Insanity

Scary Ella

No no people, I haven't gone insane, but my three year old has.  Actually, that's not entirely true.  Just her behavior has.  Because of this, my parenting strategies, if they can even be called that, have recently gone to rehab.

I guess it was Mr. Einstein who said insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  So true, and yet we hardly put this into practice.  I always expect that if my gas tank is almost empty, it will stay almost empty forever.  When it doesn't, I curse the Gods of petroleum.  I believe that buying the same items at the grocery store will miraculously result in new and inventive meals each week, but nope.  I also have this belief that if I sit long enough on the sofa each night watching reruns of modern family and drinking wine, the baby weight will just melt off.  Insanity I tell you.


It seems that this holds true with parenting strategies as well.  Lately Ella has been HORRRRRRIBLE.  That's not fair.  She's been a stomping, screaming, crying, cackling MONSTER, who has been scaring us around here. When she shows her raging monster teeth, we respond like tough parents and put her right in time out. And, when she doesn't stay in time out, we do what Super Nanny taught us, and put her back there, OVER AND OVER AGAIN.  I'm talking up to 50 times or more.  We are taking water breaks in the kitchen and changing our shirts, and all the while, she's laughing and running around the house stripping her clothes off.  It's war,  and we've been losing, so we had to take out the big guns; the fairies. 
The match went something like this....
Me: "The next time you move from time out, your fairies are going time out."
Ella: Scooching on her butt away from the wall.."mommy, I moved from time out, you have to take my fairies".
Me: thinking WTF???  But I made my most somber mommy face and said, "Okay, that's so sad", I put the fairies in time out, and put her sassy butt back in time out as well.  She continued to get up and run around 25 more times.  When Anthony and I started snapping at each other about who had the better time out tactics, I decided to turn my frustration back to Ella.
Me: Panting..."The next time you move from time out, your dress up dolls are going to time out"
Ella: Runs from time out laughing.  "Mommy, you have to put my dress up clothes in time out".


At this point, I was totally ticked off for multiple reasons, the least of which being the fact that she wouldn't stay in time out.  The real problem was that I had just taken away the two toys that keep her occupied by herself for the longest period of time, and give me the most opportunities to refresh my facebook page and play word games on the Kindle. Now that the beloved toys were in time out, we were all going to suffer. I wanted her to understand that this was not going to be fun for anyone of us, and straighten out her behavior, but apparently, three year olds don't think long term, or reason well.  Then again, maybe she was, and I just wasn't aware of how her little brain wheels were rotating...

So, as a last ditch effort, I told her that if she didn't stay in time out, she was going straight to bed for the night. NO DINNER - I could hear myself growling, my inner mommy wolf coming out for battle.  The second these words rolled off my tongue, I wondered if I had lost my mind though.  It was two hours before bedtime, and I knew there was really no way to keep her in her room for the next 12 hours. Not with this routine obsessed child. We can barely do it for 6 consecutive hours.  But, as the pattern went, she moved from time out, and told me she was going to bed.  Again, WHAT???  But I couldn't show my confusion, so I marched her into her room, put her in pjs, and shut the door. To this, she wailed and screamed "I have NO SNACKS!!".  If only I had threatened to take away snacks for her lifetime, we could have avoided this whole bedtime mess.

 I walked into the kitchen, looked at our kitchen table of half eaten dinner, and collapsed onto the counter. With my head in my hands I admitted to Anthony what was obvious...I had no idea what I was doing.

I laid in bed that night wondering what the heck was going on with my child.  In the past when she started pushing the boundaries, all we needed to do was get a little more consistent with our discipline, and within a few days, she was a new child.  This time we were being nothing BUT consistent and firm, and she was getting worse. Was this a case of acute onset bipolar disorder, or could it be something else... It was time for parenting rehab. 

I've learned that every behavior serves a purpose.  As I thought about the past five months,  I began to realize the purpose of Ella's behavior.  The more she frustrated me, the more she got me.  The more she angered me, the more she got me.  The more she bugged me, the more she got me.  When I widdled it down, it became clear;  my little girl missed her mama.  She was just tying to get whatever bit of me she could get the best way she knew how.  She didn't know how to say "hey mama, you've been acting mighty staaraaaange lately, and it's kind of scaring me". or "when you cry through my Tinkerbell story, it kind of FREAKS ME OUT", or "I love my little sister to pieces, but sharing you has been pretty tough", or "why aren't you that much fun anymore?" 

So, I thought about God.  I thought about the times that I've been broken, and needy, but unable to put a voice to that need.  When I've been so far away from myself that my actions seems completely separated from my heart.  It seems that when we are most broken, we are most hurtful and most heartless.  We try to make the world feel as bad as we are feeling inside.  It seems that it's always at those times that we forget all about God, and quite honestly believe he has not only forgotten us, but has chosen to remove us all together from his agenda. It's usually at that point that we become angry at Him.

In truth though, these are the moments that God chooses to love on us the most.  I think sometimes  He looks for these moments in particular to show us that even when we are at our worst, we are lovable.  Because, what does being at our worst really mean?  I think it means that we have a need that we are too afraid to admit, so instead we act  mad, scared, frustrated, angry, resentful, jealous, and revengeful. Yes, I think God is proud of us and loves us when we are being good, and righteous; but I think God loves us in an entirely different way when we are flawed.  I like to think he embraces us and says "you keep on punching me, and I'm just gonna hold you until you're done, even if it takes an eternity". 

As parents, there is this pull to "be in control", and sometimes that makes it hard to "just love" through those horrible behaviors.  The fear is that if we "just love", then what are we teaching our kids?  Will they think that they are the boss and we are just wusses?  Will they get the message that they are in control?  Yeah, I think if you just hug on your kids all the time when they are being rude and disrespectful, they will learn that you are a punching bag. But didn't we all have those times when we were kids, or teenagers, and we were acting like complete jerks to our families?  We were slamming doors, and talking back.  Maybe we threw a toy, or ignored curfew.  So then when it came time to face the music, what worked better?  Parents who yelled at you from across the table or parents who told you they were disappointed, but held you and let you know you were loved?  I realized I had been doing a lot of "yelling across the table" and less of "holding you and letting you know you are loved".  This realization made me SO very sad.  It's not in my nature to be that kind of parent, but the combination of daily migraines and post partum garbage had turned me into someone I hardly recognized.  I decided to take my cue from the big guy, and try to love her through the punches.  I also decided to get some help for myself, for the sake of my poor family.

I stopped time out, and started time in.  I made a conscious effort to skip across the parking lot while holding hands, and to let her pick a special snack at the store (even if it was total crap).  When she wanted to listen to a song on the way to school, I actually let her listen to the WHOLE 2 minutes while we sat in the parking lot, instead of telling her we didn't have time. I made more effort to get one on one time together, even if it's just going to the grocery store, or washing the car together.  I thought it didn't matter, but it does, of course it does.   It took a lot of energy, but I made it my priority to get back to the mommy I used to be.  I learned again, that in relationships, you get out of it what you put into it.  Who would have thought my three year old would be teaching me all these lessons? 

So, we're back to our old time outs, and I am pleased to say, they are working with only a few wardrobe changes for mom and dad.  As for Ella, she is still happily streaking through a few of them. I am happy to report that the migraines are down to maybe once a week, and the depression fog is lifting!  Love to report good news :-)

Medicine Head

I googled pictures of "Medicine Head" and this is what I found - Totally fitting.  I'm the guy in the middle wearing the shades. :-)

Uggghhhhh, it's been literally IMPOSSIBLE to write anything lately, but I felt like I at least needed to write something for the sake of maintaining this blog, on some level.  It was December 24th that my first migraine returned since having Cora, and they have been relentless ever since.  Not relentless like every week though.  Relentless like every.single.day.   I know you think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not.  I'm the queen of the migraine, just ask my husband who hasn't interacted with me in over 60 days, other than to bring me an ice pack or to hear me complain.  Whenever I don't have a migraine he gets so excited, and writes me little notes that say "Do you want to be my girlfriend?", and then there are two boxes, "yes" and "yes".  I think he really misses me.


Anyway,  yes, I am seeing a neurologist, and yes, he is good.  BUT, he is a doctor, and as such, it is his belief that medication will cure all of my problems.  So, I've been on Topomax, an anti-seizure medication, which causes me to feel like a total fuzzy brain, and makes my hair fall out in clumps.  It also does not decrease the headaches.  So, I recently switched to Inderal, a Beta Blocker, which does stop the migraines, hooray!! but also makes me gain a pound a day and has turned my brain into complete sludge.  Again, I'm not exaggerating.  So, since I have a history of an eating disorder, gaining a pound a day is only going to send me into a tail spin of anxiety, thus bringing on more migraines.  So, I've taken myself off of that, and I'm currently sitting here with a wicked headache and thrilled to not be gaining weight.  Winning....I guess. 


I realize that there are much much bigger problems in the world than migraines and weight gain, but right now I'm just having a hard time believing it.  I'm so jealous of people like my husband who rarely get sick,  and can think without feeling like they have dementia.  Okay, if you are still reading, thank you for reading what is really nothing short of a whiny journal entry.
Here's the plan though - because I'm kind of feeling like God is on my side here...


Our friend John, who is in our bible study group, and who attends Life University Chiropractic School, has been telling me for weeks to call a colleague of his who is a chiropractor and look into this sort of help for my head.  I kept putting it off because I was convinced, from my thorough google searches, that chiropractic care was not the answer.  In Google we trust, right?


Now I've reached a point where I'm tired of not being able to write a sentence, or read a sentence without my brain hurting (literally and figuratively).  I've started and stopped five different blog posts because I just can't think clearly from either pain or side effects of medication. Just writing this feels impossible.  Having a clear conversation is taxing, I don't know how I'm doing my job to be honest.


So, I called this chiropractic office today, and made an appointment.  Of course, I was all stressed out about how much this was all going to cost, but then again, medication is expensive too.  After I made the appointment, and they gave me a sweet deal for knowing John, I read about the doctor, and as it turns out, he too has suffered with migraines since he was a kid, and specializes in treating them. Oh, and he's right up the road from my house.  He believes in a homeopathic approach to migraine treatment - now, did I mention that just yesterday, I interacted with an old friend who told me she got her migraines under control through an elimination diet?  I had ordered the book she recommended, and was totally charged up to take on this method, even if it takes four months, and requires giving up my most cherished beverages - coffee and wine, and possibly a lot of my favorite foods.  But really, the food I can deal with.  How to start a day without coffee and end it without wine is something I will need to figure out.


Anyway, it all seemed so serendipitous, the way that our friend was pushing me towards this guy whose MO is to treat migraines without medication, at the same time that another friend was suggesting a way to treat them through diet modification.  It all appears to be coming together.  I say that now, while still taking medication, and drinking a cup of coffee.  Either way, it seems I've exhausted all other options, so here goes nothing!  Bring on the cracking.  It has to feel better than a headache, plus it will be at least 30 minutes without kids, so that's worth something right? 
Thanks for listening :-)  Hopefully with any luck, I'll be back to whatever "normal" is, and that will be absolutely amazing.
Liz

Yogayama

Ahhh, my last yoga class was so delicious. It was a different kind of class than I'm used to though. The teacher started off by talking about "Yamas", which are the first steps in the "eight fold path to enlightenment". I did not know anything about this. To pretend that I am "enlightened" would be silly. Instead I let Google enlighten me so I could share it with you. The one yoga yama she was talking about in class was "Ahisma", which translated, means "non-violence".

 She sat so peacefully on her mat, candles all around, and read a short passage from her book about "Ahisma". It spoke to the importance of non-violence to others, as well as to oneself - this violence could be in the form of physical, verbal or emotional. When she finished reading, she asked us to go around and comment on how we felt about it. This was the part that was new to me, the having to comment thing, and not just passively stretch, breath and ommmmm.

 It made me squirm a little a little on my mat, especially since I had spent a majority of the reading looking around at all the little stars and Buddhas hanging from the walls and ceiling, and wondering why I didn't do more of that kind of decorating in my own house. All of a sudden the pressure was on to leave behind the Liz that had just been cursing out people in traffic, and tune into my inner non-violent yogi...that was obviously unaware of this elusive path to enlightenment. What would sound mindful, peaceful and smart? Think think think.....be impressive. I only wished the senior citizen who said "I don't understand the question, I signed up for a tae kwon do class", had been sitting in front of me. It would have reminded me to chill the heck out.

Anyway, that wasn't the case, and everyone in front of me was VERY together and VERY yogi-ish, so thankfully an answer came to me. I told her I was going to stop being so violent to myself (obviously). I was going to stop beating myself up over trying to balance work, family and the house perfectly. I was done with that. No more self spanking. She applauded me, and seemed very proud of her little yogi in training- whoo. I would live to lie another day.

As I thought about it though, I really should try to put into practice what my panicking self had suggested I do. So, I've started to embrace this principle a little bit over the past couple of days. See, in the past, I've spent a LOT of energy thinking about having a linen closet where everything is stacked neatly, and color coordinated. I want all of my linen closet stuff, including band aids, toothbrushes, medications, and apparently stuffed panda bears, arranged in alphabetical order, according to likelihood of need. But this never happens, and when I'm not able to accomplish these things, I feel like a lazy person, and assume the rest of the world triumphs over me in these sort of tasks. "Ahisma" has taught me that this sort of thinking is deemed violent, and ultimately unhealthy, but I help myself to a big serving of it ALL THE TIME.

That being said, people who are able to do things like this, and maintain them amaze me. The same goes for people who have systems that actually stay in place for anything, such as a family calendar, or a system for keeping their car clean, changing bed sheets, washing the children regularly, making a meal that doesn't involve the crock pot, or keeping pairs of socks together. I need the people who work at The Container Store to come live at my house, and give me crash course in home living, or just come and crash in my home forever. I promise, it would never be boring, because whatever they did, I would immediately un-do repeatedly. Maybe on purpose, but more likely because I just can't help it. It would be perfect.

Anyway, since the Container Store isn’t coming here for a home intervention, it shall remain haphazard. Around here, by the time the laundry goes through the bazillion steps of being separated, washed, dried, folded, and sometimes put away, this is what the closet winds up looking like -

This is less of a linen closet, and more an an extension to our junk drawer. It might contain less sharp items, but the positive side is that is has more drugs. The Tums are by far the most powerful. I came close to overdosing on the berry ones during my third trimester. The top shelf holds the towels that have required a lot of jumping, slinging and tossing due to my height challenges. I have to thank the bottom shelf for my biceps, as it's required a lot of mushing and mashing to get those towels to stay in place and look just right. This kind of closet takes work, that's all I'm saying.

Another area of our house, that could be seen as problematic is our bedroom closet. I'm just gonna go ahead and show you the photo right now, and then we can break it down. If you are at all OCD - close your eyes, and let someone scroll down for you.

I guess there are a few things to note here. One, there is an Oreck vacuum cleaner parked in our closet. Two, someone, not me put labels in our closet, and three, I apparently have a high threshold for embarrassment. The Oreck has been there for a week, and I don't know why. A bee got in my bonnet to vacuum, and that was about all the energy I had. The thought of dragging it ALL the way back to the broom closet is just too much, so soon it will morph into a hat tree and we won't even see it anymore. Problem solved. The lady who lived in the house before us put labels on her husband's shelf, which have clearly inspired nothing in us. I believe the label in the picture says "Polo Hoodies", but I don't even think those are real kinds of clothes, so who knows. If I had a label maker, I would print two labels - one for the closet shelf that says "Piles", and one for Anthony's floor next to the bed that says "floordrobe". Easy peasy.

So, I guess if you were to look at these pictures, it would seem that I've embraced "Ahisma" full on. It would seem that I really don’t care at all about the state of my house. However, what you don't see is the internal dialogue that goes on when I see these closets. I totally beat myself up, and I totally want it to be different, but I just can't make it so right now.

I am going to let it go. Well, clearly I've let it go, but I'm going to let go of the fact that I've let it go, because even though I'm not that old or wise yet, I've figured out a couple of things.

I've figured out that we always think the “past“ was, or “someday” will be better than the right now. Right now, I think I want structure, order and time in my life, but when I'm standing someday in my closet, with nothing BUT time, and it's all pretty and organized, I'll be wishing for the past, for someone little to come tug on my pant leg and ask me to play. I may even wish there was a little purple shoe here and there to trip over and curse at. And when the towels are folded perfectly, I'll wish someone small would take just one and throw it right into a full bathtub, just to make me crazy. The past and the present aren't all they're cracked up to be. So, I'll stay right here, and embrace everything messy and chaotic, and try not to pinch myself too much. After all, it's pretty easy to close the closet doors on that chaos, when you can open another door, walk into the next room and see this chaos.....Namaste.

Questions of Intuition

Intuition

All I can do is act according to my deepest instinct, and be whatever I must be-crazy or ribald or sad or compassionate or loving or indifferent. That is all anybody can do.

- Katharine Butler Hathaway

I like to think that I have pretty good intuition.  That when I “sense” something is wrong, it usually is.  I had really good intuition when Cora was five days old.  She wasn’t acting right, and everyone around me thought I was being anxious, but I just had this feeling that she wasn’t herself.  I went back and forth all day wondering how much of herself she could really be at five days old.  I mean, what does “too sleepy” look like when you pretty much sleep all day anyway.  And for that matter, what’s the difference between a “watery stool” and a “French’s Mustard stool”?  They look pretty much the same to me.

After watching her like a hawk all day, I decided to put a call into the pediatrician.  Of course, it was 4 pm on a Friday, so they just told us to take her to the ER.   We figured we would go there, they would tell us we were being spazzy parents, and we would come right home in time to tuck Ella in for bed.  Turns out, everything was not okay.  She was dehydrated from having diarrhea, and they transferred her via ambulance to Scottish Rite, where they hooked her up to all kinds of IVs and monitors, and we had to stay there for three days.  Words can’t explain the trauma of watching people poke IV needs into your tiny baby’s arms, and trying to put a catheter in her, while you stand helpless, watching her turn shades of red and purple from screaming.  I’m so glad I had listened to my “mommy intuition” though, because according to the doctors, if we had waited, she could have been in critical condition within hours.   So now, whenever I get that feeling, I wonder, is it “mommy intuition” again?  And, if I ignore it, is something terrible going to happen? 

One of those moments occurred today when I texted Ms. Brenda, Cora’s daycare provider, to let her know I would be picking her up early for an appointment.  When I didn’t hear back after a few minutes, I didn’t think too much of it.  An hour later, when I was leaving my elementary school and heading to my middle school, I decided I would give a call to the house, just to make sure Ms. Brenda had received my text.  My call went to the answering machine, which has never happened.  I figured she probably had her hands full changing diapers, or getting breakfast ready for the kids.  Five LONG minutes passed,  and I decided to call Ms. Brenda’s cell phone, but there was no answer there either.  Now, some people are like me, and never answer there phone, and this is just expected. Annoying, but expected.  However, between the two kids, we have been going to Ms. Brenda for almost four years, and she ALWAYS answers every text and phone call.  So, I’m now gripping the steering wheel, clenching my jaw, and imagining that Ms. Brenda has had a stroke, or heart attack, and there are children screaming and crawling all over the place, banging each other in the head with toys, while my sweet Cora is caught in the cross fire.  Then I imagine worse, a murder – suicide, where the same is going on with the children, just more blood in the mix, and obviously more laundry for everyone.  So, I make a detour, and as I approach Ms. Brenda’s house, I start to formulate a plan for how I’m going to handle this devastating situation –

1. I will call 911 and tell them that toddlers are throwing toys and they seem VERY hungry and possibly have poopy diapers that need to be changed by medical professionals with extra oxygen and masks.  Bring lots of masks.  Consider Hazmat suits.

2. Mention to 911 that there are dead people here.

3. At some point, I will need to abandon this chaos to run out to the mailbox and find out what the address is (to the place I’ve been sending my kids for close to four years) so the dispatchers can get out there to change diapers and feed the children, and remove bodies and such.

4. After I abandon the chaos, I will have to talk myself into going back to the chaos.

5. Somehow, I will need to find out where Brenda keeps the parent contact information so I can get these kids out of here. There is NO way I can manage all these kids on my own, with the murder suicide situation going on.

I’ve gotta say, at no point did I start to wonder if my mommy intuition had gone a little awry…until I pulled into the driveway and saw two other parents’ cars parked there.  I will say for a split second, I thought “oh, maybe they were thinking what I was thinking!”…..I am now willing to call that a RTP – Ridiculous Thought Process.

As I got out of my car, my anxiety starting to ease, I saw a mom, dad, and five year old walking out of the house smiling. I took my finger off the 9 on my phone as little five year old Jacob started telling me that he had T-Ball tonight, and he was “weally scawed, because thewe wew no wights in da pawk” .  A minor emergency, but I’m sure he’ll feel like calling 911 later, so I get it.  Then his mom told me that Cora was having a really fussy morning, but that Brenda had just put her down for a nap.   “Great! so she IS ALIVE!” I wanted to say.  But instead I said “yeah, she had a rough night, probably just over tired”.  Then the mom asked what I was doing there at 9 am.  “Ohhhhh”. Could I tell her I had a minor lapse in realistic thinking ability, or had just spent 20 minutes in the midst of a RTP?  Better to maintain appearances, so I just said what I thought a good and sane mother would say - “Oh, I was just driving by (in the next town) and couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see my sweet baby.” 

In the end, rational or not, there was no way I could have gone and been productive without first ruling out a murder-suicide, heart attack, stroke, aneurysm, and narcolepsy.  I can’t say it was a completely wasted trip either.  I learned that I really should start answering my phone (I know who you are rolling your eyes, stop it!!), because if I’m ever lying on my own floor with screaming kids all around me, and not answering my phone, no-one will think much of it.  Chances are, if that is happening, I’ll just be taking a nap though, or at least pretending to.

I was also reminded today that child care providers are absolute saints.  As I imagined running into Ms. Brenda’s and taking over what was going to be a horrible situation, I saw myself as something of a super hero.  Then I remembered, “That is what she does ALL DAY, EVERY DAY”, minus any additional adult medical emergencies going on in the background, but still, you get my drift.  She’s the woman who is cradling Cora, while reading to a 9 month old, and wiping the nose of 15 month old, all while calming the nerves of a 30 year old who just happened to blow in from the rain to complain that she wasn’t answering her phone – sheesh.  We need more Ms. Brendas. 

So, I have no advice on when to listen to your intuition, and when to ignore it.  I suppose you do what you have to do to calm your nerves, and sometimes that means being a little extreme and a little irrational, but isn’t that what being a good mom looks like a lot of the time?  I think so.  Irrational is subjective anyway, I say.  But don’t listen to me, listen to your own intuition, of course.

A mom thing

A Mom Thing...

Here's an oldie but a goodie - wrote this after Ella was born - 10/08


It’s been almost a week now since my mom left to head back north after spending six weeks here in Atlanta. It has been an adjustment to say the least. I’ve gone from relying heavily on her suggestions and advice regarding how to care for Ella, to having to rely on my own instincts, and anyone who knows me knows that I tend to doubt myself. If you haven’t picked up on that, then I’ve just been good at fooling you. That is one thing I’m pretty sure I’m good at.


The day she left, we were all lying on the bed together, Ella between my mom and I. When I looked over at my mom she had tears streaming down her face, and of course my eyes subsequently welled up. We laughed, because we knew that was bound to happen. It had been an amazing six weeks together, and we knew all along saying goodbye would be difficult. I’m one of those women who is fortunate to have a great relationship with my mom. We work at it. I know a lot of women who can’t say the same, and it saddens me. Anyhow, that’s a whole different digression. In the same moment that my mom began to cry, Ella began to have her own personal meltdown. It’s unlikely that she was also feeling the imminent absence of her new grandmother, but one never knows! All the same, there we were, three generations of Kluse/Pearson women crying bitter sweet tears together. Ella may have just been hungry, but I like to think she was right with us in our flood of emotions. 


Anyhow, in that moment, my mom simply looked at me and said “thank you for Ella”. What else could she say? But in all honesty, it’s not me she needed to thank. Really, it was in God’s hands all along. Ella was always meant for this world. She’s our little messenger. After she made that statement, we said a quick goodbye, no need to prolong our own sadness, or Ella’s own distress.


When I walked into Ella’s nursery to change her I immediately felt my mother’s absence and presence simultaneously. Mom was gone, but as Ella cried, I could hear my mom right behind me saying “oh what’s all this fuss!”, and “you poor thing!”, just as she had for the past six weeks. It was my mom after all who had taught me to laugh through Ella’s tears. It is simply how babies communicate. She taught me to handle it with grace and calmness. If it weren’t for her, I surely would have had many flustered moments. I then began to change Ella, only to find that I myself began sobbing, and I just let the tears flow as they needed. I cried as I held her, and I cried as I rocked her. I cried right along with her. As I cried, I realized a thought so simple, yet so beautiful. I realized that you never stop needing your mom. I was 27 years old and needing my mom to help me become a mother, needing my mom to tell me to trust my own “mother’s intuition”, and Ella was four weeks old and needing me as her mom for survival. I thought, “Wow, she is still going to need me when she is 27 too. A child will always need their mother, the needs will simply change. I have to acknowledge that it is both a terrifying and wonderful thought. I alone am going to have to/be able to hopefully fill those needs. I will fail miserably at some, and be successful beyond what I ever thought capable with others, and that is the reality of parenting. My mom always says that she would go back and change things that she did as a parent, but I wouldn’t have her change a thing.


I suppose that the old saying is true that “A mother’s work is never done”, and I feel honored to be able to have the opportunity to take on that work. The responsibility is huge, bigger than anything I’ve ever felt, but this feels like living, this feels like what we are meant to do.

Validation

I'm tired, and migrainey, so this is thrown together - take it for what it's worth :-)

Today as I was driving home from work, I gave my mom a call.  I call my mom all the time, sometimes I think I harass my mom.  I don't ever have much to talk about, but I just like to talk to hear her voice.  Today when I called she said, "your ears must have been ringing", and I said "oh yeah, you were talking about me eh?", to which she said "yeah, I was talking to Gloria in North Western (an office).  I've been thinking about you a lot, been worried reading your facebook posts. You seem a little down", to which I responded "really? sniffle sniffle". 

Then I carried on about how things have just been a little chaotic, what with the 60 days of migraines, four months without pay, two kids, having to brush my hair AND my teeth, plus sweep and such.  It's just all so overwhelming.  She seemed to think I might have a touch of PPD.....I don't know, I think this might just be par for the cou....well, maybe not. 

Moms...they know everything.  What she didn't know was that I had just contacted my old therapist Tara on Tuesday, telling her I was suspecting the same thing.  Tara had emailed me back, telling me she was so happy I had "reached out", but I had been too embarrassed, and unsure of my suspicions to email her back.  Instead, I googled "Postpartum Depression symptoms" over and over again, and then decided that "yes" this was totally me, and then "no" this was not me.  It's kind of like addiction though.  If you are spending any amount of time wondering if you are an addict, then the answer is probably YES.  People who are not addicts never even entertain that thought.  

When I was four months pregnant with Ella, I knew something wasn't right.  I was just more emotional than the normal pregnant person.  Then again, we were also planning a wedding.  We don't do things like most other people - The whole, "work smarter, not harder" thing, yeah..it's kind of lost on us.  Anyway, I started taking medication at that point, and it made a world of difference.  With Cora, I didn't take anything, and I was so proud, miserably proud.  What a waste of energy that was.  Looking back, I should have been on something.

The weird thing about PPD is that there doesn't seem to be a clear picture of what it should look like.  When I think of depression, I imagine that commercial of the wind up tin woman, who needs someone to crank up her dial before she can function each day.  I don't feel that way at all.  In fact, my favorite part of the day is first thing in the morning.  It involves coffee, fairly pleasant kids, happy news on the radio, and usually no headache. I feel pretty darn good at work all day getting to socialize with people, talk with funny little kids, and be part of the world in general.  But what I realized, is that I can feel pretty swell, great in fact, as long as everything goes-as-planned.  The minute something gets slightly overwhelming, say the dishwasher isn't run, or laundry is left in the washer, or I forgot to get gas, and I'm five minutes behind schedule, the meltdown begins.  Or, everything is calm and peaceful, and then the baby is crying while the dog is barking at pork loin on the stove - total basket case.  See, when I type this, I can see how whacked it is, but at the time, I think, "I'm just overwhelmed, I'm a mom with two kids, this is normal".  How can it be though?  Life does not go as planned, and that has to be okay, right?.  Try as I might, I can't make myself roll with the punches though.  Instead, I feel like I just get beat up like a little wuss all day.

Up until this point I had a whole bunch of excuses to explain my behavior - First, it was that Cora had colic and reflux, and she basically cried all day, until 10 pm.  That was definitely an excuse to feel depressed. Then, I was totally sleep deprived, which tends to make people a tad bit weepy.  Next up, heading back to work and taking on the world.  While that certainly justifies a few rough days, it's been over a month now, and things are actually just worse than ever.  I used to look forward to a glass of wine each night, but now I don't even care about that.  If that's not a red flag, I don't know what is!

To be honest, I just feel embarrassed that I've been writing all these "blogs" thinking I'm okay, and I'm obviously NOT. To make matters worse, I wonder if it was blatantly obvious to you.  Truly, it shouldn't matter, but I'm human, and prideful.  At the risk of further embarrassment, I am obviously continuing to share my thoughts.  I guess they call that logorrhea.  My hope is that I can give a face to PPD, because I've been spending the past few months imagining it as someone and something other than myself, which I think a lot of women probably do.  I imagined it was someone who moped around and couldn't get out of bed, but the truth is, when you are a mom, that's not an option.  So, you get out of bed, you put on a happy face, and you cry in your alone moments. 

For me, PPD looks like keeping a clean house the best I can , but only seeing the mess.  Trying to make a nice dinner, but only seeing why it's a disaster.  Having great intentions for the day, but getting overwhelmed with everything that must get done.  Wanting to have a social life, but choosing to stay in over and over again, because it just keeps everything simpler.  Loving my babies to pieces, but being unable to shake the feeling that another mom would be better for them. Constantly wondering, "have I always been this way?"  And that right there is really the clue I guess.  Not being able to remember what normal feels like, what being "Liz" feels like. 

So, when my mom said today "you seem a little down", it meant EVERYTHING to me.  Sometimes, we just need someone to validate what we know in our hearts, so we can say it out loud. Now that I've said it out loud, and to all of you, I'm going to do what I need to do to get back to Liz.  That means being proactive and not being such a stubborn and prideful mama.  And seriously, don't be scared of me.  I'm not going to "freak out" on you.  I reserve ALL of that for Anthony.  I want you to know that when/If you see me, I am always being "me".  I am not treating you any differently, so don't feel like you have to treat me any differently just because this is out there.  Know what I mean?  Let's not be weirdos.  :-)  I think I've got enough of that covered anyway.

I hope this gives you, or maybe someone you know the freedom to know that this is real, and it's okay, and they are not alone. 
XOXO
Liz

How I met your father

I recently started watching old re runs of "How I met your mother", and since I'm currently watching ZERO television, and have no real idea of when television, or leisure activities will resume, I'm sure I'll never actaully learn how "he" met "their" mother.  Instead, I thought I would tell you all, all (22) of you, how I met my husband. 

This idea was tipped off by a text I received last night.  Anthony is currently in Washington D.C for the National School Counselors Award Ceremony - Sponsored by ASCA.  Last year, he was nominated and chosen as one of the top 10 national school counselors of the year, a HUGE honor.  He spent the year feeling pretty celebrated, and  I kind of get how Seal feels now, always having to be in the shadow of Heidi. Now you know what crap I've read this week.  That's not even true (the crap reading is totally true) but I haven't felt bad being in the spot light, in fact I relish any opportunity to brag on Anthony, because honestly, when I look at how he appears to function in the house, I am amazed that he accomplishes all of this out of the house.  Sometimes I think that if I talk about it enough, it will make more sense to me, or someone will hear what I'm saying and state, "oh honey, my husband is the SAME way, and you know what I figured out?  They save up all their energy at home, and then they bust out into the world like a Creative Super Hero, able to do anything and everything".  "Ohhhhhh", is really all I'll need to say, because that makes sense.

Anyway,  It's been a pretty big year, not to mention the Children's book that is about to go into publication check out his info http://www.anthonypearson.info/ - holla!!!  Okay - I'm done with the plugs - but here are a couple of photos of my hubby's achievements - plus the baby the boot as the best achievement to date.  If he is able to make another one of those, he has ovecome medical science, and gets an entirely different award in the form of another life to raise....Soooo, if he doesn't earn that one, it's totally okay with me.

                                                          getting his award last year :-)

He invited me to help him get his tie on straight, and then insisted upon wearing my dress socks.  You just can't change a man after all....sigh.   .

         Accomplishments #3, First copy of his new book - "Baby Bear Eats the Night, with accomplishment #4, "Baby Cora Eats his Shirt"

This year Anthony was asked to go to Washington again, because he nominated his friend Nicole from another local elementary school, and get this, she WON!!!!  Crazy right?  She is an amazing counselor, from what I gather, so I was thrilled for her, but equally scared to be at home with both kids, on work days by myself.  Thankfully, my parents said they would stay in town a few more days to help me maintain the little sanity that's hanging from a string around here.  That sanity string, is pretty much like melted marshmallow right now, so good thing they are here to lend a helping hand with the little things like grabbing a drink for he kids, or making dinner, giving them baths, putting them to bed, picking them up from school, letting mommy take a nap, going to the grocery store, mopping the floor, you know, just little odds and ends. 

So part of the message above, is that my (hot) husband, is in another city, away from kids, around lots of fun restaurants and alcohol, with another counselor, who is pretty good at her craft (obviously the best in the NATION), while I am home living in yoga pants (which are just a transition out of maternity pants if you ask me), with two boogery/poopy kids who don't desire sleep at all, no matter how much bribing I do.  In fact, just the other night, Ella was running like a mouse on a wheel around the house, as I stook in the kitchen with a chunk of cake in one hand, and a melatonin dropper in the other.  She ran past me three times before she slammed her mouse paws to a hault, and looked up at me with pure jock (joy+shock), proclaiming "huh!". Suddenly I saw myself for what I was, a sticky fingered mama, literally and figuratively, and before I could comprehend what I had become (A mom who was going to drug her child and then feed her cake), Ella grabbed the cake and continued on her wheel.  I could be worried that my husband may never come home again. 

Especially when I got this text last night:

Anthony:  a self portrait of him looking good in his tux - sorry, I don't have a fancy phone, or a fancy brain that knows how to put that picture on here.

me - AWWWWW, you are looking hawt!!!

Anthony - Girlzzzzzzz

Me - Excuse me, are you with ladiezzzz??

Anthony - I meant, you know, gurl...

Me - Freudian dude.....

Anthony - This James Bond is only 4 U!

Me - whatever

Even after reading this text, I really wasn't worried, because this is what I know and love about my husband - and I say this WITH love - honey, you got no game....which is why we met on MYSPACE. 

I had just joined, thanks to my great old friend Steve-Oh, and within a week, I got this strange message from someone named "Anthony".  He said he liked my "quotes".  Now, normally, I would write this off as creepy, but this is what I saw....

That's my guy, on the left :-)

So, I was at least somewhat wrangled in by his celebrity looks, but did he have any substance, I mean, why was he stalking girls on myspace?? I actually emailed the picture to my mom and said, wow, check out this really weird/hot guy that is sending me creepy messages, to which she responded, "yeah, that is creepy".  But what about the "hot" mom?  Wait, did I have any substance?  Maybe we are made for each other.

 So, as I stalked him, and he stalked me, we wrote letters back and forth.  Mostly they were goofy, just kind of "get to know you stuff".  As I stalked him, I realized, he worked for Cobb County Schools, as did I.  I asked my school counselor if she knew who he was, and lo and behold, he was a real person, and a decent one, from her experience. He kept asking me to do weird things, like "call him", and anyone who knows me, knows I don't like the phone, so I just didn't do that.  Finally, after a few days, he called me, we set up a date, and met for the first time. He took me out to a bar where they had free drinks.....but I still liked him after that. He was funny, and witty, and had a little something to say about everything.  He had hobbies, interests, and was curious about everything, a nerd really.  Just my type.  Plus, we're educators, so free drinks are free drinks, whatever. And, for what it's worth, he has spoiled me since..

Over time,  I figured out that he would rather meet a girl through conversing online, than screaming over drinks in a crowded bar.  Plus, he likes to talk A LOT, which just isn't practical in a bar setting, unless you are fluent in one handed sign language.  He knew that pretty girls are approached all night, and really, the nice guy always loses out unless he has a unique approach, or some kind of advantage (say, a sober opportunity).  I also learned that the new rules for how you meet a girl just made my guy a lot more uncomfortable than most other guys.  He can't even watch The Bachelor or Millionair Matchmaker with me without getting totally embarassed and having to leave the room.  Cute, right?  You would have to pay my husband money, or get him completely hammered in order for him to approach a woman in a bar, and even then, I'm not sure he would be effective, unless it was me he was approaching, because I'm just the kind of girl who is looking for a guy who doesn't have game.  In a perfect world, I think he would like to be able to sit in a coffee shop writing children's stories, and have me walk in and start writing next to him on my lap top. (That may be a tad bit egocentric, but whatever). He would say something like, "wow, you sure are clicking away over there, anything interesting?", Then we would start talking about the world, and next thing you know, we would be married.  That's my eternal optomist, my big dreamer, my Anthony :-)  So glad you stayed who you were, so we could be who we are. 

Here is where my hubby really shows his mad player skills...he is better known here as "Prince Eric", or "Handsome Prince".  A "player" at heart :-) 

Love you honey, and can't wait for you to get home - so I can go out...wink wink.