Needing a dose of my own advice

Today is going to be tough.

Hubby left at 6AM to drive to our small capital city to present his case to the licensing board, trying to convince them that the hoops they are making him jump through are not only ridiculous but a potential disaster for our family. Hubby's boss has, out of the blue, decided to change the way she pays him and it has essentially cut his pay in half.

In the very early hours of this morning after I was awoken by a suddenly seemingly mile-long toddler son thrashing his arms and legs in the calm waters of my sleep, I lay awake trying to breathe. I was obsessively writing blog posts in my head. Ally McBeal-esque record needles screeching to silence were somehow included in a paragraph about my life baking fragrant bread in my gleaming kitchen and folding my children's crisp white clothing.

Another was post was about my carpenter friend, who although he works extremely long and hard hours at his own business, the $1,000 it would take to insure his small family is beyond reach. Today, having come down with strep throat he has to resort to over-the-counter meds or even asking a nurse friend to "acquire" samples of antibiotics from her office. My anger at those who don't think we need insurance reform rose into my chest and sat there squeezing my lungs.

And then I was back thinking of the effects a 50% drop in income is going to have on this family over the next couple of months. And my chest heaved and began to implode.

I am so angry at Hubby's boss I alternate between visions of storming into her office and spitting my anger in her face and sitting there dripping in tears and snot as I tell her how her random "effective as of August 1st" means the difference between us paying our next mortgage payment and not. Meanwhile she is paying her husband to lay down a marble patio in the back of their office.

I left my job to leisurely pursue my own dreams because Hubby was supporting us so well. Now, my new enterprise, suffering the normal pains of anything young and growing, is feeling pressure to perform, well and now. Another workshop has been canceled for this weekend due to potential attendee's last minute summer activities and surgeries.

And the car. It is 10 years old. The muffler is going, the check engine light is always on. It is our only means of transportation. The fact that Hubby is driving over a mountain and back today in a car which hiccups and burns oil doesn't help my attempts to catch a breath. Broken car, no health insurance... I can't follow this train of thought.

When I do finally drift back to sleep it is a fitful one. Hubby's kiss goodbye and my mumbled "good luck" just falls in with the panicked ramblings of my subconscious. An hour later I am unceremoniously woken by the cries of Poop, Mama! Its falling out! With eyes barely open and bladder full, I find myself cleaning butts and toilet bowls. Then it's onto breakfast sloped down the clean shirt, new tap shoes on wood floors, moooorrreee ceee-re- al! from one child before I've even had a chance to pour the milk for the other child. And my coffee? Ha!

My whole body is a trembling mass of frog eggs. Every whine from Tator shakes my brain, I feel faint when I stand, and if it wasn't for PBS this morning my next post might just be written from inside the residential therapeutic community where I taught last night.

I have been trying to stay very positive. I am a positive person when it comes to life's potential disasters. And we have always made it. We have been here before. When we owned two apartment buildings and the management company decided to no longer rent out our apartments without informing us (we were 2000 miles away) I had a miscarriage from the stress of coming that close to bankruptcy. We lost thousands of dollars when we sold our starter home. But we made it through. We are now both doing what we love, we have a beautiful home, we have family near by. We were finally financially comfortable (meaning we could pay our bills, keep a full pantry and splurge on the occasional latte). And then, WHAM!

Today it has just all caught up with me. All my it'll be oks are taking a licking when I look at my bank balance. The potential of my business is great as are the collaborative ideas Hubby and I are working on. On that I am trying to focus, but its hard, so hard.

Thinking positively is positively impossible when you can't breathe.

If this is the first day of the rest my life, I want to get off

Today I just want to turn on the TV and not move, not speak, not be. All day. Today I don't want to be a mom, a wife, a writer, a entrepreneur, an employee... nothing, I want to be and do nothing.

I've always prided myself on not being a soap-opera-watching mom, but today I would like nothing more than that. But I know I won't, primarily because I hate soap-operas, but also because I took a mental health day off work and I have to justify it in my own mind. I will continue to work on something; something that "needs" to be done - I will email a potential client (I have already stopped writing this post once to do that because it popped into my head and I had to take care of it now), I will put some laundry away, I will organize something, or I will pay some bills. What I really need to do is get out my journal and have a chat with myself. I need to get to the bottom of this anxiety, this imbalance, this self-doubt.

I have too many balls in the air. I am trying too hard.

Yesterday I attended a Journal Therapy workshop lead by Kay Adams, "one of the most prominent and established voices in the field of therapeutic writing." It was a great day; I learned some more valuable information I can use in my own journal-writing workshops and got a new burst of adrenaline to push me towards my goals.

But I also received a mini therapy session over lunch that has thrown my already tilting world a little further off kilter.

This morning I was grumpy, frustrated, and an emotional time-bomb. Yesterday Kay told me I was on the right track, "ready to explode" (i.e. my business) but then today here I am again, mopping up apple juice, brushing out tangles, packing lunch boxes, and avoiding the shaggy-haired woman in the mirror with the bags under her eyes.

Although "ready to explode," I am questioning everything. Is it selfish to start my own business when my children are young and still needing me? But would I be sabotaging my own dream (and sanity) by sacrificing my needs completely? Do I have a responsibility to my job to give it my all while still employed there? Shouldn't my children see me pursuing a dream and so serve as a role model to them? But what kind of role model am I when I am impatient, distracted, or in tears?

"Ready to explode" might be more accurate a description than originally intended. Yes, I just might explode, or implode depending where the pressure is strongest - from outside responsibilities or the voice inside my head telling me I must achieve, I must succeed, I must be more than "just a mom."

I have a friend whose dream of being a yoga teacher has been put it on hold. She has decided to be all she can be to her children before they start school full-time. She told me she needs to provide them a nice house and a mom who's there. She said the most yogic thing she can do right now is not to practice yoga. She doesn't want to put that kind of pressure on herself. Trying to be disciplined in the whirlwind that is a stay-at-home mother's world is not worth the stress.

I'm beginning to think she might have the right answer.

Who is the most important right now? Me or the kids? Me or the kids? Someone tell me the right answer, please.

Checkin' out?

I had intended to write a little piece on the "fun" of preparing myself, my children, my house, and my mother-in-law for my week out of the country, but we leave tomorrow and needless to say those preparations took priority over telling you all about it.

But I must thank my new naturopath physician who got me through the madness. I am so calm I am fretting that I'm not fretting. I keep wondering when the ball is going to drop. Each morning I squirt a dropper of this foul concoction of root and herbs into my juice (it fizzes like acid) and after I get feeling back in my tongue I go about my day as if I have nothing in the world to worry about. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in some drugged haze - quite the opposite - I can actually see straight because my brain has quit trying to analyze every thought that goes whizzing by. You know those twirly things that short order cooks hang the orders on? That's how my brain usually works - everything I have to keep track of is stuck up in front of me and spinning very fast, too fast to read, let alone take care of. Well, the twirly thing has slowed down and there are fewer "orders" at a time. I take one at a time and I accomplish so much more. Yay, tastebud-dissolving root juice!

I also have to mention that I was asked to write an essay to be included in a book proposal (yes!) - another reason I haven't had any time to write here.

So, the countdown has begun. 24 hours from now I will have (tearfully) hugged my children goodbye and will be headed to the airport. I'm not taking my laptop, just my trusty journal and fountain pen. So, I am checking out for a couple of weeks...

England (spring, flowers, tea, pasties), here I come!