So my new (awesome) therapist commented to me this morning that in her experience, people fall into one of two categories: Either they are worriers—chronically agonizing over absolutely everything—or they tend not to worry at all, even in situations where it’s appropriate and advantageous to do so. I bet you have NO IDEA which category I tend to fall into. (I’m hilarious!)

This leads to a lot of talking about this concept of “radical acceptance” (which I will leave for you to Google if you so choose), which basically boils down to a philosophy of “These things just ARE, and cannot be changed, so I accept them and move on to dealing with the things which ARE changeable.” HOLY WOW is this easier said than done, but it turns out that despite a lifetime of trying to get one’s head around this logical concept, having a mentally ill kid in the hospital is kind of that final push needed to realize “I have to find a way to live with this and still be a person with a life and hope and happiness.” Lucky, lucky me.

So that’s what I’m doing. Chickadee is in the hospital and I do not like it, Sam I Am. I do not like it one bit. But obsessing over the hows and whys and what-ifs changes nothing, except that it makes me miserable. Hmmmm. I have a lot of work to do.

In the meantime, my current thought processes reminded me of an incident from my youth that feels relevant, here. (Also, Off Our Chests has changed their name to Feel More Better, which I kind of love.) C’mon over and check it out.

I bought myself a fancy new dehydrator. Wait; that’s not entirely true. I did ORDER myself that fancy new dehydrator, but I didn’t pay for it. I had some credit laying around over at Fab.com and one day instead of boutiques comprised solely of upcycled vintage shabby chic repurposed milk bottle cardigans or whatever, they had this dehydrator. And I said to myself, “Self, I have always kind of sort of wanted a dehydrator. I think.”

And between that conversation and the fact that we’re not really spending money on anything, I became the proud owner of this here dehydrator a few weeks later. [Fab.com is awesome if you 1) want something random and 2) don’t need it for at least a month.]

Here is where I would turn this all into a delightful and poignant metaphor if I’d had a little more coffee. You know—dehydrating food while I am constantly weeping and probably dehydrating my own damn self. It’s poetic. Or stupid. But I’ve only had one cup so you’re spared. Phew. read more…

My dear friend Ruth—a survivor in her own right—sent me a lovely necklace with a charm that says “Just keep swimming.” I laughed out loud when I opened it, and then I cried a little, because that’s sort of what I do, these days. But yes, I’m trying to keep swimming.

We visited with Chickadee this weekend and somehow the subject of my overdue mammogram came up (don’t ask me how, I don’t remember) and Chickie’s eyes got big and she grabbed my arm. “MOM! You have to go do that. I have enough stuff going on, I can’t have you being sick! Promise me you’ll schedule it this week.” And instead of bursting into tears that this was the first time in months she sounded like her old self, the first time she seemed genuinely concerned about another person, I patted her and assured her that I can’t possibly get sick, our family is too big of a mess already. We all laughed. And then I promised. (Mammogram this Friday.)

And today I’m over at Off Our Chests, thinking about some of my favorite things, and how sometimes they keep me sane and remind me that happiness is still out there, even when it feels elusive.

I’m trying to keep up with my garden, but I keep stumbling across zucchinis that managed to hide until this happened:

It’s good, I guess, because once they’re that big the only thing they’re good for is baking, and that means every time someone takes Monkey for us while we go Tend To Things, they get a bonus bag of zucchini muffins.

Our lives may be completely upside down, but dammit, if you’re part of our village, you’re getting some goddamn baked goods.