Monkey Banana. Can you handle the cool?

Monkey Banana.  Can you handle the cool?

Friday, February 25, 2011

I has a sad

So, aside from the devastation caused by the contents of my last post... before that... my whole life... I've suffered from S.A.D.- the very aptly named Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Which means that for the months of December through April, I look something like this:

It's rough.... like, really rough.  I know that lots of folks get "the winter blues" and are fairly moody in February and March, but this is more, and it's a real disorder, okay?  I'm allowed to be a miserable bitch because I'm actually sick.

This year has been harder than most (and I just discovered that it's a side effect of a drug my doctor prescribed for me... so... yay!) and I've been a sobbing hysterical mess most of the time.  I scream and cry for no fuckin' reason at all, and never want to go outside because it's cold damnit, and I hate the cold.  I hate the snow.  I hate the winter.  I hate it because it makes me verge on suicidal every single year.

I've had lots of people say very cheery things like, "Well you can't change the weather, so you might as well enjoy it!"  or,  "It's Canada in January, what did you expect??"  You know what... I expect it to be cold and snowy.  But what they don't understand and never will is that this weather, combined with long dark hours, little sunlight and NO colour actually makes me insane.  I don't just dislike tobogganing and ice skating or skiing... I don't ever want to SEE those things... because they remind me of the season which tries to get me to kill myself every year.

So, for you folks who love the winter and get all excited when it snows, great... I'm thrilled you don't want to hibernate like me... because it's miserable.  But it's not something I have control over, okay?

Now, with all of that ugliness off my chest, I decided that I needed colour in my house... our decor is black and white photography of isolated beaches and wintery trees (how did I let that even happen??), black furniture, beige walls... all... sorta... dead.

I would buy potted plants weekly just to have the blooms etc. constantly... but I can't seem to keep potted plants alive, and cut flowers are ridiculously expensive for some reason, and they just die anyway... at least with a potted plant, there's hope.  But, it reached a point where my husband just said, Hun... enough with the plants.

Okay... I get it.  I ignore my houseplants in the winter months because I'm too moody and sad to cope with them.

So... I decided to make a fake tree.... a Dr. Seuss inspired artificial Truffula Tree!

This madness hit me one friday evening, and I frantically dug up every bright piece of yarn in the house and began making fat hand-sized pom poms.  It got a bit messy, but I was having fun... like, actual FUN while doing it!!

I wrapped the yarn around my palm repeatedly, then slipped the whole mess off and tied it around the middle and snipped the loops.  Easy peasy.  Then I trimmed each one to a nice round shape... this made the most glorious mess on the coffee table and spread a bit to the floor (which made the hubs panic a little, but I promised to vacuum in the morning).

By the end of the night, I'd made 18 bright and exciting pom poms.  I just needed a tree to which I could attach them!!  That would have to wait for morning, or a less snowy day.  Actually, as it turned out, I sent my 18 yr old neighbour on an expedition for the perfect Truffula Tree stump.  She brought me a lovely one, but it's still outside, waiting to be trimmed and potted....

So, my pom poms sat around the house waiting... until my 4 yr old got a hold of them and decided to surprise Momma with her very own version of Truffula Decor!!

I caught her red-handed putting the pom poms onto our small holiday tree, and a couple into the Solstice candelabra.  She was upset that I caught her before she'd finished, but I was so pleased with her efforts I let her complete her project!

What a little doll I have.  She brightened my days in a way I never expected.  The big Truffula stump will likely become kindling because I'm going to leave my tiny Truffula the way Ziggy planned it.  At least until Spring when we'll decorate eggs to hang on the tree.

My sad has been lessened, and all it took was some tufts of bright yarn, a 4 yr old's imagination and creative eye, and a whole lot of hugs and kisses from my family.

Winter is almost over... I've stopped taking the medication that made me EXTRA crazy this year... and hopefully... one day... my hubs will apply for a job in the Caribbean.  Until then, I have my Truffula Tuft to remind me that there can be happy days in Winter.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

The Hardest Thing...

Last night I was at a visitation in a funeral home.  It seems like every 3-4 months I'm at a visitation in a funeral home.  Too many people in my life have died.  I'm only 32 years old and can count at least 15 people in my life who have died and funerals I've attended.  That's too many.

Death is never easy, but there are some funerals easier to digest than others.  The death of an elderly grandparent with many great grandchildren and a full and happy life is one I can accept.  The death of one of my peers is one I cannot.

This death, however, is not only one I cannot accept... I completely do not understand.  I stood there, at the front of the hall, with tears streaming down my face as I looked into the tiniest coffin I've ever seen at my friend's 9 month old daughter's lifeless body.  She looked like a little doll... only sleeping in a pretty satin crib.  She looked like she would wake up at any moment, crying for a bottle.  In fact, she SHOULD.  Babies should not die in their father's arms while doctors turn off their life support machines.  Babies should not go into cardiac arrest.  Babies should not need heart transplants.  These are things I cannot accept.

My friends stood there, lost.  Staring at the face of your child in a coffin is the most devastating thing I've ever seen.  They just stood there, not understanding.  Neither of them have been home since she got ill in the first place nearly a month ago.  Their 5 yr old son knows his baby sister died, but he keeps asking when she'll be home... because a 5 year old can repeat the word "dead" without even coming close to understanding its meaning.

This morning is her funeral.  I couldn't go.  Not because I couldn't arrange for daycare for my own child, or because I couldn't afford the gas in my car to drive the 2 and a half hours to the church.  No.  I couldn't go, and watch my friends close the casket, knowing that would be the last time they see her beautiful face.  I cannot go to the cemetery and see the 4 pallbearers carry the tiny coffin to the burial plot and watch as it descends into the ground out of sight forever.  I went last night to hold and cry with my friends and their grieving families.  I went to say goodbye to the baby.  I came home and crawled into bed with my own daughter and sobbed uncontrollably, listening to her stuffed up nose snoring- thinking it was the most beautiful sound in the world.  I saw her sleeping face and feared one day being in the shoes of my friends.  No.  I could not go to her funeral today... or ever.

I'm okay with not being strong enough for that.  I know that my friends understand.