Regenerate

It's times like these I'm suddenly struck with the urge to make an Insta-book out of my 2013 instragram pictures.

Half the house is in boxes and the other half is disheveled. Tomorrow we pack to go to the mountains for the changing of the years. We'll get the keys to our new (rental) house on Friday!

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It has occurred to me that this past year has been very probably the best, most comfortable year for me in my role as "stay at home" mom. Is it a coincidence that it also is the year both kids have been at school and/or preschool most days of the week? I think not.

Caring for (very) small children does not appear to be in my naturally-acquired skill set. Both times I've done it rather poorly and have fallen apart rather spectacularly. While it's true that there were many other rather large stressors at those times in my life, I highly doubt that even if I were to have the most ideal circumstances surrounding another pregnancy and birth that it would be possible without medication.

Which makes me sad. However, I don't want to put myself or my family through anything like my postpartum experiences again.

I'm not on medication now and I (usually) feel just fine! This makes me hopeful and wistful and I've briefly entertained the thought of another child.

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A few months ago I was shopping at our local grocery store. A lady joined me by the spinach. Her tiny infant son was in a car-seat she had placed in the shopping cart and he began to fuss. She began gently rocking the seat but he didn't settle down. Instead he began screaming that ever-so-distinctive newborn cry.

My reaction surprised even me. I wasn't expecting to feel anything as strongly as I did. I almost had to leave the store. An avalanche of feelings suddenly dumped into my awareness, triggered by that crying. My heart was racing; I felt panicky and fearful, desperate and frantic, helpless and terrified.

Sanity was a difficult thing to maintain during those first few months of a screaming Elaine and a wide-eyed, sensitive Val. Our home had been and was still endlessly under construction and chaotic and I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to short sell it or have to go into foreclosure. Superman was on the break-in phase at his new job and largely unavailable in every way. I could barely function and then I couldn't function.

It was very hard.

All of it came rushing back as I stood there by the produce, listening to this newborn do what lots of newborns do - cry.

I quickly got the remaining items on my list and then hurried to the car. I closed the door and began to cry, too.

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At dinner tonight Val said she wishes she could have a little brother. I told her I wish that too. I know God hears us. I want to hear Him. Little brothers can come in more ways than one.

Once more, with feeling!

You know what's really hard for me? Availability. Especially emotional availability.

It's a struggle for me to remain in the present moment and be available to others in it.

I'm unsettled by my inability to settle. My mind is always ahead, off to the next thing, the next event or conversation (or maybe still on the last one.) Sometimes the next thing is only playing a game on my phone or sometimes my mind is just plain not there. Is it self-centered of me? Self-focused? A sign I haven't cared for my introverted self completely enough? Is it merely a habit? Something I'm accustomed to? Copying what I've experienced and am familiar with?

I'm uneasy if I perceive myself to be TOO present. I fear not being in control and the vulnerability that comes with letting whatever comes in the moment, come. I've got other moments to plan for and other situations to prepare to control. The "other shoe" will drop, dontcha know, and any time I spend enjoying the moment will be foolish, when I could be bracing/planning/protecting myself for the impending doom of that dang shoe.



You know how Elaine lives? In the moment. Her days are full and complete and wondrous. She is there, really THERE, for everything. I'm enthralled by it and a little envious.

But it's safer for her, I tell myself, she's not an adult yet. She doesn't have all this stuff to stay on top of and prioritize and keep track of. Oh to be a child...

...right? Because grown-ups can't be free and delighted by the good moments and sorrowful during the sad, right? Grown-ups have to be steeled and protected with their guards up, right? A child-like adult doesn't seem like something to be desired, right?

I guess it makes sense, a little bit, but certainly not all the time.



I'm so uncomfortable with so many of my feelings. Present moments can be so scary with the feelings. I sometimes get the sense that certain feelings are hiding throughout my day, waiting to accost and overwhelm me... and that I won't have any control.

So I watch Elaine and I learn. It's a gift to me.

Scenarios

Last night I saw the moon rise and it was stunning. Giant, golden, gorgeous and low on the horizon against a dark blue sky. In that first moment I want to call up everyone I know who might care, "You guys! The MOON! Go look RIGHT NOW!" But I don't because who does that (well, me, but only if it's really REALLY picturesque.) After I mentally run through the list of anyone who may be in a position to stop what they're doing and gaze at the moon, I wish for a camera and a hill and no city lights and while I'm at it some really great trees to silhouette¹ against it, etc., etc.. Instead, I kept driving, craning my neck for another glance whenever I could.

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This morning I saw the moon set. It startled me even more awake than I already wasn't - giant, pearly and glowing against a soft blue sky. I took a horrible picture with my horrible phone² from my horrible kitchen window. Then I called for everyone in the house to come see. (The moon, not my picture.) But here, you can see the picture, since you probably missed it this morning. It's three trillion times better in person, I assure you.

My bad, this is not from the kitchen window. This is taken from the window above the piano keyboard.

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I'm reading Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words and as a result am becoming even more acutely aware that I majored in biology and not journalism. Boy do editors have a lot to remember. I enjoy writing and words as a means to an end, which is the expression of ideas. I'm not so terribly concerned about grammar and spelling as long as the person I'm communicating with (a lot of the time the person is only me) can readily understand the idea/meaning/concept. I've gotten much sloppier in my old age and as the amount of reading I'm doing has decreased. Also, my ideas are less clear and more muddy in my brain. This may be due to children stealing my brain cells or lack of practice or both.

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Sometimes I feel like the avocado seeds I'm trying to grow. For almost four weeks they've sat in cups of water on my window sill, each one suspended by three toothpicks. I top off the water and wait expectantly. "Any day now!" I think optimistically as I inspect the almost-completely-unchanged seed. It looks a little grungier - sort of bruised and cracked in spots. Certainly not capable of pushing life out of it.

But I have hope because I have seen it happen before.

Sometimes I feel like I go through periods of enormous internal growth but nothing becomes visible externally for quite a while. I know I've changed. I FEEL changed. But I don't LOOK changed to other people. I wish I could force it. I wish I could burst forth into a glorious fruit-producing tree overnight and people would oooh and aaah and come sit in my shade and want to know my secret³. I wish that just seeing where I want to be was enough to get me there. I wish that the process wouldn't take so long or require so much, sometimes. I wish to jump ahead and enjoy the fruits without very much labor.

I wish I had a more mature perspective.

Proverbs has a verse about this: "There is profit in all hard work, but endless talk leads only to poverty."

Right. Thanks, Proverbs. I think I'd rather listen to Leviticus on this one: "You must not do any work at all! This is a permanent law for you, and it must be observed from generation to generation wherever you live." (Isn't that the most lovely Bible verse you've ever seen? [Talk about picking and choosing parts of the Bible to fit personal tastes!])

Then there's the verse I love to hate in Galatians: "So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up."

I have actually quoted this verse to a Christian counselor along with the somewhat martyr-like, self-centered exclamation, "I am SO tired of doing good. I'm just DONE! How much longer do I have to do good? Can I stop yet? I mean seriously. Where's my harvest of blessing?!" I can't remember the reply I got that day but today I remind myself that inner change is change and it is a blessing. Harvests don't have to be external to count. I have a MUCH better relationship with myself today than I did five months ago. Eventually, at just the right time, others will experience a much better relationship with me, too. I really hope it's sooner than later but for now I'm content to work on what I know I need to do and trust that the process will lead to healing and whole relationships outside of me as well. 

I have hope because I have seen it happen before. 

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¹I just spelled that correctly the first time for what I believe may be the first time in my entire life.
²But don't you fear! I'll be getting an iPhone 5 tomorrow!
³The secret is... there isn't one!

It wasn't until after I had already talked for several minutes about the things I like and do not like about my current phone that it occurred to me that perhaps he (the checker at Sprouts) was just making small talk. He had seen me using it as I waited in line, asked what kind it was and mentioned he needed a new one. Apparently that was all the prompting I needed. Maybe I need to get out more.

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Our downstairs neighbors are Korean and their daughter, Hope, attends kindergarten at the same school Val does. Today we were on our way to the pool and invited her to join us. Hope's mom and I get along as best we can but neither of us are very good at the other's primary language. As far as I can tell, Hope translates with about as much care and concern for accuracy as you would expect a five-year-old to have. We smile and shrug a lot and I imagine we each hope for the best, never quite sure if what we're saying is being fully or even partially understood. Today on the way to the pool, Hope observed, "I know Korean AND English," then she turned to Val, "do you know Korean?" "Nope." Val replied, then turned to me, "how come I don't know Korean?" I suggested Hope could teach her.

I hope my girls enjoy languages and pick a useful one to learn in high school. We live in such a diverse part of the world. So many of their friends are bilingual and it's such an asset to have. I'm jealous.

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This morning was difficult for me. Swells of anxiety, looming big and threatening and refusing to be ignored. I'm completely baffled as to how to care for myself during times like that. My toolbox is ever expanding. For the most part I try to conceal it from my children, or speak very simply about it, but this morning Elaine asked me a specific question and I mentioned something to her about feeling scared and I wasn't sure why. She stopped what she was doing to come over to me, touch my shoulder lovingly, look me gently in the eye and say encouragingly, "remember Mommy, God is with you." And then she gave me a huge hug and went back to playing.

Patience vs. procrastination

"Patience means caring for myself and taking baby steps while I wait for something that is likely to happen. Procrastination means abandoning myself and doing nothing while I wait for something external that is unlikely to happen. Patience waits with courage, and takes the smallest baby steps, over and over. Procrastination waits in fear, paralysis, and inertia. Patience waits with belief in my effort. Procrastination waits for an effort by someone else." - Susan from the FlyLady emails

Self care

I've heard from more than once source that September can be a tough month for people who are already prone to mental imbalance. Something about the light. Heather mentions it here.

I think I've been doing pretty well, all things considered. Some things have slipped, but I'm trying to practice radical self-care (as Anne Lamott calls it) and allow myself the grace God's already given.

I don't deal with change particularly well and boy has our schedule changed over the past few weeks. During the summer the only things we did with any regularity were swimming lessons, church and recovery meetings. Now Val goes to kindergarten every weekday morning, Elaine goes to preschool on Tuesdays and Thursday mornings, AWANA is on Sunday evenings (where I am a Sparks secretary), swimming lessons for both girls are on Tuesday afternoon, BSF for Elaine and I on Wednesday mornings, Superman and I are attending a once a month couples class on Monday nights, the other Monday nights I go to a CoDA group, Tuesday nights we go to a church-related small group in someone's home, Wednesday nights Superman goes to a mens group, Thursday nights he leads a  junior high boys small group, Friday night we all go to Celebrate Recovery, Saturday night is church and on Sundays I go to a different CoDA group while Superman returns to church for the junior high service. We walk or ride bikes to and from school on Mondays and Fridays and have a preschool carpool on Thursdays. And of course I'm still responsible for staying on top of the laundry and grocery shopping and cleaning and food preparation (school lunches every day!) and showering once in a while.

Sometimes I just need to look back and realize all this change and say, "Oh yeah. Look at all I'm handling and dealing with now that I wasn't just a few weeks ago. I should probably be kinder to myself."

Anyhow, September is almost done and it's felt like a whirlwind. I've needed medication on many days, and was thankful to have it. I look forward to this all feeling normal instead of overwhelming.

It's been just over one year that I've been in Codependents Anonymous and the next time I meet with my sponsor (which should be on Sunday) we'll cover the 12th step. I'm grateful for the progress I've made in my recovery work but I still need to keep the perspective of it being a process, a journey, not something I'll arrive at one day and be done. I keep thinking that's how life works (magically "arriving" and being "done") but it just isn't. I'm getting better and better at embracing this.

Feelings

So when you express your feelings, particularly those less-desirable, yucky, dark feelings that you've tried to deny and ignore and repress? Turns out new feelings (usually more enjoyable ones) come to take their place!

And by "you" I entirely mean "me."

I've been (and still am) so terrified of feeling my feelings. I don't even know how to begin to process them most of the time.

But I'm learning, slowly.

Being honest with myself about my feelings is hard for me. Not judging myself and my feelings is even more difficult.

I have so many half-baked ideas for things to blog about and when I finally have the time to do so, none of them are all that appealing.

So I'm stuck with a blank screen and a head teeming with things I *could* write about but then very probably *could* regret writing about, not long after.

I'm currently awake partially because I haven't yet adjusted to the time change (which is particularly brutal for night owls) and also because I'm delaying going to bed. Going to bed means I'll go to sleep which means I will wake up and I'm fairly certain that I will be anxious upon waking up. I've been doing that again, lately, but tomorrow there is a specific anxiety-triggering thing. If anything, I've become much more skilled in my application of various tools to aid in anxiety relief. I actually wrote anxiety down as something to be thankful for because it provides me with the opportunity to trust.

Getting enough rest is important in combating anxiety, so, off I go.

Love kills fear

"And fear feels dreadful. It sucks the life out of the soul, curls us into an embryonic state, and drains us dry of contentment. We become abandoned barns, rickety and tilting from the winds, a place where humanity used to eat, thrive, and find warmth. No longer. When fear shapes our lives, safety becomes our god. When safety becomes our god, we worship the risk-free life. Can the safety lover do anything great? Can the risk-averse accomplish noble deeds? For God? For others? No. The fear-filled cannot love deeply; love is risky. They cannot give to the poor. Benevolence has no guarantee of return. The fear-filled cannot dream wildly. What if their dreams sputter and fall from the sky? The worship of safety emasculates greatness. No wonder Jesus wages such a war against fear."

- Max Lucado

Nope

I can't do SSRIs. Side effects are completely, overwhelmingly miserable. Even after taking just one dose of Celexa, the increased anxiety and shaking and sweating and racing thoughts were enough to remind me of the horrible week or so I was on half the lowest dose of Zoloft. It was the same thing except worse because I kept taking the meds, hoping my body would adjust.

I think I'll try 5-HTP or SAM-e next. Maybe. And a CBT class on anxiety/depression that Kaiser offers.

And prayer.

I came across this verse this morning:

Psalm 139:3 "You chart the path ahead of me and tell me where to stop and rest."

Stopping and resting is almost never implemented into the paths I chart for myself. This needs to change.

Bad days come... and go, if I'm lucky.

Grace wrote:

"An unfortunate difference between a PPD survivor and a "normal" mom?
A bad day is never just a bad day.
It is the threat of a crash, a storm, a descent into darkness, bringing with it flashbacks vivid enough to make you tremble.
I'm so sick of constantly looking over my shoulder."

That's where I am, lately. Bad days make me jumpy and nervous. They set me on edge, desperately hoping and praying it's not the beginning again of the hell that ended a year or two ago. Especially when I have two bad days in a row. But then I have a good day. Or the bad day becomes an okay day and if I'm especially fortunate, even a good day. I remember that people have bad days, sometimes, and that's all it is. Bad days are okay. Bad weeks and months are not.

It's hard to know how to take care of myself during a bad day. Due to the months of horrible days and the medication that brought me out of it, I am not opposed to medication again, if that's what I need. But how to tell? What's the determining factor?

I've lost weight that I really can't afford to lose, and that's not good.

So much of the 12-step work I'm doing is bringing up areas of myself that are so weak and vulnerable and terrifying to me. I'm facing and experiencing emotions that I haven't wanted to at all but I must in order to heal... and all the while caring for two preschoolers and a husband. And how to care for myself in all this? It's difficult. Caring for myself feels wrong. I'm finishing up my fourth step (did resentments, now (quite appropriately) doing fears) and I feel as though this roller coaster is about to tip over the top and I will be able to coast through the remaining steps and start feeling some of that freedom and peace that comes from working the steps.

But back to the meds debate (and I've debated both sides of the matter and still end up stuck!) I vacillate (ha!) between two extremes. Lately I've started out the day being sure that I need to go on a daily medication, but by the time noon rolls around, I'm feeling much more stable and balanced and able to handle whatever comes. This has repeated for the last few days. What's the best route to take for medication? I have no idea! In the meantime I do have Klonopin, which I've used very sparingly because heaven knows if there's a genetic component to addiction - I have it.

So that's what's going on with me, lately.

Peaches

I remember the first time I became aware of the difficulty I have when things seem to be going smoothly. See? I just did it right there. I typed "seem to be" instead of "are." Things can't go well. They don't. IF they are it just means that something bad is going to happen. The other shoe will drop. And then somehow, impossibly, I should have known better. I should have done something differently which might have prevented or held off the shoe dropping.

The whole time something is going well I'm largely unable to enjoy and relax because I'm internally tensing and preparing and worrying about when things will cease to go well. It's life, all of it, and for some reason I think that if I just do everything perfectly enough, I won't have to... but I'm not perfect. This is not new news. And yet I still strive to be. To do "IT" right. THE right way. There are SO many right ways to do things, I really have no idea why I obsess about the right way to do laundry. Or eat. Or brush my teeth or parent or wash dishes. Good enough CAN BE enough. I am human.

I'm mildly frustrated at my inability to get past this already because dontcha know that anxiety is Doing It Wrong.

I find it ironic that I fail to apply to this area of my life the motto I have so embraced and been okay with, for parenting. That motto is: "Do what works until it doesn't work any more. Then do something else." Whatever works for you. Sleeping through the night? Great! Glad it works for you! Not sleeping through the night but you don't mind getting up to nurse twice? Great! Glad it works for you! Not right. Not wrong. Everybody's different. And that's okay.

Both depression and anxiety take the person suffering these conditions out of the present moment. They're unable to be all there. Physically present and mentally elsewhere. Certainly not very emotionally present. I've rarely lived in the present moment. I find it to be just too terrifying most of the time. Sometimes I risk it, in the moments that seem to be safe.

Fulfilling life is about being present. Thankful and humbly accepting what comes. Riding through moments as they come, and then letting them go. Good ones and bad ones. Happy and sad ones. All kinds of feelings and moments will come and continue to come until we're dead. We can't control it or decide it even if we are convinced we can. (And if we are convinced we can, we'll eventually be proven wrong; I speak from experience.) Control is such a tempting illusion. As is perfection.


Some people self-medicate. I've tried. Oh how I've wished I could just eat more when I'm anxious, as that would solve two problems at once! I think I'm reaching the point where plain old medication is the answer, for now. I've been wondering that since September and trying many other alternative solutions without much relief. Still haven't called Kaiser to follow through, which makes me wonder if I'm trying to be perfectly in control here, too. If you're anxious about going on anti-anxiety meds does that mean you need them all the more? Probably. It certainly means you need SOMEthing.

Two things, through this, have remained completely awesome. My God and my husband. Both love me without condition and though one does so imperfectly, he has held me and supported me and I am so grateful for his physical presence and comfort.

I started this post thinking I was going to write about eating peaches and laughing around the table with my girls and husband almost two years ago. That was the moment I first became aware of how uneasy I was, at the core, and that's when I first wanted to know why. I thought some more about it and realized it was because I felt I didn't deserve that lovely moment. Surely it would be ruined or taken from me. I had to be ready and I had to protect myself because I hate it when I hurt. Something was preventing me from enjoying the abundance of gifts in my life.

I was preventing me. I hate it when I steal my own joy. I do it quite frequently and I'm really getting tired of it. This isn't working for me any more. I hope I find something that does work, soon. I'll try again, tomorrow.

(P.S. I was depressed much of the time before having kids. Now I'm anxious. I would MUCH rather be depressed. Can't control it, I know... just saying. IF I could pick... =))

Raw

The function of music is to release us from the tyranny of conscious thought.

Sir Thomas Beecham English conductor (1879 - 1961)

I'm listening to Chopin Nocturnes right now. Much of my conscious thought today has been pretty tyrannical. Anxious again. I'm so tired of being anxious. Even in the middle of it, I recognize it for what it is, but am unable to make it stop. So I try all the things that have worked for me in the past. Hardly anything ever works immediately. With each attempted technique I become more and more pessimistic, falling victim to that nagging, persistent voice "itwon'tworkitwon'tworkitwon'twork" and then I frantically jump around before any technique has been given a fair chance. And even in the middle of THAT, I recognize my own self-sabotage.

Anxiety can't be forced away. It has to be replaced, I think. We have the ability to set the focus of our minds. Controlling that, intentionally, takes a lot of practice. I'm learning the practice. Slowly.

I took something called Lentra, twice, so I could be present enough to care for my girls. I don't like meds, even more naturally-based ones. Since the summer of 2009, though, I've been much more aware of my mental patterns and moods and am not above using medication when I've determined the benefits to out-weigh the possible detriments.

So now, finally, I'm soaking in music and organizing my thoughts to write - two things that feed my soul. The house won't suffer too terribly if it's neglected a little tonight. I however, will.

Shalom

People are fascinating. I could people-watch all day, any day - doesn't matter where, though I'm currently at Panera. Just fascinating.

A lot has changed since I wrote this post about being anxious. Most notably¹: I have been able to eat breakfast, and on the mornings I don't, it's just because I'm not hungry.

This pleases my naturopathic doctor (whom I've seen twice now), who included "eat three meals a day" as part of my treatment plan. I'll see her again in three months. She's been enormously helpful in other areas, too, lest you think I paid hundreds of dollars only to have her tell me to eat more. I'm still anemic, but getting better. (Considering being Iron (wo)Man for Halloween.) The next area of focus is on my kidney health (trying to dissolve a stone) and then also finding out why my body is making a bunch of antibodies against my very own thyroid. I may have a gluten sensitivity, but we will try supporting my adrenals in the meantime and see how my blood looks in three months. "This [antibodies against my own body] isn't uncommon to see in people who are very hard on themselves," the naturopath offered. Well. No argument there. I'm trying to change that, though... except actually... I can't change that without my Higher Power's help.

Which brings me to perhaps the main reason I haven't felt panicked or anxious for a while - I'm going to a 12 step group! (Hi, Beck!) Co-dependents anonymous has been tremendously beneficial to me. I tried a few different groups and settled into one that happens to meet at 8 am on Sunday mornings (uuuuuuugh) but it's more than worth it because I love the people and it feels like home to me. The people that share and listen to me share week after week GET it. They KNOW. There's such relief and freedom to be me and be open and honest with my struggles when I'm surrounded by people who empathize. I have a feeling that working through the 12 steps is going to change my life for the way way WAY better. I'm ready to pick a sponsor and plan to contact her about that this week sometime. I hope she's able to do it!

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¹Also very notable (and probably most surprisingly, to me): I haven't taken any anti-anxiety medication at all, though I called my doctor and she gave me a psych referral.

So.

Hi, can we talk about me for a second? Great, thanks. Actually it'll probably be the whole post.

Guess what? My anxiety has returned, slowly and steadily, it's back in full force. Every morning for 2-3 hours it's so bad I feel like puking and in fact I'm surprised I haven't yet.

I've emailed my doctor to see what her thoughts are regarding medication this time around. I am tremendously grateful for the medication I was on almost two years ago. It was enormously helpful in getting my brain out of some VERY practiced ruts long enough for me to actually focus on what I needed to do to grow and change and, oh, I don't know, take care of myself. Also, I learned to be aware of my triggers and how to re-route my brain from going down those familiar destructive paths long before it got to be something serious.

I'm afraid my brain is a slow learner.

Also, I would so much rather feel depressed. I hate the powerfully overwhelming nature of anxious thoughts. Depression used to be my default mental instability.

So I'm learning, back on this track, again. There's more to learn and apparently I'm here to do that. I'd appreciate your thoughts and/or prayers for me, particularly in the mornings. An article I read suggested to "cut back on morning stressors" and to that I say "sure! I'd love to!" but alas, I have a work-weary husband getting home at 6 am, and two children who are alternately bouncy and loud or cranky and hungry. Also, everyone needs breakfast, even me, but I usually can't eat until at least 9 or 10 am when it's highly inconvenient and we're already into our day or even off on errands. (I bring food with me for this purpose, Mother!) I do try and do as much as I can the night before (at night I'm usually feeling perfectly calm and joyful and peaceful); I even write large notes/reminders to myself on scrap printer paper with a sharpie to tape on my mirror.

The mind is a powerful, powerful thing in both negative/unhelpful and positive/helpful ways. I want my mind to be positive and helpful to me. This is a hard thing to learn quickly.

GTOTD: Talking with Ms. Ingrid at an event at Val's preschool. We first met Ms. Ingrid as Crackers the clown (can she ever do some awesome balloon animals/shapes) at a party at my husband's work, where she recommended the preschool and told me she worked as an aide there.

Bonus GTOTD: BSF!

Thought: Good habits don't become habits if you only do them when you feel like it. For some reason bad habits are better at this.

Dutifully writing more.

Must. Write. More.

And not for you, for me. Though I'm sure some of you probably think it's nice, too.

I skimmed back over my entries from when I was in college and I was amazed at how much I wrote. And wrote mostly about things that were really kind of silly and pointless. But I enjoyed doing it, and obviously some people enjoyed reading it.

Now I am married and a mother and a Grown Up. So maybe one reason I don't write is because I feel as though I should save my writing for something more important than sharing how Elaine is potty training herself or how Val built a "super gun with two lasers" out of her blocks.

I think I'm going to go to a 12-step group. For internet addiction. Ha, I wish. (Or maybe not.) It's actually codependents anonymous. Don't you just hate that word? Codependent? Ugh. And yet... I'm pretty sure I'd benefit from the group. And now that I've said it here I have to go. Blog accountability! (Think you know what "codependent" looks like? You might be surprised.) The move (and ensuing stress of figuring out how to live in a new place with new routines and new people) is definitely triggering my depression and anxiety and I want to make sure I'm doing work on ME to be able to handle it as best as I can. I'm still in occasional counseling, too, and that's good.

Elaine, Val and I left Bible study early in order to go see their pediatrician. Elaine seems to have be having an increasingly difficult time hearing us. Turns out she has an ear infection in each ear. Hooray. Mom of the year award for me. So glad I decided to get it checked out instead of assuming it was just a phase. At first I thought it was just because she was getting an answer she didn't like or an explanation she didn't understand. What really got me thinking something was wrong was when she'd shout, "HUUUUUH?" to Val as they played together and Val would repeat herself until SHE was shouting too... then Elaine would get it and exclaim, "OOOOOOoooooohhh." It was really cute, but the POOR GIRL. Hooray for antibiotics, though she has been taking them far more frequently than I would prefer!

*resisting the urge to backspace the entire entry*

Does anyone want to give me guitar lessons in exchange for baked goods? I've been practicing my chords and awkwardly putting them together into halting, poorly-sung songs. Fortunately my audience is fairly forgiving as long as we end up singing Old McDonald (with or without the guitar but ALWAYS remembering the goat and cow.)

I'm really looking forward to living in a smaller space. I like our apartment floor plan a lot, and am quite pleased with the kitchen. The last cloud of uncertainty hanging over me is our neighbors... I hope we will all get along and understand each other, particularly the people living below us! I really wish I could hang out in their apartment and have Val and Elaine do all their typical full-volume and full-energy things and see how bad it is, because I have no way of knowing which things are more highly annoying than others. Anyhow, it'll turn out the way it'll turn out and worrying about it isn't going to make anything better.

Oh my dog.

My brain is so full of things I probably either shouldn't write about here, or at the very least aren't ready for me to write about here.

But I still feel like my blog has gone far too long without a substantial post.

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Very suddenly and unexpectedly, we are without dogs. TBird went to go live at my uncle's house, where he may possibly father some baby TBirds. That was planned. We had to put Jackson down due to injuries that followed him abandoning the back of a pick-up truck after his collar loosened and then broke. That was unplanned.

I was able to grieve here and there as we drove to Washington to drop off TBird, but coming back home to an empty backyard (however full of dog hair and poop it may be) was horrible. I miss my dogs. TBird was a good boy and I loved him but Jackson was mine and has been only mine since the beginning. He knew me and I knew him and I so desparately did not want it to end like it already has.

He and I had a special bond. I know that if I had just a little more time to give him on a regular basis, he would have done almost anything I asked. He was already super loyal, even though he had gotten to stop trusting me about what deserved to be barked at or not. In his late puppyhood he once stopped mid-rabbit-chase, seconds after the initial BURST, just because I shouted his name (rather desparately, because I fully expected him to ignore me and continue tearing up the hill.) That incident still shocks me.

In the months after Elaine's birth (or was it before?) his anxiety shot through the ROOF and because I was so blind to my own anxiety it irritated the heck out of me, instead of making me stop and look at the vibes he was so obviously picking up. That dog. He didn't want me to be out of his sight. He always wanted to be in. This pissed me off, because I had a newborn and toddler after all and couldn't be catering to the whims of some nutcase dog. I put him out. He paced and circled the yard, whining constantly and urgently and chewed the gate in the side yard until his gums bled. I let him in. He immediately went to lie down in some out of the way place, always with an ear on me and usually his eyes, too. His crazy anxious behaviour stopped as soon as he was in my vicinity. I just didn't GET it. The cycle of him being in and then out and then in again repeated until I was SOOOOOO upset with him I sent him to my parents, where he appeared to be just fine.

Many months and a few medications (for me, not him!) later, he came to live with us where we are now. Never had a problem since. Somewhere along the line it occurred to me that the time frame of the severity of his anxiety mirrored my own and I was utterly stunned. I wish I could tell him how sorry I am for not understanding.

Yes, he was a little crazy, but who could blame him, given what little we know (not much) of his puppyhood prior to living with me? He did the best he could. He was a smart, SMART dog. He liked to lie down with his back all twisted until you couldn't guess which of his front legs was missing. He had a sense of humor. He was vocal. He loved to chase the lawnmower and threatened to chew its wheels off. He was ever suspicious and reserved, unless you had proven yourself to be trustworthy and then he was just a goofy, relaxed, loving dog, eager for you to throw something, or even better, play tug of war.

My Jackson dog. Oh how I wish it didn't end like this. I told him that, over and over again, whispered into his ears as he slipped away. I cradled his head in my arms and told him how I loved him and what a good dog he was. I thanked him for loving me like he did.

I'll never forget you, pup. Rest in peace.

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"Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole."
- Roger Caras

Nearly home free

I'm on edge.

Superman has two weeks off (the first week was scheduled, the second is purely coincidental) and I think I need the break at least as much as he does.

It's hard, thinking your kids are YOURS and then realizing they aren't, really, and nearly anything can happen to them at any time... and you can't control it, or at least not half as much as you thought you could. But you do control enough of it to be able to blame yourself anytime something goes slightly (or non-slightly) awry.

Also, I hate carpet. Carpet is gross. Yes, this may be because I am currently the owner of three long-haired pets, two of which are over 75 pounds, and all of which have had particularly bad cases of fleas. I've never had a flea problem like this before! I wonder if it's due to the raging squirrel population in these parts. Frontline didn't eliminate it completely so I've purchased bombs/sprays to knock EVERYthing out and hopefully that'll be the end of it.

The last thing I need is for us to get flea bites that could be infected with MRSA. I wish MRSA was bright orange so I could just SEE where it is or IF it is and then scour the heck out of wherever it was.

Tomorrow begins day one of Superman's mid-life crisis birthday extravaganza. He's signed up to participate in a triathlon AFTER working a 12 hour shift. Thinks he's still young and resilient, does he? We'll see about that. We're waking up early to go cheer him on and then drive him home straight to bed. Other events in the mid-life crisis extravaganza include sky-diving, seeing Wicked (nothing to do with mid-life, just something he's wanted to do since the beginning) and of course a birthday party at which we will mourn his old age (30!) and I'll suggest he get a tattoo like this.

Back to parenting. I really think Val is having a hard time with all the attention Elaine has been getting ever since that fateful day. I know I'm probably subconsciously paying more close attention to Elaine than Val and I hate that. I've tried to make a concerted effort to connect with Val and to have equal one-on-one time with her, but I'm sad to say that she has really gotten probably mostly leftovers from me over the past few months. Ugh. How do you fix that? I just feel spread so thinly. Of course my needs were the first to go. Why does it have to effect her too? I can't do it all.

So I escape and make poor decisions that stack up until everything is screaming for attention. Which is overwhelming.

Like I said, two weeks of Superman being home with us will be wonderful.

Thankful Thursday

Anyone remember Mr. Liston and Thankful Thursdays? (ARWEN? TARA?) =)

Good. I do too.

Thankfulness has been on my mind recently. It seems to be an important part of people who are content, happy and well-adjusted, at least that's what I've read. Over the past few weeks I've ran across this idea in a number of places, so I decided to try it out.

One person (at the bottom, second #8) said she has a nightly ritual of gratitude that has been particularly rewarding.

Another person (#21) also encourages a thankful attitude in order to make you feel happier.

So I've been trying it out, and I'm thankful to report it works a lot better than cynical old me thought it would. I certainly wouldn't recommend it to be your only defense against particularly bad depression or anxiety, but for where I am now it's a useful little tool.

It's been a somewhat challenging little exercise for me, the pessimist, to intentionally cause my mind to focus on the positive. My mind thinks focusing on the positive is for sissies, so you can see I have my work cut out for me! At first it was rather like work, and I had to combat countering thoughts saying it was a dumb practice that would never amount to anything and certainly not ever produce the results those people claimed it would. Bah humbug. But then it got easier, and I started enjoying it and truly feeling like it wasn't something I was forcing myself to do anymore. I looked for ways to be thankful because I wanted to! And there are things to be thankful for all over the place (how ever did I miss them before?) Just call me Pollyanna!

Falling asleep has been difficult for me over the past month or so. This long, drawn-out episode with the scissors, stitches, hand surgery, MRSA infection, casts, antibiotics, more MRSA infection, more antibiotics, ER visits, toddler blood draws (twice and counting) and talking to more doctors than I ever cared to (but am very glad for their wisdom and commitment)... it's been a lot to deal with. Plus, due to Superman's work schedule I'm usually going to bed alone more often than not.

In the past it's been tough not to replay the day in my mind and hone in on what went wrong and what I should have done. I tended obsess over the poor decisions I made and the scary "what if" scenarios that quickly spiral out of control. I would combat that by staying awake doing other things until I was utterly exhausted, and then fall into bed, sure that I was too tired to lay awake for very long.

These days I am happy to report that I'm able to fall asleep much faster, just by thinking over the day and being thankful for all there is to be thankful about. Yes the old thoughts still creep in every now and then, but the ratio of positive to negative is much, MUCH healthier overall!

And hey, guess what? I'm happier!

MRSA

Here's a fact: Elaine has MRSA.

After the surgery the surgeon came out and told us how everything went. He mentioned that beneath the skin around the stitches, Elaine's finger was infected and there was an abscess, which he drained and cleaned and then did the surgery as he planned. For that reason he put her on an antibiotic.

I don't remember if he told us he took a tissue sample or not, but he did, THANK GOD HE DID, because I got the culture results in an email from the lab. The result was that the sample had tested positive, twice, for moderate growth of MRSA.

That's it. That's all the email said. Usually when I've been emailed results it's followed a few minutes later by the doctor saying, "everything's normal, you're fine." This time, not only was everything NOT FINE, I had no further direction or course of action.

I picked up the phone to call the doctor, but called my Mom instead, to tell her what happened and ask her to pray.

Then I called the doctor. I got a nurse in the orthopedic office. She immediately sent someone to go alert our doctor (hand surgeon) that Elaine was positive for MRSA. Then she filled out a formal phone message for him and told me to expect a call from him soon. I waited an hour and a half and then called back. She said she'd been unable to hear from him and sent another message and paged him. She checked to see if anything had been ordered for Elaine and still nothing.

I waited and prayed and sobbed into my husband's shoulders.

And waited and prayed more.

And waited.

The nurse finally called back and told me our doctor had been consulting with three other doctors (not sure what kind, I'm hoping one was a dr. of infectious disease, but I didn't have the presence of mind to ask) to determine what the best plan would be. The culture responded best to a certain antibiotic, which is what they were planning to dose her with, but they were still determining the correct dosage. In the mean time, I was to take her to get blood drawn, and we set up an appointment with Elaine's pediatrician for tomorrow morning.

I took Elaine to the lab (poor sweet child) and she did as well as could be expected. They took four tubes of blood and only one (SED rate) result has returned. Her SED rate is 27. Normal adult (from what I know) is between 0 and 20. So this shows that her body is very obviously fighting an infection.

While I was getting the blood drawn, the doctor called and talked to Superman, explaining the switch in antibiotics, and saying the prescription was ready to be picked up. I was sad to miss getting to talk to the doctor, but it was convenient that I was already there to get the meds. The doctor asked about Elaine and how she was doing and I am so relieved that EVERYTHING has gone SWIMMINGLY since surgery. You would never even suspect surgery, if it weren't for a giant purple cast and occasional fussiness (but she's teething with her canines, so honestly, the poor girl has lots of reasons for pain!) Her cold is almost completely gone, she never had a fever and has accepted the cast quite willingly. The fingers outside the cast (thumb, ring and pinky) are perfectly normal - no swelling, hotness, redness or rash. She's not even favoring the cast arm, and will swing it around, thump on things with it, and use it to crawl when playing "lion." The doctor made it very clear that if she starts fighting the cast and wanting it off he personally wants to see her. Of course we'll alert them if anything else changes as well.

I suppose she picked up the MRSA in the ER when she got stitches. Either that or it's community associated MRSA. I don't know which I'd rather. I did my best to keep her finger clean/dry, but with a very active, teething toddler it's tough. She would pick at the bandaid, or put them in her mouth and get it all wet when it was on, but of course if the bandaid's off, then the finger's even more exposed. I did the best I could.

The antibiotics she started (clindamycin) are the real deal. They would cost $200 something without insurance and are used only for serious bacterial infections. She'll be on them 3 times a day for the next two weeks. A few days before the end of the 2 weeks is her follow up appointment for the surgery at which point I expect they'll remove the cast to take out the wire in her finger, and then probably re-cast her for a few more weeks.

I wish wish wish I could cut a little window in the cast to just look at her finger. Just seeing if it was inflamed and swollen or not would make me feel so much better (or worse.) I know that for now, though, the best place for it to be is in that cast where the environment is as sterile as it's going to be, and hopefully the antibiotic will knock the rest of the infection out.

Dear God, I hope so.