Today I get to put together small sheds. I need somewhere for bicycles to be put so they do not get destroyed by weather damage and it just isn’t going to work in the house. So, sheds. Our spiffy new mother’s helper is coming over today for her first trial. Cross your fingers.

One of the shed things is for tools. So that kids can store their tools in a protected device (it’s small–more a box than a shed) outside of my bloody pantry. The pantry is mine. Mine. MINE! I will not share it with lots of children storing their tools. No, ma’am. Get out. So. I have to have another place to send them to and I will get that done today. (“I will get that done today” always contains an implicit “I hope” tagged on.)

I think I should also build a containment corral for spare lumber bits next to the concrete slab and toss all the little pieces in there so kids can find them without going into the side yard. Which is kind of a health hazard. Err, I’m not explaining why. But it’s best for kids to not go over there. (The side yard that is fenced off. Not the one that is commonly walked upon obviously.)

I have always been made happy by access to wood I can just play with. I’m trying to provide that experience to kids. I’m asked what I will “call the days” because one of our organizer moms loves catchy names for activities.

I said “Building Day.” She did not look impressed. Ha. I’m not so good at catchy titles.

I had a good therapy session yesterday. She thinks I’m doing pretty well. It is important to keep in mind that she probably on some level compares me to other patients. I happen to know at least four of her other patients. No wonder she thinks I’m doing so well.

Incest and repeated early trauma have serious lifelong impact. That I can cry and have my feelings and then get up and get moving and do something else… is a big deal. I need to give myself credit for accomplishing something hard. Yes, my emotions are big. That happens after formative trauma. I’m not much more emotionally advanced than a lot of preschoolers. That is how trauma works. You get stuck in places.

I’m not perfect. I do things wrong all the time. I make so many mistakes. I am too loud. I am too harsh.

But I do make improvements. There is clear growth. I have changed. I have grown up.

Mostly this is because I have a lot of very good people in my life who have acted as mirrors and models and they have helped me. I am not a self-made woman. I am the product of a lot of time and effort on the part of professional therapists, teachers, friends, and my family.

This network didn’t come easy. It was slowly and painfully constructed over many years. Well, not all of it was painful. But it has been luck and privilege as much as anything.

My therapy was paid for by the state of California for many years. That’s a privilege that doesn’t get offered to every victim. You have to enter into the court system and be officially recognized as a victim of violent crime. Many people are rebuffed from prosecuting and they are never offered services. I’m lucky.

Sometimes it is overwhelming to think about just how much luck has come together to create me. I tend to inspire strong reactions from people–good and bad. Over time I have learned how to protect myself from a lot of the bad, but it’s been complicated. I am very lucky that I manage to inspire love in people, even though I’m a pain in the ass. That doesn’t work out for everyone.

I have spent the last decade of my life consciously spinning a wide web. I am very pleased with what and whom I have encountered.

My editor gave me a little feedback. “More logic issues than I expected. You free associate a lot between different topics and I’m having to build a lot of bridges.”

Oh dear woman. That is why I am paying you. I know I have logical issues and that sometimes it is hard for people to understand the leaps I make. I am entirely blind to why that is so. I know what I know. I don’t know what other people don’t know.

So I totally believe you that you are having to do work to make this more clear, especially for a younger audience. If you believe your original estimation of work was low, feel free to raise what you expect me to pay.

I understand that being difficult comes with cost.

I want to be less difficult. And I don’t always know how to go about that. Paying for help usually ensures that you have more control over the size and shape of help you get. I am so fucking grateful for being able to pay for help at this stage of my life. That’s privilege.

My life is so fucking awesome.

Oh, I finally ordered the $10 part that will allow me to install the punching bag appropriately without doing damage to the ceiling joists. I procrastinate on things. I have needed to do this for over a year.

The garage is a very different shape than it was. The swing is gone. The furniture moved and it isn’t currently safe. But I have three kid swings and two grown-up sized chair/swings outside so I don’t feel too guilty.

I didn’t take the overhead pieces down though. I keep thinking about self suspension. If I’m not going to play with anyone other than Noah ever again I had best replace my rope kit and teach him how to do it. I can show him how I like it done as many times as necessary. Ha. I have very different patience now than I did when we started dating.

I have been very bad at teaching Noah bdsm stuff. I have kind of sort of knocked him with a stick towards learning on other people. But we don’t do that now. So uhm, maybe I’d best start asserting my preferences a bit more.

Not that we have time for such shenanigans. I did put a lock on the door.

I’m not sure if I will ever be able to do any sort of bdsm with my kids in the house. Somehow I doubt it. Even with a lock. Even if a grown up is with them distracting them. I’m not sure I want to be that kind of person that close to them.

I don’t think I will stop being that kind of person. I’m not sure I want to try. Noah is not going to object real hard. He’s a patient guy and he likes me a lot and if this would result in more sex for him, uhm that’s a no-brainer. The problem has never been on Noah’s end. I have not historically been good at teaching Noah to do what I want. I think I need to get better.

Mostly he just tries shit and pays attention to my reaction and discards options when I blow up at him. I won the husband lottery. I don’t deserve him. I’m keeping him anyway.

I told the kids we would go over to Aqua Adventure early enough to have lunch today. They beg for food every time we go. They are ecstatic. I’ll only do it once or twice this summer. It’s over priced and not that high on the quality scale. It means I won’t have to think about food after building the sheds.

I’m not very good at doing All The Things when that includes making food. Making food is what will send me over the edge into being hysterical and crying and sometimes screaming… for the stupidest questions. I just… I flip out if someone interrupts my concentration when I am trying to prepare food while I am tired and hungry.

So building in ways to avoid that means that we have a better day. I feel very grateful that I am rich enough that I can just eat out when it will make the day better. That has not always been true in my life and I appreciate it so much.

I feel very lucky that I get to shape my days with very few limitations. My financial restrictions are mostly self-imposed. If I want something I can have it. I don’t have to go to a job so I don’t have very many time restrictions. I create all the ones I have.

I can’t drink carbonation on a regular basis. (I do have rare sodas. God I miss them.) It causes a lot of pain.

Other than that… our food restrictions are entirely preference based and cost and allergies are not a factor. I am very lucky. That does not happen for everyone.

I feel really good about the fact that I’m really sore right now because I have been exercising so much this summer. Someone at the park said, “Well you are doing multiple sports in a day, right?” and I stopped cold and stared at her.

Holy shit. I’m doing multiple sports in a day.

I hadn’t thought about it that way before.

Uhm, is it ok if I kind of strut like a peacock for a few minutes? That’s… a change in self perception. Whoa. Me? Sports? Multiple? Wha?

I’m not saying I’m good. Or fast.

But is that really the point? Does everyone have to be the Best in order to be allowed to exist?

Not so much. I’m getting off my ass and doing things instead of watching other people do things.

I don’t watch sports but I do them. I don’t watch cooking shows but I cook and bake. I don’t watch home improvement shows but I do a lot of home improvement.

Today I feel like I am doing what I want to be doing. I am the person I want to be. I am very lucky that I get to make the choices I get to make that land me in this position. Other people have different options and different goals and different potential. I don’t need to try hard to be like them.

Even if I use them as a model. I’m very capable of taking a tiny thread out of a warp and using just that to follow. I don’t need the whole tapestry. That’s not for me. Just this little color here. Surely you won’t notice one thread being borrowed.

It is ok for me to do the things I want to do. I am not a bad person. Truly.

I want to go run. Bye.