Tag Archives: joy

My Little Cuddler

We spent the last few days in my parent’s town watching the Greatest Show on Earth. We had great eats, a fun time and shared a snow-cone.

My grandfather is not well and his son and daughters are concerned mainly with getting him to eat and drink. He doesn’t want to, so he probably won’t. We are not a family filled with people who are easily persuaded to do anything we don’t want to. I told that to a pastor once and he came up with idea after idea of times I might do something even though I didn’t want to and he wasted an half hour of his life. I’m “better” now and listen to people such as my husband (sometimes) and as a mom, the kind of mom that wants to do right by her kids, I do stuff I don’t want to sometimes, but not a whole lot of the time. I used to try and let her be free to wear whatever she wanted and dance whenever she wanted. Now those things happen automatically. I know there are some of you out there that say I spoil the girl. I think that kind of put-down is a cowardly sort of persuasion. I left her do what she would like, because a lot of the time it’s easier for me. I try to catch moral situations and I don’t let her lie. (I admit I can’t always catch a lie, though.)

Let’s talk again about re-newing the blog. I think I’m going to try one out and see how it goes. Look for me at: http://thesidekickhero.wordpress.com/. I will probably continue this blog as well, but not as frequently. I do hope you love hearing about all the wonderful things that come with life with all our challenges and joys.


The Morning After

I feel stuffed. I went out to breakfast with my dad, then came how and drank a (sugar-free) Italian soda. I also ate an aged slick of Red Velvet cake. I should have checked with Weight Watchers but didn’t and now only have their permission to eat vegetables today.

My party was dreamy. The food was delicious, the friends (and parents) were joyous. They old happy stories and laughed and laughed at their shenanigans and adventures and all those things to come. I gave each guest a bookmark with a Bible verse that reminded me of them and how they blessed me. I read the cards and cried as I told each story. Some other people cried too.

An example?

“Exodus 15:20: Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took the timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing.”

This was for my friend, MC, who sings like a bell. When she is behind me at church I feel like the world is lighter. I took my parent’s wedding vows and split them on to two cards. (From the book of Ruth.) Everyone got something wonderful and MC’s husband said, “I feel like it’s my birthday!” Which is exactly how I hoped they would feel.

This morning, after breakfast, I took my dad to the best florist and pretty things shop to find something for my mother. He already bought her a yoga mat and a pretty vase under my tutelage, but he wanted something “wow”. That is why my dad is awesome and he cannot stick to a budget when it comes to December. (He is getting my brother a table saw.) He bought her a beautiful stand, a beautiful plant and an adorable reindeer made of moss. The owner wrapped it all up in a pretty ribbon and he was ready to go. My dad went home afterwards, and of course that is a little bit sad. I deliberately cleared up my schedule this week, and even though he left, I am glad he came.

About work: I am through with it. They trained me on this client and then did not put me on the schedule to work with him. I have no work and haven’t for a few weeks. Twice a client’s parents told my supervisor they didn’t want me there anymore. It’s time to take a hint, and that is, they don’t like me. I like them, still, but T doesn’t like them, mom doesn’t like them and to be honest, I don’t need the stress. My husband still thinks is’t the “perfect job for (me).” It may be, if anyone thought I was any good at it, but no one at the Company does. Also, they keep screwing with my time cards and also being rude. Who needs that?

My mom made the point that I didn’t have time to take care of my health if I was working, even just a few hours a day. I haven’t started working out since the Psychiatrist told me to do so. Not once. Well, unless you count walking, but I don’t think a 36 year old should be able to do count that. When my mom and I walk there is no panting or sweating and I think I need to have that. Or whatever.

I went to a store on my own today and….. (spoiler alert) DID NOT BUY SHOES. There was nothing I wanted, really, which is a sign I’m not manic. I also didn’t eat a slice of cake at eleven o’clock at night and didn’t stay up way past my bedtime….although I really don’t have a bed time.

Missing my reader friends, and you know who you are. It’s been too busy for anyone to read a blog, let alone email me or comment about it. I’m gong away for a few days for Christmas and probably won’t be able to write a lot. That said, I will sign out for now and wish you a joyous whatever it is you take joy from.

Christian stuff. Rated G, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

I used to teach developmentally disabled high school students. One family hand-picked me as their daughter’s teacher. I found her to be a difficult child to work with, probably slightly because she was smart enough to be aware of her limits. Imagine the frustration. Anyway, at a parent teacher conference, the parents said they wanted her physical, mental, emotional and spiritual needs met. It was clear to just about everyone at the table we only had so many hours in the school day to do that. After a lot of prayer, I called her mom and told her I was on staff at a church youth group, and I didn’t want to overstep boundaries, but, did her daughter want to come?

She did. The other kids (mostly) liked her, and some loved her. One kinda punk kid told a leader he could see God shining through her. She brought something special to the group and was also difficult for me to handle. We went to camp with us where I had to help her shower. She needed a lot of sleep and I needed to make sure she got it. I loved her, but she could be a real pain.

Since then, the family adopted two boys out of the foster care system, started going to church all the time. My husband talked to the dad and he said he was an agnostic. The mom was one of those “spiritual” but not “religious” types. They were generous and patient people.

Lately, the dad had taken to printing vibrant Bible verses on his facebook page almost every single day. I didn’t know what to think of it. I was encouraged, but it also made me wonder what was going on.

I got this on my Facebook wall today:

Father of former student
Hi Malakoa, Every day I am thankful for you and your bringing (their developmentally disabled daughter) to church and thus us to Christ! My daughter wanted me to say Hi So Hi From Her.

This short message turned me inside out with joy. I wrote back:

Your joy gives me goose-bumps. Thank you for your kind message and all the generosity and love you all have shown me and my family. Tell your daughter hi and a high-five back.

One of my favorite verses in the Bible is from the third book of John. (It’s a letter that the apostle John wrote to encourage the Greeks.)
3 John, 1-4 “I have no greater joy than this, to hear of my children walking in the truth.”

I’ve been talking about joy for the last ten days and I am thrilled to have this be the last page of this project.

“Rejoice in the Lord always, again I say rejoice!”

Assigning Joy

Mania and joy are not the same thing. The Lord makes one rich and add no sorrow to it. Today, I was happy to help at the jog-a-thon (could I be anymore suburban?) not too happy to go to the doctor (a GP for once!) but happy to return to the jog-a-thon afterwards. I met all the volunteers, found out who their kids teachers were, and made jokes that made everyone chuckle and some people laugh. I filled hundreds of cups with water. I sweated. After school, I spent a few hours at home and I started hitting the walls because I was angry. I debated for a hour on whether to pop the Ativan to calm down (the rest of you get a glass of wine). I went for the Ativan. I am out of vitamin B complex and taking it keeps me from losing my car, which I did today, and helps even out my mood some. B’s football game was tonight, too. I was happy got to spend it next to a chatty multi-subject teacher who was glad to share her picante pistachios. I was happy we got to see B’s team score. Unfortunately we got to see the other team score twice as often. Well, I’m not being a hundred percent honest. I didn’t see any of the teams score. I do not understand very much about football and doubt I ever will. I pay attention to the running and some of the time to the cheering in the stands. I was happy to be there. My daughter gets more engaged, but I cannot.

So, a lot of happiness, but Where was the joy in all of that? We revert to where mentally uninteresting people get their joy. Children? Totally appropriate. You should be proud your child ran six laps. But should is a form of judgment. Bipolar folks are so unsure of our feelings we feel have to compare our feelings to others. Is that true? I think it depends. I can get to the point that I trust myself and trust that the feelings I have are real. They may or may not be based in someone else’s brand of reality. It’s still okay to assign joy to our feelings, even if it’s a joy that others would not experience. My day was joyous to me.

When I was a little girl, probably around ten, there was an ordinary spiderweb with an ordinary spider. I wanted to see how a bug could get caught in the net and be devoured by the spider. I found a sow bug (roley poley) and placed the bug in to the web. I watched every step of the bug’s demise. I don’t know how long it took, reflecting back it must have been a long time, but I was riveted and joyful that I could see this miracle. Is a spider eating a bug a miracle? I don’t know now, but it felt like one then and it gave me so much joy that after all these years I feel it in my heart.

More joy than you can handle? No.

I hate to admit my fantasies. In my up and down mind I think everyone dreams of tropical beaches, drinking mai tais and being rubbed down with coconut oil. That sounds great, but it’s not the way I roll.

I fantasize taking this out and out abusive father, holding him back and letting someone much bigger than him get beaten up. Then, once he falls to the ground I would hit his head over and over again with a 2×4.

I think of how I could run away with Small, or how I could leave permanently without making things horrid for my family or whoever else is involved in our lives.

Aren’t I emotionally healthy? Don’t I forgive people easily? Aren’t I the kind of person who deals with her feelings productively?

I drove the forty-five minutes to the psychiatrist’s office to be reminded she rescheduled and I wouldn’t get to see her today. I burst out in tears. Here I tried to tell myself my beating a fellow brother to death was 1/2 chemical and 1/2 vengeful, really trying to get that under control and I had no one to help me.

And no appointments until October. (It’s 9/19).

Of course, at that point my nose started to gush blood. It’s not uncommon, but that doesn’t make it less of a pain in the arse.

I drove home, decided to let Small eat in the cafeteria, sometime I refused to do my whole life. She loves it because she loves people and wants to spend time with them.

That makes one of us.

Where am I finding joy in this?

Yesterday I went to pick up Small from school. Her little friend, (the only “brown” girl in her class) ran up to see and hugged me first. Small was visibly upset and we talked about why when we got home. She is not really a crier, but she cried when she told me that I hurt her because I didn’t hug her first. “Of course,” I thought, “how else could it be?” On the way to school this morning we tried to figure out the best way to make sure she got the first hug. We decided arms folded across the chest was it. So, later today, I will be hugged by her friend, but not hug her back until I hugged Small first.

I told you before, she is the only second grader that still runs to her mommy after school. From the sadness that she didn’t get the first hug, to the running towards me, all of this gives me joy. I wouldn’t choose sadness, but it is an indicator of how much things are important to her. I am glad that what’s important to her is me.


I wish I could tell you that I was going great and that you could be too, but I can’t.  We have been traveling, I have been stressing and I haven’t been exercising, like, at all.  I store my pills on top of the refrigerator at my parent’s house (which is where my little family is for the holiday) and something happened that caused them to fall on the ground and spill everywhere.  I found (we found) most everything but the cogentin, which is designed to get rid of side effects.  If I miss it I’ll just be a walking zombie.  That’s all.

Got in to it a bit with a friend, one of my favorite people in the world, in fact.  She said in her blog that she knew that God wouldn’t give her more than she could handle.  I think that’s untrue.  If any of you, and I know all of you, have struggled with everything we struggle with, in your soul you know you’ve been given more.  She quoted 1 Corinthians 10:13. ” No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” Wanna midrash it? Love ya! xoxo.  I love that verse, but that’s not what it means.

I wrote back:  I would love to. That verse is clearly talking about temptation. While he is working through you and around you and all about you, temptation may come your way and you will be able to resist it. That is the promise. If you are tempted there is a way out of that temptation, not that you are able to handle even the temptations thrown upon you – you will be able to get out of them – Not that you will not get more than you can handle. xxoo right back at you!

Does any of this help you?  It’s helped me in the past, I hope it helps you.  Some how revelations lose some of their sting after a while.  I just try and remember that when I hear this “God won’t give you any more than you can handle.”  Yes, he can.  Yes, he has.

I’ve been vomiting intermittently and my breasts have been very tender.  It’s times like that it’s hard not to imagine a little girl, maybe named Anna Lynn or a boy named Aaron.  There is no baby though, Mr. M’s vasectomy was five months ago and his doctor has never had a lapse.  It’s good, of course, we don’t need another child, six years younger than our first.  Exposed to all sorts of meds and born to a mother who is a whack job.  Small knows about my miscarriage, sweet little Isabella, and how she would have had a big sister.  I told her I wasn’t sad anymore.  And she said, “because of me?”  And I said, yes, because of you.

I almost didn’t write that.  I know not having a baby at the holidays can be even worse than usual.  The babies are dressed in precious little outfits.  People send family pics specifically to offend you or make you jealous.  Friends your younger sibling’s ages are bulging with unexpected pregnancies.  Does it ever end?   One year, shortly after I received the news that we were to have no more children, I was holding one of my brother’s friend’s newborns.  I wanted to throw it.  I didn’t realize how much it would hurt, or why these feelings would plague me.  It was only later, days later, even after a call to the psychiatrist who wanted me to go straight to the emergency room, that I guessed why it hurt so much and how I could hate this baby so much.

I have a friend who spends holidays at the coast.  She had an alcoholic father and has never had children.  She didn’t marry until late in life and her husband was agoraphobic.  He literally never went anywhere.  Any way, she was too sad coming to family events and feeling completely alone that she skips the whole thing.  I’m not recommending that, but it might be a way to cope for a year or two.  You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.