Muster

A year ago in July and August, I had a very difficult summer.  I had extreme anxiety and jitters, countered with extreme exhaustion.

On the one hand, I would be unable to hold still, with impulsive bursts of energy in which I would start painting a room or start driving cross-country at 10:30 at night.  On the other hand, I would completely crash in total exhaustion.   All my senses were on hyper-alert making me so anxious and paranoid that sometimes I was afraid to drive on the freeway at all.  Getting out of bed, going to work every day, attempting any activity that required any sort of exertion was totally daunting.  Being on constant high-alert, no matter how much sleep I got I could not manage to recharge my batteries.  

That summer we saw fireworks, I ran a 5K on the spur of the moment, we went on a 1600 mile road trip, I took the kids camping, I painted the basement, we entertained company, and more.  But all I remember was constantly having to muster energy hour by hour, and really just wanting to sleep all the time. We'd make plans for the evening, and I'd have to take a nap before I felt like I could go. It was kind of like the exhaustion I felt when I was newly pregnant, and I wasn't pregnant.  Combine that with the depression I was already experiencing--with a financially difficult year, moving, and two job changes--I felt like a total mess.

It wasn't until my sister and I compared notes on a new medication we had both tried that I connected the dots.  She had had similar side effects to my mania/exhaustion, and it was like a light-bulb turning on. In June I had started taking Abilify.  Abilify is a medication that is supposed to augment the effect of anti-depressant medications.  Instead, it had the effect on me of amplifying my anxiety and depression, and making me even less energized than my already low-energy self. The same thing had happened to my sister.

Flash-forward to this summer.  I also painted a room, saw fireworks, went hiking, went camping, spent time at the pool, and entertained company.  Yeah, I'm tired, but I feel much different. Looking at the stark contrast from last summer to this has been surprising. I've been able to enjoy family activities and work on projects without completely depleting myself.  I may not be the most energetic person to begin with, and I have had depression for a long time, but I feel more like myself now than I did a year ago.

I just keep looking back at last summer as lost time.  Everything that has happened this year seems to be defined by how it is different, and better, from last year.  My Abilify trial (and failure) has created a reference point for me.

Since then, I have found a good balance of medications that allows me to be functional, happy, and hopeful, and I feel a little bit like me!

Its not business, its personal

I used to think about my depression this way:

"I'm depressed and miserable. I'm barely functioning. I feel sorry for myself and I want everyone else to feel sorry for me too. I want everyone (in my family, friends and church community) to notice how low I am and to see that I'm drowning.  No one else has ever been this low.  I'm the only one going through this so it's a big deal and there's no way I can do this without someone rescuing me. Everyone should know that I need help without me saying so, and I want those people to swoop in and take care of me. Take over my responsibilities.  They should take care of me and coddle me because I am too debilitated by this depression to do it by myself and I'm definitely too proud to ask for help."  

Or something like that.

I've had this mentality for at least 12 years.

I've always placed great importance on my relationships with people around me. Will they notice when I'm struggling and help me without me having to ask?  Will they notice when I'm happy?  Will they confide in me and trust me?  Do they want me around?  And I often come away feeling just as disconnected and unsure of myself as I was before.  There was (usually) never an amazing connection and no one seemed to want to know the deep desires of my heart. No one was going to tear down the walls that guard my most vulnerable thoughts.

I'm working on a new mentality. A few unrelated events and conversations all happened at about the same time, and it gave me an epiphany and a new way to think. Here goes.

The first instance was when we ran into a family that we know at a restaurant.  We hadn't seen them in about six months, which was when we attended the funeral of their four year old daughter who had just succumbed to cancer. 

In the spirit of friendship and to gauge whether it was okay to talk about their loss, I simply asked how their family was doing.  To my surprise Brian began energetically and unreservedly telling me about how hard its been and how much they miss their daughter. He cried as he talked about what it would be like to have the holidays without her. He seemed at peace with her death and remarked on the irony of one life ending and another beginning, referring to his wife's surprise pregnancy.  He shared his firm belief that their family is eternal and they would see their daughter again. Now we were both crying. I apologized for bringing up such a sensitive topic, but what Brian said next was eye opening to me. 

He said that sometimes people ask him how he's doing but they don't really want to know. They just expect a one word answer and then they move on. But when people ask Brian that, he tells them. He tells them if it was a good day or if it was a bad day and that they missed their daughter a lot and cried a lot. And the other person turns out to be genuinely interested.  Brian would have told them this painful and deeply personal thing, and then they would turn around and tell him some deeply personal thing that they're going through. Brian was surprised to find out that other people wanted to open up about their loss and heartache too.  Now he and this person-who he only knew superficially until just then-they've just had an amazing conversation talking about the really hard  things they're both going though.  They've just connected on an emotional and personal level and cried together. Everyone has hard stuff that they're going through and even though his is different from theirs, they now have in common that they can talk to each other about it and feel sorrow together.

You have to be personal with someone  in order to connect with them. And you have to connect with that person in order for your relationship to be meaningful and satisfying.

I definitely want meaningful and satisfying relationships.

The next epiphany came from my two year old daughter. Since a quick visit from my sister's family a few months ago, my daughter always asks about her  little cousin, "Where's Caroline?"  In the car, at the store, at bedtime, "Where's Caroline?"  I would look at the clock and try to imagine what they would be doing in Illinois when its 7:30. "She's probably getting ready for bed" I'd say.

And then one morning at breakfast Audrey prayed that we could play at Leslie's house today.

Well it hit me: these are opportunities to connect with people too. I can call my sister and tell her that Audrey thinks about her sweet little cousin every day!  I can call my friend and tell her that Audrey wants to play with Leslie and we should get together soon. That paves the way for more personal communication.

The third thing is that my parents are leaving the country this week for a two year church service mission in Nicaragua.  Two years.  Aside from my husband, my mom is the top number that I call on my phone. On my way to work, at the store, for cooking tips, for sewing tips, for parenting tips, to vent about husbands, to cry about potty training, and again to celebrate potty training success, you name it. I pretty much call my mom about everything. And now she will be away for two whole years and I will only get to talk to her once a week for maybe a few minutes at a time.

I thought about writing in a journal every time I wish I could call mom. I considered that I could send her emails whenever a thought came up I wanted to discuss with her(several per day),  but then I realized that with her being away and less reachable, this is a good opportunity for me to reach out to the people around me for help and friendship and connection. My sister, Leslie's mom, Brian's family, my best friend who lives too far away, people in my circle who have heartache they want to share with other people and together lighten the burden a little.

So my new way of thinking goes something like this:

I am not unique in my depression. I am not the only one going through something that seems impossible to overcome.  And no one is going to take care of me simply because I feel sorry for myself. There is no shame in asking for help. Asking for help will give someone the chance to serve me.  No one can read my mind and know I need help unless I tell them.  Everyone around me has a story, and we all want to share them and mourn together, comfort together, cry together. Because when we can truly connect to each other by sharing our heartaches, then we will find our relationships are more meaningful and satisfying and we will put down our walls and forget about feeling vulnerable and instead we will genuinely laugh together and cry together and love together and celebrate joy.

Mosiah 18:8-10 summarizes my thoughts, and adds that as we serve and comfort and mourn with one another, we are witnessing of Christ, serving the Lord, and will have his Spirit poured out upon us.

It says:   [...] And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort [...] Now I say unto you, if this be the desire of your hearts, what have you against being [...] a witness before [the Lord], that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?

So in the process of forgetting about myself and reaching out to others in friendship and compassion, I hope to put my depression in the past.  A fortunate side effect will hopefully be a closer relationship with the Savior and a better connection to the Spirit, which some would suggest might have been the problem and solution from the beginning.

Smell the flower, blow out the candle

So I realize that I have ignored my blog for three months.  It has been so much easier to post one sentence updates to Facebook than actual blog posts, but this is not fair to my friends and family who actually want to know about our lives.  And its not really fair to myself, because blogging is a really good way of expression.  We are still here.  We are all alive and breathing.  We only had to call poison control once. 

I am just going to announce that I intend to come back to blogging.  Mostly because I like the sound of the keyboard clacking on my new computer.  It is very pretty and I named her Violet.  It is so fast and does not overheat, it has Windows 7 and the number three on the 10-key actually works.  These are good things.

I realized today that at 28 I have officially been dealing with depression for half of my life.  That darn puberty thing really screwed me up.  I am going to therapy and breathing deeply.  I am adopting the mantra that life is hard and that I can do hard things. This may or may not be working.

There is this thing about Survival Mode:  In order to survive, you must make sure your children are fed and wearing clothing (bonus points if the clothes are clean).  Breakfast for dinner is acceptable, however cinnamon toast can only be used as an entree once per week.  The house should not catch fire, and showering should be attempted at least every two days.  Makeup and hairspray are extra credit only.  If you have a job, you should go or they might fire you, but you don't really have to look nice unless you must interact with actual professionals at said job.  You should probably at least lay a towel over the spilled milk in the kitchen, and make sure the sheets are washed after a bout of vomiting.  Actually putting away laundry is more of a maintenance, cruising mode kind of thing, and doesn't really happen in Survival Mode. Survival Mode is marked daily by curses over missing keys and persistent alarm clocks.   Going visiting teaching is out of the question.

In addition to the necessity of keeping the children alive and safe, there is an Activity of Withdrawal from responsibility that usually lasts a couple weeks.  I played a lot of Solitaire for awhile.  Sometimes it is sleep, thanks to electronic devices that four year can operate by themselves.  Sometimes I do nothing but read murder mysteries.  Or design and construct skirts.  Sometimes it is Angry Birds.  Often it is Facebook, where I can stay abreast of important events in the lives of my former junior high acquaintances and receive validation from people without actually having to interact with them.  Sometimes I do nothing but watch Grey's Anatomy.  I really miss George.  There were two weeks where all I did was Rubik's cube.  You get the picture.

Every once in a while I emerge from a cocoon of bedsheets and drawn curtains and become myself again.  I actually take dinner to people I care about that are having a rough week.  I might make biscuits from scratch, paint with the kids, or genuinely laugh at a joke.  I might go to story time at the library and pack a picnic lunch at the park.  Sometimes I wear make up and once last month I actually blow-dried my hair. 

I miss being me.  I want to be me.  I hope to get to the point where I can look back on the Survival years and be grateful for a healthy, New me.  An involved and cheerful wife/mom/food buyer/individual whose socks are predictably matching, does not have a caffeine habit, is not running late or scrambling for a babysitter, and whose keys are not lost.  Her history of Depression is actually history, with wonderful lessons learned and an inspiring story to boost and encourage another who is still in the thick of it.  I will be someone who doesn't get her feathers ruffled because life isn't fair.  I don't want to continue on a path that makes my years of depression outnumber my years of wellness.

That's it.  That is where I am and where I want to go. In a recent epiphany, I realized that feeling hopeless is not actually because there is no hope, but because some evil spirit is sneaking into my qi and trying to make life seem hopeless so that I will just Give Up. 

So now that I know that all is not hopeless, I know to pray away the adversary and try again to be Me tomorrow.

Then and Now

How is it that such a tiny little person has turned my life so completely upside-down?

I used to fit into all the clothes in my closet. I used to have all my kids potty trained. I used to have an organized work and babysitting schedule. I used to get enough sleep at night. I used to be able to take a sleep aid and sleep even better. I used to take 15 minute showers at my leisure.
I used to have a perfect balance of anti-depressant and anxiety medications. I used to have an appetite. I used to enjoy playing with my kids and reading them stories. I used to feel loving and familiar toward my kids. I used to feel like I was in control of my life.

Now only half my clothes fit. Now I have a newborn using half a dozen diapers a day and a Samuel who's new nickname is Mr. Pottypants. Now I have a kindergartener and an infant and have to figure out a work schedule and daycare schedule all over again. And in the mean time, I'm not making any money at all. Now I am always tired and grouchy. I only get to take power showers and teaser naps, and I only sleep in three hour increments, if I'm lucky. Now I have to start over on finding a combination of antidepressants that is effective. Consequently, I don't enjoy food and my kids are always disappointed that I don't feel like playing with them. Now my kids are giants and strangers to me. I feel impatience and frustration toward them instead of love, and I feel like I have to reinvent my relationship with them. In fact, I can't remember feeling loving toward anyone or anything, not to mention feeling like laughing or smiling. I feel anxious that I have no control over my house and my children and my life.

Whereas I used to have life pretty much figured out, now I am starting completely from scratch.

Audrey's First Week

Audrey is now 9 days old, and my mom is leaving today--the nerve! Mom has done wonderfully taking care of us--she has successfully proved herself and will have her Grandma License renewed in full for another year. She has done the yardwork, the laundry, the cooking, the dishes, the breakfast shift, the mending, the window washing, and so much more. I have been able to get naps when I needed it. It has been so nice to have her here. Tomorrow Chris will go to work for 10 hours and I will be the one in charge of all of us! That will be interesting...

The first couple days were impossibly exhausting for me, having had a physically demanding delivery and being expected to feed a hungry baby constantly with...nothing! for 3 days.

Now that the pump works, Audrey is a wonderful baby. She is an excellent nurser, although she thinks that if she is awake, she needs to also be eating. Otherwise she wants to be asleep--we took her with us on some errands to get her to have some awake time, afraid that if she were to sleep all day it would consequently result in being awake all night. She slept completely through all of her public appearances! The store, the baby carrier, the carseat, the park...she slept through it all. I am teaching her from the start that I will not be a human pacifier and that I intend to get sleep at night, thank you very much. When fully fed, she will sleep for 3-4 hours at a time in the night, which is delightful. Should I worry that it won't last? What if I become accustomed to four hour sleep segments, only to have my baby suddenly revert back to nocturnal again? Ahhh!

Audrey has already projectile pooped on me, resulting in a wardrobe change for the both of us. That was gross. And after nursing, she promptly falls into a delirious, drunken partial sleep in which her eyes flutter, she spontaneously smiles, and she drools milk. Priceless.

Having a baby in the Spring has been a dramatic and much needed contrast from my first two winter babies. I have been able to get out of the house--it has been so nice to get sunlight, go on a walk, sit in the grass, not having to worry about wind and snow and bundling up in layers. And I want to get out of the house! Knowing that I am predisposed to depression has also prepared me better--I know what I can handle and what I can't; when to say yes and when to say no; what will help me feel human and what will make me want to hide in a dark cave. (Trying to avoid the urge to hide in a cave this time around...) Even so, with my well-behaved kids and my peaceful baby, and my supportive husband and my mom here to help, I am still exhausted--my entire body hurts and my emotional core is particularly tender. But that's just part of the package.

Here are some photo highlights of Audrey's first week on Earth.

One week at a time

Every week, I turn to a new page in my calendar. My life is measured by Fridays in the lab at work, by laundry day, by preschool days, by story time at the library every Thursday, by Sundays at Church when my dresses are a little tighter than the week before.

Every week the ticker on my blog moves ahead. My belly gets a little bigger. I get a little more tired and have to slow down a little more.

Every week, the sunlight lasts a little longer, it gets a little warmer and the sunny, nice days become more commonplace. Every week, the promise of spring gets a little bit closer. (And with that, the promise of meeting our new baby).

Every week Samuel makes a new discovery about his body, resulting in a new stage of what can finally be termed "potty training." One week I was simply setting a timer. The next week, he figured out how to go. The week after that, he figured out how to tell us when he had to go. This week, he is protesting a diaper at night time and challenging himself to stay dry at night. (Yes! This kid a month ago would have rather gone in a diaper his whole life!)

Every week, the idea of our tax return falling into our laps gets a little more real. We are that much closer to a new dishwasher, or new insulation in the attic, or a shed. And that much closer to a little lower balance on our credit cards.

Every week Leah learns to sight-read a couple more words.

Every week my house gets a little messier.

Every week the Christmas lights on the outside of my house look that much more out of place.

Every week, the crack in the car windshield creeps another half a centimeter, and the registration renewal date gets a little closer.

Every week, my roots grow in a little further and I remind myself to get that taken care of.

Every week I pick up a couple new books from the library.

Every week, two month old baby Zeke gets a little stronger and that much closer to heart surgery. I thought I was melancholy, but I'm not going through anything like this family.

And that is how I measure my life. One monotonous week at a time, waiting for Spring.

When the cat's away the mice do play

My intentions for "The week that Chris is out of town" were hopeful, at best. I planned to totally clean and organize the house to an unprecedented and unrecognizeable extent, go on outings and bike rides with my happy and non-whiny children, have multiple 'girls-nights-in' with my friends, and so much more.

Since I had the expectation of deep cleaning the entire house by next Friday, I figured I would just do it once before he got home. I started the weekend by treating the kitchen with reckless abandon, piling dishes upon dishes in the sink (unrinsed), leaving PB&J remains on the table for days, sweeping crumbs onto the floor, and ultimately re-trashing the kitchen every 12 hours. My kitchen is kind of an auger for the rest of my house, meaning that if my kitchen is in order, I feel like I can keep the rest of the house in order, and vice-versa. So it should be no surprise that I find it rewarding to marathon-clean my kitchen.

Instead, owing to the state of my kitchen, dirty clothes piled up on the bathroom floor and spread into the hallway, the sheets became a tangled mess on the bed, the living room rug became a haven for leaves and dirt and cereal crumbs, diapers got tossed into a pile. All my well-intentioned projects had been half-started and then abandoned.

Given the state of my house and the solitary company of two children under the age of three, I embraced the opportunity to be depressed and so I resorted to eating cookies over the kitchen sink for dinner while my toddler had leftover mac & cheese and the baby drank a bottle. There's a half-eaten container of ice cream in the freezer-you can bet your life that it will be gone by the end of the week. The bed was too lonely for sleeping, so I stayed up late watching dumb teeny-bopper flicks and reading teeny-bopper books and letting gravity pull the tears out of the eye closest to the pillowcase (I wasn't really crying--does that happen to any one else?). Of course, even though mom stays up late, the kids still wake up at sunrise. Then I have to zonk out on the couch while the kids watch cartoons all morning, after which the pajamas undoubtedly see lunch-time. Again. Plus I look like House, I'm popping so much Ibuprofen.

Okay, so everyone was fed and dressed, but I wasn't exactly enjoying life as a hermit. It is so easy to feel sorry for myself! Then it occurred to me that I wanted to clean the house not just for my honey, but because I like having a clean house too. Why should I wait in a dirty house for him to come home, only to scramble about and stress and burn-out on Thursday, when I could live peacefully in a clean home all week. Come to think of it, if I cleaned it at the beginning of the week, the towels would stay hung up neatly, the toilet seats would stay down, and the shoes put away just how I like it. What an epiphany! (Okay, in defense of my dear husband, he does hang up his towels and he usually puts the toilet seat down, but don't get me started on the shoes).

So I cleaned the kitchen and vacuumed the rug and patched bike tires so I could take the kids on a bike-ride to the park. I set a 50 gallon Rubbermaid tub in front of the house as a make-shift pool, providing at least 2 hours of entertainment, busted out the play dough, ventured to McDonald's for a Happy Meal and playtime on the slides, and let Leah stay up late one night having a sleep over in my bed, complete with a late-night movie. But of course, there was still whining, and in two days the baby cut two teeth. That wasn't fun for anyone.

But here's where I wished I'd had a photographer nearby. The moment when the whining and potty-time bribing and the state of the kitchen didn't matter: One night I had been rocking the baby and singing to him to calm him down before bed time. I went into the kids' room to put him down, and Leah, who had been in bed at least an hour but had heard me singing said "Rock me." So there I sat in my rocking chair, with my 7-month old baby on one arm, and my 2 1/2 year old little girl curled up in the other, each wrapped in a blanket, rocking and singing our favorite primary songs in the dark. "These are my gems," I said to myself. That was a really happy moment. Maybe I can go on one more day.

Life: Just another excuse to put off blogging

Events: Class reunion in Las Vegas, seeing family in Chicago, visiting Grandma in Dallas, celebrating my birthday with Rafael relatives over the weekend (and fitting 13 people in our house)

New Happenings: the baby started crawling and sitting up, I got a new bike and I want to ride it instead of sit inside the house, I'm finally old enough to rent a car


Surprises: dishwasher dilemma, laptop still not working


Other than that, I'm still the one in charge of laundry and cleaning and dishes and children and bill-paying. And I still worry about using the right toothbrush. Starting next week, Chris works 4 10-hour shifts and has Fridays off, which will be great until he starts a full-time grad program three weeks later, at which point I'll actually have to have dinner ready at precisely 6:00 daily so that Chris can eat and then abandon me in favor of a solitary life of study, study, learn. Okay, I know he's not abandoning me, but it will be hard, anyway...


Other things besides blogging that I've neglected lately: personal hygiene, weight-loss, meal planning, keeping my house in order, my calling, all of my friends--you get the basic idea. All I'd really like to do right now is get a good chocolate fix and go back to bed.


I know I have a lot of catching up to do, and for some reason, I think I need to do it chronologically. We'll see if that happens. In the meantime, here's a picture to hold you over:

The Anti-Atkins (non)Diet

For breakfast I had cereal with milk. For lunch, I had an all-fruit smoothie. In between I snacked on strawberry yougurt, a handful of LIFE cereal here and there, a glass of juice, a handful of popcorn, a tasty treat with my daugther as she celebrates having gone potty. I did have a redeeming dinner of chicken pot pie, and I even ate all my vegetables. Then, just for the fun of it, I thawed some cookie dough and did some baking. Now I can tell that this is not exactly a well-rounded (or should I say well-squared) diet, and my digestive system is not exactly rejoicing. And I know this is not the way to shed the baby pounds, which I've professed as an important goal. And for the record, I don't eat like this every day. But here's what I want to know: What is it about depression that makes it seem like too much work to cook or eat right? Or get dressed, for that matter? I knowingly missed lunch and sat there for over an hour listening to my growling stomach...willing myself not to eat? I don't understand.

I've been a little Lost lately

Over the past weekend, we watched no less than twelve episodes of Lost, finishing season one and starting on season 2. It contributed to a very uneventful, unproductive, and scary-dream filled weekend. I had that stupid number sequence filtering through my head in my sleep and actually had to look up future plotlines on the internet so that I wouldn't be so completely obsessed over the show. Fortunately, I was able to get out of the house and away from my whiny 2-year old for a girls' night out with Michal on Saturday. I'm glad to be out of the dark living room and actually doing things like loading the dishwasher again and getting dressed daily. Today is day 8 of potty training and I have to say, progress is reeeeeeeeally slow, but I think there is progress nonetheless. I've called mom probably 6 times this week for tips and she gives me a little nudge of encouragement each day when I feel like quitting.

For the past few months, I haven't felt like doing anything: reading, blogging, eating, cooking, cleaning, stamping, getting dressed, praying, even reading email. Nothing. I've only changed diapers. Really. I can tell that I'm on the downhill end of this because yesterday I found myself singing in the shower! And when I was in Washington, I actually read a book cover to cover just for fun. Then I got home and started on another one. I'm finally smiling at my baby again. Yesterday I spent the afternoon enjoying some long-awaited sunshine while Leah played in the sandbox, then we jumped on the neighbor's trampoline and spied on the horses in the field behind us; safely fenced in and with access to sand, grass, jumping, and horses? Our extended backyard is truly the best of all possible worlds! Then I watched American Idol and voted for David Cook and Syesha. (Didn't you?)

Anyway, all I'm saying is that I've in general been a little bit lost--in more ways than one--for quite a while now, and I think I'm finally coming out of it thanks to therapy and medication. So that's were I've been: the impossible, high-walled, dark-pitted throes of depression. There. I said it. I still have a long way to go, but I'm glad to finally start feeling a little bit more like myself again.

Hiatus

So I have been kind of out of it for the past couple weeks. I've been going to appointments. I've been wasting away playing PSP. I've been busy planning a funeral luncheon for a member of our ward who passed away. We've been watching Season 1 of Lost. We are preparing for a trip to Washington on Friday. But mostly, I've just been hiding.

Today I'm getting to serious business cleaning house and doing laundry so we can go out of town. I'm already tired. I came upstairs to get my flip-flops so I could take out the trash, but instead I sat down and started writing a blog post.

All week I've been trying to think of what blog post I could put up next, but all I could think of were titles without a witty description. Here are the candidates:

Eating my own words
On dental hygiene.

The other day I was in the middle of brushing my teeth when I looked down and realized that the toothbrush I was using was indeed purple. Figures.

I saw the dentist last week who confirmed that I have three cavities. Serves me right for bragging about never having a cavity and for eating M&M's for breakfast throughout my pregnancy.

What is that strange noise?
Birds chirping in the trees!

Tagged
I got tagged by my cousin Jessica.
1. Grab the nearest book (at least 123 pages)
2. Turn to page 123.
3. Find the 5th sentence.
4. Post said sentence on your blog.
5. Tag five people.

Unfortunately, the closest book to me is one of my husband's and is called "Using Homework Assignments in Cognitive Behavior Therapy." Sounds intriguing. Here is the sentence: "We incorporate relevant case examples and conclude with a discussion of additional strategies to address homework noncompliance." Sounds like a real page-turner.

I'm tagging Michal, Kitara, Valerie, Raquel, and Jackie.

Random Tidbits
I just discovered LilyPadz. What an ingenious invention. If you are nursing, you might consider checking these out. It has solved my soggy sheets problem.

Yesterday I took Leah to Kangaroo Zoo. She had a lot of fun. It only cost me $5, but I still have a considerable headache.

The baby is starting to sleep for 6-7 hour increments at night. Praise the heavens.

I've been habitually checking out books that I have good intentions of reading, then returning them dusty and unread four weeks later and paying a late fee. I've been ignoring my house and my laundry, and we've been watching a lot of the Disney channel. I've even gotten behind on blog-reading and I've stopped checking my email except for once a day.

See? I told you I'm just not feeling the witty gene right now. This is what I would call a funk.

You can bet that I will continue to be MIA for a little while longer until we return from our trip to WA, the weather warms up, and I finally come out of hibernation. There are big things on the horizon--potty training being one of them.

Good days and bad days

The latest installment in my quest for positive progress.

Yeah, this week was up and down. I'm learning how to say no and take a break when I'm burned out. I'm learning how to let some things go and pick my battles better--this process will take a while. On the good days I played with my kids more, wore makeup and ate nutritious meals; on the not so good days I ate Girl Scout cookies and did pointless things like compare my mugshot to B-list celebrities and watch teeny-bopper flicks on the Hallmark channel. But I'm embracing the moments where I choose to relax and take a few minutes (or a few hours) and be lazy. I need that sometimes, and I'm deciding not to feel guilty about it.

This week I'm going to work on routines. My kids need routine and I'm hoping that through creating a more predictable surrounding for them, my routine needs will fill in the blanks. I'm starting by putting the rocks in the jar first and then I'll pour in the sand. I fully intend to put off the laundry as long as possible, to veg out during American Idol, and finish off those Girl Scout cookies, but I'll also make sure everyone is clean, dressed and well fed, and I'll do my best to keep them smiling.

Here's to another week.

Good Intentions

Progress Report, Week 2

Don't they say that the road to hell is paved in good intentions? This week was full of good intentions that didn't come to pass. I intended to work on my house every day, be more spiritual, go on a date. I have a pile of good, highly recommended books I picked up from the library that will go back this week, spines uncracked by me. Things I did do this week that weren't on my to-do list include begin construction on an Easter dress for Leah, sell stuff on eBay, keep two children happy at a 15 minute (which was really a two-hour) doctor's visit, and have the Friday-night flu (not to be confused with Saturday morning fever). Let's just say I'd rather sew than fold laundry. I kissed lots of owies better, fed the baby constantly, and got in plenty of schlub-time. Fortunately its starting to get warmer so I'll be able to absorb adequate vitamin D in the near future.

Maybe next week will be better.

Spilled Milk and Soggy Cheerios

You're not supposed to cry over spilled milk, but let me make my case to the contrary.

I haven't gotten adequate sleep for six weeks.

My house and personal hygeine have suffered because of my lack of energy, and the distractions aplenty haven't helped. I'm sick of changing diapers. The one thing I did this week to clean the house was mop the kitchen floor Wednesday night so we wouldn't sacrifice our socks to its stickiness, only to have a 5 foot diameter fall-out zone the next time Leah had a meal.

Chris has been sick all week, missing work to sleep afternoons. This morning Leah woke up with a cough and sore throat. It's only a matter of time until the baby and I get it. Does this mean we'll all be sick on President's Day?

Although I do have cabin fever, everytime I try to go somewhere, I end up more exhausted than its worth. (Yeah, spontaneously bursting into tears at the Walmart customer service desk isn't exactly what I had in mind when I decided to get out of the house...)

So given a severe energy deficit and my anxiety about the kitchen floor, is it okay to cry when the floor gets doused with the contents of a bowl of soggy, milky cheerios, and I have to clean it up?