My flowy pants

(Stage: Gainesville Airport)

So, when the guy on the other end of the line told me I could check in 30 minutes before the flight left, I thought that is when they OPENED check in.

Wrong.

That is when they CLOSE it. What he should have told me was "You HAVE to check in at least 30 minutes before departure -- or you will miss your flight."

Are you kidding me?

No. He was not. And he being rather stoic about it. Which annoyed me. (As my 3-year-old tied me to this pole thing.) He also, at the time, told me he'd be charging me a $50 fee for something.

OK. So, let me explain that. I am wearing my favorite pants in the world. These are the pants I wear around the house, when I travel and when I make a random weekend trip to Publix. Ahhh, I love them. They have this tie that cinches around the waist. It kind of hangs down from the waist. I call them my flowy pants.

So, my 3-year-old takes the tie and ties me to this pole thing. Yes, I think that is the technical term. Pole thing.

So, you know, I turn to him and say "Why. Why must you tie me to the pole?" (You know, as I am glaring at the check-in guy who is talking about me owing him $50.)

Um, and then I realized how that sounded. But whatever. Dude was telling me that I mis-understood other dude on the end of the 800 line. So, I wasn't happy.

Look, do what you gotta do. Tie me to the airplane if you have to. I'm wearing my flowy pants. We can make it work. That last thing I wanted to hear is that I would miss my flight.

((I'll check back in from ATL))

Painting the tree

The only problem with that last move (the decluttering of the swamp) is that people want to know where all my stuff is. It's kind of funny that I can't just be nice and neat.

In my younger years, I wasn't nice or neat. Creative minds tend to be all over the place and that is one my biggest hurdles; and also one of my biggest gifts. But, that also means that sometimes your surroundings are all over the place. (My bedroom isn't in perfect order today--a reflection of what's in my mind; and it's sort of driving me mad.)

The only problem with that is that I cannot focus in the midst of clutter. So, there you have it: a peak into my mind. A peek into how I drive myself crazy on many days.

Like today. Yeah, today is one of those days. You know, I can write and write and write on the blog and anything to do with feelings. But, this manuscript I am working on; it's driving me insane. There is such specific order to this thing that I feel like my creative brain is going to short circuit for not being able to freely flow. Instead, I have to sit inside of this neat little box.

I don't work like that, though. I work in that mode, if you could imagine me as an artist, there are splashes of paint of all different colors here and there. And the mess is just glorious. But, this thing ... this is me needing to paint a tree in a specific spot; and a lake in a specific spot. My brain doesn't work well that way.

So, we'll see if I can pull the chaos together. My brain isn't loving this season of life. I am all over the place when I need to be in one. Which is why I am on the blog instead of in the manuscript. Over here, I am allowed to be messy and splashy. But, when I leave here for the day, I have to paint that tree right in its proper place.

I'm not feeling it.

Hot and heavy

Today, sitting in the middle of my desk (my swamp), I looked around and felt a bit suffocated. Too many papers, too many pictures, too many needless memos. Just too much.

And so, I found a box and filled it. I had so much needless stuff cluttering the swamp. I filled it to the brim with all kinds of goodies--family pictures, a box of Grape Nuts (lol), dishes. Yes, all of that ... just, stuff that I have compiled over the months.

I chose to keep a few of my favorite family pictures up and with heavy box in hand (and in heels), I lugged the box down three flights of stairs. Carefully. And out to the back of the mom van.

By the time I got back inside, I was sweating and breathing heavily. That was hard. And it is so hot, I thought as I climbed back up those three flights of stairs.

My co-worker saw me, or heard me, walk by her. I sighed. You know, one of those "that was exhausting" sighs.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Hot," I said. "and heavy." "Hot and heavy."

"Huh?"

I walked away and moments later thought twice about what I just said to her. And you know, how I said it. Oh, that's nice. Really nice. There I am panting the words to her "Hot and heavy."

You know what I meant: Hot sun. Heavy box. But, I thought it was funny enough to leave it alone. My little laugh for the day.

Cherry on my milkshake. And, the insanity of it all.

Um, okay. (Is what I thought to myself when I woke up this morning.)

That was in response to the dream I had: I'm in the middle of a swamp, floating on a mattress. My mattress is my desk and the swamp is my office.

That was it. That's what I remember.

I thought about it on the way to work, kind of laughing over the irony of it. Yes, irony. And as I stepped through the front door, one of the senior editors was about two feet in front of me. She looked back to see me and stopped.

"Oh, seeing you reminds me of the dream I had lastnight. You were in it."

"Um, okay. What's this dream about?"

"So, we were getting ready for prom--a bunch of us from work. And we stepped into this huge walk-in closet to choose our prom dresses; to get all pretty. And there were two dead animals in the closet."

I must have given her the craziest look. "So, um, ok. What kind of animals were they?"

"I don't remember. But, they were definitely dead."

I see. Two weird dreams. My co-worker, C, told me that the last dream was awesome in a creepy way. I laughed. Still, I wonder if it means anything. I have my own ideas.

So, today was hectic. I didn't go to lunch until about 3. I had to proof my big magazine. The huge one that is going to the conference in New Orleans. I had to pry myself away for lunch so that I could get in something else--not related to my day job.

There I was in the mall, scarfing down a Chic-Fil-A sandwich and furiously wiping the grease off my fingers so that I could get to the keys on my laptop. I sat for about five seconds and thought: "If I could just stop. Stop working. Stop writing. Stop thinking."

But guess what? I don't know if I could survive without working and writing and thinking. It drives me crazy, but it seems to be what pushes me. I love the insanity of it all.

Oh, one more thing: So, C knew I was having the craziest day. I turned down lunch with her because of the deadlines. She knew what I had on my plate. And guess what she brought me after her lunch break? She brought me an Estee Lauder bag with two lipsticks, an eyeshadow and some puffy eye cream. A nice little cherry to top of my bland, messy, sticky milkshake of a day.

Nice.

Motherhood's off-button?

So, Eli is OK. He's recovering from the flu, but I still can't believe how that fever kicked his body into a colvusion. I hate that. And I'm glad I didn't have to witness it.

You know, I have to be honest when I say that something shifted within me that day. That feeling of being torn has been swirling around in my head and heart. And it's not going anywhere. I went to lunch with my co-worker, C, Friday and we talked about it. She doesn't have kids, so she doesn't fully understand, but still, she listened.

It's hard. It's really hard.

But, I have a great job--one that is sending me to New Orleans this month. I'll be in the heart of the French Quarter; I've never been and I'm excited. But, the excitement is sort of a temporary band aid. I still feel ... torn.

Can't get into that too much. You understand.

So, I'm sitting here in the Oaks Mall in the food court staring at the tiny laptop. Our internet is out at home right now. (Now, that's some real pain, lol.) And that's why I haven't been around too much. But, my house is complete chaos.

I swear I can't walk across the livingroom without being tackled by my (recovering) 3-year-old. Oh, he's perked right on up. With all the screaming and the tackling and the whining, I knew I had to leave so that I could work on the manuscript.

(Which, by the way, I am down to the wire on!)

And as I was packing my briefcase, my daughter asked if she could come.

"You don't understand," I said. "I will be working. Strictly working. No fun. No play. No Build-A-Bear. No shopping ..."

She wasn't discouraged. And so, I caved. She packed a little pink bag filled with crayons, paper, her DS, and well, here we are in a mad sea of orange and blue. It's kind of ironic to be in the middle of the gator-crazed crowd when I'm sitting here writing about Tebow.

But, I thought to myself a few moments ago (before I hopped on the blog), people probably think I'm the worst mom in the world. I'm staring at my laptop and barely speaking to my daughter, who happens to be staring off into space right now. Great.

I knew this wasn't going to quite work out. OK, good, she's drawing now.

And now, I have to get to work. But, I wanted to stop by for a few minutes while I had the chance. I think Naomi and I will have to hit up Chic-Fil-A for an ice-cream cone. Motherhood's off-button? Doesn't exist. (Even when you're on deadline.)

Torn

I was relieved when my co-worker bailed on me for lunch today. I really needed to sit and feel and think and write. Today, there is a dull ache in my heart.

Yesterday, that dull ache was a sharp pain. I was sitting at my desk (at work) when the phone rang. I was headed into a meeting that had been planned for weeks. I picked up, though, just seconds before I walked into the board room.

Hubby was on the other line telling me to relax before he even said anything. Don't ever do that to me. Tell me first. Tell me. And so, he did:

"Eli had a seizure and we're at the hospital." Eli is my 3-year-old.

I was quiet at first. The one thing I probably can not deal with is a seizure. You know, that just brought back memories of my sister, right before she died. She was in my livingroom when she had the first seizure--three weeks before she died. I witnessed her have many more in the following weeks--once in my car and again in my mother's house.

There is something that happens when you are a mom. You go into panic mode and you want to run to your child. Run! But, I could not. I had to, instead, sit through a meeting. Now, most moms will say: I would have left. Who cares about the meeting.

But, that is where the wisdom of having four children comes into play. I had to look at the cold, hard facts and I had to ignore my bleeding heart. Wisdom is hard because it halts panic mode and it doesn't allow you to simply move off of emotion.

Hubby was by his side. He was sleeping, and doctors were checking him out. Hubby promised me those three things. And, I had to trust him. "Please. Just stay at work; don't miss your meeting," he urged me. "I'm here. He's fine."

And so, I did. Until, you know, the meeting was over and then I hopped in the mom van and sped to Shands, where ... Eli was sleeping, hubby was by his side and doctors were checking him out. It was as hubby said it would be.

But, now, mommy was there. I rubbed his little back and whispered in his ear. He was knocked out--sleeping through a high fever. He laid there silently, engulfed in a set of white hospital sheets.

Not longer after, his fever had been reduced and hubby and I were walking out of the hospital to see his primary physician. I looked back and saw my hubby carrying little Eli, who was sleeping, draped in those white sheets that were almost touching the ground. That moment is probably seered in my memory forever--the precious act of fatherhood that I never witnessed, felt or heard as a child.

In that one moment, my heart was softened toward my husband.

Later that night, after the dust had settled, I found my husband sitting alone in a chair in the livingroom--his head down. "Are you OK?" I asked.

He was quiet for a moment and then, his voice cracking, he said "I thought he was dying in my arms. I thought he was going to die." (After watching him fall to the ground, he called an ambulance and drove behind them as Eli was transported to the hospital.)

I was quiet. Rubbing his back. "I don't ever want to see that again."

(Turns out that Eli has the flu. Oh, and the baby, he has an ear infection. Two-for-one, I guess. But, all is well. We're just feeling a little heavy today; that's all. I want to play mommy today; but I have my editor hat on. I'm torn.)