Meredith Carson... Across the Pond and Back Again...

Today I am writing. Winter has knocked the wind out of me this year, and over the last couple of weeks I have been (with the help of a higher dose of medication) digging myself out of my burrow. I have been reminding myself to be gentle and forgiving of myself.   I find it very easy to judge myself harshly when I am huddled on the sofa, wrapped in a cocoon of blanket, trying to summon the desire to put my feet on the floor and get on with my day. I tell myself, "You are so lazy! No one wants to get up and do the laundry! Everyone feels this way. You are not special. Nothing is wrong with you. You are failing at life. Just get up, and snap out of it!" I do not say these things out loud, and I do not even say them with real words, but I know that this is how I feel about myself. Wonderful friends tell me, "You are fabulous. It's okay to crawl back into bed some days," but I defend my judgmental self. My judgmental self knows how completely useless I am. ...

Yesterday I sat between my daughter and a friend's daughter at our church's family Christmas eve service.  There were poinsettias and angels and candles everywhere.  The message was about love and life and Christmas, familiar stories told with language that moved me deeply.  We sang the hymn "Star Child" in the middle of the sermon, and I was done for.  I felt that wonderful, painful, upside down, happy and sad feeling that wells up in my rib cage and emerges through my tear ducts.  I almost went into the "ugly cry" there for a moment. After the service was over, the mother of a very dear friend who was seated nearby grabbed me forcefully and hugged me like only a mama can; just what I needed.  She spoke warmly in my ear, "Thank you for being my daughter's friend."  Of course I welled up again.  I felt overwhelmed as the reality of my blessings snapped into clear focus.  I felt euphoric and filled wi...

When we lived overseas, I missed Thanksgiving ever so much .  Even though we always celebrated  the weekend before or after with turkey and most of the trimmings, I found myself downright depressed and annoyed when I had to wake up early in the morning on Thursday and Friday and hustle my little darlings off to school.  Thanksgiving weekend is definitely one of the best weekends of the year in my opinion. We spend the weekend cooking, eating, watching silly family movies, eating, pulling out a few Christmas decorations, reading, playing games, eating a bit more, and beginning to dream about the next time we will bake pumpkin pie.  The Carsons do not "do" Black Friday.  We hunker down, cuddle up, wear cozy clothes and mismatched socks, and savor the fact that we are NOT fighting crowds or being trampled by somebody's Granny who's determined to get her mitts on the last vibrating "personal massager" sale priced on aisle 4.  You'r...

Holy Cow!  Did y'all know it was November?!  We all survived the fall rituals of pumpkin selecting, pumpkin carving, pumpkin soup eating, pumpkin costume wearing, trick-or-treating, and the most dramatic rose ceremony yet (also known as last week's presidential election).  October, for us, has been a wonderfully busy blur.  We have all managed to get to our lessons and practices, get to school on time (most days), and still participate in all of the essential seasonal activities.  My writing has suffered, but my kids are happy, and I am pleased to report that I seem to be keeping my usual seasonal depression at bay with the help of some low dose pharmaceuticals.  Can I get a whoop whoop? So... for my friend Sonia across the pond, here is a review of our October in pictures.... We picked a peck of impeccable pumpkins at Grandma's Pumpkin Patch. That kid struggling in the background with the 40 pound pumpkin also belongs to me. ...

I suspect that fall has always been rather beautiful in Michigan.  This is my third fall here, but this is the first time I have really appreciated the beauty associated with dying chlorophyll.  Trees have burst into flaming shades of red, yellow and orange.  My three year old and I sit at the window and watch the leaves gracefully cascade toward the earth while she squeals and I breathe it all in as though I were observing it intentionally for the first time. Allow me to back up.  I am a girl who adores summertime.  I love blue skies, warm water, peaches, and sundresses.  I love the sunshine and the way it makes me feel.  I begin to fret at the beginning of September because I know, from experience, what lies ahead for me as summer comes to a close.  The days get shorter, my brain becomes foggy, and I become as lethargic as an old house cat. This year I decided to be proactive.  Per my GP's referral, I v...

I had never devoted much thought to the trumpet.  It is a fine instrument, and Dizzy Gillespie was beyond words fabulous, but before tonight, I had never really had a personal experience with the trumpet. But lately my daughter Emma has been talking a lot about the trumpet.  She is a girl who knows her mind and knows exactly what she wants.  When the opportunity to join the 5th grade band presented itself, she was all over it, and she knew that the trumpet was the instrument for her. What?  Everybody plays trumpet in bed, right? Tonight Emma's Dad took her out and signed a rental agreement on a brand new, shiny, fantastic trumpet.  I looked at the final price on the agreement, and made Emma swear that she wouldn't change her mind about the trumpet next week.  She promised.  Then she took off all of the plastic and attempted to wow us with a forceful, solid blast from her new instrument.  She got there eventually, and the littlest Carso...

I don't exactly know where to begin. Sometimes I feel compelled to state the obvious.  Bear with me.  I am a little slow, and "the obvious" is not always so obvious to me. I live with three children.  All of them are very comfortable leaning on, nuzzling into, and generally treating my body like a beanbag chair.  Most children are like that.  My daughters think nothing of climbing into my bed and burrowing into my flesh as though I were a favorite cushion.  There is great security in that kind of physical intimacy.  Children know this.  We are all born knowing this, but at some point we forget.  We grow up.  We become independent.  We stop snuggling close to our mamas and friends. (At least most of us do.)  Not too long ago my eldest daughter told me, "Mom, I just cannot even imagine you being a kid.  You are just SO boring and grown up."  I tried not to take offense.  I am her mother, after all,...