High. Higher. Highest.

A continuation of my previous post: Wet. Wild. Water. Sadly, not a post about getting high.

While we were at the Kalahari over Mother’s Day weekend we not only went to the water park, but got to enjoy the theme park as well.

I like to think of myself as an adventurous daring person.  In my mind, I really am. I want to seek out adventure at every turn. I’m a person who rarely says no and is always up for something new and exciting. Until I get there. And freak out. Like a place with lots of people I don’t know that I’m supposed to speak to. Or someplace where everyone is gorgeous and I’m self conscious or simply some place very high.

The first thing that I see when we walk into the theme park is the ropes course. Without even batting an eye I tell tell the H, “lets go.” So we get strapped into these harnesses and hooked up this rope attached to the metal tracks above us and we’re sent on our way. Just like that. So we climb up the stairs and get to the first obstacle. Okay, I think I can do this. It’s a straight wooden bar with a metal railing on the side. I can feel my heart pounding. But I have something to hold on to. I’ll be okay. I make it across and as I stand on this tiny metal platform with nothing to hold onto, in the air, so I start to panic. A lot. I look ahead and there’s no way I can go across there’s nothing to hold on to.

This family of four with two children Bear’s age start coming up behind us. I force the H to continue on without me so he goes across the second obstacle. And I’m still standing there waiting for them all to go ahead and the mom tries to convince me to keep going. Her kids are going across. She’s looking at me probably wondering what is wrong with me that I’m up there with my knees rattling in the first place. So I go across the second obstacle. I hold onto these ropes reaching out from one to the other as the wooden boards below me move as I walk across each one.

And then I stop.

And they keep going.

And I keep shaking waiting for each group to go by so I can just turn around and go back.

And the tears are welling up in my eyes as I’m so embarrassed watching all these people go by me.

But I can’t. I’m terrified.

So I get back down. And I watch the H from below.

And when he gets back I decide we should go on the rock climbing wall. My goal is to make it at least up to the first elephant. Mind you this elephant is probably only 7-8 feet off the ground so not even that much higher than me. And it’s hard. Really really hard. My fingers are going numb. I do however enjoy repelling. I could have bounced up and down all night.

Feeling defeated we go back to the hotel after we go on the go carts. The next morning I seem to have entirely forgotten how the evening went and we take Bear down to the theme park before we start our water activities for the day. First, the ferris wheel. Bear seems very skeptical about this having been on a ferris wheel with me before and recalling mommy gripping the sides for dear life starring at her feet. However, this is a very fast moving ferris wheel. And Bella’s there smiling it up so I have to keep up appearances.

It was not frightening, but it was the longest ferris wheel ride of my life. I think the lady forgot when she loaded us on because we went around for what seemed like at least 10 minutes.

Bear and I ride the go carts together and apparently my attempts to bypass people are labeled by Bear as me “not being in control.”

We go to the rock wall and I make it much higher than last time, but although Bear tries he never makes it higher than the first two steps up. We have to work on not giving up so easily.

Then I convince Bear to go on the ropes course with Daddy. So the two of them get all suited up and start heading up the stairs with me watching for the bottom. I however could not miss this photographic opportunity so I suit up and chase them up. Bear is terrified. I am terrified. I use him for encouragement. He makes me brave. I want him to be brave. And adventurous. I want him to have the same drive I have, but also the courage to fulfill on it. So I go across the first obstacle and wait for him.

And then I go across the second.

And this is where I turned back the last time. But I go across the third.

And then I go across the fourth and I climb up the rope stairs and I’m standing at the top of the second level thinking I could maybe actually finish this. But Bear starts to cry. He wants to get back down. And I know that I instilled this fear in him. That even though I’m pretending to be brave right now, I’ve made him this way. And we head back down and I still wish that I had just gone ahead and completed it myself. Maybe next time I will. Maybe next time he can complete it with me.

Do your kids have an adventurous spirit? Are you secretly afraid of heights but seem to always forget that?

 

Call Her Beautiful.

Last night I snuck into her bedroom. Tip toed, hoping she wouldn’t wake from the noise, from the light.

I leaned over her crib and gazed at her sleeping body. Carefully placed my hand delicately on her back. Watched her breathe. My daughter.  I whispered promises.

Sneaking back to my bedroom with salty mascara stained tears at my cheeks I stared at the empty wine glass, the clicking cursor in the email. My relationship with my mother is _____.

It’s a sucker punch. Air knocked out. A gasp.

Yesterday, my mother wrote me to tell me how unhelpful I am and how I don’t have any real friends because I can’t open up my heart.

She cut, for the sake of the bleed.

There are words that spilled over the page like cabernet shattered; staining, creeping across the crevices as tears poured out of me and onto four pages. Promptly deleted. I don’t want this to be our story. I am done with our story.

It is now about her. Her tendrils of fine blonde hair that curl at her neck.

It is about her brilliant blue eyes that if tear stained won’t ever be at my negligence.

Her childhood will not be filled with memories of meals denied for the sake of her appearance. She will be beautiful regardless of her appetite.

She won’t be called stupid, or a moron, or a retard or any other synonym for the same sentiment. She won’t be criticized and ridiculed. I won’t defend or excuse or accept blame for someone else’s vileness.

She is gorgeous, this daughter of mine. Affectionate. Stubborn. Adventurous. Silly girl.

She has so many to watch her, to look over her, to love her. Her brother. Her sensitive, kind, loving brother who hugged me last night as I cried and told me he would never be mean to his children.

Yes, I think she will be okay.

These whispered promises of mine that I keep in my heart. Sewn up and sealed with tears. With love. With sadness. With wishes from the damaged and dreams from the hopeful. You will call her beautiful, and she will believe it.

She won’t survive, she’ll thrive.

—

All of these photos are from instagram. You should follow me: motus8

—

A continuation from my post: Call Me Beautiful.

—

Just written for a wordful wednesday where I poured my heart out and spoke for her.

From the Beginning.

It started in 1985. In Poland.

But what if it hadn’t?

What if it was elsewhere?

We fled communism for Munich and awaited our visas to Australia. What if we got them?

In 1989 we moved to Chicago, but if we didn’t?

Evanston found us in 1993; friendships still over a decade strong were forged. Tearstained pillow cases established their home in the middle school years. What if we had never arrived?

1998. Mexico. An incident occurred that would forever change every aspect of how I perceived the world and myself. Who would I be if we had gone to the Bahamas instead?

In 2003 I chose the University of Minnesota over my first choice of Fordham University in NYC for love. If I had gone to New York I would not  have met and married my husband.

6 years ago in 2006 I graduated early and started my job at the Museum. I was going to go to Law School, what if I had?

Had a misstep been taken.  A different plane boarded. Why the possibilities are limitless. Of who I would be, of who you would be. Of how we would cross. Grain against grain. Smoothed to glass or swept to sea.

Each of these moments strung together, seemingly meaningless infinite strands of chance encounters braided, entwine us. Hold us close. The edges may fray. You may tug and pull and attempt to unravel. But once bound we have forever made an impression. Whether fate or chance unknown.

I have known you and you me.

Our paths may change, the stream will flow into the river into the ocean, the current carrying us apart. But you two have made your way into the world, born by me, by chance, by fate, by divine power. With me forever.

And when I asked of you to hold a hand and you held his, I knew that you will have your own path. That you will travel. Together. Alone. Without me.

We will each make our own way through the crevices and mountain tops. Traverses narrow and deep holding our dreams in sweaty palms.

Clinging to hopes, wishes unwished, loves unloved.

I don’t know what I believe in, but I believe in you.

For as long as we are together, let’s make it better.

–

This post came to be because she read a cartoon and tweeted it. And she read that tweet and blogged it. And I read that blog post and felt it. 

–

I have also used this as a contest entry for a full sponsorship to the Type-A Parent Conference from Brica. Brica’s Motto is ‘Making Together Better’ and you can find Brica on both Facebook and Twitter.

Call Me Beautiful

It has to be the weather.

It was gloomy on Saturday. Cold. Rainy. I didn’t leave the bed all day. Finally at 3pm still pajama clad I took Bear to see The Lorax per his insistence. Post movie I crawled back in.  Finally at 6:30 I pulled myself together, literally and figuratively, and saw Five Year Engagement then went out for drinks with friends. It was almost 2am when I came home.

Sunday was beautiful. Warm sunny. We went hiking at Afton. Had a delicious lunch at a diner we discovered in Stillwater. Went to a candy shop were I fell in love with white chocolate dipped pretzel sticks.

Monday was supposed to be nice. Where was the 70 degrees promised?

I cleaned. It helped. Having the dog hair picked up. The counters wiped down. The clutter filed away. The beds made. When there is order around me it makes me like there is order in me. Except it didn’t.

After six weeks of “dieting” and exercising and being healthy and doing all the right things  I had only lost 5 lbs. Five measly pounds. All lost within the first week. Gained. Lost. Gained. Up. Down. Flat. Flat for 9 straight days. Starring at that horrendous number. The same as 7 months pregnant, but 19 months postpartum.

I want to look at myself and think that I am beautiful. I want to, desperately.

I look back on this picture from two weeks ago. That I titled joy. I can’t look beyond my chin, my arm, the little part of my bra sticking out. That imperfection to even see the joy.

My eyes flutter across all of 2012, the ones that are supposed to be the best. Those shared socially to prove their worthiness for global speculation. I pick them apart. Line by line. Roll by roll. Until I’m left with a magnifying glass to the worst. A microscope to each pore. I am dissected and shredded and not human, but made up of haphazard slivers.

Being an over analyzer and introspective I know many of the reasons why so much of my happiness is wrapped up in self appearance. I want to believe when I’m older that I will look back on this and not only think of how I wish I knew how beautiful I was at 27, but how little it mattered. I find it hard to believe that I will ever come to a place like that in my life, but I hold out hope.

Maybe the weather will change. Maybe someone will call me beautiful and I will believe it.

Thank you so much for your support to my biopsy post. Results came back today and I’m cancer free.

Linked with Just Write and Pour Your Heart Out and Wordful Wednesday

Easter. Censored.

For the uncensored version go here.

The Holiday Weekend started with me working a blissful half day. Perhaps it was even the most productive day of my whole work week honestly.

Last year I had purchased a living social deal for a cleaning service and since it was expiring I smartly booked it for Good Friday, so it was spotless for my parents visit. This way I figured there wouldn’t be as much cleaning and stress for me and my mother wouldn’t feel like she needed to clean and could play with the kids instead. If you have a Polish mother you know their level of clean is above average.

I picked up an adorable hunny bunny from Great Harvest and even got Hot Cross Buns thinking my parents would like the whole wheat buns with raisins and cranberries instead of the cinnamon rolls I know my family would prefer.

I saved the Easter egg dyeing for my parents visit thinking it’d be a fun activity and great photo op. The egg dyeing took significantly less time than I remember. I think next year we might be ready to move up to painting and not just dyeing.Or try these adorable silk dyed eggs that Casey had posted about.

On Saturday Bear was at an all day birthday party but the rest of us took our baskets to be blessed at the Polish Catholic Church and then had lunch at Dixies on Grand.

Sunday morning the kids hunted Easter eggs. It was adorable watching Bella look for her eggs and having her and Bear work together!

They also found their Easter baskets. I pared it down a little, but I think they still really liked them!

We had Easter morning breakfast and I made the bunny napkins I had pinned.

Then after church we went to The H’s grandmother’s for lunch with the whole extended family.Which also involved some outdoor play with the “grown up kids” which was as usual tons of fun even though I got hit in the nose with a ball

Hope everyone had a Happy Easter!