I love the sense of control I get when a day starts well. Laundry going, kitchen usable, toys out for playing, but haven't taken over the house... it's good. Bayba has been doing crafts all morning. Mugga has a cold, but is doing much better than yesterday. Right now she's chilling on the sofa watching Dora.
I recently started a new med: Clonidine. It's technically for blood pressure, but increasingly used for anxiety, PTSD and ADHD.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Monday, April 12, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Of Reasons and Dog Poo
OK. Getting a little silly with the title... but I can only take myself so seriously for so long. Still, this is a continuation of the last two posts.
We All Have Our Reasons
My Reason
Part of the shame and humiliation of 12-year-old memories is the way they force my to view myself and the way my identity is constructed. I felt weak and powerless and ugly and worthless.
We All Have Our Reasons
My Reason
Part of the shame and humiliation of 12-year-old memories is the way they force my to view myself and the way my identity is constructed. I felt weak and powerless and ugly and worthless.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Meaningful
This morning I was reading some comments on Possum Mama's blog. One (Renee's) that was both annoying (because of its off-base assumption) and important (because those same assumptions are SO outrageously prevalent amongst Believers) asked about traditions and cultural/moral memes atheists pass down to their children.
The assumptions always seem to orbit around the notion that atheists have neither morals nor any traditions to cherish as part of a family and a society. The former makes me angry. The latter simply baffles me.
To address the moral issue: Morals have nothing to do with religion. Read Richard Dawkin's fine book, The Selfish Gene. Seriously. It's worth it.
Now, for traditions... We may not read the Nativity story in Luke as part of our Christmas festivities, but otherwise our celebrations probably look quite familiar.
Yes, we celebrate Christmas. When I first left the Mormon church, but hadn't yet finished my journey to atheism, I spent a few years as a Wiccan. Part of what attracted me to Wicca was digging through history and learning more about the roots of our popular holidays (unfortunately for my religious yearnings, studying history and anthropology killed any suspension of disbelief I could muster and left me ultimately admitting to myself that Wicca was as silly as any other religion - just more fun). So for a while I was pretty hardcore about celebrating The Winter Solstice or Saturnalia or anything with less brow-beaten baggage than Christmas. After having G-Rex and feeling a heavy burden to teach her truth, I had to drop cherished religious chestnuts, one by one, until I was left with Atheism. No, not agnosticism. Atheism. When I finally got to that point, I realized that it didn't matter what I called it. My family has called it Christmas for generations, so that's what my kids celebrate.
There are so many good, important things to teach my children. They learn about the Christian Nativity story. They learn about the Solstice and some of the celebrations archaeologists and historians have described. But those details aren't very important.
Important Things I Teach My Children (and specific holiday practical applications):
1. Family is The Most Important Part of Life. Full Stop.
Our Christmases are so wholesome and family oriented, we could make Norman Rockwell tap out. The quintessential American family road trip spirits us away to The Homeland my grandfathers homesteaded where extended families pack into warm homes, nestled in snow drifted mountain emptiness, to eat too much, talk too much, and attempt to fit a year's worth of joy into a week. This is not an easy thing. We have to save money and budget for it. We have to winterize our wimpy PNW cars and traverse icy mountain passes. But it's what we do because it's important. And it has nothing to do with religion.
2. Tolerance matters.
But tolerance is not the same as actively embracing the vivid, intelligent people who might think differently than we do. We love people who disagree with us. And we are loved by people who disagree with us. Homogeny is not necessary and thinking for oneself is not a fearsome thing.
3. It pretty much rocks to give AND receive.
4. History matters.
Those who have gone before leave fascinating legacies. Learning from their strengths and weaknesses can help us more actively and consciously shape the selves and family we are.
5. Solstices are cool.
Astronomy is fun.
There's more, I'm sure, but I'm getting tired of listing and need to go make dinner.
My point is that for holidays, as is true for every other aspect of humanity, nothing of value has been lost for lack of deity. And, for me, an authenticity has been gained that I never would have expected had I not relinquished the safety net of faith to pursue knowledge.
(I'm concerned that the final sentence sounds like I think religious folk have no use for knowledge and that's not what I mean. However, on the search for truth, there is the brick wall of faith... where a person has to decide that there are things they can't understand yet must accept to please God. I defy the notion that accepting anything "on faith" is a good idea. Why stop at faith when, with effort, one might know?)
The assumptions always seem to orbit around the notion that atheists have neither morals nor any traditions to cherish as part of a family and a society. The former makes me angry. The latter simply baffles me.
To address the moral issue: Morals have nothing to do with religion. Read Richard Dawkin's fine book, The Selfish Gene. Seriously. It's worth it.
Now, for traditions... We may not read the Nativity story in Luke as part of our Christmas festivities, but otherwise our celebrations probably look quite familiar.
Yes, we celebrate Christmas. When I first left the Mormon church, but hadn't yet finished my journey to atheism, I spent a few years as a Wiccan. Part of what attracted me to Wicca was digging through history and learning more about the roots of our popular holidays (unfortunately for my religious yearnings, studying history and anthropology killed any suspension of disbelief I could muster and left me ultimately admitting to myself that Wicca was as silly as any other religion - just more fun). So for a while I was pretty hardcore about celebrating The Winter Solstice or Saturnalia or anything with less brow-beaten baggage than Christmas. After having G-Rex and feeling a heavy burden to teach her truth, I had to drop cherished religious chestnuts, one by one, until I was left with Atheism. No, not agnosticism. Atheism. When I finally got to that point, I realized that it didn't matter what I called it. My family has called it Christmas for generations, so that's what my kids celebrate.
There are so many good, important things to teach my children. They learn about the Christian Nativity story. They learn about the Solstice and some of the celebrations archaeologists and historians have described. But those details aren't very important.
Important Things I Teach My Children (and specific holiday practical applications):
1. Family is The Most Important Part of Life. Full Stop.
Our Christmases are so wholesome and family oriented, we could make Norman Rockwell tap out. The quintessential American family road trip spirits us away to The Homeland my grandfathers homesteaded where extended families pack into warm homes, nestled in snow drifted mountain emptiness, to eat too much, talk too much, and attempt to fit a year's worth of joy into a week. This is not an easy thing. We have to save money and budget for it. We have to winterize our wimpy PNW cars and traverse icy mountain passes. But it's what we do because it's important. And it has nothing to do with religion.
2. Tolerance matters.
But tolerance is not the same as actively embracing the vivid, intelligent people who might think differently than we do. We love people who disagree with us. And we are loved by people who disagree with us. Homogeny is not necessary and thinking for oneself is not a fearsome thing.
3. It pretty much rocks to give AND receive.
4. History matters.
Those who have gone before leave fascinating legacies. Learning from their strengths and weaknesses can help us more actively and consciously shape the selves and family we are.
5. Solstices are cool.
Astronomy is fun.
There's more, I'm sure, but I'm getting tired of listing and need to go make dinner.
My point is that for holidays, as is true for every other aspect of humanity, nothing of value has been lost for lack of deity. And, for me, an authenticity has been gained that I never would have expected had I not relinquished the safety net of faith to pursue knowledge.
(I'm concerned that the final sentence sounds like I think religious folk have no use for knowledge and that's not what I mean. However, on the search for truth, there is the brick wall of faith... where a person has to decide that there are things they can't understand yet must accept to please God. I defy the notion that accepting anything "on faith" is a good idea. Why stop at faith when, with effort, one might know?)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
WunderMutt
One of my loyal readers (OK, she's my sister, but that counts!) requested a photo of WunderMutt.
I call her WunderMutt because we totally hit the puppy jackpot when we got her. She's a Humane Society/ASPCA doggie and it's hard to know if rescued (or otherwise re-homed) doggies are going to merge into family life. Some do. Some have been so screwed up they end up going through home after home, never finding a family. We were lucky that her only troublesome quirk that has lasted is a minor case of separation anxiety.
The kids loved her immediately, but what has really won the hearts of the alphas in the house is how endlessly patient she is with the (sometimes obnoxious) love she gets from the kids. Like this:
Yup. She's just chillin' in the fairy wings.
Making these munchkins so happy.
I try to watch out for WunderMutt, but she has been ridden like a pony, tripped over, stepped on, dressed up, given haircuts and otherwise suffered every indignity possible for an over-loved pup.
And she gives nothing but love and loyalty in return. Dogs are cool.
I call her WunderMutt because we totally hit the puppy jackpot when we got her. She's a Humane Society/ASPCA doggie and it's hard to know if rescued (or otherwise re-homed) doggies are going to merge into family life. Some do. Some have been so screwed up they end up going through home after home, never finding a family. We were lucky that her only troublesome quirk that has lasted is a minor case of separation anxiety.
The kids loved her immediately, but what has really won the hearts of the alphas in the house is how endlessly patient she is with the (sometimes obnoxious) love she gets from the kids. Like this:
Yup. She's just chillin' in the fairy wings.
Making these munchkins so happy.
I try to watch out for WunderMutt, but she has been ridden like a pony, tripped over, stepped on, dressed up, given haircuts and otherwise suffered every indignity possible for an over-loved pup.
And she gives nothing but love and loyalty in return. Dogs are cool.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Let Them Eat Cake!
My daughter is now eight years old. Despite G-Rex being too sick to really enjoy her birthday, I spent the whole freaking day baking and decorating a cake for her.
Here's a helpful kitchen hint: If you're going to go to the effort of making a Swiss Merengue Buttercream frosting, COMMIT! Those boxed (pasteurized) egg whites may seem like a sweet convenience, but they do not make it from the thick foam stage to the soft peak stage. At all. Even when beaten for hours with the whisk attached to a 650W Professional Kitchenaid stand mixer. Go ahead and waste the egg yolks.
With judicious use of the freezer, I did manage to get the frosting thick enough to use, but right now that poor cake is still on its stand on the table (everyone was too sick to eat the darn thing) with melted turquoise goo dripping down its sides where the frosting used to be.
After all that, I have to chuckle a bit. Ultimately I did G's cake to save money. If my time was worth ANYTHING at all, there's no way we could have afforded that cake. $20 at the bakery doesn't sound so bad anymore. However, I do at least have the satisfaction of knowing that my daughter's cake has no trans fats and tastes better than anything at the bakery. Even if it took forever and isn't so purty.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Beginnings
M’s Birth Story
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008, was pretty uneventful. I washed and sanitized the baby carseat and spent some time re-reading Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth. Despite having no real intention of trying for a natural childbirth, I still found inspiration in the birth stories and information presented by Ina May Gaskin. For days I’d been feeling like I was ready to go into labor at any time, so it was difficult to think about anything else… but I was also starting to think that maybe I was being too impatient and seeing signs of impending labor out of wishful thinking – when really it could be weeks before I really went into labor.
J and I stayed up late, Wednesday night, watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report with my Dad. I was having my usual more-than-Braxton-Hicks-but-not-quite-the-real-thing contractions and mostly just ignoring them when we finally went to bed. It seemed like the contractions stopped, even though I woke up every 30-45 minutes until about 2:30 a.m. when I got up to use the bathroom. Justin asked if everything was OK and I said (without taking the time to think about what I was saying) that I thought he probably had another hour or so to try to get some sleep. When I realized what I’d just said I felt a little embarrassed because I hadn’t been timing contractions or anything, and I wasn’t really that uncomfortable and I didn’t want to be a drama queen when I wasn’t even sure anything was really going on. But as I thought about how I was feeling, I realized that my back was really hurting and that it just seemed like it was time to go to the hospital.
So I woke J up and told him to get ready and called my midwife… again I was a little worried that I was jumping the gun because I hadn’t been timing contractions and didn’t have any numbers or real evidence to give anyone about why I thought it was time… but Kathleen, my midwife, listened to what I had to say and just said that she’d meet me at the Birth Center.
J woke up my Dad and told him we were going. By the time we got there, I was feeling rather grumpy and uncomfortable. It was about 3:45 a.m. so we had to use the ER entrance and the Receptionist was wasting my time with questions about whether or not the Birth Center was expecting me, was I here to be induced, etc… so I just quit talking to her and kept walking to the elevators and went up to the L&D floor. On the L&D floor I signed the paperwork and joked with the nurses about how I wanted them to call anesthesia immediately (they were laughing, but I think we all knew that I wasn’t really joking) and get the epidural going. My nurse escorted us to our room and performed the internal exam, pronouncing my 4cm dilated, but easily stretchable to a 5 (my first thought was Stretchable?!?!? No wonder that hurt so much!!!) and she called for the epidural and brought in another nurse to start my IV.
Meanwhile my contractions were getting worse. They strapped me to the fetal monitors at 4:00, and I was able to hold still long enough for the nurse to get my IV inserted and start forcing saline through. Then I asked them to unhook the monitor so I could go to the bathroom. In the bathroom I started feeling like pushing… and I really didn’t want to get off the toilet… but I also didn’t want to have an accidental waterbirth, so as soon as the last contraction ended, I forced myself to get up and go back out into the room.
The nurse wanted to strap the fetal monitors back on, but I told her she’d have to do it while I was on my hands and knees. She said I didn’t have to be in that position – that the baby was fine and I could just lay down. I told her that it was for my own comfort and climbed onto the bed – on my hands and knees. I didn’t see her face, but I could hear the tone of her voice change as she asked me if I was feeling “pushy.” I didn’t really want to talk to her, so I didn’t tell her that I was pushing already. I was afraid she’d tell me to stop.
Suddenly my water broke and I could hear people starting to freak out. The nurse was yelling for the other nurses to find my midwife, then almost immediately after that for them to find anyone. Meanwhile she and the other nurses who had come in were trying to convince me to turn over onto my back. Even J was doing his best to try to help me cooperate, but that sounded like the worst idea I’d ever heard, so I continued to ignore them and just concentrated on pushing (although I think I might have said “No!” in a very grumpy tone of voice at least once or twice).
At 4:47 a.m., February 28th, 2008, the L&D nurse caught M as I pushed her out. Shortly afterwards, my midwife arrived (in time to deliver the placenta) and the OB on call briefly made an appearance (and realized he’d missed the show and left).
M needed oxygen so I didn’t get to hold her right away, but it took a little while for me to kind of come down to the human plane, anyway, so while I did watch very closely as the nurses worked on M, I was still feeling a little out of it. The placenta did not deliver in one piece, so there was some concern of hemmorhage for a while, but the midwife was firm in making the staff wait and give my body a chance to take care of itself and I didn’t have to have any pitocin.
After they were pretty sure I wasn’t going to hemmorhage, they let me take a hot bath while J held M. It was wonderful and I felt SO good afterward… and felt better and better as I realized how awesome this birth had been. At first I felt a little sad that there hadn’t been time for my friends to come. There hadn’t even been time to get any pictures. But at the same time, I’d always wanted to do a natural birth and now I finally had. I felt so powerful – like I’d done everything exactly how it was supposed to be done, regardless of what anyone was telling me to do (or not to do).
Poor M was all bruised up from her super-fast trip to the outside world, and she slept for several hours after the birth. Her older sisters were very excited to meet her. There was some concern about a heart murmur, so we had to wait for a peds cardiologist to come do an ekg before we were cleared to go home, but cleared we were and M and I were home before dinner on Friday, February 29th.
Wednesday, February 27th, 2008, was pretty uneventful. I washed and sanitized the baby carseat and spent some time re-reading Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth. Despite having no real intention of trying for a natural childbirth, I still found inspiration in the birth stories and information presented by Ina May Gaskin. For days I’d been feeling like I was ready to go into labor at any time, so it was difficult to think about anything else… but I was also starting to think that maybe I was being too impatient and seeing signs of impending labor out of wishful thinking – when really it could be weeks before I really went into labor.
J and I stayed up late, Wednesday night, watching The Daily Show and The Colbert Report with my Dad. I was having my usual more-than-Braxton-Hicks-but-not-quite-the-real-thing contractions and mostly just ignoring them when we finally went to bed. It seemed like the contractions stopped, even though I woke up every 30-45 minutes until about 2:30 a.m. when I got up to use the bathroom. Justin asked if everything was OK and I said (without taking the time to think about what I was saying) that I thought he probably had another hour or so to try to get some sleep. When I realized what I’d just said I felt a little embarrassed because I hadn’t been timing contractions or anything, and I wasn’t really that uncomfortable and I didn’t want to be a drama queen when I wasn’t even sure anything was really going on. But as I thought about how I was feeling, I realized that my back was really hurting and that it just seemed like it was time to go to the hospital.
So I woke J up and told him to get ready and called my midwife… again I was a little worried that I was jumping the gun because I hadn’t been timing contractions and didn’t have any numbers or real evidence to give anyone about why I thought it was time… but Kathleen, my midwife, listened to what I had to say and just said that she’d meet me at the Birth Center.
J woke up my Dad and told him we were going. By the time we got there, I was feeling rather grumpy and uncomfortable. It was about 3:45 a.m. so we had to use the ER entrance and the Receptionist was wasting my time with questions about whether or not the Birth Center was expecting me, was I here to be induced, etc… so I just quit talking to her and kept walking to the elevators and went up to the L&D floor. On the L&D floor I signed the paperwork and joked with the nurses about how I wanted them to call anesthesia immediately (they were laughing, but I think we all knew that I wasn’t really joking) and get the epidural going. My nurse escorted us to our room and performed the internal exam, pronouncing my 4cm dilated, but easily stretchable to a 5 (my first thought was Stretchable?!?!? No wonder that hurt so much!!!) and she called for the epidural and brought in another nurse to start my IV.
Meanwhile my contractions were getting worse. They strapped me to the fetal monitors at 4:00, and I was able to hold still long enough for the nurse to get my IV inserted and start forcing saline through. Then I asked them to unhook the monitor so I could go to the bathroom. In the bathroom I started feeling like pushing… and I really didn’t want to get off the toilet… but I also didn’t want to have an accidental waterbirth, so as soon as the last contraction ended, I forced myself to get up and go back out into the room.
The nurse wanted to strap the fetal monitors back on, but I told her she’d have to do it while I was on my hands and knees. She said I didn’t have to be in that position – that the baby was fine and I could just lay down. I told her that it was for my own comfort and climbed onto the bed – on my hands and knees. I didn’t see her face, but I could hear the tone of her voice change as she asked me if I was feeling “pushy.” I didn’t really want to talk to her, so I didn’t tell her that I was pushing already. I was afraid she’d tell me to stop.
Suddenly my water broke and I could hear people starting to freak out. The nurse was yelling for the other nurses to find my midwife, then almost immediately after that for them to find anyone. Meanwhile she and the other nurses who had come in were trying to convince me to turn over onto my back. Even J was doing his best to try to help me cooperate, but that sounded like the worst idea I’d ever heard, so I continued to ignore them and just concentrated on pushing (although I think I might have said “No!” in a very grumpy tone of voice at least once or twice).
At 4:47 a.m., February 28th, 2008, the L&D nurse caught M as I pushed her out. Shortly afterwards, my midwife arrived (in time to deliver the placenta) and the OB on call briefly made an appearance (and realized he’d missed the show and left).
M needed oxygen so I didn’t get to hold her right away, but it took a little while for me to kind of come down to the human plane, anyway, so while I did watch very closely as the nurses worked on M, I was still feeling a little out of it. The placenta did not deliver in one piece, so there was some concern of hemmorhage for a while, but the midwife was firm in making the staff wait and give my body a chance to take care of itself and I didn’t have to have any pitocin.
After they were pretty sure I wasn’t going to hemmorhage, they let me take a hot bath while J held M. It was wonderful and I felt SO good afterward… and felt better and better as I realized how awesome this birth had been. At first I felt a little sad that there hadn’t been time for my friends to come. There hadn’t even been time to get any pictures. But at the same time, I’d always wanted to do a natural birth and now I finally had. I felt so powerful – like I’d done everything exactly how it was supposed to be done, regardless of what anyone was telling me to do (or not to do).
Poor M was all bruised up from her super-fast trip to the outside world, and she slept for several hours after the birth. Her older sisters were very excited to meet her. There was some concern about a heart murmur, so we had to wait for a peds cardiologist to come do an ekg before we were cleared to go home, but cleared we were and M and I were home before dinner on Friday, February 29th.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Endings
My friend's little boy died this morning.
I don't know why I woke up early, but I did. Maybe it's the sun... the approaching Spring... but around 5 a.m. I found myself staring at my little family all tangled in sheets as the cracks between the plastic slats of the mini-blinds slowly changed from gray to warm white light, striping across the faces of my husband and Bayba. Usually when I wake up earlier than necessary I get a little annoyed, trying to decide whether to attempt to go back to sleep and feel groggy the rest of the morning or whether to just get up and and get started on the day and then be totally exhausted by noon. This morning I was fine. I cuddled my two-year-old as she softly snored, burying my nose in her soft blond hair. She's still little enough to smell like baby shampoo.
Sometime, between cuddling Bayba and making room for Super G to climb into bed (already dressed for school), in that beautiful transition from drowsy peace to happy interaction, while I was holding my happy, thriving children, my friend watched her seven-year-old son take his last breath.
I have no wise conclusion. No words of wit or solace with which to close this post. Just sadness and loss. Grief.
I don't know why I woke up early, but I did. Maybe it's the sun... the approaching Spring... but around 5 a.m. I found myself staring at my little family all tangled in sheets as the cracks between the plastic slats of the mini-blinds slowly changed from gray to warm white light, striping across the faces of my husband and Bayba. Usually when I wake up earlier than necessary I get a little annoyed, trying to decide whether to attempt to go back to sleep and feel groggy the rest of the morning or whether to just get up and and get started on the day and then be totally exhausted by noon. This morning I was fine. I cuddled my two-year-old as she softly snored, burying my nose in her soft blond hair. She's still little enough to smell like baby shampoo.
Sometime, between cuddling Bayba and making room for Super G to climb into bed (already dressed for school), in that beautiful transition from drowsy peace to happy interaction, while I was holding my happy, thriving children, my friend watched her seven-year-old son take his last breath.
I have no wise conclusion. No words of wit or solace with which to close this post. Just sadness and loss. Grief.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Snow Day
We awoke, this morning, to behold a winter wonderland - a landscape transformed by epic blankets of snow.
Well... the "awoke this morning" part is true... epic snowfall. Eh... apparently 1/2" counts out here. All the schools in the greater metro area are closed. I find it rather amusing that banks and stores can afford to close their doors for a day for, yes, 1/2" of snow. Whatever. I'm not complaining. I get to have both kids home today.
We had to spend the first part of the morning playing in the snow, of course, and now they're watching Swan Lake, drinking hot chocolate and eating apples while I bake bread and chocolate chip cookies. It should be a pretty good day.
Meanwhile, I finally got around to uploading my December and January photos. Here are a few from this week:
This is my Dynamatrix, Bayba, wearing a little overall outfit that my mother made and I wore when I was Bayba's age. During our Christmas Homeland Adventure, my mom gave me a box of clothes - most of which she made for me throughout my childhood. The girls and I are having SO much fun with them.
Here's G-ster in a Sailor Dress my mother made for me. Of all the treasures in the box, this dress has to be the most sentimentally loaded, for me. I love seeing G in it. Thanks Mom!
When I was about 5, my Mom made matching dresses for my sisters and me. I think this one must have been my younger sister's because I wore my version of the dress for my kindergarten "school" picture (I was homeschooled that year). So, Sis, if you contest my ownership of this dress, I'll happily mail it to you.
Which brings us to today... the mighty Snow Day. Bayba discovered that snow sticks to knitted mittens.
Yes, I do have the most beautiful children ever.
G and Bayba attempting to build a snowman from our epic snowfall.
Well, my yeast must be proofed by now. Better get going.
Well... the "awoke this morning" part is true... epic snowfall. Eh... apparently 1/2" counts out here. All the schools in the greater metro area are closed. I find it rather amusing that banks and stores can afford to close their doors for a day for, yes, 1/2" of snow. Whatever. I'm not complaining. I get to have both kids home today.
We had to spend the first part of the morning playing in the snow, of course, and now they're watching Swan Lake, drinking hot chocolate and eating apples while I bake bread and chocolate chip cookies. It should be a pretty good day.
Meanwhile, I finally got around to uploading my December and January photos. Here are a few from this week:
This is my Dynamatrix, Bayba, wearing a little overall outfit that my mother made and I wore when I was Bayba's age. During our Christmas Homeland Adventure, my mom gave me a box of clothes - most of which she made for me throughout my childhood. The girls and I are having SO much fun with them.
Here's G-ster in a Sailor Dress my mother made for me. Of all the treasures in the box, this dress has to be the most sentimentally loaded, for me. I love seeing G in it. Thanks Mom!
When I was about 5, my Mom made matching dresses for my sisters and me. I think this one must have been my younger sister's because I wore my version of the dress for my kindergarten "school" picture (I was homeschooled that year). So, Sis, if you contest my ownership of this dress, I'll happily mail it to you.
Which brings us to today... the mighty Snow Day. Bayba discovered that snow sticks to knitted mittens.
Yes, I do have the most beautiful children ever.
G and Bayba attempting to build a snowman from our epic snowfall.
Well, my yeast must be proofed by now. Better get going.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
"Hmph!" hmphed Sara
I deleted my last blog entry because I couldn't stand the idea of presenting myself to internet-at-large as a self-indulgent whiner. I thought I'd start over with more positive stuff.
So the past week or so has been really great. I've been having SO much fun, just living and doing the normal mundane stuff. G-money (the munchkin formerly known as "G") baked her first batch of brownies ALL BY HERSELF. I had to sit on my hands a few times so that I wouldn't ruin the experience with all my "help." They turned out wonderfully and she was so proud. Bayba (the little monkey formerly known as "A") loves helping me with anything and everything I do... and offers two-year-old wisdom and insight that frequently floors me. So, to re-cap - life is good. I just haven't been writing about it because I've been too busy living it.
Then there's the not-so-good. I had a midwife appointment, this morning, and was basically put on modified bedrest. All the physical issues of the last pregnancy have recurred, and my midwife strongly encouraged me to spend as much time as possible laying down on my left side. Admittedly, if she was an OB, I'd probably blow off this advice as too extreme and alarmist... but given that she's from The Netherlands and extremely easy-going (tends to avoid medicalizing the whole pregnancy/birth thing as much as possible), I'm inclined to take it a little more seriously.
Which is difficult enough, what with a VERY active two-year-old and all... but I told her we were planning to leave on our Holiday pilgrimage to The Homeland, this weekend... so what am I supposed to do about that? She said she'd prefer that I not travel, but she understood that this is a pretty big deal, so she wasn't going to give specific orders not to travel... but she's strongly recommending that if I travel, I take it easy and spend as much of the trip as possible sitting or, even better, laying down.
Right.
This should be fun.
But at least the baby seems to be doing great, growing well, and not trying to make an early appearance... so, really, it's all good.
So the past week or so has been really great. I've been having SO much fun, just living and doing the normal mundane stuff. G-money (the munchkin formerly known as "G") baked her first batch of brownies ALL BY HERSELF. I had to sit on my hands a few times so that I wouldn't ruin the experience with all my "help." They turned out wonderfully and she was so proud. Bayba (the little monkey formerly known as "A") loves helping me with anything and everything I do... and offers two-year-old wisdom and insight that frequently floors me. So, to re-cap - life is good. I just haven't been writing about it because I've been too busy living it.
Then there's the not-so-good. I had a midwife appointment, this morning, and was basically put on modified bedrest. All the physical issues of the last pregnancy have recurred, and my midwife strongly encouraged me to spend as much time as possible laying down on my left side. Admittedly, if she was an OB, I'd probably blow off this advice as too extreme and alarmist... but given that she's from The Netherlands and extremely easy-going (tends to avoid medicalizing the whole pregnancy/birth thing as much as possible), I'm inclined to take it a little more seriously.
Which is difficult enough, what with a VERY active two-year-old and all... but I told her we were planning to leave on our Holiday pilgrimage to The Homeland, this weekend... so what am I supposed to do about that? She said she'd prefer that I not travel, but she understood that this is a pretty big deal, so she wasn't going to give specific orders not to travel... but she's strongly recommending that if I travel, I take it easy and spend as much of the trip as possible sitting or, even better, laying down.
Right.
This should be fun.
But at least the baby seems to be doing great, growing well, and not trying to make an early appearance... so, really, it's all good.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Mighty Fine Day
The rain is still coming down and roads are beginning to flood in my little corner of the world, so I thought I'd take a few minutes and post a big public Thank You to all the people who made this weekend so wonderful for me.
The Bday Bash thrown by The Urban Princess (she's the one with the magenta hair) was SO much fun! The cake was awesome (chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting)... I'm still fantasizing about it. The company was fascinating - and you simply can't beat a party where everybody can relax and be appreciated for who they are (kids and adults alike).
And Princess's mom (The Urban Queen?) treated us all to fabulous pizza when the party ran on later than planned. YUM!
Yesterday my superhusband was at his superhusband best. He started off the day making a yummy breakfast (eggs, toast and bacon) before loading us all in the car for a morning of shopping (woo hoo! happy birthday to me! especially when I have birthday money burning a hole in my pocket). First stop was Barnes & Noble, where I bought 2 Foodie magazines and Fit Pregnancy (another magazine... hey - gotta have balance!). That's some decadent shopping!
The Bday Bash thrown by The Urban Princess (she's the one with the magenta hair) was SO much fun! The cake was awesome (chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting)... I'm still fantasizing about it. The company was fascinating - and you simply can't beat a party where everybody can relax and be appreciated for who they are (kids and adults alike).
And Princess's mom (The Urban Queen?) treated us all to fabulous pizza when the party ran on later than planned. YUM!
I arrived home from the party to find a birthday card from my mom waiting for me in the mail. She sent me birthday money. Birthday money is pretty cool when you're a kid... but who would have thought it would mean so much more when you become an old mommy-type? Being an adult with all the fun of budgeting, I generally feel very uncomfortable about spending money on myself. It always seems like there are more important places for money to go than whatever luxury I might be dreaming about. But Birthday money? All options are open and there's no guilt about selfishness. Nice.
Yesterday my superhusband was at his superhusband best. He started off the day making a yummy breakfast (eggs, toast and bacon) before loading us all in the car for a morning of shopping (woo hoo! happy birthday to me! especially when I have birthday money burning a hole in my pocket). First stop was Barnes & Noble, where I bought 2 Foodie magazines and Fit Pregnancy (another magazine... hey - gotta have balance!). That's some decadent shopping!
Afterwards we hopped across the river to Ikea. It was so much fun to be shopping for ME! I bought a wrought iron wall mirror for my dining room (something I've been wanting ever since we moved into this house), two floor lamps, and a few kitchen utensils. And even had a few dollars left over!
We were all exhaused by the time we got out of Ikea so we came home and Superhusband made a wonderful dinner for me, after which we put the kids to bed and watched the third DVD of Season 1 of The Sopranos.
Yup. I think the past two days have pretty much proven themselves to comprise the best birthday ever.
Thanks everyone!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Favorite Things
We always decorate the tree on the Friday after Thanksgiving. This year I got my perfectionism under control and let the kids put the decorations wherever they wanted... some branches are still bent from the strain of multiple ornaments. Some branches float gracefully unburdened. The kids are proud of their tree.
The best thing about two-year-olds? Their impeccable fashion sense. This is the ensemble A composed for running errands today. Ooh la la!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Sisters
"Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don't know what your rights are, or who the person is you're talking to. Then on the way out, slam the door." --Jack Handey--
This is the quote on my sister's blog, today. I will be chuckling to myself, recalling it, for the rest of the day. If you roll your eyes and think it's dumb... well, you're probably right, but it would be a good indication that you and I will not amuse each other in a positive way. I'm a humor-of-the-absurd kind of person. The kind of person who still giggles gleefully, just remembering the Monty Python Silly Walks sketch or the Dead Parrot sketch. Jack Handey's Deep Thoughts are right up there on my happy list, amongst any recitation from The Princess Bride. Yes, I'm one of those people. No, I'm not into D&D.
I miss my sister.
This is the quote on my sister's blog, today. I will be chuckling to myself, recalling it, for the rest of the day. If you roll your eyes and think it's dumb... well, you're probably right, but it would be a good indication that you and I will not amuse each other in a positive way. I'm a humor-of-the-absurd kind of person. The kind of person who still giggles gleefully, just remembering the Monty Python Silly Walks sketch or the Dead Parrot sketch. Jack Handey's Deep Thoughts are right up there on my happy list, amongst any recitation from The Princess Bride. Yes, I'm one of those people. No, I'm not into D&D.
I miss my sister.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Family Weekend
This weekend has been fun.
Can't beat a pumpkin patch, the weekend before Halloween. The kids drank hot chocolate, navigated a corn maze... and then a hay bale maze, launched pumpkins with giant slingshots, tried to convince various farm animals to eat their straw bedding, and went on a hayride to the pumpkin fields to choose their perfect potential jack-o-lanterns.
A wasn't sure about the whole pumpkin idea. She discovered that the drying vines were prickly and was nervous about pumpkin-hunting.
Today we carved the jack-o-lanterns and now our front porch looks quite festive.
Can't beat a pumpkin patch, the weekend before Halloween. The kids drank hot chocolate, navigated a corn maze... and then a hay bale maze, launched pumpkins with giant slingshots, tried to convince various farm animals to eat their straw bedding, and went on a hayride to the pumpkin fields to choose their perfect potential jack-o-lanterns.
G spent $4.00 of her own money to get her face painted and glittered.
A wasn't sure about the whole pumpkin idea. She discovered that the drying vines were prickly and was nervous about pumpkin-hunting.
Today we carved the jack-o-lanterns and now our front porch looks quite festive.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Some Things are Cute. Some are Not.
First, an overwhelming bit of cuteness: A scavenged G's Polly Pockets from her room and brought them downstairs to join the general toy population. A is thrilled to be playing with big girl toys and is carrying one of the Pollies around everywhere. If you ask her about it, she hugs it close and says, "MY Lollipoppit!"
Awwwww...
And on the less-cute side of life - I wasted another 90 minutes of my life, last night.
We rented Evan Almighty.
J and I were shocked at how overwhelmingly lame this "comedy" was. We enjoyed Bruce Almighty, and -until last night- I loved everything Steve Carell ever made. Anchor Man? Oh heck yeah - I love lamp!!! The Office? Gimme more! 40 Year Old Virgin? Only Steve could have made it bearable. Little Miss Sunshine? FABULOUS!!! And then there's Evan Almighty.
Was the editing really bad? I can't believe he'd read the script of the end product and think - yeah, that sounds like a good vehicle for my talents! Was he offered a boatload (hehe) of money and thought -- Oh well, everybody has to make a Gigli sooner or later?
Wait - that comparison is unfair to Gigli which, compared to this movie, is fine cinema!
Anyway, my advice to Blockbuster and Netflix members anywhere is to drop this to the bottom of your queue. No, if I was an unfortunate subscriber to Netflix (BTDT), I'd drop it off the queue. At least, with Blockbuster, you don't have to bother removing it from the envelope. You can just take it to Blockbuster and trade it for something worth watching.
Oh - and in case you were one of the people (like me) who was told that Transformers was surprisingly good - don't fall for it! J watched it (it had robots and explosions and scantily clad damsels, after all). I, thankfully, had a book and only had to pay attention to the screen enough to mercilessly mock its stupidity (after all - that's occassionally enjoyable enough to make a really lame movie worth watching) and tease J for finding it appealing in the slightest.
There's something to be said for the entertainment factor of smug. (Reference to a fabulous episode of South Park for those of you who are shaking your heads.)
Anyhoo... G's parent-teacher conference is today. (This would be the perfect spot to insert a little smiley sighing and rolling its eyes.) Should be fun.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Overpopulation
A conversation I had, yesterday, with The Urban Princess, really got under my skin. In the process of solving all the world's problems (theoretically, anyway), we briefly touched on family planning and the politics of family size.
As you all probably know, I'm pregnant with my third child.
Many of my demographic of breeders (environmentalist, quasi-liberal, feminist, politically-active types) found themselves entering their child-bearing years with a quandary: Knowing what we do of the burden a booming human population is weighing on the planet, is there any justification for bringing more people into the world?
When I was younger, I assumed I would not have children. Then I grew up and had to admit that I really wanted a child. When it became clear that getting pregnant might not be as simple as boy-meets-girl, I looked into adopting from third world countries and from foster care environments, domestically. Those seem to be acceptable bleeding-heart sources of baby fixes for my ilk. One uncomfortable truth I had to face, when considering such things, was that no agency would even consider me in a fostering position - let alone adoption. According to the standards of the world, a child would be better off starving in the streets, aborted, or spending their lives in a series of temporary homes than being entrusted to someone like me: a less-than-wealthy white woman with a history of emotional instability. Looking at it that way, I had to wonder if they were right. Do I have any business raising a child?
Fortunately, for that particular argument, I've come to realize that my years of therapy and intentional efforts at building my personal stability have probably left me more capable of controlling myself and my emotions (and often the finances/debt reflect exactly those issues) than 75% of the American population. Yes, I'm a little arrogant about that.
A few things have shaped my current views on the overpopulation issue. The first was probably the event of my older sister having her first child. As I saw her change from a self-absorbed teenager to a selfless mother and watched her son grow into a brilliant (if small, at the time) person, it was clear to me that caring and careful parenting could offer a gift to the world that no other work could. Before this, I had lofty hopes of offering a great intellectual magnum opus to the world. I would write the Great American Novel. Or I would solve some great medical conundrum. Having kids was something any peasant could do. My sister opened my eyes and I realized that, when my life ended, no worldly accomplishment would gratify me like knowing I'd created a strong and loving family.
As years have past and I've refined my political views and ideals, I've had to see a lot of realities I hadn't noticed in my youth. One of which is that people who believe very differently than I do, and would mold the world to fit their moral standards (though often they do that molding without conscious will), are having children. All over the world people are having children - hence the booming population - but huge percentages of these up-and-coming generations have no access to education. Religious fundamentalists (not just Christians) and warring tribal factions who place very different value on human life are outbreeding people like me. A great many of the people I like, admire, agree with, etc. are opting to go childless. A few more have one child. The wild-and-crazy ones might have two, expressing the justification that they are only replacing themselves, not being so indulgent as to actually add to the population.
So when I look at what I can do to save the world ('cause that's what bunny huggers like me are always trying to do, after all), the most obvious answer is to raise the next generation of problem solvers. In order to teach them my values, I still have to do my personal best to demonstrate how I want them to live - things like reduced consumerism, increased recycling, gardening, organics, supporting renewable resource development, placing high value on education and creative thinking, personal responsibility, healthy physical habits, critical thinking, kindness, compassion... All that I do reflects my values and teaches my children while (hopefully) improving my little corner of the world for those who are here...
But what my children learn and create will go on beyond anything else I might envision. My current little corner of the world is only mine for a short time. As my children grow, so does the pocket of the world I vicariously shape. For all I know it will be my kids (or theirs after them) who develop new technologies for feeding the world with less burden to the environment. It might be my kids who cure AIDS. Or discover the gene therapy that eliminates bipolar disorder. Or develop a new technology that permanently frees people from their dependence on fossil fuels. Pretty lofty thinking, I admit - but is stuff like that more likely to come from my kids or from the child soldiers in Africa? Or from the meth-crippled masses here at home? Or from the jihadists? Or trust fund babies with their tiny accessory dogs and senses of entitlement?
So I believe that as long as I am capable of caring for the children I bring into this world and raising them to be the kind of people I think this world needs, I am doing my greatest work. Sure, I'm still a little nervous that there are some people who are looking down their noses at me, or judging me ignorant for adding to the population. But I can't live my life worrying about everyone else's approval. Ultimately, I just have to decide what is right.
And then do it.
As you all probably know, I'm pregnant with my third child.
Many of my demographic of breeders (environmentalist, quasi-liberal, feminist, politically-active types) found themselves entering their child-bearing years with a quandary: Knowing what we do of the burden a booming human population is weighing on the planet, is there any justification for bringing more people into the world?
When I was younger, I assumed I would not have children. Then I grew up and had to admit that I really wanted a child. When it became clear that getting pregnant might not be as simple as boy-meets-girl, I looked into adopting from third world countries and from foster care environments, domestically. Those seem to be acceptable bleeding-heart sources of baby fixes for my ilk. One uncomfortable truth I had to face, when considering such things, was that no agency would even consider me in a fostering position - let alone adoption. According to the standards of the world, a child would be better off starving in the streets, aborted, or spending their lives in a series of temporary homes than being entrusted to someone like me: a less-than-wealthy white woman with a history of emotional instability. Looking at it that way, I had to wonder if they were right. Do I have any business raising a child?
Fortunately, for that particular argument, I've come to realize that my years of therapy and intentional efforts at building my personal stability have probably left me more capable of controlling myself and my emotions (and often the finances/debt reflect exactly those issues) than 75% of the American population. Yes, I'm a little arrogant about that.
A few things have shaped my current views on the overpopulation issue. The first was probably the event of my older sister having her first child. As I saw her change from a self-absorbed teenager to a selfless mother and watched her son grow into a brilliant (if small, at the time) person, it was clear to me that caring and careful parenting could offer a gift to the world that no other work could. Before this, I had lofty hopes of offering a great intellectual magnum opus to the world. I would write the Great American Novel. Or I would solve some great medical conundrum. Having kids was something any peasant could do. My sister opened my eyes and I realized that, when my life ended, no worldly accomplishment would gratify me like knowing I'd created a strong and loving family.
As years have past and I've refined my political views and ideals, I've had to see a lot of realities I hadn't noticed in my youth. One of which is that people who believe very differently than I do, and would mold the world to fit their moral standards (though often they do that molding without conscious will), are having children. All over the world people are having children - hence the booming population - but huge percentages of these up-and-coming generations have no access to education. Religious fundamentalists (not just Christians) and warring tribal factions who place very different value on human life are outbreeding people like me. A great many of the people I like, admire, agree with, etc. are opting to go childless. A few more have one child. The wild-and-crazy ones might have two, expressing the justification that they are only replacing themselves, not being so indulgent as to actually add to the population.
So when I look at what I can do to save the world ('cause that's what bunny huggers like me are always trying to do, after all), the most obvious answer is to raise the next generation of problem solvers. In order to teach them my values, I still have to do my personal best to demonstrate how I want them to live - things like reduced consumerism, increased recycling, gardening, organics, supporting renewable resource development, placing high value on education and creative thinking, personal responsibility, healthy physical habits, critical thinking, kindness, compassion... All that I do reflects my values and teaches my children while (hopefully) improving my little corner of the world for those who are here...
But what my children learn and create will go on beyond anything else I might envision. My current little corner of the world is only mine for a short time. As my children grow, so does the pocket of the world I vicariously shape. For all I know it will be my kids (or theirs after them) who develop new technologies for feeding the world with less burden to the environment. It might be my kids who cure AIDS. Or discover the gene therapy that eliminates bipolar disorder. Or develop a new technology that permanently frees people from their dependence on fossil fuels. Pretty lofty thinking, I admit - but is stuff like that more likely to come from my kids or from the child soldiers in Africa? Or from the meth-crippled masses here at home? Or from the jihadists? Or trust fund babies with their tiny accessory dogs and senses of entitlement?
So I believe that as long as I am capable of caring for the children I bring into this world and raising them to be the kind of people I think this world needs, I am doing my greatest work. Sure, I'm still a little nervous that there are some people who are looking down their noses at me, or judging me ignorant for adding to the population. But I can't live my life worrying about everyone else's approval. Ultimately, I just have to decide what is right.
And then do it.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Supermom
Somehow it's afternoon, already. Sometimes it's almost shocking to me how fast time speeds past me.
I spent the morning getting everyone out of bed, dressed, and fed. G (my oldest) was extremely co-operative, and made it off to school with minimal fuss. A, the two-year-old... eh... Well, I was surprised, but she was actually dressed by the time my husband was ready to go. In fact, I have to say that the biggest whiner gumming up the works, this morning, was me.
I caught a cold about two weeks ago, as did everyone else in the family. However, everyone else seems to be feeling better. I'm not. It's gotten so bad that I'm using my epi inhaler, coupled with generous amounts of guaifenisen, multiple times per day. Asthma doesn't usually bother me - not since I was a kid. But when I'm pregnant, all bets are off. Allergies are 8,000,000 times worse, and so is asthma.
It's particularly self-pity-inducing because, until this cold hit me, I was riding that 2nd trimester high and getting SO much done. Now I have no energy.
Back to this morning... It's that lovely time of year, again, when we have to do vehicle inspections and licensing. So my husband and I (and A) drove down to the 'Couve and dropped off the minivan for it's tune-up. Traffic was heavy. It took forever. A was furious, screaming "Faster! Faster!" at the top of her speed-freak lungs.
J (husband) dropped off the van and hopped in the car with us and we hurried home. Fast forward to now.
My grand accomplishments for the day:
I spent the morning getting everyone out of bed, dressed, and fed. G (my oldest) was extremely co-operative, and made it off to school with minimal fuss. A, the two-year-old... eh... Well, I was surprised, but she was actually dressed by the time my husband was ready to go. In fact, I have to say that the biggest whiner gumming up the works, this morning, was me.
I caught a cold about two weeks ago, as did everyone else in the family. However, everyone else seems to be feeling better. I'm not. It's gotten so bad that I'm using my epi inhaler, coupled with generous amounts of guaifenisen, multiple times per day. Asthma doesn't usually bother me - not since I was a kid. But when I'm pregnant, all bets are off. Allergies are 8,000,000 times worse, and so is asthma.
It's particularly self-pity-inducing because, until this cold hit me, I was riding that 2nd trimester high and getting SO much done. Now I have no energy.
Back to this morning... It's that lovely time of year, again, when we have to do vehicle inspections and licensing. So my husband and I (and A) drove down to the 'Couve and dropped off the minivan for it's tune-up. Traffic was heavy. It took forever. A was furious, screaming "Faster! Faster!" at the top of her speed-freak lungs.
J (husband) dropped off the van and hopped in the car with us and we hurried home. Fast forward to now.
My grand accomplishments for the day:
- Paid bills
- Convinced A to don her rain coat and walk with me to the mailbox to deposit said bills
- Emptied dishwasher
- Refilled dishwasher
- Collapsed on sofa and realized it was already time for lunch
- Ordered Dominos Lunchboxes online, because I can not stomach another PB&J... and I'm a sucker for gimmicks - especially when individual pizzas and hot chocolate chip cookies are involved... and I justify this because I've lost yet more weight, the past few days... and tomorrow I'm halfway through this pregnancy! There's nothing like pizza to promote weight gain!
All this "work" and I'm exhausted. If I get the weeks' meal planning done, grocery list written and downstairs mopped and vacuumed, I will consider myself Supermom.
Pathetic? Maybe.
But that leaves me time to squeeze in a few games of Memory with A and maybe some cuddle/homework time with G without feeling like I ought to be doing more, somehow. And crowning myself Supermom (the admitted irony just makes it that much better) will put me in a good mood while I serve the family leftover chicken/spinach soup and dinner rolls, this evening. Everybody wins.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Loss and Meaning
I've been thinking a lot lately about the purpose of moving my blog to this open, public format. I felt a lot more comfortable posting in a more exclusive arena where I felt I could have more control over who is reading about my life - without having to think too much about it. The problem was that keeping out the one or two people who scare me also means that I can't share my thoughts and life with my family members and others who might actually be interested in what I have to say. And who really is interested in what I have to say, anyway?
Well, one thing that seems to set me apart from many of the people I interact with on a daily basis is that pesky bipolar diagnosis I blogged about before. In normal life I rarely talk about the bipolar thing or depression or mental illness in general. For me the bipolar thing and all the drugs and behavior adaptation has kind of slipped into the background of my life. Like being nearsighted - it gets annoying when my contacts irritate my eyes or when my glasses are smeary, but most of the time it's not something I have to think about.
But many things have happened, recently, that have brought mood disorders and their relatives back to the forefront of my mind. Not the least of which was the issue with my neighbor.
Many people have bipolar disorder. I'm not terribly unique in that particular diagnosis. What is different is that I have lived 10 years of juggling meds, breaking down, messing up, and figuring out what role I have to let it play in my life. I don't know anyone else with this diagnosis, at this point, who has lived longer with it. More importantly, I don't know anyone else with BPD who is as stable as I am, with a husband and kids, a home and a rather boring and undramatic life. I'm not saying this just to pat myself on the back, but also as a musing that I might actually have something to offer the world outside my little nuclear family.
Once a father of a child newly diagnosed with BPD asked me what made the difference for me. Basically - why am I here, living a "normal" life and not wearing an aluminum foil helmet to keep the voices out while I push my shopping cart down the street to the cardboard box I call home?
It's a tough question and one I'm not sure I'll ever be able to completely answer.
See, there was a point where I really thought that my only options were going to be the streets or suicide. Melodramatic? Yes. But accurate. My life was totally out of control. I was totally out of control. I was living a wild life that probably should have killed me, even if the suicide attempts didn't.
There are a few things that I can point to in my life that made it possible for me to climb back out of the abyss. Without them - who knows?
First and foremost was (is) my mother. I can only imagine how watching me self-destruct must have hurt her. Thinking of how she must have felt, throughout my darkest days, when she would go months without hearing from me or having any way to contact me - only knowing that I was hurting and out of control - breaks my heart. I feel so bad for what I put her through. But, through it all, she was there for me. She made sure, when I lost my job, and would have lost the health insurance that went with it, that my COBRA premiums were paid. Every month. She made it clear that I was loved. That, no matter how I was living or what I was doing, she was there for me. She's given me that kind of support my whole life - even when I didn't realize it.
Secondly, I've been incredibly fortunate to have very good friends. Not just nice friends, or pleasant acquaintances, but true friends who went through hell for me - and often because of me. In fact, the event that inspired me to start moving my blog in this direction was the death of one of these close friends, this past August. He, too, was bipolar, and the only one who had been consciously dealing with it as long as me. He, too, was completely dedicated to wrestling his demons in such a way that he could effectively live and grow and parent. So he was particularly helpful when it came to dealing with this stuff. He knew. And now I don't have that. It's a tough loss.
I needed this broad platform of support to be capable of doing what I needed to do to be healthy. I don't think I could have survived the long search for the right meds, or the longer process of accustomizing myself to how I need to think and behave, without the great people in my life.
But, even with all that - knowing it's more than many people ever have - I wouldn't have made it this far if I hadn't had a very important reason to make the huge behavioral and environmental changes that make personal stability accessible. For me, that was getting pregnant with my first child.
And this is a tricky point. I would never suggest that an unstable person ought to get married and start a family. Things could have been very, very bad.
In fact, they almost were.
Like alcoholics and drug addicts, I think many out-of-control people go through a "rock bottom" moment before they can commit to changing their lives. For me, this moment came when I was five months pregnant with my first daughter.
One of my self-destructive coping mechanisms had been cutting and/or burning myself. In fact, that had become my preferred way for dealing with stressful situations. Even though I wanted to be healthy for my baby, there came a moment, one day, when my husband and I had a very bad argument and he left. The truth of the matter was that he went for a run to cool off, but at the time, I was sure that I'd driven him away and that I'd lost my best friend. I'd thrown away all my favorite cutting tools months before, so I broke apart his safety razor and began hurriedly slashing at the veins running through my inner elbow. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I didn't have the practiced control with this razor as I'd had with my preferred tools, and one cut went too deep. Seeing my arm laid open woke me out of the "zone" I'd go to when doing things like that and I nearly panicked, realizing that if I bled out my baby would die, too. Not being able to reach my husband, I called a very good friend who rushed me to the ER. Lying on the bed, getting my arm all stitched up while the nurses monitored and worried about my unborn child, I was horrified by what I'd done. I was scared that I might have hurt the baby. And even if I hadn't, I imagined how devastating it would be to a child to see her mother cutting or burning herself.
That was it.
A deeply entrenched approach to life that I hadn't been able to conquer with medications or counseling was done. I knew I would NEVER, intentionally harm myself again.
As time has gone by, I've been fortunate enough to be able to transition from all the bad stuff I have to avoid to focus on habits to embrace in my life to make it the best it can be.
(Incidentally, back to the mother thing, I think one of the main forces that carried me into responsible parenting was the fact that I had been raised to be a good parent. I was raised to put the welfare of the kids first. I grew up thinking that the only way to parent was to be very involved and loving. I internalized my mother's habits of playing, cuddling, and singing to my kids. She taught me, by example, how to cook and sew and make a warm and loving home... I rebelled against these things for years, but when I needed it, I had the knowledge. I owe her so much, it's overwhelming.)
Events and life were just right for me that I could make the choice to live better. Some people never have the support or the timing right to be in a position to choose life and health. Some people have all they need, but when the time comes, they choose comfort and habit over change (which is almost always difficult and uncomfortable).
One thing I never had, early on, was an example of someone who was dealing with the mental/emotional issues of BPD who was living the life I wanted. So, in loving memory of Brett, who would be so proud to see me reach out like this, I'll be blogging about this (and lots of other really mundane stuff) and hoping that maybe my thoughts will be useful to someone.
Well, one thing that seems to set me apart from many of the people I interact with on a daily basis is that pesky bipolar diagnosis I blogged about before. In normal life I rarely talk about the bipolar thing or depression or mental illness in general. For me the bipolar thing and all the drugs and behavior adaptation has kind of slipped into the background of my life. Like being nearsighted - it gets annoying when my contacts irritate my eyes or when my glasses are smeary, but most of the time it's not something I have to think about.
But many things have happened, recently, that have brought mood disorders and their relatives back to the forefront of my mind. Not the least of which was the issue with my neighbor.
Many people have bipolar disorder. I'm not terribly unique in that particular diagnosis. What is different is that I have lived 10 years of juggling meds, breaking down, messing up, and figuring out what role I have to let it play in my life. I don't know anyone else with this diagnosis, at this point, who has lived longer with it. More importantly, I don't know anyone else with BPD who is as stable as I am, with a husband and kids, a home and a rather boring and undramatic life. I'm not saying this just to pat myself on the back, but also as a musing that I might actually have something to offer the world outside my little nuclear family.
Once a father of a child newly diagnosed with BPD asked me what made the difference for me. Basically - why am I here, living a "normal" life and not wearing an aluminum foil helmet to keep the voices out while I push my shopping cart down the street to the cardboard box I call home?
It's a tough question and one I'm not sure I'll ever be able to completely answer.
See, there was a point where I really thought that my only options were going to be the streets or suicide. Melodramatic? Yes. But accurate. My life was totally out of control. I was totally out of control. I was living a wild life that probably should have killed me, even if the suicide attempts didn't.
There are a few things that I can point to in my life that made it possible for me to climb back out of the abyss. Without them - who knows?
First and foremost was (is) my mother. I can only imagine how watching me self-destruct must have hurt her. Thinking of how she must have felt, throughout my darkest days, when she would go months without hearing from me or having any way to contact me - only knowing that I was hurting and out of control - breaks my heart. I feel so bad for what I put her through. But, through it all, she was there for me. She made sure, when I lost my job, and would have lost the health insurance that went with it, that my COBRA premiums were paid. Every month. She made it clear that I was loved. That, no matter how I was living or what I was doing, she was there for me. She's given me that kind of support my whole life - even when I didn't realize it.
Secondly, I've been incredibly fortunate to have very good friends. Not just nice friends, or pleasant acquaintances, but true friends who went through hell for me - and often because of me. In fact, the event that inspired me to start moving my blog in this direction was the death of one of these close friends, this past August. He, too, was bipolar, and the only one who had been consciously dealing with it as long as me. He, too, was completely dedicated to wrestling his demons in such a way that he could effectively live and grow and parent. So he was particularly helpful when it came to dealing with this stuff. He knew. And now I don't have that. It's a tough loss.
I needed this broad platform of support to be capable of doing what I needed to do to be healthy. I don't think I could have survived the long search for the right meds, or the longer process of accustomizing myself to how I need to think and behave, without the great people in my life.
But, even with all that - knowing it's more than many people ever have - I wouldn't have made it this far if I hadn't had a very important reason to make the huge behavioral and environmental changes that make personal stability accessible. For me, that was getting pregnant with my first child.
And this is a tricky point. I would never suggest that an unstable person ought to get married and start a family. Things could have been very, very bad.
In fact, they almost were.
Like alcoholics and drug addicts, I think many out-of-control people go through a "rock bottom" moment before they can commit to changing their lives. For me, this moment came when I was five months pregnant with my first daughter.
One of my self-destructive coping mechanisms had been cutting and/or burning myself. In fact, that had become my preferred way for dealing with stressful situations. Even though I wanted to be healthy for my baby, there came a moment, one day, when my husband and I had a very bad argument and he left. The truth of the matter was that he went for a run to cool off, but at the time, I was sure that I'd driven him away and that I'd lost my best friend. I'd thrown away all my favorite cutting tools months before, so I broke apart his safety razor and began hurriedly slashing at the veins running through my inner elbow. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I didn't have the practiced control with this razor as I'd had with my preferred tools, and one cut went too deep. Seeing my arm laid open woke me out of the "zone" I'd go to when doing things like that and I nearly panicked, realizing that if I bled out my baby would die, too. Not being able to reach my husband, I called a very good friend who rushed me to the ER. Lying on the bed, getting my arm all stitched up while the nurses monitored and worried about my unborn child, I was horrified by what I'd done. I was scared that I might have hurt the baby. And even if I hadn't, I imagined how devastating it would be to a child to see her mother cutting or burning herself.
That was it.
A deeply entrenched approach to life that I hadn't been able to conquer with medications or counseling was done. I knew I would NEVER, intentionally harm myself again.
As time has gone by, I've been fortunate enough to be able to transition from all the bad stuff I have to avoid to focus on habits to embrace in my life to make it the best it can be.
(Incidentally, back to the mother thing, I think one of the main forces that carried me into responsible parenting was the fact that I had been raised to be a good parent. I was raised to put the welfare of the kids first. I grew up thinking that the only way to parent was to be very involved and loving. I internalized my mother's habits of playing, cuddling, and singing to my kids. She taught me, by example, how to cook and sew and make a warm and loving home... I rebelled against these things for years, but when I needed it, I had the knowledge. I owe her so much, it's overwhelming.)
Events and life were just right for me that I could make the choice to live better. Some people never have the support or the timing right to be in a position to choose life and health. Some people have all they need, but when the time comes, they choose comfort and habit over change (which is almost always difficult and uncomfortable).
One thing I never had, early on, was an example of someone who was dealing with the mental/emotional issues of BPD who was living the life I wanted. So, in loving memory of Brett, who would be so proud to see me reach out like this, I'll be blogging about this (and lots of other really mundane stuff) and hoping that maybe my thoughts will be useful to someone.
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