Getting real. Real raw.

It was starting to feel like blog entries, my own included, were so, so pretty. Our lives are not pretty all day and night long. It's a lot of pressure. Who needs more pressure? Oh, I love and appreciate pretty and will not resist the impulse to post my lovely moon (yes, I own it), powerful birth stories and sounds and images that zing my heart. Still, there is so much beauty in the raw material, the sweaty struggles, the falling down and getting up, the blood and guts of life. My conversations with self, the holding back, the bursting through, all of it is growth and wisdom that I want to document in some way.

So here's to what's real. I've figured out that I kinda like my imperfections. I feel so contentedly, lovingly connected to folks that are comfortable in their own imperfect skin. You know, the kid in class that never fails to raise his hand and say, "I don't quite get that. Can you please repeat it." Or the mom that lets you in with no apologies for the toy strewn living room and uncombed hair. Hers.

Cathy, age 54

Sunday evening 11 pm

She wants to drop deep into the pillow and blankets.

Not yet. Gotta keep on.

What you see here is tired. Makeup and hair looked OK 15 hours ago but have long since fallen down on the job. What you can't see is that it was a very good day. I took Pretzel to church for the first time. Honestly, she took me to church. Like she owned the place. That was a 3 hour chunk out of the day. I won't forget how her little legs hung off of the very big chair, her ruby red, sparkly shoes dangling. Seeds were planted on that day. At 11 pm when the house was finally still, I started my homework. Body tired, heart well filled.

Cathy, still age 54

Wednesday morning, 7 am

Wanting to stay "dropped" when the alarm went off

Yep, no makeup, cold sore in full glory, same clothes I wore yesterday and fell asleep in the night before. That's what you see. What you can't know is how excited I am about today. I read ahead for my Econ class and can't wait to hear what what the teacher has to say about Andrew Jackson versus Nicholas Biddle and the Second Bank of the United States. And tonight, I can hardly wait. Birth class festivities. Love it!

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p.s. Remember the red flannel blanket? It is not so much red flannel as it once was. It has a lot of scars, a lot of patches. Rather than deducting beauty points, I feel I must add some. It is far and away the most coveted healer ever. I'm going to spend a few minutes with that comfort measure right now.