Mirthful Monday

Alright, folks.  Not only is a Monday here but it was extremely windy last night (read: no sleep!), two kids have colds, we just finished Spring Break, and the weather is THIRTY degrees lower today than it was yesterday. I am exhausted and the clouds and lack of sunshine (while I am deeply grateful for the rain they will hopefully bring) are lulling me back to sleep.  I need some mirth. Fast.

So here's a picture of my kids and I at one of the natural springs in Manitou Springs, CO (where we went for Spring Break). People used to come to Manitou for the water and all of its "health" benefits. That stuff was pretty nasty, but I managed to convince my kids to try some. It was like an early April Fool's!

Or, if the thought of that tinny, salty water with the healing properties of snake oil won't do it for ya. . . just remember:

(Dear Person Who Thought to Stick This in the Cave of the Winds Gift Shop: you made my day. Seriously. Like a hundred times over. This was awesome!)

p.s. If any of you dear Readers ever go to Manitou Springs, be sure to eat at The Heart of Jerusalem restaurant. SO yummy!


Happy Monday everyone!

Paying my Children to go to Church !?!?!

You know it's going to be a good Sunday when all four kids have broken down in tears and stomped the feet repeatedly and wailing, "I won't go! You can't make me!!"

Ahh, you could just revel in those sweet Sabbath morning sounds.

Usually at least two of my children pitch fits about Church, but this morning was over the top with three of them desperately trying to get out of their weekly ecumenical obligations. See, the Little Cannoli has been sick for the past week and last night she cried and cried. I took her to Urgent Care this morning to get her ears checked, but they were all clear. The doctor looked at me, smiled and said, "It's just cold!" Little Cannoli needed a nap and since she was (is) feverish there was no way she was going to Church. That means one of us adults had to stay home.

After the DH and I negotiated for a good five or six minutes about who needed a nap more (it was super sophisticated of us, "Me!" "I'm SO tired, though!" "Me, too!" "Nu-uh. I'm more tired." "No, I am!" "You have more jobs at Church. You have to go." "Not this week, I don't." "But I don't WANT to!" Yeah, we weren't at our best either. . .) the DH finally bit the bullet and said he would take the kids. Heaven bless him!!

When the kids found out I wasn't going the weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth began. Supergirl E and Mr. J were easily bought off with snacks. But Princess N was holding firm. She had drawn her line in the sand and wasn't budging. There was no way she was going to Church without me unless the DH carried her kicking and screaming. After talking with her for awhile, she admitted she was worried he wouldn't make it to Primary to pick her up on time and she would left all alone in the Primary room. There was more back and forth and finally I said, "You can trust your dad. He will be there. I promise!"

Princess N rolled her eyes, "Pu-lease. Yeah right."

And then it came out of my mouth: "I'm so certain you can trust him that I will give you $3 if he doesn't show up on time."

"Seriously? $3? 300 pennies worth of money?" Her tears immediately dried up and her eyes gleamed like Donald Trump's do every time he fires someone.

"I trust him so much I'm willing to put a bet down," I said. "Not that YOU should ever bet. Especially on a Sunday. Because gambling is bad. . . but your DAD is not."

"$3, huh? All right." She then turned to her siblings, "Hey guys! Mom's gonna pay us money to go with Dad!"

See? Getting your kids to Church is easy as pie. You just have to pay them :P

Of Apple, Lemons, Dandelions, and Wishes

When my kids were really little I figured every single problem they had was the result of my depression. They were colicky? Blame my PPD-driven weepiness. Seemed overanxious? Blame my own anxiety. Didn't potty train early enough? Didn't sleep through the night? Didn't learn to read fast enough? Me! Me! Me! It was as if I was constantly shaking my head and muttering, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." It seemed we were all stuck with seeds that had been sown ages ago and we had no choice about the fruit we got.

Now that my children are the ripe old ages of 7, 5, 3, and 1 all that has changed a little. They are still not perfect. I am still not perfect. But I don't play the blame game. I find myself thinking more along the lines of "When life gives you lemons, find some sugar, ice, and water and then make lemonade." Lemons, and depression, on their own are not inherently wonderful--but they certainly offer a lot of possibilities when you combine them with other good things. Being depressed has been horrible, BUT when combined with the things I've learned in therapy and the way it has deepened my relationship with my Savior, it seems to be turning into something pretty good. A little bittersweet, but good.

I'm optimistic it is going to be the same for my kiddos. Life threw them a big lemon every time my depression flared. When mismanaged, it had negative effects on them in so, so many ways. But *hopefully* it also is giving us opportunities to learn from each other and to love each other more fully and deeply. Now that I know how depression ruins my relationship with my children I'm a much more conscientious mother--not perfect, but aware and thoughtful.Who knows? Maybe they will turn out more aware and thoughtful, too.

Yesterday was the last day of school for our school district and as we were walking away from the elementary school my kids and I passed this field.



My first thought was, "That field is ruined. Look at all those weeds." My seven-year-old was mesmerized, though. She stared at the field thoughtfully while I loaded all the others into the minivan. Then as she climbed in the car she looked at me and said, "Wow, Mom! That's a LOT of wishes!"

When given a choice, my child saw possibilities, not problems or dead ends. Maybe, just maybe, they are going to turn out okay.

The Easter Tree!

Well, folks, here's another mommy blogging moment brought to you by me!

For Easter we celebrated with these:


And with these:


But we mostly celebrated with this:


"What is that monstrosity?!?!" Is that what I hear you asking? Well, that, my friends, is The Easter Tree.

For a long time I've been trying to figure out some way to make Easter and Christmas work together a little better. Maybe it's because I'm secretly jealous of Lent (I really do think it's a neat idea!) or maybe it's because I hate the commercialism of Easter and a bunny pooping chocolate eggs never really made sense to me anyway. Either way, I have always wanted to focus on Jesus at Easter but it was hard to do it in an age appropriate way for my children--especially when they are so excited about Easter egg hunts and candy and presents. Last year, in the midst of our move I came across something called a Jesse Tree and then I came across this Easter Egg Tree over at sugardoodle. It was kismet. An Easter Egg Tree that involved advent type scripture reading was exactly what I was looking for. It was the perfect way to connect all the ways we think about Jesus at Christmas with the Easter season.

So this year I took some old wrapping paper tubes, cut a cardboard box into strips, and taped it into some sort of tree shape with a bunch of masking tape. Then I took our old plastic Easter eggs and hung them from the branches with lots of color of ribbons. To make them hang I used my kitchen scissors to poke holes in the top of the egg and threaded some ribbon through, tying a knot on the inside of the egg to keep it from slipping out. I'm clumsy and cut myself a few times but I bet most of you folks are way more crafty than me and could do it without injuring yourself. My kiddos actually helped in the construction of the whole thing; it was pretty fun.

After we got the whole thing put together I started looking through The Friend Archives for some sort of scripture activity to put in the eggs. (BTW, if you aren't using friend.lds.org to find church oriented activities for your kids then you are missing out. It is a great resource.) There were a lot of choices but I ended up settling on the Easter ABC Fill-In activity from the April 1996 Friend. I chose this one because the scripture references would be good practice for Princess N (my oldest) in looking up scriptures, and Supergirl E and Mr. J are both in various stages of linking letters with the sounds they make and this helped them listen to the scripture. I also put a jelly bean for each kid in each egg.

Every evening after dinner we'd gather round the Easter tree and open up an egg. We'd talk about what letter we were on and what sound it made, then we'd look up the scripture and remind the kids to listen for the sound of that day's letter. They'd munch their jellybeans while we read and then fill in the blanks. I think it was pretty successful as far as family scripture study goes.

We did have arguing some nights over who got what color jellybean and whose turn it was to open the egg. We also ran into a little trouble with kids knocking eggs open unintentionally. And of course, the Little Cannoli (who is now crawling) had to be constantly monitored to make sure she didn't ingest some of the dry beans from the tree's pot. Mr. J spent a lot of time tying the eggs together and then his sisters would walk by and untie the eggs. Also, Supergirl E decided one day that there was a tsunami in the house (she'd been watching the news with her dad) and put her Littlest Pets in all the eggs--using extra tape to keep them extra safe. That took a little time to clean up. Still, though, these problems felt minimal considering the time we spent in the scriptures and the good spirit that entered our home because of that. And, really, those problems were tiny compared to issues we've had in the past with Christmas trees!

So, the grand finale came Easter morning. When the kids went to bed they opened the last egg, ate the jellybeans, and said, "So this is it?" I smiled and hinted that maybe something special would happen to the tree while they were asleep. When the woke up this is what they found:


I wanted the tree to go from looking dead to coming alive--that way they would connect the season with the true meaning of Easter. I also opened all the eggs and sprinkled some candy underneath to represent the joy of the stone being rolled away and the tomb being empty. I put the picture of Christ with an image of this scripture poster under the tree. The kids and I talked about the scripture and what happened Easter morning. We talked about the range of emotions Mary went through and how we might feel some of the same things in our lives, but because of Jesus' atonement, crucifixion, and resurrection we can be healed and happy. It was a powerful moment for me and I think my kids could feel the Spirit too.

I'm excited for next Easter and all the possibilities of the Easter tree. The Easter bunny didn't even come up this year and I think I'll keep it that way in the future. I liked moving away from the commercialism and moving closer to Christ. Rather than trying to paint leaves I think next year I'm going to do Jell-O popcorn balls (you know, "I looked out the window and what did I see?") and flowers. And for the scriptures I think I'm going to use the topical guide entry about the names of Christ. I'm also going to try and find something more robust for the tree.

Anyway, I hope you all had a happy Easter and experienced some of the joy that can be found in and through Christ! Tell me, what do you do to celebrate Easter? How do you teach your kids about the true meaning?

Depression is like. . . asthma?

Drowning.
A roller coaster.
Being thirteen again, but in a bad way.

There are lots and lots of ways people describe depression. Usually we use these similes to explain what feels like a unique experience to people who have just never been there. Most often we use them to explain why the illness we have needs treatment or how the treatment we're using is working for us. Most often the comparison we use is, "Hey if I had diabetes or heart disease I would have to take a pill everyday and people would tell me it's a good thing. Why is it any different for depression?"

Now, this isn't a bad argument to make. But lately I've been mulling this one over and for me it doesn't really do the issue justice. Here's why:

1) There is an element of preventability (I think I just made that word up) with both diabetes and heart disease. Yes, there is Type I diabetes that just strikes, but I think for the average individual when they hear diabetes they equate it with Type II diabetes, which our most often spun as a lifestyle disease by our current media. The same thing goes for heart disease. If people would just eat better and exercise more they wouldn't have those problems. Unfortunately, the same kind of thinking bleeds over into how we think about depression. But depression isn't usually preventable. Life circumstances, some of which we have control over (how much we exercise, if we abuse drugs or alcohol) and some of which we don't (genetic predispositions and postpartum hormone swings). For me, comparing depression to preventable diseases makes accepting the things I can't control that much harder.

2) Depression isn't necessarily a life-threatening disease like diabetes and heart disease are. If you don't treat your diabetes you're going to go blind and lose your feet and die. If you don't treat your heart disease, odds are you are toast. Yes, people with depression are more likely to kill themselves and suicide is horrible, tragic, cruel and everything should be done to prevent it from happening. But I think there are a lot of folks out there with depression who would benefit from treatment that aren't necessarily in danger of killing themselves. Maybe eventually they would be, but ideally we would support these folks in getting treated well before they ever reach that point. I think a lot of the danger of depression is not just that folks might kill themselves, but rather the immediate collateral damage that's done. Damage to family relationships--especially to the children of the depressed, short term health consequences (insomnia, weight gain/loss), and long term health consequences (possible brain degeneration) are all reasons to treat depression now even though it may not threaten the individual's life. Linking depression to two clearly life-threatening illnesses implicitly implies that folks shouldn't get treated if their lives aren't in direct danger. That is wrong.

So what should we compare it to instead? Asthma.

See, recently Mr. J (my third child who is almost four years old!) has been put on a fairly aggressive asthma treatment plan. Those of you who have been reading my blog for years know that Mr. J has never slept through the night and that we've been chasing down a number of health problems with him. Since his doctors at National Jewish Health started treating him as an asthmatic his whole health has improved. His coloring is better, his energy level and appetite are more predictable, and (wonder of wonders!!) he is sleeping through the night. (Okay, to be honest, most nights he still wakes up once and comes and settles himself on my floor but he doesn't scream or have night terrors or multiple wakings anymore. At my house this is as good as sleeping through the night gets. And, in the name of full disclosure, I think it helps that we now have a good eczema plan and allergy plan in place along with the asthma.) In some ways it is like having a whole new child. Before we started treating his asthma things seemed off and he was always struggling. But we didn't know why. It wasn't something we could see (like his eczema) so we didn't think to worry about it until it landed him in urgent care multiple times.

I think this is how a lot of us look at depression. We know something is off. We know we aren't working at full capacity. But because it's something we can't see--or in the cultural at large it isn't a "sexy" illness and can't be dressed up with pink ribbons or little red dresses--we don't think to treat it. Sure Mr. J was surviving without his asthma medicine but he never could keep up with the other kids and never felt healthy. Without my depression meds, I can manage. I can white-knuckle through my days and tough it out. But something is off and I can't keep up with my life; everything is harder than it should have to be. Having emotional stability is like having enough oxygen. Sure you can get by with less, but you'll never be able to thrive.

Now, having written all this, there is still that little voice inside me that says, "If you can manage without your meds then maybe you don't really need them. Maybe you're just trying to do too much. Maybe you're just not meant to be doing all that other stuff. Maybe you just aren't supposed to be that good." This voice is hard for me to quiet. Those doubts are powerful. It takes a lot for me to remind myself that I'm not asking for too much out of life to want to do more than just survive. It's okay to want to feel pulled together. Just like it is all right to treat my son so he can breathe deeply and fully instead of just asking him to get by on limited oxygen, it's okay for me to want to experience life from a place of stability. Thriving is not just something other people should get to do.

Have I sold you yet on my new "Depression is like. . ."? If not, how come? How do you describe your mood disorder or emotional health issues?

C is for Cookie! (Teaching My Preschooler to Read)

Okay, so I warned you all that I was going to start posting a few things every now and again with content that falls under the Mommy Blog umbrella. This is one of those posts.

And honestly, this is one of the things I like most about having good mental health right now: I have energy for some of the extras--like teaching my five-year-old to read! Supergirl E (which is what I call her in my head) has a fall birthday so she isn't in kindergarten this year. I'm pretty sure that if I didn't work on it with her she would figure it out in kindergarten, but she really wants to read and it feels good to do this with her.

Now, I'm no curriculum designer or teacher or really anyone with any kind of knowledge on this subject--except that I like to read and I like to read with my kids. There are a lot of theories and methods about teaching kids to read but (from what I gather) most of them seem to include letter recognition, matching sounds and letters, the ability to recognize some words on sight, and the ability to sound out words.

Her preschool has been pretty rigorous about helping her match letters and sounds. We also have a Jumpstart game that does that. And we have letter puzzles and books that we practice letter recognition and the sound matching. Another thing I've noticed about this is that kids seem to do better if you focus on one letter each day-- kind of like Sesame Street :) (It's good enough for me!!)



The part where I've really been working with her is on sight words and sounding out words. My oldest learned to read by memorizing word after word until things just clicked. So with E, I've been using these lists of sight words for preschoolers. This page has a pretty good list and activities. (Or you can combine this pre-school level list with this kindergarten list.)

My absolute favorite site, though, is Hubbard's Cupboard. This site is chock-full of info, but the stuff we use the most are the printable Sight Word Booklets. Now, if you don't want to spend money on printer paper these books may not be for you, but we love them.

The first thing I do is make flash cards of the sight words in the book and we look them and sound them out and trace the letters. Then we get the printed booklet out and I have Supergirl E circle the sight word on each page. If there is more than one sight word that we are working on in the booklet then we go back through and circle that one in another color. Then I read her the book once through, tracing my finger under the words. Then I have her read it to me. Finally I have her pick a booklet she has already passed off to read to me. This seems to work best when we are snuggled up on the couch.

To be honest, I'm not very consistent with this. We'll do it everyday for a couple weeks and then life will get in the way for awhile. But whenever it is that we come back to it, we just pick up where we left off and keep plugging away. She's got more than 20 sight words and she's starting to sound things out so I think I'm going to try some of the Word Family Booklets on her soon. Every little bit helps! (At least that's what I tell myself. . .)

4:30 AM (or Early Morning Musings on Viruses and Emotional Styles)

It is actually 4:30 in the morning. And I am actually blogging. Not because I am an early riser. No, my baby is sitting on the floor fussing intermittently and playing with some toys. She gave up sleeping about a week ago so I have too. Sometime during the crazy that came after Mr. J was born I gave up sitting in dark rooms trying to rock calm an uber-fussy baby back to sleep. It makes me nuts so I come out and let them sit and play for awhile and then take them back in their rooms and go through the bedtime routine to get the child back to sleep. Hence the blogging.

The Little Cannoli and her brother, Mr. J (who is now three and a half years old; I sure do need to update my sidebar pic!), both have RSV (see above pic!) and I have spent the last week not sleeping. The three of us are miserable. I finally lost it this afternoon. Crazy Mommy reemerged with her volatile yelling and intrusive thoughts and intermittent bouts of crying. Within this haze of fatigue, steamy treaments (you know, when you turn on the shower and the sink as hot as they'll go and sit in the bathroom waiting for the coughing to subside), and doctor visits a single thought has emerged: I am an emotional endurer. (BTW, for some good practical advice on RSV check out this website.)

Now this emotional style isn't one of Oprah's easily identifiable ones. In fact I wonder if this isn't a particularly Mormon emotional style. I think int might come from the Mormon idea that if we just stick things out long enough we'll eventually get some blessing out of all the difficulties that surrounds us. We like to call this enduring to the end. But just like so many of us mistake spiritually enduring to the end for simply suffering through stuff, emotional endurance can get skewed too.

I'm not being very clear here. I think I should back up a little.

This quotation from Elder Wirthlin (Oh, how I loved his talks!) sums up spiritual endurance nicely. He says,

The question “Why me?” can be a difficult one to answer and often leads to frustration and despair. There is a better question to ask ourselves. That question is “What could I learn from this experience?” . . .The gospel of Jesus Christ includes enduring to the end as one of its bedrock doctrines. Jesus taught, “He that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved.” And, “If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed.” Some think of enduring to the end as simply suffering through challenges. It is so much more than that—it is the process of coming unto Christ and being perfected in Him. . .Enduring to the end means that we have planted our lives firmly on gospel soil, staying in the mainstream of the Church, humbly serving our fellow men, living Christlike lives, and keeping our covenants. Those who endure are balanced, consistent, humble, constantly improving, and without guile. Their testimony is not based on worldly reasons—it is based on truth, knowledge, experience, and the Spirit.

See? Enduring to the end isn't actually about suffering; it's about staying true to ourselves, our covenants, and our God.

Likewise, emotional endurance shouldn't be just about powering through hard times. I had a lot of signs that my breakdown this afternoon was coming. I knew I was tired and I knew that tired=crazy for me. Fatigue makes my brain slippery and I fall back into all those old depressed habits very easily. But instead of listening to my inner voice and slowing down during this time of turbulence, I told myself I was going to emotionally endure this now matter what--and I kept telling myself that until I couldn't endure any longer, my emotions became unmanageable, and I fell apart. This faulty emotional endurance is very much like a virus that I keep getting infected with whenever life gets tough.

I think a better emotional style might be emotionally resilient. My spur-of-the-moment, 4:30 am definition of this is that I would be aware of those little warning signs that some crazy was coming down the pipe. I would be okay with cutting out the peripheral stuff, allow myself to feel whatever manageable frustrations I'm feeling, and remind myself that eventually I will not feel this way and things will get better. That way I wouldn't have to power through so much and wouldn't end up on the road to Breakdown-ville.

I remember early on during my therapy days my therapist telling me that the point of therapy was not to bail me out when I was at my wit's end but to teach me how to avoid getting there in the first place. That's what I'm talking about. I think it was something I was pretty close to after my struggles of winter 2009. It's the emotional style I need to reclaim.

Well, it's now been half and hour and hopefully the Little Cannoli is ready to sleep again. I'm certainly ready to! But, if you feel so inclined, tell me what your emotional style is. Are you an endurer/power-through-it-at-all-costs kind of person or are you something else?

Post Partum Depression: 1 Month Out

Baby Number 4, who we lovingly refer to as our Little Cannoli, is now more than 1 month old. I am surprised and a little bit glad that the time has gone by so quickly. Usually my first month with a baby is a descent into chaos and I feel like I spend the next year or eighteen months trying to put my universe back together. To have it go by quickly means that I haven't been lost in the time suck that is depression. (Whee!)I think this is due to several exceptional things.

* I'm still taking my Paxil. It was hard to remember to at first. I've been out of the habit and so I was taking it at weird times and missing days--which is a set up for disaster. But then I got an awesome tip: Put your meds by your toothbrush! You almost always remember to brush your teeth and if your meds are in the same cabinet you'll always see them and be reminded to take them.

* I've got a whole lot more knowledge. During the first few weeks, before the meds had kicked in, I had a few suicidal thoughts (no plans, just lots of negative thinking like I didn't deserve to live and my family would be better off without me because there is no way I would ever be able to be a good mom to this baby) but they were fleeting and usually disappeared if I took a nap. I know about the link between sleep deprivation and PPD so I could take action rather than get stuck in an unproductive mental/emotional thought cycle. I also had a fair amount of intrusive thoughts. Mostly violent ones, like every time I walked up or down the stairs I would see my baby flying down them and splitting her head open or breaking her neck. They were scary but I knew what they were (hormonal misfires in my brain) and could move on instead being consumed by them. I still have some of the intrusive thoughts--I've acquired a whole new repertoire surrounding actual glass glasses--so I'm not sure if I should up my meds or not. I'll ask my psych when I see her.

* I've had a whole lot of support.
I've had offers from both sides of the family to help out with the kids (even though they all live hundreds of miles away!). We got lots of meal from the ladies at Church. And close friends were sensitively checking in on my mental state--friends who had been there--which meant a lot to me. I'm actually still with my mom and dad and it is great. Being with them for the last couple weeks has alleviated so much stress from my mind. I've gotten more sleep and I've been able to conquer caring for all four kids in small bites. I just feel like I've had adequate time to acclimate to the whole situation and actually bond with my baby instead of feeling overwhelmed and destroyed. I keep telling my mom that this time has been such an indescribable gift.

Actually, this whole experience feels like a gift. I'm surprised how sad I am that this is my last little baby. I'll never have another four week old to nuzzle and smell and cuddle. And I always thought that when that time came I'd be glad because it would mean freedom was on the horizon. But I don't feel free. It feels like a loss.

I think some of my feelings of loss are me mourning my previous post partum experiences. Sometimes as I'm nursing or rocking the Little Cannoli part of my mind will go back to when Number 1 or Number 2 were babies and I'll relive those experiences. Part of me will be feeling the frustration of trying to get Number 1 to latch on, or more like the echoes of that frustration, and the other part of me will be so grateful that the Little Cannoli nurses so nicely and then I'll remember (or possibly rewrite) a moment when Number 1 was nursing well. And then the frustration melts a little and the memory loses some of its sting. I'm sure there's some sort of name for that process, but for me letting go of some of that is, well, a gift.

It's also a gift to see my older three, who I struggled with so intensely, being kind and soft and patient with the newest sibling. It reminds me that even if things were rocky when they were born their lives have been filled with love and that things are going to work out.

I'm not projecting into the future. After we get home from my mom's things could fall apart or they could be fabulous. Odds are life will be a mix of stress and fun and disasters and peace. But I'm not trying to figure those out. I'm just here, loving my baby and enjoying my kids. Because they are all gifts--gifts that I am just now starting to see clearly.

BCC's next question: Impact on family members

BCC's latest depression post was about depression's impact on relationships. Here's what I said over in the comments:

I feel like I'm a little late to the comments here, but as a depressed gal who worries and worries over the effect it will have on my kids and husband, I've found that being honest with them about what's going on helps.

I tell my kids that there are days that my feelings get out of control or that my mind is hurting and I need a break. They know mommy has a "feelings doctor" who helps out when "the feelings get stuck." They also know I have another doctor who is in charge of the special feelings medicine that I have to take sometimes. I hope that I am being honest with them and that my willingness to answer their questions in an age appropriate way will help them deal with my bad days a little better.

I also make a huge effort to make clear to them that it is my problem and I am responsible for it. Not them. I apologize for things that have hurt them and make honest efforts to listen when they want to complain about it. Then, if I need to, I go vent to my therapist about it.

I'm hoping that being open with them about it will not only increase their understanding but help guard them against similar troubles in their lives. I also hope I'm paving the way for them to ask for help if/when they need it.

I don't talk about what my depression does to my spouse because, well, he's a private person and might not appreciate it. And because I'm not really sure. I know the ups and downs scare him. I know they frustrate him. But, over time and through a great deal of trial and error, we are teaching each other what is and isn't helpful. There's never a clear path . . .

Depression is hard on the depressed person and on the people who surround them. But (and this a point I really had to work hard to understand) just because it's hard doesn't mean it's wrong. It just means that it's hard. And sometimes that's okay.

All right, y'all, you know this is a huge issue and you have thoughts so spill! I'm not always good at responding to comments, but I do read them and so do others. It feels good to share!

Going Quiet

Adenoid update: gone. J's adenoid's were successfully removed and the whole process took less than 40 minutes. Seriously, we were at the surgery center for a mere two and a half hours. I asked if we could stay longer since it was so nice and quiet, but the nurses politely (and forcefully) kicked us out. J is doing very well. Too well. They told me it would take at least twenty-four hours for the anesthesia to wear off and he would be pretty groggy. What they should have said was that he would basically be a drunk toddler: as much energy as usual but none of the coordination and prone to lots of mood swings. He is blissfully asleep right now and my husband even witnessed some nose breathing. There might be hope. (In answer to the question of the day, "What the heck do adenoids do, anyway?", here's a link.)

I wasn't so sure of that a few hours ago. Like I do in most stressful situations, I had a break down just after the crisis was done. I threw a toy, cussed a little, cried a lot, argued with my husband, and vowed to make an appointment with my therapist.

However, like scripture tells us revelation is not in the earthquake or the wind or the fire but, rather, in the stillness that we feel after those things. Once my fire burned itself out I heard at least one of the things God has probably been trying to teach me all my twenty-seven years: be quiet.

For my birthday my parents gave me Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water and, while the book was not everything I wanted it to be (which of course it couldn't be because L'Engle is like a surrogate mother for me and, at some point, all mothers must fail their children so they can grow), I got something very important out of the book: a new prayer, "Lord, slow me down."

I think part of my reaction to my depression is to push myself. I'm so afraid of falling apart I overcompensate by trying to do everything at once. It's a good distraction to the gnawing emptiness. I also think it's just part of who I am. For as long as I can remember I've always wanted to feel everything and know everything and be everything--I'm always seeking the next step or sensation--preferably all at once. Knowledge and experience are heady drugs and fill up all the places inside me that are empty. I think that's one reason why I like to be pregnant; somebody else's being fills up my emptiness and I can slow down for a little bit.

Of course, part of managing my mood disorder is learning to appreciate the present and experience it fully instead of shunting things away to be dealt with later. It's about not distracting myself. It's about listening to what message the chaos is hiding. It's about slowing down. So, like Madeleine L'Engle, I've been praying that the Lord would slow me down. That He would make me quiet.

Be careful what you wish for.

Apparently, the only way the Lord could slow me down was by giving me enough rope to hang myself. Or, more aptly, by giving me enough projects to exhaust myself. Tonight I finally quit trying to fight the exhaustion and I'm slowing down; I'm going quiet.

For the first time in my life I'm cutting back and saying no. I've already backed out of a couple obligations and my blog is the next step. I'm a little bummed--I'm always sad when a friend gives up blogging because I love hearing their stories (even though I'm terrible at commenting!)--but it feels right. I need to quit focusing on my noise and busy-ness and start finding the slow and quiet things and listening to them. In my haste to become some sort of awesome writer I forgot the number one rule of good writing: listening. Good writers listen to everything around them, whether spoken or unspoken. And to listen like that you have to slow down and you have to be quiet. I've scratched the surface of that idea in relation to my kids and it's been amazing. It's time to open up the rest of my life to the quiet.

I'm not going to quit blogging entirely. This thing is an important brain dump! I am, however, going to be sporadic. In my mind once or twice a month should do. The cutbacks include Mirthful Mondays. Sorry. Maybe one of you should take that over that segment on your blog! Let me know if you do and I'll link to you. Anyway, if you haven't before, now is the time to sign up for my feed.

So, with all the extra time you will have because I'm not blogging as much, you should read this memoir: The Year My Son and I Were Born by Kathryn Lynard Soper. Amazing. Amazing. Amazing. If I had the money I would buy every single one of you a copy. This is a must-own for every mother. In the story of her baby with Down Syndrome and her struggle to love him and herself, Soper has embedded the story of every mother and the divinity that motherhood can cultivate within us. Soper is writing from a beautifully transcendent (and perhaps fleeting) place. And because of that the book is never preachy but still guides and uplifts. It is honest and gritty but never depressing.

Seriously--tell your husband or father or whoever to buy you this book for Mother's Day. You'll want to read it again the minute you finish it.

And as a final touch, here's some quiet for you to meditate upon. These are the mountains I live by. I think that they embody some of the quiet I need to find. I need to go lay on one and fell the earth supporting me and radiating God's power and beauty.



photo credit

By Way of Update (Lessons Learned from Sleepless Nights)

So, if you are readers who also happen to know me in my real life (or you happen to also be a friend on Facebook or you are a family member) then you know that my toddler is going in for surgery on Thursday. J has obstructive sleep apnea caused by enlarged tonsils and adenoids. Since he is too young to have his tonsils removed the surgeon is only pulling out his adenoids but she is hopeful that this will do the trick. J has had sleep problems since he was born and all 21 months of his life have been a test of my endurance. I feel like I have a lot riding on this surgery--you know, like my sanity--and if this doesn't get us all some sleep I'm not sure what we'll do.

Anyway, I bring this up for a couple reasons:

1) to apologize for low quality blogging of late. All the sleepless nights have caught up with me and I feel like I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth (forgive the use of a cliche. I'm tired.). The other day I told my father I was overcome by a tremendous sense of ennui but since reading this post by Patricia Karamesines I have come to realize that what I am feeling is torpor. My blog posts have really been reflecting my torpidity lately, sorry. Several readers have emailed me topics to muse on and I'm excited to get to those soon!

2) to explain the soapbox I'm about to get up on :)

*Warning* Soapbox!! *Warning*

Being awake a lot at night with a cranky baby (who is now a cranky toddler) has given me a lot of time to reflect. I've learned a lot about my patience threshold, the importance of napping (aka cognitive consolidation time), and--this is the most important one--the necessity of listening to your children.

Thanks to my PPD and my young age, I was completely lost with my first baby. Naturally I did what any good college graduate would do and scoured the library for parenting books and read them over and over and over. When I came across confident so-called parenting experts I believed them, regardless of their credentials. This was especially true when it came to sleep.

My oldest, N, was also a terrible sleeper. She would wake up every forty-five minutes at night and cry and cry. I would have to rock her endlessly while singing every Primary song I knew. A lot of the time I cried with her. I was exhausted and miserable and she was moody and anxious. I knew that sleep was part of the issue and, at the recommendation of lots of friends, I tried to "Ferber" her when she was six months old. It was a complete disaster. I remember putting earplugs in and sitting outside the house just to drown out her screams for a few minutes. She would cry for hours and hours. The book, and my friends, were confident that the method would work and that I just needed to give it time and no matter what I shouldn't give up and hold her. After three or four days I did give up and snuggled her to sleep and we resumed our truce of rocking and singing. Now, I don't think that N had acid reflux disease (like J) or sleep apnea (like J--he's a complicated kid!) but I do think that this reaction fits her personality. Because she is naturally anxious and distrustful she needs/needed a lot of reassurance that she would be okay. When she was ten months old she started having nightmares and night terrors. She could talk a bit by then and would tell me about them. When she woke up screaming at night I just went in and snuggled her because I knew that's what she needed. Around the same time she learned to fall asleep on her own. I don't think that's a coincidence.

My second, E, was a relatively good sleeper from the start--she would only wake up two or three times a night. More of an observer than an emoter, it took a lot to get her really wailing but once she started there was no turning back (that's still the truth to this day). I started working on my book about the Holocaust shortly after she was born and I found that it made me grateful for her. Reading and studying about all the women who lost children and who were forcibly sterilized made me cherish her and when she would wake at night I would hold her and love her and she usually settled back to sleep easily. And, on the occasions where I did let her cry, she would fall asleep.

J, is a special case because of all of his conditions (have I mentioned the eczema? Oi! The eczema!), but I had learned a lot from my first two and I was grateful for him. I felt like I could trust my gut a little more. J wouldn't/couldn't lay flat and had a lot of gas. He would startle and wake up screaming. He would flail his arms and scratch his face and rub his feet on any rough surface. He sounded honestly distressed. So he and I co-slept for the first 7 months of his life. I had always said that was something I would NEVER do, but it was the only thing that worked. I would prop myself up on pillows on the couch so I was sitting up and lay him across my chest and he would sleep. We would still pace the floor at night sometimes, but he was calm and I was calm. Once we started treating the acid reflux disease and the eczema he improved a lot and was able to nap. Since the new year we've been figuring out this whole sleep apnea thing and, while I am exhausted, I am so glad that I followed my intuition. And, you know, I'm still willing to hold him and calm him through the bad times because I know that's what he needs.

So here's the gist of my soapbox (in case you couldn't find it in the midst of all my ramblings): Listen to your kids. As children of God they come with an innate wisdom in their spirits. They'll tell you what they need if you stop and try to see things from their point of view and really listen. Throw out all the "experts" or anyone else who touts a one-size-fits-all answer. Each child is unique and will need an individualized approach. Don't be afraid to give them what they need--even if you don't understand why they need it. And never hesitate to be compassionate. Compassion can get you a long way in stressful situations. I think there is a communication between parent and child, something special that comes with that holy bond, your spirit and their spirit can understand each other. As long as you try to listen.

Oh, and if you're still reading, thanks for taking the time! You made my day :)

The Importance of Revisionist History (or, why I scrapbook)

Okay. I'll admit it. I'm what self-help books refer to as a "negative first reactor". (I actually got that term from one of my favorite parenting books, Raising Your Spirited Child, by Mary Kurcinka. I loved it because it talked about how my feelings and attitudes interacted with my kids' feelings and attitudes. Lots of self-insight there!)

"So what is a negative first reactor?" you say. Here's an example: my trip to NYC with my sister Charlotte so we could be on TV. The trip was an absolute surprise and thanks to the way TV works I had no time to think about it or process the whole thing until I was alone in a hotel room staring down at the 1:00 am milieu that is Times Square. I started to shudder and backed away from the window. I frantically phoned Charlotte--our cell phones are more like walky-talkies than anything else--while I lay in the fetal position on the bed. It had all happened so fast and I just kept wondering what I had been thinking.



Charlotte eventually arrived and we spent the night plucking my eyebrows (which always need a good weed whacking) and planning what we were going to say on the show the next day. We woke up early and helped each other get ready. We laughed when we realized we had unintentionally bought matching pants. We giggled when our driver opened our doors for us. We gagged when we realized how much make-up they had put on us. We pulled faces at each other when we thought the cameras weren't on us (they were). After the show, we wandered around Times Square for three hours gawking at all the weirdos (you've heard of the Naked Cowboy, right?) and stopping in all the shops. We ate the famous ice cream and posed with giant toys. The only thing we didn't do was take in a Broadway show (there wasn't time), but I did tap dance on 42nd street :)

When we were saying goodbye at the airport she asked me if I was glad I had come. I couldn't answer her. My first reaction was no. I had hated New York. It was all materialistic and shallow and loud and, well, cement. I swear we didn't see a living plant anywhere. We could barely see the sky above the massive, moving billboards Yuck.




That was in April. Now, fast forward to a few weeks ago. Winkflash was having a deal so I decided to get my pics printed and try to catch up my scrapbook. As I looked through the folder that had our pics from New York I found myself smiling. Then when the pictures arrived in the mail, I found myself laughing. It was such a crazy thing to do! It was great story to tell people! It was fun! I was glad I had gone! As I scrapbooked the pictures, the happy memories grew stronger and the frustrated, scary moments faded.

I've had similar experiences with pictures of my kids. While many of my memories of the months after my first baby was born are frightening, looking at her scrapbook reminds me that not every moment was bad; I wasn't always a screw up. The process of choosing my favorite pictures, handling them, cropping them, gluing them, decorating them has become a celebratory process. It gives me the opportunity to go through my memories and examine them and, well, rewrite them. Leafing through the books with my children reminds me that our family is good family--even if we have problems. My scrapbooks give me back the feelings and experiences that my depression erases.



How do you restore your perspective? What things do you do to help you combat those nagging, ever-present negative impulses?

If your little apple doesn't fall far from the tree

then your family is probably like mine: you are not the only one who struggles with moods and emotions. Odds are that one of your kids does too.

In our family it is our oldest (5 years old) who has struggles. She has a lot of anxiety and spends a fair amount of time trying to manage it. She has a therapist (you all know how much I LOVE therapy) and we have seen some good results there. However, since she is so young we have to spend a lot of time at home going over (and over and over and over!) the concepts she learned in therapy. There is a lot that I have to remember for her and help her do. Some days it's pretty hard.

Thankfully, I recently found some books that have proved helpful: What to do When I Worry Too Much (overcoming anxiety) and What To Do When I Grumble Too Much (overcoming negativity). I came across a these books at Parentbooks and we have started using them as Family Home Evening Lessons. Our whole family benefits from practicing the concepts in them and the books make it easy to explain cognitive behavioral therapy ideas to small kids.

These books are written by a child psychologist and there are a whole bunch of titles in the series--covering things from bad habits to OCD to anger issues--many of which are available used and new at Amazon. So if you have kids whose emotions take a lot of energy to regulate and you'd like them to learn a little self-mastery these could be a great place to start!

Oh, and good luck!
And, you are not alone! (Michael McLean doesn't technically own that phrase, right?)
And, remember: we're aiming for progress not perfection :)