First, the not so good: it was another week of sickness for the kid, which meant he missed two (out of three) days of school. We spent several days in an atmosphere of shared crankiness. His minor cold has now moved on to H and me. Brain fuzziness and physical weariness don’t do much for the process of writing. I’m burned out.

Then, the unknown: my father found this blog. This is not a shocking development, since there is at least one link out there with my full name that points to writing to survive. What does it mean? I don’t know. I hope it means an open line of communication. And that’s all I’ll be saying about it here. Some things are meant to be – yes – private.

Finally, happily, the wonderful: two fine bloggers gave awards to writing to survive in the past week.

John of Storied Mind passed along the Brilliant Blog Award, which is quite an honor from someone who I think has a brilliant blog! The premise behind Storied Mind is that writing and creating stories about one’s experience with depression can help break through its deadening effects. Storied Mind also aims to create a community, a place where people can gather and discuss their experiences with depression. All of this is beautifully done, with thought-provoking posts that dive deep into the experience of mood-related disorders and what may work to reach clarity. Thank you, John. I am truly honored.

Kimmy of The Eagle The Lion and The Dove passed another award my way, the I Love Your Blog award. Kimmy’s blog is all about focusing on the light in darkness, seeking the beauty in the world and ourselves, knowing that none of us is perfect. It’s a great dose of daily inspiration. Thank you, Kimmy – I’m so happy we found each other via Entrecard!

As a way to share the love and highlight some outstanding blogs that are part of my daily reading, I am planning to have monthly reviews, with a feature on my sidebar linking to the Blog of the Month. Stay tuned for the October selection.

Tags: Awards, sick kid

Sickness descended on my household last week. The kid was the first to fall, and I was next in line. So far, H has escaped the sinus headaches, the post-nasal drip, and the world-weary sense of fatigue.

Some children sleep though high fevers, resting up as their bodies fight off the germs. Not our little one. The heat disturbs his sleep. For several nights he woke up in the 2 - 3 a.m. time slot, asking "Is it wake-up time?" Well, no, but we didn't have much say in the matter. Time for a drink of water, maybe for another dose of Motrin, and then we'd settle in for cuddling and long attempts at getting back to sleep. Two hours later, once he was out, I would be able to sleep myself.

The combination of being sick and not getting enough sleep put me in a strange frame of mind. Everything seemed fraught with premature nostalgia. The Duplo block set he got for his birthday, with a castle and the toy knights? A relic of a childhood soon to be over, the toys destined to languish in an attic. The recent photographs of our growing boy? Documentation of a time we won't be be able to remember a year from now. My cuddly 3-year-old will change into a different person, perhaps several times over, and each stage will be as fuzzy in my mind as his first weeks of life. It cut, this realization of the slipperiness of time and memory.

Along with an ache for what has not yet passed, I started to see danger in almost every moment, as though I was preparing myself for an inevitable loss. The bee I saw crawling on our grass -- would it deliver a fatal sting to my son, sink its poison into his chubby bare foot? (Never mind that we have no idea if he is allergic. It is a genetic possiblity). Would this be the dog walk where I would lose my balance and fall backwards, landing on my son, strapped to my back in an Ergo carrier? (Oh, for those days when he insisted on wearing his bike helmet at all times!)

And what about me? Was I paying enough attention to the dangers that I faced? Is the morning coming when, groggy and uncaffeinated, I will accidentally dip my low-hanging robe sleeve into the burner flame, stare in shock as the sleeve is consumed? Would I finally miss that step and go tumbling into a crumpled heap of bone and flesh on the floor below?

Maybe if I tried to keep the dangers in mind, tried to remind myself that what we love can be taken away, that no moment is innocent, I would have a mental talisman against loss.

That was a few days ago. Sleep is improving and my outlook is returning to normal. Neurotic worrying is not what protects us from danger. I am lucky to live in an incredibly safe part of the world, with access to clean water, plentiful food, and good medical care. I don't have to dodge bombs or gunfire. I don't need a talisman.

But I am going to watch my step when I go down the stairs.

Tags: existential angst, talismans, sick kid, sleep

typing with one hand in the semi-darkness of dawn filtered through curtains. I've been up since 2:30 a.m. -- coughing child with stuffy nose needing constant contact, brain buzzing with ideas for writing (from real life, as usual, though I would prefer ideas from a fictional life, some character that I've created revealing their story in rich detail, with believable dialog. yeah, I'll get there).

the kid is asleep on my lap. the husband is asleep by my side. the visiting brother-in-law is coughing downstairs.

and I can't reach my cup of coffee.

Tags: sick kid, insomnia, coffee, sleep

The kid woke up today with a fever and a very cranky disposition. I'm feeling time slipping through my fingers, the few hours I have to write -- and for what purpose anyway? -- disappearing. Do I try to work on the stillbirth story? Finally plunge into creating a work of fiction? Continue conversations that I've let slide in the blogging world? Do much-needed housework? Exercise?

Or write up my petty complaints on my blog? Bingo.

Right now I feel like a frustrated housewife who has this little writing pipe dream. I wish I had more energy at night to write with conviction. If only the kid went to sleep before 9:30. If only he went to sleep unassisted. If only I'd started writing a decade ago, when time spread out before me and my brain was just a wee bit larger.

I know I'm lucky to have this life, to have a little time. It's just enough time to waste.

And now he wakes ...

Tags: sick kid, housewife, wasting time, writing

This has been a really long, particularly non-creative week.

(Begin boring complaint)

First, C got sick. Then H developed the same cold. When C gets sick, he sleeps like the baby he once was: poorly. Also violently, with lots of tosses and turns and kicks. When H gets sick, he snores more. My cold symptoms started on Tuesday, the same day C developed pink eye, guaranteeing that daycare was a no-go for Wednesday. Babysitter doesn't want pink eye either. Finally, after the first night of good sleep in five nights, yesterday C decided to skip a nap. I have pink eye for the first time since third grade. And I've spent most of his nap time today cleaning up in preparation for the babysitter (at least his pink eye went away).

(End of boring complaint)

Now he is awake. 'Later.

Tags: sick kid, sleep