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.

On Sunday I quite unintentionally picked up my girls from church while wearing spandex. The day after that I found myself grocery shopping in my bathing suit (tank) top. This wasn't exactly how I imagined myself behaving in my thirties.

My depression radar has gone up over the past couple weeks. I feel lethargic and stoic and energyless and my self-care has lagged. Then it occurred to me that I may just be tired. Superman and I have gone on many bike rides together, each one longer than the last, as we (meaning I) prepare for the 34 mile ride (50K!) we'll do together on Saturday.

Speaking of depression, this September has gone much more smoothly than last year. I'm thankful.

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!

Keys to joy

88 wonderful (electronic) keys are back in the apartment and I am quite thankful for the return of my parents' keyboard. Judging by the number of spontaneous dance sessions today I think the girls are, too. All that needs to happen for optimal keyboarding is the soldering of one side of my headphones and hopefully that will happen tomorrow, with the help of my dad.

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I lately feel as though I'm approaching life in much the same way I approached college final exams. I knew they existed and would eventually come to pass, but I tried not to think too much about it and many times spent hours and hours doing just about everything else INSTEAD prepare or study for them. I did manage to acquire a degree in biology with a fairly average GPA (the "just about everything else" often included playing volleyball at the conveniently-located beach.) I'm not sure what that says about a) the difficulty of the exams or b) my intelligence or c) both.

I arrive at the start of each day and for some reason I feel like dragging my feet. I want to put it off. I'm afraid to dive in? Or it's too threatening (!?) to face head on. Or maybe I'll fail? At... something? I'm not sure. I have a hunch it has to do with the fear that I may just maybe might possibly not do something "right." So then I feel hopeless. And do a lot of nothing or whatever is the bare minimum.

It's not really that great of a system. I'm not happy with it. I'm not happy with the resulting effects on my kids and husband. Also me. I miss joy.

Parenting and stay-at-home-momming is intimidating to me. It doesn't really come naturally, at least not all of it. I guess I haven't managed to work out a reasonable set of expectations for myself, yet. Especially expectations that don't hinge (almost entirely) on what my husband thinks I should do or be. Or expectations that result from comparing myself to whichever wonderful friend I have who excels in whatever area I'm mulling over.  Or comparing myself to my mom, or his mom, and what she would do. 12-step recovery work has helped in this regard.

I've been slow to warm up to parenting and stay-at-homing. It was hard for me to leave work, where I felt like I was part of a great team that was doing measurable GOOD in the world and I got PAID for my efforts and there were attainable goals and measurable progress and clear expectations. I knew what to do to make and keep people happy! That's almost always never the case here at home. I don't even know what to do to make and keep ME happy (hint: trying to keep other people happy isn't the solution.)

Parenting is kind of muddy and messy and it's pretty much all I do. That and however much of the house I feel like maintaining, which hasn't been very much, lately.

I'd LIKE to believe that "my best is enough" but that's kind of at odds with a belief I've had for decades and have recently been trying to get rid of: "you're not done until it's perfect" (how's that one for endlessly depressing?!)

But, through all the muddy and messy parts of parenting and stay-at-home-momming, I'm pretty sure I've come quite a long way in learning more about myself and others and the experience has made me a slightly more well-rounded person. So I guess I'm thankful for that.

But I really wish I could shake this hopeless feeling. The endless, repetitive cycle of chores that are NEVER done, doing them over and over and over again, and even if something is temporarily "done" then I'm probably forgetting something else... it really wears me down.

My best is enough. My best is enough. My best is enough. My best is enough.

Step three

I have been irritable and lethargic all day. Tough day to practice self-care where self-care does not equal isolation and/or escape.

I read a little out of this book and found the following paragraph on page 53:

When I first began recovering, I feared it was a brainwashing of sorts. Now I see that my life before recovery contained the brainwashing. This program has set me free.

Of course, my cynical much-yet-un-recovered self thinks that that is JUST the sort of thing a brainwashed person would say. Also of course, I can't exactly say that my life before recovery was anything like "free."

Progress not perfection, as they say. I currently am stuck with the feeling that any and all choices I may pick regarding anything will invariably turn out to be the "wrong" one, somehow, and so why even bother? I'm not going to get it "right" so I'll just, I don't know, do nothing and sink further into hopelessness and despair? Because that's logical?!

I absolutely love this thought:

"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

 Patience in recovery! How crucial.

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.

Change and pain

These are two things I've been thinking about over the past few days. Many people recognize the first part of the serenity prayer but I find it so much more specifically encouraging in it's entirety.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace. Taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it: trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will. So that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.

 - Reinhold Niebuhr -

This next quote talks about pain and I was reminded of it in relation to asking God for things I want and then freely expressing my emotions and feelings to Him.

If we run from God, if we turn from God in the pain, we forfeit any prospect of finding hope, comfort, or meaning in it. If we run to Him in our desperation and grief we open ourselves up to all the resources of heaven, including the ways this battle can equip us with a compassion, an empathy, a perspective, and a grace that only those who've felt life's deepest wounds can know. We can choose. We can let pain make us a victim, or a wounded healer for a wounded world.

- Ron Hutchcraft -

Well, what do you expect?

Last night I almost got up out of bed two or three times so I could write down phrases and words to describe a concept that's been floating around in my head.

It's still not neat or concise or complete in my head, but here it is. It's something I've realized about me.

The more tightly I grasp at and cling to my expectations of another person, the greater chance I will miss reality and the unique gift of who they really ARE (imperfections and all), instead of who or how I wish them to be. It's easy for me to get tunnel vision and no longer see all the wonderful things about them (or even the un-wonderful, but realistic things); I no longer am present and available to listen and care and offer love and support for where they are. I only see each time they once again fail to be... something that wasn't them, at least not in that particular moment. I'm only looking for who I want them to be, who I expect them to be, who they should be (according to me)... instead of who they are.

I've spent so much time and energy informing Superman of how he should be or think or act or feel. I've thrown so many internal (and external) tantrums when he did NOT behave how I thought he should. I've lined up expectation after unrealistic expectation along with lists of reasons as to why they should be reasonable... and in so doing have become quite miserable - so long as my happiness rests in whether or not he (or anyone) meets my expectations.

I've really been too afraid and insecure to put the focus on me. I'm the only one I really have any control over. It's so humbling, but I've got to start (and stay) with me. A fellow twelve-stepper described recovery work as being "painfully exhilarating."

Yes, it certainly is. And I've become so much happier as a result!

A man of lesser quality would not have put up with me for as long as Superman has. I'm supremely grateful for him. Just the way he is.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Brain dump

I wasn't born with curly hair, it was very fine and thin. Here's a picture of my hair before kids:

I have curly hair now. It's still very fine, but there's so dang much of it that it gives the illusion of thickness. Here's a picture of my hair now. Apparently, Elaine and I had a fake smile contest; who do you think should win?

I have no idea why it's changed - the only thing I can think of is two pregnancies and the hormones that go along with that. It's also gotten less and less blonde as I've gotten older. My mom's hair did that too. She was a total towhead and now her hair is dark brown.

I don't know anything about hair, and that includes my own hair. The extent of my hair care and style routine has gone somewhat like like this:

1. Shampoo
2. Condition
3. Air-dry
4. Pony tail

I've recently eliminated the shampoo/condition part and replaced it with baking soda and vinegar because it's cheap and I get exactly the same results (minus the fruity 'clean' smell and minus the exposure to various chemicals I may or may not be excited about rubbing into my scalp on a regular basis.)

Wearing my hair down has become fairly impossible. My hair is frizzy and the slightest breeze blows it into my eyes or mouth or both which I CANNOT stand. I dutifully got a straightener and though it was certainly easier to wear down when straight, it took me at least half an hour to straighten it and I quickly wearied of holding my arms above my head (see also: french braids.)

I don't even remember how I ran across this website, but it's awesome for a newbie curly person like me. It's a tad overwhelming, but I'm learning and hopefully I'll soon discover how to get my hair to do something other than a pony tail. This is another site that I've been reading, especially in knowing how to cut curly hair. It would seem that not many stylists are really knowledgeable about that. My hair has layers now, with lots chopped off in the back to keep it from poofing (but it still does) but I think I'd like to have longer hair overall with less layers.

What do you think? (Tara and Karen, especially!) I had no idea I wasn't supposed to brush it when it's dry (though it makes sense!) or that some people wash their hair only with conditioner. Whole new world.

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In other news, Elaine has been off the anti-MRSA antibiotics for two days now and has appeared to be completely fine. I am relieved, but await the blood work that will be done on Monday to confirm the absence of infection (though I would think we'd see symptoms before then if the MRSA wasn't gone.)

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In still other news, I'm feeling depressed. I think it's mostly because for the past several weeks I've more or less been on high alert about the MRSA and Elaine's general well being. And now my body's just reverting to the other extreme in an attempt at overall homeostasis.

Sucks to be feeling down, though, especially with two little people looking to you for, oh, everything, especially emotional well-being, which is kind of tough to provide when you aren't feeling particularly emotionally healthy.

I've been doing much better at dissociating the depression from ME. I know this sounds so cheesy, but the depression does not define me, it's just something that I have to deal with. When I think of it that way it makes it a lot easier to prevent my head from taking off down the mental pathways that are so familiar but SO unhelpful for emerging from the depression sooner.

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In still OTHER news, Superman and I have really been liking the whole idea of minimalist living. There's tons of articles all over the web, but here's just one site that I've spent just a little time on. I haven't had a lot of time to look around, but I think this lines up quite well with my frugal nature and the recession and such. So many people's lives are so cluttered with stuff I think they don't really understand what truly makes them happy and fulfilled. Stuff doesn't make anyone happy and fulfilled in the long run.

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Thus concludes my brain dump.

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!

Careful

I like doing things. It’s hard for me to just relax for the sake of relaxing. My time must be productive.

OH, you say, then how come like, everything, isn’t getting done over at your house?

Well that’s usually because when I’m paralyzed by all the things screaming to be done so I collapse into some sort of procrastinating, time-wasting activity. And of course everything gets worse. You better believe I’m berating myself for not doing all the things that are crowding into my brain, and yet, it’s not my natural inclination to leap up and accomplish something at that point. Of course doing something, ANYthing, for any length of time is better than doing NOthing, even I can see that, but this is where perfectionism comes in. I can’t do anything unless it’ll be perfect, remember?

Enter overwhelming hopelessness and feelings of utter despair. It will never be perfect; I will never be done; why should I bother to try? Exit contented, abundant living full of grace and peace. Except wait, did I ever have that to begin with? Not really, no.

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My counselor and I recently explored this whole idea of getting my mind and body to relax and rest. Because I don’t, and this is bad for anxiety.

She wanted to know what I do for fun.
I told her I read and write.
She wanted to know what I do for fun that doesn’t engage my mind.
I stared blankly.
She asked what I liked to do for fun when I was a kid.
I told her I liked to read and write.
She stared blankly. (OK, not really, she probably just rolled her eyes and sighed.)
Then I remembered that I really loved to climb trees! And swing! And play or listen to music! Oh and we had a trampoline, too! I felt proud to be able to have so many helpful answers.

Then she wondered if I had ever considered setting a time each night past which I was NOT to be “productive.” Past that time, I was only to relax and “play.”

I replied that no I had not ever considered that – why on earth would I?!? Waste all that valuable time that I currently spent… wasting?!? Preposterous!

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In case it hasn’t already been evident, I have a horrible track record of self-care. I don’t really do things JUST for me. I’ve never learned how and it seems like such a pointless endeavor to my poor, misguided brain. Doing things for me… bah… who has time for that… there’s so much else to do that is far more important… I never heard of such nonsense… that is until I was more depressed than I’d ever been in my entire life, sitting in a psychiatrist’s office. She told me two things that day.

1. Take the dang medication.

2. Do one nice thing just for yourself every day.

I supposed I would have to do the first thing, but was the second thing really necessary? Really? Didn’t she know I had a 4 month old and a 2 year old that my parents were currently caring for?!?! Do something for myself, indeed. Hah. I didn’t even know what qualified, that’s how clueless I was as to how to give myself what I needed.

So it’s a little over a year later, and I think I’m ready to start doing nice things for myself on a regular basis.

(Why is no one applauding and cheering? I sensed a collective sigh and eye-roll. I’m SLOW, ok? Sheesh.)

For the past few nights, I’ve stopped all work at 9 pm. The eventual goal is that I’ll be in bed at 10 pm, but so far it’s been closer to 11 pm.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the change I’ve seen in myself. Now that I know I’ll have relatively guilt-free playtime, I’m motivated to make the time before playtime as productive as possible. It’s a race to see if I can get everything done before 9, because right at 9, everything stops and I’m not allowed to work.

It’s nice. It feels good. There’s a lot less guilt than I thought there would be. Plus, the house is looking much better, too. Jobs that are done imperfectly or even slightly sloppily are still better than jobs that weren’t done at all because there wasn’t enough time to do it perfectly.



The good, the bad, and the food.

Let's see what I can write in 30 minutes.

Tonight after dinner I asked Superman if I could have an hour alone. Since he's Superman of course he said yes and I'm holing up in our bedroom feeling... I dunno... glum.

I'm still adjusting to living in moderation with my emotions. I watch myself constantly, sometimes more closely than necessary, trying to determine if I'm depressed or merely having a bad day. I'm not sure I quite know how to tell the difference. I guess if I have 17 bad days in a row, that might be a clue that it's depression, since apparently "normal" folk don't ever consider having 17 bad days in a row. I don't really want to try and figure out what my bad day record is...

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Perhaps focusing on the positive would be more helpful.

I've been married for 1,866 days! Woo hoo!

My parents have been married for 10,574 days. WOW.

I've been alive for 10,242 days. Hooray me!

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Anyhow, what was I saying... oh yeah, so I have difficulty simultaneously acknowledging the good and the bad in any aspect of my life. I'm kinda extreme. It's either all way good or all so horrifically bad I can't possibly imagine why I ever thought anything was ever good. Need I tell you that I'm more often in the "bad" place? Or that I'm there now? =)

Except, each time I am in either extreme, I try to remind myself that life is both, all the time, even when I'm not feeling it. Good and bad together, simultaneously. Apparently my body can only accept one at a time and this is a difficult thing to unlearn.

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I saw a nutritionist today to talk about weight gain. I'm underweight and have spent most of my life being underweight. I come by it honestly, genetically, even, but I am striving to have a healthy BMI just as much as I assume overweight people strive for healthy BMIs (not that health should be judged by BMIs alone, but, you know.)

She was checking back through my medical history and said - ah ha! Here it says you had a BMI of 22! I then pointed out that I had probably just given birth and that I gained 40 pounds with each of my pregnancies. Gaining weight! Wheeeeee! Postpartum depression! Boooooo!

After I assured her I was NOT anorexic (just anxious and depressed, thank you!) she and I talked about all sorts of ways to consume more calories more of the time. In the end we decided that it would be easiest for me to mix a high-calorie smoothie in the morning and drink it all throughout the day, because it's just me that needs the extra calories, not my family. Also, nuts and seeds are my new best friends and did you know there's such a thing as avocado smoothies? I didn't. I think I'd much prefer to just eat the avocado.

And, like anything, I need to change the way I think about food if I expect any long term changes in my food-related actions. Thoughts drive actions. Sheer will-power can override thoughts and make different actions for a while, but eventually the thoughts rule again. I currently see food as a kind of nuisance that interrupts what I'd really rather be doing. And I'd rather be doing almost anything else than prepare food or eat. I eat because it's necessary. Rather ironically, I've been blessed with a high metabolism, so I'm fairly certain that even just getting the required number of calories I need is a struggle, much less 500 MORE per day.

Meh.



Grace rules

I'm looking for a new rule to live by. I love rules. When you follow them, it's like a RULE that you're doing it "right" and therefore no one can mess with you. Nothing bad can happen because that's the RULES and you're following them.

For a long time (my life time) the rule I've subconsciously lived by (and recently not so subconsciously have tried to extricate from my brain) is this:

you're not done until it's perfect.

Hence, logically, tragically, depressingly... I'm never done. Never, no matter how much I have done, heck, even if the thing is done - I'm not done. Is or was it perfect? No? Well, then I'm not done. I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong so it can be a little closer to perfect next time. I should have done better. I should have foreseen the unforeseeable. I should have known not to say or do that. I should have planned for x, y and z.

I don't know what it's like to do my best and let that be good enough and just sit back and relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor. I can't enjoy. There is no enjoying. There's only "this may be nice but it's not good enough yet. Here's how it could have been better." I seriously can't think of a single thing I've done that I didn't have some amount of self-inflicted shame or guilt over not doing it better, even if "better" equals "humanly impossible." It's somewhat more terrifying when it turns out that it's just "beck-ly impossible" and lots of other humans can do it just fine. Because then, as you can probably guess, beck despises herself even more for not being able to accomplish something "perfectly reasonable, just look at all those (differently gifted) people skipping along."

I'm sure this perfectionism fed my depression, especially after having a kid (or two.) As any parent will tell you, the presence of a new baby often doesn't allow for even the most basic of things to be begun, much less DONE and finished. So I didn't do anything (or hardly anything) because why did it matter? I couldn't even pretend to be done with anything - dishes, laundry, housework... it was all overwhelming and insurmountable. It would never be perfect. I could never be perfect. I am not enough. My husband and kids deserve someone so much better than me. Etc..

My sweet husband and children have taught me so much about what love and life are really about. Without them I'm sure I would still be stuck. I am still stuck now, to some extent, but I'm beginning to see that I don't have to be like this. There are other, far more desirable and rewarding options.

Grace, being one of them.

Grace, being the one I just don't get.

And with grace, I think it's supposed to be like that.

I've known of grace all my life, but I think, just recently, I'm starting to live in and with grace. God's grace.

I can be done.
Jesus is perfect.
I don't have to be.

Age and jays

Today I got my eyebrows waxed for what I think was the third time in my life. I'm pleased with the results. I'm pretty sure I'll go back and start doing this regularly. This whole getting pretty thing is quite the undertaking!

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I don't know how it is for you, but sometimes I don't age with my body. The age I feel I am inside doesn't match my physical age. For example, for a long time I felt like I was only 23, just with a couple of toddlers I had to take care of. Even being called "mommy" took some getting used to. It still blows my mind that the giant three year old who lives in our house is my daughter.

Recently, though, I've been feeling more my age; I'll be 28 next month. I don't feel helpless or overwhelmed or want to call my mommy with every turn of events (though I do still call her a lot!); I feel like a fairly competent 27 year old. I haven't experienced a whole heck of a lot in comparison to my peers (the list of things I've never done is embarrassingly long, but I'm past caring about that - it's the way it is) but I have gone through some pretty "adult-ish" stuff and emerged a little older and wiser. Or, I’d like to think I have.

Lookit me! I'm finally feeling all growed up.

I'm getting a handle on marriage and settling in to being content more often than not with my marriage… and everything that comes with it - namely, a 6'3" 220 lb. man named Superman.

I'm discovering what my parenting style looks like and feeling less pressured by "them" to do it x, y or z way or else it's WRONG. Mothering isn't a responsibility I take lightly and there isn't any other person on this earth who knows my girls more completely than I do. That doesn't mean I won't listen to your insight or experience or suggestions - I'll probably just feel less threatened, afterward. =)

You know what else? Some times I actually LIKE myself. That negative dialog I'm so accustomed to playing in my head hasn't been all that negative recently. I've known all about grace for most of my life but only recently have I actually, truly accepted and experienced it. I'm happy with my strengths and try to be realistic with my limitations. Heck, the fact that I can TELL you what my limitations even are is huge.

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Yesterday morning I noticed the dogs were very interested in something under our patio chairs. I went out to investigate and it turned out to be a teenager-ish blue jay who either couldn't fly yet or had a hurt leg or wing. I immediately put the dogs inside and stood back to watch as the parent jays swooped in to check on their offspring, chattering and whistling their concern and encouragement.

A few hours later I saw the parents were still hanging around in the lower branches of the lime tree so I went out to investigate. Sure enough the little baby bird was huddled down in one of our bushes. It looked strong and seemed to be able to get around just fine, just obviously couldn't fly. I took it water and bread soaked in a little milk and retreated inside. Val was particularly concerned. She assured the bird, “don’t worry baby birdie, those big dogs can’t get you. Don’t be scared. It’s OK.” That night, the bird was still there and the bread had hardly been touched, if at all.

This afternoon I took it some crushed mixed nuts and raisins soaked in water. The bird looks strong so if nothing else its parents are feeding it dog food that for some reason my dogs haven't been finishing. I've noticed the parents hopping down to help themselves to the dogs' food and water for the past few weeks and suspected they lived near by.

I think the parent birds are beginning to trust me. Whenever I go out the mama bird whistles low to me and I try to make reassuring noises back. I don't want to mess with them but I do want to help their little one if they'll let me or if they need it. Once I didn't see the baby (good little bird was hiding just like his mama told him to) until I was practically right on top of him, in the bush, and so he felt threatened and hopped out and squawked/flapped at me. I think he's healthy enough, just can't fly yet. So maybe we'll be lucky enough to watch him learn!

The dogs resent being banished to the side yard, but they'll have to deal with it. It looks like they didn't hurt the bird and I'm glad about that (Jackson especially likes birds.)

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Edit: I just checked on the bird family this morning and it turns out there's two babies on the ground now. Did it fall too or did the parents just decide they might as well keep the family together? Either way, it's more dangerous now because the local squirrels (there are MANY) have noticed the babies. I've chased away two already and am keeping my kitchen window open so I can hear the parents' calls if they come back. I also picked up the food.

Also, I have no idea what kind of birds these are. They're blue with a white underside. No crest. Very slightly brown around the shoulders. Dark blue/black heads and eyes. They look more like a blue jay, which I think aren't supposed to live here, and even though Steller's jays are supposed to be native here I don't think that's what they are. I'm pretty sure they aren't a blue birds, either.

Ah HA. They're a family of California scrub jays. Duh. I should have known that.