What started out as an onset of irritability quickly subsided and I was able to get up, and get moving yesterday. I flew through some housework, then made dinner for Miss J and my grandma's kiddos while she was away in class. She's taking a stress management class, with required reading, homework and everything. I am trying to do my part of lightening her load and encouraging her to stay on track with her medicines and monitoring. When she returned, she had nothing to do except kick back, have some dinner, and relax until she was ready to head off to bed. That gave me a sense of fulfillment in the moment, and I am sure that she appreciated having a few less things to worry about in an already busy day.

I've been doing some heavy reflecting lately. Its probably more like half reflection and half beating myself up, but I can't help but to reflect on my past, and how it has affected the person that I am today. There was a point in which I thrived despite my past. The past just was what it was, I was focused on the future, because I had goals, and the roadway was clear, the path was lit. Now... something happened, a lot of things happened, and somehow I became a fraction of the person I used to be. I continuously find myself mourning the Barbara who used to be instead of recreating the Barbara who currently is. Like, in order for that recreation to take place, I must go backwards, retrace. Doesn't make any sense. Maybe I am held motionless for fear of what a tug of war would do to the me who can't seem to find her way. I guess it will all take time.

Aside from my wayward mind, I got a wave of excellent feedback on some custom Baby Squares pieces. 2 blankets and a butterfly clip. Everyone LOVED their pieces and were not shy about expressing it. I was both grateful and thankful for the public response. Just check out the toddler of Kristina of Mom on the Rise and Moms of Hue, enjoying her new blanket :)

I could not possibly stay irritated for long when surrounded by images of bliss!

I'm starting to feel overwhelmed. I'm never really "good" in these kinds of situations. I don't think I'm doing much to cheer her up divert her stress. She's really worried about him. She waits each day for his call, at the designated time that they agreed on, and if she misses it, she heavily regrets leaving the house, and vows not to do it again. Even within the laughter there is immense worry. I don't feel like I'm equipped to cure her worry or her elevated blood sugar. I know what happens when diabetes wins.

None of it seems fair. Why must certain lives be rooted in struggle and sacrifice, and just when those lives have seemed to overcome a life of struggle, to then be stricken with such illnesses? Why? And how do family members aide the elderly when they are stubborn? And more importantly, how does one remain strong while doing so, and when one is not entirely sure what one should even be doing?

Days after my 10th birthday, my dad told me that I had a sister. He told me her name, her age, and her phone number. At 10 years old, I made the call, and shocked the hell out of her mother. I was excited then, and had mixed feelings later. I had always wanted a sister, as being an only child can be a lonely experience. But how could I have had a sister who was 4 years older than me? And why did her mother have my last name? My parents were married. Too much to put together back then, and lost opportunity to ask questions today, since my dad has passed away and my sister and I separated shortly after we met. I've thought about her, and our lost opportunities, for the last 16 years. I've often considered trying to find her, my efforts going no further than a general search of Facebook and Myspace. I've often wondered if she knows that are dad died, if she'd be interested in knowing that she's an aunt, if she thought about the bond that we attempted to create back then, and if she'd be interested in a do-over.

My social networking searches turned up no results. And then I searched again using the yellow pages, and then one site after another until I got a hit. My search spit out a name, an age, 3 known cities, and 1 address. I could have found my sister... again, after 16 years of being separated. But there is something keeping me from taking the next step. I could purchase information that could potentially be her's or I could make the short drive, and knock on a door that could potentially be her's. I guess I am still processing the information. Replaying the reunion in my head. One day. One day.

By now, many of you have probably noticed that, when I leave you a comment on your blog, my name appears as Emma's Mom instead of Ms. Bar B. That's because I've started another blog, dedicated solely to Emma. And in case you are wondering who Emma is, you can find that out here. I'm still Ms. Bar B, but penning the posts for Emma, as Emma's Mom, just adds extra meaning.

I started a journal just for her a while back. I wanted to record all of her milestones, and tell her all of these things about myself, and her family. Every child has questions about themselves as they get older, questions about their history and yours, and the majority of the time, as parents, we are able to provide those answers. In my case, my mother passed away when I was eight years old, so I did not have the opportunity to ask her questions about her time with me when I was a baby, her feelings, her life experiences. I had to, and still have to, learn of these things from the fading memories of others, and even then, they are "her" feelings and life experiences as told by (fill in the blank). How cool would it have been if she had written me notes, or kept a journal? To have her story in her own words. It would have been priceless to me now. Fortunately, this is something that I am able to do for my daughter. Aside from this being a creative way for me to speak to my child, it also provides the space for difficult conversations. Contrary to what some may believe about the level of truth that a parent should reveal to a child, I believe that honesty really is the best policy, especially when it comes to history and circumstance, and I wish to be fully honest with my daughter.

This isn't a new concept. Some of you may already write letters or record memories for your children. Tara, of The Young Mommy Life, shares letters to her children on her blog, and has plans of publishing them one day, and the late Professor Randy Pausch turned his last lecture at Carnegie Mellon University into a book of legacy for the two children that he was leaving behind. The ability to leave your mark in such a way is one of the greatest gifts a child, or any loved one for that matter, could have.

So came Notes to Emma. I hope that you will check it out. It has already begun to inspire. Don't be shy, be inspired too.

In my last post, those of you who commented seemed to find a happiness radiating from my words. That's cool.

Execumama said, "Your Happy just spilled right on through, and I am now reminding Self that feeling good is a CHOICE, and I choose it!" That's cool too.

Truth is. I'm not happy. Not even a little bit. And even my momentary contentment is a facade, because once back indoors, out from under the spotlight of expectation, that "Happy" mask gets taken off and thrown against the wall, falls to the floor, where it lies in tiny shattered pieces, until I am forced to have to try to piece it back together again to face another day. Forced to wear it in order to make the people around me feel more comfortable, because people don't have the energy and patience to understand. Yes, by no means is it easy to deal, to put up with, to give attention to someone who is always unhappy, and by no means do those of us who battle various mental illnesses and conflicts within ourselves that churn the waters of our unhappiness, expect family, friends, peers and lovers to deal with, to put up with, to give attention to our shit 100% of the time. However, it would mean a world of difference to just be understood.

I've found myself incredibly exhausted, run down and resentful. My back and shoulders no longer stand erect, and sometimes, I can't keep my head from hanging low. My spine curves under the pressure to "make it", to measure up, to not disappoint, to be everything I was suppose to be (which is funny because there are times when I don't even know who I really am). Its also funny how people are always saying stuff like, "you can lead a horse to the water but you can't make him drink." I guess putting the water into a bowl and raising it to the horse's mouth so that he may drink isn't an option. Its just not understood that some people have been fighting so hard and for so long that they just don't have any fight left in them. What happens to those people? Why is that concept so taboo? Instead of viewing those people as unwilling to help themselves, perhaps its more productive to ask yourself what lies beneath.

Its where I'm at. I literally don't have any fight left in me and I'm resentful. Resentful that I have to go at this all alone. Not just in terms of raising my child, but in terms of life in general. I am going at life alone. Yes, I just gusted about the amazing women around me, and part of the reason they are so amazing is their ability to understand, however, we are all in this rat race to measure up to society's rules and even women in their 30s and 40s are still working toward beating the odds; working toward proving themselves to people who are looking for them to fail. I am resentful that I've sacrificed a great deal and am not reaping the benefits. I am resentful that in 4 days me and my child will be homeless. I am resentful that my great-grandmother didn't consider putting me up for adoption after my mother died so that maybe I would have had a chance of experiencing the simple joy of having parents, a real family. I am resentful, that at 25, my life resembles that of someone who has about 2 or 3 decades on me. These should not be the experiences of a 25 year old. But yet they are. They are all mine. Alone.

Why does the older generation think they know more than their doctors do?

How come they have a hard time realizing that, although they have spent way more time with and in their bodies than any one doctor has, they still don't know EVERYTHING about it nor have ALL the tools to keep it functioning for as long as possible?

Now, before you start in on me about how our mothers and grandmothers have earned the right to be stuck in their ways, let me just say, having been raised by my great-grandmother, I know that already. Doesn't mean I will ever fully understand it. And don't front, you wont either!

My grandmother has this thing about keeping secrets. "I thought I told you", she says. "YES I DID TELL YOU", she insists. "I thought I did", she realizes. And when I ask her how she's feeling, "Oh, I'm here. I wont complain", she responds. Grrr. Extremely frustrating because that tells me absolutely nothing of importance. Its the "not complaining" that lands our mothers and grandmother and fathers and grandfathers fighting for their lives from illnesses too far gone.

It was only last week that my grandmother confessed that her doctors had "found something" on her EKG. And it was only last week that she told me that she had not only spent days in bed because of a cold, but also because she had been having chest pains. And before this, she had taken her own sweet time telling me that she was now a diabetic, because, in her opinion she really wasn't. The doctors had gotten it wrong. She "wasn't gonna be takin' no more medicine", just like she doesn't take her daily blood pressure medicine because she doesn't want to. I swear, old people can be worse than kids sometimes! Yeah, I said it, because its the truth! They DO NOT wanna listen, or do what they are told, because they know everything.

Well, I threatened to administer her meds if she doesn't get some get right! And I reminded her that people drop from heart attacks all the time. And that when they do drop, you only have a window of time to save lives. She's already survived fibroid tumors that overtook her reproductive organs. She's already survived a brain tumor. So if she thinks she's gonna fuck around and have a heart attack and die on me, she has another thing coming. I will channel my great-grandmother and put foot in her behind first!

The non-stop and the fast paced. That was life's course today. I devoted some time to getting a few things done. I managed to complete the first steps in applying for another job. A much better position than the one I would have settled for. My Kipenzi showed me that he was on Team Barbara by generating some leads for me. I really appreciated it. I don't exactly have a specific direction that I am heading toward career wise, but from the information I gave him about my likes/dislikes and will/will-not-do, he was able to find me something that I am comfortable with. We'll see what happens.

The rest of my day was spent laughing with friends, which I really needed. We now have the 411 on what happened to Miss J's grandmother, and luckily, her boyfriend was charged with her murder. I hope that he is prosecuted and gets the punishment that someone would deserve for senselessly stabbing someone to death. Her funeral service will be on Thursday and I haven't shared this information with Miss J yet. I had her try on a new dress that she has in her closet, and when she asked where we were going, I told her that I would tell her later. I don't know why I always do this. I'm always nervous about telling her that someone passed away, even though, each time, she handles the news far better than I think she will. I know that she will handle the news well, but I guess the whole process of explaining to her that her dad's mother died is a little weird for me. I will probably have the talk with her tomorrow when we are settling into our after school routine.