Ho-Hum

Lately I've been knee-deep in a blue sort of feeling and it's so strange. So encompassing. So heavy. So unwanted, truthfully. Thick as mud and just as hard to get out of. Damn wheels are stuck and we all know I'm rear-wheel drive.

Usually, October is my jam. Pumpkins and horror movies, sweaters and new seasonal colour palette - that riot of orange, yellow, red and brown, what's not to love? What's not to celebrate? Every other year, I've looked forward to saying goodbye to summer (good riddance, summer, with your tiresome heat that causes my meaty thighs to chafe) and hello to Autumn (Hello, warm blankets and big mugs of hot tea (well, actually, lukewarm tea. If you know me at all, you know I don't drink my tea while it is hot. It's a quirk, I suppose).

Except, this year is different. (You know how I am not equipped to handle different)

At first, I thought it was because of the baby boy's first birthday. Yes, he turned one. (Certainly I deserve some sort of praise and cake for this?) And yes, I was unusually emotional. Like the weepiest of all the weepers. I couldn't believe how often I welled up at the thought of him turning a year old. It was, to say the least, headache inducing and annoying. (You know how I am when it comes to feeling the feels.) I thought, for sure, I was being ridiculous, but word on the street is that being a mother is a very emotional business. In truth, I am not cut out for all these feelings. They are exhausting. So, I was sad. Very sad. But also hugely happy and excited about the baby boy turning one. After all, we made it a whole year together. It was both a blink of an eye and the longest period of time simultaneously. 

That was back in August. In September, I chalked it up to the change of seasons and the lack of warmth. Rainy days are great for reading a book but not so wonderful for adventuring with the wee one. We try to get out and explore for a couple hours a day. Hard to do that when the heavens are throwing a temper-tantrum of epic proportions.

Still, I thought for sure once October hit, I would be back to my joyous self. Actually, no one has ever used the word 'joyous' to describe me. So, let's not get too hyperbolic. Exaggeration is fine in moderation. Lo and behold, I did not feel excited about October. In fact, it turns out, I became even more morose. Confounding, I know. 

Now, it's ten days in, and I've yet to shake this melancholic mood. It's Thanksgiving today and I have many things to be thankful for. I try to focus on that, but you know how sadness creeps in until it has coated everything with its weepy residue and no matter where you sit or stand you get it all over you. The truth is, I don't foresee a turn around in mood any time soon because, and I know this is going to come as a shock, I am moving again (YES, AGAIN). And I started thinking, maybe this is why I wasn't enjoying October in my typical Halloween obsessed fashion. 

Even though we have a crazy landlady and an ant problem, I actually like living here. I have good memories. Like the most important recent  life-changing memory ... baby boy's arrival home. This was his first home and, for some weird reason that I'm sure other mothers can understand, I am sad to say goodbye to it. I know in my heart our next home will be just that, our home, but this one is special because we spent so much time together here. We grew so much here. I became a completely different person here. And that's the most truth I have written in a very long time. 

I learned to love another human unconditionally here. This is where my universe shifted. In this house, where I write this, I became a mom. I figured out how to be a mother. And I brought my son here. He learned to crawl here. He learned to say 'mom' here. He learned to eat food here. He learned to walk here. His first smile was here. My life was given new meaning here. 

If that won't trip you up and make you feel a bit sombre, I don't know what will. 

Also, the house we are moving into at  the end of the month is much smaller (cozier). 

Do you know what a smaller home means? Less space. 

So, I have been purging. And by purging, I mean throwing out my life. You wouldn't believe the things I've gotten rid of. There is still so much more to go through. It's daunting, really. I have donated, consigned, sold and thrown out so much of my life. So many things I was holding on to. At first, when I found myself knee deep in sentimentality, this was hard. Really hard. I felt as if I couldn't let anything go because I'd be hurting someone, or myself. That I would be letting go of who I was. The girl I used to be. 

And you know what ... sometimes you need to do just that. 

When I seriously started to get down to business, when I stopped moping and getting all boo-hoo over this junk, when I finally pulled my purge pants on and actually started giving things away, selling them, throwing them out - it got easier. With each thing I donated, it was easier to toss something else. Until, I looked around and thought, Well, shit, this is all just stuff. 

Now when I look through a box labelled 'my past', I don't see the people I used to love or memories we shared. I see things. Things that have been sitting and collecting dust. And some of these things I have moved around with me since I was seventeen years old! Do you know how many moves that is? Let me think ... Surrey, New West, Main, 14th, back to Surrey, another place in Surrey, to the Island, and to here ... that's eight damn moves! And do you think I even opened those boxes? Or went through that stuff? 

Big. Fat. Nope. 

So goodbye pirate shirt, I might fit you again but I will never wear you. Goodbye ex-boyfriend boxes full of twenty page love letters and mixed tapes. Goodbye scrap books of ticket stubs and weird advertisements. Goodbye jewellery I've had since I was sixteen, no one needs three dog chain choker necklaces. Goodbye wedding dress with the wine stain from Leppy. Goodbye random tooth I had pulled when I was eighteen. Goodbye first tattoo design which I seriously regret having now. Goodbye all this crap. 

Because these things may serve as memories, but you know what else does. My memories. In my brain. I still have them. They are all stored up there in meticulous order. And if one day I no longer have my memories, then these items will be useless anyhow! 

Okay, so maybe I know why I'm in a funk. Birthday. Moving. All this change. And I know I am terrible with change. There's been so much of it in the last couple years - the business, the baby, the job. It's basically been a complete overhaul. And now all this purging - it's hard work, you know. I suppose even the brightest beam of sunshine might be disenchanted by this act. All these items, they fill up our lives, don't they? It's almost as though this stuff defines us in some weird way. It is nice to have a few trinkets to hold onto to remind us of who we once were and how we got to this point. But we are not the same people we used to be and, you know what, it is okay to let that person go. I think letting go of who you once were is freeing because you no longer have to compare yourself to her. 

You can simply be who you are now. And maybe that's something I can look forward to. 

Then I can start working towards the girl I want to be.*

*a girl who isn't in a funk

And now a picture to sum up the chaotic beauty of my life: 

Bruce Is Comfortable

Moves are hard on everyone, but more so on pets because they just don't understand what's happening. This move wasn't Bruce's first move, more like his twelfth. Still, I figured it'd take some time for him to settle in. When we moved to the little place in Cumberland, it took a couple weeks before he spent any significant amount of time outside. And he never really hung out with us in the living room.

Judging by his lounging out on the porch and lazing inside with us, I can assume he likes the new place. Here is my photographic evidence. Tell me what you think, but please don't comment on his weight, he's very sensitive about it.

These Are My Legs

Moving has done a number on my legs.

Bruised and battered.

If anyone saw these gams, I bet they'd think I was in an abusive relationship.

Fear not world.

Sometimes I wonder if I simply bruise easily or if there's something wrong with me. There are those people who bruise quickly and it's because of an illness. I'm always the girl with the cuts and bruises. A snag in her sweater. Stain on her dress.

I'm like the female version of pigpen.

Welcome To The 70's

As some of you may know, I'm moving ... again. It's a source of contention. Not because I hate moving but ... no, wait. I hate moving. That's exactly why. Also because I thought my next move would be into my forever home. Sadly, not the case.

While I can focus on the negative, let me state the ten things I am happy about with this move.

1. Screens on the windows means no more mosquito bites in the middle of the night.
2. No more ants, hopefully. Our current dwelling has had an ant problem since we moved in. They are walking across the telephone line. In hoards. No sugar in the cupboards. Nothing sweet left open. Those things are resilient and determined. The new place doesn't seem to have an infestation. So, fingers crossed.
3. Goodbye oven. And by oven, I mean bedroom. The addition the landlords built on our current place is so tiny, with three windows and it gets sunshine all day long. It's beyond stifling up there in the summer. Truthfully, we haven't turned the heat on upstairs since we moved in over a year and a half ago, not even in the winter. All the windows are open right now, which means mosquitoes getting in, because there are no screens on the window. Maybe I should mention number one again. 
4. More room. While the place I am currently inhabiting is kind of adorable, it's also small and missing such things as a linen closet, a place to put our coats, and enough space to fit all my clothing. The new home has an abundance of space, including a spare room, where you will be staying if you ever come and visit. 
5. No more killer stairs. So, I guess the people who put the staircase in the old place didn't give a crap it was on such a severe angle that it was actually considered dangerous. Oliver, that amazing dog we all know and love couldn't go down it because he'd tumble down them. I honestly thought he was going to break his neck one day. Instead of risking his life, we decided to carry him up and down the lethal stairs. Oh, and he's not light. Despite his low-rider status, the little man is packing some serious pounds. 
6. Things you take for granted, a bedroom door. There's this cat who lives with us named Bruce. Yes, he's cute. Yes, he's lovely. Yes, he also like to pull your hair by the root when he wants you to wake up and feed him. For a year and a half, we've been living without a bedroom door, which means we haven't been able to kick him out and sleep peacefully past sunrise for the same amount of time. Also, he brought a bat home once and dropped it on our heads when we were in bed. That won't be happening again because we proudly have a bedroom door now. 
7. There's a dishwasher. While we won't use it all the time, it's a nice option to have it for when company comes over. Not that company ever comes over, but they might. Especially now that we have a spare room.
8. Beach access. The tiny community I am moving into is actually walking distance to the beach. I am talking ocean beach. Not lakey beach. Salt water from the sea beach! If that's not something to get excited about, I don't know what is. 
9. New places to go adventuring. Exploring is my middle name. Not really. But I love seeing and experiencing new adventures. I am over the moon about exploring a new area. Who knows what treasures I will find? 
10. The seventies decor. This place was born in the late seventies, I'm almost sure of it. The wall paper, the wood panelling, the terrible carpet in the closet. And you know what, it's amazing and awesome. To prove the amazingness, I've taken a few photos. Well, the Sidekick has. He sent them to me via his smartphone. 

Here are some pictures to prove it's authentically seventies. 

Check out that French peekaboo window. 

Look at the wallpaper! Classic. 

Wood panelling for every room.

An elusive picture of the Sidekick, and our gaudy mirror and red counter.

Downsizing

There is one good part about moving.

Getting rid of crap. Downsizing my life.

Out with anything I don't need. Don't use. Don't want. Don't even know where I picked up.

Moving On

Since I moved out of my childhood home at seventeen, I've lived in seven places, including the one I am currently in. That number is about to grow again. Eight moves pretty much makes me an expert on relocation. I think of all the boxes I've taped up. All the random things I've broken. And the anxiety over having to get out of the last place and into the next one. The time frames never work out right, do they? 

No matter how often you pack up your belongings, only to unpack them later, it doesn't get easier. In fact, it gets harder. More tedious. A little piece of your soul blackens each time you have to place your life into cardboard boxes. The downsizing, donating, and cleaning. Ugh. The cleaning. Worrying if you'll get your damage deposit back because you accidentally chipped the tile in the kitchen when you dropped your frying pan. 

I remember my very first apartment and how excited I felt to be moving out of my parents' house, how fun it was acquiring new furniture, dishes, and all the little things you need, like a toothbrush holder and silverware. The first time around, I lived with my sister, I painted my room blue and she painted hers a ridiculously dark colour. We didn't get our damage deposit back. 

Needless to say, I've learned a couple of things. Here are my seven tips for anyone who is moving: 

1. The fifteen day overlap. Yes, I know we are not made of money, but it is totally work it to find a place for the fifteenth and have have a month to slowly move it. It allows you to prime and clean the new place before you move in, and the old one after you move out. The cost certainly bites the big one, but trust me when I say you will be thankful for the extra time. 

2. Newspaper is not needed. So, you have breakable things and you want to ensure they are packed into boxes so they don't get all smashy-smashy? Use your clothing. Put glass knickknacks in tube socks! Clothing works better than paper and it also allows you to cut down on boxes and bags of clothes. 

3. Don't buy boxes. Go to grocery stores. They love giving them away. Free stuff rules! Even if it is only cardboard. 

4. Check for ants. Out of all the places I have been in, only one of them didn't have an ant problem. One of them! ONE! Can you believe that? Apparently, it's a huge problem, which is evident because 87.5% of the places I've rented/owned have had a problem with them. So, keep your eyes open and check for any signs of these diligent workaholics. 

5. Something is going to break. It happens. Every. Single. Time. Sometimes it will be a mirror and bad luck will ensue. You can't change this simple fact. It's impossible. Trust me. I've tried extremely hard not to break anything and something always cracks, smashes, or gets all busted up. Don't waste time worrying about it because it's out of your control. 

6. Oh, it's nice to hire professionals. At least, I imagine it would be. Since I am the poorest of the poor, I've never had the luxury. I've always depended on friends. If you're like me and have next to no money, you too may rely on the kindness of others. While they are amazing for even offering to lend you a hand, do not be foolish. Never feed them until after you've done the moving. If you make the mistake of giving them pizza and beer beforehand they won't work as hard. Chances are some of them probably will even cut out early. They may not mean to be jerks but without the proper motivation they will be.  

7. Whatever happens on move day doesn't count. It's a high stress, ridiculously tense day and nothing said or done can be held against you or the ones you love. Everything is forgiven because every muscle in your body is sore and you're brain is so fatigued the idea of signing your name seems impossible. So, be gentle with yourself and those around you. 

Subjects Removed

It's been a long year so far, and we are only halfway through. As some of you know, I put my condo up for sale back in February. I thought it would sell quickly. It didn't. After much waiting and fretting, it is now sold.

While I thought the weight of stress would finally lift off me, leaving me with nothing but an overwhelming feeling of freedom, I'm actually suffering from a unique sort of melancholy. Yes, this is what I wanted, to be rid of the burden, financially more than anything else. And yes, this does represent being able to move forward. For the last year, I've felt stuck in a sort of limbo with very little to indicate I am actually moving in the right direction.

Still, there's this sadness. A grief. For a loss I am responsible for.

Don't get me wrong. This is a happy occasion, but I am still saying goodbye. To a place I bought at a very difficult time of my life. A home where I did a significant amount of growing and an equal amount of healing. In saying goodbye to this place, I am letting go. Letting go of myself, of parts of my past, of people and moments and love and losses I never thought I'd let go of.

Sure, I moved out awhile ago, but as long as I owned this apartment, I had an umbilical cord to the girl I once was. The sad one, who was so lost and broken she never thought she'd find her way. The heartbroken one. And the one who learned much and stopped feeling bad and started breathing in the trees and ocean, breathing out the doubts and anger. As long as I owned that apartment, I had an attachment to my friends, the people I love and miss. By selling it, I am acknowledging how much I miss those people. How detached I sometimes feel over here.

And I am saying goodbye to my ex. This sounds bonkers, doesn't it? I mean, we haven't been together for three years and have both been with other people for quite some time, two years and counting on my side of things. Still, this is where I went after us and it's where we worked diligently to form a friendship. That friendship still stands, I like to believe it always will, and I consider myself lucky to have it. It takes unique individuals to salvage a friendship from the wreckage of love, but it can happen, if you aren't both complete dicks.

It's weird. How a building, a five hundred square foot apartment, can represent so much of who you are and what you've been through. I understand those memories will be with me forever, but I didn't except this overload of emotion. Honestly, I thought there would be dancing and merriment. Don't think this is a regretful thing. It really isn't. That is not one of the hundred emotions storming through me.

And I am happy, but also sad too.

Funny how things are never quite what you imagine them to be. But at least this is a little forward movement. I think.

Just Keep Swimming

It's a busy day here at Casa De Tee Tots Tyson.

Not only am I watching terrible television, but I have chili to make. Yam and black bean. It's pretty much one of the most amazing meals you will ever taste. The recipe I use is found on Cookie + Kate. I alter it only a little bit by putting extra yam and adding spices to best suit my refined palate.

To top it off, I am knitting a birthday present for a very special girl. I'd detail it all here, but I can't, because she's on my Facebook. Granted, I am sure she doesn't read my blog that often, there's a chance she might read this one. And since I don't take chances. Never.

I think it's going to be really cool, though.

Added into all this the fact that I can't sleep at night. I got a cold. And I am pretty sure my butt is getting bigger by the minute. And I am worried about moving and selling and property and mortgages and financing and credit scores.

It feels overwhelming.

How do people make it through stressful times?

They just keep swimming.

And so, I swim. Thank you, sweet Gods, for giving me the ability to endure.


Hey, you know what? I don't think I've ever actually seen Finding Nemo!