Day Thirty (part 2): Swingin' and Swayin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas

Note: This is a continuation of a 2 part entry. To read part one, please click here. To read the entire 31 Days series, just click on the tab above.

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Later that day, Balinda and I go fabric shopping at my favourite shop and a couple of others and by the time we are done, it is almost dark. We stop at a local grocery store and pick up provisions for making tacos for dinner, but for me, tacos will have to wait until much, much later. I have plans with Sarah and my other sister in law, Olivia (who is married to Gray's little brother Andrew) to make good on my desire from earlier this summer when I was at the beach. I am going to get a tattoo. I have been thinking about this ever since this summer and the idea just won't leave me alone. I've looked at designs and local shops back home, but haven't done it yet. I know what I want and even have a picture on my phone of it but that's as far as I've gotten until now. Tonight, we are all going to get inked. Both Sarah and Olivia already have tattoos but they are eager to get another one and to come with me for my first one.

We venture out to a local shop and suddenly I find that I am nervous about it and feeling less confident. They offer to go first so I can watch and see how it's done. When it comes my turn, I say that I don't think I can go through with it. After some discussion with them and the tattoo artist, I finally swallow my nerves, take a deep breath and get up on the table. I have decided to get it on my upper left thigh. The location is significant because I have a number of scars on that leg from self-injury and those have always been a source of shame for me and a depressing reminder of that chapter of my life, even though it has been just over four years now that I have been self-injury free. Sif suggested a month or so ago when we were talking about tattoos that I get it put there so that every time I look down at that leg, I see the tattoo first instead of the scars and in doing so, am reminded of the fact that I have been free of self-injury for four years and that there is strength in that. The placement of it is not the only meaning it will have for me. The design that I have chosen and the very fact that I am getting a tattoo has a lot of meaning for me. The design is a three leaf clover which is symbolic of three things:

1. Faith -- St. Patrick used the three leaf clover to explain the Holy Trinity to the ancient Celts, so it is a very Catholic as well as Christian symbol.
2. Family -- one leaf for my three girls (and any other kids we might have), one for Gray, and one for me
3. Heritage -- Both Gray and I have Irish ancestors and ever since I visited Ireland in college, I have felt a deep connection with that land and the people. Ireland to me means family, history, and connectedness with something bigger than myself.

This tattoo is also an assertion of my adulthood and the fact that I am no longer a child who is under the authority of her parents. That might seem like an odd thing, but it is something Pendragon and I have discussed at length throughout this long sojourn through the darkness. This need to assert my adulthood is at the root of some of the boundary issues I have with my parents too. I know that this is something they would definitely not approve of or want for me, but I no longer need their approval and my getting this tattoo is me reaffirming this to myself.  I am nervous about it, but once the tattoo artist gets started, my nerves dissipate and I genuinely enjoy the experience. It stings a little bit, but no more than nicking myself while shaving and then getting a bit of soap in the cut. The whole thing takes a little more than an hour and he uses six different colours to create the design. After he is finished, he cleans it up and I get up to look at it. It is beautiful and I LOVE it. I feel a frisson of excitement as I gaze at it in the mirror and I beam at the tattoo artist and tell him that it is perfect and I can't wait to show it off to my friends and family. He applies some ointment to it and a protective bandage and we three sisters-in-law head home.

By the time we arrive it is approaching 11:00pm and Gray has already gone up to bed. He must hear us when we come in the door because shortly after we arrive, he comes downstairs and asks how it went. I show it to him and can hardly contain my excitement. He says it looks nice and that he is glad that I am happy with it. Balinda says it is really pretty and she is glad I'm pleased with it. It may sound crazy but I cannot wait to show it to Pendragon and Sif. Actually, I'm so thrilled with it, that I want to show it off to everyone, but obviously, given where it is, I can't really do that. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to pull of showing it to Pendragon. I might have to just show him a picture if I can't figure it out. And I definitely have pictures. Olivia took pictures at each stage, but the one I love best is the picture of the finished tattoo.

Isn't it pretty?

The second week is similar to the first, only without the celebration of Christmas. We enjoy New Year's Eve with some fun snacks and staying up late with The Muppet Movie. It is our girls' first time to stay up until midnight and ring in the new year. AB makes it until around 10:30pm when she falls asleep beside M2. GB almost makes it to midnight but finally gives it up about 11:45pm. M2 is the only one who makes it to midnight, but not much beyond. The rest of the week is filled with good food, lots of good conversations, a visit with an online friend, lots of rest, more fabric shopping (as well as some sewing), and more snow.

M2 ringing in the new year watching the Muppets.

In fact, the second snow is heavier than the first and with it comes a layer of ice. We had planned to go home the Friday after New Year's Day, but the snow comes again on Thursday night and we must wait for the snow plows and salt trucks to make the streets passable. When we wake up the next morning, everything is still as it was the night before and the ice has hardened quite a bit thanks to single digit temperatures overnight. We decide to put off our departure until Saturday morning to give everything time to be cleared and melted a bit more so that we, in our van without snow tires, can travel without worrying about sliding on the ice. The girls are, of course, delighted with the prospect of another chance to play in the snow with their cousin and they all gleefully get geared up and head outside with Gray and their Aunt Sarah.

Later that afternoon, I make my way up to the attic and continue working on Sif's quilt. The attic is quiet and peaceful, a welcome change from the noise of children and the cacophony of normal life. I get things out and move over to the sewing machine. As I do, I spy a radio sitting on the floor and turn it on to a local rock station. I pin fabric and sew, enjoying the rhythmic and repetitive movements and the music too. Periodically, I look up from my sewing and gaze out the window in front of the machine. Everything is covered in white and there is something so serenely beautiful about it all. I wish with everything that is in me that I can hold onto this feeling of peace and contentment and better still, take it home with me. I know that is not to be, so I look around and try to mindfully absorb it all so that I can remember it and tell Pendragon about it when I get home. I know he will be pleased to hear about all the good things that have happened on this trip.

Sewing on Sif's quilt in the attic.

This trip has been everything that I could have wanted, really. This isn't to say that the depression vanished completely. In truth, I had one day toward the end of the first week where it hit me over the head like a sledgehammer and it took everything I had not to walk out into the cold and never come back. That day was very hard and I shed more than a few tears. Thankfully though, wherever that massive wave of darkness came from, it went on its way the next day and everything was back to rights, but it did cause me to relax a little less easily during our second week. Other than that one bad day, the rest of the trip has been really great and I am loathe to go home, but all good things must come to an end.

The drive home is a long one and we do it all in one fell swoop so that we can be home in time to get some much needed rest before school and work resume on Monday morning. It is a long and arduous trip of almost 18 hours in which Gray and I split up the driving duties. I drive the second half and pull into our driveway at home around 3:30am Sunday morning. We take only the necessary things inside, lock the van, and the five of us crash into bed to sleep. As I lay down beside Gray, I am grateful for this brief two weeks' respite, but there is a nagging fear that has been with me since before we left to go north for Christmas that reasserts itself loudly now that we are home. It is the fear that this calm and rest is only a temporary thing and that now that we are home, the depression will come back all the fiercer and darker for it. I try to shake off this thought as I snuggle beneath the covers, but I am unable to loose it completely from my mind. Instead, I reach for Gray and scoot closer to him. He wraps an arm around my waist and we fall fast asleep.