Not writing and writing and healing

I haven't written in a while.

This space, while helpful in the beginning of my healing process, turned into another thing that held back my recovery. Not my physical recovery, mind you, but the emotional and psychological one.

Each time I came to this place, I thought I was healing ... until I started writing. I came back here after months of not touching my blog and saw posts that had been started but never finished. Certainly never published.

It's not that I was stuck. Honestly, I had too much going on to be stuck for too long before being pulled out of my thoughts and thrust back into the Mommy Abyss - the tie my shoes, help me wipe, I spilled milk all over the carpet glory that is mothering children.

What was happening was me saying, "This is how I cope." What was really happening was me saying, "This hurts too much. Moving on hurts more than staying here, so I'm just going to stay here counting the days, counting the weeks, waiting for my next round of lab work."

So I stopped.

Car line parents are assholes

I am so bad at this lately.

Like, I must be the shittiest "blogger" out there. But I have an excuse.

Pre-K ate my life. Or at the very least, pre-K is mostly to blame.

For real, this afternoon class thing is not my favorite thing ever and I'm already hoping Charlotte is lucky enough to be in the morning class when she starts next year. I adore that Josie was fortunate enough to get into the UPK program in our district because the cost of private pre-school is kind of ridiculous and, quite frankly, not something we can afford.

It's just the afternoon part I don't care for and really it's for selfish reasons. The girls and I used to go to the gym at least three times a week in the morning, but considering we'd usually get there around 9:30 a.m. and head home by 10:45, it would leave very little time for "down time" before leaving for school at 12:05 p.m. ... so we haven't gone to the gym. Lord help my fluffy ass, we're going to figure this out and hopefully start going after school, but then that cuts into dinner making time and now with the time change it's dark by 5 p.m. and therefore I'm exhausted.

It's a major dilemma in my brain.

But not as big a dilemma as how to reign in my anger with car line.

"Back to School" scavenger hunt

It was never like this when I was growing up.

We'd walk into Ames and get our new backpacks and packs of loose leaf paper and paper folders. Then wander into the clothing department and find some acid wash jeans our mother refused to buy and some Garth Brooks looking shirt circa 1993. You know what I'm talking about:

I totally had four one similar to that. No shame.

The whole experience took maybe 45 minutes, longer if I was feeling extra miserable about the sneakers I wanted, and there were two of us to outfit. Two girls.

Fast forward to 2014 and shopping for my own kids: Want to know how long I spent in Wal-Mart searching for like five items on the Pre-K school supply list? Like two. Two mother effing hours. We didn't even buy new outfits and I couldn't find three of the items I needed. Who specifically requests "9x12 manila drawing paper"?

It prompted impulse purchases including a bottle of Vitamin D, a giant bag of peanut M&Ms (which were gone the next day because stress), two little boxes of Goldfish Crackers and new coloring books.

I'd totally have that guy's love child

Words. So many words.

 To give you an idea:

That's the book I'm working on. Is it amazing? No. What's taken me nearly six months to do other writers who get to do this full-time and have help with the kids or just have older kids who are a little more self sufficient could probably whip out 46,000 words in a month or two. I'm not going to fault myself for not being further into this story because I love it, I love my characters, I love my writing partner's ability to get me back on track and storyboard with me day or night from California.

'Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday'

Marriage is amazing. My husband and I have been together a little more than 11 years, married for six, and there are a lot of days when we do everything together all in fluid motions. It's like a ballet of housework and yard work and parenting. Or we hardly see one another and I'm stuck dancing alone through the daily grind. Or I punk out entirely and don't go do things on my own because I'm a giant chickenshit and want to phone a friend in the game of Life, and he's the one I call. What do you mean I'm an adult? Psh.

June 21, 2008: Oh hey, we got hitched.

Since we are individuals and, despite my sometimes neurotic tendencies, I like being an individual, there are some things I don't share with my husband, at least not always in their entirety. Not Earth shattering "I'm hiding bodies in the woods" kinds of secrets, but little tricks of the momming trade that help me get through the money/emotionally overwhelmed/too much going on struggle that I deal with constantly.

Like the fact I haven't used laundry detergent in any of the wash loads for three days. I wash a lot of laundry. Instead I've been tearing through the box of baking soda that I also use for cookies and on occasion in the kids' bath. Our clothes smell like cotton and the washer doesn't stink. I think that counts as a win. Unless he reads this, he's not going to have a clue!

Growing pains and change

My free moments have been few and far between lately. Interruptions, events, appointments, deliveries, more interruptions.

Father's Day weekend started with a dance recital and birthday celebration. I'm still trying to grasp the concept that Josie is officially a 4-year-old.

We did the Father's Day run around where we didn't actually do anything special, but it was special because we were together.

Baby's First Haircut ... it still counts even if she's 4, right?

Then it was a week of doctor appointments, getting Josie registered for the Universal Pre-Kindergarten program offered by our school district (again, her being old enough to go to school is a concept I'm not fully grasping), actually celebrating Josie's birthday by taking her for her first hair cut, having the giant mattress delivered and our anniversary.

Our anniversary, which we did nothing special to celebrate other than bust ass to continue getting the house we need to sell ready for showings. After months and months and months of talking about how we needed to list it and all the things we need to do to get it ready, it's ready. Almost. As I sit here taking 15 minutes to pour my thoughts out on the interwebs, the Boy has taken a ladder and gone to paint the door frame on the back of the house and the supports on the front, maybe touch up the paint in the bathroom that I didn't get to and put the light cover back in the front light.

It's officially on the market and open for showing as of June 30.

Hand picked perfect fathers

It's nearing midnight and I'm just getting around to this (and posting just after midnight because I suck) - not because I feel like I have to or am obligated to post something on Father's Day, but because I'm surrounded by some pretty amazing dads and I want them to know how loved they are.

Around Mother's Day I was all "oh my fucking Lord I just want a few hours to myself and please oh please can we just have one night where the kids aren't crawling into bed with us? Please?"

And, you know what? I deserve that.

But, so does he.

And neither one of us got it for our Hallmark holidays this year.

We desperately needed ink, really

There are times in Mommyhood that you just have to get away. I wrote all about the struggles of this *raises arms to sides to indicate my whole life* (I know you couldn't see me do that, but I totally did just to prove this point to myself) and how I knew the next time I got overwhelmed I was just going to run away for a while.

And I did. Last night.

It was one of those days where it looked beautiful outside, until I opened the door and it was just a really sunny 20 degree morning. It killed any motivation I had, and that's been the theme of winter since about mid-January. I opted not to go to the gym, and then because of that the TV was on all day, and the kids were obnoxious and whiny because we hadn't left the house. By the time 5 p.m. rolled around I was ready to escape and just needed the Boy to get home.

The "please eat your dinner" fight had happened at that point. The "I need a break" text had been sent. The "I'm just going to fling the fridge open and cry because my toddler life is ruined by your not having anything I want" was in full effect. Here, allow me to show you:

Dear Mom at Aldi ...

Dear Mom at Aldi,

I ran into you this afternoon. Actually, it's more like I purposely was put in your path and you in mine. I watched you with your little boy as he struggled to get out of the cart as you and your husband looked at the prunes and other baking supplies. I didn't pay much attention at the time, but recognized the struggle - a defiant "I want don't want to sit down" toddler-in-training desperately seeking freedom from that shopping cart while you, also desperately, tried to hold a conversation and reign him in.

I didn't pay much attention until I was standing in the same aisle glancing at the spices and saw you and your children, sans husband, at the other end of the row. I didn't pay attention until I saw that defiant little boy with the fearlessness of an independent child topple from the cart. You'll never know the panic that hit my chest or how I had to mentally grab hold of myself so I didn't rush down the aisle to help you. You won't know, because I didn't tell you and you will likely never read this. Instead, I meandered. Instead of rushing to aid another mom, I watched from the corner of my eye as you gathered your son in your arms, pulled your daughter close to you, and you sat on the floor of Aldi beside a stack of sports drinks and other beverages.

I know I didn't shock you when I asked quietly, "Is he OK?" Because that's what at least a small population of people would do when they see a small child crying inconsolably in their mother's arms. A larger population would have given you a sad smile and thought something like, "Oh that poor woman."

And then there's me.

Everyday struggles: Make yourself a priority

I have multiple posts started that remain in draft form. The topics range from society thinking parents should love all sorts of things that I just don't love all the time to how sucky my Friday was to a giant rant about the crap said about the Mets' second baseman Daniel Murphy taking three whole days of paternity leave. O.M.G. Three days!? How dare he!

And that's where those posts are going to die. Right there in the draft folder. Because I was passionate in that moment and now, even though I still care about those topics, I've simply lost steam where they are concerned. I may revisit the love/hate post, but right now it's at a standstill.

Instead, I asked my friend Kristin what she thought about the topics and what one I should go with for the next post, and aside from loving the idea of a post on Murphy's paternity leave she gave me this:

I'd love to see more on the marriage versus mommy perspective, because I feel like that all the time...the mommy versus working girl versus wife struggle is another that sends me over the edge from exhaustion and guilt, too. At the end of the day, I miss being social with friends...we haven't gone out in a long time and I wish I had a hobby I could balance with my life and hang out with people outside of work.

 Sorry to throw our conversation out there for the masses, Love, but sometimes you give me something that is way too good not to share, so I'm going to talk about the struggle.

It's the everyday struggle to not forget yourself - we're mothers/fathers, husbands/wives, coworkers and for a lot of people trying to juggle all of that there's no time to just be. Be yourself, be alone, be content. If there isn't a sport or activity going on, there's laundry and dishes needing your attention, there's another paper to grade or another page to edit or another system study to look over. Me Time is a thing of the past for a lot of us and we've lost ourselves in the hustle and bustle of married life and parenting.

Who were you before all of this?

I was adventurous and independent and fun loving. I would spend way too many hours at the office and then too many beers at the Legion. I was careless and reckless and stubborn. I'm still stubborn. But I'm in need of adventures and so co-dependent it's alarming and I still love to have fun, but instead of drinking my friends under a table, I'm ecstatic to go meet up for a play date at the mall because fun is also watching my kids have fun. I spend too many hours in front of the computer because it seems a majority of my social life lives here and I never have enough beer to dull the ache of missing all those things that have changed. I'm careful to a fault now and reckless is staying up past 10 most nights. I take less risks, unless you count totally blowing this week's grocery budget because I just couldn't leave that top round roast at Wegmans ... it was reduced price for quick sale. Man, I'm a fucking rebel to spend $25 on a cut of meat that will make four or more meals for my family. Just call me James Dean.

 I try really hard not to miss the old me. The me who was skinny and flirty and had no responsibility other than getting a paper out every night. But that's all I did. I worked. My recklessness was writing a story I was scared to death to publish because it would definitely piss someone off. My independence was because I didn't want someone to hold my hand, or hold me back.

I can look back at all of that - the pre-marriage and pre-babies me - and at the very least know I learned something about myself. I'm capable. I can do all that. I can be successful. Success like that now would come at a very steep price. I can't juggle all I used to do with all I do now. I have trouble keeping up with laundry and cleaning and I'm here most days in the thick of the suburban jungle wading through the muck and the mire of parenthood, toddler years, pre-K prep, wifery and ... I lose myself.

Me Time.

How do we find time for us? How, when so many people or things depend on us to do all that stuff too, do we take a few hours to go out to dinner with friends sans children or hit up a movie with our significant other (again, sans kids) or take time to read quietly?

The juggling is the struggling in this life, the life we're living now and when you throw so many balls up in the air at once you're bound to drop a few. Or more than a few. And if you're like me, sometimes you toss them all up in the air at once, step back and let them all fall. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, the pieces can all be glued back together, and you're stronger for it. Anyone who read my depression piece is aware of that. I fall apart and I scream and I cry and I hate and I pick up every last piece and glue me back together ... and remember myself in the process. That's what it is. A process.

Last Friday I needed a break. I needed the Me Time like I needed air and water and wine. I was pissy and moody and just plain tired of how shitty the day had been. I brushed my teeth at 7:30 p.m. along with the kids. I gave them kisses. I walked down the hall to my bedroom, walked in, shut the door and climbed into bed with a book. A real book with pages and the smell of ink and no "low battery" notification popping up in the middle of a chapter. I didn't intentionally make my husband put the kids to bed alone, but that's what happened. I'm a better mom for doing that.

I lost myself between the pages.

I needed to get lost in someone else's story.

This is the struggle in the suburban jungle. The fight to be better than everyone else isn't worth the things we lose in the process because the biggest thing we lose is who we are at the base level. We need others but we need ourselves more because once you lose that, once you forget who you are, there's nothing left to give the ones who want a piece of you and you can't be a social creature if you don't recharge your batteries once in a while.

Is this why so many women are in need of a spa day or anything other than grocery shopping alone? Is this why men want to go watch the game at a bar with their buddies or hit the links and golf a round with a close friend? I'm not even being sarcastic. I've wanted for so long to go do things like get my hair cut all by myself because I remember how I used to feel when I did that before marriage and kids. I haven't gone to get my hair cut professionally since I was pregnant with Josie (or maybe she was an infant? I might have been pregnant with Charlotte. That two years just sort of blended together in my head.). I've pretty much cut my own hair for four years now, and I don't even pamper myself leading up to the hack'n'whack - I take a shower, wash my hair, brush it, flip upside down and cut. I could at least buy myself dinner after a quickie like that, but no, I'm usually running out of the bathroom playing "What was that crashing noise!?" as I go.

My husband is an introvert, big time - in college he usually would go to the dining hall alone to eat; I couldn't leave my room for food unless I had at least one friend with me because eating alone was such a foreign concept to me - so he doesn't see why others have a need for time alone after being home all day doing the housewife/childrearer jobs or why some people want to be with someone but without responsibility (i.e. go out and have fun without worrying, or sit and watch a movie without having to get up to wipe a child's tush). He just doesn't see the problem that we face when we can't separate ourselves from the roles we're stuck in. I'm the mom and the wife, but I can't always just be the wife or just be the mom. I'm the mom and the writer, but while I've sat at the kitchen table writing this I've been interrupted to help someone brush her teeth and get dressed, make multiple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, search for a pacifier and put dinner in the slow cooker. I rarely get the chance to just be a writer. Unless the kids are in a really deep sleep, I'm never just the wife. I don't go out with friends. I'm never just someone's friend because all my other selves are part of that since my friends have kids and it's never just the adults doing something. The kids are always there. ALWAYS.

I adore my children, but there are times I want to remember who I am. That's where the guilt and exhaustion rear their ugly heads the most. When I take time for me, I feel such remorse for not taking that time with my kids because, as everyone likes to remind the parents of young children, they are only little once. Taking time for myself helps to alleviate that exhaustion, but that's the double-edged sword of it all: guilt cuts as deep as the exhaustion. It's the same when we wear our spouse hat. Then put the spouse hat on with the parent hat and the coworker hat and it's a combustible situation because of that guilt/exhaustion/who am I cycle.

Nuclear. Meltdown.

It doesn't matter which self we're trying to be, if we attempt to be one or all of them at once, we feel guilty because we aren't able to juggle it all. And then we're guilty because we've spent so much time being exhausted by trying to be too many people all at once that there is nothing left.

All the same, though, let yourself get exhausted once in a while. Step back and let the balls fall down around you. Pick up your purse, walk out the door and go get your hair done. Make plans with coworkers for a happy hour once a week to blow off steam. Give up bath time and bedtime one night a week to go grab coffee with a friend or sit in a quiet corner of a cafe to work on the novel you've started writing but never have time to work on. Remember who you are, because you're not doing your children, your husband, your wife, your coworkers any good by being too exhausted to give a shit anymore. It only makes you a liability to yourself and those around you.

Make time. Make Me Time. Make yourself a priority once in a while.

The struggle isn't going away, but figuring out how to step back once in a while and worry about yourself is the most important thing some of us can do. Last Friday it was the most important thing for me to do. And in a week I'm going to need a break like that again. It might come before then. It might take longer.

When it comes time, though, I plan to know what to do, even if it is just throwing my running shoes on and leaving the house for an hour (to hide in the car and write part of that novel using my phone as a computer).

How to not give a bath

My thoughts this evening have gone something like, "Jesus wouldn't really care too much if my kids went to church stinky tomorrow, right?" "Honestly, the son of God didn't have running water, so I'm sure he didn't always smell fresh as a daisy." "Clean hair is really overrated." "I could just put perfume on them. They'd feel super special."

Between some late nights I've had, Charlie having a cough and sinus issues, the Boy sneezing and pinching or pulling something in his neck and back this morning and now me with something funky happening with my left eye, I'm just not really in the mood to deal with a bath time fight.

I don't know if I could stand for them to not bathe, though. And a thorough wash up isn't going to cut it because my kids use their hair as napkins - I think there are tomato seeds, ice cream and chocolate milk in Charlotte's hair right now.

Pancakes ... as big as your head

Did You Know: A grouping of maple trees is called a sugarbush?

The only reason I knew that was because I've written a few different news stories about Maple Weekend in the past and have retained that knowledge for the future. It comes in handy every year when March rolls around and Mother Nature allows a little warmth to shine down on the groves. Maple Weekend is a big thing in this region and I'm not just talking about New York, though *pops collar* our state tree is in fact the sugar maple.

I'll give you a second to be impressed.

Netflix, I love you

The decision has been made. Between the cost of "services" going up at Time Warner and the simple fact we watch one channel in this house, cable will be cut from my list of bills.

We have something like 700 channels and we watch channel 58. All.Day.Long. Or we did until I got wise and moved the bigger TV and ROKU upstairs to the living room. Thank you, Netflix, for having things like BabyFirst and Veggie Tales at the ready. They're educational and captivating and when I need a break or don't have the patience to sit down and educate, you've been my rock. Netflix, you're like another member of the family. And since we pay so littler for you each month, I'm keeping you. You're special to me and are one of the bigger factors to the "cancel cable" decision.

But, for now, let's talk about children's television programming instead of how stoked I am to save money.

Unless it's rated TV-Y or on PBS, kid's TV makes me slightly angry.

OK, it doesn't make me angry. It gets me down right pissed off sometimes.

I'm not talking about Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and cute little shows with some educational value like Sofia the First or Little Einsteins or even Phineas and Ferb (I love those guys!). Hell, I can even handle Secret Agent Oso on repeat on Netflix. What I have a problem with are some of the shows played during the day that my kids have come to love but I am beginning to hate with passion.

A.N.T. Farm. Jessie. Dog With a Blog. Those are just a few.

20 minutes in a normal day

Parents everywhere understand that having two youngsters at home and trying to do anything productive really aren't conducive to one another. Either you're paying attention to your kids or you're paying attention to the thing that will make you feel productive. The kids are upstairs doing God knows what right now, so I wanted to share with you a snippet of a day in our house.

Am I really gonna miss this?

There are some pretty ridiculous things that get me riled up. The kids mixing Play-Doh colors, people putting ketchup on good steak ... and then the giant population of parents who forgot just how much it sucks to have at least two headstrong little people under their care. The last one is a doozy and it's been on my mind for a while. This post has been coming for weeks. This has been milling around in my brain since before I wrote this. And this one, too.

I hear way too often how much I'm going to miss it, or some version of that statement ... and honestly? Am I going to miss the screaming and fighting? The screeching for no reason? Scolding them for sitting too close to the TV? Fighting at bedtime because they don't want to sleep?

No.

Not at all.
 
In fact, I want people to stop making parents of young children believe these are things that will be missed by making overarching statements like, "It's hard right now, but one day you'll look back and really miss these moments." I'll miss it like that migraine I had in college that landed me in my bed for 24 hours, dry heaving and unable to peek out from under the covers.

It's so Pintrest (un)worthy

Yesterday was the furthest thing from what our society deems "Pintrest Worthy," despite how awesome my ham broccoli braid looked before and after it was baked.

It's like the moment my feet hit the floor the Goob had it out for me. I went to shower and get ready to go to the gym (yeah, I shower prior to getting sweated up) only to come downstairs and smell ... something. Definitely a smell from my primary school years. So familiar I could almost taste it.

Rubber cement. Only not. Vinyl patch glue. More like it.

All over her hands. On the carpet. On the kitchen floor.

I was more mad than anything because I was afraid, at first glance - she had her hands in a prayer pose - that it was super glue and it flashed through my mind that 1) I have no idea the quickest way to the hospital from here and 2) there's no way I would have gotten her safely in the carseat if her hands were glued together.

You've never seen someone have a full on conniption fit until you've witnessed a raving 31-year-old mother dealing with a glue covered child who thinks she's just "washing" her hands with some stinky soap.

If I stopped for just a moment

If I stopped what I was doing and actually listened to my children as they played

I wouldn't hear a child coloring outside the lines;

I would experience a child creating a masterpiece.

If I stopped moving around so much and actually held my child when she got frustrated

I wouldn't be angry at her lack of understanding;

I would learn that my arms are a comfort to her.

If I stopped criticizing how my children mix the Play-Doh colors

I wouldn't see a giant mess;

I would understand that life isn't black and white ... it's purple mixed with green and rolled in teal.

If I stopped being so unhappy because of my responsibilities

I wouldn't raise my voice as often,

I wouldn't scold so easily,

I wouldn't so readily wish I was one of those supposed SuperMoms

And I wouldn't give a fuck if the toys never got put away;

I would simply enjoy the ease of being a child.

Giving credit to the daddy movement

Dads. At home. Stay-at-home dads.

I'm pretty sure I've seen some of them at the gym. They're like a mythical creature to me - I believe in my heart of hearts they do exist, but I've yet to have the opportunity to walk up and introduce myself to one. No, that's not true. I'm fairly certain I know at least one.

That's one more than I knew last year.

When my friend Matt asked me about my thoughts on this whole gender role shift phenomenon I decided I needed to do a little reading because despite how awesome I think the SAHD deal is, I know little about it. With the exception of a Facebook group I'm in, there are relatively few dads I know of who are home full-time with their children, whether that means they work nights, are laid off, have made the conscious decision not to work because of finances doesn't matter.

What matters? They made a decision that was the best decision for their family. They're taking on an active role with their kids. No, this isn't something new by any means, nor am I attempting to make it sound like it's a virgin concept that fathers spend quality time with their children. Dads the world over have taken notice of their children or opted to spend more time with them for years, decades, maybe even centuries. We really don't know. The idea this is a trending concept is a little misleading ... it's only trending because the media has shone its spotlight on the concept and that is mostly just in the last 12 months, or so I gather from my handy dandy Google search.

Let me get to the heart of this: The Atlantic piece I read about this very topic thorough irritated me and is not worth the Internet it's printed on; all hail Chris Routly & Co. (I don't know and haven't read stuff by all daddy bloggers or met a lot of SAHDs, so I'm lumping you all together just like us SAHMs usually are).

A toast to you ... and me

Welcome, 2014. I guarantee I have some good things in store for you this year.

Less nervous breakdown, more deep breaths.

Less self hatred, more devotion - to myself, my children, my husband.

Less grieving things I cannot change, more grasping what the future holds.

2014, you better man up because I'm about to rock your world.

It's OK to cry in front of them

I had an emotional breakdown today in front of my 3-year-old and it's OK.

Mommy cries sometimes. And the holidays are hard. Being a big kid, an adult, is hard, I told her.

And I wept while hanging onto her youthfulness, shrouded in the shadows of our upstairs hallway.

"It's OK, Mommy."

It is hard, and despite how much I adore the season, every year for the last seven Christmases (this would be the eighth) I've found myself feeling sad. And three years ago that sadness turned to an emptiness.

First, when my grandma, Nana, passed away in 2006 it was difficult to get through the holidays, but making her Rum Cake recipe in her kitchen with my then boyfriend helped me through it. It made it bearable to mix and bake and taste and drink and love because I was doing it in her home. And the years after that just got ... easier.