Thank God for this New Laughter...

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I'm gonna learn to love without fear
~"Born" (Over the Rhine)

I'm laughing today. Not just at the moon. Not just at the night. Not just in some feeble attempt to convince myself that I'm happy. Today, I am truly laughing.

It's just... Something as small as laughter. Something as important as laughter. Something that I haven't fully experienced for a while. Something I'm afraid to allow myself to experience most of the time, because of what it usually means for me.

See, laughter often signifies a manic episode. I become hyper-active, bounce off the walls, fail to sleep (and sometimes eat), and laugh hysterically over stupid things; I'm invincible and uninhibited and I am literally unstoppable. And I'm often not aware of it. Oh, I know how I feel and I know how I'm acting, but it doesn't register.

It registers more clearly when I hit the intense irritability and anger, the almost paranoia over the feeling of spinning completely and wildly out of control, the panic attacks that make it impossible to breathe with stabbing knives in my heart, and the inability to stop laughing, even when it's wildly inappropriate to laugh.

During my last manic episode, I made a comment on Twitter about how the upside to a manic insomnia was the ability to go all night without sleeping and still feel charged and ready to go the next day. A friend replied with something to the effect of, "I think all moms should be manic."

No, Sweetheart, you really don't want that. Manic episodes are terrifying, and not just for me, but for everyone around me. Sure, I'm far more productive during those periods, but I'm also entirely unpredictable and irrational, and no child should ever have to deal with a mother like that. Happily, my mania is mild, my kids are in good hands, and I have the help I need to make sure we're all taken care of when necessary.

Still, because of this, laughter has become a bit of a warning signal for me. A symptom of something else that has incredibly ominous potential. And so, it's been a long time since I have been able to enjoy laughter this much.

But I do. Today, I do. This is a new laughter, a healing laughter. This is a laughter that overflows from hope and love.

Because I have found reasons for laughter. Reasons to believe that the pain of the past couple years might actually be closing and a new chapter in my life might actually be opening.

And this chapter might actually be full of real, honest, and non-mania-induced laughter.

Bonus: Guest Holiday Poem

My little poet has been at it again. I thought about saving his work for next Wednesday's poetry, but it's about Chanukah, so it'd be sorta pointless by then. (It's already a bit late, but that's my fault for procrastinating on posting and not his.)

My 7yo had a school assignment to write a haiku. We had spent the weekend with friends celebrating Chanukah, so he had the holiday on his mind. Late though it is, here is his offering:

Chanukah Joy

playing dreidel's fun

having latkes is fun too

I love Chanukah!

No matter what holiday you celebrate this month, we hope it's a happy time filled with love.

Finding You

Each petal opens
awakes to the sun
as the new drops fall
making them glow

marking beauty within

blossoming to the world
as this flower unfolds
excruciatingly slow
some things can't be rushed
and pulling them apart
will just leave them crushed

Neverending Nonchalance

see eternity entranced

by a million mumbled moments

stolen under sordid sweet

where the wraith of weakened winter

wakes the weary water

lying love in languid loss

as moonlit music moans

and recall robs the reverie

of the spring in summer stilled

reflecting ruined reflex
and pondering poetic pools

of a thousand essential whys

Remember Your Thank You

It's waiting for Snoopy

to float down the street

or watching him deal plates

out like cards

making up name cards

with feathers and buckles

carefully penned in brown

It's hearing the tenor

of Scarborough Faire

watching my father

do his Thanksgiving dance

with the smells

of parsley,

of sage,

of rosemary,

of thyme.

as cranberries and orange peels

fall apart in the grinder

golden marshmallows melt

into cinnamon

and nutmeg

It's being too full

of turkey and family

and dealing the final cards

shrugging off questions

from Lake Wobegon

while flurries swirl outside

Unassuming

glass fragility

sun-weakened under shadows

cracking unnoticed

fused together here

in darkness bathed in moonlight

slowly eroding

always protected

stored safely here forgotten

fading nonetheless

The Colors of the Wind

My son's art lesson this week was on the use of colors in poetry. I was thrilled, and the song from Disney's Pocahontas kept playing in my mind (an environmentally/socially conscious poet's anthem*). I don't want my child to see the world in black and white. I want him to see all the colors in the wind and all the shades of grey in the rainbow.

In the poem he wrote, there are typical 6yo silliness, but there are also truths far beyond his years. I couldn't have been more proud. He loves playing with words and colors almost as much as his mommy does.

So, here is his color poem. I will leave spelling errors in tact, to preserve poetic (and 6yo) integrity.

Red on my bed,

Blue on my shoe,

Pink is the link,

Brown on my crown,

Green behind my lean,

White is the spite,

Yellow is the color of my jell-o,

Clear of my tear,

Black of my slack,

Tan in the pan,

riming,

riming,

riming.

~~~~~~~

* Side note: His science lesson was on recycling, pollution, and taking care of the planet. WIN!