Doing What I'm Told . . . And Trusting God

I don't even know how to begin this post. I've already started crying. But after talking with my therapist and psychiatrist they recommended that I write about it. So I'm going to listen and do what I'm told.

 

We've all written posts about Sandy Hook, have prayed and done random acts of kindness in honor of those precious lives.

It's been 3 weeks since this horrific event.

It wasn't me that lost the love of my life.

But I'm grieving more than I've ever grieved.

More than even my 3 miscarriages - which almost sickens me.

I've avoided all news about what happened - I'm at least smart enough to know that information will not help in this situation. I've managed to quickly scroll past pictures of those babies lost and descriptions of funerals, information on what actually happened.

And still, I'm plagued by intrusive thoughts of 'what ifs' and 'oh, Jesus, why, why, why?'

I've stood in my shower and yelled at God, sobbed and started taking Xanax again at bedtime.

I have stopped crying every time I look at my children. But when I kiss them goodnight, when they are sleeping soundly in their beds, when they are warm, safe and wrapped in my love? I get choked up and my mind races.

The first thing I think of when my eyes open in the morning is the parents and the overwhelming grief they are experiencing.

Because when I first heard the news we all thought it was a kindergarten class that was lost, I immediately fixated on John - because he is in kindergarten and I volunteer in his classroom. And an entire class of these amazing little lives were gone.

Then I learned it was a first grade classroom. So I transferred my obsession to Sarah because she is in the first grade and I've been in her room, on field trips with these sweet, sweet children, and how could this be gone in an instant?

I'm completely aware that I'm transferring my worries, my fears, from one child to another. Which my therapist and psych say is a good thing. It means I'm paying attention to what my mind is doing and beginning to understand what my brain does when I'm overwhelmed with grief and fear.

I did give Sarah and Violet good, appropriate information on what happened. Violet heard some worrisome information while at dance and around older girls, but we talked about it and she was reassured. Since I couldn't talk about it without crying, we also talked about grief and being sad about something when it hasn't happened directly to you.

I'm talking to God about this constantly and holding onto the knowledge that this, somehow, in some way, is His plan. But, even with this knowledge, I question continually and argue that even one soul saved from this tragedy does not justify what happened.

I'm furious with God and this didn't happen to me.

I'm grieving deeply and somewhat inappropriately for the parents, family and friends of these perfect lives lost.

I'm praying that by writing about it I will be able to get some of this grief out and onto this paper, pour it into this instead of into my heart and mind. When I write about my depression that is what happens - I'm able to acknowledge what happened and begin to move on. Perhaps this will be the same.

I don't know yet, because I'm sitting here wiping tears off my face and feel no release.

The only thing I do know is I've cherished my children and our moments together more than I thought possible. I thought I cherished them before - I was mistaken. This injustice has taken my love for, my feeling of being blessed for my life and babies, my patience with them and acceptance of who they are to a whole new level.

But even if that is part of God's plan from this - that we all experience these feelings? It's not enough.

My heart breaks numerous times daily for Sandy Hook and all of the victims. I know it stretches across the country with relatives and friends of those incredible lives lost. I pray almost continuously for them and think about where they are.

And I'm well aware that this is, on some level, going too far.

My psych says that I take my grief for one thing - something that has happened to me such as losing memories when I was so sick, my fear for Violet when she had the meningitis this summer, and instead of dealing with it then, in the moment, I shove it down and then it overwhelms me when something else happens. Then it all comes out - somehow safer when I'm feeling for somebody else and not me.

Messed.up.

I'll let you know how or if this helps.

 

 

The Magic of Walt

We spent the week of Thanksgiving at Disney and it truly was magical in all Disney ways. We went to The Animal Kingdom and rode through the wilds of Africa. Sarah danced in a street show in Africa. We walked through the gardens of Asia. We went on the famous magic teacups. We braved Space Mountain. We went on Star Tours and Buzz Lightyears shoot 'em out game/ride. We met characters. We shopped in the ridiculously expensive Disney souvenir shops.

Of course.

And we also experienced our usual family antics along the way. Because, really, what vacation is complete without a few hang ups ? And a trip the ER. On the day we arrived.

Of course.

Let me explain . . .

We woke the kids up at 4 am on Saturday morning and said, " Get dressed because WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY!"

Violet stared at us blankly. John said, "I'm tired." Sarah's mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. Then the questions started: did I pack shorts? (pretty sure I had that covered) Swim suits? (even goggles) sneakers? (gee, I hadn't thought of shoes!)

We arrived in Florida at 10 am without any problems at all. The kids were great on the plane and didn't even need the books and games I'd packed in their carry ons. We went to the condo where there  was an incredible water park with heated water and a lazy river. We played for a few hours then the kids all napped. We cooked a Thanksgiving dinner (my mom even made a turkey and all the fixings) and had family over that I hadn't seen in at least 14 years. We laughed and talked for hours.

Violet couldn't seem to wake up. When she participated with the family she was reserved and quiet. Very unlike her. After everybody left she really started complaining that her neck hurt, she had a terrible headache and she couldn't swallow. We've had enough cases of strep in the house for me to recognize the signs -- and we were a thousand miles from home, on vacation and about to do Disney World.

So we took her to the ER. They quickly diagnosed strep.

Of course.

They prescribed us antibiotics and sent us on our way.

She felt well enough the next day to visit The Kennedy Space Center. (a colossal waste of money, but they had fun) and go to our special dinner that evening. 'The Hoop De Doo Revue.' It was PERFECT. They put the spotlight on Sarah and announced her birthday. One of the actors teased my husband. One growled and pawed at Violet when he was dressed as a bear. John smiled, laughed and clapped along with the songs.  They had a full gluten free dinner for me. We couldn't stop smiling. When we got back to the condo they acted out their favorite parts for my parents.

In the morning, Sarah's birthday, we got up early and headed out The Animal Kingdom. On the way into the park Sarah, my least coordinated child, was galloping and dancing along, asking what time it was so she could mark the exact time she was born. A lady heard her and said, "Happy Birthday!" Sarah looked up to say thank you, tripped and hit the sidewalk on one knee. Hard.

Of course.

It immediately started bleeding, quite nicely, too. She was sobbing and yelling as I whipped out my handy dandy first aid kit and cleaned it up. But it was big. And the brand new kit had one small band aid.

Of course.

The Animal Kingdom was incredible. We all had a great day without any other problems.

On Tuesday we visited my parents new house and had another good day.

On Wednesday I carefully packed our bags and coolers, put my schedule in my pocket and we headed out to The Magic Kingdom. We parked, took the little train to the Tram, the Tram to the front gates and waited for the park to open. It opened and we continued to wait to go through security. We went through, no problem. We got to the ticket taker, put the first ticket in and it spit it out, fast.

I had the wrong tickets.

The WRONG tickets.

Of course.

Cue uncontrollable sobbing -- from me.

I had to wind and push my way back the opposite way, find where to buy tickets and buy 5 tickets. All while sobbing. Then I had to get back into the security line, where the worker asked me several times if I was OK.

No, no I was not OK.

Then I sobbed my way back through the line, apologizing over and over to the people I was cutting in front off, trying to explain, "I brought the wrong tickets -sob- my family is up front -sob- I'm sooo sorry -sob-"

But I got through it, we put our tickets in and off we went. We went on all the rides the kids wanted then stopped for lunch. Where we discovered that we hadn't packed any bread sandwiches.

Of course.

We just ate the meat and cheese and soldiered on.

The kids went on more rides and met The Fairy Godmother. They had a blast.

We got home about 11:30, shoved everybody in bed and slept in the next day. When we woke up we took our time and went to Hollywood Studios.

It was perfect. Not too crowed at all, we got the Fast Passes we wanted and went in everything except Fantasmic.  Because it was Sarah's birthday she had on a pin that said, "It's my birthday!" and all the cast members wished her happy birthday constantly. The ticket taker at The Indiana Jones Stunt Show saw her pin and asked if we wanted VIP seats. Yes please! So down to the front row we went!

The kids met "Green Army Man" from Toy Story, Sully and Mike from Monsters Inc, Wreck it Ralph and the little girl. Then? MICKEY MOUSE. During our wait at Indiana Jones, John had drawn Mickey a picture, then put it in his pocket and carried it there - safely- the rest of the day. When we saw Mickey -- and no line - he whipped that picture out and rushed the line. He danced his way up to Mickey and thrust the picture in Mickey's hand. Then Mickey took it, hugged John, turned and showed the note off to the photographer and everybody in line behind us.

::headexplosion::

We went home, so happy.

Friday we went to Downtown Disney and got ready for our flight out at 7:00. Sometime during 11 and 12 I received 2 calls from an unknown number in Texas. Which I ignored. About 1:30 I noticed that the number had left 2 voice mails, so I reluctantly decided to listen to them.

It was Southwest. Our flight time had been "updated" to 9:00. We wouldn't be getting home until well after midnight.

Of course.

In the end we switched flights. We did have a connection in Ft.  Lauderdale, but we made it without a problem. Sarah was complaining about her knee and we noticed that it had puss coming out of it.

Of course.

We got home and were in bed by 12:00.

Saturday morning we got up very late and went to a diner for breakfast. Sarah took two bites of her favorite pancakes and refused to drink her hot chocolate. Her knee was still kind of gross and she wouldn't bend it.

So off to the walk in clinic we went. For a scraped knee.

It was infected. (but not badly)

Of course.

We got home and put all the kids on the sofa to watch as much TV as they wanted. I went upstairs and unpacked us. I came back downstairs and Sarah hugged me.

And was hot. So I took her temperature.

102.2

Of course.

The walk in clinics check out instructions said to take her to the ER if she developed a fever/chills.

She had both.

Of course.

So we bundled her up. She asked for a drink before we left.

And promptly puked it all up.

Of course.

So my husband drove us the ER while I held the puke bucket in the back seat.

They took us right in, worried about her knee.

It looked the same.

Her throat? Did not.

She has strep.

Of course.

Today we are all sitting on the sofa watching as much TV as we want, refusing to do a.single.thing. Drugging Sarah with Motrin and Tylenol.

Of course.

But did we truly have a magical time at the most magical place?

Of course. :)

After Shocks

So . . . I haven't been around lately, at all. Not on Facebook, not really on Twitter and definitely not here. And I've missed it all. But something more pressing has been keeping me occupied, and once it was under control, well I'd kind of lost my mojo. Again.

You all know that all three of my children had viral meningitis this summer. Oh the joy. Violet had it the worst because we didn't know what was going on -- we initially thought it was just a stomach virus. Since she went the longest without treatment it took 2 1/2 days to get it all under control. Which left her with some side effects we had no idea were coming.

About 6 weeks after the meningitis things started getting weird with her and then they got violent. She had such raging tantrums that I was forced to empty her room because her toys provided ammunition to launch at me. She screamed. She jumped on her bed. She yelled strange insults at me. When she'd done this twice in a row I sought the help of a dear friend, Lisa, who knows so much about brain function, environmental issues, allergies etc. Her son has mild autism and she is a wealth of knowledge. As I cried to her about Violet's behavior, she started questioning me about other things, and we made a list of symptoms and dates they started. What resulted was a timeline that started after her meningitis.

Things I saw included violent temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches  and a fear of doctors.  I made an appointment with her pediatrician, talked with her teacher, my therapist (who is also a child therapist)  and social worker at her school. Then I started to research all this myself.

Meningitis.com and The Mayo Clinic as well as several other sites listed after effects of meningitis: temper tantrums, sleeplessness, clinginess, quick mood changes, recurrent headaches  and a fear of doctors.

What? Not a single doctor told me took for after effects. And I didn't research the meningitis while she was sick because  I knew I'd get all sorts of scary, ridiculous results.

I called two friends of mine who's family members had experienced meningitis. I simply asked, "What happened after the meningitis?" One said, "You mean like behavior changes or tantrums?" What? She knew? And the other told me her brother had headaches for 6  months after.

We had blood tests done to rule out any other problems such as a hyper active thyroid. We had an MRI done. Saw an ENT. Everything was normal.

We went to the therapist and started to work on the actual behaviors -- because even if they were a result of the meningitis we couldn't live our lives walking around just waiting for the next explosion and all nervous about it.

So. Time has passed. She's been to see the therapist twice now. Talked with social worker who gave her some books on anger to read. We have 'anger rules' up in the kitchen and her room. She's earning toys back. She takes melatonin to get to sleep each night. She questions whether or not she's going to have 'a needle' every time we go to the doctor - and remember, we went to the pediatrician, had blood drawn, were sedated for the MRI then went to the ENT. So she's very worried. She is very clingy and tends to do it more around a lot of people. She's tantrumed in front of two of her friends -- who thankfully had experienced similar behavior in their own home so they just shrugged it off.

At first this consumed me. I searched the internet for hours. I talked to my friends. I asked for many, many prayers. I talked extensively about it to my therapist. My anxiety level has shot through the roof.

But I'm starting to see the other side now. She's doing much, much better. She hasn't had a full  on tantrum in about 3 weeks. She's beginning to learn that she needs to take a break from us when she starts to feel angry.

So this are starting to get better. Our home life is pretty normal now, no eggshell walking and no searching the internet for hours.

I think we're going to be okay. :)

While On Vacation . . .

My children misbehaved. And were a freaking riot. A riot. I took notes, for real, on all the weird stuff they said and did just so I could blog it. They'd say something and I'd laugh so hard, then say, "Hang on, let me write that down." And type it into my little 'notes' app on my iPhone. I always wondered if/when I'd use that! So, a little glimpse into our vacation:

Me: Please don't run on the dock

Sarah & John, in unison: The life jacket makes us run!

~~

Sarah: See that duck? It's name is Flipper.

Me: How do you know it's name is Flipper?

Sarah: Because she's smart.

~~

Did you know fish can choke?

~~

That fish is named Big Ben. Oh, there he is! And there he is! And there . . . and there . . .

~~

John: Mommy, can you go sit over there, because the boat is like leaning.

(NO I WILL NOT! THE BOAT IS NOT LEANING!)

~~

Daddy, we have a problem (said while fishing), my wheeler inny came off. (that would be the fishing reel that came off.)

~~

Sarah, why don't you sit down?

Oh, I'm not putting my little patootie on those rocks!

~~

I'll touch the fish!! Wait, put him to sleep first.

~~

Daddy, I don't want a booby.

Daddy: Well, that's good, because it's called a bobber.

~~

Whew. I can't run 20 miles. I need running lessons.

~~

We had a wonderful time. We laughed and hung out on the Lake on a pontoon boat, where my husband helped the kids catch fish (although they totally think they did it all themselves) and Violet learned to cast, catch and reel in all by herself.

We went to this small little amusement park, family and Christian owned that was fantastic. Del Grosso's. They had a great water park and a ton of small fair/carnival rides for all ages. We spent 7 hours there, and it was small enough that the kids could get away from you a bit and feel some freedom, but were still with you.  If you're near the State College area of Pennsylvania I highly recommend it.

We had a great time -- and no cell/wifi service.

OMG.

And we're going back next year for 5 days.  (on a houseboat -- so awesome!)

I loved it, but did I mention no cell or wifi??

Lazy Days With Grandma

On Tuesday we went to my in laws in New Jersey with the hope that my husband would get to kayak the Delaware and fish while Sarah and John and I hung out with Grandma and Grandpa. I took my knitting and some work, knowing the kids would be entertained by the new "old" toys at Grandma's and the brook in her yard.

Only it started raining about 10 minutes from their house, a huge deluge of water that kept my husband out of the river. To say he was upset is an understatement. He'd taken time off from work and was looking forward to this so much.

So we hung out. And did a whole lot of nothing. Nothing that included the kids playing Mr. Piggly Wiggly with Grandma and Daddy teaching the kids how to play Domino's - not the stand up and crash down kind, but the old man at the table in the park kind.

They loved it! (and so did Daddy. Then they played the stand up and crash down type.)

We had a lovely lunch and it stopped raining. So the kids got on their swimsuits and climbed down into the brook while my husband 'fished.' This is how the fishing goes:

Cast the line.

Snag a very dumb fish.

Toss said fish at children.

Children scream in fear.

Children beg for more.

Cast the line.

Catch a fish. Toss a fish. Scream. Beg.

 

I don't understand the game, but it never changes and the kids initiate it every time we are there and it's warm enough to be in the brook.

Incidently, this is the same brook my husband grew up fishing, building dams in and riding his canoe down -- and no, it's not that big.Canoes should not go down this part.

They all splashed and ran and screamed while there. Grandma and Daddy were in on all the action.

They built a huge dam that took about an hour to complete. John laughed and screamed, jumped and dunked himself in the new, deeper water.

Sarah stood on the bridge and declared: I don't walk in wet grass. You can carry  me.

*snort* Like that's going to happen.

I took pictures and giggled. Did some knitting and chatted with my mother in law.

In the end it was a great day -- all saved by Domino's and a dam.

 

Six Weeks

Wait, isn't that the title of an old, dirty movie?

Moving on.

My sister in law, my brothers wife, has been in Michigan for four weeks. She'll be gone two more weeks. That's six weeks.

Ugh. I'm dying. She's gone, my niece is gone.

Kerry!! :)

When she was here we'd talk almost every day, do the 'pop in' deal with each other. She'd watch my kids and I'd get Caitlyn. Oh, how I adore that child. When she left she was just barely up on all fours. Now she's cruising furniture and has a tooth.

*sob*

Plus, ya know, Kerry is gone!

When we talked every day I'd get to bounce all my crazy ideas off her, and she'd bring me back to reality. She'd encourage me when I doubted myself. She'd remind me of how far I've come in two years.

As I'm writing this I'm not sure what I provided her. I do know that I adore her and love her with all my heart. Perhaps I haven't told her that enough or expressed it well.

What I do know is I'm missing her terribly and cannot wait until she comes home.

 

Going Old School

So. Violet, Sarah and I are battling lately. This is getting to be old, hearing me say this, right? I've allowed them to become very disrespectful of my husband and myself. So much so that two people have commented on it.

You have no idea how humiliating that is.

But I had no idea on how to fix it. I'd take Violet's ipod away and she'd read -- which she loves. And I don't feel right taking away reading. I'd restrict t.v and she'd play with her Barbies and not care that she lost t.v.  Sarah just screams.

So I was at a total loss.

I thought I had a moment of parental genius the other day when she told me that playing was boring and I decided that I'd teach her what boring was. So she cleaned her room all day long - seriously. From 10:30 til 2:30 she dusted, put toys away and organized her closet. Only in the end she declared, "Look at my room, it's awesome!" So, kind of a fail there.

I discussed my frustrations with a friend, one who had noticed the disrespect - the eye rolling, the laziness, the outright refusal to complete my requests- and she told me what she used with her kids, what had worked.

Writing lines. Bible verses specifically.

Hmm.

So I talked to my husband about it. To the girls about it. Then spent the afternoon reading Ephesians - the book that seems to deal the most with obedience and children - and we got started. I copied down a few verses on cards, put them in a box and prepared myself.

And Violet promptly began being rude to Sarah.

I, somehow, calmly handed her a card and the pad of paper.  Had her read the verse out loud to me: Ephesians 4:29 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.

I asked her if she knew what it meant. She did not. I had her write it twice, then we discussed it again. And she understood part of it. We had a true discussion about what it meant to speak kindly and helpfully. Later, she started in on Sarah and I said, "Violet, what did you write earlier?" She kind of tilted her head and said, "This? This is unhelpful. Huh."

It was a tiny 'aha' moment.

And it also reminded me -- big time- that I need to speak in a way that helpful for building others up according to their needs -- especially my children.

Today Sarah started in on something, I can't even remember what. And I, again, somehow calmly, handed her the verse Ephesians 6:1 Children obey your parents.

She had a fit and refused , but I stuck it out. Eventually she wrote it down two times and handed it to me -- nicely.

I think the key is I stick to this and remain calm. Remain calm.

So today, it was a success.

Here's hoping tomorrow is as well.

Where I've Been

Things have been a little . . . rough. And I haven't shared this with anybody except my husband and brother and sister in law.  (Sorry mom :/) It's not the depression so much as a new med I tired for my anxiety and mood swings.

Oh, the anxiety.

So we tried a new med.

Bad, bad idea.

I have been so sick. Nauseous like pregnant nauseous only I'm not. (It's not possible, husband has had the little snip snip). The nausea started out just as a minor annoyance that was manageable, then turned into a giant monster that left me a sobbing mess in my psychiatrists office. We'd tried a time release tablet already and zofran. Still no relief.

People, I lost almost 10 pounds in two weeks. That's how bad the nausea was. So when I say I was a sobbing mess? I was hot, sobbing mess.

Needless to say, I'm off the med and we're trying a different approach. The nausea is gone and life is resuming at lightening speed - thank God.

So I haven't had the energy or want to blog or read anything in the past few weeks. As I feel better I'll get back in the swing of things.

Thankfully I had my brother and sister in law to cry to and help me - and help me they did.

And let's not forget Diana :) She understands nausea just a *little*.

What # 4 Looks Like

Everybody knows that I struggle with wanting a fourth baby - I've written about it many times. Well, on Monday's and Tuesday's I get to watch my niece for for about three hours, from 3 o'clock until 6 o'clock.

Up until this past Monday I've had it totally under control. Dinner planned, the kids occuppied in the other room (although constantly begging to see/touch/look at/play with/stare at/just do something with Caitlyn), bouncy seat, white noise app on my iphone ready and bottle ready to go. I know. Prepared, right?

Well, on Monday life happened.

The kids were taking turns playing with her - which means she sits in her bouncy seat and they make googly eyes at her - when a stink overtook the kitchen. Ahhh, the smell of poo from a breast fed baby. I quickly jumped into action, whisking her away and onto the changing pad. Where I totally struggled with her cloth diaper, getting more poo on her stomach in the process of changing her. Violet of course hovered over me giving me a play by play of what I should be doing (because she's changed a lot of diapers at 8 years old) and commenting on the smell.

Just as I got Caitlyn clean and was putting the new diaper on her, John began his 'potty' yell. This means he yells, "MOOOOMMMEEEE, I have to go POOOTTTEEEE." And I say, "Then go." And he goes. But the yell to me from somewhere in the house and my response must take place. This time the first yell was followed by the dreaded second yell.  "I have to have a BM!"

Excellent.

And then I get Caitlyn dressed and she's fussing and I know it's time for her bottle, but John is going to need me and the water is boiling and she's fussing and Violet is talking and Sarah wants to know what is for dinner  . . .

And I forget about John.

I put Caitlyn in her bouncy seat and start to warm the bottle, when I hear John yell, "Mommy I'm done!"

But Caitlyn needs a bottle and I can't let her cry -- she's not mine! I mean, if she were mine I'd be OK with that for a few minutes, but she's not mine!

I hurry to the bathroom, just around the corner from the kitchen and turn the knob.

LOCKED.

I tell John to open the door. "I don't want to."

OMG. That must mean there is an epic mess in there.

I turn the knob again and try to use logic on an almost 5 year old, explaining that I cannot help him if he doesn't unlock the door.

He unlocks the door.

And in my head, my inner dialogue is this: I have to wipe a bum and feed a baby. I mean, I'm totally going to wash my hands, but there's no down time in between! I'll scrub them. Then warm the bottle. Then scrub them again. It'll be good.

I dash back into the kitchen.

Sarah is sitting next to Caitlyn, making googly eyes at her and Catilyn is cooing and smiling, happily distracted for the moment.

I turn off the boiling water before I boil the pan dry and all is well.

And I'm only a little sweaty.

I also can laugh about it.

I'm also listening.

The Color of Friendship

Violet is 8 1/2.

During the last presidential race, she knew that a black man or a white woman would be in the White House. Honestly, I didn't care who won because the thought that she was growing up in a world where we could have a black man as president or a white woman as vice president thrilled me.

Obama won. I was thrilled - politics aside. My children will grow up knowing that anything is possible. And isn't that what we want?

Today she is watching a movie on Disney called "The Color of Friendship."  In it, a wealthy, white South African girl travels to the United States as an exchange student. Her host family is a black family, who's father is a congressman - who speaks openly about apartheid. It's also set in 1977

They thought they were getting a black South African family. She thought she would be living with a white family.

They do not get along.

Violet is so very confused by this -- Praise the Lord.

She asked me why the girl wasn't getting along with the family, why they seemed so angry. So I had to explain. She looked at me and said, so innocently, "But what does the color of your skin matter? It's just . . . your skin."

Yes baby, it is.

Mission: Accomplished.

They're Smarter Than I Think

So. We got the kids an Xbox 360. I had it all planned out, how we were going to give it to them.

We hid the receiver by the base of the TV with the ottoman so they couldn't see it.

I wrapped a game.

I wrapped a controller.

And when they opened these two seemingly random gifts my husband and I were going to be all, "What in the world? I must have gotten the wrong gift from Amazon and not realized it! And then I wrapped it? And gave it to you? Silly mommy! We don't have an Xbox!" And then when they were done opening up their gifts we were going to slide the ottoman away and scream "OMG we DO have an Xbox!"

Yeah, it was going to be epic. I was hoping for some tears, maybe a need to run for the bathroom.

Instead, Violet walked through the room and saw the *special word* sensor that is on top of the TV. It's black. Slim. Blends in. And since we don't watch TV on Christmas I didn't even think about it.

And she screamed.

And cried.

And may of needed the bathroom.

It was epic.

(just not the epic that I had all planned, see?)

It's Christmas! It's Christmas!

It's Christmas and I'm up way too early, sitting here anxiously waiting for the kids to wake.up.right.this.very.minute!

I think I'm more excited than they are.

You know how every year they ask for for a gift that is unattainalbe? (No, we cannot get a pony. Or a pool. Or our very own life sized Thomas the Train.) This year they totally asked for a do-able gift: xbox 360

SCORE

So after I convinced Violet that xbox's were like a thousand dollars and there was no way on God's green earth that we were ever getting one and she explained to Sarah and John how much that was (It's like aaaalll the toys in Target) I got on Amazon and ordered it. For a $140 less than Best Buy/Target.

SCORE

We set it up last night, per Diana's instructions. Becuase that girl is smart. Then I played the games and oh my lord did I have fun! My husband attempted to not laugh at me. Did you know that the game takes pictures of you as you play it? As you jump and throw your body about in weird positions? So when the pictures of me playing flashed up on the screen?? OMG. The pictures of me in my pajama's, my glasses and no make up?? Yeah. He stopped even pretending I wasn't a hot mess.

I had a blast and that means the kids are going to as well.

SCORE.

It's almost 7:00.

I have to go!!

So Much To Be Thankful For

I know this is an obvious post, but let's go with it, shall we?

I have so much to be thankful for. For friends who have stood by me as I heal. Who have supported me with kindness and love this past year. I don't know if you'll ever understand how much your love and support mean to me, and I can't ever thank you enough. When I'm having a bad day your friendships pull me up.

For family who loved me through the darkest days and now smile with me as I have bright days. You helped me when I couldn't help myself and for that I am ever thankful. Your love pulls me up on my bad days and supports me in ways I can't express.

Rejoice, Again I Say Rejoice

Sitting in church Sunday morning.

The kids are whining. Crawling over me. Over my husband. I'm trying to focus.

The sun is coming through the window and is hot on me.

Sarah is talking to herself, loudly. Violet is gloomy. John is squirming in the pew in front of me.

I take a deep breath. Close my eyes. Open them, ready to glare and snap.

I see John's blonde head bowed. He's reading the hymnal and singing along.

He's four.

The hymn is 'Rejoice, The Lord is King'

I watch my husband rub John's head, see his large hand on John's small head. See my children in church. Squirming, but there. Listening to every tenth word. They are learning.

Rejoice. The Lord is King.

Why We Argue

My husband and I argue. We try to not do it in front of the kids. But we do argue. And I complain about him sometimes. And he complains about me -- but I have to say that I'm much worse at this than he is. He is amazing in his patience with me.

I love him more than I ever thought possible.  And yet we still argue. But here's why:

It's how we work things out. It's how we come to realize the real issues. That what's behind the small complaints (I leave my glasses all over the house) is really about me not picking up the kitchen when I should have. Or how a big complaint (You don't respect what I do all day) isn't truthful, it's just a build up of some smaller items (dishes in the sink when the dishwasher is empty, changing channels when I'm watching something).

After 10 years of marriage I've finally realized  that we argue to hash things out. That I'm not always forthcoming with what's bothering me, so I let it build, and then we argue. I'm working on that. My husband, for the most (large, huge) part, just doesn't get angry at me until I react to something he's done, or not done. He's very tolerant that way. I know that because we argue it doesn't mean we love each other any less or have a more dysfunctional marriage than others.

I also know that we complain and tease each other about things we do. He'll be the first to tell you that he can track my movements by where the glasses are in the house (I worked on the computer: a half empty glass of water. I knitted: a half empty cup of coffee. ) and I'll roll my eyes. Then come back with how he doesn't believe anything he hasn't seen before (especially bothersome when planning our wedding. "Throw flowers, not rice? You can't do that. I've never heard of that. You can't do it." Uhm, yes, we can.). But then we laugh. Because you can track my movements around the house based on my drinking glasses, and he really does think things don't exist if he hasn't seen them.

I've been around other couples who don't argue, and I think that's great - for them. It's how they communicate, how their marriage works. But I realize that- after 10 years-  my husband and I have to argue to get to the root of some things. Not everything. There are many things we just discuss, but many others that are hot ticket items and cause us to actually argue.

I also admit that he's a much better communicator than I am. If I'm doing something that is upsetting him, he just comes out and tells me, then is done with it. I stew and think and convince myself that whatever is happening, he's doing it just to bother me. He never is.

So. We argue.

Do you?

Daily Conversations

Krista over at Not Mommy of the Year  did a post like this a few weeks back and I thought it was a brilliant way to capture 'a day in the life'  kind of moment. So . . . I totally bogarted the idea for today's post. Krista is brilliant you know. Go check her out.

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John: Mommy, you know this orange soda? It tastes just.like.orange.soda.

Violet: I don't want to sleep! (Me: I didn't ask if you wanted to.) Well, you should ask! Ask!

Sarah: Words that have /d/ in the middle . . .door. Wouldya . . .

John: These are little coconuts! (they were Whoppers)

Me: I'm mailing your candy to the soldiers tomorrow, so pick out 5 pieces to keep.

Sarah: Why are you mailing my candy?

John: Because thems can't go trick or treating and get their own candy, right mommy?

Sarah: I said Iwould change the channel. You just didn't hear me, cuz I said it little.

John: I'll make this card for Violet. Becuase she doesn't feel good. And my card will make hers feel better.

Me: Sarah, you need to do it again.

Sarah: I did it like 99 times!

John: Do it 14 times. That's better. (14 is his favorite number.)

John: Let's rock and roll!

Violet: He jumped on my face! He did it on purpose!

Me: Really?

John: I fell! I fell!

Violet: He fell on my face on purpose!

Husband and Me: Really?

 

 

Sick

My house is a petri dish. A dish of germs that grows and multiplies. And then I, evidently, come along and lick.

John went to preschool this year and had a random fever virus a month ago. I really thought he'd be much sicker, being around all those new kids.

Nope.

Sarah went to kindergarten and has gotten one sinus infection - which she is prone to because of her allergies - and that's it. I thought she'd be getting sick more often because of the new kids.

Nope.

Me? This week is killing me. Monday I had what I thought was a random fever virus. I felt great on Tuesday and even 'ran' on Wednesday. (let's be clear. 'Running' for me was day one, week three of couch to 5K. It was a 25 minute run/walk. ) Thursday I woke up did my morning deal and by 11:00 I was looking for any surface, clean or dirty, soft or hard, to lay down. I took my temperature. Fever. And sooo low it barely counted, 100.5, but it was enough to kick my butt. By 1 o'clock I was full on sick. What? How?

I spent the day dozing on the sofa while John played and watched a lot of TV. He also drew the cutest pics for me, to make me feel better. I went to bed at 6 o'clock. It was bliss. Thank God for my husband, he did dance, dinner and bathes without any help from me.

I woke up this morning to . . . still a fever.  So I'm going to the doctors. Does my body not realize I don't have time for this crap?

** My blog is still under construction. The comments won't work, neither will the pages, until I get the innards figured out. Hopefully today. Thanks!**

Sleep

Sarah's not sleeping.

Again.

I'm at a total and complete lost. I'm desperate. And I thought I was desperate before. Remember this summer, what we went through? It's starting again. Only this time she is systematically breaking my heart with the pitiful cries.

It started about a week into school, once she was settled into the routine of school. It's steadily gotten worse. By the time we went to Colorado she simply laid awake until 11 or 12 every night.Then she'd be a zombie the next day. We started the melatonin again, with some success. But the time between her taking the melatonin and the time she falls asleep is hell on us.

We took her to see a therapist. She drew a picture of the monster that lives under her bed.

Excellent.

And talked about all the things that scare her: Scooby Doo, Halloween. Some random show Violet had watched one time. The monster she drew just killed me.

We elminated Scooby Doo and let her decide what she wanted to do about Halloween. The decorations people put in their yard were really freaking her out, especially at night when she had time to think - and needed something to delay bed time. We upped the amount of melatonin she takes (per our pediatrician).

Last night, and for the past three nights, she has gone to bed crying, saying her belly hurts. We stay upstairs with her as long as we can. But soon it becomes apparent that she is manipulating us. Then she is up and down all night complaining about her belly. Is it real? I honestly don't know.

She decided to go trick-r-treating, and loved it. But the very minute she hit the steps to come upstairs her voice changed and she said her feet hurt. Her whole demeanor became sad and pitiful. She'd had her medicine, she was tired. And fighting sleep like nobody's business.

Tonight I let her come into my bed until she fell asleep. She literally shoved her body against mine, tight as she could fit, and immediately fell asleep. I was able to slip downstairs. But I worry about what will happen if she wakes and I'm gone. We'll still put her in her bed when we go to bed, and leave both our bedroom doors open - she can actually see us from her bed.

But I'm at a loss. She does sometimes have nightmares, I know. But how do we stop this? How do we cope? How do we make her feel safe in her own bedroom?

My Heart Is Home Again

I want to paint. Decorate. Plant a garden. Rearrange the furniture. Buy new furniture. Dust. Organize. Polish the floors. I want to make Martha Stewart look at me and say, "Dang, girl. How do you do it?"

I want to cook delicious, from scratch, organic meals every night. I want to volunteer for every single committee at my children's' school. I want to join every group I can find. I want to make all my Christmas gifts this year. I want to 'dress' every day.  I want Stepford wives everywhere to be jealous of me.

Finally. After all that time, all those years of fighting the hairy beast of depression, I'm home. And it's mine.

When I woke up and looked around at my house I realized that it, like me, was just a shell. When we bought it, it needed work. As in every room needed wallpaper stripped, work. While I was fighting, and losing, my battle with depression, the house sat. It wasn't a home to anybody. It was just a place where I existed.

You see, I didn't pour my love, my heart,  into my home. It was a place to sleep. To eat. To fall, exhausted into bed and attempt to lose myself in unconsiousness.

Sometime around February I looked around the house and suddenly said, "What have I done?" Well . . . nothing. That was the problem. We'd remodeled some. But I wasn't in my home. So I began to change that.

Throughout the spring and summer I have painted and cleaned. Put up pictures. Organized and rearranged. Cleaned out flower beds. Planted (and killed) a garden. This? Is my home.

This morning as I came down the stairs in the darkness I had a flash of my girls walking down that very stairway. The stairs gleaming. Smiles on their faces as they greeted prom dates at the front door of their home.

I saw John bringing his friends over to hang out in our kitchen. Eating all our food. Bringing his friends to his home.

And that's when I fully realized that truly, my heart was home again.

I Never . . .

Thought I'd have wrinkles.

Or a spongy belly.

A speck of cellulite.

A soft neck.

Food in my hair.

Toes in need of a pedicure.