Rough weather ahead...bring a lifejacket.

Thursday night I got some news that I never really thought I'd hear. Cancer. No, not me. But my father. I suppose that with all of the crap already attacking our family this year (actually my whole life) I really shouldn't be surprised. But I still am.

In talking with my dad, he's put me a little at ease because apparently it's a very treatable form of cancer and they caught it unbelievably early on. While talking to him on the phone about treatments and how things will be changing he said something that struck me. He commented on how well I and my siblings handle the traumas in life that would normally de-rail people. We're just cut out to weather the really bad storms. Although I agree (my co-workers think we kids should all get together and write a book) it makes me wonder if that certainly means that we have a lot MORE we're going to have to weather and where my breaking point is. Don't even wanna go there!

For now, I'm just so grateful that my brothers and sisters and I are all such good friends and a real source of strength for each other.

Beauty...and the Beast

Anna, my youngest, is a budding beautician. As soon as I walk through the door she excitedly yells, "I do yours hair!?" (She's 2) That proclamation is followed by an armful of combs, brushes, ponytail holders, and "bangs", which for some reason is what she calls a curling iron (not plugged in, of course.) I used to really enjoy having my hair played with. Now? Not so much. She hurts. She combs my hair from the bottom up. I'm not sure my hair is going to make it through this phase. It's already breaking off. If I suggest that I do her hair for a change, she informs me that her babysitter, Sheri, is the only one who does her hair. Sounds a bit like her dad. No one else but Jamie touches his head!

Anyway, wherever I land, I have a pile of hair products directly behind me. Maybe I'll cut my hair off. I think not.

Order

I love a good clean, organized, quiet home. I wish I lived in one.

My family has officially outgrown this lovely home of ours. Sure, we'd have plenty of space if not for all the stuff that comes with us. But I'm not about to start pitching things as my DH suggested. I have determined that I have a somewhat extreme attachment to "things" for my memories. I'll often see, touch, smell, or hear something and an intense emotion or memory is triggered. It's who I am, and I'm not giving it up.

Because of a nasty flood we experienced last spring which severed us from a good portion of our stuff, I'm a little hesitant to put things under the house in the crawl space again. The things left are my only links to my past and the memories of my mother and my youth. Therefore, it's lingering upstairs with us with no real place. I suppose that would be okay too if we could find what we need when we need it! Frustrating for sure.

Well, apparently I'm not the only one who is bothered by the mess. My DH mentioned this sad story to his mother a few weeks ago. She, being very organized and structured, got right on that. She's coming up tomorrow to "help" us out. Why is this a problem? It shouldn't be really. A few things though. I think my pride is a little shaken. "It's my home. What's wrong with it?" She even said she thought we'd never ask. Which makes me feel a little pathetic. Plus redecorating is expensive! And there is the problem that I don't really know what style I want (well actually I do, but can't afford that.) So I'm a little nervous about where this is all leading. Maybe good. Who knows. Deep breaths, Jean. Deep breaths.

Anyway, I guess I could use a little less chaos in my life so I'll put on my courage face and plunge in. Scary. I don't know why, but it is.