Winter walk

Just a girl in her Transitions lenses on a winter walk.

My therapist recently announced to me, after asking me a list of questions, that I have “a mild depression.” Not exactly shocking news. It’s been pretty hard for me to get out of bed lately. It’s been a struggle actually off and on for the last couple of years. It’s weird. It’s how I felt when Lars was a newborn and I didn’t quite know what was wrong with me. Now I do know, and I suppose that’s helpful! It’s also helpful that I don’t have an infant or a two-year-old.

Anyway, I don’t know if it’s seasonal or pandemic-induced or what, but gosh darn if I don’t have the hardest stinkin’ time getting out of bed in the morning. It’s extra strange because I truly do not feel sad or despondent or any other feelings you associate with depression. I just... don’t want to get up. And since my kids are fairly independent, I don’t really have to. But leaving them to their own devices in the morning has effects that show up later, with kids acting out, or eating candy for breakfast, or skipping class... so the practice of staying in bed all morning is really not sustainable for a mom of any age kids. 

But I am working on ways to manage it. Going to ponder whether I can weave it in to some sort of New Years resolution, which I frankly really enjoy and always enjoy each year. I like putting away the Christmas decorations, feeling like my house somehow just got bigger with all the sentimental holiday knick-knacks put away, layering on the winter clothes and facing the longest and coldest month of the year head-on. 

Granted, I usually do this after a two- to four-week break from real life which has been spent in mountains and/or sunshine with people I adore.

But I’m a grown-up girl (as Neil Diamond would say)(“look at what you’ve done... why, you’ve become a grown-up girl”) and I can handle it. Bring it on, January! And February! And March...

Thanks for therapy.

I generally dread going to therapy (or I forget my appointments) but I ALWAYS learn something, and I am incredibly grateful for my regular practice of going to therapy. Here's an example of something that sounds so obvious, but probably would not have occurred to me without my therapist: I am not great about eating lunch. Don't get me wrong, I eat enough every day, but usually I forget to eat until I'm hungry, and then I eat a bunch of junk because it's fast. It's a symptom (of many) of me not taking care of me, if it's work and not fun. I dislike vegetables. I dislike cooking. I even dislike assembling sandwiches. 

I honestly am fine eating cold leftover spaghetti from the back of the fridge if it fills me up and lets me get on with my day. Or--the classic that I remember from the sleep-deprived days of nursing a newborn--the rolled up piece of ham eaten like a taquito, chased by whatever liquid was in the fridge. Maybe milk, maybe orange juice; maybe a long squirt straight to my mouth from a can of whipped cream. Look, I was surviving. I feel like the rolled-up piece of lunch meat followed by a Reddi-Whip chaser is actually a really good metaphor for my parenting life in general.

So anyway: one of the markers of a good therapist is that she or he can give you good ideas tailored to you and make you think they're your ideas, because they talked you through an issue you didn't know you had and helped you find a solution. Somehow I left one session a month or two ago with the plan to keep a basket in the fridge that's just for me and is full of nutritious, quick foods for me to eat during the day. I have been doing this ever since then--I actually remember when I'm at the grocery store! (I buy a lot of premade salads, also did you know you can buy pre-cooked, pre-shelled hard-boiled eggs by the bag?!)--and it has been life-changing. 

Like I said, it might sound silly, particularly if you are not someone who has trouble feeding herself properly. But the fact is that I look forward to lunch time now because I know there will be something good in there for me, because Past Eliza thought ahead and took care of Future Eliza so that she could get on with her day. Totally worth an hour of my life and $80 from my HSA.

Here I am

**Note for the Anxious: this photo is 13 years old; I’m not in the hospital.** Apropos of nothing (other than the coincidence/pun situation of it being Labor Day) I was looking at these snapshots taken at some of my most vulnerable times (2007, 2008, 2011, 2015). 

All of my kids’ births were so different, but they were progressively better experiences. I knew more each time, and I think most of all I was more willing to be vulnerable each time and truly let go of how I thought I was “supposed” to act. With Theo I was hyper-aware and rigid. With Ida I let go a little more. With Lars I blocked out everything and everyone around me. By the time I had Polly, I was like “whewwww here I am world!!! Like it or not!!!”

🎢🎪🎡 

Anyway I have been thinking about the confidence that’s required to be truly vulnerable, and how that’s sort of ironic. Also how anxiety interferes with the flow (in my case, I am confident ➡️ and then I am vulnerable ➡️ and THEN I get anxious afterward 🔁 when it’s too late to stay in my shell and hide my true feelings. I feel that a time machine would be so useful for the socially anxious). Does this even make any sense? 🤔 Whewwww here I am world! 

(And then she turned motivational) It’s a new school year. Be you. Be the gift to the world that is the true and unapologetic YOU. Here we go! 🎢

Notes from the field

I was looking through notes on my phone and found this, from therapy a few months ago. Thought I’d blog it, because, why not?

What are my best coping mechanisms?

-Quiet time every day

-Routine for everyone

-Go running

-Clean the house/have a clean house

-Take a bath

-Announce/explain how I am feeling (usually to kids)(e.g., grumpy, sad)

What is my plan for future difficult conversations?

-Modify my intensity

-Prepare specific points I want to make and also consider what I might be willing to concede

-Be ready to say “I do want to talk about this with you but I need a few [minutes/days/weeks] to ponder it first”

What are my strengths? I am

-Honest

-Candid

-Thoughtful

-Open-minded

-Generous

-Self-aware

-A good listener

-An advocate

-Willing to be vulnerable for the sake of shared experience

-Willing to set boundaries

Just your free therapy minute for the day. Feel free to go through the same exercises if you’d like to!

Phew

Phew! I'm certainly not done reading or writing about antiracism on here, but I think I am done promoting blog posts on Facebook. It feels weird, and the only reason I did it was because I felt called to try to be useful to any fellow Church members who may have been feeling useless.

Now back to my regularly scheduled audience (i.e., my mom, and a few assorted friends who are in it to win it :) (Anyone is certainly welcome)

This morning, the kids and I had a family meeting. This was sparked by an incident in the car yesterday wherein Lars said "HEY MOM?" one too many times, and I unleashed a torrent of desperation that may have included the phrase "I AM ONLY ONE PERSON!" Anyway, I asked everyone to come up with one thing they will work on for the rest of this month that will help make life better for the other people in the family.

I won't share their goals here, because... well, because I don't want to embarrass any of my kids. It's like living in a zoo, and I am only slightly exaggerating. Who is raising these wild children?? If you have ever had middle-schoolers or been a middle-schooler then maybe you remember how gross they can be. (Lars offered: "It could be worse, Mom. At our school sometimes there is POOP on the FLOOR." To which I responded: "Do you know who cleans that up? People who GET PAID for it.")

To be fair to the animals, I mean children, I have been ignoring them a little bit this month. It's been sort of a coping mechanism for me or something: reading, writing, and ignoring the children. I want to read everything and I want to write everything and I don't want any interruptions. Turns out that's not working well. I had a similar steady fuel of motivation with a work project a few weeks ago, but at least I got paid for that one. Hooray for that! Usually I get paid for my efforts in unsolicited Polly hugs, which I personally would take over money any day, but Matt likes to see the zeroes.

Anyway so the personal goal that I chose is that I will look at my phone less when I'm around the kids. In other words, I will refuse to escape down the rabbit hole of all knowledge, connection, and information, and instead focus on the moment. (Or maybe focus on a book.) Wish me luck.

There was this one time... we stayed up way past midnight...

Shhh... don’t tell my husband that I’m blogging at 3 AM.

He and I were both awake until almost 2 AM, intently discussing the iconic double-double-albums Use Your Illusion I and Use Your Illusion II, and the infamous feud between Axl Rose and Kurt Cobain which I did not previously know about because I was 8 years old at the time of this feud and still mainly listening to Raffi. 

But anyway we were deep in this discussion and then all of a sudden Matt started snoring. Then, I continued the discussion, but with myself. Then, all of a sudden an hour had passed and I remembered I hadn’t written any blog posts in a few days. And then I decided to write one. At 3 AM. Hashtag pandemic life. Hashtag, let me out of this looney bin.

We are living in a period world, and I am a period girl.

PERIODS!

As a followup to Friday’s post about PMS. This post was in my drafts from 2018. It’s all still true. Enjoy 🤗


If you read this blog I'm going to assume you're cool with reading about Feminine Stuff. (You also most likely are a Feminine Person.) I just wanted to report about my foray into the 21st century with period-related gadgets and gizmos. If you're not cool with that, move along!

Happily, while Polly's lengthy nursing career was at times awkward and inconvenient (she finally weaned at age 24 months), it also meant that I went over two full years without a period. I thought I would start going even longer without a period once I got the Mirena IUD, but then when that made me a crazy person I went with the Paragard instead (for the second time in five years). BUT, even more awkward and inconvenient than nursing a stubborn toddler, is experiencing a Paragard period. It's ridiculous. It's medieval is what it is, really.

So anyway, I am here to report that in the 21st century I have now tried out the Clue app (a period tracker that I settled on after researching several), the Diva Cup, and Thinx underwear, and in general I am a fan of them all. I feel like Judy Jetson. If Judy Jetson had a period, which I doubt she did. I like how Judy Jetson continues to be my standard for 21st-century life. This very moment I just realized that the time for being Judy Jetson has long passed, and I am actually Jane Jetson. Who also did not have a period, I'm sure, but if futuristic cartoon shows were accurate, Jane Jetson would use the Clue app, the Diva Cup, and Thinx underwear.

Anyway, I'm in the future now with my gadgets and gizmos aplenty, and and without going into too much detail I'll say don't actually LOVE the cup but it is certainly one way to get in touch with your femininity. Like, as in Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes level of getting in touch with your femininity. Or, if you want to know what it feels like to trip and fall onto a murder scene, that is also similar to what handling a Diva Cup is like. (I assume)

I do love the Clue app. It sends me and Matt notifications about impending PMS. Whether that’s actually helpful, I couldn't say.

The founder of Thinx underwear is morally bankrupt, but I did not know this when I purchased mine. At any rate I find them extremely helpful.

After 10ish years of pregnancy and nursing I feel like I’m turning a page. I’m not quite yet to perimenopause, but it’s looming. If you’ve made it this far, you’re not only comfortable with Feminine Stuff, you are likely also comfortable with Woo-Woo Quotes. I loved this one about menopause from Ursula K. LeGuin:

“The woman who is willing to make that change must become pregnant with herself, at last.”

Boom!

What you are hiding from yourself

I loved this thought from Womben Wellness on instagram.

The premenstrual phase is often misunderstood and societally shamed.
...but it's so important that we RECLAIM the power held in this phase.
Sure, we celebrate the archetype of the giving, doting, fertile, devotional one who engages + gives herself to the outside world.
But what about the one who is fierce with her boundaries?
Who knows the power of her 'NO'?
Who puts her needs above all else?
When is the last time you said yes to yourself?

To answer that question. The last time I said yes to myself was definitely during PMS, because I AM fierce during PMS, and until recently I've rarely considered that to be a good thing.

Or I should say, it has the potential to be a good thing. There's certainly no call for meanness, and I am sometimes mean in PMS. But that is because a filter has somehow been removed for a few days each month (I am imagining my hormones personified as microscopic Keebler Elves with microscopic hammers and drills, taking off the filter).

I will be suffering no fools and I will be saying exactly what I think exactly when I think it.

It only lasts about a week. Then it’s gone.

With some work, I might be able to harness that power for both good and evil, instead of only evil. I'll let you know.

Mental health conditions vs emotional reactions

I saw the headline “Local teachers’ union calls for more mental health support.” I love me some mental health talk, so I took a look. I thought this take—you might even call it a takedown—was interesting and helpful:

“Mike Axler, school psychology supervisor, said the school system is sharing many mental health resources online for students and family. He also said staff is available to work and communicate with families that need them using online options.

“Axler added that though the school system hasn’t gathered formal data, in some cases, mental health conditions may be conflated with emotional reactions.

“‘As clinicians, we make it a significant point to disentangle the two, because one of them is a normal and healthy response to stressful circumstances, and the other one, you know, constitutes something that’s more pathological and ingrained,’ Axler said.”

First of all: Amen. Secondly: perhaps this is actually an argument for better mental health services or at least mental health education, so that people recognize that difference: totally predictable and typical grief and stress and worry, versus a clinical depression or anxiety or other chronic condition.

Basically, I think everyone should try out therapy, if only so that they can find out for themselves whether they need it or not. 😆

I feel it all

I’m blogging on my phone today, because I’ve gone upstairs for the night and my computer is apparently still downstairs. I could go downstairs and find it, but I just made a pointed exit to end an argument, so, reappearing so quickly would take a little of the shine off of that...

I think I have blogged about HSP before (highly sensitive person). It’s the silliest label to claim, but I claim it my friends, I claim it. Noises, lights, colors, textures, smells, I feel it all. (Sorry if the Feist song is in your head now- https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=l-iAS18rv68

I hate it (because it’s so stupid) and I love it (because it’s so me). 

So maybe it took me several tries to get the exact right paint color for my front door. 5 tries to be exact. It’s the only shade of blue that doesn’t wash out next to the pink brick facade, which I dislike but can’t change.

So maybe I will throw away perfectly functional “daylight” (cool) toned lightbulbs rather than spend one second of my life under their ghastly beams.

So maybe I keep an ancient stick of deodorant in my closet, because when I catch a whiff I remember happy times. (RIP, Teen Spirit Berry Blossom. You got me through ages 15-25.)(Feel free to judge, 12 years later it still smells like heaven itself)

So maybe I just bought myself some noise-canceling headphones because I cannot stand another afternoon of listening to my son pounding out hymns on the piano, but I can’t ask him to stop because he loves it so much. 

So maybe I order and return $800 worth of running shoes before I finally find the exact EXACT right fit. that’s what Zappos is for, am I right?

I will say that I’m oddly not a very picky eater. I’ll eat cold leftovers and not bat an eye. I’m one of those “eat to live” people (versus “live to eat”).

Anywho. All of that is to say, I have been like this my entire life, I will not go much further into it because I’ll save it for my therapist, and the upside of any trouble I have from sensory dismay: is that I get so, much, joy from sensory delights.

Every night, EVERY night when I slide into my perfectly comfortable bed I say out loud “I LOVE THIS BED SO MUCH.”

The natural light streaming in from my big living room window lifts my mood palpably, and when a person is stuck in said living room for months on end, any mood-lifter is welcome.

Drawstring linen pants. Every single day. Basically pajamas but no one has to know. Enough said.

Pandemic polemic

Ta DA! Here I am! Are you here too?

OK this is not actually a pandemic polemic; I mostly just liked the sound of the title. But, briefly, let me say that I AM very much AGAINST pandemics, and I cannot condone them in the slightest. They cause fatal illness and disrupt economies. And I haven't yet been convinced that they don't bring giant murderous hornets along for the ride.

So anyway, I have been in a mental health slump lately (along with the rest of the planet--see also: pandemic polemic, above) and I made a few goals for myself this week to see if that might jump-start me into a semblance of normalcy.

I realized that, specifically,
(a) I need something to look forward to, and
(b) I need a sense of accomplishment, particularly creative accomplishment.

Given that most of the things I previously looked forward to this spring and summer have been canceled (we had an inordinate amount of traveling and celebrations planned), and that I have accomplished very little in the past 2 months other than staying alive each day, the bar is low. I did briefly accomplish sewing and giving away several dozen masks, which was satisfying and gave me a creative outlet, but that quickly turned into an OCD thing that felt a little unhealthy, so I took a break from that. I do still have 15 masks in various sizes cut out and ready to be sewn, so if you need any, HMU.

I made the following goals for this week; we'll see if I make it past a week--most of these sound suspiciously like goals I made 2 months ago that didn't last longer than a week, but that's part of the challenge.

(1) Get up at 8. (Did that today, good job Lizer)
(2) Write a blog post every weekday. (Check that off for Monday)
(3) Break a sweat on MWF. (Planning to do that after I log off here.)(I have actually done OK with this so far during the pandemic. If only because exercise clothes are more comfortable than jeans, and putting on the exercise clothes is half the battle.)
(4) Go for a walk every day. (Will do that at some point today)

I deleted Instagram from my phone (which I do every few months anyway, so it was time) and maybe, missing that concoction of connection + numbness that is social media will help remind me to write the blog posts. I set an alarm for 8 AM, so hopefully that will help remind me to get up. Here's to a new week. Come at me, murder hornets.

Today’s adventure

This morning at the park, Lars wiped out hard on his skateboard, landing right on his face. He had been wearing his helmet (CAN I JUST SAY, THANK HEAVENS FOR THAT!) but he had the beginning of a black eye, said his vision was blurry, kept closing his eyes, and responded slowly to my questions.

I had not had breakfast yet, it was hot and humid, I happen to be on my period, and I’m prone to fainting and also to panicking. Sooo....

No, I didn’t faint, but I came pretty close. I was at one point on my hands and knees on the sidewalk, asking Ida to find an adult to help me. “Hot mess” would be an apt description. Neither Lars nor I could walk very well, so one friend took my other kids and another friend drove Lars and me to urgent care, where they checked him out and said he needed to go to the hospital. Matt left work, took me home and took Lars to the ER. Between them, my friends took care of my other kids the rest of the day. Because they are awesome.

All’s well that ends well. By the time Lars got to the ER it had been about 2 hours since his fall, and he was already feeling better and his vision had improved.

The doctor prescribed a few days of avoiding skateboarding, biking, sports, screens, and reading. Good luck to all of us!

It’s been 9 hours now, and he is basically like 95% back to regular old Lars. I could just cry. (um... and I did.) Here has been my inner prayer on loop ever since he got home from the hospital: 

Thank you. 

Thank you. 

Thank you. 

Amen.

Bomb squad

Disclaimer: I’m not complaining, I’m explaining.

(And disclaiming.)

My brain and heart and life are full at this moment, and I feel weary. I know from past experience that as I progress through my life, there are times when the load seems heavier than usual and that is often a transitional experience, preparation, strengthening my back for the further load to come. (See also: pregnancy, prep for parenting a newborn. Newborn, prep for parenting a toddler. High school, prep for college. College, prep for keeping a spreadsheet of 57 jobs you’ve applied for, whether you got the interview, etc.) 

I know I need that strength. Because no one’s getting any younger, not me and not my kids. But, it’s still hard especially since I get anxious, telling myself “YOU THINK IT’S HARD NOW WAIT UNTIL THEY'RE TEENAGERS.”

Anyway, Theo got promoted to middle school today. The parents were all seated before the sixth-graders walked in. The kids (all 170 of them) started walking in and I clutched Matt’s arm: “I think I might start crying.” His response: “Well, it’s a good place for it.” After the kids were seated, the principal invited up to the front a loooong row of teachers and staff who, she announced, were all the teachers and aides that the 6th graders had had since kindergarten. I could not stop thinking about the dozens of people at that school who have helped him and me. And, I lost it.

I MEAN 😍

I mean I wasn’t a mess or anything, and it passed quickly. But I know if I had given into the impulse, I could have just sobbed and sobbed.

It’s been an untimely convergence because it’s already the end of the school year, right? And i realized as things heated up last week that PMS was setting in. I almost feel like a different person during PMS, it is really surreal. I get intense and aggressive about anything that catches my attention. It’s this latent force that rears its head at WHATEVER inconvenient time it wants to. It has gotten WORSE WITH AGE! 

I wish I could bottle this feeling for when I actually need it. Also, anxiety comes along with it, so I’m aggressive in my interactions with people (whether colleagues or strangers), and then later I mentally replay it and I am like “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!”

So, soccer is ending, swim is starting (they always overlap, and every year I’m like “why do I do this”). Lars is turning 8 today and he is such the classic obedient middle child who gets ignored and I feel extra guilt around his birthday like I need to make it extra special, Theo is moving up to middle school, Polly requires constant attention (I’m working on getting her to be happy being ignored but she’s just not. Haha), I can tell that Ida REALLY needs more attention but I have been failing at that too, Lars and Ida have their things at school that I want to attend, there were band concerts, there’s Scouts, activity days, my job, my house, my husband, my community and church volunteer stuff. 

THEN, in the midst of all this, this community/school/political issue came up that I unexpectedly found myself super involved and invested in for a very intense 5 days.

And I STILL haven’t started my period!

So. I feel wound up so tight, there’s no possible way to release the pressure without an explosion. Or, a very very careful and steady-handed bomb squad.

Luckily Matt is a good listener AND, I want to congratulate myself that I have not been aggressive with either him or the kids during this luteal phase. 

I don’t know if PMS is actually during the luteal phase of the menstrual cycle, but it sounded good there.

Phew, see you on the other SIDDDDDE!

If Mr. Rogers Had a Blog, redux

Speaking of “from the archives.” I ran across this post from 2011 and decided to re-post it today. As I was talking with some mom friends last night, I was remembering circa 2010-2013 which in our home was a refining fire of no sleep and too many toddlers. Keeping perspective, and acting like the grown woman I supposedly was, was So. Hard. I still refer to myself as a “recovering yeller.”

To my everlasting gratitude, angels sometimes attended me. Here was something, that in my opinion came from heaven above, that helped me through that time.

Thursday, November 03, 2011

If Mr. Rogers Had a Blog

A while ago, mom-inspiration struck me with a definitive strike. You know how that happens...? Rarely...? Anyway my kids were kind of thrown off this summer what with the new person living in our house and our entire routine getting thrown out the window. They had a lot of tantrums. A lot. One day I told them that when they were upset or afraid or angry or sad, instead of throwing a tantrum they could ask for a hug.

I know that sounds so corny and only people like Mr. Rogers can get away with talking about things like this. If Mr. Rogers had a blog he would probably have written a post about asking for a hug when you want to throw a tantrum. Not to say that my ideas about raising kids are on par with his (I'm willing to bet that his kids never tried to gouge out each other's eyes...not that mine have...ahem) but you know what I mean. Anyway if you imagine a graph, a tantrum-hug quotient if you will, the number of tantrums went down and the number of hugs went up once we implemented Ask For A Hug. Cross my heart.

That is not to say that they don't have tantrums anymore. Boy Howdy, today Theo threw a doozy. Such a doozy that it made me say the words Boy Howdy. They still cry and get upset numerous times a day, and then ask for a hug, and sometimes ask for hugs out of the blue (which they didn't really do before) which interestingly sometimes uncovers a problem I might not have known was there. When they ask for a hug it's like a call to me to investigate or just try to be more attentive to the situation. Or sometimes it's a clever way for Ida to get out of bed no fewer than 16 times after bedtime, because who is going to refuse a hug from a sleepy-eyed 3-year-old in pink footie pajamas at 10 p.m.? Definitely not me.

Overall I really think the hug suggestion got through to them. And actually it helped me too. I have a bit of a temper myself and have been known to throw a few tantrums in my day. Boy Howdy have I. And I realized that the same thing works for me, maybe not always literally, but the idea of it does. The act of asking for a hug is like reciting a mantra, an incantation that delivers recognition of what I really want most of the time when my temper is flaring up: for someone to understand me and to tell me that it's OK to feel the way I am feeling.

Anyway. Thanks for visiting, neighbor. "It's such a good feeling to know you're alive...It's such a happy feeling...You're growing inside..."

Milkshake not optional

Speaking of holiday moods. Tried and true PMS treatment:

-Hot bath

-Rocky road milkshake

-Snuggles with oversized baby

-Repeat as necessary

Mac and crack

We're on day 1 of winter break, and I'm on day...6? of PMS. It has been over 2 years since I've had that lovely experience, and how quickly we forget, my friends. How quickly we forget. Also, and this has been true for many years now, I feel like a toddler at this point of the cycle. To illustrate: Polly loves this jack-in-the-box toy we have. She jumps in shock every time the little clown pops up... Every. Time. Me, every time PMS hits me it takes a few days before I recognize it, and EVERY TIME I'm like "ohhhhhhh!" [figurative lightbulb appears] [drunken apologies ensue] [OK, obviously not drunken, but were I not a teetotaler, they would most definitely be drunken]

Fortunately for the world, Matt bears the brunt of my PMS. Unfortunately for Matt... Well, you know. Although actually this week the world got a taste of it too. I was so feisty this week, in public situations. I was downright rude a few times. I never cared at the time and then a few hours later I really did.

Bleah. Sorry world. And Matt.

But winter break is going swimmingly so far, regardless of my behavior towards loved ones and strangers alike, for which I am assuredly and quite soberly sorry. I took the kids out for giant vats of macaroni and cheese tonight, to celebrate getting through day 1 of the break. Also because I was exhausted and because I haven't done a real grocery shop in two weeks. We eat at (cheapo, just above fast food level) restaurants maybe 2-3 times a month, and I try not to take them to Noodles too often because it's not my favorite and we have so many varied restaurant options where we live. But sometimes, the giant vat of familiar, overpriced elbow-shaped noodles is just the ticket for everyone. I told them I wish I could feed them mac and cheese every night because it makes them so clearly happy. Not sure if they appreciate the sentiment, but I know they appreciate it when I do follow through on that impulse.

Day 2, we're ready for you!

The pirate ride, part 2

Girl stuff! Proceed with caution.

This is not new for me. Eh? (Pirate ride)

Eh? (Hormonal blues) 

Guess what. I think I recently solved a big problem in my life. All summer long I struggled. I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. I struggled to fall asleep at night. I struggled to keep my temper. I struggled to focus on my kids' needs. I struggled to pay attention to my kids at all. I struggled to remember things: appointments, words, things I said I would do. My entire brain felt fuzzy. One morning in late September Matt texted me with an article about a recent Danish study about birth control hormones.

A light went on. In June I had an IUD placed (Mirena, the hormonal one). I had been skeptical of doing this, but the midwives and OB I spoke with said that it would not be an issue for me. I gave it a few days and Matt and I both thought we noticed a big change. I went back in, sure I would have it removed. The OB insisted that mood changes were very, very rare with Mirena and suggested I give it more time. After all, I already had issues with anxiety, plus I was still breastfeeding with weaning on the horizon, and I had 4 kids at home, really it could be anything. So, I reluctantly left it in. I had already put a good chunk of change into this thing between the procedure and the followup. Pretty ridiculous amount of change actually. Might as well give it some time. The following day, we went on our vacation to the Outer Banks, and summer began.

All summer I continued to wonder what was wrong with me and I continued to blame it on breastfeeding hormones and my children, especially one child who was being very difficult. I started eating junk food, like a lot of it. I didn't even really enjoy it, but I guess it filled some sort of need. The not remembering words, names, and plans I had made, was really weird. Everyone I mentioned it to laughed it off with me. "Yeah, we're moms! We're all crazy! We're shells of our former selves! Cookies, give me more cookies!"

Anyway. So, yeah. You know Occam's razor? It's the principle that of all possible solutions to a problem, the simplest one is probably the right one. Got that thing taken out. The midwife was skeptical, yet understanding. I swear to you, though, it's been a week and I feel like a different person. Thanks, Occam. Thank you very much.

Like an unwatered garden

I feel that this vegetable patch is an excellent metaphor for how well I took care of myself this summer. I tried--sort of. I planted my garden in a sunny spot. I got cages for the tomatoes. However, vegetable plants need water. Also they need attention. 

That evergreen rosemary bush is somehow holding strong for its third year now, no thanks to me. Basil, cilantro and tomatoes, not so much. I did harvest maybe 15-20 cherry tomatoes here and there over the course of the summer. They were delicious.

Anyway I had four kids and a house to take care of and the house didn't fare so well either BUT the kids did OK. The garden is a lost cause, which is fine. Homegrown herbs don't pair that well with Easy Mac anyway. The cilantro met its own natural demise sometime in August. Yesterday I sent the emaciated tomato and basil stalks off to their eternal reward with a benevolent snip of the shears.

That's where the metaphor ends, thank goodness. No worries there. But I am struggling. I have talked to my family doctor about it... it's probably a combination of hormones (birth control plus breastfeeding/weaning), the chaos of summer, the chaos of my beloved oldest child, and my reactions towards all of these, which have been the equivalent of ignoring my tomatoes, AKA self-medicating Mormon style which in my case includes treating ice cream like its own food group, going on cookie benders, and staying up way past midnight. 

"There was this one time... we stayed up way past midnight..." Lenny, That Thing You Do? Steve Zahn? Anyone?

I have been super forgetful--way more so than usual. Please don't assign me any tasks, because I will forget about them immediately. I have been super snappy with my husband and kids, WAY more than usual, the zenith of which was an event wherein I threw my husband's favorite hat out the car window at 65 mph. I have not showered about as often as I have showered. At what point is this TMI? Is it the cookie benders? Is it the lack of showering? I don't even know anymore.

So to ward off this mild depression my plan is: getting more sleep, eating less sugar, finding a new therapist because mine moved away (ahem... a year and a half ago), adjusting to the new school year routine, and continuing to ignore my house and yard while I try to focus on the people in them. Including myself.

"I only dog paddle."

*I wrote this post last summer, but for whatever reason, I didn't publish it at the time.

Summer 2015

In the spring, Ida learned to swim. The week of her tryout for the junior swim team, I decided to take her to the swim team's pool so she could practice. She was so, so nervous. It was Memorial Day and the pool was crowded. I couldn't get in the pool with her, because Polly was still barely 2 weeks old. She was on her own. I watched Ida gather up every ounce of courage, nod nervously to herself, take a deep breath, and jump in. She made it a little over halfway across before the lifeguard blew his whistle, dove in after her and pulled her the rest of the way.

I had noticed the lifeguard watching her before he dove in. He was on the opposite side of the pool from me, and I tried to get his attention, yelling, "She's OK! She's with me!" But he didn't notice me. His eyes were fixed on her. Ida was tearful and told me later that she was both embarrassed and relieved that he had rescued her. I thought she would have been able to make it on her own. Maybe she could have. But he saw a problem and got her out of there. 

The deep end was swarming with other kids. Just in her 5-yard journey she had run into about 4 of them. Instead of rolling sideways to breathe, once she had dodged a few kids she began lifting her face up to breathe and was almost vertical. In her confusion she forgot what she was supposed to do to get across efficiently and was only focused on getting air.

Have you read those articles about how drowning "really" looks?

The myth is that a drowning person waves her arms and splashes and calls for help. But in reality, a person who is truly drowning is operating purely on instinct and can't perform voluntary actions like waving or calling. Her body only knows it needs air and can't do anything but reach for the immediate available air. People who are waving their arms and calling for help are not truly drowning yet, but rather in "aquatic distress," and as long as they can get the help they need, they don't get to the drowning point.

The lifeguard wasn't rooting for Ida to do it on her own. He only knew it was his job to keep her safe. But of course after that experience she was terrified to get back in. I took her to the pool again a few days later and let her swim in the shallow end for awhile, then encouraged her as she practiced swimming next to the side in the deep end, and then finally watched her swim across the required distance, this time with a coach next to her in the water and encouraging her and answering her many, many nervous questions.

I had thought the best way was for her to plunge directly in and let confidence carry her, but the best way for Ida was actually to ease into it, to know for sure that she could get constant encouragement and help until she knew for herself that she would be safe. She couldn't find that confidence without a certain amount of practice.

When Lars was a baby, I was OK for the first few months, but after that I think I started drowning. Eventually I went on and off an antidepressant, and I regularly saw a therapist. By the time I got pregnant again three years later, I felt good, like I was at a happy new normal, but I was on alert for a repeat experience. My midwife knew about this and suggested throughout my pregnancy that I should consider antidepressants again, but I didn't want to unless I felt I needed to. When Polly was not quite a week old I recognized my mounting anxiety and called my midwife's office. She gave me a prescription and also her personal cell phone number, inviting me to call or text any time. A few days later, I found myself in the middle of a panic attack. I have had panic attacks before, but this one was different. I felt confused, disconnected, and very afraid. I dropped my fears on Matt's broad shoulders like I always do, and he told me I would be fine and encouraged me to call my therapist and my midwife right away.

So I sent off a text and an email and they both called me back right away. Neither of them was shocked or told me to go to the ER or that I couldn't be trusted with my baby (all reactions I was afraid of in the moment). Instead, after asking a series of assessment questions, they echoed Matt's assertions. I would be fine.

Within a few weeks I started to feel pretty close to fine. In addition to taking medication, I spent a lot of time talking to people. I went to a psychiatrist who specializes in helping pregnant and postpartum moms. I talked to my regular therapist. My midwife texted and called me multiple times. I took short walks alone outside, every day, getting sunshine and listening to music. I enjoyed the company of my mom, dad, and sister. I went to bed early every night. And I prayed.

So it turns out that in an emergency, or what feels like might become an emergency, asking for help can result in... immediate help--along with mixed embarrassment and relief. In the end, I only felt truly anxious and afraid for about a week. Whereas with my pregnancy and postpartum time with Lars, I spent several months worrying and obsessing and lying in bed and crying and yelling at my kids, this time it was almost like magic. It was embarrassing to ask for the help, yes, and even embarrassing to get it. But I was never drowning, because I never got past "distress."

The lack of sleep is starting to catch up with me and I have a hard time being patient with my kids sometimes (like a much harder time than I did back when I slept 8 hours a night) but somehow at the same time, I honestly don't even mind waking up 2-3 times a night to Polly's sweet face. That will end so soon. It goes by so fast. To continue the swimming metaphor, I feel a little like the kid I remember from my lifeguarding days who did this super awkward dog paddle but somehow always made it across the pool, wearing a goofy smile the whole time.

And just for fun. Jim Gaffigan on having a fourth child.

Listen up

Maybe this blog is a little Polly-centric, but can you blame me?

I wanted to write about a weird experience I had this week. Well I guess it started a couple of weeks ago. One afternoon I put Polly down in the family room to play while I worked on the laundry. She was out of my sight and would be for about a minute, but she was happily occupied (she has a history of needing to be held constantly) and I figured I'd just quickly get my chore done. As I was advancing the laundry from the washer to the dryer, I had a feeling I should check on her. I dismissed it because I had already looked around the floor where she was and I hadn't seen any little chokable things.

The thought came again, "Check on Polly," so I reluctantly did. She was fine. I looked around and found nothing that seemed dangerous. Immediately though I had the thought, "It's not that hard to keep her closer. Just keep her where you can see her." I felt like this was a warning of sorts. If you're religious you will recognize this as a classic Holy Ghost anecdote. If you prefer your dogma to come from Disney movies, you might think of it more like Jiminy Cricket. At any rate I knew it was meant for me, and I even used it in my Young Women lesson about the Holy Ghost that Sunday.

A week later in Young Women, the lesson was about choices. The girls shared the different choices and consequences they'd experienced that week. We talked about how choices might be big or small with big or small results, but regardless, whatever choices we make, we should keep the end goal in mind. Will this choice lead me down the life path I want to be on, or will it not? And what if both choices are good? In that case, just choose one and don't be too stressed because you're still on the right path.

Might I add, perhaps needlessly, that I have a bit of an anxiety issue where my children are concerned, and it's part of my day-to-day to identify: "Is this a real concern, or am I being anxious?"

A couple of days after that, during the Weeknight Witching Hour one evening, I was exhausted after wrestling Polly into her pajamas. She shook me off, then crawled away triumphantly into her brothers' bedroom and I decided to let her play for a few minutes. Theo and Ida were in there and we had long since removed all the Legos and marbles and stuff so I felt fine about it. After about a minute, I remembered my little promise to myself and went in to check on her. She was happily playing on the floor. I thought to look in her mouth, and I found a tiny magnet. Ugh...

I asked Theo and Ida, and none of us knew how many magnets there had been on the magnet board, and how many she might have put in her mouth, or if she'd swallowed any. A quick Googling revealed that magnets are bad news when swallowed, so I called poison control, as I am wont to do. The lady was super nice and after a lengthy conversation we both came to the conclusion that she had probably not swallowed any, but if she had, she had probably only had time to swallow one, and it's only two or more magnets that present a problem because they can stick to each other and poke holes in your intestines. Lovely! Anyway she said "If you're sure it wasn't two, you can stay home and just keep an eye on her diapers for the next couple of weeks to see if a magnet comes out. You can call your doctor if you'd like, just to double check."

So then I called my doctor, as I am also wont to do. The advice nurse surprised me by saying, "You should definitely go to the emergency room and get an X-ray." What? I told her the poison control lady had said that was only necessary if it were two or more magnets. "No, even if it's one magnet, you should check it out immediately." But what if I wait twelve more hours and go to urgent care in the morning? "We recommend that you go tonight." Ughhhhhhh, why had I not listened to my voice? I had a warning about this. I KNEW I needed to keep her closer and be more careful for the next few months.

I hemmed and hawed and discussed it with Matt and ultimately decided to wake her up (she was long asleep by now) and take her to the ER. So, I said goodnight to the big kids and Matt, buckled Polly up, and off we went. We drove to the ER entrance, dropped off the car at the valet, walked in. The valet guy drove off with my car, I started the registration paperwork and WITHIN TWO MINUTES, a voice came on over the loudspeaker, "Attention patients and personnel. No one will be allowed in or out of the hospital until further notice." WHAT?!?! THIS is what I get for coming to the ER when I wasn't sure whether to come in the first place??

Long story slightly less long, Polly and I were stuck at the hospital during a lockdown. I will admit it was a tad stressful. The lockdown ("code silver," which means a hostile person with a gun--thanks Google) lasted about an hour. I feel good about how I handled it because I assessed the situation--honestly if my car hadn't already been driven away I would have turned around at the first announcement and darted right out of there--stayed alert, kept my eyes on everyone, asked questions, eavesdropped on whispered employee conversations and on the security guard walkie-talkie chatter. I hung out in a sort of sheltered alcove which was next to an emergency exit. After a few minutes they ushered us out of the waiting room and into a smaller triage area. A few minutes after that, they moved the babies and moms to yet another waiting area. I felt afraid (and squished...hello, personal space) but at the same time like we were doing the best we could.

Once the "code silver" was finally dropped (I have no idea what happened, if they found the guy or if he left or if it was a false alarm or what), Polly got her X-ray, which was of course delightful (not delightful). AND THEN the radiologist proceeded to tell me that I basically hadn't needed to come in.

So the best thing to do in a crappy situation, well the two best things, would be (A) be grateful it wasn't worse and (B) learn for next time. I'm definitely grateful, and I've definitely learned. I learned a whole lot in a short amount of time! ...But wouldn't it be nice if I could also (C) make the ER bills disappear? (I guess if I did that, there would be less learning.)