taking a dip into a few crazy pools

I haven't written in awhile, mostly because summer is my busiest time and because this summer has already been a ride of insanity that I can't seem to get off of. Therein lies my theme, or at least the lens that I"ve been looking at the world through lately.

I may have mentioned before that my mother is a little more than wacky. My father is on the more fun side of madness. My in-laws have their own version of what qualifies for reality. My siblings surely have jumped beyond normal, as well as most of my friends (mostly why I love them so). Then my husband and I have our take. Over the last few years, and more and more these last few weeks, I have developed a theory that we are all completely bonkers and only the best ones of us know it (and wear that title proudly).

I've been spending a good deal of time with all these people mentioned above. So as not to call any one person out, I'll just lump you all together. You are nuts. The guilt; whether implied or outright, stinks. The lack of communication between those you love is sad. I am not a phone operator or newspaper columnist. If you want to talk to someone, meet up with them or call them. If you want something, tell me outright. Otherwise, I don't care. (Blog-dumping ends here - sorry about that bit.)

But I do care about what you do. I want to know about it. About how you feel about it. About what you love to do. About what you really think and what you really care about. I love spending time with you, because I love you and you are a fascinating human specimen. Really. Why do you think I got a degree in psychology? Because I love to study people. So don't get mad when I over-analyze and all that. It's what I do everyday of my life. Because I am crazy too.

I just watched Tim Burton's take on the classic "Alice in Wonderland." I LOVED it, by the way, but it connected all these bits in this line of thinking. I love this story, and Tim Burton's telling of it, because it supports that ideal that you can only do what seems impossible if you are a little bit nuts.

I'm also reading "Running with Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs which makes me think that someone who dives too quickly and deeply into the belief that impossible is possible may just mean you need some serious therapy and medication. But then, through all that he went through as a child and young adult, Augusten has persevered and become an acclaimed author and seemingly successful, adjusted adult. Not sure if that gives me hope, or just makes me feel bad for Augusten.

Is it possible that I am more crazy than those that drive me bananas? Is it my problem that I can enjoy 90% of my time with someone and go right off the cliff by that other 10%? Do I always need to be the one to make adjustments or accommodations for the neuroses of others? Is it acceptable for me to allow my irritation to slide into rage and share my frustration with those causing it? Does everyone have these impossible internal dialogues going on all the time?

To all those questions, probably not.

And for the most part, I calmly and caringly accept that we're all doing the best we can with what we've got at our disposal. Man, I hope that's true. But if anyone else wants to share their own version of crazy with me, could you please wait a few weeks? I'm all full of crazy here.

This child is exhausting

Last year, life was different. My daughter was about 1 1/2, and having great difficulty sleeping through the night. I am not one to "let her cry it out" so I spent lots of nights trying to creatively calm her back into a deep slumber. (Thank you, author Elizabeth Pantley for the great advice and motherly support! And to Julie O. who went through the same ordeal.) Overall, I don't need more than 7 hours of sleep, with 4-5 hours a minimum for a day or two. I have had so much experience walking through the house in the dark, doing my best to avoid all the really squeaky floor boards and scattered toys, that I am amazed when my husband stubs his toe on the leg of our bed in the dark. (It hasn't been in any other location for eight years.)

Between both my children's infancy's, I spent hours of painful awake-ness (?) in the dark, praying that this crazy creature would just give in already and sleep for gosh sake. Anyone else experience that overwhelming full-body pain I felt by just being awake and trying to calm a baby back to sleep? It's insane. No one ever talked with me about it, so I can never tell. But then again, no one ever told me about all the gross things that happen during pregnancy either, so I think it just goes with being a mom. (We don't talk about that stuff because either it's embarrassing or we know that we all go through it so who's gonna care? I personally would have enjoyed knowing that "cheeseburger crotch" was completely normal before I showed my swollen cootch to my old man OB.)

Now my dear daughter is a little older than two. She is funny and smart and does so many things exactly like her dad (good and not so good) and she is so independent, during the day. At bedtime, she still requires a bit more attention than I'd like to give her most days. She cried for ten minutes tonight because I failed to put her preferred amount of toothpaste on her brush, and after she wiped what toothpaste I had put on it onto the side of the sink, I refused to reapply toothpaste. (No I did NOT give in to the diva.)

Then, she pushed her brother out of his spot on his bed while we read him a book and was unwavering in her selections for her own stories to read next to her crib. She's getting so good at falling asleep with me just next to her crib, but tonight needed LONG hand holds and lots of shushing. She seems to try my patience at my most impatient moments, and I am thankful for that - it's strengthening my patience, but MAN, it makes me reminisce about those long years of our lives before we had kids, and all that sleep I got.

My daughter is currently in LOVE with he Olivia books.
There is a line from Olivia's mother in one of the books. After an especially tiring day together, her mother gives her a kiss and says, "You know, you really wear me out. But I love you anyway." And Olivia gives her a kiss back and says "I love you anyway too."

I think my little girlie and I will have many moments like this one in the years ahead. I am so happy to be the mom of this child, but man, she really wears me out.