) I cried at the very end, bid the house farewell and drove off.

But...

There's always a but during these sentimental moments...right?

I know that all of this is all so we can get closer to better things. We are in a transition phase. Trevor and I are going to be building our personal dream home. It won't be an extravagant mansion built with an endless financial source or anything like that, it will be a house built for specifically for us to hopefully last a lifetime. I am extremely thankful to be in the place we are. What my parents are doing for use by allowing us to live with them is invaluable. Sure there will likely be some challenges ahead but there is a finish line in sight.

Despite the strangeness and unsettledness of the situation it is very comforting to be here. We get along fabulously with my parents and they have a beautiful house and yard.

It is, after all, still home.

My Life Is A Box

Yesterday was Canada Day. A day for sun and outdoor activities complete with a BBQ or KFC picnic. A great day to hang out with family and friends then go see the fireworks show. Ha! Not in this household. Trevor and I packed all day. Besides, the sky grew a vicious dark grey around noon and proceeded to pour rain on us for hours flooding our city into a temporary state of emergency. It was interesting. Many people had sewer back up and flooded basements. I worried about our basement for about an hour as the street became a lake that gradually crept its way up our front lawn. Fortunately the water didn't advance too far and we avoided disaster.
I am surrounded by boxes and chaos. We've been sorting through everything, deciding what to keep and what to give/throw away. Then we had to determine what we would not need for possibly the next year. Myself, Trevor, my cat and especially Sierra feel rather unsettled by this process. At least this messy state is short-lived. The unsettled feeling...well, that could last awhile yet.