Getting started is always the hard part.

Let's just establish that this will be the self-reflective "getting back to the blog" post.  If you'd like, you can just skip this one and come back later.

Blogging, like exercise, seems to be hard to restart once you stop.  I know because I have also recently started exercising again....I think that blogging will involve less sweat.  The music might be a bit mellower, as well.

I've missed blogging, though.  For four years or so, I had become used to sitting down at the computer and jotting down a few thoughts.  Or a lot of thoughts.  Publishing it to the world.  Okay...not the world, but at least it was going out there.  My dad read it, so that was nice, except when it was awkward (hi Dad!!).  But then there was the whole baby thing, and the losing my mind trying to figure out how to mother two children thing, and the three year old dropping his nap thing (throwing our whole carefully constructed schedule into chaos once again).  But I've missed sitting here, musing, hitting publish and wondering if anyone would read.  Or sometimes getting it all out here at the keyboard, hitting publish, and hoping no one would read it....or at least indicate to me that they had read it (Hi, Dad!!!).

So I'd like to get this started again.  I'd like to have a record of our days here at le Chez.  I've come to appreciate the time I'm spending at home in a very new and unique way, and I think in a few years I won't remember what this was all like....and that would be a shame. 

So, I"m back.  Let's see where this goes!

the way things change.

It was almost a year ago that I wrote this.   The time between 18 months and two years was tough for me, as I was unprepared for exactly how attached (I prefer to say clingy) kids get at that age...and Toast was no exception.  It was hard for me. 

Imagine my surprise, then, at the day we had yesterday. 

We left the house to go and have lunch with our friends, as we do once a week.  I stopped at a certain national chain coffee shop first to get some coffee, and as we were walking in a man with a dog was sitting outside.  I always tell Toast that we don't talk to dogs we don't know, but I also know he LOVES dogs.  What is it about kids and dogs?  Anyway, I asked the man if we could pet his dog, and he said sure.  The dog was sweet and friendly and Toast dove in immediately.  After a short break to go in and get a drink, we returned to the dog, and I had a conversation with the man.  He looked at me in the middle and said "your kid is fearless!"  To me, this is a huge complement. 

I want my kid to be independent.  I want him to be cautious, and smart, and careful, yes, but I want him to be decisive and brave and independent as well.  One of the things I love most about Toast at this age is that he is walking the line between these two sides so very well.  He loves to be outside, and explore, and I love it when he runs back to me (or hubby) every few minutes to tell us what he's doing, or show me something, or tell me he loves me...then it's off again to whatever he's up to. 

My eyes nearly popped out of my head a few weeks ago when we went to the play area at the mall and he actually PLAYED...ran around like a little maniac, instead of sitting by my side saying "mama, you want to go?" and pulling at my hand because he didn't want to go alone. 

After leaving the dog, we continued on to the park for lunch.  The park we visited has a large wood play structure, one of the very fancy ones with things to climb, crawl through, slide down, investigate, and play on.  There are only two entrances, and much of the seating is placed so you can watch both at once.  It's marvelous...and Toast was in his element.  He took off and explored every last nook and cranny of the place.  Every few minutes, I'd just get up and go make sure I could spot him.  Invariably he had a huge smile on his face and was either trying to talk up another kid or just walking around happily.  I loved seeing him explore everything. 

But this post isn't about his changes and his independence.  It's about how, as Toast has become MORE independent, I've become more attached. 

It was surprisingly hard to let him go yesterday.  I knew he was having a great time, but if he was out of eyesight it made me crazy. 

Then......

He had climbed to the top of a tower and was looking out, as he turned to leave he had two options: walk forward to the stairs and climb down, or walk left, where a fireman's pole was waiting.  The decking opened out into nothing so the kids could grab the pole and slide down. 

Oh yes, he did.  He walked right out into nothing. 

I've never moved so fast in my life, watching him drop almost eight feet to the ground.  When I got there he had a look on his face like "What the HELL just happened".  As I picked him up, he started to cry.  It was all I could do not to cry myself.  He was fine, not screaming in pain, no blood, no bumps or bruises...just a very scared cry and two little arms that went around my neck and held on tighter than they have before. 

If this is parenting, I'm not sure why it doesn't come with a warning label. 

We had a cuddle, and some water, and a banana.  Then he said "Time to go" and went off to play again.  I couldn't believe it.  I couldn't stop thinking about this all night last night, and as I went to sleep it dawned on me that he can still wrap his tiny chubby arms around my neck and cry right now.  At least we have that.  One day he's going to get hurt and that won't be possible....some stupid girl will break his heart, or he won't get something he really wants.  He'll fail at something he tries really hard to do well.  We all do these things.  And then, when I'm not able to hug him tight and soothe him, THEN what am I supposed to do? 

This parenting thing?  It's hard. 

Some more thoughts on forgiving.

I had an interesting conversation yesterday with a friend that is struggling with friendship (and one particular friend) in many of the same ways I have.  I mentioned to her my struggles in choosing to leave a friendship behind and move on, and she asked me a question so many people have: "What did she do?"

I've gotten this question so many times.  I never know how to answer it. 

I guess I feel guilty because I feel like there should be some concrete answer...some REASON for leaving behind a close friendship of eight years.  There is none...it was a hundred, a thousand, a million tiny things.  It was both of us changing, struggling with life, finding that our paths led elsewhere.  Sure, I can point to specific things I found "wrong", or mean, or just downright infuriating...but when it comes right down to it, I guess I was just fed up. 

I feel sometimes that in order to forgive we have to be able to be forgiving some major wrong...something so horrendous and hurtful that it has truly wounded us.  I'm just mourning the loss of a friendship. 

And yet. 

I keep going back to arguments, things said, situations when I needed a friend that wasn't there.  I have guilt over not being the person I want to be: independent, strong, supportive, confident. 

The final blow was an argument over email as things were ending.  She said things to me that went directly to the root of every insecurity I have...and she did it because she COULD.  Because she knew me that well. 

Despite this, despite the really really hurtful things I remember most....the things that really left scars...I think that the person I'm struggling most to forgive is myself.  She is no longer in my life, and it doesn't take much thought for me to realize that I'm okay with that.  It's my personal demons I'm struggling with, the fear that the things she said to me are, in fact, true.  On the heels of this fear is the anger that I would let someone hurt me...the anger that I can't just shake off the words and the hurt. 

I wish I could say, as this month draws to a close, that the forgiveness I'm searching for has come easily.  It has not.  I hope that as time goes by, though, I can stop letting this bitterness I feel dominate what is really important: my life is better now.  My friendships are stronger now.  And I try every day to ignore the voices inside me and instead live life in a way that makes me proud at the end of the day.  I try to be the person I want to be.  Isn't this still a process for all of us? 

I have a strong motivator.  One of the most valuable things I learned by being Tiny Man's momma is that tomorrow, yesterday...they don't matter.  TODAY matters.  Can I go to bed tonight knowing that my actions today were kind, strong, purposeful?  Did I live my life today with happiness?  Did I leave room for grace, for accepting the unexpected, for rolling with the punches?  I have to keep reminding myself that if I have done these things, I have succeeded in another day of leaving behind a life to be proud of.

What's the meaning of this?

What does it mean to forgive someone who is not a part of your life?  I mean....not the guy that cuts you off in traffic or the rude person in the grocery store line...I mean someone who has done a personal wrong to you.  Someone who knew you so well as to use your insecurities against you in an argument, disagreement, or complete destruction of a relationship.  I don't feel the need to re-establish a relationship with this friend.  In fact, I think that my life has grown significantly since we ended our friendship...I"m not the same person.  I'm sure she isn't either.  Forgiving seems sticky, though. 

I'm not sure I can forgive without contacting her.  In some ways, this seems silly...I'm concerned with matters of my own well being here, so maybe there is no need to make contact.  I wonder how "real" it will seem to forgive someone when I'm doing it for myself?  Maybe this is another issue at the root of the problem; I have trouble forgiving because it comes down to the last word thing.  I don't want to contact her.  In order to forgive her, though, I need to get over the need to get the last word.  I need to remember that having  the last word is not the point.  Moving on is the point.  Letting go of the hurt is the point.  Last word will get me nowhere.

___

In other news, we have indeed entered the month of suck...full force, as it were.  This year the anniversary of Tiny Man's death seems a little easier.  I still miss him.  I still hate that this is an anniversary I would rather not deal with.  I can't help, though, but be aware of how amazing my life is, and how much of that is due to his presence...as short as it was.  I have amazing friends...a totally new circle of friends that are genuine, true...people I can count on.  People that are willing to count on me.  I have old friends that are comfortable, and new ones I'm so fortunate to have found.  The new ones are a direct result of Tiny Man...they all have children with Down syndrome and I would have never met them if it weren't for my involvement in the DS community.  They show me that friendship doesn't have to be hard, and it doesn't have to be dramatic.  They have shown me that friendships don't have to be old to be good.  They have shown me I am lucky.  They have shown me that people don't have to be identical to  like each other, care about each other, and be good friends...in fact it's more interesting when you're a little different.  They miss Tiny Man too, and that is an enormous comfort.  My old friends, the ones I've always known...they are checking up on me...reminding me they care.  I'm lucky indeed. 

This year I've chosen to try and remember Tiny Man positively.  I'm remembering the good things, trying to do little things to spread the word and raise awareness for Down syndrome.  It's still hard.  It still hurts.  There hasn't been a day this week I haven't cried.  I'm sure it will get harder.  He is so missed.  He taught us so much. 

So here's the thing

It's not that it's all that hard to forgive, right?  I mean, we do it a hundred times a day without thinking of it.  My son dumps some eggs on the floor, I take a deep breath and we clean it up together.  Sure, I'm annoyed, but in the grand scheme of things it doesn't really matter, right?   Or someone cuts you off in traffic.  You get angry, you get frustrated, you get over it. 

For me, the issue with forgiveness really takes two forms.  The first is it is hard to forgive when I feel I have been wronged and the other person won't take responsibility for it.  The second is when an argument or incident is my fault, and leads to both of us being unfair, I feel bad and I have a hard time admitting I'm wrong.  Both of these apply to my current situation.

See, I'm a last word girl.  I like to be witty and clever.  I have a burning sarcastic streak.  Sometimes this works out well for me: being a last word person means that I like to communicate.  I pride myself on being able to talk to different kinds of people about different kinds of things.  Being a last word girl has its drawbacks, though, when you have been "wronged" (either in your perception or for real). 

There are still things that are unresolved between my friend and I.  There were things said in the argument and the subsequent back and forth on email (I know, I know....but it happened...so I'm owning it) that were hurtful.  I was responsible for some of that hurt.  So was she.  It bothers me that I probably won't get an apology, ever.  It bothers me that she probably doesn't think she did anything wrong.  And it bothers me that even if I am willing to apologise for the way I hurt her, I won't get what I want out of it. 

THIS....this is the crux of the issue. 

What do I want?  I want her to apologize.  What do I need to do?  Apologize for my own actions, and then MOVE ON.  Whether I get an apology or not.  MOVE ON.  Put her down.  Stop trying to be right.  I need to apologize to make myself feel like I have mended the wrongs I did.  I need to apologize with no expectation of getting an apology back.  This is what has held me back for so long...I feel like I deserve something that I'm not getting...an apology.  Some kind of admission of guilt from her.  I want to know she feels bad. 

Here's the thing though:  I don't have any of that now.  So if I don't get it when I apologize, I'm no better or worse off that I am now.  So why not just go ahead and do it?  I'll at least know that I have done my part, and I can move on to forgiving her and myself and live my life. 

That wanting the last word thing, though?  That's a powerful thing.  It's not a great thing to admit about myself, but it's there.  And I know that it's ridiculous.  And I know it's getting in the way of my forgiving her. 

Working on letting go.  Working on putting her down.  I'm working. 

Why is it so hard?

I've been thinking about forgiveness lately.  A lot. 

I read a parable a few months ago.  I want to link to where I read it, but I can't remember the site, or the book, or whatever medium it was.  I'm going to sum up and post it for you anyway, because it's relevant. 

Two monks are walking together on a road.  They meet a woman who is going the same way, and the three begin to walk together.  The woman is really not a nice person.  She's loud, boastful, and rude.  She is mean to the monks.  Still they walk on together.  Eventually they come to a stream.  The woman insists she is NOT crossing this river by herself.  She demands that the monks carry her, and they do.  One picks her up, the other picks up her stuff (which is a lot...she has a lot of stuff)...together they get her across the river.  On the other side, they part ways with her...she stands shouting and degrading them as they leave. 
After walking on for another hour, one monk turns to the other and says "I cannot believe you carried that woman across the river.  She was so awful.  She was so rude to you...and you did it anyway.  She was the most horrible person I've ever met!"  His companion turns to him and says "Brother, I put her down an hour ago.  Why haven't you?"

I've retold this story many times over the past months, and part of that retelling is me trying to work out my own stuff.  See, I strive to be a better person.  I really try to do good things for others and for this world.  The fact is, though...one thing I have never been able to change is the fact that I hold a grudge.  I have the ability to stay mad at someone for so long it is ridiculous. 

Honestly, most of the time I yell a little, recounting to Hubby what injustices have been done to me in a particular situation...then I'm over it.  Maybe I'll tell a few other people and turn it into a good story. 

I have one particular grudge, though, that I cannot let go of. 

A few years ago I had a friend I was extremely close to.  Without giving details, I will suffice it to say that our friendship didn't just fall apart, it exploded in an ugly way.  We were drifting apart, it hurt, and then it turned ugly.  The fault belongs to both of us; I have to say I did and said some things that really make me cringe now.  I didn't handle it well. 

But here's the thing: I can't let it go.  I know I had a hand in the way things ended.  I know that I could have handled the whole situation better.  But all I can dwell on is how hurt I was...how I needed my friend and she chose that time to pull away and focus on other things...other friends...her own life (which was, truth be told, in turmoil).  I was angry at her for not being there for me, angry at her for not letting me be there for her, and angry that our friendship, which I treasured, now seemed to mean nothing to her.  I'm still angry.  I'm still hurt.  I want to let it go. 

I know that letting this go means I need to forgive her for not being the friend I wanted, the friend I thought I had.  I also know that letting go means I have to forgive myself for the same things...for not being the friend I aspire to be...for not being the person I aspire to be. 

February is here...an online friend I have would refer to this as the "month of suck"...and I'm adopting that moniker from here on out.  I hate february.  I do.  Hubby and I try to fill the month with positive things; things like family and friends and memories that make us smile.  But the fact of the matter is that I cry every time I remember tiny man and how his death will always be linked to his birthday in my heart.  It makes me angry. 

So this year, the second anniversary of his death.  The year he would have turned four.  I'm going to try to be the person my son thought I was.  Kind.  Loving.  Dedicated. 

Forgiving. 

I've decided that I have to put this friend down.  I have to let her go.  I've decided that I can't apply the lessons Tiny Man taught me in his short life when I'm letting anger and bitterness hold me back. 

This is going to hurt. 

Billy Joel, you had it right

I went to a viewing at a funeral home yesterday.  I don't like viewings.  I think they are one of the most marvelously awkward situations a person can be put in.  But I think it's necessary and right to go and talk to people when bad things happen.  So I go.

The person in question yesterday is not someone I knew well at all.  She is related (in a complicated way which is not pertinent to my story) to a man who is my uncle by marriage.  She's not much younger than me, and I remember that as a child we would play often when I was at my aunt and uncle's house.  I've seen her a handful of times in the past few years.  She met Tiny Man at a family party, and also came to the funeral home and funeral when we said goodbye to him. 

What strikes me and makes me feel this loss so deeply is how caring and how kind she was to me and to Tiny Man.  The things she said to me after the funeral, in the few seconds I said hello to her, were among the most comforting and kindest things I heard that day.  I was so very touched by her words.  I was left with the impression that I had met few people in this world as caring as her.  I was surprised not because I didn't think she had it in her, but because I hadn't seen her in so long; didn't know her very well at all, and here she was crying with me over my son.  It stuck with me. 

Her partner was diagnosed with a fatal illness earlier this year, and it is my understanding that she may not see the new year.  They have a son, six years old, who will lose both parents to illness...sudden illness....in a short amount of time. 

I am asking the obvious question: why? 

I don't know why this is hitting me so hard, but I cannot stop thinking about the unpredictability of life, the way that it doesn't work out the way it's supposed to, and the way that it can be unfair.  One of the things I hate about the holidays is that they can, and often do, bring out the worst in people.  Stress, trying to live up to expectations we set for ourselves, dealing with family who we may not like: it can make someone crazy.  You all know what I mean...you see it all the time in the woman who yells at the store clerk for no reason.  The person who snips at you in line.  Anyway....in the past few months I have seen and heard my share of drama.  Some had to do with the holidays, some is just people who are selfish, egocentric, rude and classless.  Do I think that they deserve to be the ones touched by tragedy instead of my friend?  No, I wouldn't say that.  But I do always wonder why people who seem to rise above it all...the ones who take life in stride...the ones who are kind and caring...why them instead?  Because doesn't it always seem to be them?

I know that sounds terrible.  And I know what it SOUNDS like I am saying...but really, it's hard for me to make sense of it. I'm not terribly religious, so I'm not going to get into the metaphysical side of all this, but I do think that there is an order and a reason to life.  When Tiny Man was born we had a few people shake their heads and wonder aloud why hubby and I had to deal with this.  My answer was and is always the same: because we were right for it.  We love each other, we have families who love us and support us, and we were able to take care of him.  We were right for him.  We were picked.  I'll never stop thinking that I was chosen to be his momma. 

So is this the same?  Is there a greater lesson here?  Is there a reason for this tragedy?  I don't know.  I do know that I have learned some lessons about kindness and the way it touches other people, and I intend to put that to good use. 

In the meantime, give an extra thought, whether it be a prayer or some warm energy, or just a moment of your day to these people, especially that little boy.  He has family and will be well cared for...but my hope is that he has learned kindness and knows what kind of people his parents are and were.  Let's hope that he grows up to be kind and strong. 

More thinking

...a continuation from yesterday.
"Where are you going?"

THIS. This is a question I'm struggling with right now.

I started college thinking I wanted to be a Veterinarian. I thought I had it figured out...I had spent time around animals, I had worked at an animal hospital in High School...I really thought I was going in with my eyes open. At the end of my Freshman year, I decided that being a Vet was not going to be for me. To this day, I have no idea why I made that choice.

I explored a lot of other things. I knew I wanted to stay in the Sciences, but didn't know what that meant. Thought about Forestry and Natural Resources really hard. In the end, I majored in Biology, minored in Chemistry and History, and went into Teaching.

Now, I'm not going to tell you that the very first day I walked into a classroom I knew it was for me, but that was very close to what happened. I fell in love with teaching...I really really enjoyed it. I was lucky enough to get a job right out of school, and spent the next nine years loving every second of my job.

Once I got married, though, things started to feel strange. I still loved it, and I think I was pretty good at it...but the work, the constant paperwork, the long hours, the fact that there is ALWAYS more to do and NEVER enough time to do it...that really started to get to me.

I realize now that I am home that I would never have been able to be the teacher I wanted to be (the teacher I was) and the mom I want to be had I kept teaching. It makes me a little sad, but it's true. The question I am asking myself is this: will it always be true? I plan to go back to work when Toast starts Kindergarten, and I worry about that time commitment. I am excited by other options, I am seeing that although I love teaching, it might not always be my only love.

Does it make me a failure if I change my career in the middle of the stream? What does it mean when you are 36 and you still don't know what to do? I have always looked with distain on people who never "figure it out"...people who go from one thing to another like bees in a flower garden. Now I kind of wonder if I'm missing something by not allowing myself to look at the world that way.

My parents (and their parents) did what most people in those generations did: they got a job, and worked at it, then retired. I know that this is often not the way things go now, but it still doesn't feel like the responsible, adult thing to do to be reconsidering my career options now that I have a family. Aren't I supposed to be settling down and working, saving, getting to retirement?

Won't I get there anyway?

This has been on my mind a lot lately, often to the exclusion of other things. Hubby and I have had a few discussions about it, but not nearly the length and breadth of discussion that would be involved if I decided to pursue something else. It's something I'm still figuring out, and talking about it makes me, well, a little scared.

I don't want to do anything that makes me feel like I'm missing out on what I could experience. Sometimes that thought seems so immature, though. I struggle with this process, these thoughts.

A thinking prompt

“The simplest questions are the most profound.

Where were you born?
Where is your home?
Where are you going?
What are you doing?

Think about these once in a while and watch your answers change.”

-Richard Bach

I stumbled across this little prompt on a Blog I read, and it seemed perfect...I've been thinking about these things lately as well.

Specifically, I've been thinking about how I DOCUMENT things in my life like change, home, family, goals, and the past. I always think about these things as the seasons change, but it seems that this year the topic is especially fresh. I think that I have reached the stage in my grief for Tiny Man that I've started to really assess how he changed my life and how I live it.

I'm thinking about the change of seasons and how much HOME has come to mean to me. When I was "coming up" I never in a million years thought that I would be a homemaker. My mom did it all, raised us, worked, she and my dad built a house together, and she did such a good job. (Because he's reading...yeah, dad, you are great too, but not so much a female roll model, eh?) Anyway, I always thought I would do the same. I would work, raise kids, make a home. One of the first things I realized after making the decision to stay home with Tiny Man is that I would NEVER have been able to do it all. Some people can, and they do a marvelous job. It's just not in me. Part of it is the job, teaching, it is very demanding. Raising kids, obviously, is also very demanding. For the first time in my life I am starting to understand what it means to prioritize the big things, and realize what the big things are.

There are some cliche'd examples of recognizing the "big things" in our lives. My favorite has always been the idea of rocks in a jar....if you have several rocks to put in a jar, put the big ones in first, they determine what else will fit...then move on to the smaller rocks (which fit in between the larger ones) and the sand to fill in the cracks. When we're younger we hear things like this and it never sinks in...part of that whole "invincible" thing, I guess.

What I've realized is that for me, success in life means not doing everything, but doing the things that I choose to do really really well. To me, that means that I can't do too much at one time.

I still struggle with the decision to leave work and stay at home. There are days I question if what I'm doing matters. But when I get a glimpse of what really makes me happy, what really makes me tick, I see that this choice is the only one that makes sense for me.

Adrift

Dear Blog: I've neglected you. I know it. I'm sorry.

It's not that I don't love you, I do. I love knowing that I have somewhere to write things that are on my mind. Things that happen in my life. Things that make me happy or sad. It's just that lately, well, I don't even know where to begin.

Sometimes I guess we just find ourselves adrift.

It's not that I am unhappy with the way things are going...quite to the contrary. I have just reached one of those times in my life where I am enjoying the DOING much more than the REPORTING about the doing. And amid the doing, I've been thinking a lot about where things will go from here.

There are no big life decisions to be made. There are no looming deadlines or important plans to be planned. Life is, amazingly, devoid of lists and tasks and calendars and plans. I'm finding it blissful, and also a little disturbing.

Blissful because each day when Toast and I get up, all we have to do is laid out before us...yogurt and fruit or eggs. Sandbox or park. Wagon or bike. Nap. Snack. Play with daddy. Investigate the tomatoes to see how large they are. Lay out a big blanket in the backyard and sit on it counting bugs. The best part? Right now, this is enough.

So why am I feeling like I am adrift? Why am I feeling like there is somewhere to be going? Toast is getting a bit older and while our time together is wonderful, I"m starting to feel like there is something I could be doing from home...no, no, it's not time to go back to work. I'm just wondering if this is it. If this is where I am supposed to be. If I am doing what I am supposed to be doing.

I know, blog. I know that you are going to tell me that I should just be enjoying things as they are. See, if I have this feeling though, I think I need to act on it. I think I need to start exploring it. Maybe all I'm feeling is more grief, rolling around my life as it does sometimes. Maybe there is an idea in here about something brilliant that will take my life in a new direction. I just need some time to listen...and that, I know, is in short supply. There is too much noise in my life. Too much civilization. Too MUCH in general. I can't hear myself here.

Next week Hubby, Toast and I are taking off...literally. We are taking off to go on vacation...to the Cabin with Gamma And Gampa (Toast is SO excited)...and taking off to the north woods for a few days (Hubby and I) before rejoining Toast and my parents.

There is a provincial park in Ontario where we went hiking years ago, before we were married. It is, hands down, one of the most (if not the most) amazing places I've ever seen on earth (and I've camped in some amazing places). The park stretches all along the shore of Lake Superior, and all along the lake shore there is a trail. It's rustic, it's very difficult hiking. When the Canadians say "strenuous", they mean it! (I'll save the part about the vertical rock wall the height of a school bus for another post....). It's also lovely....there are these tiny coves all along the lake, and that's where the campsites are. You wake up to a beach that is a circular bowl of stones edging the lake...and there's nothing else. Some of the coves have large flat boulders of granite the size of my car that jut out into the water...perfect for sitting or napping (I've tested this theory).

This is where we are going. And I need it. I need the quiet. I need to be fifty miles from anyone, any store, any civilization. I need this. Hubby does too.
So for the next week or so I'll be taking off...taking off from my cell phone, the computer, my email, twitter, netflix, TV, NPR, the world at large. I know that there are people who think I'm crazy, that don't like this kind of a get-away...but it's something that is an absolute necessity for me.

When I come back, if I haven't regained my balance, found my direction again, I"ll at least have some awesome pictures and a few good posts about our trip.