Month: August 2020

Moving Forward

/ Missy Goodnight / Leave a comment

My 39th birthday is right around the corner. I’ve got a million things going on between my school, Jackson’s virtual school, the house, this global pandemic, and several doctors appointments lined up this week to try to figure out what’s wrong with me. That might be the most stressful part. Sure I’m inching closer to forty, but man, does it need to feel like it?

I’m still trying everyday not to complain. I know I don’t have much to complain about considering the world we live in. I have a great family, we have a stable income, I get to work from home all day, everyday with my husband and son. I’m way more involved in Jackson’s school life than normal 6th grade would allow, and my dogs, well they are a pain in my ass, but they’re so damn cute. And then there’s Jerimiah. Most days I don’t know how he puts up with me, but lately he’s not just been putting up with me, he’s also been taking care of me. I guess it’s that whole “in sickness and in health” deal. Thanks, Jerimiah.

Grandparents are healthy. Our friends are all safe. Our extended family is good. We don’t get to see everyone as much as we’d like, but we’re all making do.

But still I’m walking around in a daze most of the time. I’m trying to be positive. I’m trying to be upbeat. I’m trying to stay chipper, but some days are better than others.

I’m getting a scan of my veins and arteries this week, hopefully that will give us some answers. I have an an appointment with a Rheumatologist, more answers, fingers crossed anyway. But the beat still goes on, yeah? The world still turns. Yeah. It all keeps going whether we need a breather or not. I think that’s what I love about this life. We don’t have much of an option. Just forward.

So yeah, I’m turning 39 soon. My age is moving forward, my feet are doing the same. And eventually my heavy head and heart will catch up. Here’s to a good week, y’all! May you be healthy and context if you can’t quite be happy.

M.

I’m Vintage Now

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I had a random memory today of rocking in a rocking chair of my very own when I was little. I’m not sure how old I was, maybe four, and I had on a blue sailor dress and it was my birthday. I’d just plopped down in the rocking chair made for someone like me (a kid) and I rocked and reached television. I’m not sure where the rocking chair came from, but I faintly remember what it looked like so I welcomed the internet in to help search. And I found the one closest to the rocking chair in my memory.

My rocking chair looked like this one. I think it might have been from The Cass Toy Company, at least that’s what internet sleuths before me have said. The company burned down before I was born, but it’s possible, and likely, this was a hand-me-down, or a garage sell find.

Anyway, I’m wishing I had that little chair now. Some of that four-year-olds energy, and just a smidge of that “vintage” charm around here.

By the way, I had to Google “vintage” in order to find this rocking chair from my childhood. What the hell?!

Maybe, probably we are all vintage by this point.

M.

Reset

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Geez, sorry you guys. I’ve been a sad sack lately. I think this is just some of that ebb and flow we always talk about with emotions and the world sits with us. I’ve been particularly stressed lately because of starting school, and Jackson starting school, and a few other things I’m not quite ready to talk about on here, but when I am you know I will talk y’all like crazy about them.

Really what I am wishing for right about now is a reset button. Ever wish for one of those? Like when I was a kid and I would realize I was not going to make it back to the top of the Q-bert stack so I’d just reach over and hit restart on the Nintendo. Ahh, that was a good feeling. A do-over. A mulligan. That’s what I need for this week. Maybe this month. Certainly this year.

Let’s all look for that reset button today, okay? Maybe it’s nature? Maybe it’s a walk by yourself listening to your favorite podcast. Maybe it’s a call to your best friend. Whatever it is, find your reset button and hit it for me. Maybe it will reset us all.

Here’s to wishing.

Take care of yourself, and each other.

M.

Keeping On

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It’s the middle of the night and I’m awake again and I need to pee but the dog is laying on my leg and she’s breathing hard, those quick, hard puppy breathes that mean she’s sleeping soundly and I don’t want to wake her. We don’t all need to be awake. We don’t all need to be prowling around the house in the middle of the night.

I’m two books in to this semester and I’m having bad dreams. Maybe not bad dreams, but certainly strange ones. Dreams about ghosts, and kudzu, and pits that are black and don’t end. I’m dreaming about the Civil War and death, and I’m seeing relics from another time.

I’m fighting back a bout of lows that always comes this time of year, but some years I don’t have the time for it to come and this is week two of my MFA program and I’m two books in, 10 articles, three discussions, a handful of Zoom calls, and I’m tired. I want to sleep most of the day because I’m awake most of the night and this cloud is following me around but I’m managing. And I’ll manage. Until I won’t anymore.

I’m crossing my fingers for December.

Keep on keepin on, y’all.

M.

Thursday

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It’s been a tough week. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I’ve had therapy, the mental and physical kind. I saw Patsy on Tuesday, Marissa on Wednesday. I stretched my hips, curled my back, iced. I flexed my Id, remembered my pain, cracked some jokes. Taught my son some coping mechanisms. Didn’t give myself credit. Met my cohorts in a Zoom call, said very little. I haven’t lived up to myself this week, but some weeks are better than others and it’s not over yet.

It’s only Thursday.

I hope you’re having a wonderful week. The kind that others dream about. I hope you’re choosing joy and being kind, especially to yourself.

M.

Storms

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It’s another 4:00 am post. I’ve been waking up each night at 3:00 am, and tossing and turning, waiting patiently to fall back to sleep. Last night I read, tonight I’ll write. Maybe tomorrow I’ll just stare blankly at the cracks of light in the curtains until my eye lids get heavy and my breathing slows.

Yesterday would have been my daughter’s ninth birthday. I’m supposed to have a daughter. Jackson is supposed to have a little sister. She should be nine. Playing Minecraft with her brother, asking for dolls, crazy over the Korean pop bands, or maybe just learning how to braid her own hair. I don’t know. I don’t know what daughters do, or like, or how they live.

Tonight I’m stuck in this same spot. I’ve been here before. I’ll be here again. The weather is changing. There’s are two storms coming up the Gulf. And I just don’t know what daughters do. I’m sure I’ll get more time to think about it. I hope I’ll get more time to think about it. Just not at 4:00 am.

M.

The Floor is Flour

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We ran out the other day to pick up Jackson’s snare and bells set, and we left the dogs inside. Now normally we’d let them chill outside, with a bowl of fresh water, and the door open to the sun porch, with the fan left on, just in case they get hot. Yeah, our dogs are spoiled like that. But we were in a bit of a hurry, so we just closed up all the doors upstairs, and left. The dogs stayed inside, which the doggy door on case they needed out.

We were only gone about two hours, and when we got home we were greeted by this:

I was the first one in and when a long gasp escaped my lips, Winnie ran outside. Duke stood there looking at me, no guilt in his face. And when Winnie finally came back in, we were met with this:

Not that we doubted for a second who the culprit was, it was nice to have the proof. She also had white paws, and clumps of flour all over her chin and chest because at some point she got thirsty, probably all the flour, and mixed water with the flour which, if you can imagine, was no fun to scrub off the floor.

So, what’s the point of this post? There isn’t one, unless to say that she’s still alive, but I thought for a split second about shipping her to a grandparent for a few weeks.

Don’t be a Winnie, y’all.

M.

Bang on the Drum All Day

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Jackson played trumpet in fifth grade band and he was really committed. So much so that when I asked him back in May whether we should keep renting this damn trumpet for another year he said, “Yes. Absolutely.” Then I said, “Well do you want to try a different instrument, maybe percussions?” And he was all, “No, I like trumpet.” So this week when his band teacher asked what everyone was playing, and reminded them they could switch instruments, and I asked him if he wanted to and he said, “Yep, I wanna play percussions” I might have walked outside and screamed into the air.

Okay, well he’s playing percussions now. Which means we went from having a hefty rental fee each month (that we paid all summer for absolutely no reason) to running to a used music shop yesterday to grab the last used bells/snare kit they had. But, at least we got a deal because the bag was a little roughed up. (Long sigh)

Now he says he’s “totally committed” to snare and bell and he’s here for it. He better be. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t plan on him getting into college with a band scholarship. I don’t plan on him being on a drum line or even starting a garage band. I just want him to learn to play something, meet kids that maybe aren’t like him, and learn a thing or two about teamwork and the fine arts. That’s all I’m asking for. Meanwhile, he wants to just bang on the drum all day…

Watching drum line competition (Army vs Air Force) and trying to play along. Army killed it, in our opinion!

It’s Just a Swimming Pool

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“Which pool do you belong to?” Is a question that has popped up more than I’d like to say since we’ve lived in Georgia. I didn’t know the pool you belong to, sets you up for success or failure in Atlanta. I didn’t know a pool membership could set one up for success or failure. I didn’t know pool memberships were even a thing. But I didn’t know much about the Deep South until I got here.

Back home in the Midwest, and even just a few states North of here in Charlotte, pools are just public watering holes you pay a couple bucks to go to for an afternoon of fun. All the best subdivisions have them, but there’s no membership forms, a key fob just comes with your HOA dues. And I know y’all weren’t around back then, but we used to have a 31,000 gallon pool in our backyard, so your pool has to be top-notch to impress us. But, here. Well here the competitive summer swimming pool racket is crazy. With some pools touting swim teams, and three level slides, and chili-cook offs (in this southern heat?!) and meal swapping, and babysitting, and new cars! Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but what I’m not exaggerating is the cost.

We were quoted from one “neighborhood” pool a price of $1,200 for our family of three to enjoy their amenities for three solid months. A “wise investment” the membership woman told me, at the start of a global pandemic. Think of the money I’ll save. Save from what? From whom? How? What is happening?

If you’re confused about what I’m saying right now, welcome to my life. This is a real thing, y’all. Just another way for people to judge you, I suppose. Which pool do I belong to?! I don’t. Not yet anyway.

That was a really long intro to say that we got invited to a pool party this weekend and we went and we had fun and it was with good people at a nice pool (that doesn’t cost $1,200 to join, and you don’t have to make reservations at because it’s not crowded because it isn’t a “cool” one.) It was quiet. It was carefree. People social distanced. Disinfected the tables and chairs. Kids jumped off the diving board. The crowd cheered. Libations were shared. It felt almost, for a split second, like summer. It was magical.

So I dunno. Maybe I’ll join a pool, after all. But until then, no, I don’t want to hear about your membership dues and no I don’t care if your private-school kid meets his friends under the purple umbrella, and nah, I know your kind and I’m good. You stay in your swim lane, I’ll stay in mine.

Jesus, y’all. It’s just a swimming pool.

Missy

Writing

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I wrote something this week. Something real. With substance. Girth. A real piece of non-fiction. It was an assignment for school, but that doesn’t matter. I feel like I broke some kind of barrier. Pushed past a boundary line I didn’t even know I’d set for myself, but had me penned anyway.

It’s sort of like coming up to the surface after jumping off the boat into 100 feet of water and expecting to get lost in the deep. Taking that first breathe of air into your lungs. You didn’t think you’d make it but you did.

Maybe I’m putting too much on the 450 words I wrote, probably I am, but it doesn’t matter. I wrote something. Something that has nothing to do with Covid, or middle school, or mental health. Something new. Fresh. Out of my head, onto the paper. Whew. It’s been awhile.

It’s working. I think it’s working.

I hope you had a breakthrough this week too.

M.

Is it Friday?!

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Christ, it is! It’s Friday! What a week. I went from nothing, nothing, nothing, to ahhhhhhh. Things are certainly heating up over here, while we are still just sitting at home. Jerimiah is doing fine. Listen, for some reason everyone keeps asking about my husband. Like they think I killed him, or he ran away, or something. He’s here. Still working from home. But he isn’t causing me any trouble. In fact, he’s the least of my worries and he’s taken to planning dinner and keeping the laundry done, so… I’m not sure how Jackson and I would have managed the week without him. So yeah, he’s alive, he’s fine, he’s pushing along and keeping us afloat too. In case you were wondering. Okay you know what, here, here’s a proof of life.

That’s him, yesterday, holding the newest copy of my crossword book, or rather a People Magazine that I got for free for four weeks then forgot to cancel and now I’m addicted to doing the crosswords in the back.

Okay, so it’s Friday. And I’m looking forward to getting some writing done today. The real stuff. I’ve been assigned my first exercise and it’s a piece of non-fiction flash and I’m already on draft three, but I should be on draft eight by now. It’s okay though, one day at a time…

Jackson jumped head first into sixth grade and well, here’s this:

(Throws hands up!) We are alive! Coherent (for the most part) and doing okay. Hope you’re doing the same.

M.

For Those Following Along…

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Okay so I did the dentist yesterday and it was fine, okay, great. I mean, it’s the dentist, so it could always go horribly wrong. But this was okay. I got my new crown cemented on and was only there for about half and hour. Whew. Quick and easy. But I’m stressing again because today is the Physical Therapist. Like what was I even thinking weeks ago when I made all these appointments? Back-to-back shit, with my school starting, and Jackson’s school starting. My calendar literally went from “Float in the hot tub for three hours” to “Holy shit! Have you eaten today?!”

Okay, so physical therapist this morning, to try and find out what is happening with my back. I’m hoping for some solid answers, but I’m not super optimistic. Then I run home, help Jackson navigate his first full day of virtual classes (Jerimiah will be holding gate fort down while I’m gone), then Jackson has an ortho appt. at three because apparently I just hate myself.

So, let’s take stock, shall we? I hate myself. My back is turning against me, and there is not enough time in the day any more. Hmpf. I know this is just this particular season of life and it will calm down again, but man when you’re in the midst of it, it can get sticky, eh?

Hope you are floating in a pool or the lake or a hot tub today. And if you are, drink a drink for me, will ya?

M.

Dentist

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Headed back to the dentist today. Time to get my crown cemented on. This is my fourth one, so this is old hat for me, but last time I went in I got very sick afterward. It wasn’t related, but you know how your mind works. I’m nervous about people not wearing masks, I’m nervous about the way the dentist had my chair so far back last time that I was accidently waterboarded on occasion. I’m worried about being in a small place with people I don’t know and barely trust, for hours. Hoping it won’t take that long this time.

I’m pretty much worried all day, everyday now. Worried about one thing or the other. Even on days when my body feels better, my mind still wanders. To the worst case situation. The stress of virtual middle school this week. The start of my MFA program. That old feeling that I am in over my head. I’ve committed to something I don’t have the ability to finish. Committed to something I don’t have the mental capacity for. The talent for. The gusto for.

Maybe the dentist won’t be so bad. Hopefully it won’t.

Hope you are doing okay. Making time for yourself. Worrying less. Hope you are all safe.

M.

So Common…

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The first semester of my MFA program starts on Thursday. I spent yesterday combing through syllabus after syllabus, trying to figure out why the hell I am even doing this, and not one syllabus gave me an answer. What good are they if they can’t answer the mystery of my current life’s question? Bleh. I did start to get organized, and I did freak out and sorta scream-cry into my fan like Tommy Boy when he’s doing the Darth Vader thing. It sorta came out like, “LUUUUUUUUKE, why are you doing this to me?!” Turns out the Force couldn’t give me an answer either.

Most of this week’s work is standard, run-of-the-mill, first week stuff. Introductions, why are you here, what do you plan to get out of this program, on a scale of 1-10 how much do you LOVE Eudora Welty? That sorta thing. But I did stumble upon one project that a professor wants me to do that sort of peaked my curiosity. It’s for my creative non-fiction forms class. She wants us to keep a commonplace book. A what now? That’s what I said. A commonplace book. A commonplace book is just a notebook, or a moleskin, or a word doc, or a stack of notecards where you write down ideas, quotes, conversations, etc that delight you, amaze you, amuse you, etc, etc. With me now? I was all, Ohhhh, yeah I have like eight of those! I didn’t know they had a name.

I routinely use the “Notes” app on my phone. Or I take a picture of a page of the book I am reading, or a fold the corner down. Sometimes I think, hmm, I should get a recorder for this shit. Sometimes I just text Jerimiah. I will be all, “…my mother’s refrigerator in Chiang Mai, Thailand…” and he will be all, “Huh?” And I’ll be all, “It’s for me to remember later.” So yeah, I’m versed at this, but keep it all in one place? That might be the hard part.

So I started thinking, where is somewhere I could keep this Commonplace book? Should I do notecards, should I do digital? Turns out yes, because I have to turn in my Commonplace Book at the end of the semester and it has to be at least five pages, single-spaced. Well, shit.

So I decided since I come here every day, why don’t I just make a commonplace book on this here blog. So I did. It was easy. So now you have access to my crazy random thoughts–as if you didn’t before–and I feel more organized. Look at that, us working together.

Love you guys so much.

M.

Today is the Day

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Middle school starts today. My head is mush. I’m happy, nervous, excited, disappointed, scared, and that’s just me, I’m not even the one going to middle school! I guess wish us luck, this is going to be an interesting year!

And to all our friends with kids going back virtually or traditionally, we wish you luck and happiness all year long!

Be well, be safe, have fun!

M.