Mother's Day 2012

I received many hugs, kisses, and artwork from the boys for Mother's Day. Jay's gift included a song...

Why I Love Living in the South

It's mid-November. After four years living here, I still marvel at the weather. I specifically picked plants with fall/winter blooms to fully appreciate the climate. These plants are in the bed along the foundation in the front yard.

My favorite southern plant, the camellia (I also have other types of camellias that haven't bloomed yet):

When I was browsing at the nursery, these Leopard Plants caught my eye (I have two). I didn't expect them to bloom until next year, so this was a nice surprise (aren't they funny bloomers ?).
The impatiens are still in bloom!
And last but not least, our azaleas.

Almost a Reason for Number Three

I spent a glorious five days in Los Angeles visiting my sister and brother-in-law's newborn baby girl (oh yeah, I visited them too).

Sophia was 16 days old when I arrived. There was so much I had forgotten about the tiniest of babies: the squeaks and gurgles, the unbelievably soft hair and skin, the unfocused gaze, the diapers no bigger than my palm, and the beautiful smell of new life. I wanted to drink her in.

I became quite nostalgic about the newborn stage, when time is measured, not in days or weeks, but hours. A pinprick of regret lodged in my heart (or maybe my uterus) as I realized the babies I will hold in the future will belong to someone else. I'll never again have a tiny being gaze into my eyes with the complete, unconditional, sweet love reserved only for mothers.

There are so many reasons not to have a third: the terrible 9-month morning sickness I seem prone to; the increased chance of birth defects due to my so-called advanced maternal age; the sleep deprivation and stress; the finances involved (more Rob's concern than mine, but a valid one); and the fact that the boys are getting old enough to consider trips to Disney World and other fun things that would be difficult with a baby.

My rational side knows the list of cons outnumber the pros.

But, perhaps, the beauty of another child trumps all else.

My Birthday Drawing

For my birthday, I asked Cole to draw a picture of us.

His explanation: We have lollipop heads and our sticks are going into the ground so we don't fall over. The dots and border are just designs, while the dots with lines going through them are fireworks. I love it!

His drawings are always very involved and have lots of designs and details. Here is a delivery truck (with packages inside, a headlight, and engine under the cab).

And here's an oldie but goodie from 2006 that I just scanned. In case it is hard to read the caption (it seems Color Wonder markers fade), it is titled "Mommy and Daddy Holding Hands."

A Week in the Life

Day One

Adventure Boy gave himself three boo-boos that will never heal because he keeps picking at them. When I get him up from his nap, his face is a bloody mess and he's chanting, "Me no pick. Me no pick. Me no pick." I know you picked, buddy. You can't fool me, yet.

I love these cute band-aids. I just didn't expect to use the entire box in one week.

Day Two

Rob was a whiz at Mock Trial and debate. He endlessly woos me with stories of his verbal prowess ((swoon)). I fully blame him for the following story.

Sunday afternoon, I wanted us all to eat in the dining room because we never eat lunch as a family. Cole wanted to eat in front of the TV. He spent a good 15 minutes outlining the reasons he should be allowed:

1. We ate with daddy yesterday.
2. I'll eat all my lunch.
3. It's my turn to decide.
4. I haven't watched a show in a really, really, really long time.
5. You know how you want time to yourself sometimes? I want time to myself too.

Rob, appreciating his effort and logic, would have caved. I held strong and only promised a show after lunch.




Day ThreeMe: They use chlorine to clean things, right?

Rob: Yeah.

Me: So, wouldn't swimming count as a bath for the boys?

Rob: I really don't think the Mother of the Year would ask that.



Day Four
Update to Chatterbox:

Jay says "la-la good-bye" for lullaby.

Cole says "Gril" for girl and "chicken" for kitchen.

My Two 35-Pound Writer’s Blocks

The babysitter took the kids out for the morning, so I decided to resurrect an article that a magazine editor was interested in before Jay was born. I reread my query letter and our e-mail exchange, and took a stab at the first few paragraphs. Then these thoughts started banging around my head:

Maybe I should go to the library to do some research…The boys’ books are overdue anyway…Where is the one about a fire truck? I don’t remember seeing it lately...I need to remember that I volunteered to walk with Cole’s class to the fire station on Friday…I also need to bring the checkbook to pay for next month’s tuition…If the babysitter can’t come on Friday, I’ll have to take Jay along…Should I bring the stroller?...Cole will probably end up riding in it while Jay runs around with everyone…

It’s getting close to lunchtime…When are they going to get home?…What do we have besides hot dogs for lunch?…I should tell the babysitter to cut up some fruit. They haven’t had any fruit for a couple of days… Except apple juice… Does that count?... I think we are out of juice…I’ll have to go to the grocery store after the library…And what about dinner?...

As long as I am out I should look for those sun visors that go on the car’s windshield…Is there something to go on carseats so the buckles don’t get so hot?...Maybe Target has them…Or Wal-Mart…Wal-Mart is closer to the library and grocery store…And K-Mart is close by if Wal-Mart doesn’t have them…I can’t believe I looked in three stores that didn’t carry them yesterday… Where do people get them? I see them all the time...Maybe I should drive out to the new Super Wal-Mart…It’s farther away, but then I could get the sunshade and groceries at the same place…Kohl’s opened there too…Cole needs new shirts…He’s growing so fast…I need to sort through their clothes…and toys…

So, my attempt at some professional writing ended up as three errands, two chores, and a couple reminders.

Back in the Blues

Here I am, back in the blues. For the past week, I’ve been in a bit of a downward spiral. It’s frustrating because I had been feeling much better. Being depressed is so…depressing.

Going to a four year old’s birthday party at a jump castle venue yesterday didn’t help. I talked myself into going because I miss my friends. I should have known that a big, loud, chaotic crowd wasn’t the best way to ease back into a social life (even at my best, crowds aren’t my thing). I felt as awkward and anxious as I did in high school around the “in” clique. Not fun! But Cole had a great time, so I’m somewhat glad I sucked it up and went.

I can’t help feeling that if I sucked it up more, I would be able to pull myself out of this. If I followed the standard advice--went on long walks, meditated, took bubble baths, and practiced yoga--I would feel better. All I want to do, however, is burn the pile of magazines with their perky 10-Steps-to-Happiness articles.

In my head, I know I can't make myself better--getting the medication right is the main thing. So we’ve added another medicine to the mix and will start to reduce the amount of another. According to my doctor, we’ll know it’s working when I no longer have unreasonable anxiety and sadness. Instead, emotions will be appropriate to the situation. Really?! I can hardly imagine. What will I do with all that extra emotional energy?! Maybe I’ll actually be able to take those bubble baths, go for walks on the beach, meditate, and do yoga!

Unfortunately, it will take another month to know if the new drug is working. I wonder how many more months will be taken by this trial-and-error process. It’s hard not to have guarantees like there are with antibiotics for infections and casts for broken bones. I am grateful, however, that these drugs exist. In the recent past, they weren’t available. I can't imagine life without them.

I recently watched a show on PBS about depression. It focused a lot on the strides scientists are making on treatments. I learned that the reason drugs take so long to work is that they actually create new brain cells in the frontal lobe. It’s comforting to know my brain chemistry is changing because what it is now isn’t working. In the future, scientists will know even more about depression and discover better ways of dealing with it—something to remain hopeful for!

To All the "Nonworking" Moms

The babysitter we hired to help this summer has cried uncle!

She said she was exhausted by the long hours and the constant chaos of two small boys. This is a 21-year-old college student who I am sure (if I remember correctly) can pull all-nighters and remember what she read the next day, drink more than one beer and not feel hung over for a week, and stay up later than 9:00 pm and still be cheerful the next day.

HA! Try doing it when you're more than a decade and a half older without evenings and weekends free!

(She is now spliting the time with a friend of hers.)

A Big Thank You! (And a big sigh of relief!)

I am feeling much, much better—-almost “normal” in fact. I’m finally at the full doses of the medication, which I believe has made a huge difference. I don’t feel drugged; I just feel like myself again, which is very good feeling. I’m trying to be more aware of how I am doing, so I don’t get blindsided again, as well as trying to get on a regular schedule with sleep, meals, and exercise.

I’ve been overwhelmed by people’s responses to my depression. I’m so grateful to my parents (both sets of them) for driving or flying great distances to be here for us. I believe it would have taken much longer to recover without their support. They took over the household business and allowed me to rest and play with the boys when I felt up to it. And now, they have provided a sitter for the summer, which is absolutely the best thing anyone has ever done for me!

My friends also have been amazing in the care they have shown me—bringing suppers over, dropping by to say “hello,” calling often to see how I’m doing, and making plans for me to get out of the house. It’s hard to ask for help when feeling so bad, but they made it easy by just doing it. I can never thank them enough. I’m so grateful to have such wonderful friends.

Family and friends who live in other places have also been very supportive—from writing and calling to sending flowers. Despite great distances and not as much communication as we would like, I know we will always remain close and be there for each other.

I’m sure I’ll write more about this experience, but I’ll also get back to more cheerful things, like the boys who are as cute and wonderful as ever.

Deep Blue Musings

It's been well over a month since the last post. Usually the first post after a hiatus would contain pictures and stories about all the fun we have had in the previous month. This time, however, is different. This time I was flattened by major depression.

Looking back, I can see that it had been descending for weeks, slowly seeping into my everyday life. At first it seemed insignificant, a bit of weariness from the stay-at-home-mom grind. I tried to ignore it, but, like a small child, that only made it more persistent.

I lived in a heavy fog that separated me from the rest of the world. I spent all my energy faking normalcy: I got up in the morning, prepared meals, and took out the recycling. All the stuff of my daily routine, yet nothing seemed real.

Gradually, the fog thickened. I began to skip activities and turned the TV to Nick Jr. all morning. Phone calls went straight to voicemail; e-mails went unanswered. I stopped doing laundry, stopped showering, stopped caring.

The fog had engulfed me.

Yet I forged on. In the grips of major depression, I could not see that I was depressed. I only saw that I was failing—as a mom, a wife, a friend, a sister, a daughter. I blamed myself completely and wondered how other moms kept their lives so together. The guilt I felt overwhelmed me.

Then, one morning, after taking the boys to preschool, I was completely unsettled. My mind felt wrapped in sandpaper, my nerves twitchy like live wires in the rain. I wandered aimlessly around the house and took stock of my failures: a long to-do list, dinner dishes in the sink, toys strewn all over the family room, smudgy fingerprints on the windows, etc., etc. It was too much.

I found refuge in my son's closet hideout. There my facade shattered and, finally, I wept.

After a while, I managed to call my husband at work. He picked up the boys at preschool and came home to find me curled in bed crying. I don’t remember much of the next few days, except a feeling of utter exhaustion and complete despair.

Thankfully, my husband took charge. He stayed home from work for days, called both sets of our out-of-state parents to arrange help, made an appointment with my doctor, and took care of the boys. (He is now an official candidate for sainthood.)

It has been one month from that morning in the closet: a month of around-the-clock help with the boys, doctor appointments, adjustments in medication, and waiting. Just waiting.

I can tell I am getting better. Slowly. I can feel the fog thinning and I feel hope that it will soon lift.

I debated whether to blog about this. It would have been easier to post a silly picture of the boys. But I decided there were many reasons to share the past month with you.

Because family and friends have asked me to be honest with them.

Because I have written about my feelings in journals since childhood, but that no longer feels like enough comfort.

Because I am learning a lot about depression and I need a way to distill the information.

Because when I tell people about this experience, I hear personal stories of how depression has affected them or their loved ones.

Because of the community found in blogging and the silence about mental health that still pervades our society.

And, finally, because everyone needs to feel like they are not alone.

Note to Self at Five O'Clock in the Morning

Never, ever, ever again make yourself a double latte at four o'clock in the afternoon--even if it is Day 4 of Rob's week-long business trip, even if the boys' bedtimes are 3 1/2 enormous hours away, even if you would kill for a little more energy, because tomorrow is going to be here in only 3 hours and you have yet to sleep.

I forsee another extra-strong double latte in a few hours and lots and lots of Blues Clues.

The Tao of Morning

It was a rough morning for me. My neck has been bothering me again and it felt like morning came minutes after I finally fell asleep. I’m exhausted from weeks of this uncomfortable sleep. It was already after 8 by the time I showered and dressed. Cole was still in his pjs watching videos and Jay was still sleeping soundly. Thinking about all it takes to get the two boys out the door, I decided we would be late for school. Some mornings I can hurry the routine, but this morning I didn’t have it in me.

So I woke Jay, grabbed his clothes, and brought him downstairs. While I got him a bowl of dry Cheerios and juice, Cole asked me to read a book. “Why not,” I thought. “We’re going to be late anyway.” The three of us sat on the couch, me in the middle, boys on either side, reading Grumpy Bird, my new favorite story. It’s about a bird who wakes up in a grumpy mood. He is so grumpy that he can’t even fly and ends up walking instead. The illustration of the bird is perfect. He has deep creases around the narrow slits of his eyes that make everything about him look grumpy. (I imagine I looked somewhat similar.) One by one, all his friends join him on his walk, until he realizes he isn’t grumpy anymore.

Sitting there, with Cole throwing dried strawberries from his bowl of Special K onto the floor and Jay shrieking “Sta, Sta,” until I acknowledged that there were indeed stars on the page, felt just right. And just like grumpy bird, I found it hard to stay grumpy. So when I turned the last page and Jay cried, “Gan!” I didn’t even pause before starting the story again.

After that things seemed to flow. The boys got dressed to the shoes (leaving pajama tops on—things flowed, but not that well), Jay’s diaper bag was packed, coats were found and put on, and we were out the door. I even stopped to say a cheerful hello to a neighbor walking his dogs as Jay climbed down the front steps himself (“Me, Me!”). After strapping both boys into their carseats, redistributing cereal and juice cups, and starting the car, I was stunned to see that it was only 8:44. We made it to school on time and even got one of the first parking spaces.

Amazing.

Little Hands

This morning Cole went potty and washed his hands all by himself. I was in the kitchen waiting for the usual "Mommy, I need you," but it never came. Instead I heard him singing on the potty, then heard the water running in the sink.

At first I was thrilled because it is a real pain to take him everytime. And, since Jay always follows along, handwashing turns into a big ordeal with fights over the stool, space at the sink, etc, etc.

But this afternoon when all three of us trudged to the bathroom and I washed their hands, I realized that I will miss this little routine. It's about the only time I get to hold Cole's hands anymore. While rubbing on the soap, I noticed how long and slender his fingers have become and how he's losing the soft ring of baby fat around his wrists. And I wondered how many more times I'll be allowed to help him like this.

My days of washing Jay's hands may be numbered also since he is determined to do everything Cole does. So this time I held onto his soft, slippery hands a little longer and felt his pudgy palms and fingers before he squirmed away. Then I realized that I probably will have lots more hand washing times with Jay because he will be the boy who claims to have washed his hands while they are still caked with dirt!