She (Updated)

I know I don't write here as much as I used to. As much as I should. But I sure am happy that there are years of posts to look back upon, remember and share again.  

Like this one.

Today, SHE is ten years old. TEN YEARS OLD. She's replaced the whistling with playing her recorder. "Recorder Karate" her music teacher calls it.  I wonder if I'll ever miss that sound?

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After many, many years of trying she had finally learned how to whistle properly.

I can't even type the word properly without smiling because really, is there a proper way to whistle? I suppose so. And I would suppose the notes escaping my daughters pursed lips don't resemble anything even remotely close to proper whistling - but that matters not.

When she began this newly acquired trick a few months ago, she was so so proud.

"Check it out mom, I'm whistling!" She would shout while running past me in the kitchen. Up until then, all whistling was done by inhalation only, so I suppose the magic of finally doing it while exhaling was quite exhilarating for her.

A few hours later, still whistling.

The next day, still whistling.

A week later, still whistling.

My husband and I exchanged many a glance, widening our eyes and chuckling just a teeny tiny bit (quietly so nobody could hear us) and we wondered if it would ever stop.

Of course, there was no whistling allowed at the dinner table.

And no whistling past bedtime.

No whistling in school and no whistling during homework.

But other than that, the air in our home (and outside of it for that matter) was filled with the sounds of a whistling 2nd grader. Whistling while she played with her paper dolls. Whistling while she brushed her teeth (she's a talented one, that she is). Whistling while drawing. Whistling while Wii-ing (that's a verb, right). Whistling. Whistling. Whistling.

So much so that I became rather immune to it.

And then I didn't realize that the whistling had actually become a little bit less, until it did.

A few hours ago she grabbed a brightly colored glass from the dishwasher as her older brother was emptying it. She held it up in front of her left eye and peered at me through it's purple-hued bottom, grinning. I thought she was going to laugh. Instead, she whistled.

And I remembered that I kind of missed that sound.

Whistling, in the car

Delivery Man - Super Special Sneak Peek

Have you ever looked up the definition of FAMILY?

I haven't ever needed to.  Yes, I've been on this planet functioning as a productive member of society without needing to define FAMILY.

To me, family has always meant:  the people that I love.  Yes, we are (most of us) tied together by strands of DNA, but that's not what makes us family and it's definitely not a requirement.  My biological Aunt's husband is no less my Uncle than my biological Uncle - he just happens to have avoided "the family nose," which in today's world, he could have changed if he wanted to.  Come to think of it, neither of my Uncles possess this genetic trait.

My family is small - 1 matriarch (my grandmother), her 3 children and their spouses, 3 children in the next generation (my cousin, myself and my brother) and their spouses (my husband), and 3 children in the current generation (my kids).  And I'll just say this right now, there better not be another generation popping up anytime soon, I'm NOT ready to be a grandmother!

But these people whom I love, love, love aren't the only people I call "family."  They are just the tip of an enormous iceberg. One I'm fortunate to have floating calmly in my ocean, not shrinking but growing and adding to it's bulk with each passing year.

So why all this talk about family?

Vince Vaughn, that's why.

[Bet you didn't see that one coming]



I mean, just look at him.  Who wouldn't want this man in their family?

If you're reading this, you will be one of the first people in the world (the world!) to see the OFFICIAL trailer for the movie DELIVERY MAN, starring (duh) Vince Vaughn and Chris Pratt, whom I really don't know (but I DO know his sister Angie) but everyone in our hometown claims some sort of elite connection to him because they can, having gone to the same high school and all.  While I understand the pride that we feel as a community for having fostered the youth of such a funny and talented guy, I'm not claiming any special relationship with him.

Unless I'm trying to impress my kids.  Then I TOTALLY use him.

"Remember that lady I talked to at the grocery store today?" They look at me like, yeah so...

"THAT was Chris Pratt's sister!"

"So you, like, know him?" They implore.

"You could say that."

Notice I said could, completely relinquishing myself of any actual untruth that may be inferred by that statement.

Anyway.

I got a look at the trailer a few days ago and I'm really looking forward to this movie.  The basic premise is that Vince Vaughn plays a guy approaching that age in life where one sometimes ponders their purpose on this earth.  He gets some surprise news that he's fathered 533 children (due to his generous gifts to the fertility clinic) and now he must decide what to do with that information.

This is the part where I roll the trailer (just imagine the curtain going up and the lights going down).





I hope November comes quickly.  You can bet I'll be seeing this one, with my FAMILY.  Which, as I've mentioned above, could be anyone.

RAWR

Usually I'm really good at following directions, but the etiquette for attending movie screenings as a member of the "press" always confuses me.  Do I wait in the big ol line (with people who got free screening passes for whatever reason) or do I go in?  I'm on "the list," I should probably just go in. When my invitation says "check in with the PR rep in the lobby" what does that mean, exactly?  Is blogging really considered "press" and if so, what are the philosophical consequences I have to consider before writing?  I only took one journalism class in college.  Yes, I got an A, but an A in one journalism class in college does not a member of the press make.  Are these other people famous?  Will I see a celebrity movie reviewer?  OMG.  Is E! going to be here?  Will there be a red carpet?

Just stop thinking, Carrie.

Here's the thing about sharing - it does have it's perks.  I figure since I've written about my kids online since 2005, the least I can do in return is take them along to movie screenings.  So when the invite to the Monsters University screening popped up in my inbox, it was a no-brainer.

We've loved Monsters Inc in our home for a long time and it would be highly unusual for me to watch it without turning into a puddle of tears at the end.  It's like the Terms of Endearment of kiddie movies as far as the cry factor is concerned.

The boys were busy with baseball and work (yes, the oldest is old enough to WORK - like a real job and everything) but Katie and Lila were more than happy to go along with me.

I promised Lila that unlike the last time she went to a movie screening with her Aunt Carrie, we would not have to sit IN THE FRONT row because now I knew how these things operated...kind of.  And what do you know?  We blazed past the people waiting and found our "press" seats.  And, um, they weren't in the front row.

Monsters University was the ultimate buddy movie - and taking these two little buddies was perfect.  We got the back story on Mike and Sully's friendship and lots of insight into how they became "Top Scarers."  The movie handled the life lessons we all could benefit from learning (doing the right thing, honesty, loyalty, hard work and determination) in such a fun way with adorably lovable scary monsters.

Lila and Katie - RAWR - 2013

I'm sure there were tons of details that I missed, being that I was so caught up in the 3D-ness of the whole thing (and I really don't think it's necessary to see this in 3D unless you're a die hard 3D fan and don't mind wearing those uncomfortable glasses for 2 hours) but I'm fairly confident that this title will end up in our family movie library eventually.  So I'll have plenty of time to notice all of the little things which Disney is so good at inserting here and there in their films.

Lila and Katie - BEACH BABIES - 2006

Mike and Sully, Katie and Lila...it's a no-brainer.

Fill Up Your Cup

Lucky me.

My new BFF, my therapist, decided to go and have a baby last month so it's been a while since she and I have had one of our chats (SESSIONS).

I miss her.

Yes, she gave me the names of 2 other therapists in her practice that she thinks would be a good fit while she's busy changing diapers and smelling that new baby smell - but I don't want them, I want her.  PTSD aside, the past 8 months have been the most uncharacteristically chaotic of my life.  She's heard the back story, she knows the details, she knows me.

How can I even begin to explain things to another person?

I could hold out my hand, touching each fingertip as I go through the events that have turned our lives upside down:

• Mother in Law hospitalized for "failure to thrive" (although we tried everything we could to keep her healthy)
• Mother in Law sent home by care facility because she is not following their therapy instructions, therefore cannot stay (even though she can't care for herself at home - we were told that we "had to let her fail" by state social workers)
• Mother in Law passes away
• Beloved family dog diagnosed with cancer
• He passes away
• Friend and co-worker diagnosed with cancer the same time as 3 other friends passes away
• Good friend who fought breast cancer had cancer move into her bones - surgery, infections and rehab
• Husband promoted to Captain (this is good)
• Firefighter (married to a friend of mine from high school) and friend passes away, leaving a huge hole in our firefighter family as well as his own

That's 9 things.  I'd need 2 hands.  And I'm not even including the regular teenager stuff OR Katie's mystery viruses that kept her home from school for more days than I'd like to acknowledge, sent us to the clinic more times than I'd like to think about, and had us in a teeny bit of a panic when she had a pretty severe reaction to an antibiotic she was given for something SHE NEVER ENDED UP HAVING!  

Or, that I TURNED 40, Wyatt needs braces and we now have to insure a teenage driver.

Oh, and I need a new roof.

That's a full plate, right?

But enough about all of that.  What truly amazes me (and god, I am getting soooo sick of the word "amazing" in all forms) is that I am surrounded by people who care.  I'm not talking about the kind of people who say they're there for you but then disappear.  I'm talking about people who are actually really there.  The kind of people who will do anything for you.  The kind of people who will push you to get things done that you'd really rather not deal with.  The kind of people who arrange bakers and volunteers for a memorial service for someone they've never met, so you don't have to do it.  The kind of people who listen.  The kind of people who stay up with you all night.  The kind of people that make you laugh. The kind of people who love you no matter how long it's been since you've seen them.  The kind of people who love you even when you've lost your marbles. The kind of people who don't even hesitate when you ask for their help.  The kind of people who aren't just there for you, they're there for all of you. 

These are the kind of people who don't do it because they know you'd do it for them, they just do it.

I'm convinced that everyone needs these kinds of people in their life.  And these are the kinds of people who fill my cup.  They overflow it with friendship, love, support, strength and hope.  Some of them are family.  Some of them are friends.  Some of them are people I hardly know.  And every last one of them is important.

A dear friend called me a name today.  Anam Cara, it means "soul friend."  Of course, I had to look this up and was not really surprised when I read it's meaning.  Soul friends are people who get you (she gets me).  They are people that bind you to this world.  Sometimes I overlook these people until I need them most.  I'm going to stop doing that.

Fill your cup with people like this.  Take their love and wrap it around your head and heart until you feel their comfort.  Never let them go.

Lucky me, after all.

Gene Autry

Everytime I think about updating my little corner of the www, I start hearing that Gene Autry song in my head.

"I'm back in the saddle again
Out where a friend is a friend
Where the longhorn cattle feed
On the lowly gypsum weed
Back in the saddle again..."

Maybe I'm channeling my late grandparents.  Maybe I've just seen Sleepless in Seattle one too many times.  Doesn't really matter.

What matters is that yes, it's been quite a ride.

I've always been able to pound out my thoughts easily, until after.

One of the first things my therapist (god, I hate saying that -- it doesn't even sound like me) asked when I started seeing her at the end of summer for PTSD was if I had ever written about what happened in Oslo?  I might have laughed in her office.  The office that yes, upon my first visit I confirmed DID contain a COUCH. A real therapists office.

Write?  Me?  You're kidding, right?

But she wasn't.

Turns out she isn't a mind reader.

I'd never been on a therapists couch (except for that one time when I was a crabby teenager...) and I really didn't know what I was supposed to do or say.  It was a huge step to be there but I was getting tired of the nightmares, the fear, the flashbacks, the panic and the SCARED.  Between nightmares and my awesome hot flashes (hello old age!), I wasn't getting much sleep.  I'm a worry-er by nature, but now I was worrying everytime anyone left the house.  And yes, I mean EVERYtime.  I jumped when I heard loud noises and panicked during situations that I never gave a 2nd thought to before.  Crying and I were "like this." Tight.  Inseparable.

Hence, the therapy.

I learned that even though I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do or say, I was pretty good at it (meaning, I never shut up).  Still am.  I see my therapist (I can actually say that now, although I TRY not to advertise it) about every 6 weeks.  And if I need to talk to her between appointments, I can call her - like the time in November when I had an all out freak out while picking up my daughter's 9th birthday cake.  That was fun.

I'm also learning that this is a process.  There is no cure.  There is no quick fix.  There is no potion I can take that will let me forget the things that ultimately brought this to the surface.  Although I've made a lot of progress since August, it's a private progress.  Most people don't know.  They don't know that I need a prescription before getting on an airplane, or going underground at Hoover Dam (I did that!).  They don't know that behind my smile, I'm still a little scared when I'm in the city or in a big crowd or at the movie theater or driving over a bridge.  They don't know that in the last 7 months, I have relied on deep breathing more than a thousand yoga classes could give me.

At the doctor's office today, for a simple completely unrelated matter, I noticed a mental health magazine in the plastic, possibly (no, definitely) germ-riddled shelf in the exam room.  A MENTAL HEALTH MAGAZINE.  Usually those shelves are filled with either pregnancy publications or AARP magazines so this was quite a surprise.  I didn't have time to read much of it but it's existence made me smile.  And not a hidden deep down smile, but a real, content, little smile that yes - the world is an okay place and yes, so am I.  And I'm not the only one because hello! there's a whole magazine about taking care of your mental health.

[It was like finding out that unicorns really DO exist]

I pretty much don't have nightmares anymore and the flashbacks are becoming less frequent.  But I still think about it at least once a day.  I still startle, but I don't panic (as much) when something scary, violent or awful happens (could be because I never watch the news anymore either).  I'm surrounded by people who don't judge, who laugh with me (okay, maybe AT me too) and who help me navigate my way through this.  I couldn't do it without them.

PTSD and the anxiety and panic that comes along with mine isn't anything to be ashamed of.  It's far more common than most people realize and the sooner we open up the dialogue and actually TALK about our mental health just as we TALK about our physical health, the sooner the stigma will dissolve.  What I'm trying to say is, I've had more conversations about childbirth, periods and menstrual cramps than I've ever had about this - and that's just not right.  It's time to change that.

Onward.

My friend Kim and I - Out where a friend is a friend