Once upon a time I felt an innate need to write. It made me feel confident and human, until it didn't. Until a pressure to do it perfect snuffed out the desire for being seen. This little blog made feel seen. And human. Because in my real life I didn't.
My last post was almost 6 years ago, otherwise known as a lifetime. No sense in reconciling what has changed, only to say it has been so much. Too much to document. Where I am now, is so far from where I was, but yet on the outside, it looks relatively the same.
I now have a beautiful 14 year old that I see so much of myself in. I want to protect her, but she does not need it. My middle crazy is blossoming, after a rough few years. She amazes and terrifies me. And my sweet baby has been here for almost a decade. The fire I felt while she was in my belly I now see in her personality.
None are easy. It is hard. In a few short months I will have a high schooler, a junior high, and elementary student. My love and I passed the 25 year mark with little fanfare. We were busy. Too busy to mark it. Until we weren't.
Life recently has taken a strange turn. Today marks the beginning of our 4th week in a state (and nearly Nationwide) quarantine due to the Covid-19 virus. What is old is new again. Hence my desire to revisit this defunct space.
Strange times these are. My brain has had a hard time coming to grips with the state our state is in. We brace for a virus that affects all. There is a paralyzing fear as we look at people we love and wonder if their bodies are strong enough to overcome it, if they should contract it. Daily updates are provided by our governor labeled loving as 'Wine with Dewine'. A governor none of us voted for but are glad we had as he is being internationally recognized for his forethought and preemptive actions that could possibly save thousands.
Thousands. Everyday we watch the death toll climb and are finally being told to brace for the worst. We could be looking at a hundred thousand lost. Our old, our weak, our brave.
My sister is a doc. I am afraid for her. My parents are nearing 80 but feel invincible. I am afraid for them. I am afraid for our financial stability as jobs are being lost by thousands daily and it feels like we underprepared. I fear for lost schooling for our kids as we face no 4th quarter, period. My niece's high school graduation will be cancelled. Another niece's college graduation is pushed back by months. Yet another niece had to push back her wedding by a full year, after the invites had already gone out. No recitals the kids have practiced for all year. No play they were excited to perform. No final swim meets. Softball season. Outdoor soccer. All the busy stuff we dreaded but relished because we could. It's gone. For a season at least. For a brief (but agonizing long) season we are given a gift and prison sentence of time.
My mind reels at this. 'If only I had time...' is now a mocking statement because it's all we are left with.
With the help of my new anti depressant and supplemental anxiety med, I feel like I need to document this journey however long it lasts. Why? Because it feels really fucking important. Super significant. And if it's one thing I've learned through rereading this abandoned blog is that even the realest shit gets smoothed over and painted glossy by time. One day I believe I will want to visit this moment and look at it from every angle (because right now I only blearily look ahead to my next day and the mind numbing details it encompasses).
Welcome to the shitshow lovingly known as 2020.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Hands of Change
Hi.
My name is Stephanie.
I started writing because it made me feel better.
I haven't written in over 16 months.... hmmm. Prophetic?
I have thought about writing but the motivation was never so overwhelming to force me to the computer. I was under the assumption that life would somehow slow down once the kids got older. All I hear is laughing about how wrong I was. If you are interested, the last 16 months have been the typical journey that you would expect. I reread some of the last posts and remember where I was, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I can't say much as changed, but feel I am rediscovering, or somehow just now discovering who I am. And I want to write here so I can use this springboard to where I hope to go.
Weight aside (as I wrote before), I'm basically where I was. But just so you know I have tried. I really, really tried, a few different times, different things. And I do feel better. It feels like chipping away at a huge chunk of marble and I don't quite know how to use the tools, but I can see a figure take shape as I figure it out. It will continue to be a journey, one I don't intend to give up on, but it is coinciding with another journey... one of mental health.
I realize now, I'm an anxious person. I was an anxious kid, nervous. I felt shell-shocked a lot and felt very heavy weight of pressures. I was taught people were always watching and you were to show your best side, do your best. This worked for my older sister who rose to challenges, but for me, it turned me into a mess. It is probably one reason I love to live in the city where I feel like I melt into the background. I do love to reach out to others, but on a very personal basis, and to those who have known me forever.
That being said I've noticed changes in myself. Having children isn't the best for the hormones. I've not been the same since my first born. And just over a year ago I had the realization that things are so far postpartum and breast-feeding (at that point, 2 years) that I started to come to terms that my struggles to remain on a even-keel where on the forefront of my mind constantly and that my rage and sadness were overtaking my life.
It's hard to say I had rage. Because with the rage comes the intense guilt. I just need to do better. I can control this. Eat better. Exercise more. Have more free time. Get enough sleep. Clean up your environment. Volunteer and do good things.
I could go on and on about all the things I tried but it still remained.
I went to my OBGYN last month and decided to lay it all out for her. I had spoken about possible postpartum depression years before and she told me, "I just don't see it in your eyes". Some people might be outraged at that, but I trust her. And I carried on.
But when I looked at her this time I could see her eyes soften. I explained my life. Intense rage followed by weeks of recovering the damage that I had done. It's hard to say that about yourself. I told her "I have one good week a month". She gave me a knowing smile and said, "It's time."
She explained all of this was fueled by the hormone fluctuations women get in their mid-thirties. One that is exacerbated by life stresses and my anxiety based personality. She then prescribed me my first anti-depressant.
I walked out feeling part-elated and part-failure. Why can't I just get it together? I don't know. But I know I needed help, in the form of a 20 mg pill. She told me to write a journal page that night. And then one 8 weeks later. She said she wanted to know if I saw a difference.
I can tell you I did/do.
I'm not going to be shy about telling people I'm 'on something'. It's now part of who I am and my story. And I know it's so commonplace. I will tell you the difference it is making in me.
First thing? And it's the major thing. If my rage was a lit wick with an endless supply of oil, that little pill dumped out the fuel. It was extinguished. I feel such relief from that. I don't like being angry and have bitterness swell inside me, but that was all that lived in my heart. A heart I love to share with my family, friends, church, etc. It was being resided by a poison, that always kept a part of me at bay. I needed the connection again, but was so fueled by emotion I couldn't get there.
Relying on something other than my moxie is new to me. But will be an important part of the next phase of my life. I don't want my children to have memories of an enraged mother, that is not who I wish to be. Please don't think that I am in la-la land either. Things are still very real, but it has given me back perspective as to what is important and what isn't as I navigate the details. There have been some weird issues that have come up, most likely side effects, but I'm willing to deal. The shaky hands I now possess are better than a clenched fist any day.
My name is Stephanie.
I started writing because it made me feel better.
I haven't written in over 16 months.... hmmm. Prophetic?
I have thought about writing but the motivation was never so overwhelming to force me to the computer. I was under the assumption that life would somehow slow down once the kids got older. All I hear is laughing about how wrong I was. If you are interested, the last 16 months have been the typical journey that you would expect. I reread some of the last posts and remember where I was, and it feels like a lifetime ago. I can't say much as changed, but feel I am rediscovering, or somehow just now discovering who I am. And I want to write here so I can use this springboard to where I hope to go.
Weight aside (as I wrote before), I'm basically where I was. But just so you know I have tried. I really, really tried, a few different times, different things. And I do feel better. It feels like chipping away at a huge chunk of marble and I don't quite know how to use the tools, but I can see a figure take shape as I figure it out. It will continue to be a journey, one I don't intend to give up on, but it is coinciding with another journey... one of mental health.
I realize now, I'm an anxious person. I was an anxious kid, nervous. I felt shell-shocked a lot and felt very heavy weight of pressures. I was taught people were always watching and you were to show your best side, do your best. This worked for my older sister who rose to challenges, but for me, it turned me into a mess. It is probably one reason I love to live in the city where I feel like I melt into the background. I do love to reach out to others, but on a very personal basis, and to those who have known me forever.
That being said I've noticed changes in myself. Having children isn't the best for the hormones. I've not been the same since my first born. And just over a year ago I had the realization that things are so far postpartum and breast-feeding (at that point, 2 years) that I started to come to terms that my struggles to remain on a even-keel where on the forefront of my mind constantly and that my rage and sadness were overtaking my life.
It's hard to say I had rage. Because with the rage comes the intense guilt. I just need to do better. I can control this. Eat better. Exercise more. Have more free time. Get enough sleep. Clean up your environment. Volunteer and do good things.
I could go on and on about all the things I tried but it still remained.
I went to my OBGYN last month and decided to lay it all out for her. I had spoken about possible postpartum depression years before and she told me, "I just don't see it in your eyes". Some people might be outraged at that, but I trust her. And I carried on.
But when I looked at her this time I could see her eyes soften. I explained my life. Intense rage followed by weeks of recovering the damage that I had done. It's hard to say that about yourself. I told her "I have one good week a month". She gave me a knowing smile and said, "It's time."
She explained all of this was fueled by the hormone fluctuations women get in their mid-thirties. One that is exacerbated by life stresses and my anxiety based personality. She then prescribed me my first anti-depressant.
I walked out feeling part-elated and part-failure. Why can't I just get it together? I don't know. But I know I needed help, in the form of a 20 mg pill. She told me to write a journal page that night. And then one 8 weeks later. She said she wanted to know if I saw a difference.
I can tell you I did/do.
I'm not going to be shy about telling people I'm 'on something'. It's now part of who I am and my story. And I know it's so commonplace. I will tell you the difference it is making in me.
First thing? And it's the major thing. If my rage was a lit wick with an endless supply of oil, that little pill dumped out the fuel. It was extinguished. I feel such relief from that. I don't like being angry and have bitterness swell inside me, but that was all that lived in my heart. A heart I love to share with my family, friends, church, etc. It was being resided by a poison, that always kept a part of me at bay. I needed the connection again, but was so fueled by emotion I couldn't get there.
Relying on something other than my moxie is new to me. But will be an important part of the next phase of my life. I don't want my children to have memories of an enraged mother, that is not who I wish to be. Please don't think that I am in la-la land either. Things are still very real, but it has given me back perspective as to what is important and what isn't as I navigate the details. There have been some weird issues that have come up, most likely side effects, but I'm willing to deal. The shaky hands I now possess are better than a clenched fist any day.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
The Road Back: Part One
This morning I was getting breakfast ready and heard the news person introduce a piece about 'The Road Back'. It caught my attention and I looked up to see they were talking about obesity in America. Ironic, as weight and weight loss has been on the forefront of my mind. I've been writing entry after entry in my head for months, my favorite title being, "Shit Gets Real". But this slightly hopeful title motivated me enough to actually sit down and write about some things which have been on my mind lately.
When beginning this blog, most everything was complete ridiculousness. When you have 3 children who are 4 and under your life is a circus... literally. The only way to stay sane is by opening up the three rings and let others glimpse at your show, hoping someone gets a giggle out of it.
2013 is beginning life on a more manageable scale. I don't have those funny anecdotes to publish as the kids are becoming less like monkeys and more like humans. Fin does still play with her poop but I suppose she'll outgrow that at some point. Soon. Let's hope real soon.
Many, many years ago one of my closest & oldest friends was upset with me. I sensed it as she banged around our shared house. I point blank asked her why she was so mad at me. I anticipated on getting a run down the well-known laundry list of 'bad roomate' qualities I knew I possessed. But, she instead turned around and with slight disgust and some sadness said, "Because you gained weight." She thought I was destroying my body and that made her sad and sick. Amazing. That moment was 14 years ago and my emotions still surface when thinking of it.
It's not that she wasn't correct. After high school and the lack of constant physical activity I put on some pounds, maybe 15-20 the first 3-4 years. At 21 though, I had surgery to correct my severe reflux disease. I had terrible habits in college but wasn't able to indulge greatly because nearly everything made me sick. After that surgery, I could finally eat without throwing up. Drink and... well I usually threw up when I drank so not much changed there... but I didn't feel so sick. All those bad habits started stacking up. With stress, night after night of all nighters my lifestyle was catching up to me. Quickly too. The thing was, I didn't care. Really. I had a long-term boyfriend who loved me for who I was and I was molding the designer within at school and interviewing for co-op jobs, moving, moving and moving about 9 times in just a few years. Fact is, that's all I could handle. My thought was, I'd deal with the weight later. I'm surviving the best I know how.
I graduated, breathed a sigh of relief and opened my eyes for what seemed to be the first time in 5 years. My boyfriend of 7 years and I had moved in together, I landed a job during a recession and I had a paycheck... and insurance! I remember going to the allergist. I hopped on the scale and couldn't believe what I saw. I knew I had gained weight but... wow. I'm up nearly 60 lbs from high school. But things will slow down, I'll get into a workout routine.
A year later I got engaged and joined Weight Watchers. One meeting I summoned the courage to say something during the share time. "I bought my wedding gown this weekend". I got claps and congrats. Then I got, "So did you buy it a size smaller?". Something about that rubbed me the wrong way and I never went back to another meeting.
See, getting married while obese isn't all shits and giggles. My experience with buying a dress was wrought with anxiety & sadness. I didn't invite my mother or sister. I didn't invite a whole gaggle of friends. I chose my most uplifting friend because no matter what she saw on me, I know she would only see me as beautiful and tell me so. By the grace of God that day, I walked into David's Bridal and asked for the largest size in a dress I had seen months earlier at a bridal show (and fell in love with). The saleslady looked at me and the dress, slightly worried before a smile broke out saying, "We just got that style last week in plus sizes!" I grabbed my normal size and tried it on, only to have to get a size up. When I tried on the larger size, I said, "That's it! I'll take it!". My uplifting friend looked shocked and said, "Don't you want to try on ANYTHING else? Don't you want to look at another style? Something?". Nope. I paid for it and walked out with my dress that day. The whole experience lasted maybe 20 minutes. And I didn't even have to stifle tears trying to find something to fit. Winner, winner chicken dinner.
So when that bitch at Weight Watchers asked if I got a smaller size, I wanted to punch her in the nose... a little. Ok, a lot.
Why I am rambling on you ask (and threatening bodily harm)? Well, I'll ramble on some more soon and let you know. There will be more storytelling of my road to where I'm at today. Because this year, I'm going to try to find that elusive road back.
To Be Continued...
When beginning this blog, most everything was complete ridiculousness. When you have 3 children who are 4 and under your life is a circus... literally. The only way to stay sane is by opening up the three rings and let others glimpse at your show, hoping someone gets a giggle out of it.
2013 is beginning life on a more manageable scale. I don't have those funny anecdotes to publish as the kids are becoming less like monkeys and more like humans. Fin does still play with her poop but I suppose she'll outgrow that at some point. Soon. Let's hope real soon.
Many, many years ago one of my closest & oldest friends was upset with me. I sensed it as she banged around our shared house. I point blank asked her why she was so mad at me. I anticipated on getting a run down the well-known laundry list of 'bad roomate' qualities I knew I possessed. But, she instead turned around and with slight disgust and some sadness said, "Because you gained weight." She thought I was destroying my body and that made her sad and sick. Amazing. That moment was 14 years ago and my emotions still surface when thinking of it.
It's not that she wasn't correct. After high school and the lack of constant physical activity I put on some pounds, maybe 15-20 the first 3-4 years. At 21 though, I had surgery to correct my severe reflux disease. I had terrible habits in college but wasn't able to indulge greatly because nearly everything made me sick. After that surgery, I could finally eat without throwing up. Drink and... well I usually threw up when I drank so not much changed there... but I didn't feel so sick. All those bad habits started stacking up. With stress, night after night of all nighters my lifestyle was catching up to me. Quickly too. The thing was, I didn't care. Really. I had a long-term boyfriend who loved me for who I was and I was molding the designer within at school and interviewing for co-op jobs, moving, moving and moving about 9 times in just a few years. Fact is, that's all I could handle. My thought was, I'd deal with the weight later. I'm surviving the best I know how.
I graduated, breathed a sigh of relief and opened my eyes for what seemed to be the first time in 5 years. My boyfriend of 7 years and I had moved in together, I landed a job during a recession and I had a paycheck... and insurance! I remember going to the allergist. I hopped on the scale and couldn't believe what I saw. I knew I had gained weight but... wow. I'm up nearly 60 lbs from high school. But things will slow down, I'll get into a workout routine.
A year later I got engaged and joined Weight Watchers. One meeting I summoned the courage to say something during the share time. "I bought my wedding gown this weekend". I got claps and congrats. Then I got, "So did you buy it a size smaller?". Something about that rubbed me the wrong way and I never went back to another meeting.
See, getting married while obese isn't all shits and giggles. My experience with buying a dress was wrought with anxiety & sadness. I didn't invite my mother or sister. I didn't invite a whole gaggle of friends. I chose my most uplifting friend because no matter what she saw on me, I know she would only see me as beautiful and tell me so. By the grace of God that day, I walked into David's Bridal and asked for the largest size in a dress I had seen months earlier at a bridal show (and fell in love with). The saleslady looked at me and the dress, slightly worried before a smile broke out saying, "We just got that style last week in plus sizes!" I grabbed my normal size and tried it on, only to have to get a size up. When I tried on the larger size, I said, "That's it! I'll take it!". My uplifting friend looked shocked and said, "Don't you want to try on ANYTHING else? Don't you want to look at another style? Something?". Nope. I paid for it and walked out with my dress that day. The whole experience lasted maybe 20 minutes. And I didn't even have to stifle tears trying to find something to fit. Winner, winner chicken dinner.
So when that bitch at Weight Watchers asked if I got a smaller size, I wanted to punch her in the nose... a little. Ok, a lot.
Why I am rambling on you ask (and threatening bodily harm)? Well, I'll ramble on some more soon and let you know. There will be more storytelling of my road to where I'm at today. Because this year, I'm going to try to find that elusive road back.
To Be Continued...
Saturday, June 30, 2012
On Edge
It's 12:30 am and I promised my husband I would be in bed over an hour ago. I'm going to be tired tomorrow. But, I'll get up and take care of everything like always. Drink a lot of caffeine and go about my duties. It's a routine I know well as I've been doing variations of this for the last 6 years.
I don't know if it's the summer, or just that overall feeling that we are moving on to the next stages of life that has been keeping me up to sometimes 2 am every night for the last few weeks. It's been a mixture of uneasiness, anxiousness and a little excitement.
All of a sudden (or what seems like all of a sudden), I have some time to think. Like waking up out of a blur. Ok, not like waking up out of a blur, I have been in a constant state infant blur to which I am just recovering from. My little one is just shy of 2. She's getting easier to deal with and instead of finding myself knocked up again (as I had been when the other two where her age) I now how some... free time (gasp!).
Free time is something I've never been good at. Looking back if there was a sliding scale from Lazy to 'Go-Get-Em' I would be about a 3... on a good day. Being a mother though has kicked Lazy Stef's ass out and told her to do the piling up loads of laundry, go to the store, have dinner cooked and for goodness sake DO SOMETHING FUN WITH YOUR KIDS. I know you all have that same inner voice yelling at you too. There is ALWAYS something to be done.
Well, I am doing most of that stuff, with a teeny bit little time left over. And I feel like it's time to start doing something for myself. The problem? Well, the stuff I need to do for myself is something I've never been able to do before.
I'm overweight. Have been since early 20's. The funny thing is I like who I am much more than I ever did at a reasonable weight. It's the best feeling to love who you are. But realistically I need to lose 80lbs. Dreaming...100 lbs. And I think about all the stuff I want to do with my kids are are growing faster than I can grasp. Yet this extra weight I carry is like carrying all 3 my children all day long.
Around my neck.
Around my legs.
Around my waist.
I have always faced weight loss as a vanity issue. Now it really comes down to a quality of life issue. The weight will start getting in the way of fun stuff we do as a family. Roller coasters, hiking, swimming. They can be done, but honestly, not very well.
If I haven't been able to figure this out by now, at almost 35 years old. How can I start? Where do I start? I don't know. I just know I have to start.
Where I've been is on the edge of feeling simultaneously that I can do something great... mentally I'm ready, physically I need it. But also life can't stop so I can do this HUGE thing. This long time consuming, challenging thing that might as well be me learning how to be in two places at once.
So, lately I've been using that extra bit of time for other worthwhile and fulfilling projects. Good, but at this time of night with nothing but my thoughts and the guilt of how to be a good role model for my girls, rest can't find me.
I just continue to sit on the edge with my feet dangling, watching the other cool Moms playing in the deep end. Sitting here I'm safe. Jumping in means 'sink or swim'. And after just learning to swim through this whole motherhood thing, I'm just not sure I have the stamina to go there. The fear of drowning is keeping me here. For now. I hope.
I don't know if it's the summer, or just that overall feeling that we are moving on to the next stages of life that has been keeping me up to sometimes 2 am every night for the last few weeks. It's been a mixture of uneasiness, anxiousness and a little excitement.
All of a sudden (or what seems like all of a sudden), I have some time to think. Like waking up out of a blur. Ok, not like waking up out of a blur, I have been in a constant state infant blur to which I am just recovering from. My little one is just shy of 2. She's getting easier to deal with and instead of finding myself knocked up again (as I had been when the other two where her age) I now how some... free time (gasp!).
Free time is something I've never been good at. Looking back if there was a sliding scale from Lazy to 'Go-Get-Em' I would be about a 3... on a good day. Being a mother though has kicked Lazy Stef's ass out and told her to do the piling up loads of laundry, go to the store, have dinner cooked and for goodness sake DO SOMETHING FUN WITH YOUR KIDS. I know you all have that same inner voice yelling at you too. There is ALWAYS something to be done.
Well, I am doing most of that stuff, with a teeny bit little time left over. And I feel like it's time to start doing something for myself. The problem? Well, the stuff I need to do for myself is something I've never been able to do before.
I'm overweight. Have been since early 20's. The funny thing is I like who I am much more than I ever did at a reasonable weight. It's the best feeling to love who you are. But realistically I need to lose 80lbs. Dreaming...100 lbs. And I think about all the stuff I want to do with my kids are are growing faster than I can grasp. Yet this extra weight I carry is like carrying all 3 my children all day long.
Around my neck.
Around my legs.
Around my waist.
I have always faced weight loss as a vanity issue. Now it really comes down to a quality of life issue. The weight will start getting in the way of fun stuff we do as a family. Roller coasters, hiking, swimming. They can be done, but honestly, not very well.
If I haven't been able to figure this out by now, at almost 35 years old. How can I start? Where do I start? I don't know. I just know I have to start.
Where I've been is on the edge of feeling simultaneously that I can do something great... mentally I'm ready, physically I need it. But also life can't stop so I can do this HUGE thing. This long time consuming, challenging thing that might as well be me learning how to be in two places at once.
So, lately I've been using that extra bit of time for other worthwhile and fulfilling projects. Good, but at this time of night with nothing but my thoughts and the guilt of how to be a good role model for my girls, rest can't find me.
I just continue to sit on the edge with my feet dangling, watching the other cool Moms playing in the deep end. Sitting here I'm safe. Jumping in means 'sink or swim'. And after just learning to swim through this whole motherhood thing, I'm just not sure I have the stamina to go there. The fear of drowning is keeping me here. For now. I hope.
Monday, June 11, 2012
From Whence You Came
During college I had a friend, more a girlfriend of my boyfriend's friend, who happily referred to herself as 'daddy's princess'. No, seriously. They went to Disney world like 4 times a year and when her sister got married in her 30's she had a Disney princess theme. It was all a bit shocking to my system as I had grown out of that phase at age 5 or so.
When she and my boyfriend's friend got engaged, we were all invited to her hometown for a bridal shower. I remember one of her closest college friends pulled us 'newbies' aside and said, "When we go to her hometown, you will understand why she is the way she is." Sure enough, after 2 days with her parents, aunts and other close friends and family, I realized that she wasn't the crazy one. She had only absorbed crazy growing up and knew nothing more.
When she was around her family it was like she was the missing piece of the puzzle. She was a perfect match to the environment. She wasn't the loud one anymore, she wasn't the biggest 'princess', in fact she seemed downright subdued comparatively. I DID understand her more. And felt sorry for my friend who was marrying into all that.
Personally, I had always felt a little 'wierd' growing up. I liked to wear black, my brother's cammo, my Dad's high school letter jacket and my sister's big 80's jewelry. The more unique the stuff, the better. So when I left to go to OU, I thought I would fit right in. Turns out my liking to shower daily and lack of experimentation with drugs kept me from fitting in with the hippie crowd. And I didn't care as much about my looks to fit in the sorority crowd. After a year and a half I moved on.
Moving to UC was much better, I liked to think of my DAAP class as the 'Island of the Misfit Toys'. There were the typical driven freshman, but also an exceptionally large amount of transfers. Those of us who were over the newness of college and through different circumstances had found our way to that strange building with strange hours and strange professors. Not one was the same, but we were all linked by the same ridiculousness that 5 years brought us. Some I clicked with more than others but we all had the same battlefield alliance no outside person could relate to.
The last 10 years have brought an expansiveness to our lives with new church acquaintances, mommy friends, neighbors, etc. We all have something in common that I truly enjoy being a part of.
Last weekend I went back to my hometown to celebrate the birthday of a best friend since birth. At midnight I found myself surrounded by girls, now women, who had spent their formidable childhood/teenage years together. There were the same old stories, a lot of laughing, beer, yoga pants, stretch marks, no make-up and pony tails. But most important was the unmistakable sense of home. The moment I no longer felt like a fish out of water, but piece of the landscape.
I never want to move back. I have a happy life with my family a few hours away, but sometimes it's nice to go where people know (and helped create) the skeletons in your closet and who knew you before you figured it out yourself. As different as we all are now, we all had this small town in common that shaped who we were to become.
Most importantly, after that weekend, it's really nice to know I'm not all that crazy. I just absorbed a large amount of it growing up :)
When she and my boyfriend's friend got engaged, we were all invited to her hometown for a bridal shower. I remember one of her closest college friends pulled us 'newbies' aside and said, "When we go to her hometown, you will understand why she is the way she is." Sure enough, after 2 days with her parents, aunts and other close friends and family, I realized that she wasn't the crazy one. She had only absorbed crazy growing up and knew nothing more.
When she was around her family it was like she was the missing piece of the puzzle. She was a perfect match to the environment. She wasn't the loud one anymore, she wasn't the biggest 'princess', in fact she seemed downright subdued comparatively. I DID understand her more. And felt sorry for my friend who was marrying into all that.
Personally, I had always felt a little 'wierd' growing up. I liked to wear black, my brother's cammo, my Dad's high school letter jacket and my sister's big 80's jewelry. The more unique the stuff, the better. So when I left to go to OU, I thought I would fit right in. Turns out my liking to shower daily and lack of experimentation with drugs kept me from fitting in with the hippie crowd. And I didn't care as much about my looks to fit in the sorority crowd. After a year and a half I moved on.
Moving to UC was much better, I liked to think of my DAAP class as the 'Island of the Misfit Toys'. There were the typical driven freshman, but also an exceptionally large amount of transfers. Those of us who were over the newness of college and through different circumstances had found our way to that strange building with strange hours and strange professors. Not one was the same, but we were all linked by the same ridiculousness that 5 years brought us. Some I clicked with more than others but we all had the same battlefield alliance no outside person could relate to.
The last 10 years have brought an expansiveness to our lives with new church acquaintances, mommy friends, neighbors, etc. We all have something in common that I truly enjoy being a part of.
Last weekend I went back to my hometown to celebrate the birthday of a best friend since birth. At midnight I found myself surrounded by girls, now women, who had spent their formidable childhood/teenage years together. There were the same old stories, a lot of laughing, beer, yoga pants, stretch marks, no make-up and pony tails. But most important was the unmistakable sense of home. The moment I no longer felt like a fish out of water, but piece of the landscape.
I never want to move back. I have a happy life with my family a few hours away, but sometimes it's nice to go where people know (and helped create) the skeletons in your closet and who knew you before you figured it out yourself. As different as we all are now, we all had this small town in common that shaped who we were to become.
Most importantly, after that weekend, it's really nice to know I'm not all that crazy. I just absorbed a large amount of it growing up :)
Friday, March 30, 2012
Dear Isla (And Middle Children Everywhere)
Dear Isla,
I composed this letter to you as I took a shower this morning, before I cried and after I screamed at you. I want so much for you to know, one day, why your mommy loses it on what seems to be a regular basis lately. My dear child, you are a wonder, an amazement. And I feel have pretty much tried to undo me since my pregnancy began with you.
I want to write this, to have this out into the universe, so that one day you can know what it was like from my point of view, because I know you will not know the internal turmoil I go through struggling on how to raise you, how to do right by you.
In a few weeks my dear you will be a total of 4 years old. With your older sister I remember the defiance melting away on the day she turned 4. I feel though defiance is welded in your soul, something age and time will never take away.
I tell people all the time that ultimately YOU are the one I will never have to worry about. You will NEVER do ANYTHING you don't want to do. You voice your opinion, stand up to your beliefs. This will be a wonderful attribute one day when peer pressure to try drugs or have sex has entered your world. You will never follow the crowd.
My only fear is that you will lead it.
Your defiance and stubbornness at this age though has a much different challenge because you do not yet have the knowledge of life that I do. My job is to teach you what I know. I know that car driving through the parking lot can't see you as you dart out in front of it. I know that children can be taken when they run far away & hide from their parents in a public space. I know kids can get very sick by putting unknown substances in their mouths. That in some rare cases these things can take precious children away from their parents that only want to protect them.
But you only know that yell, never hearing the worry, sadness and anxiety behind the scolding. And as much as I can tell you its because I love you, I feel like you don't really feel it. And I know for sure that you don't understand it.
My biggest fear is you will only grow resentful. Resentful of all the punishments you incur that your sisters never do. Resentful of the threats of no birthday parties and visits with friends. Resentful of the moments when I snap and grab your arms and half cry/ scream for you to sit in time out, only to have you jump up and scream in that angry, sad cry, "NO, I'M NOT GOING TO DO IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! YOU'RE NOT MY MOMMY ANYMORE!"
Resentfulness that will ultimately block out any useful item your daddy and I want you to know and protect you from. I know this from experience.
I remember growing up with 'the middle child'. I remember being scared out of my wits as my defiant teenage brother stood his ground with my angry parents. There was some violence, a lot of screaming and on my part, a lot of fear. I watched my brother on the outside so strong, physically and emotionally. Only later I saw deep wonderful sensitive & resilient soul that I love and admire today. He was a rock but inside a brilliant gem. I see so much of him in you. I see how diverse his world is, how he could navigate any place his choices took him and made it out the other side a better person. I also remember that some of those places were the result of impulsive (& sometimes poor) choices. Once he was an adult he there was nothing else Mom & Dad could do but watch, they could no longer force him into into the choices they knew best. From my point of view I loved watching him prove them wrong. To this day I'm pretty sure they are the most proud of him, mostly because of his journey. As backward as it was, they parented the best they knew how and view him as a success. But even well into middle age, I know my brother doesn't see his experience growing up as anything but traumatic.
How do I, my dear child, harness your spirit without crushing it?
I see glimmers of your incredible soft and loving side as you gently rub your great-grandmothers hand and speak to her like you would your best friend. You are the first to give the most incredible hugs and cuddle. You seem to gravitate and draw out those who need it. Your smiles are unabashed and infectious. You are naturally exuberant and enigmatic. A truly strong life force to be reckoned with.
There never in this world will be another Isla. And in many ways that's a good thing. We only need one. Her strong spirit, minus her diminutive size, can be crushing to those with more submissive souls. Myself being one.
Know dear that I struggle daily with the best way
To discipline you.
To guide you.
To encourage you.
And most importantly to love you. I am your mommy. And always will be.
I composed this letter to you as I took a shower this morning, before I cried and after I screamed at you. I want so much for you to know, one day, why your mommy loses it on what seems to be a regular basis lately. My dear child, you are a wonder, an amazement. And I feel have pretty much tried to undo me since my pregnancy began with you.
I want to write this, to have this out into the universe, so that one day you can know what it was like from my point of view, because I know you will not know the internal turmoil I go through struggling on how to raise you, how to do right by you.
In a few weeks my dear you will be a total of 4 years old. With your older sister I remember the defiance melting away on the day she turned 4. I feel though defiance is welded in your soul, something age and time will never take away.
I tell people all the time that ultimately YOU are the one I will never have to worry about. You will NEVER do ANYTHING you don't want to do. You voice your opinion, stand up to your beliefs. This will be a wonderful attribute one day when peer pressure to try drugs or have sex has entered your world. You will never follow the crowd.
My only fear is that you will lead it.
Your defiance and stubbornness at this age though has a much different challenge because you do not yet have the knowledge of life that I do. My job is to teach you what I know. I know that car driving through the parking lot can't see you as you dart out in front of it. I know that children can be taken when they run far away & hide from their parents in a public space. I know kids can get very sick by putting unknown substances in their mouths. That in some rare cases these things can take precious children away from their parents that only want to protect them.
But you only know that yell, never hearing the worry, sadness and anxiety behind the scolding. And as much as I can tell you its because I love you, I feel like you don't really feel it. And I know for sure that you don't understand it.
My biggest fear is you will only grow resentful. Resentful of all the punishments you incur that your sisters never do. Resentful of the threats of no birthday parties and visits with friends. Resentful of the moments when I snap and grab your arms and half cry/ scream for you to sit in time out, only to have you jump up and scream in that angry, sad cry, "NO, I'M NOT GOING TO DO IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! YOU'RE NOT MY MOMMY ANYMORE!"
Resentfulness that will ultimately block out any useful item your daddy and I want you to know and protect you from. I know this from experience.
I remember growing up with 'the middle child'. I remember being scared out of my wits as my defiant teenage brother stood his ground with my angry parents. There was some violence, a lot of screaming and on my part, a lot of fear. I watched my brother on the outside so strong, physically and emotionally. Only later I saw deep wonderful sensitive & resilient soul that I love and admire today. He was a rock but inside a brilliant gem. I see so much of him in you. I see how diverse his world is, how he could navigate any place his choices took him and made it out the other side a better person. I also remember that some of those places were the result of impulsive (& sometimes poor) choices. Once he was an adult he there was nothing else Mom & Dad could do but watch, they could no longer force him into into the choices they knew best. From my point of view I loved watching him prove them wrong. To this day I'm pretty sure they are the most proud of him, mostly because of his journey. As backward as it was, they parented the best they knew how and view him as a success. But even well into middle age, I know my brother doesn't see his experience growing up as anything but traumatic.
How do I, my dear child, harness your spirit without crushing it?
I see glimmers of your incredible soft and loving side as you gently rub your great-grandmothers hand and speak to her like you would your best friend. You are the first to give the most incredible hugs and cuddle. You seem to gravitate and draw out those who need it. Your smiles are unabashed and infectious. You are naturally exuberant and enigmatic. A truly strong life force to be reckoned with.
There never in this world will be another Isla. And in many ways that's a good thing. We only need one. Her strong spirit, minus her diminutive size, can be crushing to those with more submissive souls. Myself being one.
Know dear that I struggle daily with the best way
To discipline you.
To guide you.
To encourage you.
And most importantly to love you. I am your mommy. And always will be.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Wait... I have a BLOG?!?
I completely forgot about the 4 people who read this on a semi-annual basis!
I know, I know, your life has kind of been put on hold since I last posted, just waiting on some story that would make most people feel much better about their life, right? Ha! Yeah, I'm laughing at that one too. But as your life has surely gone on, so has mine. So to catch you up, I'll give you a brief synopsis:
Summer happened.
Kids survived.
I survived (barely).
Finlay walked.
Then turned One.
Hazelle started Kindergarten.
Isla started Preschool.
We got a kitten named Blu.
And now we are nearing October. And I have one more big thing, for me anyway. NO. I am not pregnant. In fact, I am happily starting to gather up the newborn/baby stuff and giving it away, something I thought would send me into despair. But no, just the opposite. One of the side effects of being in a 1400 sf. house with 5 people and a cat? Space = Happiness.
The big thing? I'm starting back to work. Next week. Just about 10 hours a week, but it's so strange . This job of being a full-time mom, this terrain I was so afraid to tread, this place that I unwillingly went, but stayed at is coming to a slow end, much like the warm summer days of 2011. I realize that the black hole of staying at home has spit me out a happier, better person.
No longer do I think that my job should get more attention that my 3 year old. No longer do I value the opinions of my superiors more than my husband. No longer do I look down upon the lifestyle I had no training for, but had completely submersed myself in. I have respect for life. I have confidence in myself. And because of those changes, we have a happier family.
3 years ago I was in a different place. Treading water. Closing my eyes and wishing it away.
Being laid off and at home forced my eyes open and allowed me to watch my kids through the most amazing, growing times in their life. I no longer tread water, some days it damn near feels like I walk on it.
Anyway, I feel good about things. And I feel best at the monumental shift that happened, just in time. Because you really never do get those things back. Work will always be there, your kids won't. Thank you Universe for allowing me to learn that lesson.
I feel like I just took the training wheels off my wisdom bike :)
I know, I know, your life has kind of been put on hold since I last posted, just waiting on some story that would make most people feel much better about their life, right? Ha! Yeah, I'm laughing at that one too. But as your life has surely gone on, so has mine. So to catch you up, I'll give you a brief synopsis:
Summer happened.
Kids survived.
I survived (barely).
Finlay walked.
Then turned One.
Hazelle started Kindergarten.
Isla started Preschool.
We got a kitten named Blu.
And now we are nearing October. And I have one more big thing, for me anyway. NO. I am not pregnant. In fact, I am happily starting to gather up the newborn/baby stuff and giving it away, something I thought would send me into despair. But no, just the opposite. One of the side effects of being in a 1400 sf. house with 5 people and a cat? Space = Happiness.
The big thing? I'm starting back to work. Next week. Just about 10 hours a week, but it's so strange . This job of being a full-time mom, this terrain I was so afraid to tread, this place that I unwillingly went, but stayed at is coming to a slow end, much like the warm summer days of 2011. I realize that the black hole of staying at home has spit me out a happier, better person.
No longer do I think that my job should get more attention that my 3 year old. No longer do I value the opinions of my superiors more than my husband. No longer do I look down upon the lifestyle I had no training for, but had completely submersed myself in. I have respect for life. I have confidence in myself. And because of those changes, we have a happier family.
3 years ago I was in a different place. Treading water. Closing my eyes and wishing it away.
Being laid off and at home forced my eyes open and allowed me to watch my kids through the most amazing, growing times in their life. I no longer tread water, some days it damn near feels like I walk on it.
Anyway, I feel good about things. And I feel best at the monumental shift that happened, just in time. Because you really never do get those things back. Work will always be there, your kids won't. Thank you Universe for allowing me to learn that lesson.
I feel like I just took the training wheels off my wisdom bike :)
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Necessary Endings
Is there anything in that title that makes you shudder? I don't know about you, but those words somehow fill me dread. It could be that I was raised by a woman who hasn't changed her furniture arrangement, used the decorative shell soap in her bathroom or burnt any candle on display since... well they moved in nearly 35 years ago. That's enough to scar someone permanently, right?
When you 'end' something, it evokes emotions like 'grieving', 'loss' and 'finality'. Personally, I always got lost in those words and never quite embraced what finality brought, which are new beginnings. I applaud those can easily move on without overly dwelling on what has come to an end. It's a trait I desperately wish I possessed.
This week has been a very difficult week for us as a family. I've been struggling with not breaking out in tears every 5 minutes. The first blow was our beloved Porter cat. He had been diagnosed diabetic a month or so ago and we've been doing our best to get it under control. We hadn't quite regulated his insulin enough to get him gaining weight again, but he was steady. And then I missed a dose... which sent him throwing up and weak and ultimately refusing to eat or drink. After a night at the vet's office on a fluid drip, things still weren't looking good. Ben said what I felt in my heart, it was time to let him go. I said an hour long goodbye to him, my first baby. He obsessively layed next to my belly while pregnant, curled up on my lap when I was sad and bit my ankles long before my children did. He was what made Ben and I a 'family' when we first started out. I could go on. And many of you know this sense of loss. It was the first time though, as an adult, the decision was mine. I was ending this poor cat's life. This wonderful cat who has been with me for 8 years. And I would have explain this to my little girls, who had loved him since they were born. Sure, it was a learning opportunity for them, but in perspective, for none more so than I.
This week also marks the transition from breast to bottle, I am weaning Finlay. I have nursed her exclusively since she was born. But when her two little bottom teeth broke through a month ago, she wanted to bite. Hard. The decision was made. It's a physical thing for me, but also emotional. I am letting go of her infancy a little bit. This is something to be rejoiced, but she is probably my last child, so it's something I will never do again. For you nursing moms out there, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. This little special thing that only I could give her now comes from a can. A giant, expensive can sold at any retailer.
And finally Ben will be resigning from his job of 10 years. He will probably kill me for posting this, since it isn't done yet. But I'm pulling a 'crazy Stef' this week and need some slack. Being a stay at home mom is great, but you inject yourself into your husband's profession because your family is dependent on only him for insurance, income, etc. Everything rides on him. And although, I am excited about the new opportunity he will starting in a few weeks, the idea of leaving a such a good situation for an unknown sends me in a tailspin of doubt.
I think I would be doing worse had I not had a great conversation with a dear friend of mine. While at an event, I picked up a book for her called, "Necessary Endings" by Henry Cloud. She's been struggling adjusting to life with two kids while working full time an hour from her home. I was trying to assure her that life as a stay-at-home mom will be great when she decides to make the leap. That sometimes holding on to who we were, where we worked and where we lived in our 20's and early 30's was keeping us from moving on to where we really need to be. Kids can't fit into our lives as they existed, we need to fit into theirs or risk missing it all.
That's it huh? I need to move on and let go or I risk missing what could be the best part. A new pet, a new phase of life, new opportunities. It's still hard for me to let go of things that were good. It will always be. But as my wonderful husband said last night, "We're leaving a very good situation for an even better one." Translated: It's time to use the decorative soap. Peace be with you for any endings that may be weighing on your heart.
When you 'end' something, it evokes emotions like 'grieving', 'loss' and 'finality'. Personally, I always got lost in those words and never quite embraced what finality brought, which are new beginnings. I applaud those can easily move on without overly dwelling on what has come to an end. It's a trait I desperately wish I possessed.
This week has been a very difficult week for us as a family. I've been struggling with not breaking out in tears every 5 minutes. The first blow was our beloved Porter cat. He had been diagnosed diabetic a month or so ago and we've been doing our best to get it under control. We hadn't quite regulated his insulin enough to get him gaining weight again, but he was steady. And then I missed a dose... which sent him throwing up and weak and ultimately refusing to eat or drink. After a night at the vet's office on a fluid drip, things still weren't looking good. Ben said what I felt in my heart, it was time to let him go. I said an hour long goodbye to him, my first baby. He obsessively layed next to my belly while pregnant, curled up on my lap when I was sad and bit my ankles long before my children did. He was what made Ben and I a 'family' when we first started out. I could go on. And many of you know this sense of loss. It was the first time though, as an adult, the decision was mine. I was ending this poor cat's life. This wonderful cat who has been with me for 8 years. And I would have explain this to my little girls, who had loved him since they were born. Sure, it was a learning opportunity for them, but in perspective, for none more so than I.
This week also marks the transition from breast to bottle, I am weaning Finlay. I have nursed her exclusively since she was born. But when her two little bottom teeth broke through a month ago, she wanted to bite. Hard. The decision was made. It's a physical thing for me, but also emotional. I am letting go of her infancy a little bit. This is something to be rejoiced, but she is probably my last child, so it's something I will never do again. For you nursing moms out there, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. This little special thing that only I could give her now comes from a can. A giant, expensive can sold at any retailer.
And finally Ben will be resigning from his job of 10 years. He will probably kill me for posting this, since it isn't done yet. But I'm pulling a 'crazy Stef' this week and need some slack. Being a stay at home mom is great, but you inject yourself into your husband's profession because your family is dependent on only him for insurance, income, etc. Everything rides on him. And although, I am excited about the new opportunity he will starting in a few weeks, the idea of leaving a such a good situation for an unknown sends me in a tailspin of doubt.
I think I would be doing worse had I not had a great conversation with a dear friend of mine. While at an event, I picked up a book for her called, "Necessary Endings" by Henry Cloud. She's been struggling adjusting to life with two kids while working full time an hour from her home. I was trying to assure her that life as a stay-at-home mom will be great when she decides to make the leap. That sometimes holding on to who we were, where we worked and where we lived in our 20's and early 30's was keeping us from moving on to where we really need to be. Kids can't fit into our lives as they existed, we need to fit into theirs or risk missing it all.
That's it huh? I need to move on and let go or I risk missing what could be the best part. A new pet, a new phase of life, new opportunities. It's still hard for me to let go of things that were good. It will always be. But as my wonderful husband said last night, "We're leaving a very good situation for an even better one." Translated: It's time to use the decorative soap. Peace be with you for any endings that may be weighing on your heart.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Mommy's Law
What is it about Murphy's law, 'Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong'? When you are a mom, you discover this is the truth. Your whole life becomes some anecdote to pass along to those thinking of having children, to prepare those young folk who are newly pregnant or to share among your mommy friends. Below is an example of how Mommy's law has played out for me... just in the last week.... most of it being yesterday.
- Your 2-year old will accidentally pee on the bathroom rugs, the same rugs you just finished cleaning from her peeing on them two days ago.
- Your mother-in-law will prepare your children for the demise of a sick cat by telling them 'the kitty will get a shot to go to sleep... forever'. When in reality she should have checked with you first because the cat just has diabetes and you have to give him a SHOT of insulin twice a day for the rest of his life. Now they want to watch me 'put the kitty to sleep' every time I get out the insulin.
- Not diversifying the baby's veggie diet from squash, carrots and sweet potatoes will result in her turning orange. It isn't a myth. (Note to self: Next week include some green veggies, Fin looks like an oompa-loompa)
- After cleaning up squash from a messy baby's face you will be out in public and have a complete stranger say, "Ewww, looks like someone has a bad ear infection", only to realize that they were talking about the large amount of now-dried squash you missed splattered your baby's ear and neck. How could I have missed that?!
- The one time you are on schedule to get the kids to school on time AND get to yoga class before it starts, you start your period for the first time in 18 months.
- The first time you start your period in 18 months and the toilet mysteriously overflows.
- The first time you ever saw the toilet overflow, clean it up and think "Could've been worse", you go downstairs to discover the water actually leaked through the floor, ceiling and all over your kitchen counter and stack of important paperwork you had to go through.
- You are once again late (REALLY LATE) dropping off child to school and making it to yoga class.
- The one night you can go shopping by yourself and your husband lets your children watch an episode of 'Nature' on venomous creatures right before bed.
- The one night you REALLY want to get to bed early your children will keep coming downstairs because they are afraid snakes and other venomous creatures are in their bedroom.
- You can vacuum twice a day, every day and a new crawler will see the one piece of sock toe jam you missed and put it in her mouth before you can get it from her.
- It's gross enough to make your two year old child spit out what they are chewing on (assuming it's a piece of a puzzle), only for her to tell you it's a booger.
- When you are at the end of your rope, a child they will do something so genuinely sweet, like take your angry face in both hands, kiss both cheeks and say, "I love you Mama". And then reduce you to tears.
Time for me to take a deep breath, laugh it off and prepare for what the next week of Mommy's Law will bring. For now I need to go throw some pee-soaked rugs in the wash.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Gettin' Fixed
This last week marked an anniversary of sorts, the anniversary of getting canned. Or the 'great dawn of the new age' from which this whole wisdom in training thing has sprung. It seems like I have been getting asked a lot lately what I do. It's strange because I find it increasingly difficult to answer. My 'previous' life, as I like to call it, the one where I worked as a designer, keeps getting more distant and foreign. It would seem an obvious thing that as time floats on your experiences would get cloudy, but it's different than that. It's much more like a hyper-humping dog that's been neutered and now sits contently in a trance state and the owner doesn't quite know if the dog is happy or contemplating suicide now his manhood has been surgically removed. And there's that mixture of relief and sadness that people passing by have for that now non-humping dog that his youthful vibrancy is gone but their legs and small children remain safe. Yeah, it's kind of like that.
Too much of an analogy?
You would think that two years would have solved some of these identity issues that have been written about since this blog has started. And it has. The issue is that I realize now its much deeper than I anticipated. I anticipated that I would have a third child stay at home for a few years til the economy got better and then go back to work and try my best to fit back in to that old lifestyle. Buuuut... I don't know now. It's like now that craziness of trying to be super-woman was surgically removed, I kind of like staying at home on the porch and watching the world go by. I just hate the sad eyes of everyone who passes me by, thinking I'm just a shadow of my former self.
That was totally deep huh?
I think we all see ourselves in a role. And mine was to follow in the footsteps that were laid before me. My mother gave birth to me and almost immediately went back to work. She had 'activities' every night of the week, she was a volunteer paramedic, active in the church choir, visited old people, on every committee which requested her, and attended almost all my school activities. A pillar of the community. They were able to pay for my college and retire and continue to live comfortably. She lived the dream.
But she was tired, grumpy. She resented my father at every turn. There was never a family dinner together, no vacations, no chats about how our lives were going. Things were at the very least extremely tense when I was a teenager because I didn't trust her, there was no connection. And to be honest, I never thought it could have been any different, until now.
I was on that same path, I think. My mother was a very good role model for me in what to do for my community, her attitude in that respect is still something I admire. But when I found myself so exhausted and overwhelmed, I started to remember how it made me feel as a kid. As proud as I was at her accomplishments, I still never really had that sense of family. The question is, which is more important to the development of our kids?
Being at home has taken the craziness out of my life. When that was removed, I saw the gaping holes I was leaving for my girls and their sense of home and value. The last two years have been about repairing those holes in my life and hopefully change the course of how my family is raised. I will always be eternally grateful that this anniversary of getting fixed/axed. It's just, where do I go from here?
(If any of you say 'get pregnant again' I'll leave you a flaming turd bag on your front porch.)
Too much of an analogy?
You would think that two years would have solved some of these identity issues that have been written about since this blog has started. And it has. The issue is that I realize now its much deeper than I anticipated. I anticipated that I would have a third child stay at home for a few years til the economy got better and then go back to work and try my best to fit back in to that old lifestyle. Buuuut... I don't know now. It's like now that craziness of trying to be super-woman was surgically removed, I kind of like staying at home on the porch and watching the world go by. I just hate the sad eyes of everyone who passes me by, thinking I'm just a shadow of my former self.
That was totally deep huh?
I think we all see ourselves in a role. And mine was to follow in the footsteps that were laid before me. My mother gave birth to me and almost immediately went back to work. She had 'activities' every night of the week, she was a volunteer paramedic, active in the church choir, visited old people, on every committee which requested her, and attended almost all my school activities. A pillar of the community. They were able to pay for my college and retire and continue to live comfortably. She lived the dream.
But she was tired, grumpy. She resented my father at every turn. There was never a family dinner together, no vacations, no chats about how our lives were going. Things were at the very least extremely tense when I was a teenager because I didn't trust her, there was no connection. And to be honest, I never thought it could have been any different, until now.
I was on that same path, I think. My mother was a very good role model for me in what to do for my community, her attitude in that respect is still something I admire. But when I found myself so exhausted and overwhelmed, I started to remember how it made me feel as a kid. As proud as I was at her accomplishments, I still never really had that sense of family. The question is, which is more important to the development of our kids?
Being at home has taken the craziness out of my life. When that was removed, I saw the gaping holes I was leaving for my girls and their sense of home and value. The last two years have been about repairing those holes in my life and hopefully change the course of how my family is raised. I will always be eternally grateful that this anniversary of getting fixed/axed. It's just, where do I go from here?
(If any of you say 'get pregnant again' I'll leave you a flaming turd bag on your front porch.)
Monday, February 14, 2011
The Valentine That Almost Wasn't
Tonight I'm cooking meatloaf with a special sauce. I gave all three kids a bath including hair brushing, teeth brushing and the removal of ear wax (which simultaneously amazes and grosses me out). I neatly folded about two hundred white undershirts. tighty-whiteys and gym socks.
Typical daily chores? Yes and no. These are my 'gifts of love' to my husband. He's a lucky man don't you think? I do, especially since I should have dumped him after our first Valentine's Day together 16 years ago.
It was 1995, our senior year, right at the end of an extremely successful boy's basketball season. I was a cheerleader and Ben was the star player of our state-ranked high school team. After years of being best friends, we had just crossed the threshold into 'more' with a first kiss just two weeks previous.
It was tricky because I really liked him 'in that way', but didn't want to scare him off with some psycho Valentine's display. I got him tape of Trisha Yearwood's single "I've Been Thinking About You", along with school sponsored pink and white carnations (meaning like and friendship) and a giant cookie baked by the home-ec class for a fundraiser. After receiving the flowers and cookies at school (he did the same for me except a RED carnation which meant 'love'!) he picked me up for the basketball game leaving my car at home. He would HAVE to take me home that night after the game, just as he had been doing for well over a month. I would then give him the tape. It was setting up to be the perfect first Valentine's.
The boy's team had a win that Tuesday night at home. It was a wonderful night and I was so excited to see Ben. There was pizza for the cheerleaders afterwards sponsored by a local pervert, I mean sponsor. After eating a few pieces I went to the restroom to freshen up my hair and make-up hoping to have the star of the basketball team mess it up soon after. I can say that now, we're married.
When I emerged in a cloud of hairspray, some of the basketball players (waiting on their own girlfriends) were polishing off the cheerleaders' pizza, but Ben was not with them. I figured he was down in the gym waiting. But when I got there, the only souls there were the janitors cleaning up after the sold-out crowd. I asked, but no one had seen Ben. Blah, blah, blah, fast forward about 15 minutes and I did the unthinkable, I called his house from the weight room phone. It's unthinkable because no amount of perfumed hairspray can beat the stench of a high school weight room.
When his Mom answered, in almost a chipper voice, she told me Ben had been at home for about 10 minutes (she wasn't a big fan of me). When he got on the line he said he thought I had gotten a ride and he was tired. 'Good night, see ya tomorrow.' Click. He didn't even offer to come back and get me... in fact, he didn't even wait for me to respond at all. WHAT?!?!
Thank goodness my favorite teacher who lived down the road from my house, was just leaving and gave me a lift. I loved that guy. 'Hot Rod', as we called him, let me bawl my eyes out about my botched Valentine's Day as his extremely patient 5 year old whispered from the backseat... "Daddy, can we go home now?"
Typical daily chores? Yes and no. These are my 'gifts of love' to my husband. He's a lucky man don't you think? I do, especially since I should have dumped him after our first Valentine's Day together 16 years ago.
It was 1995, our senior year, right at the end of an extremely successful boy's basketball season. I was a cheerleader and Ben was the star player of our state-ranked high school team. After years of being best friends, we had just crossed the threshold into 'more' with a first kiss just two weeks previous.
It was tricky because I really liked him 'in that way', but didn't want to scare him off with some psycho Valentine's display. I got him tape of Trisha Yearwood's single "I've Been Thinking About You", along with school sponsored pink and white carnations (meaning like and friendship) and a giant cookie baked by the home-ec class for a fundraiser. After receiving the flowers and cookies at school (he did the same for me except a RED carnation which meant 'love'!) he picked me up for the basketball game leaving my car at home. He would HAVE to take me home that night after the game, just as he had been doing for well over a month. I would then give him the tape. It was setting up to be the perfect first Valentine's.
The boy's team had a win that Tuesday night at home. It was a wonderful night and I was so excited to see Ben. There was pizza for the cheerleaders afterwards sponsored by a local pervert, I mean sponsor. After eating a few pieces I went to the restroom to freshen up my hair and make-up hoping to have the star of the basketball team mess it up soon after. I can say that now, we're married.
When I emerged in a cloud of hairspray, some of the basketball players (waiting on their own girlfriends) were polishing off the cheerleaders' pizza, but Ben was not with them. I figured he was down in the gym waiting. But when I got there, the only souls there were the janitors cleaning up after the sold-out crowd. I asked, but no one had seen Ben. Blah, blah, blah, fast forward about 15 minutes and I did the unthinkable, I called his house from the weight room phone. It's unthinkable because no amount of perfumed hairspray can beat the stench of a high school weight room.
When his Mom answered, in almost a chipper voice, she told me Ben had been at home for about 10 minutes (she wasn't a big fan of me). When he got on the line he said he thought I had gotten a ride and he was tired. 'Good night, see ya tomorrow.' Click. He didn't even offer to come back and get me... in fact, he didn't even wait for me to respond at all. WHAT?!?!
Thank goodness my favorite teacher who lived down the road from my house, was just leaving and gave me a lift. I loved that guy. 'Hot Rod', as we called him, let me bawl my eyes out about my botched Valentine's Day as his extremely patient 5 year old whispered from the backseat... "Daddy, can we go home now?"
I sent the tape with a friend to drop off at Ben's house, thinking it would make him feel bad. He was a teenage boy though, which meant he had no clue. He didn't call that night. He made no apologies the next day. In fact, 16 years later he still smirks and rolls his eyes about it.
I guess he knew something I didn't at that point. If he had gotten all sweet on me that first Valentine's Day, he would have set a precedent for which he would have to live up to and top every February 14th. Bravo Honey, way to set the bar low. Here's to many more years of understating our love.
Happy Valentine's Day all :)
Friday, February 4, 2011
Addiction and Mourning
It's winter.
I could end there. All things that used to be fun! and cozy! and magical! about winter are now stir crazy! and get me out! and my goodness child will you please just stay in your bed for once before I jump out a window!
It's winter.
And we're trapped with frigid temps, slick ice and various sicknesses.
I might just go drink myself to spring but then I would miss my baby. My precious 5 month old who in the midst of teething can manage to melt every icicle off the roof with her giggle.
For anyone that's had one baby you know how it changes you. It brings all sorts of new emotions to your life you never anticipated. Amongst those is anxiety and and uptight attitude until you eventually realize you fit into their life, they don't fit into yours. They will break you before rebuilding you, believe me.
For anyone that's had a second baby you discover the that although the work has increased, it's somehow better, because you know you'll get through it and you seem to enjoy this newborn thing much more than before. Anxiety starts to melt away.
For anyone who's had a third. You might just be addicted to the child that had most recently come into your family. At least this has been my experience. This little one has me wanting to wake up in the morning just to see her smile. I love watching her look up to her sisters and try to imitate them (most recently she learned to jump, it's their favorite 'sister' thing to do together). She has me ogling babies everywhere, it's not who I used to be. And to be honest, it's taken me by surprise. I, dear readers, am a certified baby addict.
Which is why this afternoon I'm mourning.
I had a rough time after delivering Finlay. Many things happened and it's been the opinion of many doctors that although I could have another child, I shouldn't. Be there for the ones you have. That's what I've been told. That's scary when someone says that to you. And although I really would have liked to feed my new found baby addiction, it's time I quit.
Today I solidified that with a long-term contraceptive. I wasn't ready to admit we're done, so there was no permanent solution, but this was a step towards that. To admit, I'm sad. I had always pictured us with four children. I pictured Finlay staring wide eyed at the new little bundle we brought home from the hospital, a playmate for her while the older two were at school. And much much more than that.
But it's done. And it's really hard for me to come to terms with. Now this phase is over I'm not sure what to do.
I suppose we've faced new phases in our lives before and rolled with it. I just wish it would've ended on my terms.
On a bright note, my little angel is up from her nap. Time to melt my insides with her grin.
I could end there. All things that used to be fun! and cozy! and magical! about winter are now stir crazy! and get me out! and my goodness child will you please just stay in your bed for once before I jump out a window!
It's winter.
And we're trapped with frigid temps, slick ice and various sicknesses.
I might just go drink myself to spring but then I would miss my baby. My precious 5 month old who in the midst of teething can manage to melt every icicle off the roof with her giggle.
For anyone that's had one baby you know how it changes you. It brings all sorts of new emotions to your life you never anticipated. Amongst those is anxiety and and uptight attitude until you eventually realize you fit into their life, they don't fit into yours. They will break you before rebuilding you, believe me.
For anyone that's had a second baby you discover the that although the work has increased, it's somehow better, because you know you'll get through it and you seem to enjoy this newborn thing much more than before. Anxiety starts to melt away.
For anyone who's had a third. You might just be addicted to the child that had most recently come into your family. At least this has been my experience. This little one has me wanting to wake up in the morning just to see her smile. I love watching her look up to her sisters and try to imitate them (most recently she learned to jump, it's their favorite 'sister' thing to do together). She has me ogling babies everywhere, it's not who I used to be. And to be honest, it's taken me by surprise. I, dear readers, am a certified baby addict.
Which is why this afternoon I'm mourning.
I had a rough time after delivering Finlay. Many things happened and it's been the opinion of many doctors that although I could have another child, I shouldn't. Be there for the ones you have. That's what I've been told. That's scary when someone says that to you. And although I really would have liked to feed my new found baby addiction, it's time I quit.
Today I solidified that with a long-term contraceptive. I wasn't ready to admit we're done, so there was no permanent solution, but this was a step towards that. To admit, I'm sad. I had always pictured us with four children. I pictured Finlay staring wide eyed at the new little bundle we brought home from the hospital, a playmate for her while the older two were at school. And much much more than that.
But it's done. And it's really hard for me to come to terms with. Now this phase is over I'm not sure what to do.
I suppose we've faced new phases in our lives before and rolled with it. I just wish it would've ended on my terms.
On a bright note, my little angel is up from her nap. Time to melt my insides with her grin.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
A Funny Thing Happened on the way to 2011...
As many of you know (and know well), I like to tell stories. In fact, that's the biggest part I miss about being out in the world, is telling stories. Stories about my kids, my husband and especially my Mom. Boy did she produce some classics, who can forget the story about Ferd and Turd?
So this year I will try to post more and slightly shorter musings from the world of Gamble. I don't know if the stories will translate as well in writing, but they did produce a chuckle for myself at the time they occurred. Here are a few leading up to the New Year...
The other day as the girls and I were driving home from somewhere Hazelle spotted an airplane flying overhead. Not one plane makes it through our airspace without one of my children shouting 'Pain!'. Did I mention they don't say their 'L's all the time? It's cute, but I digress. Hazelle said, "Mommy, we've never been on an airplane before, could you buy us a ticket so we can ride on an airplane?" It was a thoughtful, charming and reasonable question to which I replied, "Honey, one day. Airplane tickets are expensive and we have a big family, we have to save up to buy tickets. But one day Daddy and I will take you girls on an airplane." Without skipping a beat she replied, "(exasperated sigh followed by a snarky sounding) But Mommy, I wasn't asking you to BUY the plane!" Point for the 5 year old. Well played.
After cabin fever reached its limit my husband took the older girls out for a 'walk in the nature'. It's their favorite father/daughters thing to do while Mommy gets a mental vacation at home. It was an unusually beautiful day and he took them out on a trail at a local park. As usual, they came home filthy and happy, but none more filthy than Isla. As my husband explained, "Well, out of a mile of trail there was but ONE mud puddle. I turned just in time to see Isla fall belly-first in it, completely getting herself soaked. Then your other daughter managed to step in dog crap. Congratulations Stef, you produced two children EXACTLY like you." If I didn't think I was that clumsy or hadn't stepped in more than my share of dog crap I would have protested. So, point for husband. Well played, and well put.
Happy New Year to my fellow clumsy, dog-crap stepping friends! May this year be more stable and less crappy.
So this year I will try to post more and slightly shorter musings from the world of Gamble. I don't know if the stories will translate as well in writing, but they did produce a chuckle for myself at the time they occurred. Here are a few leading up to the New Year...
The other day as the girls and I were driving home from somewhere Hazelle spotted an airplane flying overhead. Not one plane makes it through our airspace without one of my children shouting 'Pain!'. Did I mention they don't say their 'L's all the time? It's cute, but I digress. Hazelle said, "Mommy, we've never been on an airplane before, could you buy us a ticket so we can ride on an airplane?" It was a thoughtful, charming and reasonable question to which I replied, "Honey, one day. Airplane tickets are expensive and we have a big family, we have to save up to buy tickets. But one day Daddy and I will take you girls on an airplane." Without skipping a beat she replied, "(exasperated sigh followed by a snarky sounding) But Mommy, I wasn't asking you to BUY the plane!" Point for the 5 year old. Well played.
........................................................................................
After cabin fever reached its limit my husband took the older girls out for a 'walk in the nature'. It's their favorite father/daughters thing to do while Mommy gets a mental vacation at home. It was an unusually beautiful day and he took them out on a trail at a local park. As usual, they came home filthy and happy, but none more filthy than Isla. As my husband explained, "Well, out of a mile of trail there was but ONE mud puddle. I turned just in time to see Isla fall belly-first in it, completely getting herself soaked. Then your other daughter managed to step in dog crap. Congratulations Stef, you produced two children EXACTLY like you." If I didn't think I was that clumsy or hadn't stepped in more than my share of dog crap I would have protested. So, point for husband. Well played, and well put.
Happy New Year to my fellow clumsy, dog-crap stepping friends! May this year be more stable and less crappy.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Gamble Grove
The Christmas season is upon us and holiday traditions are in full swing. We are a relatively young family so we have essentially no traditions started yet, save one. Gamble Grove.
When Ben and I first starting co-habitating, we had a fairly small 2-bedroom apartment. Which, it turns out, held enough 'stuff' to fill a four-bedroom house. To say that we were limited on floor space was an understatement. So our first Christmas in this apartment brought a little 6' skinny Christmas tree, slightly fuller than the Charlie Brown version, but well along the same lines. That tree stayed with us for two years until we got married and moved into our current home. It's not a big place, but it does have 9' ceilings, which allowed us to get a slightly larger, no, taller tree to take it's place. By this time though we (I) were attached to the 6-footer so we opted to keep it and just add a 7' tree in the similar style to fill out a space a normal tree would. It was kind of cute, a his & her Christmas tree couple that represented our life at the time.
Fast forward two years from then and we were expecting our first child at Christmastime. If you ever expect a child to be born around Christmas, expect with that child about 20 'Baby's first Christmas' ornaments. So once again as our family grew, so did our tree collection , a bouncing 5' tree to put between the aging two taller trees. With green lights the little tree was decked out for baby's arrival and all her ensuing ornaments.
The decision was made the following year to go ahead and purchase 3 more trees, a 4' 3' & 2', to be set up and decked out for each child that we welcomed into the family. This year our grove grew to 5 trees. The three little ones are decked out in pink, purple and green lights and all the school glitter ornaments you could want. I love that each girl gets to take pride and ownership in her tree, proudly displaying her life to that point. Haze has started to grasp the individual tree concept, yelling at me that I keep stealing her ornaments. I was merely moving some to my tree as hers was overloaded... already... and she hasn't let me forget it.
One little tree still sits in a bin, waiting to be decorated. Although I feel this little tree would fit nicely with our family of fake firs, I don't think it will ever be decorated by its own set of little hands. Gamble Grove might have reached it's limit this year. This tradition we started is, and probably will always, be my favorite. May you and your family enjoy it's own quirky traditions as we enter this time of celebration. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. ;)
When Ben and I first starting co-habitating, we had a fairly small 2-bedroom apartment. Which, it turns out, held enough 'stuff' to fill a four-bedroom house. To say that we were limited on floor space was an understatement. So our first Christmas in this apartment brought a little 6' skinny Christmas tree, slightly fuller than the Charlie Brown version, but well along the same lines. That tree stayed with us for two years until we got married and moved into our current home. It's not a big place, but it does have 9' ceilings, which allowed us to get a slightly larger, no, taller tree to take it's place. By this time though we (I) were attached to the 6-footer so we opted to keep it and just add a 7' tree in the similar style to fill out a space a normal tree would. It was kind of cute, a his & her Christmas tree couple that represented our life at the time.
Fast forward two years from then and we were expecting our first child at Christmastime. If you ever expect a child to be born around Christmas, expect with that child about 20 'Baby's first Christmas' ornaments. So once again as our family grew, so did our tree collection , a bouncing 5' tree to put between the aging two taller trees. With green lights the little tree was decked out for baby's arrival and all her ensuing ornaments.
The decision was made the following year to go ahead and purchase 3 more trees, a 4' 3' & 2', to be set up and decked out for each child that we welcomed into the family. This year our grove grew to 5 trees. The three little ones are decked out in pink, purple and green lights and all the school glitter ornaments you could want. I love that each girl gets to take pride and ownership in her tree, proudly displaying her life to that point. Haze has started to grasp the individual tree concept, yelling at me that I keep stealing her ornaments. I was merely moving some to my tree as hers was overloaded... already... and she hasn't let me forget it.
One little tree still sits in a bin, waiting to be decorated. Although I feel this little tree would fit nicely with our family of fake firs, I don't think it will ever be decorated by its own set of little hands. Gamble Grove might have reached it's limit this year. This tradition we started is, and probably will always, be my favorite. May you and your family enjoy it's own quirky traditions as we enter this time of celebration. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. ;)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Finding Life
I remember the first time I watched Finding Nemo. It was in the basement of my sister's house and literally cried from laughter for 10 minutes when Dory spoke whale. That was about 5 years ago. Just last year my Mom got that movie for my girls and I rediscovered what a delight it was. It's one of those movies that has adult stuff in it, but in a real life sort of way. (As opposed to, 'I really hope the kids don't start asking me questions about that tongue-in-cheek dialogue I'm snickering about'. I'm SO not ready to have that conversation.)
The first thing in that movie that resonated with me (besides the whale talking, you know, I should just bust that out on the kids one day and see just how crazy they think I am...) was when Dory, geniusly voiced by the very funny Ellen DeGeneres said, "When life gets you down, do you wanna know what you gotta do? Just keep on swimming, swimming, swimming." I believe at the time I was expecting or had a newborn and was trying to adjust to that new role, balancing life and work and marriage... basically feeling very out of control. I had no idea what I was doing or how I was going to juggle all these very important things in my life. And hearing that little blue fish just seemed to answer that conundrum I had been struggling with, just keep swimming. Simple. Just do it.
I used to think I was a little crazy for letting a little blue fish define my life motto, until I shared it with a friend I worked with. She had been going through a rough time and I told her that I hear Ellen DeGeneres singing in my head when I just feel like going in a corner and shriveling up. "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." She laughed and then slowly back away so she wouldn't catch my 'crazies'. Sheesh, my crazies aren't contagious, do your research. ANYWAY, much later she told me that after that conversation, she too heard Dory singing in her head... and it made her smile and feel better....SEE! Being a little out there is fun! And much cheaper than medication.
When watching Nemo for the 400th time with the girls, a scene previously innocuous suddenly had new meaning. It's when Marlin and Dory are stuck in the whale's mouth and the whale has told them to let go. Marlin says something like, "How do I know things are going to be alright?" and Dory replies, "I don't". Then there's something about 'letting go' and Dory falls into the unknown abyss, followed by a reluctant Marlin. This part of the movie really hit home for where I am in life right now. Even though I am 21 months post lay-off from my job, I still feel like I am desperately holding on to a whale's epiglottis trying to stay where I was instead of trusting that voice that says, "Let go" will take me to where I want to be.
I think we've got the swimming part down. Every day we get up and do our best to make this little family function. My house is a mess, I'm a mess and my kids haven't had a bath in 4 days, but I think we're doing it. My kids are happy, smart and thriving and I'm finding joy in staying at home. My days are not as long and baby Fin's first smile of the morning is something I wake up anticipating. Still, it's hard to feel like I'm 100% okay with letting go of who I was. Those pangs of hurt still, just slightly, sting. The need to feel wanted and useful and creative can be achieved in other ways, but I'm having a hard time completely letting go, not sure on how those needs are going to be met in a life at home.
I feel you Marlin. It seems no one gets that it's hard to let go just because someone told you to. It flies in the face of all reasoning. It's unknown, and we both know the unknown is something we're not comfortable with. But I guess you and I both need to trust that it will all be alright if we slide off that whale's tongue.
If only it were that easy...
The first thing in that movie that resonated with me (besides the whale talking, you know, I should just bust that out on the kids one day and see just how crazy they think I am...) was when Dory, geniusly voiced by the very funny Ellen DeGeneres said, "When life gets you down, do you wanna know what you gotta do? Just keep on swimming, swimming, swimming." I believe at the time I was expecting or had a newborn and was trying to adjust to that new role, balancing life and work and marriage... basically feeling very out of control. I had no idea what I was doing or how I was going to juggle all these very important things in my life. And hearing that little blue fish just seemed to answer that conundrum I had been struggling with, just keep swimming. Simple. Just do it.
I used to think I was a little crazy for letting a little blue fish define my life motto, until I shared it with a friend I worked with. She had been going through a rough time and I told her that I hear Ellen DeGeneres singing in my head when I just feel like going in a corner and shriveling up. "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." She laughed and then slowly back away so she wouldn't catch my 'crazies'. Sheesh, my crazies aren't contagious, do your research. ANYWAY, much later she told me that after that conversation, she too heard Dory singing in her head... and it made her smile and feel better....SEE! Being a little out there is fun! And much cheaper than medication.
When watching Nemo for the 400th time with the girls, a scene previously innocuous suddenly had new meaning. It's when Marlin and Dory are stuck in the whale's mouth and the whale has told them to let go. Marlin says something like, "How do I know things are going to be alright?" and Dory replies, "I don't". Then there's something about 'letting go' and Dory falls into the unknown abyss, followed by a reluctant Marlin. This part of the movie really hit home for where I am in life right now. Even though I am 21 months post lay-off from my job, I still feel like I am desperately holding on to a whale's epiglottis trying to stay where I was instead of trusting that voice that says, "Let go" will take me to where I want to be.
I think we've got the swimming part down. Every day we get up and do our best to make this little family function. My house is a mess, I'm a mess and my kids haven't had a bath in 4 days, but I think we're doing it. My kids are happy, smart and thriving and I'm finding joy in staying at home. My days are not as long and baby Fin's first smile of the morning is something I wake up anticipating. Still, it's hard to feel like I'm 100% okay with letting go of who I was. Those pangs of hurt still, just slightly, sting. The need to feel wanted and useful and creative can be achieved in other ways, but I'm having a hard time completely letting go, not sure on how those needs are going to be met in a life at home.
I feel you Marlin. It seems no one gets that it's hard to let go just because someone told you to. It flies in the face of all reasoning. It's unknown, and we both know the unknown is something we're not comfortable with. But I guess you and I both need to trust that it will all be alright if we slide off that whale's tongue.
If only it were that easy...
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Anxious
I'm the mom of three and wide awake at a very late hour. What's wrong with this picture? Did I mention three fast asleep children? No? Now you see how absolutely crazy it is! I got to be up in 5 hours and as my husband could attest, I'm in need of some serious beauty sleep.
Problem is, well, the darn anxiety dreams have started again. Anxiety has always been an issue with me and I feel like I've dealt with it really well in recent years. The issue comes when my conscious mind takes a backseat to the subconscious and the crazies kick in. Hence, whacked-out, heart-racing, have-me-wide-awake-and-still-not-calmed-down-an-hour-later type dreams.
People tell you that they are never sure about having a third child because you only have two arms. I take this seriously (note, I'm about to go into why my mind works the way it does, you might want to make sure you REALLY want to go there...) My mother, God love her, had a different way of parenting. She was a volunteer paramedic with the local squad. She thought it her duty to not shield us kids from anything, but instead throw us into any and all gory details and horrifying scenes of many of the worst accidents and incidents she ever encountered or heard of. Yes, she did well in the fact I ALWAYS wear my seatbelt/lifevest, know where the fire exits are, will never excessively speed, do hard core drugs and take the next 5 minutes for granted.
This could get her an Oprah award except for the fact that sometimes people (children!) are just not meant to always anticipate the worst happening. This hyper-sensitivity and still adjusting hormones, combined with a two year old who like to dart into traffic while I'm holding the four-year old's hands and carrying a heavy carseat (see, you DO only have TWO ARMS!) can send these sensibilities into over-drive causing me to wake up and panic at every creak while trying to figure out how to make a fire plan that a two year old can grasp and... have I mentioned that the neighbors tree is huge and if it fell it could land on our house... would land right in the girls' room? Oh, the crazies just start there. (Wow, did you catch the length of that run-on sentence? Seriously it's how the mind works)
Now everything you do is a matter of life or death. Like, crossing the street. Driving to school. Making dinner. If you don't have kids, you will understand it one day. If you do have kids, I hope you're nodding in understanding and not dialing the name of a psychiatrist to get me on the non-loco cocktail. It's just that in real life you have to know that life happens and you have to force yourself to do those scary things... like drive a car and take three kids to the grocery. But in sleep that darn subconscious takes over and likes to work me over.
Time to give rest another shot. Here's to hoping about dreaming about puppy dogs and chocolate chip cookies...
Problem is, well, the darn anxiety dreams have started again. Anxiety has always been an issue with me and I feel like I've dealt with it really well in recent years. The issue comes when my conscious mind takes a backseat to the subconscious and the crazies kick in. Hence, whacked-out, heart-racing, have-me-wide-awake-and-still-not-calmed-down-an-hour-later type dreams.
People tell you that they are never sure about having a third child because you only have two arms. I take this seriously (note, I'm about to go into why my mind works the way it does, you might want to make sure you REALLY want to go there...) My mother, God love her, had a different way of parenting. She was a volunteer paramedic with the local squad. She thought it her duty to not shield us kids from anything, but instead throw us into any and all gory details and horrifying scenes of many of the worst accidents and incidents she ever encountered or heard of. Yes, she did well in the fact I ALWAYS wear my seatbelt/lifevest, know where the fire exits are, will never excessively speed, do hard core drugs and take the next 5 minutes for granted.
This could get her an Oprah award except for the fact that sometimes people (children!) are just not meant to always anticipate the worst happening. This hyper-sensitivity and still adjusting hormones, combined with a two year old who like to dart into traffic while I'm holding the four-year old's hands and carrying a heavy carseat (see, you DO only have TWO ARMS!) can send these sensibilities into over-drive causing me to wake up and panic at every creak while trying to figure out how to make a fire plan that a two year old can grasp and... have I mentioned that the neighbors tree is huge and if it fell it could land on our house... would land right in the girls' room? Oh, the crazies just start there. (Wow, did you catch the length of that run-on sentence? Seriously it's how the mind works)
Now everything you do is a matter of life or death. Like, crossing the street. Driving to school. Making dinner. If you don't have kids, you will understand it one day. If you do have kids, I hope you're nodding in understanding and not dialing the name of a psychiatrist to get me on the non-loco cocktail. It's just that in real life you have to know that life happens and you have to force yourself to do those scary things... like drive a car and take three kids to the grocery. But in sleep that darn subconscious takes over and likes to work me over.
Time to give rest another shot. Here's to hoping about dreaming about puppy dogs and chocolate chip cookies...
Monday, November 8, 2010
Feeling Human Again (kind of)
The other day I was walking in from the car with all the kids... and our crap. I was carrying my purse, the diaper bag, baby carrier (complete with baby) and a couple bags from store (I tend to fall in that category that I would rather load my arms up until the tendons are splitting than make a second trip.) While trying to juggle all of this and unlock the front door my one free finger, all I kept thinking was, "Why didn't anyone tell me that I would become nothing more than a glorified pack mule?"
Later I was nursing the baby, and if you've ever breast-fed a baby you know that although it is a beautiful thing and it's great for the baby and you and blah, blah, blah.... you still feel like a gigantic milking cow. Especially if you pump. I would secretly moo to myself when I used to pump at work. I would pretend to have an audience and would crack myself up in the bathroom. Hey, don't judge, it was REALLY, REALLY boring to sit in there in pump, plus bathrooms have killer acoustics for mooing.
The rest of the day I kept thinking then of other animals that mothers are like, for instance
Later I was nursing the baby, and if you've ever breast-fed a baby you know that although it is a beautiful thing and it's great for the baby and you and blah, blah, blah.... you still feel like a gigantic milking cow. Especially if you pump. I would secretly moo to myself when I used to pump at work. I would pretend to have an audience and would crack myself up in the bathroom. Hey, don't judge, it was REALLY, REALLY boring to sit in there in pump, plus bathrooms have killer acoustics for mooing.
The rest of the day I kept thinking then of other animals that mothers are like, for instance
- Momma Bear- I let my kids fight their own battles but sometimes when it's not fair, momma bear does get the claws out. That means you Mom. If the kids are running away screaming when you say "Let's whip your ducks" (grandma speak for 'comb your hair'), it's time to just let their hair be ratty. My nieces used to say, "Grandma, I don't want my ducks whipped." Thank God nobody has called the Humane Society.
- Horsie- Love my kids but can't wait until I can lay down on my stomach without someone jumping on my back and saying 'GIDDYUP HORSIE!'. I'll be lucky to make it the next 5 years with my spinal column intact.
- Roaring Lion (see also growling)- I'm not proud of this but have you ever picked up the same toys for the 15th time in one afternoon? And yet you still find that one little piece that can puncture the bottom of your foot. I can't tell if I sound more like an angry lion or King Kong. Either way it isn't becoming of a lady.
And Finally,
- Dog Tired- Speaking of, I just realized I'm tired and everyone else is in bed. Why am I still typing?
So I can say that now that the newborn vortex has spit us out and I'm back to feeling like a human again, it's somewhat of a bittersweet moment. I realize that to feel human is really just acting like a pack mule/milking cow/momma bear. You got to do what you can though to get through these rough early years. Long live mommy and her animal instincts.
Feel free to post your own :)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
At least I'm not depressed... yet.
Ok, yeah, it's been awhile. I can say this isn't the first post I've come up with though because technically I have about 15 more already written and titled in my head. Unfortunately that's where things have been getting stuck as my fingers have been pre-occupied changing diapers, taking meds and trying to catch up on a solid month of untouched housework. Envious huh?
Yes, on August 27th, after a mixer of 2ozs of castor oil & OJ, a few (maybe alot of) cuss words, a 3:45 am car ride listening to Lisa Loeb lullabies, a fabulous epidural & 12 minutes from 5cm to delivering... we have a wonderful new daughter. Finlay Evalyn came screaming into this world & our hearts. And as soon as I figure out how to post pics of her beautiful smile, I will. Just please don't hold your breath as it really might be a year before it happens... I'm just going by my track record. (What you can't see is Ben lecturing me on not sending out the finished birth announcements for Isla... born 2-1/2 years ago. So you see what I'm saying right?)
Finlay has been a dream child. And I can say that because Hazelle was a constantly screaming nightmare and Isla was probably about normal. I was due for a bit of a break, and I was really looking forward to this bonding time with my 3 girls at home when all hell started to break loose.
It started with the development of blood clots in my legs before I left the hospital and then a bout with post-partum preeclampsia. That was a short sentence, but it left me to be in 3 hospitals in as many days and on some serious meds. The first 2 weeks after my bundle of joy's arrival should have had me crying from lack of sleep from screaming children, but instead had my lack of sleep from nurses checking my blood pressure, drawing blood or checking my IV. It's over now, but I can honestly say it was probably one of the scariest things I've gone through in life so far.
Done. Over. Let's move on. Except in the midst of it Finlay has to go to Children's Hospital to have an ultrasound on her hip (should be just fine). Hazelle gets a staph infection in her ear (OMG, SO gross to watch what that doc pulled out of her ear. I could have made a small stinky candle) which requires 3 doctor's office visits in a week. And Isla, just over an ear infection herself comes down last night, hops in bed beside me and proceeds to vomit on both of us. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.
So, I have to honestly laugh a little. With each new doctor's visit I go to, there is the regurgitation of medical history that is to be filled out in triplicate for which I almost need to do shorthand to write in the complications. Then try to explain them to the poor nurse deciphering it almost makes me appear like a nut case. The amazing part to me though is through it all, next to the question"Postpartum Depression?", I can check an honest "NO". Because having the bejeesus scared out of me honestly made me appreciate the constant chaos being at home with 3 children 4 & under entails.
Bring it on life. I have a new abounding appreciation for you & my priorities. I just have one favor to ask. Could we hold off on getting barfed again on for awhile? One more bout of that and I just might have to check that 'Yes' box. Life is good. :)
Yes, on August 27th, after a mixer of 2ozs of castor oil & OJ, a few (maybe alot of) cuss words, a 3:45 am car ride listening to Lisa Loeb lullabies, a fabulous epidural & 12 minutes from 5cm to delivering... we have a wonderful new daughter. Finlay Evalyn came screaming into this world & our hearts. And as soon as I figure out how to post pics of her beautiful smile, I will. Just please don't hold your breath as it really might be a year before it happens... I'm just going by my track record. (What you can't see is Ben lecturing me on not sending out the finished birth announcements for Isla... born 2-1/2 years ago. So you see what I'm saying right?)
Finlay has been a dream child. And I can say that because Hazelle was a constantly screaming nightmare and Isla was probably about normal. I was due for a bit of a break, and I was really looking forward to this bonding time with my 3 girls at home when all hell started to break loose.
It started with the development of blood clots in my legs before I left the hospital and then a bout with post-partum preeclampsia. That was a short sentence, but it left me to be in 3 hospitals in as many days and on some serious meds. The first 2 weeks after my bundle of joy's arrival should have had me crying from lack of sleep from screaming children, but instead had my lack of sleep from nurses checking my blood pressure, drawing blood or checking my IV. It's over now, but I can honestly say it was probably one of the scariest things I've gone through in life so far.
Done. Over. Let's move on. Except in the midst of it Finlay has to go to Children's Hospital to have an ultrasound on her hip (should be just fine). Hazelle gets a staph infection in her ear (OMG, SO gross to watch what that doc pulled out of her ear. I could have made a small stinky candle) which requires 3 doctor's office visits in a week. And Isla, just over an ear infection herself comes down last night, hops in bed beside me and proceeds to vomit on both of us. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.
So, I have to honestly laugh a little. With each new doctor's visit I go to, there is the regurgitation of medical history that is to be filled out in triplicate for which I almost need to do shorthand to write in the complications. Then try to explain them to the poor nurse deciphering it almost makes me appear like a nut case. The amazing part to me though is through it all, next to the question"Postpartum Depression?", I can check an honest "NO". Because having the bejeesus scared out of me honestly made me appreciate the constant chaos being at home with 3 children 4 & under entails.
Bring it on life. I have a new abounding appreciation for you & my priorities. I just have one favor to ask. Could we hold off on getting barfed again on for awhile? One more bout of that and I just might have to check that 'Yes' box. Life is good. :)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
15 years
I apologize for not writing more. Believe me, I have written a lot in my head and even started a few posts, but none have made it to publishing. To say we've been busy is an understatement. House projects abound and both Ben and I are in full panic mode. We both just realized last Friday that I'm not just pregnant... we'll have an actual mouth to feed and butt to diaper in just a few short weeks. Don't ask me how we managed to forget this part of being pregnant (that it ends with a child that you are now responsible for). I guess denial was at it's best. We are giving ourselves until August 15th to get everything done. Hopefully we make it. August 15th happens to be another milestone, our 15 year high school class reunion.
The reason I wanted to write about this is because I was IM'ing a girl I hadn't talked to since high school via Facebook yesterday. The conversation was quick but I learned her little girl was 16 (I forgot she had a baby in high school), and she had a miscarriage last year. We bonded over that. What's funny is I really cared about what was going on in her life and of another girl she's best friends with, who I hadn't spoken with in 15 years as well.
Most people might find this a little weird. For those of you who graduated with 60 people like I did, you might relate better. We came from a very small pond, a very small 'everyone knows your business and gossips about it within 5 seconds' pond. This sort of environment makes most people want to get out of said pond and jump into a big lake where no one cares if you've put on 10 pounds and blew up your own mailbox (inside joke, just ask someone from DeGraff, I'm sure they'll be able to tell you about it).
After talking with my old classmate I asked her if she was going to the reunion. I got a 'probably not'. I've noticed this response with so many of my fellow classmates. And, I think I know why.
When you leave town at 18, there's always a lot of big dreams. You are going to be 'it', that person who makes it, the one who actually follows through with all the plans you made and bragged about when you were 18. The one good thing about being an 'old fart' now.... is that I know that 18 year-olds are stupid. Young, naive, arrogant, self-centered but most importantly... stupid.
I think we all view our fellow alumni as that same person they were when they were young and stupid. We forget that life has probably happened to them as it has happened to us. The thing is, no one wants to go back and say, "I have failed at so much". Because surely no one has failed as much as you have. Surely they will judge you for all your missteps you made in your 20's. Surely they will not have the wrinkle lines and stretch marks, the lost jobs, the little house, the broken marriage, no marriage, a disabled child, childless, whatever... whatever you have gone through, surely they will judge you for it.
Ok, fellow classmates. I am huge. Hugely ginormous pregnant, that and the fact I have put on roughly 75 pounds of sheer fat since you last saw me. It took me 7 years to graduate with a bachelor's degree. A degree in an industry which looks down upon the very professional I desired to be. Employed at jobs I loved, I was laid off from both places of employment within 5 years, which was devastating emotionally. I have lost 2 pregnancies, but have been blessed with nearly 3 great little girls. I have a good marriage, but definitely not without it's faults. I live in the ghetto and have very little shot of trying to sell this house we labored over without taking a loss. I have many regrets, made many stupid choices and routinely stick my foot in my mouth. But... I am going to be present, open and honest because I hope that you might see that I will not judge you, and hope that you will not judge me.
For any of you that are contemplating a class reunion, let go of the anxiety. Place hope in the fact that you might be able to relive some of the good times of your childhood and bond with those who have shared the same life losses as you. That is what makes us each unique and now, grown-up.
I will be there, oh class of 1995, large... and in charge.
The reason I wanted to write about this is because I was IM'ing a girl I hadn't talked to since high school via Facebook yesterday. The conversation was quick but I learned her little girl was 16 (I forgot she had a baby in high school), and she had a miscarriage last year. We bonded over that. What's funny is I really cared about what was going on in her life and of another girl she's best friends with, who I hadn't spoken with in 15 years as well.
Most people might find this a little weird. For those of you who graduated with 60 people like I did, you might relate better. We came from a very small pond, a very small 'everyone knows your business and gossips about it within 5 seconds' pond. This sort of environment makes most people want to get out of said pond and jump into a big lake where no one cares if you've put on 10 pounds and blew up your own mailbox (inside joke, just ask someone from DeGraff, I'm sure they'll be able to tell you about it).
After talking with my old classmate I asked her if she was going to the reunion. I got a 'probably not'. I've noticed this response with so many of my fellow classmates. And, I think I know why.
When you leave town at 18, there's always a lot of big dreams. You are going to be 'it', that person who makes it, the one who actually follows through with all the plans you made and bragged about when you were 18. The one good thing about being an 'old fart' now.... is that I know that 18 year-olds are stupid. Young, naive, arrogant, self-centered but most importantly... stupid.
I think we all view our fellow alumni as that same person they were when they were young and stupid. We forget that life has probably happened to them as it has happened to us. The thing is, no one wants to go back and say, "I have failed at so much". Because surely no one has failed as much as you have. Surely they will judge you for all your missteps you made in your 20's. Surely they will not have the wrinkle lines and stretch marks, the lost jobs, the little house, the broken marriage, no marriage, a disabled child, childless, whatever... whatever you have gone through, surely they will judge you for it.
Ok, fellow classmates. I am huge. Hugely ginormous pregnant, that and the fact I have put on roughly 75 pounds of sheer fat since you last saw me. It took me 7 years to graduate with a bachelor's degree. A degree in an industry which looks down upon the very professional I desired to be. Employed at jobs I loved, I was laid off from both places of employment within 5 years, which was devastating emotionally. I have lost 2 pregnancies, but have been blessed with nearly 3 great little girls. I have a good marriage, but definitely not without it's faults. I live in the ghetto and have very little shot of trying to sell this house we labored over without taking a loss. I have many regrets, made many stupid choices and routinely stick my foot in my mouth. But... I am going to be present, open and honest because I hope that you might see that I will not judge you, and hope that you will not judge me.
For any of you that are contemplating a class reunion, let go of the anxiety. Place hope in the fact that you might be able to relive some of the good times of your childhood and bond with those who have shared the same life losses as you. That is what makes us each unique and now, grown-up.
I will be there, oh class of 1995, large... and in charge.
Monday, June 28, 2010
The Bond
When I was pregnant with Hazelle, I was in amazement of the whole process. The most fascinating of it was her connection with her dad. In utero, I would poke and prod her to move to no avail. But the minute my husband's hand touched my stomach she would kick it. It was uncanny. When she was born, she was wailing and he leaned down and said, "Hi Hazelle". The baby stopped crying, opened her eyes and searched for him, like she recognized him. This child hadn't been an hour old. And he was the only one who could calm her in those harrowing first few months. It left me feeling left out and like an awful mom, until I had Isla.
She was just the opposite. All those things that Hazelle did for Ben, Isla did for me. I swear I could think about wanting her to move and she would. I felt so incredibly connected to her from the beginning. When she was born, it was like I had always known her and her being in this world filled a piece I didn't know had been missing. Not to sound like a cliche but it was the truth. And I know she felt the same about me. It's no surprise that Hazelle is a daddy's girl and Isla a momma's girl, but we all change up every once in awhile so no one feels left out. Life is good.
So now... number three is cooking and Ben and I have been stupified by her. She responds to neither one of us like the other two. We're left to guess about her intentions. We do know she is one ferocious kicker and does not like when I change positions for any reason. She's also plotting her escape route. I'm pretty sure she's already drawn a map and is waiting for all her provisions to be in place before executing her escape. She will rise to power quickly and be a mighty dictator, that is just my prediction.
Tonight though, some other things clicked for me. Hazelle hopped on my shrinking lap and put her hand on my belly. She said, "Momma, I want to feel the baby kick". And as if on cue, that little baby gave me a whopper on the other side of my stomach that Haze could feel 10" away. She smiled and said, "She kicked me!" Yes, yes she did Haze, just like you asked her to, without waiting. Then several other occurrences came to mind. Like last week when Hazelle laid her head on my stomach and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if the baby kicked me in the face?" And that little kid inside me walloped her right on the cheek hard enough for Haze's head to bounce. Hazelle thought that was the funniest thing ever. She said, "Heeeey, she just kicked me in the face!" and laughed hysterically. I could go on, but the gist is, when big sis shows an interest, the baby responds in full effect. Never to ever be outdone, Isla routinely sings her version of the 'ABC's' to the baby via built in microphone (a.k.a. my bellybutton, apparently that's the only way to officially communicate with the baby, just talking aloud will not do). And although G-3 does not retaliate like she does with Haze, I can feel the baby moving, like happy, like dancing. Seriously... I'm not on crack, I'm pregnant, and that would be frowned upon.
So... now I'm getting it. Big sisters are it. They are going to be 'it' for this child. I think that is just the coolest thing in the world right now. And that kind of bond is what makes it all worthwhile.
She was just the opposite. All those things that Hazelle did for Ben, Isla did for me. I swear I could think about wanting her to move and she would. I felt so incredibly connected to her from the beginning. When she was born, it was like I had always known her and her being in this world filled a piece I didn't know had been missing. Not to sound like a cliche but it was the truth. And I know she felt the same about me. It's no surprise that Hazelle is a daddy's girl and Isla a momma's girl, but we all change up every once in awhile so no one feels left out. Life is good.
So now... number three is cooking and Ben and I have been stupified by her. She responds to neither one of us like the other two. We're left to guess about her intentions. We do know she is one ferocious kicker and does not like when I change positions for any reason. She's also plotting her escape route. I'm pretty sure she's already drawn a map and is waiting for all her provisions to be in place before executing her escape. She will rise to power quickly and be a mighty dictator, that is just my prediction.
Tonight though, some other things clicked for me. Hazelle hopped on my shrinking lap and put her hand on my belly. She said, "Momma, I want to feel the baby kick". And as if on cue, that little baby gave me a whopper on the other side of my stomach that Haze could feel 10" away. She smiled and said, "She kicked me!" Yes, yes she did Haze, just like you asked her to, without waiting. Then several other occurrences came to mind. Like last week when Hazelle laid her head on my stomach and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if the baby kicked me in the face?" And that little kid inside me walloped her right on the cheek hard enough for Haze's head to bounce. Hazelle thought that was the funniest thing ever. She said, "Heeeey, she just kicked me in the face!" and laughed hysterically. I could go on, but the gist is, when big sis shows an interest, the baby responds in full effect. Never to ever be outdone, Isla routinely sings her version of the 'ABC's' to the baby via built in microphone (a.k.a. my bellybutton, apparently that's the only way to officially communicate with the baby, just talking aloud will not do). And although G-3 does not retaliate like she does with Haze, I can feel the baby moving, like happy, like dancing. Seriously... I'm not on crack, I'm pregnant, and that would be frowned upon.
So... now I'm getting it. Big sisters are it. They are going to be 'it' for this child. I think that is just the coolest thing in the world right now. And that kind of bond is what makes it all worthwhile.
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