Turn on the Light

Today was a good day. One with lows, yes, but mostly highs, reasons to be grateful, opportunities to let the light in. I started the day off on the RIGHT side of the bed, in a good mood, despite having stayed up later than normal last night. While I nursed Elsie this morning, I read from Meditations on the Mat...something stood out for me that I have never read or heard articulated this way. Seems pretty obvious when I think about it. "Spritual practice is about turning on the light - and the light is love." Whatever you might believe is the Source of the light, its where we tap into love, compassion, self-acceptance, forgiveness, all things light. When we choose to see the light, even when its surrounded by darkness, our load is much lighter, our day much brighter.
It's late and I should go to bed, but before I do, I wanted to give gratitude for all the things that contributed to me living in the light today...opening a 10 lb. bag of chocolate chips (Costco baby - I know its insane they make a bag that big and even more insane that we'll eat them up).... warm oatmeal chocolate chip cookies shared with my husband after the kids are all sleeping... watching my son ride away this afternoon, in a bicycle trailer with his cousin, driven by his uncle. Will had such a big smile on his face and I love that he feels so fearless about going.... dinner with my brother and sister in law I did not have to cook.... cooking dinner for a friend that just had a baby, paying forward what has been paid to me time and time again in dinner deliveries post partum...a surprise visit from an out of town friend.... holding new life, a 5 day old baby.... teaching yoga class without a plan and it going just fine ..... finishing my end of the year report for work...a friend calling to share in her celebration of accomplishment... my husband telling my pregnant friend she looks beautiful .... my daughter's laughter....the rain, the sunshine... Elsie taking a bottle for the first time, my Dad being the one to give it to her.... life is sweet.
The light is always on, some days we just have to open our eyes to see it.

Somebody fill my bucket

This day has been one of those days....yes, another one. It hasn't even been a week since the last one! I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or maybe just too early. I stayed up too late last night, didn't get enough sleep, have a sick husband, an almost 3 year old who got up in the night to pee and was covered in a rash, an almost 5 month old that got up once or twice or three times to eat, I'm in such a daze I never know, and a 5 year old that got up way too early for me and was sent back to bed by her dad and she instead came out to the couch to watch TV, unbeknown to us. When caught in the act, she said "You told me to go back to bed or find something to do, I'm just doing what you told me to do." We're in trouble when this girl gets to her teenage years.

Needless to say, I did not wake up with my A game. I am not practicing what I preach today. I'm grumpy, off center, tired, and overall just probably not the most pleasant person to be around. We have a friend that talks about life being like a bucket, we either fill up others' buckets or we empty them out and we can choose to be a bucket filler or a bucket drainer. My bucket was empty and I desperately (okay, maybe that is a BIT dramatic) needed to put some drops in my bucket.

My dear husband, home sick, suggested I take off for a bit this morning to get out of my "funk" and take a little time for myself. I found this to be quite generous since I did go out with my girlfriends last night. So, I left the little 2 with him and went to get the oil changed in my bad ass mini-van. I know, how is that having a little time for myself? Good question. It wasn't.
Before I left, I called down to the Toyota dealer to see if I could make an appointment, if they had a long wait, etc. The woman on the line said I couldn't make an appointment, but she didn't think there was much of a wait. I stopped by my husband's office to pick up his laptop and then made my way to Toyota (conveniently located across from Costco). I thought I could jolt myself out of the funk with a little retail therapy if nothing else. I pull into the Toyota service bay and the man that comes to my car window used to work at another dealership we quit going to because he seemed shady. Another drop dripped out of my bucket. He said it would be a 45 minute job, more or less. I headed off to Costco for my retail therapy, I didn't buy anything, but wandered the aisles, which was nice, wrote down a couple book titles I saw that looked appealing (and will reserve at the local library) and then checked the time. 45 minutes had passed, so I headed back in hopes my car was ready. It took me 15 minutes to find the shady guy, my bucket has a bad leak at this point, I'm pacing the customer lounge, trying to pay attention to my breath. Frankly, I didn't want to soften, to relax. I kind of wanted to be edgy. I was ready for battle, sure they were going to tell me my car needed more than an oil change.
Once I find Slim Shady, he tells me my car is just waiting to be washing. It's still another 30 minutes plus before someone comes into the lounge from the service department asking for a Ms. Westerman. (That is the name of the previous owners of the bad-ass minivan and I've really not a clue why they are asking for her.) I guess that it's me they want and finally get out of there, 1 hour and 45 minutes after I arrived. I'm grumpy at best, bitchy at worst by now.
On my drive home, I'm contemplating why I can't shake this, what is at the root of my agitation. I can't say that I ever really figured it out. What I can say, is that what got me out of it was an email from a woman that was not extraordinary, just kind, work related, and thoughtful. It had nothing to do with me. I was tempted to email her back and say she was filling my bucket, but I guessed she would not know what I was talking about, so I instead just thanked her.
I was able to teach my old Wednesday night yoga class tonight. Felt like I had my groove back, my bucket was full by the time I left and I am struck by the extremes we can flow through in one day, highs and lows, lows and highs. The beauty of it is knowing that we have to have one to have the other. I wouldn't know what it felt like to have a full bucket if it was never empty. I end the day, knowing tomorrow could bring more of the same, and just being grateful for the day, the good, the bad, and everything in between.

One Thing at A Time

I always know I am living my life well when there are lots of "coincidences" in my life. It's not that they happen more when I am living well, I just notice them more. I am more present, paying attention to what is happening in the moment, and so I can recognize them more easily. For the record, I don't necessarily think they are coincidences, I think they are just the universe reminding us of the right path, of the connectedness of us all.
So, today, I read or heard 3 versions of this..."One thing at a time, one day at a time, just take things moment by moment...that is all I can do." One was in a blog I read, written by the mother of a heroin addict. She was quoting Al Anon writings. One was from my retired neighbor out working in her driveway on a treasure she is refurbishing. (I know one thing she does well, doing one at a time...talking.) And the last one was from a student in my yoga class today. At the beginning of class, she came to me and asked me how I deal with issues in my life and after our short discussion that is what she said.
Well, it's not all you can do, because most of us don't take things one at a time, we do 2 things at once and think 12 thoughts at the same time (especially mothers of small children). We read stories to our children while mentally making our grocery list, we daydream while listening to someone else tell a story, we cook dinner while we sing to the baby on our hip, we make love to our husbands while we listen for small footsteps, we fold the laundry or breastfeed while helping our daughter practice her reading, we drive while listening to little voices making big talk in the back seat ...we, or should I say, I, multi-task all the time. I'm not saying its a good thing, or even a necessity, in a way, it is just a reality of my life right now. At least some of it. BUT, not all of it.
As I read my son, Red Red Red, tonight while we snuggled in his bed, my mind was elsewhere. I was somewhat fascinated by my own ability to read at the same time I think a myriad of thoughts. Each time my mind would wander away from the story, away from being fully present where I was at, I would notice and reign it back in. I'd say it happened more than 5 times while I read this short story. Thankfully, my son, in his sleepy-ish state, doesn't know what I am doing. I am somehow able to keep with the flow of the story and not miss a beat. Our minds are complex and amazing..think what power they might have if we focused all that energy in one direction!
The hopeful part of this for me is my awareness. I know that I will have to continue multi-tasking. Perhaps if I moved to an ashram, I might be able to simply do one thing at a time, but that is not going to happen. For now, one day at a time, I will work to do one thing at a time, when I can, and recognize when I'm not and should be. I think it is a valuable gift I can give my kids, myself, my husband. Really, its all about just being present in what you are doing, regardless of what it is, moment by moment.

It's Always Better When We're Together

It's 8:15 p.m., Saturday night. My husband is in Seattle at a bachelor party involving a shooting range, strippers and Lord knows what else. He went with his brother and I imagine that they are having big fun, not so much because of the scenery, just because they are together. Fun follows them. They can be a bit of a dynamic duo, Batman and Robin style.
I feel like I just took a big exhale, all 3 kids are in bed and asleep, the house is quiet, the dog is eating what I should be sweeping off the dining room floor, the remnants of a dinner we spent in good company.
My sister-in-law came over with her daughter tonight, to have dinner together, to hang out while our husbands get into trouble. Her 15 month old is used to the crazy mix of my children, folds right into it, and doesn't seem to bat an eye at all the chaos, despite being an only child. I'm sure her house must be quieter than ours. In the short couple of hours my niece was here, she split her chin open on the front steps (no stitches required), rode a skateboard for a brief moment and landed on her head (this is why you don't leave a 5 year old in charge of smaller children - no concussion), played hard and left with a smile.
At some point in the evening, I found myself singing, "Welcome to the jungle...we got fun and games...", Guns and Roses style. Things get a little crazy. I catch myself every now and then looking at my life from the outside, wondering what someone else (tonight, that someone being my sister-in-law) must think when they watch the whirlwind that spins round my house in an evening. My kids have a lot of energy, are loud, rambunctious, silly, yell at each other when they are mad, but are good kids, really. The level of energy in the house amps up and I find myself right there in the mix of it. I'm so excited to have adult conversation, to have someone to share in the madness, that I get all wound up, too. It's not as if with 4 children under the age of 6, there is ever a quiet, uninterrupted moment. Someone always needs something. Tonight when I looked in, I just felt satisfied, content.
The beauty of it is, somehow, amidst the tornado of movement and little voices, we find a way to connect, to get dinner on the table, everyone fed and to share stories about where we are, what we are struggling with, what we are dreaming about or are inspired by at the moment and where we are at in our relationships. It's really an amazing thing. I guess we have been doing this since Ruby was born, 5+ years ago, and we've added one child at a time to the mix, and so we have adapted and by now, its just part of the norm.
I'm thankful that I have her in my life. That regardless of what might be going on around her, around me, we find a way to sink in, dive deep and embrace what is. I never walk away frustrated, wishing something was different. I just feel grateful that we married into each other's lives. In the words of Jack Johnson....It's always better when we're together.

Spiritual Gangster

As part of my youth suicide prevention work, I went down to Sunnyside the other night to present at a program called Family Links. It's a program for kids who have entered into the criminal justice system, are “low risk”, first time offenders and requires them to participate, with their parents, in a two week program that works with them on a variety of areas. I was invited to present on adolescent stress and depression and to talk about the link between stress, depression, and suicide.
Seated around the table are 3 young men, and their parents, 2 with their moms, 1 with his dad. Shortly after I arrived, the probation officer that runs the group gave them a break and I sat at the table with a couple of the kids and next to the dad, Vicente. Vicente looked to be in his early 30s, shaved head, strong build, Mexican, tough looking, maybe a former gang member, and he didn't look particularly thrilled to be sitting at the table. Vicente tried to strike up a conversation with me, asked me what I did, if I drove up from Yakima, and then proceeded to ask me questions about my job. As he talked with me, he did not fit the stereotype I had given him.
When I present, I try to engage my audience, invite discussion, sharing of personal experience and stories that we can all learn from, and I do my best to be authentic, to share at least a little bit of myself, my own life, in hopes that they will see me as someone they can relate to, talk with, not just someone there to talk at them. Vicente was very talkative, shared about his own struggle with depression, about becoming a dad at the age of 15 and then again at 17, about getting divorced, about the stress of raising 2 boys in that community, the opportunities for things to “go wrong”. His first born son is now 17 and was the reason he was there. I don't know what he did to end up at Family Links, his name is Adrian, looked like a clean cut kid, was respectful, but seemed sad, heavy hearted in some way.
I never really know what I am going to encounter when I present to parents. Sometimes they are open, sometimes they are very guarded. At the end of it, I always ask them if they feel better equipped than they did before I came, sometimes they mutter something under their breath, sometimes, they tell me a story that reminds me that this work absolutely makes a difference. No one really offered much, but I could see tears in the eyes of one of the mothers as she left and Vicente looked me in the eye and said thank you, that it was a lot of good information. None of the kids commented.
I stuck around as people filtered out and chatted with the probation officer, Paula. In our small talk, I discovered she knows of my sister through her work. Paula asked me what our “background” is, our ethnicity. I told her we have Native American roots and the rest is a bit of a mix. She smiled and said “So, the Native American, that is where your spirituality comes from?” I wasn't sure what her question was and I said, “I'm not sure what you are asking me.” She kind of laughed and said she wasn't either. “But, you are spiritual, aren't you?” I said, that yes, I would call myself a spiritual person and maybe it comes from my Native American roots. And then I thought to myself, aren't we all spiritual, really?
I shared this story with my husband tonight. He said, that no, he doesn't think we are all spiritual. I was still contemplating what it was that she saw in me that made her say that. He described a “gang banger” (I need to work on not using so many quotation marks, bad habit) and asked me if I saw someone like that how would I describe them. I responded, “Like a gangster.” He said, “Well, that is how it is with you, you just embody it, its how you present yourself.”
So, it made me wonder what does it mean to be spiritual?
Here is wikipedia's definition:
spir·i·tu·al adj
1. Of, relating to, consisting of, or having the nature of spirit; not tangible or material.
2. Of, concerned with, or affecting the soul.
3. Of, from, or relating to God; deific.
4. Of or belonging to a church or religion; sacred.
5. Relating to or having the nature of spirits or a spirit; supernatural.
I identify most with 2. Concerned with the soul, particularly my own – that's me, a spiritual gangster.

gems of the sky

At times in my life when I have been in emotional pain, felt extreme longing and emptiness or just alone, I write poetry (at least that is what I call it). I don't seem to be able to tap into my poetic self when I am happy, not suffering, bubbling over with joy. I kind of don't get it, but I kind of do. It's been a long time since I've been in touch with the poet...here is one I wrote while looking out the window of an airplane flying from Yakima to Seattle on September 3rd, 2003.

hazy skies,
orange ball of fire rolling down the screen of forever
hills barren and brown
i cannot see for miles.
where have the trees gone, the land so void of life
reaching like fingers toward the sea, clawing for life
my breath catches in my chest
i wonder where i am, what lies beneath,
beyond my view from up high.
the outlines of mountains beyond the hazy skies
where air is clean and i might breathe again
what made man want to fly? we are always dreaming, seeking up
did my people come this far, did they dream of flying
when they walked barefoot across the land?
or did they fly in their dreams to the places
we wish we could go?
the mountain top calls me, like a welcoming seat,
a place to rest, to find quiet, silence.
what can you hear from on top of the world?
i imagine the silence, deafening
a warm feeling rushes down my legs as we descend
my feet knowing soon they will have to return to the ground?
what did we do before this?
where were my thoughts? was my mind silent or just full of something else?
I wish you could answer all my questions, let your legs dangle in the space of my mind
for an evening, kicking the thoughts up as they come,
inviting more, like opening up a shell to find what treasure it might hold
a pearl of wisdom
a diamond of emotion
a ruby of passion
a sapphire of pain
the water reflects the light from the moon
islands everywhere
could the water stop the fiery ball from shining?
we land, quite aware we cannot fly in our dreams.

What is Truth?

I have always been one to delve inward, as far back as I can remember I was curious about myself. I wanted to know or understand why I did what I did. Sometimes, that was trying to figure out why I was lying. I have an early memory of telling a big tale as a child about the rat, Snowball, that resided in my kindergarten classroom. For weeks, I carried on at dinner time about this rat, pregnant with babies, then having the babies, how cute they were, elaborate details, no less. When it came time for conferences, my mother shared with my teacher just how much I loved Snowball and how neat it had been for me to watch this process of her having babies. A bit stunned, Mrs. Brown, my teacher, says "Snowball hasn't had babies. Snowball is a boy." My mom was embarrassed, I'm sure and my sister enjoyed tormenting me through my elementary years anytime I told a story, asking "Is this a 'Snowball' story?" I lied a lot as a kid, I don't know why...actually I do, but that is another blog entry for another time. Back to the truth....
I heard someone say recently, actually it was on an ad for a TV show on FOX, can't think of the name of the show, but a guy being sworn in, in court, says "Well that is impossible to tell the whole truth" or something like that and proceeds to say something about it being dependent on perspective. Kind of like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose, truth is in the eye of the beholder. Let's just say that there is a difference between truth and honesty. Back to the truth, my truth...
As I have been thumbing through these old journal entries from 1997, I came across a quote (from me) that grabbed me. "What is truth? It is in my heart, awaiting exposure to the rest of me." Even back then, I had the notion that we know everything we need to know, sometimes it is just a matter of uncovering or recovering it. We so easily stray from it and sometimes it is really hard to find our way back. We feel the most when we expose our truth, when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to be honest with those we love.
So, to speak my truth...As much as I'd like this blogging to be about the process, my process, it is often about the response, hoping to get something in return, hoping to inspire, to make laugh, to provoke thought or connect with someone even if its secondhand (hmm, hmm cybersnooper). The truth is, I love that somebody, anybody reads this, and it is what keeps me writing, coming back to the keyboard, wanting to expose the truth, MY truth, to the rest of me, and the rest of you. I want to be "seen". My heartfelt thanks for reading and most of all for seeing.

I want my body back

I have 15 minutes until my son comes home from grandpa's house, I am going to try and crank this out....
I want my body back. It's kind of an odd thing to say, but I have probably said it umpteen times in the last couple of months, post pregnancy. Whose body do I think I am residing in? If it isn't mine, whose is it? Quite frankly, I'm starting to get a little irritated with myself. I am healthy, strong, agile, what is it I want? A bikini body? Don't we all.
The one thing we know is constant in life is change. We get so attached to the way things are, we begin to suffer when they change. At least that is what happens to me. I don't know if I thought once the baby popped out, magically my body would return to it's prior form, but I feel like I am a little delusional if I am thinking it is going to go back to the way it was before I had 3 babies.
I have been reading Meditations on the Mat...a book of 365 readings, simple, fairly short ones, that give me a focus for the day. I came back from my "run" today (I am not a runner, I was out for a walk, but Elsie was crying, her first time on a walk in the baby jogger, and she was not happy, and I wanted to get some exercise, you know for this body I want to exchange for another) and remembered I had not read my meditation for the day. I went to take a shower first and on my way stood naked in front of the full length mirror, marveling (with some disgust) the parts of my body where I tend to store my fat, or excess, as I like to call it. It was red, blotchy from the running, yes, just those parts. The jiggling must have got the fat all in a tizzy or something.
After my shower, I sat down and opened my book and what do you know, today's meditation is all about what to do when we find ourselves snared in a negative behavior (mine being... not embracing, loving, accepting my body). Here is the pearl of wisdom: "We do not need to enter a showdown with our self-destructive behavior, nor can we deny its existence. We must simply come to know it, and move on. We learn to focus wholeheartedly on positive behavior." Duh.
So for today, I will work on recognizing this negative self talk about the excess I feel in my body, and will replace it with doing things for my body that feel good, being grateful for what my body does for me, that it sustains another little life and that I am healthy. And tomorrow and the next day, I will remind myself, again, to focus on the positive.

Weed and Feed

I have been spending my "down" time in the yard lately. With the nicer weather, I can't help but to be drawn outside the walls of my house. Down time for me is when Willis and Elsie are napping and there are house chores I don't want to do, or work I am avoiding. When you are a stay at home mom, wife, contract worker and part time (even if very) yoga teacher, I don't think down time really exists, but I have learned to create it nonetheless. Back to the yard...when we first moved in to this house, it came with a clean slate in the front yard. A large bed around the perimeter with weed barrier and bark and absolutely nothing planted in it. I remember going to town that summer, I planted something like 40 plants between the front and back yards. I would go out there after Ruby went to bed and work until it was too dark. I remember my body being physically exhausted when I would come in at night, hands and feet dirty and loving that feeling. It was much more satisfying than sitting in front of the television. Those garden beds 4 summers later are pretty low maintenance, except for the crazy weed grass that makes its way up through the weed barrier.
As I pulled up the weed grass, slowly making my way around the yard yesterday I was struck by the symbolism in pulling weeds. It's really like life. You can put up any kind of protective barrier you like in life, but inevitably, weeds find their way in. Weeds are really just these negative patterns we get in to, they happen in all aspects of our life, relationships, parenting, yoga, driving, our work lives, etc...and we have to diligently wage battle against them to keep ourselves from letting them take over.
This week I was reminded of one of my weeds with yoga teaching. I taught class on Monday. I have several regulars that are committed to their yoga practice, come to class faithfully and are not what I would call beginners. And then, I had an 81 year old woman, the mother of a regular, that had never done yoga before, and had difficulty getting up and down on her mat. I began to question what I was doing teaching, feeling extremely ill equipped to be teaching between the two extremes in one class. My ego was getting the best of me. I slowed class way down and got through it and when it was over, self doubt continued to weed its way into my mind. Wondering if I should just give up teaching for awhile, if I should really go through teacher training again, or what? This isn't an unfamiliar pattern, I periodically roll through these seasons of doubting myself as a teacher and wondering who I think I am to be calling myself a yoga teacher...I know it is all just my ego.
And then Thursday rolled around and we had a teacher meeting. By this point I was kind of over my Monday shake up, but as I sit with the other 3 teachers and listened to everyone's various struggles and challenges in life it dawned on me. What happens with this whole ego thing is that I compare myself to someone else. I take classes from the other teachers and rather than celebrating the unique gifts they bring to my practice, I begin to self doubt, thinking I don't have those gift and therefore I must not be a good teacher. Silly, I know.
So, as I drove home from the meeting Thursday night, I sat with this and realized, I know who I am as a teacher and the self doubt only comes in when I start trying to teach like someone else does, or try to change who I am. I can't really. I am who I am. What I love about yoga is that it brings me into my body, I love the movement, I love the clarity it brings in my mind. I really am not so concerned about alignment, I just want to create an environment where people feel like they can dance their way through my class and feel a little more liberated, a little more free to be who they are when they walk back out the door.
So, I am committing to myself, as I continue this yard work to apply this same principal to myself...weed out the bad stuff with consistency, the negative habits, all that takes me away from feeling like my Self and feed the Self, nourish myself in all the ways I know how....weed and feed. It's my new mantra.

Compassion and Expectations

I started out on edge today, not sure why, but the morning, getting out of the house with 3 kids, going two different places, was not smooth. My 5 year old said she didn't feel good, didn't want to go to school. I sent her anyways. She was resistant through each step of the process getting ready, I had to tell her to get dressed 14 times (okay maybe 3 really) before she actually did it. My almost 3 year old changed his clothes 12 times (or maybe 1) and I felt like I was going crazy as the volume of my voice escalated with each minute. We finally made it out to the car and by that time everyone was happy.
I was headed off to yoga class, as a student, not a teacher, which is such a treat these days. I paused for a few minutes when I dropped the little two off at grandma and grandpas, taking a breather, gathering myself into a more centered space before heading to the studio.
The teacher today gave a talk on a yoga sutra (I.33) and our meditation was to breathe in compassion and breathe out expectations. Today when I arrived and settled down on my mat, I could feel in my spirit I have been off. I have been feeling on edge all week really and haven't taken the time or wasn't ready to delve into what this is about. I had an aha in the midst of inhaling compassion.
I have been beating myself up all week over an interaction I had this weekend with my brother in law. I was not my best self in it. I think sometimes when we seek to point out someone else's "faults" or what we perceive as shortcomings...its really just a reflection of ourselves. It's really just putting a mirror up and reflecting something back to ourselves that we might be struggling with or perhaps they embody a quality we wish we had and haven't done a good job of cultivating in ourselves. It dawned on me as I reclined in savasana at the end of class, my yoga today is about forgiving myself....showing myself a little bit of compassion when i don't live up to my own expectations and letting this one go.

Sutra I.33
In daily life we see people around who are happier than we are, people who are less happy. Some may be doing praiseworthy things and others causing problems. Whatever may be our usual attitude toward such people and their actions, if we can be pleased with others who are happier than ourselves, compassionate toward those who are unhappy, joyful with those doing praiseworthy things, and remain undisturbed by the errors of others, our mind will be very tranquil.

Easier said then done, eh?

my slice of the pie

i might be making a habit out of this...i hope so.
I love being a stay at home mom. I love having 3 kids, am enjoying the baby stage and am also thankful for the work outside the home I get to do - a little bit of yoga and a little bit of "real work". (Yoga doesn't feel like work, because I would probably be doing it whether or not I got paid to.) Lately, I have had this sense though that something is missing in all this. I find myself checking email way too often throughout the day, cybersnooping (just wanted to use this fun new term I learned last week), texting people...in essense, I think I just want to feel connected to something. To feel like I am something other than a MOM. During the day when I am busy, kids are awake, trying to get house work done, etc...I am not so aware of it, but when I sit in the quiet of the day, chores done, kids asleep, I am often at a loss as to what to do with myself. Maybe it is just this time in life?
My husband and I regularly watch the show Parenthood. It always seems to strike a cord with us in terms of parenting, family dynamics, or as a couple. In last week's episode, Adam's wife (I don't remember her name), a mother of 2 children, one autistic, and one in high school, considered leaving her full time job as a mom and going back to a job similar to what she did before kids. I could so relate, watching her get so excited about the possibility and then as the reality of what that would mean for their family set in, she said "no way, what was I thinking." I feel like that sometimes. The effort to get my needs met, at times, seems like more effort than its worth. I know in the end, it probably is not, BUT its hard to remember when you spend your days tending to someone else's needs. Some weeks I am better than others at carving out a little slice of the pie for myself. And sometimes, you just have to take what you can get...you can't always get what you want, but you get what you need....ah yeah.