Wednesday, October 16, 2013


Bad dreams have a way of haunting you in the daytime. They are not unlike that scary movie you watch. You put off bedtime, hoping you'll be tired enough, sleep soundly enough that nightmares
wont wake you from your slumber.
I think the thing I hate worst about them is that moment in the night when you awake and there they are, fresh in your mind. Every sound in the house seems suspicious. The noise of the cat walking down the hall frightens you into alertness. You know you are tired but the adrenaline pumping in your veins keeps you from settling and your mind races.
That is why I am sitting up tonight, typing away, putting off my much needed sleep. I wanted to take a nice long peaceful nap today, but my boys napped at different times, leaving me without a respite for my own nap time.
The nightmares are still vivid in my memory. More vivid then the things I actually did the past few days, my nightmares are there, those startling and unsettling memories. At least when I watch a frightening movie I am not one of the actors, but my nightmares are movies in which I was an actor, playing a part in terrible scenarios that leave my heart racing.
When I awoke the past few nights in my bed, hearing the breathing of my little ones, I was so thankful that those dreams were only the imaginings of my mind. Each time I was relieved to be able to hear my children around me sleeping safely. My heart cried out to The Lord in thankfulness that all was well in our home.
In a way these night terrors awaken me to thankfulness. Thankfulness for another ordinary day with ordinary stressors and frustrations. I love our ordinary days with the rhythm of preparing meals, cleaning house, resolving arguments between bickering children, and soothing bumps and bruises.
They are such a gift.
Before I go to bed tonight I will beg The Lord for restful sleep. I will also remember to thank him for this ordinary day, free from the horrors of my night visions. Today was just an ordinary day. How wonderful and beautiful is was.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Struggling to remember

Living here in a place that I only vacationed before, all of a sudden I will have a memory surface. It greets me like a movie scene, full of depth and color. Then as quick as it came, it is gone.
I am left wondering what value they have. When a vivid memory stirs my present reality there is a sense of loss that comes as well. Time is moving on and taking me with it. I am not the person that I was when I first experienced that which is now my memory. But even more then that I feel a loss for all the things I can no longer remember, all those yesterdays for which I have no recollection. I have 36 years full of days behind me but only a few minutes here and there are memorable to me. The rest of my life is more of an impression. There were the college years, my trip to Italy, my early childhood when my parents were still married and we lived on a farm, the years my Mom was living with her third husband, the year when we moved to Florida and my mother didn't tell anyone. That was the lost year. Each of these phases leaves an impression on my mind and I can pick out a few memories from each, but there is so much I can't bring to mind, both pleasant and unpleasant.
My oldest daughter can remember what she was wearing the day her first sister was born; the details of the place where she stayed overnight with my mother. My daughter was 18 months old. There are no pictures to tell the tale. Those are real memories. My memories are so fractured. I often wonder if it is my mind's way of dealing with the bad things, the abuse, the things I wanted to forget. So that now, when I want to remember every single detail of every moment with my children, my mind has trained itself to forget. It has learned to file my memories away where they can't  sneak up on me again later. Where they can't stab me in the back when I let down my guard. If my memories can't find me, they can't hurt me.
I struggle to make memories that stick. I look at the face of my one year old. I look and I look. I say to myself, "I will remember this moment. I will not forget."
Yet later, although I can remember my mantra and the intention behind it, I cannot conjure up the memory. I can remember my longing to preserve the moment forever but not the image I tried so hard to burn into my conciseness. I am left with the longing, with the loss. I am left with my struggle to remember.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

When I have my own place again

When I have my own place again I want to remember...
 1. to not use my oven for storage. It is a pain to have to empty the oven of pans and baking sheets every time I want to use it. If it doesn't fit in a cupboard then I shouldn't have it.
2. to be thankful for cupboards.
3. to have a designated place for laundry sorting and folding, and I don't mean the sofa or the dining table. It drives me insane to have the living room turned into a laundromat, the sofa and chairs covered in mountains of laundry, leaving me no place to sit.
4. to make an ingoing and outgoing station with trays that hang on the walls marked "things to be signed", "bills to be payed", and incoming boxes for each of the kids homework and pictures. Also trays for "things to be mailed" and "letters in progress." My table is too often cluttered with this stuff because it has no where else to go.
5. to write letters to my mom and grandma and actually mail them.
6. to never use my bedroom as a staging area. I want my bedroom to be neat, clean and nearly empty. NO CLUTTER and NO STORING OF EXTRA STUFF IS ALLOWED! It should be a place to rest and be alone with my husband. Not a garbage dump.
7. to be alone with my husband in our room every day.
8. to have a small desk for writing that faces out a window. That way I can't get distracted by housework. When I am writing I want to be writing. When I am cleaning, I want to be cleaning. Doing both at the same time is incredibly ineffective.

I will remember. I will remember. I will remember.