Newsflash: Girl who falls face first stands up

I haven’t written a blog post in 4 months. This feels like the confession of a girl who’s not Catholic. I REALLY feel like writing today though. I’ve got the mojo, but I don’t think Falling Face First is my home anymore. Let me explain.

I feel today like writing my usual type of post. My usual ‘my husband talks in his sleep about putting barcodes on the dog’ -kind-of-post. A men baffling me kind-of-post. About them having bucks’ parties that last longer than most weekends. About them going emotionally AWOL with work then LITERALLY bringing home the bacon. About not being sure if I want any answers, or if I like them better shrouded in mystery and a misting of beer. Because I like bacon, and bacon is better than answers. But instead, I’m not writing that post.

I’m wrapping up this blog, and moving to new premises. Here’s why.

Sometimes laughing at yourself and at things isn’t coping, but hiding. I’ve been doing a lot of it over the last couple of years. When I get hemiplegic migraines that make me lose half my body for a day or two at a time, I laugh at myself afterwards. I crack jokes about Weekend at Bernie’s while my kids put stickers over my frozen face. It doesn’t upset me anymore because it just is, but it’s a huge mess in our lives. I’m trying to fix the mess, slow down, and take as many stressors out of my life as possible. I needed rest, food, a different job, to gain weight, and to be present with my family without taking photos and jotting notes. So no posts for the last 4 months.

Tinygrass is dreaming

I got a better job, 4 days, closer to home. I’ve rested. I’ve laughed with my girls and watched Frozen 50 ten million times (not a typo. It’s a real number). I’ve napped on Saturday afternoon. I’ve read blogs and commented on Facebook cos commenting the other way is too hard right now. Had no hangovers instead of 5. Gone to bed at 9pm on many of those Saturday nights. Didn’t manage to gain any weight. Drank an amazing martini last night. I’m feeling happy and relaxed.

My just 7-year-old Little L, with Type 1 Diabetes, is sunshine. The diabetes is not. I make light of the coping, because we just do, partly because I haven’t had a spare moment to take a look at my unacknowledged grief. Somewhere under here I am very sad about the loss of her carefree childhood. The worry, stress, and the fact she will NEVER eat a mouthful without checking and considering her blood sugar and insulin balance and entering the carbohydrate content into her pump. Sometimes there are tears that catch me completely by surprise – I am so caught up in managing the day-to-day of her condition.

Pocket-sized package of wiseness.

Pocket-sized package of wise old woman. 

Instead of cracking jokes to cope, I’m dealing with the shit. I think it’s called being a grown up. It’s pretty boring and bullshit on the social front, but on the personal front, connecting with my kids, getting to know my husband between our Outlook appointments, and reading good books and having beautiful dreams, it really rocks. I didn’t really want to grow up, but now I think I am, I can’t be Falling Face First anymore.

I also have a pretty big project in the works. 

This is our logo. Do you like it?

This is not the last post. There are too many awesome people I have to yell my love to before I go. I just don’t know if I can hang out here very much anymore. I’m done falling on my face.

Watch this space for directions to my new place. You didn’t really think I could run away and just not write anything anymore did you? xx