I was going to say pray for her to sleep long enough for me to write this, listen to my grad school lecture, then come back and edit – but I know that won’t work. That’s not the way I write. I have a dozen false starts for every post that actually gets completed. So if I write it out and walk away, I could come back and edit it, but it would take at least as long to edit as to write.

And I just don’t have that kind of focused time.

So perhaps pray for you, you poor, poor reader. Click away! Click away!

Anyway, if you’re still here, this is a good exercise for me. I have been practicing writing clear, focused, well-written posts and paying attention to how they read and look and feel. I love the feel of a few of my posts, when I hit the tone right.

However, that leads to a fair amount of filtering. I can’t decide if that’s good filtering or bad filtering. So perhaps today will be an exercise in that. This is not true stream of consciousness – I’m not a fan of true stream of consciousness. I tried to read On the Road and it drove me crazy. I still start a sentence and delete the beginning and start over as often as not.

It will not be “crafted” though – if you could call what I have been trying to learn to do with my posts crafting. (Ah, there I go, with the excessive humility. Anyway, my goal is that it appear crafted, in general.)

Guess what! I’ve used up 300 words already. I forget how easy it is for me to spit out 500 words if I don’t chisel and shape and poke and prod like I usually do. There are so many words up here in this here brain – but mostly fragments of thoughts. I get such a good feeling from shaping it into something quality. That’s why I set myself an upper limit – to force myself to edit. I’ve broken that a handful of times, but not by too much.

So let me wrap up with critical stuff I want to communicate today.

First, a link to Penelope Trunk’s blog. She is not funny, but I love her writing style, and the links in her posts. I would love to do that kind of linking, which gives the post such depth. I’ve realized quickly since starting this blog that links are a lot of work, so I’m even more impressed by her.

More importantly, she is bonkers in that way I love because it is so human, but not in the fuzzy, hilarious way of the Bloggess. She has sharper edges. She is raw and honest in a precise and brutal way that I value so much, because that’s what I feel called to do here. Not in that honest – ha ha – let me just spit the first thing to mind at you and there – that’s honest kind of way, but in a way that shows that being honest sometimes means a very careful awareness of yourself and your words and what they actually say.

Which reminds me why I don’t do slap-dash. Which means I will post this, but probably not do this again. Notice that self-deprecating beginning, where I tell you about what is going on with me, right now, this second? Did you see how long it really took me to get down to business? 300 words. Lots of my posts start that way, but I delete it, to get down under my word limit. I think they’re improved for it. However, today, just for you, I’m leaving it in, because that was the exercise I set for myself.

Think of it as a museum piece in the making, never to be seen again.

Lastly – Penelope Trunk’s honesty partly comes from having a diagnosis of Asperger’s (here is where I would link to a post that mentions that – alas! not this time) and I have some aspects of that and could probably convince you I have Asperger’s if I told you the right details of my life. But my husband would scoff if I said “Do I have Asperger’s?” which probably means I don’t.

Which, if I had more time, I would much more carefully craft into an effective segue into my guest post for Serena at Bewildered Bug for her Mental Health Mondays series. Instead, I will just tell you that I plan to write about my struggles with mental health diagnoses and why I think they’re great – until they’re not. I will update with a link when I have one, but it should be up on her blog this Monday.

In closing. Lessons learned – when I don’t edit, I miss cutting my too self-aware beginning and I also lose decent segues. Both are important to me. Noted.

P.S. I miss writing every day. God, that was wonderful. However, I am getting caught up in my grad class and that is important. Someday I will post about how critical it has been to just admit that quitting my graduate course and program would be sabotaging myself. So twice a week posting will continue to happen until I am caught up – or until the semester is over. It may go to once a week since I just realized I can’t post a “quick” post and make myself happy. So much learning today.

Thanks for reading. I truly hope you get at least half the value out of reading this as I do writing and posting it.

So it’s no surprise I started looking for information on mommy stuff on the internet. I found Babycenter. I found Top Mommy Blogs. However, I quickly realized just because you happened to have children and an opinion that didn’t mean I wanted to hear it. Even the experts often make me crazy. The “What to Expect” series is a great example. I understand why the books are popular – they’re informative and thorough. However, they somehow manage to have a consistent tone so condescending I often want to set the book on fire.

Ahem.

What I really wanted was someone to remind me that parenthood is craziness, that you do the best you can, that there are a thousand right ways to do it and even if you’re doing it right your life will often shock you in how ridiculous parenting is. Over time I’ve found several blogs that fit the bill. Here they are. Descriptions for most of them are unnecessary – a quick visit and a read of the most recent post will usually make it clear where these parents stand.

Enjoy!

I like beer and babies. I like those things, too. I love this woman. Go love her, too.

1000 Reasons I’m a Bad Mom I’m usually most loyal to sites that have regular updates, but even though the lovely Ofthesea has been somewhat inconsistent – ahem – and has sometimes disappeared to Costa Rica at times – ahem – it doesn’t matter if she never reaches 1000. The 210 reasons she has already posted are so wonderful. Go read through all her archives.

The Bloggess : So much more than a mommy blog, but she does that in addition to blogging about mental health, the zombie apocalypse, and taxidermied weasels. My full love letter here.

Pretty All True : Another blog that is more than a mommy blog, but my favorite posts share the insanity that is living with her daughters. Full love letter here.

“Jen” e sais quoi : Jen is bitter and angry, but honest and real and can sling the similes like no one else I have ever seen. She has twin boys – but she hates everyone else’s kids.

Telling Dad Fathers can be funny, too. Though how his wife lives with this man I will never understand. Really, eating full meals, in bed, on a regular basis?

How To Be a Dad Diaper pails for superhero babies and other crazy ideas.

Bad Mama Genny She says it best herself in her description: “Like a mommy blog. Except I’m not a mommy. And it’s about extreme DIY and homesteading. And food, food, food. And gardening in fishnets. And moonshine makin’. And the fine mess I’ve gotten us into this time. So not at all like a mommy blog. Ok, you know what, just read the damn blog.” Swoon. Just read the damn blog, for the titles of her posts alone.

P.S. New posting schedule, at the moment, is Tuesday and Friday, despite (or perhaps because of) the feeling of success I talked about in my last post.

I now know writing needs to be an ongoing part of my life – I can’t completely shelve it anymore. However, I have graduate school obligations I’ve decided I can’t just ditch anymore. We’ll see how things go once summer rolls around.

Thank you for sticking with me as I go through this learning process.

P.P.S. I know there are lots of other parenting blogs out there – these are just my go-to favorites. Want to leave your suggestions in the comments?

Plus, it’s a holiday weekend and my husband has tomorrow off, so I’m unlikely to have the time to sit down and write. Tuesday I will have something for you all.

In other news, at least two people have already received their brownies. Hooray for a little random joy in someone’s mailbox.

Usually there are lots of things on my lists that make me anxious. I know I need to do them, but making myself do them is like pressing the wrong side of two magnets together. You may succeed at squeezing them together, but the success is brief and unsatisfying. I may succeed at tackling some of my list, but it doesn’t feel good to do so.

It surprises me sometimes, but I really have a hard time feeling good about tackling the things that make me anxious. I can’t help beating up on myself for struggling so much with small things that other people don’t find difficult. It feels so pathetic to pat myself on the back for doing something that “should” be easier.

Achieving those kind of goals is more like climbing back up off a ledge. It’s a relief. That’s a good feeling, but it’s not the kind of feeling that fuels you to move to the next project.

I have so rarely felt truly good about something I’ve done. For years the one thing I felt good at was school. I knew I could get As. However, I didn’t feel that good about those As, either.

They never really felt like accomplishments. For so long they were more like a life-line, a stake in the sand that said – “Look, I’m not completely worthless.”

Which is why it eels so refreshing to actually feel good about finishing four weeks of posting. Today is my fourth Friday. A full month. Twenty posts.

I am a bit amazed at myself. To realize I can get 500 words out, 500 words of a quality I’m willing to call finished, five days a week, is almost shocking. I don’t think I’ve ever managed that for a month ever in my life.

That is a wonderful thing to know about myself.

I will now always know I am capable of that. Even if I deleted this blog tomorrow, I would still have that.

The feeling reminds me of when I ran my first 5 K a few years ago, on St. Patrick’s Day. My husband wasn’t there – I can’t remember why. In a way it was nice to be on my own. It was just me and a bunch of strangers in silly hats.

I finished that run in a really great time, and I knew it while I was running it. It felt wonderful. I was so proud of my tiny achievement, and while I was a little bit lonely, it was also freeing to just experience it by myself.

I’m not running at the moment. I’ve fallen out of the habit and regained the habit several times. I’ve run a couple of races since that first one. Even though I’m not running right now, I know I can pick it back up. It won’t be easy or instantaneous, but I know I’m capable of it.

I know I can.

That’s such an awesome feeling.

I know I can.

I now know I can write every day, not just in a journal, and not just a few words. I can write something I feel good about every day. Regardless of what happens in the future, whether I keep doing five days a week or cut back to fewer days to keep balance, I know I can do this.

I know I can.

Wow.

Over a number of years, through high school and college and afterward, I have repeatedly come up with a grand plan to change my life and “get better” and finally turn my life around.

Get “back on track.”

The “track” has changed so often it’s embarrassing to me to even think about. My resume is a mess. Materials engineer, fine arts fabricator, high school teacher, now in graduate school for statistics. Every time, things fall apart – I fall apart – and I create a new plan.

I am tired of trying to reinvent myself. I’m tired of trying to be fixed.

Which is not to say I don’t want to continue to improve – I believe life is growth. But I am tired of holding my breath, and beating up on myself, because I’m not enough.

Pause.

So many times I see people write “I’m not enough” and see the well-meaning responses.

Don’t tell me your platitudes.

I’ve heard it before. I’ve said them, to myself and others. I’ve been in a lot of therapy. I have done the affirmations. You can leave comments that say “you are enough” but that’s not the point. I am honestly not looking for cheerleaders here. Believe me, I don’t believe it does any harm, and sometimes it helps. I know it’s well-meant.

However, I want to state a truth: there are some gaps in our souls that aren’t filled by cheerleading. That’s just the bottom line.

I am not enough.

That is the statement that rings true for me, that will ring true for the moment, regardless of what you say or believe or hope for me.

Currently, I am working on finding an acceptance of that feeling, because “fixing” it has not necessarily worked the way I hoped.

I am not talking about acceptance that is wallowing in self-hatred, or giving in to my fears.

I’m talking about acceptance that is a kind of rest. A letting go of the restless urge to make it better, either by fixing my feelings of inadequacy or by somehow making my external life adequate.

I’m talking about a kind of acceptance that is simply being present, in the now, letting the now just be what it is – the now where I am not enough.

But I am here.

I leave you with something I wrote recently and that I have chosen not to expand or explain. Perhaps you could read it like a poem.

~~~

Ultimately, we are who we are.

Imperfect.

In the end, invisible.

We are who we are, but no one can quite put a finger on us. You don’t necessarily know for sure who I am. Am I ultimately unreliable? A gem? A freak?

I am invisible. But in a good way. In a way that makes me a flower constantly unfolding.

We are who we are, but who we are is a mystery to everyone, including ourselves. Ultimately, it’s out of my control on some level. It’s in the hands of some power higher than me, even if that power is simply my DNA.

We are who we are.

On some level that is a relief.

In the end, we are invisible. And that is a relief, too.

I am really behind in my online graduate class. This blog has contributed, but really, it’s more about avoidance. I tend to get behind in something, and then it snowballs.

It’s to the point where I have to contact my professor and come up with some sort of explanation for disappearing for weeks. I have no idea what to say, which makes the avoidance worse. This has happened to some degree every semester of this graduate program, but up until this point I had the excuse of pregnancy or new baby, and I could apologize for getting behind and get back on track.

This kind of thing has happened over and over in my life. I get behind in a class or a project, and I am held back from getting back on track by embarrassment at my failure and the need for an “explanation.” Sometimes things have snowballed so badly I simply cease functioning.

My sophomore year of high school, it started being hard to force myself to go to school on Mondays. Then I started missing more days. Eventually I just didn’t go to school for a month. I ended up withdrawing from school and my difficult academic program, and switching to a completely different school that was self-paced and much less challenging. Things got better. I felt better. I tried to put my life back on track.

Then in my sophomore year of college, I started having horrible abdominal pain. I dropped out of a semester of college. I went to two different doctors, who never found anything wrong with me. The second one finally told me she thought she’d covered everything, and that it was probably psychological. I was so embarrassed, because I believed she was right. The next semester I went back and got back on track, eventually transferring to a new, more difficult program.

Over and over I come up with an ambitious plan, and fail, and freeze up, and fall apart, and then put myself back together again.

Over and over, I completely go off the rails, then get back “on track,” but usually a different track. Some new, different, better plan.

I find myself wondering if I should even be in this master’s program. Should I come up with a new plan?

My professor sent me an e-mail asking if I was okay. I need to e-mail him back.

Even if I do explain it’s mental illness, I have no idea how to explain exactly what’s been going on. I’m almost positive this professor isn’t the type who will understand.

I can’t see how he would want to work with me on a thesis anymore. That scares the pants off of me. Which makes the avoidance worse.

I’m tired of this pattern. I’m tired of avoiding something until it falls apart, then rebuilding from scratch.

I’m wondering if the solution is not to get back “on track.” That kind of thinking makes the avoidance worse.

I love irises.

I love calculus. I think it’s beautiful. I remember how amazed I was when I learned that pi comes from calculus.

I love Mary Oliver’s poetry.

I love materials engineering. I miss you, metallurgy.

I love a good story.

I love a certain kind of sculpture. Some of David Smith’s pieces. Almost every one of Alexander Calder’s mobiles.

I love the Hirshhorn Museum in DC. Every time we are making a trip to the Mall I like to go in there if I can. One of my favorite sculptures is Needle Tower by Kenneth Snelson.

I love books. I love the way they smell, I love the feel of the pages under my hands, I love having a house full of them.

I love Unitarian Universalism. It’s a touch awkward to say I love a religion, but I do. Partly because it’s full of people who might say the same thing, and who would also feel awkward about it. We’re such a conflicted bunch. I love it.

I love snuggling with my husband.

I love scotch. The really good stuff.

I love living by the beach.

I love my daughter’s laugh. I’ve discovered her shoulders, around her collarbone, are ticklish. So are her ribs. So sweet.

I love the way my daughter has now of trying to run somewhere and laughing like she thinks she’s getting away with something. Usually she gets ahead of herself and trips and falls on her butt. It’s only a matter of time before she’s running full speed.

I love my dog Bella. The Princess. The perfect dog. The sob story who was rescued by my sister after being hit by a car in Gallup, New Mexico. The one who has the nickname Psycho B because she gets so amped up when she thinks my husband is going to take her running. The one who was my only companion when I tried to go and make it in California all by myself.

I love the other dog Sophie. The Knucklehead. The “baby” I brought home from volunteering at the shelter. The one that is the biggest wuss on the planet when it comes to other dogs and loud noises, but who will run full speed into a tree and shake it off. The one that has Elizabeth Taylor eyes because of the black eyeliner that contrasts so well with her golden coloring. The one that will drink half a gallon of water and then come drip it in your lap.

I love my husband. My exasperating, wonderful, one of a kind husband that I married twice and who agreed to marry me twice. I love playing Scrabble with him. I love cooking with him. I love that he puts up with me and wanted to have a baby with me. I love the way he loves our daughter. I love that when we visited Germany he sat with me in this English ex-pat’s bar and just let me drink scotch and listened to me gush over it. He doesn’t get it at all, but he enjoyed making me happy. I love my husband way down deep in my bones. It just is. We aren’t some storybook marriage, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Happy Valentine’s Day

That gives me an opportunity to point something out – I’ve realized that all I really hope for from this blog is that people will drop by and check out what I have to offer today. Sometimes I hope it will be inspiring, sometimes silly, sometimes serious. Sometimes I think I will worry you, and sometimes I may give you some hope. Sometimes I’m going to talk about my spiritual experiences, sometimes parenthood, sometimes anxiety, sometimes my bookshelves. If you don’t like the topic or the style or the message today, I hope you’ll come back again tomorrow, because it will probably be different.

I say this because I wrote a post about some severe anxiety about a graduate class I’m in, and I felt awkward switching to that after Thursday’s feel good post and Friday’s fluffy post. I’ll either post that tomorrow or Wednesday. However, I’m going to try in the future to just post what I have to offer, whether it seems like its an odd switch or not. At one point I had the idea of having a theme for a week or more. That may happen at some point, but that’s not the way it’s working right now. Every day I’m in a new place.

As I’ve said before, a few weeks ago I read a post on the Queen of Spain’s blog called Sugar 2.0. She talks about the virtual “cup of sugar”: the connections that often happen on-line now, when in the past they would have happened over the back fence. Maybe in the past you might have taken a stroll through your neighborhood, and waved or taken a few moments to touch base with a neighbor sitting on her front porch. Now a lot of that happens on-line.

I’ve turned this idea over in my mind for a while. I’ve started to think of blogs as front porches, where someone sits and kind of has their story for the day on display. Everybody has their style, the kind of stories they tell. I have blogs I visit when I need a dose of silly or crazy. I have a blog I visit now because it involves pretty painted pictures of dogs. I have blogs that I visit to be inspired or to be made thoughtful.

The blogs closest to my heart, though, are those where I’m not  sure what I’ll get, and that’s part of the awesome. I think we should all be willing to visit blogs where we can be surprised.

It seems that this blog is working out like that.

Today maybe I’ve offered something you found useful – tomorrow maybe I won’t.

Today maybe I was cheerful and silly and you needed that – or perhaps I was deeply vulnerable and conflicted and that wasn’t what you needed to hear.

All I will say to that is, I hope you will try again tomorrow.

Literally.

In any case, it’s Friday, and today I don’t feel like tackling most of the mental health topics rolling around in my head. So I’m going to play a game with you. It’s called “What’s on my bookshelves?”

Since I am offering to bake things for you, it seems appropriate to start with a few selections from our cookbook shelf.

Our cookbooks live on the top left shelf of a giant bookcase in our dining area, which involves all kinds of random things: books, two shelves that make up our liquor “cabinet,” framed pictures, board games … a roasting pan, candlesticks, a dog-chewed tennis ball, a seashell, packing tape, an aloe-vera plant… Our house is (hopefully) what you call “charming.” Most people would not call it “organized.”

In any case, the first cookbook on the shelf is The Next Best Recipe, a recent addition and an anniversary gift from me to my husband. It’s a collection of recipes from America’s Test Kitchen.

The brownies I will be mailing out are from this book. My husband was not that impressed with this present until he had those brownies; he is much more excited now.

Next is Steven Raichlen’s The Barbecue! Bible. My husband has a smoker. The kind in which you smoke ribs, pulled pork, etc. Recipe that has gotten the most use, however – baked beans.

Then Rachel Ray’s 365: No Repeats. One year, before Christmas, my husband and I were in a store browsing and saw this book together. Didn’t buy it at the time. Apparently both of us thought it was a great gift because we each got it for the other that Christmas. It’s actually gotten a lot of use – a lot of times I streamline her dinners a bit, but they’re good inspiration.

All this was before the baby was born – I’ve cooked very little since then. My husband cooks dinner most of the time now, except when “cooking” involves frozen pizza or a frozen bag dinner.

Next is a slim volume of cheesecakes – my husband is also the one who makes those.

Then the recipe book that came with the bread machine. Then The Bread Lover’s Bread Machine Cookbook. At least I still make the bread – my husband pretends he can’t figure out how to do it.

The Vegetarian Epicure. I’m not a vegetarian. Did I mention we have a smoker?

That old standby, The Betty Crocker Cookbook.

Far more often I turn to the book next to it, a fat yellow volume called How to Cook Everything. This book was my husband’s before he met me – gift from his mom – but I put my mark on it early on in our relationship by accidentally setting it on a burner that was still warm. Just slightly melted the dust jacket in a pretty pattern of concentric rings.

Read into that whatever you wish.

Hope you have a great weekend, and don’t forget: the last post involved brownies. For you. Check it out.

Literally. I will send you a white-and-blue USPS flat-rate box that will contain made from scratch brownies from a “phenomenal” recipe. At least that’s what my exasperatingly picky husband called them.

What? you say.

Yup. Anyone who comments on this post before Monday morning will get a package of brownies.

All you have to do is comment below. You should include a way for me to contact you and get your mailing address, either through e-mail or Twitter.

Why do this?

Because I love the mail. I love packages in the mail for no good reason at all. I love sending them, I love getting them. This is a project about receiving a little bit of sweet awesome in the mail for no real good reason.

More specifically, this was inspired by the Traveling Red Dress Project, a project started by The Bloggess, but which has taken on a life of its own. Women (and a few men) are mailing dresses across several countries, then taking photos that celebrate their inner and outer beauty.

Many of these dresses are well-loved – I’ve seen wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses offered, and dresses worn on other special, well-remembered occasions.

I, for one, am not ready to give up my wedding outfit.

However, I love the spirit of giving in this project – and the spirit of accepting. I already wrote about how I wasn’t ready to ask for a dress – and mentioned a couple of steps I was considering to get close – like donating to Anne-Marie’s project to sew a dress.

She found my blog somewhat by accident, and offered that very same dress. So before I thought I was ready to ask, a dress appeared. Now I have to be brave enough to accept that.

I think that’s a good project for many people, particularly women in our culture: accepting, not just giving.

I would like to convince you, dear reader, whoever you are, to accept a little magic. From me. Especially if you think you don’t deserve it.

My understanding of the Traveling Red Dress project is that it’s about giving, and there’s two ways to participate. Both are equally important for each of us to practice.

Sometimes I hope you can be someone who brings joy to someone else, not expecting anything to return.

Sometimes I hope you can be someone who can ask for joy, not sure when it will appear, even when you don’t think you “deserve” it. Just make space for it in your life.

The overall point is to increase the amount of silly crazy joy in our individual worlds. We do that both by reaching out and offering joy to other people, as well as by allowing joy into our individual lives. Both parts of that are required from each of us.

Think about which is harder for you. To give to someone else, or to allow yourself to receive? How could you do more of that?

The Bloggess herself has pointed out the dress isn’t necessarily a dress. It could be a bottle of bubbles. Or a trip to the park. Or a beautiful, meaningful tattoo.

Or brownies.