Starting Anew: A Long Time Coming

No more apologies or false starts: we're back. I'm back.

I wanted to say so much the last two months of 2012; I didn't stay away for lack of things to discuss. (You know that's never the case.) My fear was that my words made me a broken record. Hadn't I already said those things before, in some form or another?

I spent most of 2012 grieving and, worse yet, denying I was doing so. What's there to grieve when you're home and holding your baby again? Somehow I was doing both.

I grieved in tears, in sleepless nights, in visions and nightmares, in hives and panic attacks, in headaches and laughter that turned back into bawling. I grieved in silence and in exhaustion and in the midst of powerful, endless gratitude.

I grieved in months and months deleted by the wide-eyed, glazed over, "just shuffling my feet" kind of living recovery required. I grieved in conversations I'll never remember and days that went by without my noticing.

I grieved my expectations, what I thought our life would look like. What Mary Brooks' blissful baby days would be filled with, easy and sweet as they had started. How my life would continue as I'd always known it, focused on daily concerns and only occasional, manageable roadblocks.

I grieved my innocence. The 'floating through life' feeling I had for 30 years, coasting along on a whim.

I grieved the pulling back of some unknown veil, showing me what the depths of hurt looked and felt like. And how the world was filled with more of it than I'd ever realized, busy as I was with my floating.

I was an unwilling beekeeper, scrambling to pull that life-saving veil back down and keep everything out. I wanted to take the world in through that gauzy cheesecloth again, blissful in ignorance.

I had my dukes up most of the year, bracing for another impact. I felt the constant rush of adrenaline you get after a near-miss car accident; every tiny thing made me jump, left me wanting to crawl out of my skin.

I hadn't known unbridled pain like that existed, what I felt when I came face-first into my inability to protect Mary Brooks. My inability to run the world and care for everyone I love who lives in it.

I peered into a limitless well of hurt - and panicked. Once the immediate danger was over, I couldn't pinpoint the continuing source of my grief. Then it came to me: I had made it through "this," but knew that if there was anything worse out there in the universe, deep down in that well, I couldn't survive it. I wouldn't.

I thought I really might have died from the sheer awfulness, from the consuming ache. In the hospital it welled up and burned in my chest, leaving me tearless, wordless - scarred.

In the months afterward the pain came and went - when I thought I was out of the woods (and trumpeted the news widely), it swooped in to prove me wrong.

But I couldn't let myself say the words, let myself admit that, despite the joy I wanted to exude, there was a gaping puddle of sorrow.

I know now they can coexist, grief and thankfulness. And the more you admit you're hurting, the less it aches.

I'm sorry for not telling you. For being more concerned about sounding boring or self-absorbed than I was about being authentic. For not shepherding even one person who might come across these pages in a similarly difficult moment.

I feel tremendous relief in the starting of a new year, the rolling over of a calendar and a fresh era for our family. I feel it all rising.

The upside to losing six months of memories is that we'll celebrate a second "first" Easter, Mother's Day, Fourth of July, beach trip, start of the school year.

At the end of the summer Bradley left his job, the one that kept him from us more than 100 hours in his final week, and a weight was lifted immediately. (And another one added, but I'll get to that.)

I was able to fall asleep before 4:00 am for the first time in ages, to share the daily duties of running our life, to start forming memories that lasted more than an hour or two. We began the real, slow work of recovery then.

It might sound crazy, particularly to people who aren't believers, but we felt his decision was in obedience to what our family was being called to do. Who leaves a job with nothing else lined up, not knowing what's next? After trusting the Lord with the very life of our child, you'd imagine it'd be difficult to put up a fight on something as (seemingly) small as a job. And yet we did.

It took months of prayer and discussion and weary conversations (mostly dead-eyed stares over our dining room table, sleepless as we were) to make the leap. I'm so proud of him, the hard worker and constant provider, for making this big transition. For putting aside what makes sense to the rest of the world and setting a tremendous example of obedience and faith.

So here we are, five months later, and the future is unclear in that arena. Better hours will require a career shift of sorts, and we're praying about the details (tiny things like insurance, resumes, interviews, encouragement, provision) as we go. For a planner like me, it can be unnerving - but I'm making a moment by moment commitment to surrender.

My prayer is that the Lord tells a big, wonderful story through our family, just as He did last year, despite my temper tantrums doubts and without my help.

We have seen so much confirmation of our decision, and God has richly blessed us with gifts I can't begin to name. (Being able to string words together without crying, for instance, and growing my business in ways that both excite me and help our family.)

Bradley has been busy, though not in the way he first expected, with a side project that I look forward to sharing with you, too.

For now, just know I'm back. I can't wait to discuss what matters with you - and to discuss royal babies, Downton Abbey, and every other mindless diversion I've missed.

Thank you for keeping me busy on Instagram (heaven help the folks who don't enjoy seeing pictures of my kids), Twitter and in real life. For being patient and prayerful. For emailing and calling and texting. For wading through all this.

I feel a weight off and a light at the end of this tunnel. Welcome, 2013!

 

The Lord has done great things for us, 
and we are filled with joy.
-Psalms 126:3

Day 8: Work

Today the whole gang is coming to the Lowcountry while I have a meeting in Charleston.

Mac and Mary Brooks will celebrate his third birthday for the fourth time at my grandmother's house; I'll wear my big-girl heels and pretend to be a functioning adult for the day. It will be a hectic start to the week, as we leave Greenville at 7:00am and I can only hope we're home by 8:00pm. Whew!

On typical weeks, I work in short spurts most days (and some evenings lately, when it's quiet); I wear my "Mom" hat and my "working Anne" hat intermittently. Some days I work from home beautifully; some weeks nothing quite works at all. I'm thankful to try my hand at this juggling act I've seen so many other women master.

Last week I had a story on the cover of the Lifestyle section here in Greenville, my first byline under my own name in ages. (As a public relations professional and freelance writer I see my own words in print under someone else's name or for the benefit of a client's business. Nothing ever says "Anne Smith was here," per se.)

I'd be willing to bet this piece will make my parents' refrigerator (it calls me special! they always knew it!) should Mac have a slow art week.

Hope y'all have a wonderful Monday! I'm off to dart down I-26.xoxo

GIFs Make Me Giggle: Part Deux

We've already established my affection for GIFs. Instead of spelling out how my life has been these last few radio silent weeks, I thought we'd try GIFfing it out.

(I just made that verb up to describe what you're about to see - go ahead and make note of it, as I'm sure GIFfing is the next big thing. Kinda like "fetch.")

This pup doesn't think "fetch" is gonna happen either, but I'm still holding out hope for GIF as a verb.

Yesterday I procrastinated so long on a "must do" item that I ran out of things to Google and blogs to read. I had writers' block and was in near-panic mode. After suddenly finding it 100% necessary to clean my bathroom counters intensely, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and thought:

While that line of thinking whipped the procrastination right out of me, I felt a little like:

 

"Tough love feels a lot like mean." - Brittany S. Pierce

Summer's over and somehow autumn has landed; I adore the cool weather!  It's given me no excuse not to run outside or have 100% commitment to my new diet, fueled by the end-cap displays in every drugstore on Earth:

I'm going to be Heidi Klum for Halloween at this (candy-eating) rate.

October brings with it another big holiday in the Smith household - Mac's third birthday! He's become a no-holds-barred, full-on boy in the last few months. He's every inch a three-year-old already.

No matter how he's dressed at the start of the day, you're bound to find him shirtless, pantless or both at any given moment. Post-potty redressing is a bear, evidently - and I've just surrendered to the nudity. I figure we'll cure him of it by kindergarten, surely.

Half the time I don't even ask where his clothes went - until someone calls me out on it via Instagram (eep!) or when guests come over. Then I'm all:

Along with the imagination, hilarity, affection, curiosity and silliness of this new age comes a fresh wave of independence and a few (dare I say it) tantrums. One minute he's professing his undying love for his mama and the next he's stomping in his "fireman boots" down the hall muttering about how wretched his life is.

When B is home and the meltdowns get really bad (as in, Mac would rather skip supper to continue crying), I have half a mind to bow out of parenting for the evening and let my even-keeled husband handle the drama. I have enough emotions of my own!

Sometimes I think Mac's a bit confused about who runs the show; it must be temporary amnesia. If only we'd listen to his infinite wisdom and never-wrong ways of thinking, his life would be a dream. He undoubtedly lies awake pondering how he can shape his parents up and get the rule-the-roost respect he deserves. Poor, adorable little Mac-face. 

 

Some of the antics are so ridiculous as to be downright laughable; it's all I can do to keep a straight face. Bradley, on the other, hand, is masterful. His poker face is remarkable, and he tends to nip Mac's less-stellar moments in the bud with a simple "really?!" look.


I need to get a "look" of my own, I suppose.

One thing I have been working on is keeping my calendar, and our life in general, as simple and uncluttered as possible. This means saying "no" a lot more than I am used to, but it's been relaxing to prioritize and focus my attention on my work, home, family and friends.

Wouldn't it be refreshing to have the openness just to say:

Ahh. Something to aspire to, right?

What have y'all been up to? Any fabulous GIFs I've missed, or am I the only gal who GIFs 'til her abs are sore from laughing?

Slip of the tongue

Our office is putting together a Wii-mbledon competition tomorrow, so the joyous squeals and digitized tunes of the game have been drifting to my cube all day during "practice rounds." That's the context of the following:

Me: (Spoken classily over cube walls.) Wii is going to be the downfall of this agency.

Coworkers: (Stunned silence.)

Me: (Confusion. Do they not hear the obsessed game players? Pause for a deep thought.)

Coworkers: (More puzzled silence from the PR department as they mentally question my self-esteem, competency and basic grammar knowledge.)

Me: (Light bulb!) Oh no, not WE. We are not going to be the downfall of this agency. Clearly, I think we're pretty awesome. Oh never mind - y'all practice away.

This reminds me of my "two ears" flub in grad school - a story for tonight. Unless Kristen gets to comment before I return.

Man-Made (Better) Monday

My Monday in a nutshell:
1. Got Blue fed and antibiotic-ed up, headed off to work
2. Picked up rental car, headed to Atlanta
3. Three interstates and two-ish hours later, I'm there for a three-hour meeting
4. Back on the highway, took a little detour during some crazy construction
5. Return my rental car at 5:30, thoroughly exhausted. (How is that sitting still for a few hours can wipe a girl out so much? I could never commute any farther than I already do...)
6. The drive back to our house seemed slow as all get out and I was a little cranky...so I stopped by Target for some essentials (and some not-so-essentials)
7. Said pit-stop made me 20 minutes later than I'd said I'd be home, so I called B to let him know I was ok. (Fully expecting that he hadn't noticed.) He was worried, glad to hear from me, and a bit uneasy with the role reversal of waiting on me to get home for once. Cuteness.
7. Got home to find a happy Bradley, a newly suture-free Blue, dinner cooking, a pitcher of pina coladas, a clean kitchen and a big hug.

Wow. The crankiness evaporated immediately. Got lots of fabulous sleep knowing that Blue's (practically) all better, and now I'm ready for a fantastic Tuesday. Wishing the same for you ladies.

Bradley needs to get home early more often - I love it!!

Happy June, y'all!

Happy Friday to y'all

This morning, as I was hard at work just a-tippity-typing on my laptop, I felt a little tickle on my arm. Thinking it was an errant thread or perhaps one of my incessantly-out-of-place hair strands, I gave the spot a thoughtless wave of my hand.

I was greeted by a spider. A black one. With eight legs. (I think. I didn't really look at it that closely or for very long.)

I don't have a problem with spiders, per se. I'm not scared of them when I spot them in the wild or, more often, in the great indoors. On my arm, however, it's clearly a different story.

There was some significant estrogen- and adrenaline-induced squealing. I think there may have been a little hopping in my fun summer wedges. (Thankfully there are more than a few people out of the office in my corner of the agency today.)

I swatted the visitor off of my arm, stood up in a near-panic and then tried to distinguish the large (very large) black body from the unvacuumed mystery pattern on our artsy and modern carpet. A gentlemen, very disturbed by my distress, aided me with just the stomp of his foot.

Truthfully, I could have done that myself. In any other instance, spiders have little effect on me. I'm grateful for the help, though, and the knowledge that spider-killing chivalry is not dead.

But now I can't stop rubbing my arm. There's a phantom tickle there constantly. Silly spider ruined my morning. Now I'm worried that Monday morning y'all may see someone at the agency meeting looking vaguely like a future comic book hero.

Quotable

Best thing I've heard today:
"You eat; I'll talk."

From my friend Rowe at lunch, after I had unloaded to her and was more than ready for her wise-as-always response. So I stuffed myself with soft tacos, as instructed, and listened to her for a while.

Worst thing I've heard today:
"Today is even worse than yesterday. It just hasn't stopped coming at us."

From Bradley, who's already worked 45 hours this week as of lunchtime Wednesday. He's hoping he'll be able to come home for a few hours before heading back to the project site in North Carolina at midnight to work until tomorrow at dinner-time. (Yes, you read that correctly.) Is it Friday yet?