My lilac bush yesterday morning. The snow and freezing temperatures have killed a lot – I am not quite sure the extent of it yet, but I know the leaves on the huge tree in my front yard are withered and black. Hopefully some other leaves will grow in their place or I shall have a dead looking tree for a year.
I had a topic for this blog post, but it took me 10 minutes to post the photo because none of my cloud photos are on my iPad this morning. A horrible feeling that leads me to believe I need to print my favorites and “post” them into photo albums.
So in the 6 minutes before my workout should begin, I will write about my feelings yesterday. Facebook is a wonderful and evil thing. I love it because I can see what my nieces and nephews and kids and grandkids are up to. 2/3 of my kids are not on FB though. But my nieces and nephews are. Anyway, I like to see what they are up to and see pics of their kids. I hide most of what my “friends” are posting if they are political, religious, or if they post endless platitudes and affirmations.
In my family, we had agreed to meet for breakfast at one of our favorite restaurants. One of my daughters was working on Mother’s Day, so we worked around her schedule. We had a great time, and after she went to work, we still hung out for a while. It was really lovely.
By yesterday evening, I was fighting the feeling of feeling old and alone and unloved. I really realized it was FB that was responsible… or my reaction to FB. Judging my insides by others outsides. The pretty families. The photos of families with shining bright faces, no one covered with tattoos, no one with hair they didn’t bother to comb…. Just pure love, and mothers congratulating themselves, in the clothes of humility, for having such wonderful children. I could go on, but I am sure you get the idea.
My kids are wonderful. They are uniquely wonderful – all of them. I believe God put us together for a reason. My alcoholic / addict daughter and I always thank God that we were put together. I believe no one else could have tolerated being her mother, and I believe she understands me on a level shared by no one else in the world. We are connected in a way I cannot even describe. And if she doesn’t comb her hair? It means she really cared about being on time. Seriously. She later combed her hair. She will never apologize for her tattoos. I am used to them, really.
This post could be entitled, “What Can Happen if You Let It.”
I won’t let it today. No siree, I will not.
Comparisons are odious. And awful. And hurtful. We are all who we are, and I love us all.