One Wheeler's World

I’ve moved my blog over to a new web address and am starting with a fresh, clean slate over there.

So, follow me to my new little home on the web.

I swore I was going to write today.  My brain has been busy putting together a post since yesterday afternoon, and I was looking forward to Zachary’s morning nap, when I could finally sit down and let my fingers hammer out the thoughts that have been flying through my brain.  I was excited not just to finally feel like writing again, but for this specific post.  Then, a few wrenches got thrown into my plan this morning, which lead to me spending a good portion of  said nap an emotional mess as I tried to fight through the anger and confusion of being let down, again, by people who should be able to be counted on to not do such things.  I thought about not writing.  I thought about writing but about something else.  Specifically, about the current feelings of anger and confusion.  Instead, I’m forcing myself to sit down and write the exact post that my brain has been hard at work formulating.  The simple fact is this is exactly the kind of day when I need to be reminded of exactly what I was going to write about.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

It all started on Tuesday, with a little comment left by my older cousin on a picture I’d shared on Facebook of Zachary.

“I can’t believe how much he looks like you when you were little!” she proclaimed.

This was news to me, as I look at my handsome boy and see his daddy through and through.  I claim credit for those beautiful eyes of his, upon which people are frequently commenting.  But even that might be stretching it, since my mother-in-law backs James up when he claims that he once, too, had those big, beautiful blue eyes.  So, to have a family member not only say he looks like me, but to proceed to then say, “Just pulled out some pictures when we lived at Lincoln Square Apartments. You were about 1 1/2 years old. I totally see you in his pictures.” was a pretty awesome thing to me.  So awesome, in fact, that it motivated me to dig to the very bottom of the stack of boxes in the very back of the office closet in search of one of the few items that I’d deemed important enough to bring with me when I moved to Reno in 2004:  my collection of photo albums from my childhood.  I simply had to see for myself just what my cousin was referring to.

Zachary watched with curiosity as I lifted boxes off of this one and then carried it out to the living room.  I cut the packing tape that had sealed away the contents of the box for several years now and gave Zachary the fun of opening the box.  Together, we peered in at the aging books that hold within their pages parts of the story of me.  My baby book was at the top of the pile.  I pulled it out, running my fingers along the image of the sleeping infant in the bottom corner of the cover.  I opened the cover and was a little surprised when several loose items fell into my lap.  My initial purpose of seeking out proof that the boy who now sat on my lap carried traces of me in his sweet face was momentarily forgotten as I became immersed in the book that held the first installment of my story.

Lookin’ through my old pictures
Faded photographs

I gingerly opened the various cards that were taped to the inside cover, reading the kind messages that people had written my mom, wishing her luck in this journey that is motherhood.  I wondered who Gladys was and thought about how sweet it was that she had thought to tape a clipping of the “On This Date…” section of the newspaper from the day that I was born.  I pondered the teeny-tiny foot prints on my keepsake birth record from the hospital, then stared for a moment at my now size 11 foot.  I pulled a rusty paperclip off of the little “You’re News” card and laughed a little at the sight of a 4-year-old me smiling brightly at me from a newspaper clipping.  As I read the caption to that photo, I was reminded of just how much life has changed since that Spring day 27 years ago.  They listed my address in the paper.  Right there, in black and white for anyone who wanted to see, the caption ended with telling everyone just exactly where my mom and I lived.  Can you imagine that these days?!

Some of them bring me close to tears
Others make me laugh

I’ve looked at this very book dozens of times over the years.  Yet, as I flipped through the pages, I found that I was learning a lot about myself.  I learned that I started crawling at 6mos.  I was reminded that I had fractured my ring finger in a door jamb while playing night games with my cousin when I was 6 years old.  I marveled over my first lost baby tooth, now broken into several pieces but still taped securely to the page of my book.  I discovered that my 2 year old self was, apparently, “a little mouthy” (a statement that left James chuckling and commenting about some things never changing).  And it turns out that same 2 year old self didn’t like carrots, one of my grown up self’s favorite vegetables.  I read summaries about each of my first seven birthdays and Christmases.  Learned that I was three the first time that I spent Christmas with my father.  Laughed over the fact that each of those 14 summaries included a statement proclaiming that I “got a lot of nice stuff.”  I ran my fingers over the handwriting of a little girl, practicing her signature year after year.

Old memories seem to come alive
And open up the past again
And let me dream inside
The Judds – ”Old Pictures”

I was already reaching for the next album as I closed the cover to my baby book.  This one, a book of photos from my earliest years.  I studied each of the photos.  I pointed to people in the pictures and told Zachary the story of who they were and why they mattered.  Why they were important to my story.  One by one, I made my way through the five albums.  And when I’d reached the end of the last album, I turned back to its first page and looked through it one more time.  I was drawn in by the bubbly, happy little girl who smiled out to the world in each of those photos.  I reached the end of that album once again, and sat staring at the final picture that I have in my possession of my childhood years.  My 11th birthday party.  Friends gathered around a cake, with streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling.

And that’s when something very important started to happen within this adult version of me.  The Aramelle of today closed her eyes and wished that she could send a message back in time to that sweet, innocent girl.  I wanted to warn her that things were, frankly, about to get pretty rocky for the next little while.  I wanted to protect her, to shield her from what was to come.  Most of all, though, I wanted to remind her that there had been a lot of happiness in those first 11 years.  A lot of love from an assortment of amazing people.  And I wanted her to know that there was still a lot of good in her future.  Not just in the far-off future that this 20-years-later Aramelle currently resides in.  But in the years along the way.

For a long, long time, I lost sight of most of the good.  I’ve allowed the story of me to rely heavily on the memories of the rocky times, the way those moments shaped the person that I’ve become.  A couple hours with those treasured albums helped me to realize that it’s time now to put some focus, too, on the many good moments from my past.  That bubbly, happy little girl deserves to be remembered for just how special she was.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

In the end, the determination on who Zachary looks like is still that he strongly resembles his daddy.  But my cousin was right, there are pieces of me that shine through that sweet boy’s face.  In fact, even James was forced to finally admit that those beautiful blue eyes truly do come from me.  It was a wonderful discovery.  But it was just one small piece of the gift that I would end up finding in that box of albums.

It’s time again for ICLW.  Time again to ponder how it could possibly be that another month has passed since the last time this week appeared on the calendar.  And time for me to look back at my blog and realize just how lousy I’ve been at doing pretty much anything with it lately.  I have posts from April still on the front page.  That screams “I SUCK at blogging these days!”  ICLW seems like the perfect time to take a broom to the cob webs that have started to form in my little corner of the world wide web.  Maybe even vacuum a little, too.  Oh, yes, that looks much better.   Now, let me introduce myself, in case there are any new visitors coming my way…

My name is Aramelle.  I’m 31 years old (I still don’t know quite how that happened!), and I live in Reno, NV with my husband James, who is also 31 (yikes…he’s getting old!), and our son Zachary, who just turned 18mos last week (another thing I can’t quite figure out).  Our house also serves as the home to two furry-kiddos, 8-ish year old Reggie and Trina, who is roughly 5.

I’m a SAHM-by-circumstance (aka: unemployed).  I’m also an aspiring photographer and design artist.  I dream of a world where my recently established photography business takes off amazingly and I never have to go back to the traditional desk job of my past.  My favorite thing about summer is spending time swimming.  I greatly miss having a pool at my immediate disposal (one thing that was awesome about living in an apartment).  I am hooked on Reality TV.  I spend way too much time online.  Oh, yeah, and I’m infertile.  Or, as my beloved OB/GYN recently put it, “fertility-challenged.”  Apparently, this is the (at least, his) term that better describes the fact that with a good amount of help, we did manage to find our way to parenthood.  Our TTC journey was documented on another blog, which has since become devoted to blogging about all-things-Zachary.  You can find the basic rundown on my About Me page.

Should you be left feeling like you want to know even more about me, check out my 101 Things post from a few months ago.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

Last month, I posted about an idea I’d had in trying to use my blog as a space for me to work through some long-ignored emotional baggage from my past.  So far, I’ve done a pretty shitty job of keeping up with what I promised myself I was going to do.  Actually, I’ve done pretty awesomely with the aspect of doing at least one thing for just me each week.  Though, you certainly wouldn’t know that since, as we already learned, I SUCK at blogging these days!  The deeper piece of this project, the one where I actually make myself start to work through these moments from my past that keep coming back to haunt me?  Yeah, I can’t even claim to have been doing anything about that.  I’ve let myself slip back into the same ol’ cycle as always.  Right now, I’m feeling really good mentally.  Why ruin that by dredging up all of those painful memories, right?  I know…wrong!  I need to recommit myself to this journey.  It’s an important one…I know that.  So why do I keep letting myself put on the breaks?

Last Friday, James and I celebrated our fifth wedding anniversary.  In addition to a lovely celebration, which I’m working on a post about, we decided to do a little something extra to commemorate this milestone anniversary.  Earlier in the week, I started to think that I would really like to get a little something to plant in our yard to have for years to come as a symbol of our special day.  I started to brainstorm and came up with the idea that I would like to possibly go with some lilies, as that is the flower that was in my wedding bouquet.  The problem is that I no absolutely nothing about gardening, and I didn’t have the slightest clue as to whether lilies would even be an option for our area.

So, on our way back home after our little daytrip on Friday, we made a stop at a local nursery to see what our options might be.  To my pleasant surprise, it turns out that at least some kinds of lilies ARE in fact an option here in Northern Nevada, and they just happened to have a great special on Stella d’ Oro Daylilies.  It was as if it was meant to be! And so we left the nursery with three of these beautiful plants. 

I’ve not yet been able to get them planted (the weather here is really ridiculous lately!), but each day I pull them out of our garage to get a little bit of sun (when the sun actually shines, that is…I tell you, ridiculous! lol) and a bit of water.  Yesterday, I was so excited to see that one of the buds has started to open.  Even more exciting is the fact that each day more and more buds continue to appear, showing promise of many more gorgeous flowers.  I can’t wait to get them in the ground and to watch them grow and add beauty to our yard for many years to come.

This past Saturday was a day that I’d been looking forward to for a week or so.  You see, I had special plans for Saturday.  It was time for a date! 

This date was quite different from any others that I’ve been on.  Ever. 

No upscale restaurants with real linens on the table.  No sunset walks on the beach.  No picnics in the park (which, for future reference, I happen to find uber-romantic).  And the date ended with neither the nervous “is he going to kiss me” energy of a first date, nor the “whispering of sweet nothings” romance of a long term relationship.  In fact, there wasn’t even another person along for the date. 

That’s right.  It was a special day that I planned for just me.  Let me run that by you again.  I went out for an entire day all by myself.  No husband.  No toddler.  Just me!  My day started off with a drive to a small town about an hour and a half from where I live.  I had a session scheduled to do birthday portraits for super sweet set of twin girls who are about to turn one.  Once my “work” was done for the day (seriously, I love that it feels wrong to call it work…I LOVE doing this so much!!!), I had the entire afternoon for just me and the only companion I needed for the day…my camera!  Together, we spent the day touring the area, stopping whenever we found something that seemed worthy of being documented as a memory of our wonderful day together.  I stopped along the roadside to hop out of my car and take pictures of the beautiful countryside.  I treated myself to lunch at a funky little coffee shop in Carson City, then walked across the street to explore the grounds of the Nevada State Capitol and Legislature.  I had no real plans for the day, allowing myself the opportunity to just do whatever sounded good at the moment.  Something that, in and of itself, is a major accomplishment for me.  After all, as I once shared, I am nothing if not a major planner.  I had a really fantastic day, with lots of time to sort through my thoughts and just clear my mind for a bit. 

I have to admit, though, that the best part of my day was coming home to this sweet face (and his Daddy, too). 

Feeling relaxed, rejuvenated, and ready to get back to playing the role of wife and momma to my two favorite guys.  And speaking of those guys, let me just take a second to say how very much I adore and appreciate my amazing husband.  Not only did he happily agree to taking on Zachary duty so I could have some time to myself, he actually was excited about an opportunity to spend the day “just the boys” and was just as happy to tell me about their fun day together as he was to hear about mine.  Oh how I love that man!!!

PS…If you take the time to comment (and I really hope you will!), in addition to commenting on my fabulous day, would you do me one small favor?  Let me know what you think about the photos posted above (with the exception of the one of Z and I), pretty please?  I’m practicing some new editing techniques and am always interested in feedback.

Once upon a time, I had impeccable nails.  Always.  They were manicured and looking tip-top at all times.  People would frequently ask me where I got my nails done, and I would indignantly inform them that I did them myself.  With the exception of my wedding, it’s now been many years now since my nails last saw polish of any kind.  Even longer since they’ve seen a splash of color.  In fact over the past couple of years, I haven’t even bothered to polish my toes during sandal season.  A thought that once would have seemed completely ludicrous to me! 

That lack of well groomed nails is just one example of the slump into which I’ve fallen over the past few years.  With each emotional set back, I’ve slipped further and further into this feeling of just not caring about how I look.  I dare say, I’ve crossed the line and now spend the majority of my time living in the Land of Frumpy.  Honestly, it’s a horribly vicious cycle that I’ve gotten myself into.  I’m not feeling great about myself mentally, so I don’t put forth any effort physically. Then, I end up feeling more down about myself because I feel like I look like a complete and total slob most of the time. I rarely ever do my hair any more and even less frequently do I do makeup. Most of the time, I wash and comb my hair and then just put it in a pony tail when it’s dry. This is okay for at home, but I’ve gotten really bad about doing that even when we’re going out. In fact, I’ve even fallen into the habit of not even bothering to give myself a glance in the mirror before we do go out. And then when I do catch a glimpse of myself while we’re out, I am embarrassed to realize that I went out looking so horrible.  But now, as part of my mission to begin to feel better about myself, I am cupping my hands around my mouth and shouting “Adios!” to frumpy Aramelle. 

I started the process a few weeks ago when I was doing some summer shopping for myself.  For the first time in far too long, I really focused on finding things that are stylish and that make me feel good, rather than just on something that fits and is comfortable.  And make me feel good, they definitely do.  The first time I wore one of the new tops (that are still totally comfy…I do spend my days with a toddler, after all, and I’m not completely insane), I sincerely noticed a great difference in myself, in the way that I felt just while out running errands.

Then, a couple weeks ago, I started thinking about treating myself to a mani/pedi.  In the end, I actually decided to instead splurge a little on buying the stuff to start doing my own nails again, figuring that was a nice way to make that money stretch into a constant thing, rather than just a one time pampering.  I even made myself step out of what has become my Plain Jane rut when I was selecting a couple of nail colors. I initially went towards a couple of muted, kind of boring colors. But I put those back for a pretty purple and a bright, sparkly pink.  Let me tell you, it’s amazing what sparkly pink toe nails can do for a girl’s self esteem. 

It’s going to be a bit of a process to get out of this state of mind, but I’m focused on making sure that it happens.  I’m taking little steps towards getting back in touch with the old Aramelle who I’d like to feel a bit more connected to again.  She was a young woman who felt good about herself.  And she deserves to have that again, I think.

So, take that, Frump!

A couple months ago, I wrote a post that I ended with this thought: The ability to look back later and find a little bit of peace in the pain of our pasts, because it was that pain that makes us ever aware of the beauty of the present. 

As I recently shared, I’ve been struggling a lot recently with a variety of old emotional scars that seem to all be demanding my full attention lately.  Back in March, I started out on a mission to begin to sort through those issues.  To say I failed at that mission would be an understatement.  Honestly, I allowed myself to just walk away from it all when some of those scars started to feel like they were about to be torn wide open.  Rather than take advantage of my space here to work through all of those new (and overwhelming) feelings that were hitting me, I did what I always tend to do.  I shoved it deep down inside and did my very best to just ignore it.  But I haven’t been able to ignore it very well this time.  Rather, I’ve just been sinking further and further into what feels like a huge, dark hole.  Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve started to feel like I’m the verge of completely falling apart.  And I’ve come to realize just how essential it is for me to finally put some of my focus on myself.  I need to heal.  It will make me a better wife.  A better mother.  A better me.  I will help me to find that peace that I wrote about back in February.  It will help me to get back to focusing on the beauty of the present.

So, I’m recommitting myself to this mission.  I’m committing to working on myself.  Project: Me, if you will.  My plan of attack is pretty simple.  I’m making two small, yet important, commitments on this journey to a better me.  First, I am committing to at least one blog post per week dedicated to unpacking at least one item from my emotional baggage.  That’s not to say that I will rid myself completely of that item, but that I will at least address it and work towards letting go of it.  Secondly, I am vowing to doing at least one thing for myself each week.  This may be something as small as making my favorite meal for dinner, taking a fifteen minute time-out for a little bit of “me” time in a hot bath, or watching my favorite movie.  Or it may be something a little bigger like a girls’ night out or buying myself something new.

If you’ve been paying attention, you might have noticed a new badge appear in the right sidebar, as well as a new page listed in the menu above.  As I was thinking through embarking on this journey and on the things that I want to do for myself, I got to thinking about the idea of possibly creating a network of bloggers who want to join me and want to set out on their own journey of healing.  With this came the idea of project: Heal.  It is basically an ongoing bloghop, a somewhat organized attempt at reaching out to find myself a network of support as I work through my emotional baggage.  A group of people who can all support and encourage one another as we each work towards attaining a similar goal in becoming happier, healthier versions of ourselves.  We may not be able to unpack one another’s emotional baggage, but we can at least come together to help lug those suckers along while the bags get slowly unpacked.  If you want to participate (and I really hope you will), please visit the project: Heal page to add your blog to the list of participators. 

While I’ve been moping around and feeling sorry for myself, a couple of my beautiful bloggy friends have been busy doing kind and sweet things that I want to share with everyone. 

First, Aisha is currently hosting a giveaway on her blog in celebration of her sweet boy’s first birthday and her seven year blogoversary (seriously…I am uber amazed that she’s been doing this for seven years!).  Head on over and say hello and enter her giveaway.  I, for one, am torn between whether I want to win the practical BRU gift card or the wonderfully indulgent chocolates.  I’m selfishly leaning towards the chocolates since I can mostly keep those to myself. 

Secondly, a while ago, C from As Good As It Gets? was kind enough to honor me with a blogging award.  Embarrassingly, I admit that I semi-forgot about it for a few days.  I am very touched, though, that she was so sweet as to choose my blog for an award.  And so I am finally playing along and accepting and passing on the award.  So, here goes:

I’m feeling anything but Stylish these days, but I appreciate the award very much nonetheless.

The rules of the award are as follows:

1. Thank and link back to the person who gave you this award.
2. Share 7 things about yourself.
3. Award 10-15 blogs you feel deserve the award.
4. Contact these bloggers and let them know about the award.

Seven Random Things You Probably Didn’t (Really Need to) Know About Me:

1. I am currently very sunburned.  I apparently forgot over the winter just how pathetically fair-skinned I am and dared to spend a couple hours in the sun yesterday without sunscreen.

2. I’m semi-obsessed with the Kardashians.  And I am a little worried over the fact that I no longer feel the need to keep my obsession a secret.

3. I recently made my first attempt at making my mom’s fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.  It was a huge success!  I documented it on our family blog, via photo essay, if you’re interested in seeing how it all played out.

4. I recently Googled the term “vajazzle” after reading my daily Groupon deal.  I am still trying to recover from what I learned during that Google experience.

5. I bought the “as seen on TV” Easy Feet the other day and was super excited to try it out (I’ve heard people say that it’s a great daily pedi).  The stupid thing doesn’t suction to the bottom of my tub (textured, non-slip bottom), and this has ticked me off to a level that is probably bordering on overreaction.

6. I was accosted by a man for “stealing his parking spot” today.  And I’m really proud of myself for not saying ANY of the things that I wanted to him because Zachary was with me. 

7. I’m 31 years old and still feel strange when referring to myself as a “woman.”

And Now for the Blogs:

1. Aisha Iqbal

2. Twinside Out

3. Wonderfully Ordinary

4. Someday

5. Yolk: A blog about eggs & sperm

6. Simply Rochelle

7. From IF to When

8. Hannah Wept, Sarah Cried

9. Mrs. Mroch

10. Project Alicia

Over the past several days, I’ve sat down to write countless times.  Throughout the day, during times when I can’t sit down and write, there are so many things passing through my mind that I want…no, need…to write about.  But when I finally get in front of the computer, it seems those thoughts all become jumbled and I struggle with composing much of anything.  I have no less that 15 partially written blog posts about a variety of topics.  It doesn’t seem like I can get past the obstacle that is the hundred different thoughts flying through my mind in order to focus on any one of them and actually write. 

I’m realizing that my biggest problem, though, isn’t how to say things.  Rather, I am struggling with whether to say the things that are on my mind.  For whatever reason, I have started editing myself basically everywhere.  I worry that friends or family might read what I say and misconstrue it.  I worry about putting it all out there in search of support and others who have been there and instead finding that I am, in fact, just as alone as I’ve come to feel.  And I have started to let my worries stop me from finishing any of those partially written posts.   

Today, I’m making a conscious decision to stop editing myself.  On my blog especially.  See, the thing is, this blog has never been about or for anyone other than myself.  Yes, I do appreciate having people follow along.  There are many times when the comments from others have gone a long distance in helping me with whatever situation I was blogging about.  But the starting point for this blog was about my desire to rekindle my love for writing.  Writing has always been my outlet.  It is the way that I am absolutely most comfortable with communicating, and it helps me to sort through my own thoughts and feel less jumbled inside. 

So, today I write.  For myself.  And for anyone who might be following along and might be spared, even just a little, from that feeling of being all alone. 

Those partially written posts will all get finished and published in due time.  For today, though, I am starting with the one common thread that every single one of those posts share.  I am starting by making the confession that I am really struggling right now.  To be frank, I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water these days.  It’s become a common occurrence for me spend Zachary’s naptime trying to write but instead staring at the blinking cursor through blurry eyes as the tears pour down my face.  So far, I’ve managed to mostly keep myself together during the time that he is up.  But I’m terrified that my true breaking point is any moment away and that I’ll no longer be able to pull myself together and get back to being Momma when he starts chatting at me through the monitor. 

I have to get back to working on sorting through the vast amount of emotional baggage I carry with me.  I have to focus on getting to a healthier frame of mind.  For my son.  For my husband.  For myself.  We all deserve it. 

And so I stop editing.  I write even when I’m worried about the reaction I will receive.  And I hit publish in spite of those worries.  I write to get back in touch with myself.  I write in hopes of healing.  I share in hopes that others will reach out and let me know that I’m not, in fact, alone.  I share in hopes that my story might help someone else know that there are others who understand.