Allergic

Warning: This post is very self-indulgent/reflective/un-intellectual (not that I'm usually an intellectual power-house, but....) and is probably utterly useless and un-interesting to the general public. But sometimes blogging is all about figuring things out and I've got some figuring to do. So read at your own risk. And please don't say that I'm the most ungrateful and selfish and blessed person on the planet. I know that already and I don't need another stranger to rain on my parade.

I've had an interesting two weeks of many allergic reactions, none of which have included food or pollen. I've basically been allergic to myself and various family members and the world in general on and off---to varying extents and with varying side effects.

I think I coined the term "allergic to myself" once when I was trying to figure out the underlying cause of a certain period of glumness. And there were too many little things that were nothing and everything all at the same time---monumental and minute---that contributed to the overall feeling of angst. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Life is such a hodge-podge of bliss, normal, gloomy, content, anxious, peaceful---repeated ad infinitum. At least for me, and I don't think I'm alone in this category. (But quite possibly on a more extreme side, since I am admittedly a titch emotional.)

Since I can remember, I've compared, evaluated, computed myself with everyone around me. I'm taller, shorter, smarter, fatter, messier, cleaner, skinnier, luckier, less spiritual, a worse mother, more scattered, more daring, whimpier, etc . . . . And I probably was comparing myself to others long before I can remember. Little Leah often makes remarks like, "I wish I had straight hair like ________" and I shudder to think that the self-doubt and loathing (?) begins that early. But it obviously does. And I don't want to blame the media (although I feel it is culpable to some degree), or other outlets in my life or in Leah's or in yours.

I'm beginning to think that self-doubt/"the allergy to self" is an inherent (programmed?) emotion in all people. Adam and Eve didn't have Vogue or Bravo or VH1. Did they always have fabulous self-esteem? Probably not. Does it matter? Probably not. Or maybe so if I'm trying to get to the bottom of this. But that's kind of a diversion....

So back to the specific allergies-----I've been really bugged at everyone (myself included) and I think I need to purge:

Global warming. It's freakin' 112 degrees in my lovely non-deseret and I started getting a little panicky the other day as I was driving and looking at all of the other cars driving
and spewing out toxic emissions. I literally started thinking about 15 years from now and the virtual wasteland my city will be if it just keeps getting hotter. And then I started planning a move to the northwest (I'll be joining you, ph!), because surely it will be the only place to live and survive (or Alaska?)----and I better buy property now because it'll be 6677788% inflated in a few years of increased global warming, when Seattle becomes the new Malibu. And I haven't even seen Al Gore's new movie yet. Maybe I shouldn't.

Husband MIA. My dear Jonnie went on his annual climbing trip with brother, dad, and friend, which left me with 2 rugrats for 4 days. And I am not good at that. I hate sleeping alone, I can't handle 2 kids on my own, and I find that I distance myself from Jon when he's ready to go on a climbing trip because I imagine his head splattered on the rocks below. And if I get the call from the Bishop or the Sheriff and I'm mad at him and distant, than the death blow won't be so deathly. But this brings up larger issues: I feel like an incompetent, whimpy mom and the comparisons sink in. I know many a mother who handles these things in stride, who doesn't skip a beat without her husband helping, who glories in all things domestic and child-involved. There are thousands of "single" mothers due to Operation Crush the Axis of Evil, having babies by themselves, dealing with health issues, the absence and sometimes death of their spouses. Not to mention the single mothers who don't even have any support whatsoever. Furthermore, the fabulous women who would love to have rugrats and make extraordinary mothers, but haven't been able to yet. And then I even feel more allergic to my sorry "A" self. But it is hard to put everything into perspective when Esther has had yet another toilet experience (this one involved the wax seal around the yet-to-be-installed new toilet, a dry erase marker, and another call to poison control, followed by her jurassic screams---all in one incident), followed by peeing on the floor, followed by dumping the remains of Leah's soggy Rice Krispies on herself and the carpet in a 5-minute blitzkrieg of staggering heights. Egads! I love the monsties, but I want to swear out loud about 50 times a day. And I don't think that's normal.

Business Overload/Motherhood Overload. I have loved every aspect of planning and executing darlybird, except for the final push. And now I've become a nazi of sorts with my time and expectations. I think Jon should view my business with equal importance to his job (which in many ways it really isn't--mainly because it doesn't provide for the welfare of our family---yet). A dear righteous mama gave me some sage advice yesterday: "if it's not fun/fulfilling for you right now and is hampering your familial relationships, slow down. something's wrong. don't push too hard." (or something along those lines--don't worry, i wasn't wire-tapping) and so now i'm taking a deep breath and setting realistic goals for myself. and I already have infused more joy and rejoicing into my life in just the last 24 hours. And cutest of cutes, Leah B just showed me a really awesome bracelet that I have yet to photograph, write about, upload, etc, and said, "Mom, I really want to wear this bracelet when I'm a mommy, mommy. Can I?" She loves looking at my products and begs to own all of them. (Yeah right! This is a business, kid!) Last week she told Jon that Darlybird makes her sad sometimes because I don't play with her as much as I used to. Why is motherhood a toxic/magical cocktail of joy, guilt, sorrow, and rejoicing? YIKES! So, I am still going strong on the darlybird front, but I will probably launch post-family-reunion-welcome-home-mom-and-dad-celebration, or in other words, August 15th. And I have to be fine about that. (even though i'm sort of not!?!) And please email me your addresses (rachel@darlybird.com) if you want to do some marketing for me!~ I'll mail you pre-stamped post cards to mail to your friends who may or may not be interested. And thanks to those of you who already have emailed me your info. I just need to make it to the p.o. now to buy scads of stamps. And then they'll be on their way.

And I think that about does it. I've pretty much depleted my allergies. And it's almost 10 and Esther has been in bed for two hours (awake) and is now screaming. This is motherhood. Thank goodness Jon is taking care of it!

A poem, quickly:

Looking up from my book, from the close countable lines,
into the finished-full night outside:
how in starry measure my packed feelings scatter,
as though a bouquet of wildflowers
were being untied:

youth of the light ones and bending sway of the heavy ones
and the tender ones' hesitant curve----
Everywhere joy in relation and nowhere any craving;
world in excess and earth sufficient.

And a fabulous quote, by the same author as the poem (Rainer Maria Rilke):

"I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer...."