My 6-Word Memoir Title on Coach Daddy – It’s All About Perspective

Eli, over at Coach Daddy Blog, invited me to participate in his monthly 6-word story challenge.  This time, he asked for a 6-word memoir title.  Wow.  Only six words to sum up the colossal mess that is my life in a way where someone would actually want to read it?  It took several days to narrow it down, but this is what I finally chose:

My Life: Socks For Christmas… Again

(If you’re curious what others submitted, click here to read the post… but I hope you finish reading here before curiosity takes you away!)  

I chose this title because how it’s taken is all a matter of perspective.

I think we’ve all received a gift that we’re less-than-excited about.  We put on a smile and deliver our best fake grateful “thank you” in hopes of sparing the gifter’s feelings.  Before he was trained to do this, my mom has told the story of how my brother threw a fit because he got clothes for Christmas.  To a boy of three or four, it must have been insulting!

Sometimes I feel disappointed when I look at the lowlights of 2015… this year, after eighteen years, I finally accepted that I failed and my marriage was beyond repair; I had to say goodbye to my dog and one of my cats; I’ve chased ghosts (illness) with my younger son… soon, they will confirm if it’s what they think, but there’s no solace in the known or unknown; and the first half of the year was anchored in such darkness, waking up each day was a chore.

That’s my year in a nutshell. Seriously 2015, is that the best you could do?   It’s like opening up a beautifully wrapped shirt box and finding a six-pack of crew socks.

Or is it?

My favorite fuzzy socks!
My favorite fuzzy socks!

I received the socks in the above photo from my younger son for Christmas last year.  I had commented on how adorable they were, and he listened.  Now, I do realize I’m past the age of being able to pull off the silly sock look, but thankfully, I’ve also reached the age where I really don’t care.  (Yep, it’s only a matter of time before I “dress up” in my robe and slippers before heading to Walmart.)

Maybe my life is like gift socks…  maybe it’s not so bad if viewed from a different perspective. I’ll look at 2015  again:  after eighteen years, I realized that change won’t happen if the person doesn’t see the need… no matter how obvious it is to me; I loved my dog for seventeen years, and my cat for nearly fifteen years- I had to say goodbye to them, but they are no longer in pain; if the doctors have pinpointed my son’s illness, it can be managed with medications and he can start to find a new normal… if it’s not what they think, then they have enough to know there is something going on and they have ruled out another thing it isn’t; and during my extended time of darkness, online and offline friends lit my way with prayers and words of encouragement (thank you to everyone for your kindness!)

It’s the same life, same year, but whether I feel despair or hope hinges on how my mind focuses on the facts.  For the first half of the year, I felt despair.  It was scary.  I want my thoughts to gravitate toward hope.

When I look back on my life, each day, week and month might appear to be the ‘same old stuff’ on the surface, but I want to see more than that.  I want to look at the gift of my life and exclaim, “Yes!  I got socks for Christmas – Again!  Isn’t that great?!”

I have an affinity for "crazy" socks, it seems
I have an affinity for “crazy” socks, it seems

So, what do you think?  Am I as crazy as my socks? 🙂

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Adulthood

…First came the marriage…then the baby in a baby carriage…and then another!

Marriage, the birth of my first son and the birth of my second son:  the only three events in my life where I felt the enormity of change in the moments I first breathed them.  Each time, a butterfly emerging from my chrysalis with new wings, at first, tentative and unsure but eventually taking flight.

Three times when I had to choose whether anticipation or trepidation would forge my path.

Three times when my choice had the power to transform a child into a woman, and a woman into a stronger woman.

Three times when I knew my heart would forever beat for someone else; another’s life woven into mine like the threads of a rope.

These memories symbolize my adulthood, and speak to the certainty that I am not a lost child.

I am an adult; a wife and a mother.

My path may not always be easy, but it is where I should be.

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This is my entry for the Trifecta weekend challenge.  It was a vague challenge – see for yourself, the guidelines are below:

And now on to the weekend challenge.  This weekend what we are asking from you is a little bit different (again).  We are asking for a bit of your memoirs. We want a real account of a period in your life that can be clearly identified by (wait for it) the number three.  We’d like for your story to be true-ish, and we’d like for it to be an artistic creation, not just a play-by-play account.