The Gatekeeper and Me

What is it about having a good, hard, ugly-face cry that makes you feel so much better? Seriously. It's so therapeutic. My sister, Mera, and I affectionately refer to this kind of crying as "doing the gatekeeper." Ya know, from the Wizard of OZ, when Dorothy is telling her sob story to the Emerald City gatekeeper and he starts blubbering uncontrollably? Anyway, for the past few weeks, I've been in a bit of a numb, task-oriented frenzy getting ready for this move. I haven't felt emotional or stressed at all. In fact, I've been really motivated and feeling completely EUPHORIC about the month-long vacation we are about to take. This is all good and well except, unbeknownst to me, Old Faithful has been brewing under the surface. Last night... the gatekeeper came to town. 

I had just gotten Leah to bed and joined Sam on the couch to wind down from a delightful Sabbath. (Really, it was delightful. We had a splendid dinner with friends and a visit from Sam's sister, Liz.) It didn't take long before I physically felt all of the endorphins in my body give me the finger (in unison, no less) and suddenly, it was as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders. In a matter of seconds the water works began in torrents and I started spewing out all that was wrong with the world and how I, particularly, was so picked on. I made some absurd proclamations about how I planned to live my life from that point on (which included never doing anything I didn't want to do... among other equally embarrassing things) and cried so hard I thought my head was going to implode. 

Sam held me close in his lap and waited patiently for me to finish my tirade. Once he knew I was done, he girded up his loins, inhaled deeply, and began the pep talk... but I didn't need it. The weight had already lifted with my big, fat, ugly-face bawl fest. He had spoken no more than 10 words when I looked up at him and sheepishly said, "I feel a lot better." He simply responded, "Oh baby, you always feel better when you cry." 

And that was it. 

For the rest of the night I was deliriously happy. 

Today as I think back on last night's fireworks (with the signature morning post-cry splitting headache) I am thankful for a couple of things. First, for Ibuprofen. Second, for my tender husband who, while his mind was no doubt blowing listening to my theatrics, simply let it go as soon as I was ready and still loves me this morning in spite of my instabilities. And last, for the ability to so painlessly (minus the headache) release all of my pent up moving-stress and other frustrations in a matter of minutes and be fired up and ready to go for the next several months... till the gatekeeper strikes again.... 

QUICKLY... (what would a post be without a glimpse of the turkey sub?)

Just took this little shot and I must say, when Leah first wakes up in the morning her hair looks like something out of a high fashion magazine:

AND... I'll be showing her this pic when she's full of teenage angst and hating her mother. Then she'll feel sorry:)