Little Bird

So, if I’m going to be honest (and you know me, I always am. Even if it's brutal and probably not in my best interest. *shrug*) I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch. If Clint is reading this, he is laughing, right now, because that’s  the understatement of the year. (Life update: I’ve had a real-life, proud-of-me boyfriend for over two years, now. Miracles and wonders, y’all.)

When I say “I’ve hit a bit of a rough patch”, I mean I have been struggling to keep my head up for quite some time. When I look at what REALLY matters in my life, like my family, and the fact I have a roof (or two) over my head, everything is peachy. I’ve been going to therapy which has helped things IMMENSELY, and being with the above mentioned boy has helped a lot, too. Knowing that I have someone who isn’t just going to up and leave because real life happens has been revolutionary, as you can imagine. (He’s not a boy, he’s a full grown man. A bearded, hunk of a man with thighs like tree trunks who I’ve had a crush on from 2013-2016 and then 2017-present. But that’s another story for another time.)

What’s not been great is just the everyday crap I have to do to keep living.

I’m 34. I’m still working full-time, I still have to have my own health insurance, I push through migraines and crippling depression and anxiety (it’s greatly improved but it still rears its ugly head every now and again). I am living between my apartment and Clint’s house, my old dog is getting older (it’s 2019, how is there NO WAY to stop this?), and there are no babies on the horizon despite my womb yelling at me loud and clear that my ovaries are about to start having a liquidation sale. (You’re not the boss of me, WOMB.)

I promise this isn’t a post full of complaining. I’m getting around to the point.

My life isn’t BAD, it’s just not adhering to the PLAN. It’s not everything I WANT.

I want the husband, I want the babies, I want to stay home and clean and cook and do the laundry. I want to do the volunteer work. I want to write. I want to create. I want to grow the garden and tend the chickens and milk the goats and plow the fields and fell the trees and build the cabin. (Ok, I want to do the first part of that.)

“Be patient.”

“Good things come to those who wait!”

“God has a plan.”

“It’ll all work out.”

I am so very sorry but if I hear ANY of the above mentioned phrases ONE MORE BLESSED TIME, I am going to LOSE MY MIND. I know they are said in love and sincerity for the most part, but I am done. I am so endlessly tired of hearing these things from my friends or acquaintances with the husbands and the babies and the homes and the volunteering (or whatever other dreams they’ve had that have come to fruition). I'm truly and ridiculously happy for them in their lives but I'm ready for my turn.

So, I try to make the plan happen, myself. I hit walls.

"Ok," I think, "Maybe I didn’t try hard enough or make myself clear the first try." I wind up-- harder, this time. I back up a bit further. I run faster.

I hit another wall.

Guys, I am so tired. I am weary. I am bloodied, broken and bruised from hurling myself into so many walls but I am not content to sit still and wait. At least throwing myself into obstacles counts as TRYING. Sitting still counts as nothing.

I’ve been trying to trust, believe, manifest, put enough money in the offering plate to somehow con God into giving me what I've wanted and waited for since I was a little girl…

I get nothing. Cricket chirps. 

“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands” (Isaiah 49:15-16)

   

I didn’t know God owned gloves but He must because I sure feel forgotten. I KNOW I’m not, but dang these feelings. Sometimes they’re just so big.

Yesterday morning, I was standing in Clint’s living room as we were both getting ready to leave for work. I was feeling pretty down but I was managing to do a decent job of hiding it. I put my coat on and was telling Clint bye for the day when we heard a loud THUD against the window. We looked at each other, thinking maybe someone was outside or one of the neighbor kids had chucked something at the house. Clint opened the door and peered outside.

“Hmmm”, he said, unsatisfactorily. (Seriously, bruh? I gotta KNOW what just caused that noise!)

I peeked around the door frame and looked down. A robin had flown straight into the window. There were feathers and various bird juices left on the glass.

“OH NOOOOO!!! BABE! NOOOOO!!!!!” I exclaimed.

Clint just looked at me, puzzled

“It was a BIRD!!!”

I looked in horror at the poor thing. The bird just laid on the front patio like a mess of what he once was. His neck HAD to have been broken because of the angle at which it was now resting. His right wing was badly busted up and he was just staring up at me like “Whuuuuuuuuuuutttttt?”.

I looked down at him and I thought “Broooo. I FEEL you, this morning.”

I felt just like that mangled bird-- completely broken, twisted up and just plain confused as to how a flawless plan and vision could go so terribly wrong.

I darted back in the house.

“The poor bird! I think his neck is broken!”

“Do you want me to take care of it? I can make it quick.” Clint asked.

“Mmmhmm... I guess...” I replied, as I felt the tears I had managed to keep at bay ALL MORNING finally fall on my cheeks. I knew it was probably the most humane thing to do, but still.

“I’ll wait until you go to work.” he said, as he wrapped his [toned and beefy] arms around me.

“The…poor…thing. He’s…all…busted…up.” I sobbed.

“It’ll be ok. He won’t be in pain much longer.”

“Do…you think…he could be…alright, somehow?” I asked, hoping against all hope.

“Maybe? He could just be stunned.” he tried to reassure me.

“I don’t…think so….he’s so mangled. DID YOU SEE HIS NECK AND HIS WING?!??!!” more ugly crying and wails came from my mouth. I think I even shocked myself at this display, but as I stated above, I’ve HAD IT.

“You go to work and I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” Clint gave me his final reassurance as he guided me ever so gently to the door so I wouldn’t be late to work. “He’ll be ok.”

As I opened the door and looked down, I expected to see the horrible scene, once more. Instead, I saw a robin that was sitting up, partially, and looking very confused as to what had just taken place. How did he get here and who are these people and why is that one so puffy-eyed and weepy?

“BABE!!!! LOOK!!!! He might be ok!!!” I sounded like a hopeful 3 year old.

“See? I told you he was just stunned!” Clint humored me as I gingerly walked around the bird so I wouldn’t scare him. I got in my car and drove to work.

I would love to tell you that I prayed ever so eloquently about the bird while I was driving but in reality, my prayer went more like “Jesus, I know this sounds silly. Well, no prayer is silly, probably, but you know what I’m saying. But please heal that bird so he can fly away. Please help his wing to not be broken and his neck to be ok. I know you care about birds and little things. I’m worried about the bird. Please help me to stop worrying about the bird…”

I got to work and sent Clint a text saying I was sorry for being so emotional so early in the morning (ha) and he responded about 10 minutes later, saying that the bird flew away when he went to leave for work and that he looked just fine.

Relief.

I got to thinking that if God can care about that mangled bird, seemingly broken beyond repair, how much more must He care for me. He sees my broken neck and wings and stunned looks as I watch my plans and desires seem to float away and out of my reach. And some day, soon, when I’ve shaken off all my burdens and broken bones and placed them in His care…

…He will help me fly.

Guess what

I'm baaaaack. (Almost.) 

Possible Demon Cat

You may recall me telling you of NJ before. This is NJ:

He "came with" the house. And what I mean by that is that he was on the front porch when we moved in. He adopted us. He's never left. He's a cool guy and the unofficial mascot of "The Patio" (TP). He's pretty chill unless you touch his tummy. NEVER TOUCH HIS TUMMEH!

A couple days ago, this other cat showed up. It's a neighborhood cat, but he's never really hung around our house super often. He's taken to hanging out at the side door. This is the other cat:

I've never really known how to take him, but I try to give everyone a chance, so I was nice to PCD.

As I was leaving from my lunch break on Friday, this happened:

On "Growing Up"

My Lion Story

This is the last time I will blog a depressing blog on this subject. I promise. In fact, I wasn't going to do it, but when I told Libby this story, she liked it, and when I told my mom the story, she kept saying "That is just the best story." ALL YESTERDAY AFTERNOON.

So what better to do when you wake at 6 am on a Saturday than tell a story?

Without going into too much specifics, let me just tell you that I had a rejection this week. By a boy. I knew I wasn't going to hear what I wanted to hear, but I'm one of those girls who just HAS TO GO FOR IT. (I'm still waiting for that personality trait to pay off.) I just needed my feelings out in the air. Bad move? Probably, but whatever. It happened.

Timeout. Anyone else seen Mat Kearney's "Ships in the Night" video? Could he sing if he was sitting on his hands?

Time in.

I take rejection WAAAAAY too personally sometimes. Every time, actually. I will literally sit there for a very long time and try to dissect what exactly was wrong with me and why exactly I wasn't good enough for something. (This does not only happen in the area of boys. It can be with my own family, even. Or jobs. Or any manner of silly thing.) But in my defense, being rejected isn't really anything that's easy and you just go "OK! COOL! THANKS FOR CRUSHING MY MOST OF ME!!" and then skip through a flowery meadow. But I still didn't need to take it as hard as I did.

It. Was. Ridiculous. I seriously don't even know who that Thursday Katie was.

When I got home for lunch on Thursday, I pulled into the garage and just sat in my car and ugly cried for awhile. Through the swollen, puffy slits in my face that I now called "eyes", I looked up and through the tears I noticed one of the old clear tubs that contains my precious childhood artifacts. I could see the outline of Squeaky Mouse, and Bunny, and then I saw the face of a little lion that I had never named and quite frankly, I'd forgotten I'd even kept him.

"HAH!" I bitterly said out loud, "Betcha wish you could go back to THOSE DAYS." and I got out of my car and slammed every door I could find. (Again. Totally mature.) I went in, sat on my couch, watched "Sherlock", yelled, pet Cordy, and did everything BUT eat. (Why? Because someone would notice I wasn't eating? *rolls eyes*)

I got back to work, and I was there for about an hour when I could feel the tears well up again and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. Sometimes it's nice working at a place with public restrooms. There's a certain anonymity that comes with it. You don't have to worry about people knocking on the door and asking "Are you OK in there?".

I locked myself in my favorite middle stall and buried my face in my hands and prayed "Lord, I just do NOT GET THIS. I've been locking myself in this stall and having this conversation with you since last NOVEMBER. WHAT THE HECK!?!? What is it about him that reduces me to an angry, ridiculous, kicking, screaming, crying, temper tantrum throwing maniac? I never even threw temper tantrums like this when I was a KID!!" (My parents can back me up on that.)

And then God ever so gently reminded me of one.

I was waaaaay too old to have a temper tantrum. Like 10 or 11. Yeah. It's embarrassing. (Almost as embarrassing as being 27 and doing the same thing, but I digress.) I was going through this "BUY ALL THE STUFFED ANIMALS!!!" phase. (I was probably too old for that as well.) If I felt a "connection" with one, I HAD to take it with me and give it love and a wonderful home. (And write stories about it. When I was a kid, I didn't have Instagram so I wrote stories instead.)

My family and I went to Walmart one night (it must've been quite the outing because even my Dad went, and he friggin HATES Walmart) and of course my brother and I asked to go look at toys. (Even now, when I'm at work and I hear kids ask their parents "CAN I GO LOOK AT TOYS??!??!" it brings a smile to my face.) We went to go look and I went straight for the stuffed animals.

And theeeeerrrrrrree he waaaaaaasssss!! The cutest little tiger you ever saw. He had the cutest eyes, the cutest little eyebrows, and he had a stuffed body with limp legs and huge stuffed paws. He almost looked like a little puppet. Oh! And the best part? He had a little voice box and he ROARED. I know. I know. It was simply too much.

When Mom and Dad came back around, I attacked them immediately.

"IFORGOTMYMONEYBUTIFYOUBUYMETHISTIGERIWILLPAYYOUBACK!!!!!!!!!!!"

"No, Katie."

"PLEEEEASE!??!"

"No."

So, I snuck away in order to attack my only other option: my brother.

"IFORGOTMYMONEYBUTIFYOUBUYMETHISTIGERIWILLPAYYOUBACK!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Ok." (He was considerably easier to persuade.)

So I informed my parents of our new plan, and their response?

"No."

This resulted in me CRYING and BEGGING and PLEADING and just being overwhelmingly unruly and stupid. It also resulted in lots of weird looks from strangers. I vowed then and there that I WOULD be returning for that tiger.

It was the mid 90's, and my mom actually painstakingly planned her trips to Walmart, so it would be at least a week before I made it back. When I got there, the tiger was GONE. But there was a lion like it, so it would just have to do. I would not be defeated.

As I exited the stall after that lovely trip down memory lane, I was like "Ok. Fine. Thanks for reminding me of that stupid story, God." And I wiped my eyes and went to go get a drink out of the drinking fountain. I was just about to take a drink when it hit me: The little lion face I saw peering out of the clear tub at lunch, the lion I hadn't thought of in YEARS and actually kinda forgot I even HAD, was THAT lion.

What in the HAIL?!?!?

Why would I even look up and notice that tub when I was on lunch? What would've caused me to even THINK to look up when I was crying my face off in my car?

Sometimes, you don't get the tiger you want and beg and plead for. And sometimes the lion seems like your reluctant second choice, but in the long run, it might be a better choice and you might need it.

He's one dapper dude. Look at that face.

Also, he can rock the shades.

It was "fun" digging him out of the tub when I got home. It was on the tippy top shelf and so I had to take off my heels, stand on an old DQ chair in the garage, somehow perch over the lawnmower AND a bicycle, move a Christmas tree box, and then attempt to pull him out of the middle of the tub. It obviously worked, but I was hoping my body wouldn't pull a "Grace" and end up a crumbled bag of bones on the garage floor.

Here lies Katie: She was retrieving a stuffed animal for a metaphor.

THE END.

P.S. Little Lion Man needs a name. Any suggestions?

Advantages and Disadvantages

There are advantages and disadvantages to everything. Today, we will profile drinking. (I have a slight buzz going as we speak. You know. Just for the sake of science.)

ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES OF DRINKING:

PMS For Dummies

After a visit to my Dr last month (first Dr visit in 3 years. THANK YOU INSURANCE!!) she decided to put me on birth control for a month and see if some of my health issues could be relieved. Come on, people. Mind out of the gutter. I have broken ovaries, ok? Ok. Good talk. (But while we're on the subject of gutter... nevermind.)

This week is "off pill" week, and let me tell you, brothers and sisters, if I live through it, it will be an EVERLOVINGMIRACLE. Libby and I were discussing PMS vs Birth Control PMS today and I told her the difference was that Regular PMS just looks at BC PMS and laughs hysterically.

I'm not lying.

This is a picture of me trying to get my computer to work so I could draw this blog. (Blogging outside because it's beautiful today.)

(On the right, you see a person fairly concerned about the lack of her computer's performance. On the left, you see a person ready to lob her computer into the depths of Mordor.)

I have seriously almost murdered my dog 57 times JUST SINCE BEING OUTSIDE.

You believe me now, huh? Thought so.

I know that being a woman automatically qualifies me for the gift of having emotions that change quicker than the weather in Kansas, but I've managed to pretty much avoid that for much of my life and for that I am grateful. If these last few days are any indication of how most girls are or how pregnancy or menopause is going to be, I'm handing in my lady resignation RIGHTNAO.

Here's a few of the things have happened to me JUST TODAY (more specifically since I've been out on my back patio).

(This one is obviously not a thought. It's an introduction.)

(Cordy got caught around one of the patio tables and I LOST MY ISH.)

(I saw a butterfly.)

(This happened.)

(Yep.)

(I thought all of these thoughts.)

(Brother was so kind as to point out that it looks like "PANK ATTACK" but I left it anyway. He also wanted to know exactly what I'm doing with my body here, but I had no answer.)

(This was his insightful description of the previous frame. He's not wrong.)

(Not an exaggeration.)

(We mostly just need the cookies and the cuddles. It's a small price to pay for peace and keeping your face, am I right?)

(Brother says we need to wear signs.)

I am glad this only lasts a week.