Where my grief shows

I'm getting good at recognizing grief. Here's what's going on with me:

- We're having some issues with Rachel. I thought it was her, but guess what? It's me. A friend gave me a great parenting book and I wasn't even two chapters in before I spotted the problem. And it's my problem, not Rachel's. So that's something that we're working on. Together. I've fallen off the consistency wagon. And the healthy-eating wagon. And the discipline wagon. And those are the three worst wagons to fall off of when you're dealing with a spirited child.

- I'm doing not some, but ALL my crying at night. I just get into bed, lay there, talk to Jim and tell him about my day. When I ask him a question he doesn't answer me so I get upset. Not dissimilar from the last 12 years, but then he'd sort of snort and say something like "Can I go to sleep now?" And then I mull it over in silence, much as I did for the last 12 years. Lately I've been thinking about funny stories and how much fun he was. And that makes me upset. I am okay with crying at night. That way no one sees me. I'm not a pretty crier. I get all scary-mascara-smeared-snotty-red-nosed. I've always wondered about those pretty criers. Where do they come from and who gave them permission to look cute whilst in tears? We're in two totally different leagues.

- I'm starting to get a very few things done. I'm starting my thank-you notes. I'm getting appointments scheduled and I'm working on insurance. I'm cleaning up some things that have been bugging me. And I took the trash out today before 12:00. Pickup is tomorrow morning, but typically by the end of the day I'm too tired to take it out and inevitably I have to take the trash out in the morning wearing my jammies in the pouring rain, completely unshowered and looking like poop. Right around then is when my neighbors start out of their houses all freshly showered and looking great. So I decided to get on the stick and stop torturing my neighbors and take the trash out early. I'm proud of these very small accomplishments because before the last few days, I haven't been able to complete much of anything. Which is frustrating. I'm not watching tv. I'm not playing on the computer. I'm really not doing...anything. So getting even the smallest thing done is great. (And many of the things I'm getting done are my dreaded phone calls!)

- I'm disorganized. I try to clean up, but I've finally realized that I'm not cleaning. I'm just shuffling things around. So I'm making a conscious effort to actually find places for things rather than stacking them and moving them to another place.

Okay, so that's my tough stuff. Here's the good things:

- My mom (God love her) took Jake and both dogs up north. What a saint. That's how I've had all this time to get stuff done.

- I am taking a few girls (Amy, Susan, Judy, Lisa and Barb) to Chicago (staying at my Uncle and Aunt's uber-chic loft!) for an all girls weekend to thank them for everything they've done for me. Not that other people haven't done things for me - they have. But these are the people who have made absolutely certain that if I've fallen down, they've picked me up, dusted me off (or in Judy's case, vacuumed, soaped and polished me off, then used Q-Tips to get the dirt out of anyplace. It's her German-bred cleaning style) and made sure that I've marched on with my chin up. I CANNOT WAIT for Chicago. I bought a couple of bottles of Veuve Clicquot (my favorite) so that we can do a champagne toast when we get there. Hello Costco! Where would we get our cheap wine without warehouse stores?

- I am reading. Granted I'm reading grief books, parenting books, and books that are supposed to help me turn into Ayn Rand, but hey - at least I'm spending some quiet time. Alone. By myself. Just me. And the pages of a book. What could be better?

- Rachel and I have had a few breakthroughs since mom took Jake up north. I think she needed some extra attention. And I think she needed the old me back. I put her to bed at 6:10 last night. No lie. And you know what? She went right to sleep. I think she needed someone to lay down the law and tell her how it's going to be done. I think she was exhausted. And I think she was exhausted from pushing my buttons. No one ever says she isn't smart.

- I am able to think about happy or funny things about Jim without getting too sad. One thing that distresses me is that when I think of him, a lot of times I think about how he looked before he passed away. And I feel bad about that because that wasn't Jim. I'm thinking I'm going to get to a point where I remember him and how beautiful he was. And it's funny - I don't think of his body before he passed. When I think about his hugs or him in a flannel shirt, I think about his regular body. But when I think of his face I think of how thin he was. In any case, I'm happy that I'm able to think of some things and laugh. And I know I'll get to a place where I think about his face before he was so sick.

- Palmer and Major aren't here stinking up my house. They're at my parents house stinking things up in the Northwoods. Oh, but they're good dogs. They're really great when they're 250 miles away.

Well this was kind of a random post. But I just wanted to throw an update out to everyone. We're doing okay. It's easier to manage one kid than four. I count Palmer and Major - they're bigger than both of my kids. I get to count them.