I chose to go without a coat today, and when that bitter February wind hit my cheeks I wondered if I had made a bad decision. Only a moment after the shock of cold, I was shocked into recognition. I know this wind, I thought. This February wind.
"I would recognize that wind anywhere," I said aloud to the twins as I closed my eyes to savor it. It felt exactly this way when my children were born. They were all born in February and their birthdays are just days apart. It rained while I gave birth to all my children. That's how I know the Groundhog was wrong--the snow always turns to rain during this month and then each snow storm is merely a fluke, at least in my mind. There is no turning back once we hit mid-February because Spring is just around the corner.
However, I am hoping this February wind is not a signal that my last child's birth is mere weeks away. I'm not ready for that. Baby's not ready for that. She needs a few more months, not a few more weeks. And I think we'll get there, but it's not going to be easy-peesy-rice-and-cheesy. I've seen the writing on the walls for a couple weeks now, but I wasn't ready to talk about it. Now I am.
A few weeks ago, I was out shopping--buying baby's first little pink and purple and green dresses for church next Spring--when I started feeling really shaky. I held my hand up in front of my face and I couldn't see it shaking, but I felt jittery all over. By the time I got home and laid down, I thought I'd be feeling better. Hours later, I was starting to feel nervous. I still felt really sick. I called the nurse to ask her if people felt this way with gestational diabetes, maybe? I had done some research and it seemed like I was exhibiting some symptoms of hypoglycemia actually, which is opposite, but... I just needed to talk it over.
She ordered my glucose tolerance test right away (which later showed very healthy blood sugar levels), and then was ready to hang up when I nervously told her how sick I'd been feeling all day. Nervously because, given my history, I know that the answer to most problems at this stage of pregnancy equals, "Go into labor and delivery and make sure everything is okay with baby" and that just seems like such an over-reaction to feeling sick.
The nurse said, "Go into labor and delivery and make sure everything is okay. Better safe than sorry." I kind of whined and said I'd go in if I still felt sick in a few hours, hoping she'd let me off the hook. After all, they can't arrest me for ignoring the nurse's orders, right? Just the doctor's. Right? She urged me again to just go in. I said I'd wait and see how I felt when my husband got home, because I couldn't very go in with three crazy children. Right?
She could tell I was trying to refuse. Her next words hit like an overused metaphor. Or simile, to be more precise. "If this is pre-eclampsia, it can sneak up really quickly. You really need to be careful."
Ouch. She hit me where it hurt. My first son was born early because of pre-eclampsia. Something to do with my liver, which my research later suggested was very serious, if I was guessing correctly. I was on high blood pressure medication for months while pregnant with the twins--and I was on bedrest for two solid months. In other words, this is serious stuff to me because of my history.
I went in to the hospital. My blood pressure was just slightly borderline and plummeted to ridiculously low/healthy levels as I laid in the bed and relaxed for a couple hours. The baby was fine. I was fine. Everything was fine. I felt incredibly embarrassed that my complaining to the nurse led to hours of being in the hospital for apparently no reason. Ugh.
I went home, depressed, and went to sleep. The next morning, thinking everything was peachy keen, I noticed something troubling that brought all the worry back. I suspected something was up and thought I wasn't so paranoid after all. After a quick trip to the OB's office, my worries were doubled. I was right. I wouldn't have even noticed this with my first pregnancy--the pregnancy-induced hypertension and pre-eclampsia really took me by surprise. Luckily, I had my regular OB appointment the next day so I knew I'd get some answers.
...but I didn't. My doctor, who tries to keep his hormone-infused, freaked-out pregnant women as calm as possible, just told me it wasn't necessarily pre-eclampsia and that he'd just see me more often now to make sure we didn't miss anything.
NOTE: At this point, I was not even in my third trimester. To deal with these issues this early had me incredibly freaked out. The baby would have a 50% chance of survival, and "survival" would probably mean living with major handicaps her entire life. Like being blind. Or deaf. Or having an IQ of 3. Point being that I was really freaked out.
Anyway, my freaking out subsided gradually as I remembered that I have trusted my doctor with my life more than once and I have total faith in him. If he's not freaking out, I shouldn't be either. Deep breaths. Happy thoughts. All is well.
I had another follow-up appointment today and those pesky symptoms that bothered me a few weeks ago are still holding strong. And my blood pressure was, officially, way too high. 150 over something. However, after laying down for five minutes, it dropped to 120/70, which is totally fine... except that it proves that chilling out is really important right now, and I have a lot of work to do.
The doctor ordered a very annoying hospital test (Gack) and told me I need to really watch my activity, and definitely no more exercising.
To a woman who has been on bed rest for the two previous pregnancies, this sounds like: "Take it easy ... OR ELSE." In other words, I can try to manage this carefully and still have some freedom or I can push my limits and be forced into inactivity.
The writing is on the wall. There is so much that still has to be done. So much to purchase, and clean and organize and prepare! I think, "QUICK! Go get the shopping done! Don't delay!!" Then I remember my orders to "take it easy ... OR ELSE!" and I feel trapped. Slow and steady? Prioritize? I would ask for help, but I'm really the only one who can do a lot of things like tidying my office, filing away papers where they belong, etc.
And ain't NOBODY gonna buy all that cute, pink, girlie stuff for me. I have been waiting for YEARS to buy frilly little stuff. That's my reward for surviving pregnancy again. I demand my reward!
...but baby needs me to chill out, relax, not worry...
Wow, I think I feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thomas' favorite scripture story
A few days ago, Joseph came screeching to me, "MOM!! MOM!! Thomas said *hell*!!!"
I went into the other room, where I found the twins giggling and yelling at each other, "HELL!" "HELL!" "HELL!" It's hard not to laugh when you see two four-year-old twins screaming at each other like that, but I felt it was my parental duty to act serious. Hiding away a smile, I explained to them that certain words are not okay to use like that and they would be in trouble if I heard them saying it again.
Naturally, I had to explain that the word "hell" is used in the scriptures and it is okay to say it when you are reading the scriptures or talking about it that way. The next day we had a little "hell" to deal with again, but we moved swiftly past it and I thought it was behind us.
Score one for Mom's cool and collected parenting awesomeness.
Then came yesterday.
The twins were at a Primary activity with Joseph. When my husband returned home from picking them up, he plopped Thomas down with an angry/embarrassed/aggravated look on his face and related the following:
During the activity, each child filled out a "spotlight" page with all their favorite things so that the other kids could get to know them throughout the year. One of the Primary leaders was helping Thomas with his spotlight form and asked him, "What is your favorite scripture story?"
He replied immediately, "Anything with HELL in it!"
She paused and asked again, "I'm sorry... what did you say your favorite scripture story is?"
"Anything with HELL in it!"
After a little negotiation, they wrote down "Daniel & the Lion's Den" but she stopped me in the hall at church today and told me it totally made her day. I have to admit it made my day, too. I could choose to take it as a great, big parenting FAIL ... but I don't. I'm just grateful to have a kid with so much personality that I have great stories to share on my blog.
Love you, Thomas, my little Sunshine!
I went into the other room, where I found the twins giggling and yelling at each other, "HELL!" "HELL!" "HELL!" It's hard not to laugh when you see two four-year-old twins screaming at each other like that, but I felt it was my parental duty to act serious. Hiding away a smile, I explained to them that certain words are not okay to use like that and they would be in trouble if I heard them saying it again.
Naturally, I had to explain that the word "hell" is used in the scriptures and it is okay to say it when you are reading the scriptures or talking about it that way. The next day we had a little "hell" to deal with again, but we moved swiftly past it and I thought it was behind us.
Score one for Mom's cool and collected parenting awesomeness.
Then came yesterday.
The twins were at a Primary activity with Joseph. When my husband returned home from picking them up, he plopped Thomas down with an angry/embarrassed/aggravated look on his face and related the following:
During the activity, each child filled out a "spotlight" page with all their favorite things so that the other kids could get to know them throughout the year. One of the Primary leaders was helping Thomas with his spotlight form and asked him, "What is your favorite scripture story?"
He replied immediately, "Anything with HELL in it!"
She paused and asked again, "I'm sorry... what did you say your favorite scripture story is?"
"Anything with HELL in it!"
After a little negotiation, they wrote down "Daniel & the Lion's Den" but she stopped me in the hall at church today and told me it totally made her day. I have to admit it made my day, too. I could choose to take it as a great, big parenting FAIL ... but I don't. I'm just grateful to have a kid with so much personality that I have great stories to share on my blog.
Love you, Thomas, my little Sunshine!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Mondays
I have been cleaning the house with vigor, planning special projects with the twins and feeing optimistic about everything I'll get done this week. It must be Monday.
By Tuesday, I'll be trying to maintain the progress I made on Monday.
By Wednesday, I'll be feeling good about my efforts and feel like I deserve a break.
By Thursday, I'll be tired and my good habits will have been replaced by lethargy.
By Friday, I'll be looking forward to having an extra set of hands to help out over the weekend.
By Saturday, I'll be overwhelmed while looking at our impossible "to do" list next to the impossible laundry pile and dirty dishes.
By Sunday, chaos will reign supreme and I'll be trying to catch up with everything that didn't get done the day before.
And then will come another sweet Monday. Monday is the day that I am queen. Josh has gone back to work, meaning that there is only one set of opinions regarding when to do chores, how much Wii time the boys are allowed, how to handle discipline and what constitutes a "meal." My word reigns supreme and I am once again in control of the household.
TGIM.
By Tuesday, I'll be trying to maintain the progress I made on Monday.
By Wednesday, I'll be feeling good about my efforts and feel like I deserve a break.
By Thursday, I'll be tired and my good habits will have been replaced by lethargy.
By Friday, I'll be looking forward to having an extra set of hands to help out over the weekend.
By Saturday, I'll be overwhelmed while looking at our impossible "to do" list next to the impossible laundry pile and dirty dishes.
By Sunday, chaos will reign supreme and I'll be trying to catch up with everything that didn't get done the day before.
And then will come another sweet Monday. Monday is the day that I am queen. Josh has gone back to work, meaning that there is only one set of opinions regarding when to do chores, how much Wii time the boys are allowed, how to handle discipline and what constitutes a "meal." My word reigns supreme and I am once again in control of the household.
TGIM.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Decision. Serious stuff.
I love baking.
I hate making phone calls.
Josh's aunt made a delicious cake a few months ago and I finally decided to beg for the recipe. So I emailed her.
She emailed a reply, telling me to call her for the recipe.
Which do I feel more strongly--my love of baking or my hatred of phone calls? Time will tell.
I hate making phone calls.
Josh's aunt made a delicious cake a few months ago and I finally decided to beg for the recipe. So I emailed her.
She emailed a reply, telling me to call her for the recipe.
Which do I feel more strongly--my love of baking or my hatred of phone calls? Time will tell.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Unattainable
To love something unattainable is hell.
That's what I decided today after breaking down into tears on my voice teacher's front porch. I quickly had to mentally edit the sentence--not to exclude the word hell, which I don't think is meant in a profane way here, but to clarify the thought.
To love something unattainable is just part of life. We can love the sight of a distant mountain peak with the sure knowledge that it will never belong to us, and that type of love causes no pain.
To love and desire something unattainable is hell. It's a mental contradiction that should never be toyed with, to want something that you know you can't have. This is a lesson we learn when we're toddlers--accept the limits of what you cannot have and don't throw a temper tantrum about it. The hard part is to recognize when your desires are unreasonable so that you can bring your feet back to earth and adjust your attitude.
In church last week, the discussion turned to the talents that we develop. It is the belief in my church, for those who don't already know, that we are born with some talents that we began developing before we were born. Some people just seem to be born patient or artistic or good with words or musical. I wondered vaguely is some might mistakenly guess that music is a gift that I was born with.
The answer is a resounding no, but it is worse than that. I was born with an unflinching love of music--but no natural talent for it. Hence my initial sentiment above. I cry when I hear beautiful music because of the way it reaches inside and echoes deep within me--but also because I want so badly to create that beauty for myself instead of depending on others for it.
(I have to pause here to apologize to those who have read these frustrations of mine before. They are on my mind a lot and blogging about them is a good way to work through them.)
If I didn't love music so much, it would be so simple for me to accept my own limitations (which are many) with regard to singing. When I listen to women with ethereal, lyrical voices I am absolutely enchanted. Those are the voices that people want to listen to. There is nothing ethereal and lyrical about my voice. It's more of a train running at full speed than a canoe lifting gently on the waves of a river. This is why I broke into tears as I was leaving my voice lesson today. I was waffling about whether or not to enter the annual singing competition again. I said to my teacher, "I don't know why I have such a hard time singing in front of other people, but it's just really, really hard for me."
Then it hit me suddenly. I knew why I'm scared to death of performing. "I guess it's because nobody tells me they like to hear me sing," I said to her as the tears started forming against my wishes. It's not that I want people to fawn on me and shower me with compliments. That would just embarrass me. A little encouragement, however, is always appreciated. After all, I've devoted a lot of hours to voice lessons over the last 10 years--and a few thousand dollars. I have done it for my love of music and not because I expect any greatness, but frustration still creeps in when I feel like I cause other people pain when I'm doing what I love.
My voice is overpoweringly big. I cannot make it small except when I sing in a very small, comfortable range. I have heard people often mock "those women in church who show off and think they're the only ones in the room." This kind of comment is always met with the nodding of heads and murmurs of assent. Apparently those of us born with big voices are legitimate targets of ridicule--we ought to know better than to sing loudly. It's just that I never asked for the Great Big Voice--and I would have to be really, really GOOD to rein this voice in. I try to blend in--I really do--and sometimes I give up and just close the hymnbook in frustration. Ward choir is a bit of a travesty, especially when the numbers are small. Every mistake stands out with a capital M.
I have anxiety that others think I'm showing off when I'm just doing what I love.
I have anxiety that others hear my frequent pitch problems or know that I'm breathing exactly where the choir director told me NOT to breathe or that others hear me break on the high notes because I just don't blend in.
I have anxiety that others expect a lot from me because my voice is so big and rich, not knowing that you need a certain level of skill to make the most of a voice like this. The Great Big Voice + a lot of talent produces opera stage prima donnas, not ward choir blender-inners. The Great Big Voice without a Great Big Talent is just a train wreck.
I just feel scared when I sing most of the time, but I keep doing it because of that unforgivable love of music. It is so much fun when I can quiet the anxiety. It is so relaxing when it's not the opposite. It's so rewarding when my insecurities are not overwhelming my every thought like they are today. I keep thinking, "Someday all this frustration will result in something wonderful" so I keep on singing. And I keep hoping. I keep thinking that maybe someday a miracle will occur and I will actually like the color of my singing voice. I'll listen to it and feel at peace because I really enjoy that sound I'm creating. Is that such an unreasonable desire?
After all, there are magical moments in my singing when the hair on my arms stands on end and the room is spinning because everything came together so well and I know I had a Moment. A beautiful, magical Moment that makes me giddy and dizzy. I clearly remember having one of those Moments when I sang "Memory" last year and knew I had absolutely nailed it. It wasn't good--it was great. I remember once having a Moment singing "I Dreamed a Dream." It wasn't amazing except that I knew I had sung it as perfectly as I ever could sing it and who can really ask for more than that?
Today, however, I'm struggling against one of those "I GIVE UP. NOW AND FOREVER!" moments. I am feeling so fragile and so frustrated. It was hard to write the check that enters me in the singing competition next month. But I made a promise and I want to stick to it. Even if I feel apologetic about unleashing the Great Big Voice on unsuspecting listeners. Even if I'll be 6 1/2 months pregnant and my heart will absolutely go CRAZY when I'm on stage and then I know I won't be able to breathe. Even if I'm so scared that I keep bursting into tears at the thought of it.
Because I want to respect myself, and I'm not ready to accept that my dream is unattainable. Not yet. I'm willing to live with my own personal hell just a little bit longer.
That's what I decided today after breaking down into tears on my voice teacher's front porch. I quickly had to mentally edit the sentence--not to exclude the word hell, which I don't think is meant in a profane way here, but to clarify the thought.
To love something unattainable is just part of life. We can love the sight of a distant mountain peak with the sure knowledge that it will never belong to us, and that type of love causes no pain.
To love and desire something unattainable is hell. It's a mental contradiction that should never be toyed with, to want something that you know you can't have. This is a lesson we learn when we're toddlers--accept the limits of what you cannot have and don't throw a temper tantrum about it. The hard part is to recognize when your desires are unreasonable so that you can bring your feet back to earth and adjust your attitude.
In church last week, the discussion turned to the talents that we develop. It is the belief in my church, for those who don't already know, that we are born with some talents that we began developing before we were born. Some people just seem to be born patient or artistic or good with words or musical. I wondered vaguely is some might mistakenly guess that music is a gift that I was born with.
The answer is a resounding no, but it is worse than that. I was born with an unflinching love of music--but no natural talent for it. Hence my initial sentiment above. I cry when I hear beautiful music because of the way it reaches inside and echoes deep within me--but also because I want so badly to create that beauty for myself instead of depending on others for it.
(I have to pause here to apologize to those who have read these frustrations of mine before. They are on my mind a lot and blogging about them is a good way to work through them.)
If I didn't love music so much, it would be so simple for me to accept my own limitations (which are many) with regard to singing. When I listen to women with ethereal, lyrical voices I am absolutely enchanted. Those are the voices that people want to listen to. There is nothing ethereal and lyrical about my voice. It's more of a train running at full speed than a canoe lifting gently on the waves of a river. This is why I broke into tears as I was leaving my voice lesson today. I was waffling about whether or not to enter the annual singing competition again. I said to my teacher, "I don't know why I have such a hard time singing in front of other people, but it's just really, really hard for me."
Then it hit me suddenly. I knew why I'm scared to death of performing. "I guess it's because nobody tells me they like to hear me sing," I said to her as the tears started forming against my wishes. It's not that I want people to fawn on me and shower me with compliments. That would just embarrass me. A little encouragement, however, is always appreciated. After all, I've devoted a lot of hours to voice lessons over the last 10 years--and a few thousand dollars. I have done it for my love of music and not because I expect any greatness, but frustration still creeps in when I feel like I cause other people pain when I'm doing what I love.
My voice is overpoweringly big. I cannot make it small except when I sing in a very small, comfortable range. I have heard people often mock "those women in church who show off and think they're the only ones in the room." This kind of comment is always met with the nodding of heads and murmurs of assent. Apparently those of us born with big voices are legitimate targets of ridicule--we ought to know better than to sing loudly. It's just that I never asked for the Great Big Voice--and I would have to be really, really GOOD to rein this voice in. I try to blend in--I really do--and sometimes I give up and just close the hymnbook in frustration. Ward choir is a bit of a travesty, especially when the numbers are small. Every mistake stands out with a capital M.
I have anxiety that others think I'm showing off when I'm just doing what I love.
I have anxiety that others hear my frequent pitch problems or know that I'm breathing exactly where the choir director told me NOT to breathe or that others hear me break on the high notes because I just don't blend in.
I have anxiety that others expect a lot from me because my voice is so big and rich, not knowing that you need a certain level of skill to make the most of a voice like this. The Great Big Voice + a lot of talent produces opera stage prima donnas, not ward choir blender-inners. The Great Big Voice without a Great Big Talent is just a train wreck.
I just feel scared when I sing most of the time, but I keep doing it because of that unforgivable love of music. It is so much fun when I can quiet the anxiety. It is so relaxing when it's not the opposite. It's so rewarding when my insecurities are not overwhelming my every thought like they are today. I keep thinking, "Someday all this frustration will result in something wonderful" so I keep on singing. And I keep hoping. I keep thinking that maybe someday a miracle will occur and I will actually like the color of my singing voice. I'll listen to it and feel at peace because I really enjoy that sound I'm creating. Is that such an unreasonable desire?
After all, there are magical moments in my singing when the hair on my arms stands on end and the room is spinning because everything came together so well and I know I had a Moment. A beautiful, magical Moment that makes me giddy and dizzy. I clearly remember having one of those Moments when I sang "Memory" last year and knew I had absolutely nailed it. It wasn't good--it was great. I remember once having a Moment singing "I Dreamed a Dream." It wasn't amazing except that I knew I had sung it as perfectly as I ever could sing it and who can really ask for more than that?
Today, however, I'm struggling against one of those "I GIVE UP. NOW AND FOREVER!" moments. I am feeling so fragile and so frustrated. It was hard to write the check that enters me in the singing competition next month. But I made a promise and I want to stick to it. Even if I feel apologetic about unleashing the Great Big Voice on unsuspecting listeners. Even if I'll be 6 1/2 months pregnant and my heart will absolutely go CRAZY when I'm on stage and then I know I won't be able to breathe. Even if I'm so scared that I keep bursting into tears at the thought of it.
Because I want to respect myself, and I'm not ready to accept that my dream is unattainable. Not yet. I'm willing to live with my own personal hell just a little bit longer.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Winter Rain
Winter rain
Refreshes
Freshens
Brightens
Cheers
Renews
Cleanses
Uplifts
We pray for rain
Not only to nurture life in the soil
But to overcome the death in the air
The grey lifts?--
Or falls?
It is conquered.
We give thanks.
Refreshes
Freshens
Brightens
Cheers
Renews
Cleanses
Uplifts
We pray for rain
Not only to nurture life in the soil
But to overcome the death in the air
The grey lifts?--
Or falls?
It is conquered.
We give thanks.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Hearty
My heart was pumping quickly all the way to the cardiologist's office. Stress. I didn't even want this appointment, but in the wise words of my obstetrician, "You don't mess around with the heart."
What I expected from my cardiologist: an hour-long wait followed by lots of questions, no definite answers, and a round of excruciatingly irritating tests.
What I got: a warm and personable receptionist who told me I'm her hero for having four kids (she only has one), an empty waiting room and brief wait, a reassuring doctor who only ordered one test (yippee! ... even if it's the one I dread the most) and who told me to relax and try not to worry about it.
You know how they always say, "Consult a doctor before starting a new exercise program?" I've always thought that was kind of unnecessary in most cases, but discovered today I am one of those exceptions. No new exercise for me right now. If my heart rate is 120 just loading the dishwasher, I guess training for a marathon is out. (Mwahahaha... like I'd ever train for a marathon. I crack me up!)
When I was scheduling my follow-up appointment, the adorably happy and friendly receptionist suddenly stopped and said, "Oh! Do you want brownies?" Then she looked over her shoulder a little and said, "Ooh, but you can't tell the heart doctor I said that!"
So I came home with a clean bill of cardiac health (pending results of the upcoming test), instructions to relax, not worry about it and live my life. And on top of all that, I brought home brownies.
That was so much better than I expected.
What I expected from my cardiologist: an hour-long wait followed by lots of questions, no definite answers, and a round of excruciatingly irritating tests.
What I got: a warm and personable receptionist who told me I'm her hero for having four kids (she only has one), an empty waiting room and brief wait, a reassuring doctor who only ordered one test (yippee! ... even if it's the one I dread the most) and who told me to relax and try not to worry about it.
You know how they always say, "Consult a doctor before starting a new exercise program?" I've always thought that was kind of unnecessary in most cases, but discovered today I am one of those exceptions. No new exercise for me right now. If my heart rate is 120 just loading the dishwasher, I guess training for a marathon is out. (Mwahahaha... like I'd ever train for a marathon. I crack me up!)
When I was scheduling my follow-up appointment, the adorably happy and friendly receptionist suddenly stopped and said, "Oh! Do you want brownies?" Then she looked over her shoulder a little and said, "Ooh, but you can't tell the heart doctor I said that!"
So I came home with a clean bill of cardiac health (pending results of the upcoming test), instructions to relax, not worry about it and live my life. And on top of all that, I brought home brownies.
That was so much better than I expected.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
2010 : learning the fine art of consumption
As I drove my kids to preschool this morning, the whole city seemed to be drowsy still. Cars moved quietly along at five miles below the speed limit and nobody seemed to mind. By this afternoon, people will be zipping along at heart-stopping paces and everything will come alive.
That's how 2010 started out for me: slow and lazy but gradually awakening to new possibilities. I was embarrassed to think that an entire week of the year had passed (that's 1/52nd of the year wasted!) without that One Perfect Resolution that would change my life. Then it came to me in one of those moments of clarity that inevitably follow moments of confusion or unhappiness or introspection.
I've spent the last two days doing something I love: paper crafting. (Photos later!) I went to the library to check out some books on the subject and suddenly felt burned out. Why? Why? Why was I feeling this way just when I was starting to make some progress?
Simple: I was burned out. Just like I was totally burned out from Christmas music by December 1st because I'd been listening to it nonstop since the start of November. Yes, Virginia, that really is "too much of a good thing." By the time we finally tore down our final Christmas decorations (two days ago), I wanted to shove them into the box and scream, "GOOD RIDDANCE!!!"
Too much of a good thing. Burned out.
Just like when you eat too much candy, you get nauseous. Or when you go shopping and impulsively spend too much, you feel guilty. It's like that with time, too: if you consume too much of it with "fun" and ignore the important stuff, you get burned out. You feel emotionally nauseous. That's how I felt today.
So my 2010 Resolution is to be more moderate in my CONSUMPTION in every little corner of my life. I need to consume money carefully because my husband brought up graduate school with me again this morning. That will require some savings. I need to consume calories more carefully because I've fallen into some very bad habits while pregnant and I don't want to be defined by obesity the rest of my life.
I need to consume time more carefully because I do not relish the inevitable guilt that comes from letting the laundry pile up or listening to my son say to me, as he did yesterday with a sad look on his face, "I wish you would spend more time playing with me, Mommy."
I live in a culture of waste--consumption gone wild. What does the rest of the world think of Americans? Fat. Lazy. Overindulged.
Yep, they pretty much got it right and it's not something we should be offended by. It's something we can listen to and ask, "Do you mean there is another way?"
Yes! When I was in Germany last year, the entire lifestyle that my relatives lead was appealing to me. They savor their time with family. They savor their food. They savor every square inch of their property by planting flowers and shrubs and trees all throughout their yard. They savor life by consuming the right way.
Here are my initial thoughts on how to be a better CONSUMER:
SAVOR!
Close my eyes and savor the taste of my food instead of just robotically chewing and swallowing. Breathe deeply when the air is heady with the fragrance of spring roses. Pull over to the side of the road and just stare when that perfect sunset is in the sky. Sit on my front porch and just enjoy the autumn weather. Slow down. Pay attention. Be happy.
PRIORITIZE
Enjoy my hobbies after the kitchen is clean. Do the hard stuff first--and be grateful for arms and legs and health that make it possible to fold laundry and sweep floors and dust furniture. Stick to schedules, look at the calendar, don't complain about the boring stuff. I know myself well enough to know I will never enjoy the good stuff if the important stuff hasn't been completed.
GET CREATIVE
Think about the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" in every facet of my life. Can I reduce the amount of time it takes to get this done? Can I make this food do double-duty somehow? (Like make it both nutritious and really delicious? Or add something to the meal so that it will fill daily requirements of calcium and protein? Or protein and fiber?) Can I multi task so that I'm having fun and doing important stuff at the same time? (Like practicing my singing--fun--while doing the dishes--not fun.)
Suddenly the year ahead of me is looking bright and happy! Though seemingly vague, this goal is achievable. There is no way to measure whether I have succeeded or failed, but that's okay. It's what I need right now.
That's how 2010 started out for me: slow and lazy but gradually awakening to new possibilities. I was embarrassed to think that an entire week of the year had passed (that's 1/52nd of the year wasted!) without that One Perfect Resolution that would change my life. Then it came to me in one of those moments of clarity that inevitably follow moments of confusion or unhappiness or introspection.
I've spent the last two days doing something I love: paper crafting. (Photos later!) I went to the library to check out some books on the subject and suddenly felt burned out. Why? Why? Why was I feeling this way just when I was starting to make some progress?
Simple: I was burned out. Just like I was totally burned out from Christmas music by December 1st because I'd been listening to it nonstop since the start of November. Yes, Virginia, that really is "too much of a good thing." By the time we finally tore down our final Christmas decorations (two days ago), I wanted to shove them into the box and scream, "GOOD RIDDANCE!!!"
Too much of a good thing. Burned out.
Just like when you eat too much candy, you get nauseous. Or when you go shopping and impulsively spend too much, you feel guilty. It's like that with time, too: if you consume too much of it with "fun" and ignore the important stuff, you get burned out. You feel emotionally nauseous. That's how I felt today.
So my 2010 Resolution is to be more moderate in my CONSUMPTION in every little corner of my life. I need to consume money carefully because my husband brought up graduate school with me again this morning. That will require some savings. I need to consume calories more carefully because I've fallen into some very bad habits while pregnant and I don't want to be defined by obesity the rest of my life.
I need to consume time more carefully because I do not relish the inevitable guilt that comes from letting the laundry pile up or listening to my son say to me, as he did yesterday with a sad look on his face, "I wish you would spend more time playing with me, Mommy."
I live in a culture of waste--consumption gone wild. What does the rest of the world think of Americans? Fat. Lazy. Overindulged.
Yep, they pretty much got it right and it's not something we should be offended by. It's something we can listen to and ask, "Do you mean there is another way?"
Yes! When I was in Germany last year, the entire lifestyle that my relatives lead was appealing to me. They savor their time with family. They savor their food. They savor every square inch of their property by planting flowers and shrubs and trees all throughout their yard. They savor life by consuming the right way.
Here are my initial thoughts on how to be a better CONSUMER:
SAVOR!
Close my eyes and savor the taste of my food instead of just robotically chewing and swallowing. Breathe deeply when the air is heady with the fragrance of spring roses. Pull over to the side of the road and just stare when that perfect sunset is in the sky. Sit on my front porch and just enjoy the autumn weather. Slow down. Pay attention. Be happy.
PRIORITIZE
Enjoy my hobbies after the kitchen is clean. Do the hard stuff first--and be grateful for arms and legs and health that make it possible to fold laundry and sweep floors and dust furniture. Stick to schedules, look at the calendar, don't complain about the boring stuff. I know myself well enough to know I will never enjoy the good stuff if the important stuff hasn't been completed.
GET CREATIVE
Think about the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" in every facet of my life. Can I reduce the amount of time it takes to get this done? Can I make this food do double-duty somehow? (Like make it both nutritious and really delicious? Or add something to the meal so that it will fill daily requirements of calcium and protein? Or protein and fiber?) Can I multi task so that I'm having fun and doing important stuff at the same time? (Like practicing my singing--fun--while doing the dishes--not fun.)
Suddenly the year ahead of me is looking bright and happy! Though seemingly vague, this goal is achievable. There is no way to measure whether I have succeeded or failed, but that's okay. It's what I need right now.
Friday, January 08, 2010
2009 resolution revisited, and coming tomorrow ...
2007 resolution :: Stop saying, "I can't" and start saying, "How can I make it happen?"
2008 resolution :: Discover confidence from within.
2009 resolution :: Create joy in my life, instead of waiting for it to happen to me.
Last year, I wrote the following about my New Year's Resolution for 2009: "I'm used to stealing happy moments when I can, not actively seeking them out or planning for them. This will require a complete mental reboot for me. If I can pull it off, this will be, hands down, the best year of my life."
I'm happy to report that although 2009 began as one of the most emotionally tiring years of my life, it ended as the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE! I can hardly believe all that morphed, solidified or resolved itself during the past 12 months. It's been amazing.
It all started to change in the middle of the year and made it possible for me to (finally) feel ready for one last baby. As I feel her doing kick-boxing moves in my tummy, I have a tangible reminder of how far I've come and how good my life is.
I am at such a happy place in my life right now, despite bouts of hormone- and pregnancy-induced moodiness. Those things don't define me. They are just things that I "get" to deal with occasionally.
TOMORROW: My 2010 resolution revealed, a principle that might just change everything.
2008 resolution :: Discover confidence from within.
2009 resolution :: Create joy in my life, instead of waiting for it to happen to me.
Last year, I wrote the following about my New Year's Resolution for 2009: "I'm used to stealing happy moments when I can, not actively seeking them out or planning for them. This will require a complete mental reboot for me. If I can pull it off, this will be, hands down, the best year of my life."
I'm happy to report that although 2009 began as one of the most emotionally tiring years of my life, it ended as the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE! I can hardly believe all that morphed, solidified or resolved itself during the past 12 months. It's been amazing.
It all started to change in the middle of the year and made it possible for me to (finally) feel ready for one last baby. As I feel her doing kick-boxing moves in my tummy, I have a tangible reminder of how far I've come and how good my life is.
I am at such a happy place in my life right now, despite bouts of hormone- and pregnancy-induced moodiness. Those things don't define me. They are just things that I "get" to deal with occasionally.
TOMORROW: My 2010 resolution revealed, a principle that might just change everything.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Moody, with a chance of cheer
I was awakened by loud, stomping footsteps over my head. This is one of the things I don't understand about the Y chromosome. Why do my boys (yes, all of them) have to be so loud about life? Why can't they walk quietly or close doors quietly or speak quietly? (Okay... Yes, it's a bit hypocritical of me to want them to speak quietly, but I can dream.)
The loud, stomping footsteps were, predictably, followed by loud knocking on my bedroom door. At 6:54 a.m., I don't take well to this. It makes me grouchy. I was dreaming that I was in Disneyland and the lights were on inside Space Mountain and then suddenly I was awake and dealing with Male Loudness. Who wouldn't be grouchy?
When I'm pregnant and I wake up grouchy, it's hard to shake it off. I don't know why, but no matter how much I try to choose happiness, it all ends up as grumpiness instead. It's very annoying. A while later, when I was contemplating the inevitability of a day filled with guilty grumpiness, I had almost lost hope of cheering up. Losing hope by 8:55 a.m. is a bad sign--a sign that the day is, indeed, not going well.
Then something strange happened. I was in the car, driving my kids to preschool. I was staring off into space ... err, at the road ahead of me ... and a new mood flew in through the window and blanketed me with hope. It may sound strange, but the cheerfulness was tangible and came from the west. It just plopped itself down and decided to stay a while.
I laughed out loud. Who wouldn't laugh out loud when happiness flies in the car window from the west and settles in for a stay?
It's been a few hours and I feel as chipper as ever. Life is good. Life is great. And the greatest thing about it is the great gift I've been given: happiness when I least expected it.
The loud, stomping footsteps were, predictably, followed by loud knocking on my bedroom door. At 6:54 a.m., I don't take well to this. It makes me grouchy. I was dreaming that I was in Disneyland and the lights were on inside Space Mountain and then suddenly I was awake and dealing with Male Loudness. Who wouldn't be grouchy?
When I'm pregnant and I wake up grouchy, it's hard to shake it off. I don't know why, but no matter how much I try to choose happiness, it all ends up as grumpiness instead. It's very annoying. A while later, when I was contemplating the inevitability of a day filled with guilty grumpiness, I had almost lost hope of cheering up. Losing hope by 8:55 a.m. is a bad sign--a sign that the day is, indeed, not going well.
Then something strange happened. I was in the car, driving my kids to preschool. I was staring off into space ... err, at the road ahead of me ... and a new mood flew in through the window and blanketed me with hope. It may sound strange, but the cheerfulness was tangible and came from the west. It just plopped itself down and decided to stay a while.
I laughed out loud. Who wouldn't laugh out loud when happiness flies in the car window from the west and settles in for a stay?
It's been a few hours and I feel as chipper as ever. Life is good. Life is great. And the greatest thing about it is the great gift I've been given: happiness when I least expected it.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Depression
If my recent post about the Pit of Despair wasn't enough of a clue, I'm seriously fighting off some depression right now.
It started about two weeks ago and I told my husband I could feel that depression blah setting in. The tiredness. The listlessness. The feeling that no matter how happy your life is, you can't be happy. You just look at it analytically and say, "I should be happy. Life is great. There is no reason to be unhappy, but there is no way to feel otherwise." If you haven't experienced it (or if you aren't currently experiencing it), it's hard to understand how real this is.
I'm not in some catatonic depressive state where I can't get up in the morning or brush my teeth. I'd call this mild depression. It's just that constant, nagging feeling of unhappiness and lethargy that I can't shake. It's annoying. I am living my life in black and white instead of color--but I'm still alive and kicking. I'm still making plans and getting things done and being a (pretty) good parent.
But there are little troubles that irritate me. My oldest is constantly dragged down by my mood. His mood is very dependent on mine and he is really bothered that I'm not being fun and cheerful and laughing with him. In other words, he's bummed out that I'm bummed out. I feel for him and I'm bummed out that I'm not being more fun.
The other thing that is really irking me right now is that I see myself entering a more serious stage of depression. This one I like to call the "Push Away Anybody Who Cares About Me At All" stage. This is the self-pitiful, moody stage where I make myself so incredibly unpleasant that nobody wants to be within a mile of me. I frown. I complain. I am a Piece of Work.
I look at myself logically and wish I could get away from myself, but I'm stuck here living inside this Piece of Work that I don't recognize. She's a stranger to me--so foreign to my naturally sunny and optimistic temperament.
Four more months and the baby will be here. My heart will recognize its' biological speed limit again and slow down so I can fight this with some exercise. And if things are getting worse, I at least have the option of an anti-depressant. I don't like to pop the pills but I'll do it for Joseph. He deserves to have his Mom back.
Why, oh why, do I expose myself to the world this way? We've gone over this before. I'm not ashamed that I was built this way: overly anxious and occasionally prone to depression. That's not a choice I made. It's something that was dealt to me in my genetic deck of cards--the same way some people are dealt diseases or handicaps. I know how to fight this and I always do. I'm proud of how thoroughly I've made this a non-issue in my life (except when I'm pregnant... and getting pregnant scared me to death for that very reason) ... but I remember the first time it hit and I was unprepared. I felt so alone, so misunderstood, so ashamed of who I was.
This is a common, but mostly unspoken, problem and I want others to know they're not alone. I want to shout down into the abyss that others have fallen into and tell them there is hope. Maybe that will be enough of a rope for them to cling to that they can eventually climb out and find normality again.
That's why.
It started about two weeks ago and I told my husband I could feel that depression blah setting in. The tiredness. The listlessness. The feeling that no matter how happy your life is, you can't be happy. You just look at it analytically and say, "I should be happy. Life is great. There is no reason to be unhappy, but there is no way to feel otherwise." If you haven't experienced it (or if you aren't currently experiencing it), it's hard to understand how real this is.
I'm not in some catatonic depressive state where I can't get up in the morning or brush my teeth. I'd call this mild depression. It's just that constant, nagging feeling of unhappiness and lethargy that I can't shake. It's annoying. I am living my life in black and white instead of color--but I'm still alive and kicking. I'm still making plans and getting things done and being a (pretty) good parent.
But there are little troubles that irritate me. My oldest is constantly dragged down by my mood. His mood is very dependent on mine and he is really bothered that I'm not being fun and cheerful and laughing with him. In other words, he's bummed out that I'm bummed out. I feel for him and I'm bummed out that I'm not being more fun.
The other thing that is really irking me right now is that I see myself entering a more serious stage of depression. This one I like to call the "Push Away Anybody Who Cares About Me At All" stage. This is the self-pitiful, moody stage where I make myself so incredibly unpleasant that nobody wants to be within a mile of me. I frown. I complain. I am a Piece of Work.
I look at myself logically and wish I could get away from myself, but I'm stuck here living inside this Piece of Work that I don't recognize. She's a stranger to me--so foreign to my naturally sunny and optimistic temperament.
Four more months and the baby will be here. My heart will recognize its' biological speed limit again and slow down so I can fight this with some exercise. And if things are getting worse, I at least have the option of an anti-depressant. I don't like to pop the pills but I'll do it for Joseph. He deserves to have his Mom back.
***
Why, oh why, do I expose myself to the world this way? We've gone over this before. I'm not ashamed that I was built this way: overly anxious and occasionally prone to depression. That's not a choice I made. It's something that was dealt to me in my genetic deck of cards--the same way some people are dealt diseases or handicaps. I know how to fight this and I always do. I'm proud of how thoroughly I've made this a non-issue in my life (except when I'm pregnant... and getting pregnant scared me to death for that very reason) ... but I remember the first time it hit and I was unprepared. I felt so alone, so misunderstood, so ashamed of who I was.
This is a common, but mostly unspoken, problem and I want others to know they're not alone. I want to shout down into the abyss that others have fallen into and tell them there is hope. Maybe that will be enough of a rope for them to cling to that they can eventually climb out and find normality again.
That's why.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Lights Out
I am dreaming and the world looks so black, so cold.
There is a void ahead of me and I am swirling in closer, closer. It is a pit. A blackness. A never-ending shiver that I have tried to shelter myself from.
I turn away, only to fear that I will lose my balance and fall backward. I must face it, stare it down, back away. But it is calling me.
I am tired. I don't want to fight. I just want to fall, fall, fall ...
Now I am standing on the brink, staring into black oblivion. A haunting voice without words calls to me from the depths. It is waiting to welcome me. It says that I am home.
The only string holding me upright is the truth that I will one day want to climb out of the darkness and it will exhaust every reserve of fire inside me. Would that fire be extinguished if I fell down, down, down...?
I awake to discover I've never been asleep.
There is a void ahead of me and I am swirling in closer, closer. It is a pit. A blackness. A never-ending shiver that I have tried to shelter myself from.
I turn away, only to fear that I will lose my balance and fall backward. I must face it, stare it down, back away. But it is calling me.
I am tired. I don't want to fight. I just want to fall, fall, fall ...
Now I am standing on the brink, staring into black oblivion. A haunting voice without words calls to me from the depths. It is waiting to welcome me. It says that I am home.
The only string holding me upright is the truth that I will one day want to climb out of the darkness and it will exhaust every reserve of fire inside me. Would that fire be extinguished if I fell down, down, down...?
I awake to discover I've never been asleep.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Confirmation!
I've known for three weeks, but wanted to wait until after my 20-week ultrasound to put it on the blog. Now I can really, truly, officially state:
IT'S A GIRL!!!!
I can't even begin to describe what this is like for me. We'll just say that I've found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, water dripping from my hands as tears form in my eyes at the realization that I'm finally having a baby girl.
It feels like an enormous responsibility all of a sudden. I don't know how to raise a girl. What do I do with a girl, for heaven's sake?
But for heaven's sake ... thank heaven for little girls.
IT'S A GIRL!!!!
I can't even begin to describe what this is like for me. We'll just say that I've found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, water dripping from my hands as tears form in my eyes at the realization that I'm finally having a baby girl.
It feels like an enormous responsibility all of a sudden. I don't know how to raise a girl. What do I do with a girl, for heaven's sake?
But for heaven's sake ... thank heaven for little girls.
Flowers & Clueless Employees
Flowers
I bought myself flowers today. Why shouldn't I? Do flowers have to be symbols of romantic love, friendship, sympathy or best wishes? No! On the most basic level, they are not symbolic of anything. They are beautiful and, occasionally, fragrant. They are pleasing to the senses.
As I walked past these flowers, I was first struck by some large, peach-colored roses. It is my mother-in-law's birthday and I knew they'd be perfect for her. Then my eyes wandered toward some beautiful stems of unique, white flowers. I don't know what they are but I know I adore them. I have a thing for white flowers. I found some beautiful rust/red flowers to accent both of the other bouquets and took them home.
I snipped them to the right length under some warm water, gave them their flower food and arranged them admirably. Maybe I'll tell my husband I bought them "for him" to make him feel appreciated. He needs to be more appreciated around here. I'm not easy to live with when I'm pregnant. True story.
Clueless Employees
I am one day shy of 20 weeks pregnant and loving it. This is a crazy journey and I felt like an absolutely inhuman monster during my first trimester. I'm human again now (but still hard to live with) and looking forward to May with excitement and trepidation.
Those who know pregnancy will know that "20 weeks" means more than just a halfway stepping stone to delivery. It means an in-depth ultrasound to see if baby is growing the right way and to make sure everything looks healthy.
It's hard to explain this amazing experience to somebody who hasn't witnessed it. It's the point at which the blob of seeming-fat on your front side is suddenly a living human being. It's proof that two individual cells can come together and miraculously turn into a variety of specialized cells, tissues, bones, blood... It's one of those amazing moments that just floors me.
Today is my 20-week ultrasound. I've been looking forward to it for about 18 weeks now and didn't want to miss a moment of it, so I went to the store to buy a DVD-R to record it for my children and family. I was stressed because the ultrasound tech told me a very specific type of DVD to buy. I think she said a "DVD minus" (DVD-R as opposed to DVD+R) but called the office to confirm. The receptionist sent me to an answering machine. Dang.
An employee was next to the DVDs, stocking shelves, and I hoped he might have something to shed on the subject. (Really, I just wanted a little reassurance but wasn't hoping for much.)
I asked, "Do you know the difference between the two types of DVDs?" [Edit: My actual words were, "Do you know the difference between the DVD-R plus and the DVD-R minuses?" but I was too lazy to type that out until a comment made me realize I was being ambiguous....]
"There's no difference," he replied. "They're made by the same company, but some of them are made in a different factory." He looked at as if he was letting me in on a big secret and shrugged. "They just package them differently. Stupid, really."
I squinted my eyes at him just a little in disbelief, dropped my jaw and tried to control the facial expression that I knew I was about to form. I am a big believer in being straight-forward with people and this guy was clearly way off in left field. I appreciate honesty in others so I don't have to second-guess myself or them. But there are times when it's just not polite (and completely unnecessary) to clue people in to your mental process. This was one of those times.
I tried to adjust my face to appear thoughtful for a moment*, smiled at him and quietly said, "Thank you." Then I wheeled my cart away and hoped I was buying the right thing.
* Like Steve Martin in the movie "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" when he is being hit in the leg that he claims is paralyzed, is in terrible pain but trying to mask his pain by looking intensely thoughtful. Great stuff.
I bought myself flowers today. Why shouldn't I? Do flowers have to be symbols of romantic love, friendship, sympathy or best wishes? No! On the most basic level, they are not symbolic of anything. They are beautiful and, occasionally, fragrant. They are pleasing to the senses.
As I walked past these flowers, I was first struck by some large, peach-colored roses. It is my mother-in-law's birthday and I knew they'd be perfect for her. Then my eyes wandered toward some beautiful stems of unique, white flowers. I don't know what they are but I know I adore them. I have a thing for white flowers. I found some beautiful rust/red flowers to accent both of the other bouquets and took them home.
I snipped them to the right length under some warm water, gave them their flower food and arranged them admirably. Maybe I'll tell my husband I bought them "for him" to make him feel appreciated. He needs to be more appreciated around here. I'm not easy to live with when I'm pregnant. True story.
Clueless Employees
I am one day shy of 20 weeks pregnant and loving it. This is a crazy journey and I felt like an absolutely inhuman monster during my first trimester. I'm human again now (but still hard to live with) and looking forward to May with excitement and trepidation.
Those who know pregnancy will know that "20 weeks" means more than just a halfway stepping stone to delivery. It means an in-depth ultrasound to see if baby is growing the right way and to make sure everything looks healthy.
It's hard to explain this amazing experience to somebody who hasn't witnessed it. It's the point at which the blob of seeming-fat on your front side is suddenly a living human being. It's proof that two individual cells can come together and miraculously turn into a variety of specialized cells, tissues, bones, blood... It's one of those amazing moments that just floors me.
Today is my 20-week ultrasound. I've been looking forward to it for about 18 weeks now and didn't want to miss a moment of it, so I went to the store to buy a DVD-R to record it for my children and family. I was stressed because the ultrasound tech told me a very specific type of DVD to buy. I think she said a "DVD minus" (DVD-R as opposed to DVD+R) but called the office to confirm. The receptionist sent me to an answering machine. Dang.
An employee was next to the DVDs, stocking shelves, and I hoped he might have something to shed on the subject. (Really, I just wanted a little reassurance but wasn't hoping for much.)
I asked, "Do you know the difference between the two types of DVDs?" [Edit: My actual words were, "Do you know the difference between the DVD-R plus and the DVD-R minuses?" but I was too lazy to type that out until a comment made me realize I was being ambiguous....]
"There's no difference," he replied. "They're made by the same company, but some of them are made in a different factory." He looked at as if he was letting me in on a big secret and shrugged. "They just package them differently. Stupid, really."
I squinted my eyes at him just a little in disbelief, dropped my jaw and tried to control the facial expression that I knew I was about to form. I am a big believer in being straight-forward with people and this guy was clearly way off in left field. I appreciate honesty in others so I don't have to second-guess myself or them. But there are times when it's just not polite (and completely unnecessary) to clue people in to your mental process. This was one of those times.
I tried to adjust my face to appear thoughtful for a moment*, smiled at him and quietly said, "Thank you." Then I wheeled my cart away and hoped I was buying the right thing.
* Like Steve Martin in the movie "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" when he is being hit in the leg that he claims is paralyzed, is in terrible pain but trying to mask his pain by looking intensely thoughtful. Great stuff.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The Pit of Despair!
No, this is not about the Princess Bride. That would be funner.
I was sick. I couldn't sleep last night. I was extremely irritable when my 7-yr-old son came pounding down the stairs around 6:30 a.m. (one of the rare times I was sleeping instead of tossing or turning) to tell me he was "scared." Mentally, I knew I should be supportive and loving. Emotionally, I didn't feel like it.
My husband jumped in and took him out of the room so I could rest a little longer. Then my husband left for work, leaving me alone with three loud, rowdy boys who naturally needed their Mom. I didn't want to be needed. I didn't want to take care of anybody else. I wanted to curl up under the covers, cry myself back to sleep and have somebody else take care of me. Hmph!
This was selfish. I was in a very rotten state of mind. I yelled at my son and when he demonstrated a very bad, rebellious attitude, I sent him to time out. That took about 30 seconds from start to finish. He slammed the door as hard as he could and things escalated. Eventually, he left the room and I sat in my bed in tears, feeling like the worst Mom in history of Bad Momness
My son poked his head around the corner timidly, asking what was wrong. I told him I was sick and tired and just not feeling well, which was true. Like the little codependent he's learning to be--sigh--he immediately assumed this was not true and that I was crying because he had misbehaved. He apologized and told me he wanted me to be happy. I tried to reassure him that (a) this wasn't his fault, and (b) that's not his responsibility. A few minutes later, we were sitting across from each other with bowls of cereal in front of us.
My son had completely forgotten the prior trauma and remarked, in response to something I'd said, "I think you're the perfect Mom." I wanted to snort milk out my nose and scream, "HA!" because I had just demonstrated the worst character traits imaginable a few minutes before. I didn't, though. I thanked him and tried to remind myself how innocent and vulnerable my children are--making it that much more important to grow up and stop blaming my children for my misery when I'm feeling ill.
We'll see how that turns out. If I could turn off all my negative emotions with a switch, I'd do it. I'd love to be purely compassionate, reasonable, kind, supportive, and validating all the time. It's just not that easy when life is swirling around me crazily.
I felt depressed the rest of the day until a surprise phone call jolted me out of my self pity. It was somebody who I hadn't talked to in over six months--somebody that I had a "professional" relationship with, meaning she was under no obligations of friendship to keep things positive between us. She was calling to say she was so sorry that she had missed an opportunity a few nights ago to hear me sing. She wanted to make sure I understood that she was very disappointed that she had to leave before my turn came. I thanked her and felt immediately buoyed up. She reminded me that she had heard me sing a few years ago, thought I had a real talent and hoped I would continue my progress there.
I hung up and smiled at my rambunctious children. It didn't make everything all better, but it was a nice little shot of optimism to keep me going. That's the kind of thing my kids need in large doses to counteract the crazy world they're growing up in: optimism. What am I thinking when I yell at them and make home a miserable place to be? That's not good for any of us. I need to practice patience and compassion 100% of the time--not just when I'm feeling healthy and well-rested. And I better practice fast because soon there will be a new baby in the house and there will be no more sleep for a long time.
I was sick. I couldn't sleep last night. I was extremely irritable when my 7-yr-old son came pounding down the stairs around 6:30 a.m. (one of the rare times I was sleeping instead of tossing or turning) to tell me he was "scared." Mentally, I knew I should be supportive and loving. Emotionally, I didn't feel like it.
My husband jumped in and took him out of the room so I could rest a little longer. Then my husband left for work, leaving me alone with three loud, rowdy boys who naturally needed their Mom. I didn't want to be needed. I didn't want to take care of anybody else. I wanted to curl up under the covers, cry myself back to sleep and have somebody else take care of me. Hmph!
This was selfish. I was in a very rotten state of mind. I yelled at my son and when he demonstrated a very bad, rebellious attitude, I sent him to time out. That took about 30 seconds from start to finish. He slammed the door as hard as he could and things escalated. Eventually, he left the room and I sat in my bed in tears, feeling like the worst Mom in history of Bad Momness
My son poked his head around the corner timidly, asking what was wrong. I told him I was sick and tired and just not feeling well, which was true. Like the little codependent he's learning to be--sigh--he immediately assumed this was not true and that I was crying because he had misbehaved. He apologized and told me he wanted me to be happy. I tried to reassure him that (a) this wasn't his fault, and (b) that's not his responsibility. A few minutes later, we were sitting across from each other with bowls of cereal in front of us.
My son had completely forgotten the prior trauma and remarked, in response to something I'd said, "I think you're the perfect Mom." I wanted to snort milk out my nose and scream, "HA!" because I had just demonstrated the worst character traits imaginable a few minutes before. I didn't, though. I thanked him and tried to remind myself how innocent and vulnerable my children are--making it that much more important to grow up and stop blaming my children for my misery when I'm feeling ill.
We'll see how that turns out. If I could turn off all my negative emotions with a switch, I'd do it. I'd love to be purely compassionate, reasonable, kind, supportive, and validating all the time. It's just not that easy when life is swirling around me crazily.
I felt depressed the rest of the day until a surprise phone call jolted me out of my self pity. It was somebody who I hadn't talked to in over six months--somebody that I had a "professional" relationship with, meaning she was under no obligations of friendship to keep things positive between us. She was calling to say she was so sorry that she had missed an opportunity a few nights ago to hear me sing. She wanted to make sure I understood that she was very disappointed that she had to leave before my turn came. I thanked her and felt immediately buoyed up. She reminded me that she had heard me sing a few years ago, thought I had a real talent and hoped I would continue my progress there.
I hung up and smiled at my rambunctious children. It didn't make everything all better, but it was a nice little shot of optimism to keep me going. That's the kind of thing my kids need in large doses to counteract the crazy world they're growing up in: optimism. What am I thinking when I yell at them and make home a miserable place to be? That's not good for any of us. I need to practice patience and compassion 100% of the time--not just when I'm feeling healthy and well-rested. And I better practice fast because soon there will be a new baby in the house and there will be no more sleep for a long time.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sweet Surprise
Cinnamon. Ginger. Cloves. Molasses. Add in some flour and butter and you're pretty close to my favorite Christmas-time snack: Gingerbread.
Only one caveat: it can't be cooked. That ruins gingerbread. Gingerbread cookies are meh. Gingerbread cookie DOUGH is divine. I don't know why this is true, but it is irrefutable in my mind.
Yesterday, as I promised my son that I'd make gingerbread people with him, I tried to tell myself I had to be well-behaved. Raw cookie dough is a risk--one I'm willing to take most of the time, but not when I'm pregnant. Everything is riskier and more serious when I'm pregnant, so I was mentally steeling myself to stare at the spicy goodness without indulging even one little bite.
This morning, I got up and mixed the dough together. When I was all done, it hit me: no eggs. This recipe has NO EGGS. That means no raw eggs... no fear of poisoning... and that means the cookie dough is perfectly safe!
I stared at the recipe in amazement. I stared at the tantalizing bowl of deliciousness and let my Pavlovian instincts take over: time to salivate. I washed my hands carefully and reached in for the tiniest pinch. Pure heaven! I mentally congratulated myself for having the forethought to make a double batch. That means that I can indulge without taking away the sugary delight of fresh-baked cookies from my children.
I sat down and played board games with my twins for over an hour. I stood up and reached into the fridge for another pinch of dough.
Life is sweet. Oh, so sweet.
Only one caveat: it can't be cooked. That ruins gingerbread. Gingerbread cookies are meh. Gingerbread cookie DOUGH is divine. I don't know why this is true, but it is irrefutable in my mind.
Yesterday, as I promised my son that I'd make gingerbread people with him, I tried to tell myself I had to be well-behaved. Raw cookie dough is a risk--one I'm willing to take most of the time, but not when I'm pregnant. Everything is riskier and more serious when I'm pregnant, so I was mentally steeling myself to stare at the spicy goodness without indulging even one little bite.
This morning, I got up and mixed the dough together. When I was all done, it hit me: no eggs. This recipe has NO EGGS. That means no raw eggs... no fear of poisoning... and that means the cookie dough is perfectly safe!
I stared at the recipe in amazement. I stared at the tantalizing bowl of deliciousness and let my Pavlovian instincts take over: time to salivate. I washed my hands carefully and reached in for the tiniest pinch. Pure heaven! I mentally congratulated myself for having the forethought to make a double batch. That means that I can indulge without taking away the sugary delight of fresh-baked cookies from my children.
I sat down and played board games with my twins for over an hour. I stood up and reached into the fridge for another pinch of dough.
Life is sweet. Oh, so sweet.
Friday, December 11, 2009
On My Mind & Neighbor Gifts (Part II)
A few things on my mind today, plus a bonus(!) Lengthy Commentary Probing the Psychology and Interpersonal Implications of Neighbor Gifts, the Lack Thereof or the Substitution Thereof for Other Ideologies.
Let's begin.
* The "Ranch Rolls" at Maceys Supermarket are surprisingly good. They have a little chew on the exterior and softness on the interior that sent me thousands of miles away to the homes of my cousins in Europe. Good rolls like that belong in Vienna or London or a small home outside Kassel, Germany. Not Maceys Supermarket. Perhaps it was a fluke. Maybe the next one I bite into will just be another bland, American-style, squishy excuse for bread. Let that happen as it may. The last one was heaven.
* I have entered a new stage of pregnancy: the "I Can Look at Raw Meat Without Gagging Violently" stage. I am very excited about this and I am celebrating by cooking some chicken for enchiladas. I am wondering why I still gag when I see dried-on bits of cereal in my children's unrinsed breakfast bowls. I hope that stage comes soon.
* I think my random blog posts (like this one) are my favorite.
* I think that it's time to break down and go buy some new maternity clothes. (1) My old ones are not only hideously unattractive, but also a tad on the big size. I've lost some weight since my last pregnancy ... which was a multiples pregnancy. (2) My current favorite non-maternity pants are so threadbare that they finally developed an unsightly and immodest tear in them two days ago. And I've worn them for two more days anyway.
* On to my Lengthy Commentary:
I blogged about neighbor gifts last year and here I am feeling flummoxed yet again, so this is an issue that I am clearly not at peace with. My dilemma stems mainly from three sources:
(1) My neighborhood has developed a sort of "tradition" of asking people to give food to charity or donate to a cause or some other High And Worthy Purpose instead of spending money on neighbor gifts.
(2) But I like cooking. And I like giving gifts to people. And I give money to charity year-round, including supporting a foster child in Cambodia.
(3) I always come back to The List. Whom do I skip by with a guilty conscience and whom do I give to, even though I know they haven't given anything to me for five years but I saw the plate of goodies they gave to my neighbor sitting on her counter so they're clearly doing more than the above (#1) High and Worthy Purpose?
This is not a major source of stress for me, but it keeps my brain more active than I usually care to admit. Last year, I made photo cards and added a message that I was donating food to charity for every card we handed out. This felt wrong for several reasons:
(a) Doesn't a card like that say, "Look at how noble and good and charitable and admirable I am! Admire me ... from a distance, please."
(b) My husband accused me of never following through on donating the food. Ahem. Who does the grocery shopping? Who does the budget? Thank you very much, Mr. Doubter, but I did so.
(c) It felt like a cop-out. Like taking the easy way out. Like cheating. Which is what I needed last year, which was a very stressful time for me. But times have changed since then so I don't need a cop-out this year. (See above #2.)
So this year I printed up my Christmas cards and addressed all of the out-of-towners and then sat back to wonder what I'd do about the neighbors. I have fabulous neighbors that I adore and I like to drop a little something on their porch every year, but then the stress started creeping in. I started doubting myself. I decided to just buy something this year--maybe some Anna's Cinnamon Thins. I was all set on this plan but didn't make the trip to IKEA that day and started doubting myself again.
Then I thought, "Bah. I don't need to spend that money--I'll just give everyone a card with a few candy canes tied up with ribbon. It's the thought that counts!!" I walked into the grocery store this morning, determined to follow through on this plan. Then came the secondary wave of self-doubt. I realized that my insecurities are to blame for my hesitancy to bake ... after all, what if the cookies I give them sit on the counter for two weeks, get stale and then they think I'm a terrible baker? Harsh! What if I give everybody a certain treat just to find out that Mrs. Better Baker made the same thing and mine are suffering by comparison? Oh no!
Then came the moment of truth. I laughed at myself. How silly! I love baking and I love giving gifts, so I am going to bake something for my neighbors this year. Even if it turns out badly and everyone knows how human I am. Even if it takes two weeks to get it done. Even if it's not cool and now everybody else thinks I'm not into High and Charitable causes because I brought people cookies instead. I'll still give to charity. I'll still be generous. I'll just do those things AND make silly little plates of cookies for my neighbors too.
Plus, I'm not sure how High and Charitable it is to beg off the neighbor gifts to donate $20 to a Better Cause. It's great and socially conscious and all that, but don't you think there's just a teensy, tiny, little hint of laziness involved, too? Oops, did I say that publicly?
If I get burned-out, I have a backup plan: three dozen candy canes sitting on my counter in case life just gets in the way.
Let's begin.
* The "Ranch Rolls" at Maceys Supermarket are surprisingly good. They have a little chew on the exterior and softness on the interior that sent me thousands of miles away to the homes of my cousins in Europe. Good rolls like that belong in Vienna or London or a small home outside Kassel, Germany. Not Maceys Supermarket. Perhaps it was a fluke. Maybe the next one I bite into will just be another bland, American-style, squishy excuse for bread. Let that happen as it may. The last one was heaven.
* I have entered a new stage of pregnancy: the "I Can Look at Raw Meat Without Gagging Violently" stage. I am very excited about this and I am celebrating by cooking some chicken for enchiladas. I am wondering why I still gag when I see dried-on bits of cereal in my children's unrinsed breakfast bowls. I hope that stage comes soon.
* I think my random blog posts (like this one) are my favorite.
* I think that it's time to break down and go buy some new maternity clothes. (1) My old ones are not only hideously unattractive, but also a tad on the big size. I've lost some weight since my last pregnancy ... which was a multiples pregnancy. (2) My current favorite non-maternity pants are so threadbare that they finally developed an unsightly and immodest tear in them two days ago. And I've worn them for two more days anyway.
* On to my Lengthy Commentary:
I blogged about neighbor gifts last year and here I am feeling flummoxed yet again, so this is an issue that I am clearly not at peace with. My dilemma stems mainly from three sources:
(1) My neighborhood has developed a sort of "tradition" of asking people to give food to charity or donate to a cause or some other High And Worthy Purpose instead of spending money on neighbor gifts.
(2) But I like cooking. And I like giving gifts to people. And I give money to charity year-round, including supporting a foster child in Cambodia.
(3) I always come back to The List. Whom do I skip by with a guilty conscience and whom do I give to, even though I know they haven't given anything to me for five years but I saw the plate of goodies they gave to my neighbor sitting on her counter so they're clearly doing more than the above (#1) High and Worthy Purpose?
This is not a major source of stress for me, but it keeps my brain more active than I usually care to admit. Last year, I made photo cards and added a message that I was donating food to charity for every card we handed out. This felt wrong for several reasons:
(a) Doesn't a card like that say, "Look at how noble and good and charitable and admirable I am! Admire me ... from a distance, please."
(b) My husband accused me of never following through on donating the food. Ahem. Who does the grocery shopping? Who does the budget? Thank you very much, Mr. Doubter, but I did so.
(c) It felt like a cop-out. Like taking the easy way out. Like cheating. Which is what I needed last year, which was a very stressful time for me. But times have changed since then so I don't need a cop-out this year. (See above #2.)
So this year I printed up my Christmas cards and addressed all of the out-of-towners and then sat back to wonder what I'd do about the neighbors. I have fabulous neighbors that I adore and I like to drop a little something on their porch every year, but then the stress started creeping in. I started doubting myself. I decided to just buy something this year--maybe some Anna's Cinnamon Thins. I was all set on this plan but didn't make the trip to IKEA that day and started doubting myself again.
Then I thought, "Bah. I don't need to spend that money--I'll just give everyone a card with a few candy canes tied up with ribbon. It's the thought that counts!!" I walked into the grocery store this morning, determined to follow through on this plan. Then came the secondary wave of self-doubt. I realized that my insecurities are to blame for my hesitancy to bake ... after all, what if the cookies I give them sit on the counter for two weeks, get stale and then they think I'm a terrible baker? Harsh! What if I give everybody a certain treat just to find out that Mrs. Better Baker made the same thing and mine are suffering by comparison? Oh no!
Then came the moment of truth. I laughed at myself. How silly! I love baking and I love giving gifts, so I am going to bake something for my neighbors this year. Even if it turns out badly and everyone knows how human I am. Even if it takes two weeks to get it done. Even if it's not cool and now everybody else thinks I'm not into High and Charitable causes because I brought people cookies instead. I'll still give to charity. I'll still be generous. I'll just do those things AND make silly little plates of cookies for my neighbors too.
Plus, I'm not sure how High and Charitable it is to beg off the neighbor gifts to donate $20 to a Better Cause. It's great and socially conscious and all that, but don't you think there's just a teensy, tiny, little hint of laziness involved, too? Oops, did I say that publicly?
If I get burned-out, I have a backup plan: three dozen candy canes sitting on my counter in case life just gets in the way.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Skeezix
Skeezix. That's what we call babies who are still chillin' in Mom's tummy. I'm going to tell you about Skeezix today.
On Sunday morning, I clearly felt Skeezix moving around. I felt it again Monday morning and I've got to tell you: this kid is ACTIVE! Skeezix is doing aerobics inside me. Or karate. Or kickboxing. Probably kickboxing. I'm only 16 weeks pregnant and baby is already doing kickboxing! What will Skeezix be doing at 8.75 months? Gulp.
I've been feeling strange lately. I won't go into details, but it's probably harmless. My OB sent me in for an ultrasound this morning just to make sure all was well with Mom. (We already knew all was well with baby with all that movement and an audible confirmation of the heartbeat.)
There is nothing--absolutely nothing--like seeing my baby on ultrasound. Skeezix was moving constantly, wiggling little arms and legs. We got to hear the heartbeat and, yes, determine the gender. We're 90% sure, but I have my 20-week ultrasound in three weeks so we'll confirm it then.
All I can say is: I'm in love with that tiny little soul that is already a mover and shaker. In my mind, all that movement is saying: I'm happy. Life is good. I can't wait to see what is waiting for me! Hey Mom, look what I can do!
All is well.
On Sunday morning, I clearly felt Skeezix moving around. I felt it again Monday morning and I've got to tell you: this kid is ACTIVE! Skeezix is doing aerobics inside me. Or karate. Or kickboxing. Probably kickboxing. I'm only 16 weeks pregnant and baby is already doing kickboxing! What will Skeezix be doing at 8.75 months? Gulp.
I've been feeling strange lately. I won't go into details, but it's probably harmless. My OB sent me in for an ultrasound this morning just to make sure all was well with Mom. (We already knew all was well with baby with all that movement and an audible confirmation of the heartbeat.)
There is nothing--absolutely nothing--like seeing my baby on ultrasound. Skeezix was moving constantly, wiggling little arms and legs. We got to hear the heartbeat and, yes, determine the gender. We're 90% sure, but I have my 20-week ultrasound in three weeks so we'll confirm it then.
All I can say is: I'm in love with that tiny little soul that is already a mover and shaker. In my mind, all that movement is saying: I'm happy. Life is good. I can't wait to see what is waiting for me! Hey Mom, look what I can do!
All is well.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Wake-up Call
I was having a lovely dream around 3:00 a.m. when I awoke suddenly to the sound of my telephone ringing. In my supreme mid-dream drowsiness, I reasoned that either (a) it was important and they would call back or (b) it was unimportant and they would not call back. They didn't call back (wrong number?) and I fell asleep again quickly.
The real wakeup call came later in the morning when I met with a member of our Bishopric. I was recently released from a calling and knew that something new was in the works. As we sat down together, I hoped for something that would be spiritually invigorating and mentally challenging.
In particular, I hoped I would finally be called to teach in one of the classes. I come from a family of teachers and spent a few brief months teaching at a private school before my oldest son was born. Teaching is in my blood. I enjoy it and look forward to it. It's a real treat to me when I'm asked to substitute teach a class. Yet for some reason, I've never been called on to teach regularly in church.
I'm generally called to do very organizational types of things. This makes sense because I am extremely organized--or at least I can be and prefer to be--and because I have no trouble keeping track of several "loose ends." I'm a natural-born secretary, but pardon my indignation while I state that I am good at plenty of things non-secretarial. I'm intelligent and well-educated and I love a challenge.
You can imagine my inner reaction when I was asked to fill the easiest calling in the entire church--"church librarian." This involves making photocopies and taking pictures off a shelf. That is all, in its entirety. Making photocopies and taking pictures off a shelf. (I mustn't forget that I have to take our paper out of the machine at the end of the day to keep supplies in their proper places. Heaven forbid I forget that detail!)
I had all the enthusiasm crushed out of me, but we never say no when we're asked to serve in the church so my husband (who was released from a calling he loved for this) and I are now librarians. Every other week.
I'm still wrapping my head around how to humbly and gratefully magnify this calling. I'm trying to forget my impression that this calling is generally given to people who seem to be spiritually unprepared for more important things. I'm trying not to feel like this is a waste of my talents. I'm trying to remember that we were told this calling is highly coveted and we were chosen, partially, because we are being released from time-consuming callings. It's our reward, I guess, for serving well in other ways?
I'm trying to remember that callings come from a Higher Source and He knows better than I do. I'm trying to remember that I am pregnant and probably not fit for the most challenging calling right now. I'm trying to remember I could end up on bed rest again, just like with my other pregnancies.
I'm trying to remember that humbly serving anywhere in the church is taking the burden off of somebody else. I'm trying to remember a lot of things. I'm trying to be like Jesus and accept humble service without complaint.
It might take a few days to sink in, but I will be there next Sunday morning with a bright, cheerful smile on my face to make photocopies, hand people pictures and put the copy paper where it belongs at the end of the day. I will find out why everybody else is congratulating me on the best calling ever ... and then my gratitude sincerely overflow.
At least, that's the plan.
The real wakeup call came later in the morning when I met with a member of our Bishopric. I was recently released from a calling and knew that something new was in the works. As we sat down together, I hoped for something that would be spiritually invigorating and mentally challenging.
In particular, I hoped I would finally be called to teach in one of the classes. I come from a family of teachers and spent a few brief months teaching at a private school before my oldest son was born. Teaching is in my blood. I enjoy it and look forward to it. It's a real treat to me when I'm asked to substitute teach a class. Yet for some reason, I've never been called on to teach regularly in church.
I'm generally called to do very organizational types of things. This makes sense because I am extremely organized--or at least I can be and prefer to be--and because I have no trouble keeping track of several "loose ends." I'm a natural-born secretary, but pardon my indignation while I state that I am good at plenty of things non-secretarial. I'm intelligent and well-educated and I love a challenge.
You can imagine my inner reaction when I was asked to fill the easiest calling in the entire church--"church librarian." This involves making photocopies and taking pictures off a shelf. That is all, in its entirety. Making photocopies and taking pictures off a shelf. (I mustn't forget that I have to take our paper out of the machine at the end of the day to keep supplies in their proper places. Heaven forbid I forget that detail!)
I had all the enthusiasm crushed out of me, but we never say no when we're asked to serve in the church so my husband (who was released from a calling he loved for this) and I are now librarians. Every other week.
I'm still wrapping my head around how to humbly and gratefully magnify this calling. I'm trying to forget my impression that this calling is generally given to people who seem to be spiritually unprepared for more important things. I'm trying not to feel like this is a waste of my talents. I'm trying to remember that we were told this calling is highly coveted and we were chosen, partially, because we are being released from time-consuming callings. It's our reward, I guess, for serving well in other ways?
I'm trying to remember that callings come from a Higher Source and He knows better than I do. I'm trying to remember that I am pregnant and probably not fit for the most challenging calling right now. I'm trying to remember I could end up on bed rest again, just like with my other pregnancies.
I'm trying to remember that humbly serving anywhere in the church is taking the burden off of somebody else. I'm trying to remember a lot of things. I'm trying to be like Jesus and accept humble service without complaint.
It might take a few days to sink in, but I will be there next Sunday morning with a bright, cheerful smile on my face to make photocopies, hand people pictures and put the copy paper where it belongs at the end of the day. I will find out why everybody else is congratulating me on the best calling ever ... and then my gratitude sincerely overflow.
At least, that's the plan.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Hills and valleys
Life has been superb lately. I've been happier and more productive than ever before and I think I will be able to say, when it is over, that 2009 has been the best year of my life.
Some days, though, still knock me down and kick me in the gut. Today was one of those days. I realized that all "wrong side of the bed" mornings start out with a child making loud demands at ridiculously early hours. I grumbled (forcefully) to Joseph that I was going to come into his room screaming and turning on lights some time to see how he liked it. He informed me after school that he didn't scream. I told him that in my sleepy state it sure sounded like screaming.
Around 10:30 a.m., I decided to pen a blog entry that I've been considering for a long time. It was about rejection and friendship and deep-seated pain that I have to word very carefully to share publicly. I found that emotion took over and I wasn't up to the task in the end. The writing was lousy instead of meaningful and I couldn't express what I really wanted to say. So I hit "save" instead of "publish."
The emotional effort of rehashing past hurt left me bankrupt. I felt hollowed out and depressed the rest of the day. As I remembered some of the things I had written about, I kept fighting back tears. I bought ice cream for lunch, felt guilty the rest of the day for the splurge and skipped dinner in a misguided attempt to make up for lunch.
Around 3:30, I just collapsed on a couch while my kids snuggled around me watching television. I slept until almost 5:00 and woke up feeling even lousier. I never made dinner. I just laid around in a tailspin. My husband came home and had to leave almost right away for a scouting meeting. He ate a leftover hamburger from lunch but the kids still hadn't eaten a thing. Josh finally fed them dinner around 8:30 p.m., half an hour after their bedtime. I sat around feeling helpless and guilty and continuously on the verge of tears.
That's when the craving started. I haven't craved emotional eating like this in a very long time--months, probably. I used to feel this way constantly, like I had to eat until the pain went away. That's how I ended up at my current size. It hasn't been like that lately. I may be overeating, but it's for other reasons (not the least of which is a very hungry fetus inside me.) I hate that feeling.
As Josh got the kids ready for bed, I got down a package of marshmallows and resolved to make some Rice Krispy treats after the kids were in bed. I still haven't made them. I decided to try a little therapeutic writing instead.
Why do days like this happen? Life has been wonderful! Peaceful! Calm! Organized! In control! Optimistic! Happy! And then comes along a day when something is just not right with my pregnancy hormones or seratonin levels or spirituality or ... ? ... and the world is crumbling.
I don't write this for pity, though. Nor is this a cry for help. I write this knowing that tomorrow will be a fresh and happy day. The past will be past and the future will be gleaming brightly ahead. I have a game night planned with some good friends tomorrow night and a Girl's Night Out planned for Saturday afternoon. Thanksgiving is next week, which means that I will bask in the love of friendship and family ... and good food!
That keeps me buoyant right now. I know I'll float instead of sink. I just need to get to bed--preferably before I follow through on the marshmallow plan--and remember that tomorrow is another day.
Some days, though, still knock me down and kick me in the gut. Today was one of those days. I realized that all "wrong side of the bed" mornings start out with a child making loud demands at ridiculously early hours. I grumbled (forcefully) to Joseph that I was going to come into his room screaming and turning on lights some time to see how he liked it. He informed me after school that he didn't scream. I told him that in my sleepy state it sure sounded like screaming.
Around 10:30 a.m., I decided to pen a blog entry that I've been considering for a long time. It was about rejection and friendship and deep-seated pain that I have to word very carefully to share publicly. I found that emotion took over and I wasn't up to the task in the end. The writing was lousy instead of meaningful and I couldn't express what I really wanted to say. So I hit "save" instead of "publish."
The emotional effort of rehashing past hurt left me bankrupt. I felt hollowed out and depressed the rest of the day. As I remembered some of the things I had written about, I kept fighting back tears. I bought ice cream for lunch, felt guilty the rest of the day for the splurge and skipped dinner in a misguided attempt to make up for lunch.
Around 3:30, I just collapsed on a couch while my kids snuggled around me watching television. I slept until almost 5:00 and woke up feeling even lousier. I never made dinner. I just laid around in a tailspin. My husband came home and had to leave almost right away for a scouting meeting. He ate a leftover hamburger from lunch but the kids still hadn't eaten a thing. Josh finally fed them dinner around 8:30 p.m., half an hour after their bedtime. I sat around feeling helpless and guilty and continuously on the verge of tears.
That's when the craving started. I haven't craved emotional eating like this in a very long time--months, probably. I used to feel this way constantly, like I had to eat until the pain went away. That's how I ended up at my current size. It hasn't been like that lately. I may be overeating, but it's for other reasons (not the least of which is a very hungry fetus inside me.) I hate that feeling.
As Josh got the kids ready for bed, I got down a package of marshmallows and resolved to make some Rice Krispy treats after the kids were in bed. I still haven't made them. I decided to try a little therapeutic writing instead.
Why do days like this happen? Life has been wonderful! Peaceful! Calm! Organized! In control! Optimistic! Happy! And then comes along a day when something is just not right with my pregnancy hormones or seratonin levels or spirituality or ... ? ... and the world is crumbling.
I don't write this for pity, though. Nor is this a cry for help. I write this knowing that tomorrow will be a fresh and happy day. The past will be past and the future will be gleaming brightly ahead. I have a game night planned with some good friends tomorrow night and a Girl's Night Out planned for Saturday afternoon. Thanksgiving is next week, which means that I will bask in the love of friendship and family ... and good food!
That keeps me buoyant right now. I know I'll float instead of sink. I just need to get to bed--preferably before I follow through on the marshmallow plan--and remember that tomorrow is another day.
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