Possible Facebook Statuses...

1. " Oh, New Year's was great, until an overdose happened."

2. " Nothing like an attempted suicide to kill the holiday spirit."

3. " How'd we ring in the New Year? Filling out 302 papers."

4. "Oh, everything was great, except for the accidental ingestion of pills."

5. " Hey, nothing like a good stomach pumping to ring in the New Year."


I have been trying so hard for the last few days to bring levity to a very troubling situation. I have felt fear, worry, concern and outright anger and outrage. You see, the story is a long one. Not one I will tell very well. My emotions are strong, and have surprised even me a bit.

On Monday, January 2, 2012 we decided to enjoy our last day of Christmas Break with the kiddos and go out to breakfast. We rarely go out to eat with the monsters. They are loud and get antsy as little people will do. The very smart host gave us a large corner booth, and the kids were really very good and had a good time. Joe and I talked about driving out to his parents house because we missed the holiday party because Alex had a fever of 103 for 6 straight days. I wasn't going to take my sick little boy to a party when he felt like crud and also could spread whatever germs were cultivating themselves in his snot to all those at the party. He was fever free for 2 days finally so lets go we decided. Thank GOD the phone rang before we were done breakfast.

His father was calling because, he thinks that grandma took his pills, a lot of them. She isn't waking up right. It's been 2 days.

Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME??? Two days? Well, you see, they had an argument early in the morning on new years day. So he didn't realize she was in bed all day because she was wacked out on his pills.

Go, I told my husband. Just go. Call me, let me know.

Fear. Fear. Fear. A little bit of relief when he calls and says an ambulance is on it's way. She's awake but lethargic. Ok. Just get her to the hospital.

He calls again. She is writing him off, she is writing his sister off, she is writing her husband off. WE didn't go to her party. We hate her and her family. His sister won't leave her be, won't let her just go to sleep. Excuse me? You are now casting guilt to your children? ANGER.

She won't see them. She won't talk to them. She doesn't want them near her. More ANGER.

She is going home. She still hasn't spoken to her son. She hasn't apologized, she hasn't given a reason. She needs help. Is anybody listening? She needs help.

When my husband finally got home from the hospital, I came undone. I was scared and angry at the same time. Would this happen again? What will happen next? Where the hell did this come from?

The totality of my anger has surprised me. At first I didn't understand it. But, I have finally figured out the reasons for the intensity of my anger. First and foremost, she is not allowed to put that kind of fear and responsibility on her children. By sake of being " mother " you do not have permission to destroy your children. I will not give you the permission to make my husband, your son, feel like this is his fault. Period. Harsh? A bit. Where is my understanding you ask? You see, my understanding went away when she made it well known that my need for anti-depressant medications to battle severe post-partum depression is unacceptable. She DID NOT EVER FEEL DEPRESSED WHEN SHE HAD CHILDREN. Anger. I have been on that ledge. I have looked over and thought, all I have to do is jump and there will be no more pain. It hit me nearly as hard that if I did it, my children would be torn to pieces and they did not, do not, will not ever deserve that. Period. I got help. She looked down upon me. Anger. Clearly there is something deeper going on inside of her. Get help. Please do not do this to your children. You will not put my children through this. Get help.

A Little Smile Goes A Long Way

Blogging is slipping again, from the list of things to do. My husband doesn't have a job. We don't have health insurance. I am lucky to have my own job, one that can give me extra hours, because there are always people calling for help. But, I am tired. So, so tired. I know his job loss isn't his fault. Really, I do. But I find myself being so angry and resentful. It seems that only my life has changed. I am working 16 and 24 hour shifts. I am finding that my age is creeping up on me. My knees are sore, my back is sore and I am weary. I want to cry. I know that I am not the only person, mother, wife to feel like this. But sometimes it feels like I am so alone. I miss my babies so badly yet I get short tempered and snap at them. I want to halt time so they can stay little for just a moment longer and yet I want them to get older so I can come in from work at 7am and go to sleep. Depression sucks. Even if all were right in my little world it would still be there creeping in like a serpent trying to suck me down into it's deep, dark, vacuum. My babies are happy, they are healthy, we do have a roof over our heads, heat comes from our furnace, water runs cool or warm. We have enough to eat. I know it could be so much worse.

We splurged big time last Friday and took the kids to see Arthur Christmas. They all got a box of candy (from 5 Below) and we shared a large soda and popcorn. They all loved it and wore their 3D glasses and it almost made me feel completely better for having missed Thanksgiving with them because I worked.

Alex is totally our comedian. He has made me want to strangle him and laugh out loud in the exact same moment from his antics. As I scolded my oldest for inappropriate behavior at the dining room table, Alex says " hey Mommy, you be nice to Anthony." So, I sternly tell my Alex, " you are being fresh, you do not talk to Mommy or Daddy like that, do not talk back." To which Alex slaps his forehead while saying " wooont woont woont!" " I am a secret agent." "Yes, Alex you are a secret agent!" And a Mimja Mommy, a mimja fireman.

At least he made me smile again :o)

My secret agent, ninja fireman wearing his 3D glasses at his first movie!

Little Things

So many thoughts and needs and wants have poured through my brain over the past week. The stress and fear have left me ragged, depleted. I feel like I can't process any more. There are many details to try and see to before the insurance coverage runs out. The little man has gone to the dentist. In true Alex form, he was a riot. " Hey dentist lady, you gonna look at me teeth, aaahhh?!" No cavities, hooray. But, his beloved " ni-night" that he stuffs into his mouth and is so comforted by is causing his teeth to disfigure. As soon as the dentist, a nice lady younger than I asked if Alex was still using a pacifier and I answered, "it's not a pacifier" Alex joined in with - " it's my finga's - see" and popped two in his mouth and started sucking. He has never, no once sucked on his fingers, nor a pacifier. Always his blanket. I don't know how he knew that we were headed into that awful territory of you can't have your blankie anymore, but my man lied boldly through hi damn fingers without batting an eye. Sigh, he loves his stinky ass " ni-night."

Pediatrician's appointments for well visits have been made. Cait and Alex went yesterday. Vision, hearing, an vaccination updates were on the menu. They did fabulouslly until they realized that " shotses" were intended. The doctor hadn't even come in for the exam and they were both crying and screaming, " no shots, I don't want shots Mommy." Breaks my heart, but I do believe vaccinations are necessary. Catie bearly cooperated for her wellness exam. Alex performed for his. " I am a turtle, I am a monkey, I can stand on my head with one foot in the air, no shotses ok?" Poor kids. 5 for Catie because the 4 year old well visit is just brutal, she shrieked and cried and good God it was awful. Alex cried for her " why you do that, no hurting Catie." And then it was his turn. For 1 flu shot. He was all revved up by previewing his sister. But it got done. The afternoon at home was nothing short of sweet and pathetic. Caitlin proclaimed, " I feel like I am going to die." Then qualified that statement with " like not die for real, just like I am going to die of shots." She also required pictures of her band aids and boo boo's. She also declared she was unable to clean up her markers and paper because " my arms hurt too much to move" and gave a display of letting them hang limply by her side as she meweled pittifully. The drama. Alex was full of hugs and " I love you Mommy and Daddy." It is these moments that bolster my spirit and give me courage. He was being a nose honker as well, and really thinks that he is hysterical. Anthony get's his turn at the doctor next week, hopefully the little one can keep the secret...

Before bed, I asked Alex for "big hugs". In Alex world big hugs are an entire little body that wraps himself as tightly as he can around the other person. It is a fabulous hug. He solemnly held up his fingers and said " only two big hugs Mommy then I go night-night."

These little moments and these little laughs and smiles are what I am learning to appreciate more and more each day. Every single person has worries. I have huge worries but all of these little things now seem so much more important the big worries. Hopefully as we work our way through this mess of unemployment and insurance loss and money worries the little things will shine through more and more. I love my 3 little things more than I can describe.

Alex is comfortably cocooned in bed with the offending "ni-night" firmly grasped in his teeth

3 of Catie's 5 boo-boo's

" take my pitya Mommy!"

A little critter comfort after a long day

Then What?

The horrible thing about depression is even that I know I have suffered from depression, at times horribly, when it comes crashing back in an unexpected time or moment it blindsides me. I guess my depression is more anxiety. An overpowering, heavy brick that sits on me and won't let me come up for air. I shake and it will not stop. I get really agitated with the kids, and their normal kid stuff. The paperwork I am trying to gather in order to get insurance coverage for the kids when Joe's benefits expire on October 31 is daunting.

Trying to make phone calls to plead with utilities and other bill people is horrifying and embarassing and it doesn't fail that a child comes and starts hollering in my face while I am trying to make progress. And the pressure builds inside and I feel like I will explode. I walk away because there is no other option. I don't feel like I can properly and fairly instruct and discipline them when I am feeling so out of control with myself. How will I get this stuff done and protect my children and provide for them? I feel alone. My husband doesn't seem overly concerned. He thinks he will quickly find another job. I worry about what is going to happen after his last check comes. Then what?

Scrambled Eggs

It is thin, fragile, white, brown, shimmery, dull. Inside is mush, slippery or firm, hard, bending or a fragile form developing, precious and tiny. Outside, a strong barrier, a protective shield until dropped or kicked or banged, or nudged or tapped wrong.

It can bear tremendous weight when distributed correctly but shatter when carelessly moved. You can not tell what it's state is using only sight or a simple touch. Deeper inspection, holding it to the light, cradling it in your hand to feel it's warmth or it's chill. What is inside and how it has been cared for. Is it spoiled, never given a chance? Is is fertile, nurtured, warmed, protected? Will it sustain others? Will it become or is it already gone?

Do not assume to know. Do not assume the outside reveals what is inside. Each is a mystery waiting to be discovered. Aren't we all just as fragile and varied? Inside we are so many things. Soft and hard, fragile, bold. Take time and care to find out what is inside before cracking the shell.

How

There is so much emotion swirling around inside my head. I don't know what to do with it, or where to put it. The scars on my arm are still visible, though barely. The scars on my heart are invisible and so heavy. She did not have kind words. She did not have a soft voice. She did not have patience. She did not show love. She was never proud of me. She did not teach me self respect, generosity, kindness or love. She taught me that I was not acceptable, unworthy, unloved. I did not start trying to hurt myself until I was about 13, maybe 14. I thought if I was bleeding, she would help, fix, care. Instead, she yelled what the hell did you do to yourself? Stop crying like a baby, it can't hurt that bad they are only scratches. I cried from pain inside my heart, not from the blood trickling down my arm. Even blood did not make her care. I slammed my hand in the door as hard as I could trying to break it, mother's are tender and make things feel better when they are broken, she said God damn it, how the hell did you do that. I'm not taking you to the hospital. She didn't offer ice or a hug. The man (yes man who was 8 years older than the teenage girl who only wanted to someone to love her and care) I started dating when I was only a teenager was mean, he pushed me around and put me down and made me think I was wrong when I didn't want to do something he wanted me to do. He said I didn't love him when I said I wasn't ready. I gave him my heart, my innocence and still felt worthless, but I held onto the hope that someone was loving me. She did not ever, not once say you are worth more than this, better than this- never once. There is still a huge hollow void where all of the love, encouragement, pride and acceptance should be. If the one who gave me life could not fill this up, I fear I never will be able to do it myself. I struggle every day to find hope and love within myself. I am so very afraid that I am not doing it right for my own children. I want them to be strong, confident, generous, kind and caring little people. I hug them and kiss them every day. I tell them every day that I love You, you are my favorite Alex, you are my favorite Caitlin, and you are my favorite Anthony. But every once in awhile the things that haunt me come through and I lash out when they are misbehaving. I have cried myself sick for slapping one of my children while holding and trying to tell my child how sorry and how wrong Mommy is. How am I ever going to do this right when NOBODY every taught me how?

They are the only hope I have of ever filling my heart with love and joy and acceptance. Please God don't let me get it wrong.

This little blog

I don't seem to be going anywhere with it. I really wanted, needed a place to put myself. A place where I could look back and see what was really going on here. But it seems that I'm not very good at keeping up with anything anymore. I don't feel like I have much solid ground anywhere. I don't maintain things very well. I manage to get through the day and collapse into bed and say thank God I made it another day.

I got frustrated because I really don't know how to get the pictures into the posts and stuff like that. But really it's just the way I am. I don't maintain well. Friendships, interests, my marriage, myself. I don't know where it all went. My enthusiasm, sense of adventure, sense of fun and belonging. Why don't I maintain friendship? Why can't I leash up the dogs, round up the kids and go for a hike? When did I get so miserable?

Why Blog?

This is the question of the hour. I have told a total of one other person that I was writing a blog. Why? Do you want people watching you, our kids? Well, do you have a group? ( A what?) I have even asked myself, am I grasping at something? Grasping for people, their attention? Grasping at a link to the real world outside of this ark? So, I sat and thought about this for a long time. Wasted time thinking. I do that well. I can worry the handle off of a spigot.

I have struggled over last year with a deep depression. It is a deep,heavy weight in the center of my torso. It sits and feels like a muddy cement, keeping me from really living this life, my life. It kept me from enjoying my kids, my critters, my marriage. Slowly, I have pulled away from the sludge in the middle. Partly through the discovery that, THERE ARE OTHER MOM'S who have the same trials and struggles. It made me feel validated to know that I am not the only mother who really doesn't want to be mommy every single second of every single day.

My hope is that getting some of my thoughts and struggles out of my head and into a more concrete form will help me never get back to the dark, low place that I sat in. I sat in this place and really though I was the worst kind of person, the kind of person who had happy, beautiful children but did not want to do it for another second. It's ok to want, need, desperately crave a break from it all. And is so sweetly satisfying to know that other women, other mothers feel the exact same way.

There is fun to be had during the day, there are crazy things that go on. There is frustration. They are getting older. I prayed for it, desperately pleaded for them to get older, so it would get easier. Well, they did, it is.