lizlemonlacroix

[lizlemonlacroix]

I have not been passive

It has been quite a long time. I won't lie, saying it hasn't been that long. I know it's been longer than it should have been. I fully understand that. Sometimes, you just have to go  in circles, knowing better but ignoring it. Doesn't that sum up reality, humanity? Eh, probably not. I won't lie about that either.

Ann told me to sit still and write. Then John said the same, more or less.

My journal has been screaming for me to do something. Any kind of something that will give me a stronger sense of identity.

But it's not like I've been passive this entire time I've been ignoring the pen, the keyboard. This isn't an excuse, but a justification to remind myself that I am the only one who is this hard on myself- so let me repeat the thought process since I've already interrupted--- I have not been passive. I have kept my mind active by reading. By reading complex stories and stupid stories. By following events and organizing how I feel about them. I have not been passive. I have been keeping a small person alive. Along with a partner, a dog, a cat and myself. Putting myself last just now isn't a commentary of how society is stomping me down; there's no hidden meaning here. I just listed myself last. This is not a blue-ink'd pen handwritten self reflective passage from AP Lit. I've gotten distracted. My anxiety is cruel that way. Constantly scanning, searching for something to be wrong. Alarm bells just waiting to explode at the slightest sense of unease or reason. It is reason? Is it reasonable?

I've been coming across a lot of web pages and newsletter topics on how to be comfortable with yourself, alone, but not "lonely." Naturally, those are starting points for other independent topics like singledom, coupledom, marriage, divorce. So much noise with it all. So much opinion. So much need to share. I can get behind the need to connect with those who are surviving similar experiences, whether that's being left out of friend groups as everyone couples up, marries off, has babies, all with you on the sidelines, forgetting to respond to your texts. Or in somewhat unhappy, uncomfortable moments in their relationships- platonic and/or romantic. It's unnerving to be at odds with your  best friend. It's damn hard to figure out how to fight fair or communicate openly and vulnerably when you have never had any practice doing any of it. There's never been a need. It's so deeply triggering to feel stuck in a past moment, inside another fight and basically another "you," all because someone you love and who also loves you firecely in return, haphazardly says or does something that hurts you, throwing you back to the darker timeline when you thought you'd kicked it for good. Then there's human flaws. Our cute and terrible quirks. All requiring everyone involved to sit up tall, take responsibility for their actions-- the cause and effect-- and apologize when necessary. This is where we need to be active. This is where I need to be better, more graceful, more mindful. How do I ask this from the ones I love in return? My parents? My siblings? My spouse? How do I ask them to stand up for themselves and for me?

Well, Sara, dammit you just ask them. It's time to  be active.

[lizlemonlacroix]

Creatively inconsistent

It's been a while since I've been consistent in this space. That's obvious, that's clear.

I wish I had a better reason that wasn't the tired, but truth of "well, I guess I've been busy."

Being a stay at home parent, I tend to lose track of the time, the days. I was posting here each Monday, with Tuesdays and Thursdays being my nights of online classes (are they "classes if it's Coursera, free and entirely at my own pace, which right now, is stagnant), and since my simultaneous family vist/ accident nearly breaking my foot in early April, I just can't seem to figure anything out other than what's immediately needed of me, in the moment. The foot's all better, by the by. And I'm extra careful going down the stairs these days.

I was writing randomly on my phone, potential passages of the novel I'll someday finish, tucked away in the notes app. Now when I'm fillng time, I'm deep into the world of Flavia De Luce, a somewhat goofy detetective series I found through Libby (oh that wonderful Library system). There's always laundry to fold, or dishes to unload, or snacks to make. My dog needs a serious grooming, but I did manage to hose her off in the driveway...three weekends ago? Drat, I need to cut the grass tonight. That's probably not happening since kiddo won't be in bed until 9, most likely. Oh! What sort of plants should I arrange under the deck? It's always damp and shaded.

See what I mean? The things that whirl in my head.

As I'm typing, I'm also scrolling through tonight's dinner recipe. At least I have the groceries I need for it; I'll need to send off an order in the morning though.

I guess today's theme is stream of consciousness, as I shake off the creative writing fluff.

More TK whenever

[lizlemonlacroix]

Play something Emo

I've heard it said that you should never grocery shop while hungry. I'm going to guess the same logic applies to writing while hurt and furious.

But whatever.

I am completely sick and tired for being the half of the majority of my female friendships who does the work. Yes, lives are busy. Yes, "out of sight and out of mind" is very real. Yes, maybe connection isn't easy when there's distance or a pandemic (which is still happening and ONE MILLION PEOPLE HAVE DIED), but can anyone other than me at least just TRY?

Without goddamn social media? Just because I've stepped away from scrolling all of its toxicity, doesn't mean I don't need connection with other souls. I'm just looking for the same style we rocked circa 2005. It's by texting or talking voice to voice. I know everyone that I'm being forgotten by has a device basically glued to their palm. They just can't be bothered to text me back.

I understand. Life is what it is. I give benefits of the doubt. I shrug and sigh and smile while I'm breaking because it sure feels like the lives I've poured into over the years don't seem to pour anything back my way. I'm so exhausted, taking this higher road, but I have a breaking point. A boundary line. I deserve better.

I'm not without fault or flaws. I've gone through periods where I can't muster replies, too.

But.

I snapped out of it. I woke up. I turned around and apologized. Maybe not every time; but I've at least sent the long foregone replies. I don't just leave forever, completely. Until now.

So, where the fuck are you? All of you? I'm mad. I'm hurt. I'm disappointed. I only see the wisps of these relationships completely dissolving. See, I'm the one who has always intitiated and now it's painfully clear that no one gives a damn. So, you know what?

Texts deleted. Invitations, rescinded. They've already been ignored, so it's moot. I don't have horses or sailboats or the urge to congregate unmasked with thousands because c'est la vie.

I have a family to protect and get from one day to the next. I have preschools to research and bank accounts to balance. I have summer plans to (safely, distanced) arrange and schedule. I have my siser and my most contant friend to text back. She knows who she is and she's also known about my frustrations with you fools since the beginning. I have books to read and write. I have better ways to spend my time than by being sad for being forgotten.

Hurt will fade. The lesson is learned. But I'm done.

[lizlemonlacroix]

Whirlwind

Well, I'm typing this without a toddler in my lap; and he has some negative feelings about that. He's fond of the laptop, but so am I. I'm also fond of boundaries, even if they cost a few tears. He'll get distracted soon enough and wander off to his pile of toys.

Gosh oh gosh. What weekend with an absolutely great Easter Sunday for me and my family. The day was full and restful, leaving my heart just the same.

I'm not exactly sure how we got to the middle of April, already. Time is a whirlwind. But a few things to update no one:

My sister and nieces spent a few days with us! It was spring break for the girls, and we were long overdue for a visit. No one had met my son yet, so it was such a sweet time. Now the girls (5 and 7) live in a ranch style home, and I live in a three-story-townhouse, so there was much lecturing about safety on the stairs. And then I went and fell down them, instead. An afternoon of urgent care, x-rays and boot was how I spent that Monday, but the professionals promised my foot wasn't broken. The golf-ball-lump on the top of my foot is mostly gone now, and I owe that to compression socks, epsom soaks and ice packs. Even hobbled with a boot, I still got to see  my nieces and hang with my sister, and now we'll have that story to tell forever.

But that was nearly two weeks ago? How? Oh right, whirlwind.

The last 14ish or so days have been me healing, rehabing and trying to keep up with Jake. I'm behind on my online classes, but Coursera won't disappear (I'm especially behind in my "novel writing" class but that's been a trek before my fall). I did manage to finish a book that I'm hoping to put my learned wisdom into action. Sleep! Hey, did you know that's important? Well, it is, and I read a very long-winded book about it, and the book actually put me to sleep a few times. Anyway, I'm setting up a more consistent bedtime routine thanks to my education and I'm feeling much more like myself (eating better, exercising more consistently, resting, what a trifecta).

I guess the other big thing is that I held  my Nikon yesterday, for the obligatory family photoshoot on Easter Sunday. When I uploaded the card, I realized the last time I sat in front of my dekstop, editing, was for Jake's 1-year-portrait, from September. So, I'm behind on a few edits, too. Sometimes I feel guilty that there isn't as many "dslr" pictures of my son from the last 6 months than there were a year ago this time. I'd given myself a challenge to make one frame a day with the real camera, to keep me active and sharp with the talent that I'm always afraid never actually existed. What if everything I've done, all my work and portfolios and awards was all happenstance, and worse, just luck? I try to remind myself that I take pictures of the baby all the time, with my phone. It's not quite the same, but my skill comes through the samsung too and damn, I can frame anything I want just because I want to, when I want to. There's an album to be made, and I will make it very soon.

Speaking of frames, I need to send those back-ordered Christmas gifts soon, too. Like, "should've done it months ago" kind of soon. Oops.

All right, the whirlwind is taking me away. There's dinner to prep and coffee to reheat.

More TK

[lizlemonlacroix]

Memory(ies)

I’m a little behind, here. I’m a little behind, everywhere. Here’s something I wrote a few weeks ago, off the top of my head, in the moment. Once I’m more still and more alone, I’ll write about the (mostly good) whirlwind I’ve been surviving.

---

Sometimes I remember the night I sang in my summer camp's talent show. My cabin full of 4th graders begged me, on account of my singing them to sleep most nights. Disney songs, because c'mon.

An instrumental of part of your world is playing right now, as I stand in my bathroom, 33-years-old. No longer nineteen.

I stood in front of everyone, my eyes going from sweet soul to soul of my girls, my goofs, with a glace to the back. To the shadows. To him. What did he think? Why was he there? What did he see when he looked at me, me on that stage smiling, me on the stage of every day, smiling sometimes but also, not. Life's hard. Especially when you're a teenager.

Who was I to this boy? He's a man now, far away, distant. An ocean, a lifetime. Did we love each other? Probably, in the best young people can, who only have the summer. We probably wouldn't even be friends had we met later in life. Or would we? It's a mystery. A story that ends with the summertime. There's no to be continued here. We never saw each other again.

Time passes and passed. I've had other boyfriends. A big love that flamed out after college. That was the painful heartbreak that snaps you into pieces, where you weep until you're too tired to move. The few after him didn't matter, placeholders, until I met my now husband. But that very first one? That boy from the shadows, listening to me sing a song from the little mermaid? Gosh.

I don't feel sad or bitter or indifferent when I remember him. Our walks through the woods or the first time he reached to hold my hand. I'd say these are fond, kind memories. I'm ok I have them. I'm married to my best friend, who knows me better than I know myself and I'm confident in our relationship, our family and our future. A girl- or me, a middle aged mom- can still look back and wonder about the whos long gone, out of curiosity and honestly, nostalgia. But I think it's nostalgia for younger, easier days. Not a boy with a British accent, although that was pretty freaking great. It's a hell of a story. Maybe one day I'll actually write all of it.

Maybe it's not even nostalgia for youth. But for romance. For feeling eyes watch you doing something brave, for being captivating. It's been a long time since I've felt anything close to whatever captivating even means. Eh, where do these thoughts fit? When do they fit? One day at a time, minute by minute, I guess.One song, one melody, as it plays through the day.  I am afterall, a girl who has everything. 

[lizlemonlacroix]

Gratitude

Dear Anne,

I don't exactly know where to begin.

I could start with something dramatic and say you've changed my life; but I'm not entirely sure that's true. I will say you've defnitely improved it. I'll go ahead and say you've helped me remember how to be me. The me I've been slowly forgetting ever since this blasted pandemic began. The me who has friends and stories to tell.

To be honest, I'd never heard of you before I came across a recommendation of your most recent book on some reading list, generated somewhere on the internet. I was burning my way through my libary books and threw These Prescious Days on my hold list, ready for it when it was ready for me.

A little background is due, I figure. I read a lot. One of the best thing's I've done these lonely years (YEARS) smothered with everything that is Covid-19, is get a libary card. With this magic, I can download e-books and read on my kindle, in the dark, while the other best thing I've done in a long time- my son- sleeps across my lap. Nap trapped, is what it's called. He's supposed to be napping right now as I type this, but is tiredly screaming instead. How dare I leave him in a cool, dark comfortable crib, safe and well, all on his own to sleep? Reading is my escape, my reaching for control, in those nap trapped moments, but I can't let myself be trapped today. I need to get this out. I need to thank you.

Thank you for writing one of the best, most soul soothing and deeply beautiful books I've come across in my 33 years. Your gift of the written word is appreciated so much, and I am inspired. I'm inspired and hopeful. The future is wary, but what future isn't? Irregardless of plagues or epidemics or locusts or sea levels, we never know what the future holds, and for a long time, I didn't care about anything but the exact moment I was surviving, immediately. I haven't been sick, unwell, or suffered too much; not really. But change blew me over.

The stick read positive. Then the world shut down. My husband, an active military service member, was away with no communication. Dramatically sick (chronic nausea, insomnia and repulsed by all food) the beginning of my first trimester with my first and only --I respect my limits-- was some of darkest days of my life. The already scary world was terrifying with a new disease no one understood, and I was completely alone. Walking my dog for hours in the chilly spring mornings was the only comfort I could find and control. The movement and cold air helped the nausea settle to a hum, instead of screams. Oh, speaking of screaming, Jake's finally asleep for that nap.

Anyway, the "morning sickness" eventually evaoprated, my husband came home safe, and we spent the next few months very pregnant on lockdown. Each day, there was more baby and less me. Pregnancy was not my happiest time, and the isolation with its anxiety and fear, left me without any way to connect. I couldn't take work as a freelance photojournalist, as it wasn't safe for me to be around pandemic crowds. Plus, I was a walking whale, fully realizing carrying cameras over my shoulders and waddling through riots and protests as our country warred within itself, was not a good idea. Journalists were targets. I watched my friends chase justice. I cheered them on from my couch.

My son was born in the fall of 2020. He is the best, biggest, most important contribution I will make on this blue marble. In the hazy, blurry newborn days, emotionally lost and lacking, I picked up my books--my stories--again. I had actually stopped reading for a very long time, as we were growing. Whenever I would try to distract myself from the early pregnancy sickness, I'd retreat to the warmth of the word, but would barely turn a few pages before I was dizzy and wrecked. Another thing once mine, gone.

I realize my brutally honest approach might catch some off guard, leading to all kinds of assumptions of how I feel now, as a mom. But parenthood is weird. It's gorgeous, and the hardest thing I've ever done. Each day is a roller coaster, and thankfully, there's no nausea on this side. There are tantrums and teething, but there's also snuggles and laughs and so, so many smiles. As my son grows more independent each day, I'm finding space for myself again and that means space for reading and space for story-telling. I'm writing. I'm seeing. My cameras are never too far away.

Initially my reading began again while nap trapped, in that rocking chair, with my silly bug asleep against my shoulder, but even if I couldn't move, I could read. It was and is extremely liberating. I'm finding myself reading in whatever free time I hunt down. My finished stack of books is growing, my libary card is at capacity.

Reading These Prescious Days felt like I was sitting with a friend, and in case it hasn't been obvious is this rambling letter from a stranger, I needed that friend. It came to me in a time when I had no idea how lonely I was, and your stories filled me up with comfort and Grace. Thank you for holding my hand, especially when I didn't know I'd left it out and open for someone to grab.

I've added your other titles to my hold list and I'm working through a few other paperbacks. My interests range from science and  mindfulness to goofy young adult series (I discovered John and Hank Green during the pandemic as well), to anything in between. I read The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane after finishing Days, and you weren't kidding about its power. Thanks for that, too.

I've cobbled this note together throughout the day, and life is winding down for the night during these last few sentences. The dishwasher is cycling. The toys are put away. The dog has sniffed around the backyard. The day is done. It's time for a story. It's time to read.

All in all, I just want you to know I'm very happy to have come across you and your titles. You've given me a gift by being honest, open and good in your work; by being you.

Thank you so very much.

Be well, Sara Corce

March 30, 2022

[lizlemonlacroix]

Quiet

I spent most of the day alone. And I liked it.

I was left to decide everything on my own. There was no collaboration, no discussion. Just me and my thoughts and my decisions.

I felt flexible. I felt free. I could breathe, deeply. How can this be? What's going on?

It's not like my life is manipulated or decided for me. It's not like I live in physical chains, tied to my husband's whims and decrees.

That's not the kind of person he is.

That's not the kind of person I am.

I am independent. I am strong minded and strong willed. I am confident. I am not afraid of being on my own, left to fight for myself or for the ones I love.

He is all these things, usually.

We've been better, I won't lie.

As new parents, we rarely have time for ourselves, and let me remind you in case it's been forgotten- this pandemic sucks. We have been each other's only source of connection for a very long time. And we're figuring out how to rear another human. This season of our lives and our relationship is the hardest, most stressful and painful to date. Saying we are burned out would be the understatement of the century.

I've managed the void left behind with deployments; the feelings of anger for being left, of fear for dangerous, unknown unpredicatability of missions, of resentment for being told 'you signed on for this."

 Sidebar: That last bit/ let's stop saying that shit entirely. Non-military partners have no idea what they're in for when they make those vows. How would they? This is a life only known through experience. I am getting away from my point.

I've managed a lot on my own, in his absence. And today? He was just at work late. Gosh.

And maybe my default, at least for now, is to return to what I know. To being alone, left with only me to set the course of the day.

Is this a foundational reboot of my system, my identity? Is being alone the only way I can sort through all the feelings to find Sara? She's still there, right? Somewhere. Deep.

I don't know. I don't know.

I'm not sure there's action here. Instead, stillness. Acceptance. I'll savor the space of today. I'm alone still.

With a candle flickering and a cup of tea, steeping. I feel quiet. And I like it.

More TK

[lizlemonlacroix]

Pink Noise

I am sitting on the edge of my bed, staring over my laptop screen at the pile of clean laundry, typing in spite of it just staring back.

The baby monitor is humming; the hum is from the sound machine by his crib. I'm not convinced it does anything.

I'm not convinced babies, toddlers, whoever, actually need as much sleep as the world says they do. If they need so much, why is this part of parenthood--the taking regular naps and sleeping through the entire night without screaming for me-- the seemingly hardest part of an already very hard thing?

In John Green's latest book he says somewhere, "Now always feels infinite and never is."

Well, JG, I'm in the now and its infinite and sometimes when I'm in that rocking chair at 2:47am, I feel like every single cell and microbe making me into me has shifted away and I am no more.

sidebar: do I have a minor celebrity crush on Green because 1)he checks all of the boxes when it comes to my type 2)his initials remind me of my deep, deep teenage love of Josh Groban? 3)I don't have a third thing.

This is probably where someone would feel the need to tell me take a deep breathe or let my son cry himself to exhaustion. I am breathing. And you don't think we've tried?

Turns out, all the Cry it Out Champions have never experienced a babe with reflux. Or, at least, not the level, or severity of reflux, my son has. If we let him scream, if we let him work himself up, he throws up. Choking. Sputtering. screaming, oh so very much still screaming, and we -me, him, his father, all of my carpet- are covered in all of the meals of the day. I'm talking about vomit now. Everywhere. In the middle of the night.

So. No.

I know that I am still exactly who I am, who I am supposed to be; I know that darkness and tiredness blur, obscure all emotions when a soul is as consistently stressed, strained as my husband and I are. I haven't had a breakdown over sleep deprivation in about two weeks, so I'm going to call that a win. Medal, please.

This is just a lot. And sometimes it feels like it never lets up.

But let me remember and remind you, my son is happy and well and hilarious and fun. Gosh, he is fun. Watching him play fills me up. It settles me; if I give myself the beat, the moment to be still and really watch him in all of his discovery, the tumblers of all the locks inside me click into place, opening just for him. He smirks, my heart swells. He runs away, screaming for fun and I join as we slide across the hardwood floors.

Those nows should be infinite. Those nows are the best.

Until next time, friends. I'm going to bed. Fingers crossed.

More tk

[lizlemonlacroix]

The year-long week that was

Last week was the week that lasted an entire year. And every day of that year was the epitome of a Monday.

I honestly can't believe I'm on the other side of it all. But I am. Here I am.

It was a week full of errands and adventure (I'm calling leaving the house for anything- literally anything- an adventure). By Wednesday, I was frayed from nights of poor sleep and shouldering the parenting gig mostly alone thanks to world events keeping my husband at work until well past our son's bedtime, and I signed off social media. For Lent. Again.

Last year, I loved being unplugged from it all. I didn't think twice about going for it again, but something really strange happened over the next couple of days. I felt like I was losing my mind.

Yes, the exhaustion and stress and anxiety was the crux of my being overwhelmed, but I didn't have anywhere safe to scroll to, to distract me while endlessly rocking in that stupid chair I now give dirty looks. Thursday, after the first few twinges of panic has mostly gone away, my son decided I was the only acceptable pillow for his naptime. Very out of character- he usually saves the crappy sleep behavior for the night- and I had a total, complete breakdown, in that rocking chair, with him in my arms. I silently wept as he slept. I knew I couldn't leave him; no matter how carefully I moved to get him to the crib, he startled awake and I was defeated. In every way.

Thursday was dark. I let the tears flow. I had to.

Once I was further away from the darkness, recovered and caffeinated, I wondered why I reacted the way I did. It was only a nap. It was only an hour or so in the chair. It's nothing I haven't done before, and I didn't have anything else "to do" other than read--my library book was due soon- which I could also do on my phone, sans social media. So, why did I fall apart?

Social media is the worst. It is. I know it. Studies have proven it. Garbage. Rotten. Vile. Dangerous.

But it let me pretend I had more people to talk to. To communicate with. To see. To feel part of something. But am I talking to anyone? Not really.

The real friends in my life text me, or call. I text them. Or call.

Part of the breakdown was the realization of all the friendships that were break-ups, that I just didn't see. I didn't catch on, until there was nothing to catch, to hold, to scroll.

I'd been clinging to the former groups of people I spent so much time with, from where I lived before. Being where we are now only a year before the pandemic and parenthood, I didn't have a chance to form any kind of tribe, any kind of community. I don't go to church. I don't ride horses. I don't go to the gym. These were/are my pillars for finding my people.

My only people now are a husband and a toddler. I'm incredibly thankful for them, for being my home and my everything in between; I just miss belonging to other things too.

But I guess it's time to move forward. I'm less twitchy about reaching for my phone now, the addict side of it all falling away as the days pass. I finished my book. It was beautiful, and I've got a few more on loan to keep me busy, to let me escape but also let me appreciate the story before me.

And me? I'm better. The week ended. We all got through it. It's another one, and that's ok. Time means nothing, as my best friend says. We just keep going. We keep rocking.

More TK

[lizlemonlacroix]

Today was A Day

Not a bad Day.

A pretty good Day, considering, well. Everything. A very busy, mentally exhausting Day.

It started with me having to be somewhere- I know- at 8:30am. Now, The only place I've been at this time for nearly 2 years is home, attempting breakfast with the person I grew.

I was up, showered and completely ready to face the day, off to my doctor's appointment. Nothing's up; it was my annual exam. I did get to see the midwife I saw most often during my pregnancy, so it was a bit of a reunion. We joked and chatted and pretended like we were the best of friends, all while she was listening to my heart or poking my insides.

After the all clear, I rushed off to the next hurdle of the day. The family piled into the car and we headed off to get my government ID renewed. So fun! Adulting! I needed an escort by my sponsor. I felt guilty he was missing more of his work day. It was tedious. It was a "hurry up and wait" situation, where I worked very hard to keep calm while chasing my kid up and down a grimey hallway, waiting for my name to be called.

I was able to keep away from the moderately crowded waiting room, entertaining the toddler with toys and snacks and just letting him push the stroller around on his own. He was thrilled. He chatted and smiled and could barely handle the freedom. He had no idea I was trying not to have an emotional breakdown, thinking about air filters and closed spaces and strangers wearing their masks incorrectly.  Will I ever shake the pandemic fear when I take my son anywhere? I honestly don't know.

We got through it all fine; schedules shifted. The afternoon nap was spent in the car- me snacking very quietly, while reading a book on my phone, and the world's best baby snoozing away.

I feel accomplished. I feel productive. I've crossed some pretty hefty things off my to-do-list. So, I'm going to breathe deep and close my eyes, to gear up for tomorrow.

It might not be as busy as today, but that's ok. The Day's good feelings will help me ride out tomorrow and hopefully the week; The Day’s accomplishments will tamp the frayed nerves from all of the worry.  

The Day is done. Time for another sleep before its time for another Day.

Keep ‘em coming.

More tk.

[lizlemonlacroix]

Connection

I have successfully sent off my grocery order for pick up tomorrow morning. I'm definitely already in bed, with my laptop fighting for space with a purring tabby cat.

He's somehow across me and in the crook of my left arm at the same time. The dog is asleep against my right leg. So, I am basically a pile of animals and the pile is very warm. It is 9:29.

Toasty. As the air conditioner clicks on; it was in the 60s today which is super rare for this birthday month. I had a glorious few minutes to sit alone, on my front porch, with my face up to the sky and my eyes closed. It was So stinkin' restorative. So quiet. So nice.

I'm trying to get better with my expectations of alone time, of quiet time. Sure, I would have loved if my few minutes today had actually been, oh, hours, but that's absolutely unrealistic right now in this season of my life. Stolen moments are what I get. I can whine about it being unfair, but there's no one really to whine to other than the pair of furballs all over me, and whining is only fun when someone's ready with a "yeah, that sucks!" response.

Any responses I get (for anything, not just whining) in these weird and exhaustive pandemic days are from the people (husband, toddler) I live with, through texts messages with Gypsy (I'm bringing back the nicknames!), my sister, or the random too few and far between phone calls with my best friend who has the audacity to still live forever away.

I am starved for time to myself and time with friends. An odd pair of angst, eh? But lets remember, I'm trying to get better with my expectations. I hunt for quiet, meditative moments.

I hunt for connection too, however I can get it. So, for now, that looks like texts and skype chats, Schitts Creek gifs and DM'ing Instagram reels, on repeat. Until the crazy of this pandemic world simmers down and my under 5 can get vaccinated, this is my reality. And I know that so many other souls are going through the exact same deprivations.

So, if you're like me: covered in either pets or kids, or both, and you still can't really leave your house, I hope you find some sunshine- and a David Rose meme- to warm you, to brighten you.

And hey, text me.

More tk.

[lizlemonlacroix]

Comfort Zones

Well, that was a weekend. I think.

It was a big week, too.

I had a birthday! Another one! I'll stay this age, thanks. We can keep celebrating my turns around the sun, but let's just leave the number alone. I'm not 39 for the 3rd time, but I trust Liz Lemon, so if it works for her, it works for me.

I've stepped out of my comfort zone a bit, too. I've been journaling for a while now, and instead of applying the resolution idea to 2022 I've decided to try out the year-old goal/ theme idea that is probably commonly known across the world and internet, but I only recently came to the party after watching a CGP Grey video about it. (what a millennial, me).

I've chosen Discipline as my theme for the year, which branches out to Self discipline which really winnows down to "Reactive Self Discipline."

Basically, I want to pause deeper and longer before reacting to anything, everything. I want that space to breathe and reflect, so I can approach whatever is before me with as much care, grace and respect the situation rightly deserves. My toddler throws a tantrum over not getting to smash the tv remote? Ok, cool bud, feel your feelings, I will also feel feelings and we can count to ten!

I could ramble all sorts of other examples, but I feel like you get it.

Whoever you are.

Right, well, my quarter's up. Freedom to sit and type is brief in this house, and the aforementioned toddler needs something.

Stay well. Stay you.

More to come.

[lizlemonlacroix]

Well, here goes something.

It has been a very long time since I have felt like writing, anything. Realizing my last piece was about our family tragedy glances a bit painfully

at a wound that's very scarred and very present, I can sit here and admit to myself that I needed time to learn how to breathe through it All.

And by All, I mean absolutely fucking everything. Every single thing.

Pregnancy. Pandemic. Isolation. Complications. Loneliness. Fear. Delivery. Postpartum. Fear. Milestones. Self preservation. Self care. Sleep deprivation. Fear. Anxiety. Love so overwhelming its terrifying. Vulnerability. Honesty. The brutal kind. Stress. Anger. Sadness. Fear. Pandemic. Pandemic. Pandemic. Time. Pandemic. Pandemic.

I'm sure there's more we could list or repeat, together in chorus, but just slapping those words above these has me mentally exhausted. What's key here is: we are breathing.

Through it All.

My son is 16 months old. It always bugged me how parents would talk about their kids by the month; Why not by the regular year-old-vernacular, guys? Don't make me do math to convert your kid to what the average person measures time by! But now I know why it's this way. Because doctors make us. Everything for the little new people is measured by weeks and months, starting in utero. It's industry standard. Even new people clothes are not typical sizes but measured in month style ages, so if you have been annoyed by the parents in your life blabbing about their this many months old kid, give them Grace. We are only repeating what's been drilled into us by pediatricians and an entire new level of commercialism. We're too tired to say "he's a year and 4 months old."

I've been a mother for 16 months. My 33rd birthday is in two days. You would think these life milestones would make me feel wise and grown, but I'm fresh off reading an adorable YA book that's the Asian (and much better) version of What a Girl Wants and I still feel like the kid who'd sit up ignoring homework, watching Amanda Bynes run to England to find her father and a really cute guitar player. Read: I feel the same as I did on that couch. Confused, often. Lonely, sometimes. Happy, most of the time.

Well, this is all I have for now. It's all I can manage, and it's the longest I've sat still, alone, and that realization has me a little antsy. My third cup of coffee probably doesn't help that, either.

I needed to click a few keys, tap through the dust. Get something out, proof of moving forward. All is well. It really is, so don't fret or worry. God knows there's too much of that still.

Thank you for following along with my something, for now, for today.

More to come, eventually, probably.

When I can step back from it All, I'll be back.

[lizlemonlacroix]

In the midst of storm

Let me start this off with a very clear, direct statement:

I am physically well and so is my baby. I have not had any sort of complication that requires medical attention for either myself or my unborn child, and given what my family has been surviving since the weekend, this is very important to understand.

However, I am writing to you- whoever you are- heartbroken.

My sister, my twin and lifelong best friend, lost her son at 35 weeks from a tragic, freak and incredibly rare event Saturday morning. Yes, we've been pregnant together. While I'm expecting my first, she was waiting on her third. But she is not waiting anymore.

The pain comes in shock waves and tremors. There were moments that morning, I thought my sister was dying. Or already gone. And I feel guilty for praying for her life before I prayed for his. I'll probably carry this feeling forever.

The reality is that given the rarity of what happened - a uterine rupture and placenta rupture simultaneously- there was nothing  more anyone could have done differently to catch the issue, to intervene and save her little boy. 

I've been told he is blonde and beautiful; I don't have the emotional strength to look at the pictures I know exist, but I do know Shelby is the strongest soul I'll ever know throughout my life, and I'll praise Jesus forever for blessing my family by keeping her alive when she could be gone, too.

Typing this, I'm feeling feet and fingers squirm across my own tight abdomen. My fella doesn't enjoy it when I'm sitting in a way that compromises already limited space (at my desk) for a 33 weeker, so this note won't be much longer.

Again, I am fine. I am not the one to focus on right now. I have made my doctors aware of what happened, and while being a twin does influence how they think about my case, my team is not changing our care plan at the moment. 

I will carry my son as long as I am physically able, which is hopefully and prayerfully, to full-term. I will listen to my body, I will listen to my doctors.

I will rest. I will pray. I will continue to cry as we all mourn a life who never got to live, and I will support my sister in any way I can as we walk forward from this tragedy.

If anyone is interested in reaching out, I ask for patience and grace as we all learn how to manage. We will text you, call you back. Cards, messages, any sentiment and distraction are welcome.

But for now, I'm signing off. Thank you for reading. Thank you for you.  

[lizlemonlacroix]

(via)

[lizlemonlacroix]

Wow, hey, it's been a bit of a minute hasn't it?

I really wish I could say that the whirlwind of life kept me from writing weekly, monthly, etc but the reality is that I haven't been making

it a point to sit down dedicated with a vague or fleshed out topic to punch out across this keyboard. Honestly, I barely use my laptop unless I'm scrolling Facebook or paying bills.

All to say, there's no whirlwind. It's just life. And I haven't made my blogging space a priority.

But I need to right now.

I'm going to pour out some feelings in the lines below and however you feel about them is how you feel, but this process is for my sense of peace, closure and ultimate acceptance.

I was offered a full-time job to be the sole photographer for the Senate Democratic Media Center out of the United States Capitol in Washington, D.C. last friday night, and I passed.

I said no.

No.

No is a word I struggle with.

I'm a yes kind of kid. I'm game for most opportunities and adventures; I was raised to think "nothing ventured, nothing gained" and I'm a people pleaser

with a bit of a perfectionism problem. In turn, I'm competitive and the idea of quitting anything gets me upset.

Being a part of the journalism world since high school (go patriots!) I said yes to each story assignment, each job promotion (reporter to managing editor to editor

in cheif) while taking all honors and AP classes. I applied to a handful of colleges knowing my gut was set on the University of Georgia and kept chasing

stories (and ultimately pictures) across its campus, with the Grady School and the Red and Black having my back. Sunday night staff meetings would have me

walking out with 5 or 6 stories to write throughout the week, without considering my homework for my full load of classes. Oh, and that scholarship I need

to keep. Sensing something? An issue perhaps?

I was offered an internship by USA TODAY, which I accepted and enjoyed. I was offered another internship the day of my college graduation and I moved to a city

I'd never even driven through on its promise of shaking out into a potential full-time job (it did, but there was pain and heartache before YEARS made it worth it)

Time passes. Major life events happen; more packing, more moving, more unpacking. I find myself in another state, with a new last name and new layers of identity.

I said yes to a job offer in a small town for a small newspaper where I was initially encouraged to think and work creatively, bringing a fresh perspective

to an outdated mindset. Once that honeymoon period ended, it was a toxic place with frustrating leadership who did not value my abilities, opinions or work ethic.

That was the first time my saying Yes to an opportunity! was not in my best interest, but simply something I agreed to out of boredom and fear of never being wanted for any kind of journalism again. Hey, life transitions are stressful and may trigger a series of existential crises for some, ok guys?

After a year of barely surviving something that was just a job in the grand scheme of things, I turned in my resignation and became my own boss.

And it hasn't been easy, this independent freelance life. But I don't sob in my car in between assignments. I rally for myself, my abilities and I negotiate fees.

I write contracts, I send story pitches, I troll LinkedIn and meet with others in my community who are doing their best to make an impact on their own, too.

Editorial assignments are slim depending on location and relationships, but I'm still getting after opportunities in my new-to-me environment of Baltimore/DC.

I'm still relatively a no-name little fish in a very big pond, who recognizes the Capitol Hill offer as a huge moment of significance in my career. I'm searching for anything and everything, so when I sent along my portfolio and resume on a whim, I didn't really expect any kind of response. That's the only attitude I can say is healthy when you are sending out applications every day for weeks. The interviews came quickly and were intense. I made it to the final round before I could really wrap my head around the job, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in Senator Schumer's office, meeting his Chief of Staff, my potential future boss (who was a really cool guy). Later that evening, they called with an official offer and I was even able to get them to up the salary. I asked for the night to think on it; waited for my husband to come home and then I had a complete emotional break-down.

Once the adrenaline wore off from simply experiencing the Hill, from being wanted, from my work and abilities being valued, I realized that I did not actually want the job.

I'm not saying I'm not capabale of the job- I am. I would've been a very good addition to that office and I would've presented my absolute best every single day on a national stage.

But I would have been miserable.

And as a creative, misery would be all anyone would see in my work. That's just something I couldn't sign on for, so I decided it was a poor fit.

To cover politics well, the journalist needs to live and breathe by the subject matter in play. It's an overwhelming and all consuming beat. It's passionate and a lifestyle.

I've photographed the rallies and voting polls. I've followed various candidates around whenever they've come through a place my newspapers circulated, but then I've gone on to make a portrait of a doctor or cover high school football practice, filing by deadline.

I enjoy people and capturing life. I also enjoy having a life, friends and sleeping in on Saturdays.

I've said yes to many, many wonderful opportunities and I have no regrets. I've also realized I've said yes to many what-initially-looked-like-opportunities but ended up being situations

burning me out, shredding my worth and overall trashing my mental/physical health leaving me feeling trapped. Anyone remember that crazy horse I was talked into buying? She had her moments but selling her before my move to Maryland was one of the best decisions I've ever made for myself (and for her, tbh). It was a bad match from the beginning. A poor fit. I ignored my gut then, but that familiar feeling hit hard the nanosecond after I said "let me think about it."

I went to bed thinking YES, slightly nauseous. I woke up peacefully, knowing it was a NO.

I knew I wasn't excited for the position and accepting it just because it was a big deal for a big thing, didn't seem fair. Or right. It felt selfish. If that bothers me, then I definitely don't belong in politics and I'm perfectly OK with that. I'll find my way to a street festival, state fair or basketball game instead.

Saying No is just as brave as saying Yes.

My next right-for-me thing is coming and I'm excited for the future. I really am.

[lizlemonlacroix]

Today was the most monday Monday that ever existed.

Let's just all accept that today, this particular monday, is especially daunting as it stands three days away from Thanksgiving, the beautifully blissful day where overeating is expected, if not

mandatory. With the political climate (and actual climate) being a bit…extreme… these days, I'm sure plenty of people are nervous about

spending time with their relatives. I mean, I'm always nervous about

spending time with my mother-in-law, but that's because she will

never, ever like me, no matter what I do, and I was raised to be a polite southern lady where I will smile and bend over backwards no matter how excruciating the situation may become. But I digress.

Why is today the most Monday?

Well, my husband left for a funeral about mid-morning, and is with his entire extended family, mourning the loss of his mother's mother. I met her twice; she was kind and loved well and will surely be missed.

I'm feeling a bit off at staying behind, but short-notice travel could not be justified at the holiday-induced-expense.

But about two hours before Dan left, I was literally hit by a car.

You read that correctly.  Hit. By. A. Car.

Monday mornings, I jog out of my subdivision with Proxy in tow (my

goofy german shepherd, who lives her life like a labrador always on

her never-ending-quest for the best tennis ball in existence). Nothing

was out of the ordinary as I listened to my podcasts and watched my

feet slap the sidewalk pavement; Proxy trotted at my hip, as per

usual.

As I looped back towards home, about 2 miles in, I approach an

intersection with a crosswalk. It's 9:15, sun beaming across my yellow

puffy vest, and I see car after car inch along the main road. I judge

that there isn't space for anyone to pull into the lane, while eyeing

a black SUV just at the crosswalk line, angled to go right when

there's a break. I check both ways, watching the SUV's tires. I take a

few strides into the path and the driver decides he'd rather cut into

traffic than look directly in front of him.

He lurches forwards, knocking my left hip, throwing me forward, where

adrenaline took over and I wheeled backwards, slapping his hood as

hard as I could with my palm. He stopped. We eyeball each other and I

scream some expletives I'd rather not repeat here.

I'm clear of the car now, staring him down and walking backwards out

of the cross walk. He shrugs and takes his right turn as he sees fit;

there was a break in traffic after all, as everyone who saw him strike

me stopped dead in the road. I amble out of the road, check on my dog

and pause to breath through the fear. My life flashed; I realize that

if he hadn't stopped, and gunned it the way he wanted, I would've been

thrown under that black SUV with my dog tied to my hip (jogging belt).

I'm trying not to imagine how traumatic the injuries would've been- I

watch a lot of ER and I doubt I'd survive, let alone my goofy dog. I

shake it off, blinking back fear/frustrated tears and car after car,

who witnessed everything, pulls over to ask how I am. I nod to them

all and resume my route. I had another mile left. So I ran.

Once home, I reported the incident to my HOA manager, even though I

chose not to file a police report. With him driving away, and me just

trying to take deep breaths from the sidewalk, I didn't react quick

enough to get his license plate numbers. I've also alerted our

community Facebook page to what happened, and hopefully, my story will

be the last like this.

Now, I'm physically fine. So is Proxy. She didn't really figure out

what happened, since he hit my left hip and she's alway on my right- a

blessing, though. He could've killed my dog before my very eyes.

I do feel a bruise forming, though it's nothing a beer can't cure

while resting and watching the DWTS finale tonight.

Emotions have been running high in my household since we realized Mary

was dying Friday evening. Saturday pre-dawn phone calls confirming

loss and the immediate struggle of making across-country travel plans

will leave anyone weary. And wow, we were and are weary, friends.

And I still have the week before me.

My mother-in-law will be landing in town Wednesday, less than 12 hours

after her son/Dan/ returns from holding his entire family together.

I'm waiting for updates now, actually, as I understand they're in the

middle of the visitation hours. My flowers were delivered, though. So,

I'm there in some form, I guess?

The ham is thawing. As is my turkey breast.

Groceries have been purchased and arranged in the fridge (I should

wipe down the shelves, probably).

The guest room, and the rest of the house, has been vacuumed. Pillows

fluffed. Bathrooms bleached and drains snaked. Clean dishes are

sitting in the washer, waiting to be put away. I'd spritz some

Febreeze, but she's allergic to most things and even though I've been

careful, I'm sure I'll be criticized for how I keep house come 6:05

Wednesday night.

I also expect judge ridden glances as I keep Proxy, the goof who

excitedly pees at the feet of guests, in her crate or behind baby

gates throughout the visit. My soul doesn't have the energy it needs

to prep the carpet cleaner, and my dog knows the house rules,

irregardless of anyone else who thinks I'm too strict.

I've sketched out my prep/cooking timeline for Thursday and honestly,

I don't know what happens after lunch that day. Mental RAM is low, if

not gone, and I'll just figure out those next steps when they're

happening.

So, cheers to today: The Monday I survived.

I did it; and I'll trek through tomorrow, too. I'll blink and be

smiling at the table, sharing my thanks and blessings with those

around me.

And maybe, just maybe, a full week from now will be better than all of

the painful moments of today.

More TK

-Sara