What’s going on here?

It was not-quite four years ago that I started this blog.

This will be something for me, I thought. Because you see, at that time, I spent my days at home with my toddler while my autistic kindergartener was at school. I obeyed God’s call to “let go” of my career as a teacher.

[And side note: while I usually find those folks who proclaim, “I could hear God tell me_________” creepy, it happened to me that June afternoon. What do you do but listen?]

I naively believed at that point that I would have SO MUCH DOWN TIME compared to the hustle-and-bustle of teaching. I’ll write. I’ll create. I’ll finally get healthy and lose all the baby weight, maybe 5-10 lbs more. I’ll get this house straightened up. It was going to be glorious…

…and if by “glorious” I somehow meant “a complete and utter roller coaster of chaos, boredom, drama, and angst,” then yes, I nailed it. So I amended my thinking. When both kids are in school all day – that’s when I’ll really start my blog.

And so I would daydream during the dull moments. Would my blog focus on raising a child with autism? Raising a daughter? Losing weight (or aspiring to)? Finding my identity in a life-phase that found me playing every role but that of the girl I used to be? I would think, plan, make mental notes. I felt like I had to have a singular focus for this would-be blog… and a clever name and URL, obviously. Could I have started writing in this in-between time? Certainly… but I believed, as most perfectionists do, that unless it’s just right, it’s not worth doing. And thus my dreams stayed on a shelf, in a back corner of my mind – but ALWAYS there. Someday. When the kids are in school.

And four years passed, and both of my children were at school EVERY WEEK DAY from 7:30 a.m. until 3:00 p.m. Thank you, Jesus! I revisited the pages in my journal I had titled LISAPALOOZA where I jotted down all that I would do now that I could. What I would watch. What I would read. What I would WRITE!

Life has begun!

…except for the fact that four days after that first day of school, my mom lost her three-year battle to cancer.

There are paragraphs and pages and volumes to write about how I’m processing that.

Four weeks have passed since Mom died. They’ve passed in a flash; they’ve crawled along in agonizing fashion. I find myself conflicted. I want to check out completely, grieving, crying, sleeping. And just as powerfully, I want to bulldoze ahead. Grieving and sleeping aren’t going to get the house picked up, the to do list completed, the kids to school and cleaned and loved on. I mean, dammit… it’s supposed to be Lisapalooza.

As is usually the case in life, the answer lies in the middle. Or that’s what I’m finding anyway. I sure can busy myself with pointless crap for days on end, only to collapse into snot-bubble crying sessions that last for hours and wipe me out for a solid day or two. And I’m learning that there isn’t a right or wrong way to grieve.