Work it on out...

I made it to the doc, and we upped the dosage and scheduled a follow-up in another month. It was much less painful than I feared, and the boys were angels. Of course, it didn't hurt that the nurse had the brains to put us in the "Sesame Street" exam room. Big Bird, Elmo, and the rest of the gang gazed down on us from the wall mural. After naming each one of them (which is amazing, considering I don't believe he has ever actually SEEN Sesame Street) Jack settled down with a whole basket of Strange Toys, which everyone knows are better than Your Own Toys.

From the doctor's office, we piled into the Malibu and headed back to town. Somewhere along the road, I made up my mind and made a detour for the local Gym. T and I have been kicking around the idea that I should join a gym, and seeing as how this one also provides childcare while you work out, it was the natural choice. Throw in the "$1 sign up fee" coupon we got in the mail yesterday, and I was hooked.

I have my first of "3 free" sessions with a trainer scheduled, and now that the money is spent I'm locked in. SO, from now on, I will be hitting the gym as though it were a job. I should be dreading it, but for the first time in while.. I actually feel hopeful on many fronts.

Welcome to the Nation of Procrasti

I'm supposed to be leaving in 15 minutes to go for my follow-up with my doctor and talk about how I am doing with the Zoloft. Apparently not as well as I might have hoped, since I'm sitting here in my PJ's debating the relative merits of crawling back under the covers. Or re-dying my hair, which transformed to a blackish shade of brown yesterday. T swears he loves it. I, on the other hand, remain unconvinced. I looked in the mirror this morning and swore I was looking at a zaftig Morticia Addams....

Okay, I'm going. Throw on a t-shirt and some jeans, change a quick diaper, and haul the kids to the car. This should not be so damn difficult.

Bad Day...

In spite of its overwhelming overexposure, I actually really like the song "Bad Day"... something about the words connects in my strung out brain... And yesterday was a bad day.

I love my kids equally because, well, that is what parents do

The joy of being with Toby, of holding him and playing with him, is unbroken. He's almost never fussy, and loves me beyond all reason or sanity.

And then there is Jack. My amazing, funny, intelligent, totally independent and highly opinionated little mini-man. People have always told me three-year-olds are difficult, and it's not that I didn't believe them; it's that believing and truly understanding are two very different things.

Every single conversation with Jack is a learning experience...for me. I try to also make it a teaching experience, but at the age of "nearly three", he already learns more on his own than I could hope to teach him. And he has an opinion on everything. I mean, literally, Every Single Thing.

Let's take yesterday, the Bad Day, for example. Every morning Jack has a Pediasure shake for breakfast. (and just to prove he has relatives in Utah, he says it "Melk Shake".. usually in a scream about thirty or forty times.) Yesterday, he drank it down in about 10 seconds, then opened the fridge (after first opening the "toddler lock" on the door in record time) and removed a piece of string cheese. After carefully re-locking the fridge (yes, he locks it behind him) he handed me the cheese. I opened it, he ate it. Lather, rinse, repeat.

That makes 2 pieces of string cheese (for anyone keeping track.)

On his third trip to the fridge I told him, in no uncertain terms, that two pieces of mozzarella was plenty and he could move on to something else if he was still hungry. I offered crackers, fruit snacks, strawberries... until he threw himself bodily to the floor and did his best impression of a grand mal seizure. So, I did what any good parent would do... I walked away, counted to ten, grabbed the nearest couch cushion, and screamed into it until my lungs deflated.

While I was practicing my deep breathing (and keeping an eye out the window in case a band of gypsies should happen into my neighborhood and have use for one very gently-used small boy) Jack once again unlocked the fridge, opened the door, removed a piece of string cheese and, very calmly and deliberately, figured out how to open the wrapper himself.

He held it up to the sunlight as though he had pulled Excalibur from the stone, flashed me his biggest triumphant grin, and bit into his prize with satisfaction.

Now, on the one hand, I have just been openly defied by a child who barely reaches my kneecaps. On the other hand, my toddler just mastered the manual dexterity open a peel-down wrapper.

The constant state of simultaneous pride, rage, and exasperation is enough to give a person hives. Or at least a fair share of exhausted "bad days".

1981

Orwell had no idea. We had no Soma, but BOY did we have bad hair a'plenty. And I had FOUR big brothers reporting on my every transgression... not to mention four sisters, too...

That's me in the front. Yes, the one who looks like a sun-starved Jack in drag....

Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind...

When I started this narcissistic journey that is "blogging" I really didn't intend to do anything of the sort. I was keeping an open letter, so to speak, for friends and family to read what we were up to without having to repeat myself 237854 times because, Yes, I do have that many relatives. (See: Mormons)

By the way, I love that it says "Mormons depicted in movies and television are often presented as a stereotype: very religious blond-haired Caucasians, having large families and a focus on genealogy and fundamentalism." The best I can say about that is.. well, not everyone in my family is blond.

So here are some confessions. I'll warn you, this may be long as the caffeine appears to be kicking in and I'm sucking down another cup of Chock Full 'O Nuts as I type this.

Of late, this has been an area for venting my spleen on the highs and lows of motherhood and living in the country. Especially the living in the country part - which I can say with authority because it is 2006 and we are getting our very first Starbucks this summer. Remember, we moved here from the DC area, where I had a choice between going to THIS Starbucks because they have those really good sticky buns, or going to the one across the street because it has a drive-thru window and yes I really am that lazy.

So I cast the chaos in my addled brain out into the ether, and occassionally I hear back from the ether. (which was a bit disconcerting at first, until I realized the voices talking back were distinctly different from the regular voices in my head.)

A few weeks ago I started the day with what I can only call an anxiety attack. Followed by a mini nervous breakdown. Then, I took the kids to a farm and let Jack pet baby goats and eat Cheetos. The goats were cute.

As long as I can remember, I have dealt with issues of depression - even the 23 years before I took "Intro to Psychology" and learned the meaning of the word.

Depression, in my life anyway, means that I have periods of "okayness" broken up by periods where the downs are crippling. At BYU it was crippling. Now that I have kids, it is crippling with the caveat that I have never sunk to the point that I have been unable to care for the basic needs of my kids. They are always fed, diapers changed, periodically bathed, and frequently loved on. For a while, I had myself convinced that that was enough.

I managed to rationalize the piles of laundry, the unwashed dishes in the sink, the strange film on the shower doors. I could shrug off the not leaving the house (except to go for my bi-weekly run) for days or weeks at a time, the insane fear of making phone calls to anyone outside the 4 or 5 people I call all the time.

I even managed to rationalize the compulsive eating. After all, doesn't everyone sometimes eat a bag of popcorn and a box of twinkies after lunch? And the bag of jelly beans was really begging to be polished off. Okay, the banana bread might have been pushing it.. but doesn't everyone go overboard like that from time to time? Or not? I suppose not.

So, after years of firmly deciding to get help followed by equal firmness in talking myself out of it, I am finally getting therapy. Once T was on board, there was no turning back... because I can talk myself out of a lot of things, but he's much more stubborn than I.

And so, Therapy. With a very nice woman who put me at ease enough that I didn't apologize for laughing and crying hysterically and at the same time in front of her. And who didn't make me feel bad for being hesitant to try medication, and also didn't make me feel bad for finally opting to give it a shot. Best of all, she didn't judge me when I confessed that there are days when I contemplate the pros and cons of listing Jack on eBay. What more can a person ask of therapy, really?

So there you are. My confession.

I was always taught that a person should not "air their dirty laundry". That is to say, I am supposed to believe that it's not appropriate for me to share that I have struggled, that my depression has been exacerbated by giving birth and the struggles of motherhood, that everything is not wine and roses over in MeL-Land. To which I say.... Bullshit.

Reading Dooce's experiences helped me immensely... so if writing about my struggles helps even one person, it's worth it. Even if I have to expose to a shocked (very small) public that the sky isn't always blue, and I am not always fine.

Addendum

Orgasmic.

Yes, the food was *THAT* good.

I remember now why I married him.

That and the sex.

Okay, so mostly for the food. But the sex is really, really good, too.

Long Strange Trip...

...this week has been.
But at last it comes to an end. S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

In front of me sits a pile of seared tuna in a sesame crust with mango salsa.. followed closely by orange-chipotle scallops.

Thank god one person in this house knows how to occassionally whip out their inner gourmet.

Here's a clue: It ain't me.

On Grey's Anatomy...

Watched the 2 hour season finale last night. Sunday nights this summer just won't feel the same.

Pure, syrupy melodrama. And yet it is sooo sweet. Like too much chocolate cake, I hate myself in the morning - but in the moment it is pure heaven.

Race Riot...

So June 3rd is the National Race for the Cure in Washington, DC. I have wanted to participate for years, in honor of my Grandmother (who is a breast cancer survivor) and my Aunt Jean (who passed away a decade ago after breast cancer finally overtook her body.)

I had been toying with the idea of running it this year, but lost track of it with everything else going on.

So now I have a choice to make... Do I go ahead and participate, when I know I'll probably end up walking most of it and there's only 2 weeks left to raise pledges anyway, or do I wait for next year?

Decisions... too many decisions in a day. It's 9:30 and I don't even have pants on yet.

Was that too much information?

Doing My Part...

... To keep America Beautiful...

Loves Cupcakes...

Just Loves...

Mama And Her Day...

Mother's Day started early around here, as I crept out of the house on Saturday evening for a quick haircut. Just a trim, I'm still deluding myself that I can actually grow it out this time without giving in to the periodic urge to chop it down to scalp level.

While I was out, I also popped into the new Home Depot to scope out lawn mowers, since ours finally gave up the ghost. Found a decently priced one, noted it for T, and headed home. T went back out and purchased said mower (after he verified that it was actually a decent one) and brought us home some Burger King. *belch*

Yesterday was a pretty good day. Toby and I slept in until about 8am, then lounged in my bed for another hour or so until T came up to call me to breakfast. A plate of chipped beef on toast and scrambled eggs with hot coffee... stick to your ribs goodness!

I spent the rest of the day in some form of lounging: playing Crazy Taxi with Jack while T mowed the lawn, watching some really awful Jennifer Lopez movie on HBO, and generally taking advantage of the fact that I could be useless for a whole day without guilt. Well, not entirely useless -- the kids got fed, diapers were changed periodically, etc. But it was nice to give my tired brain a rest.

After Jack went to bed, we watched the obligatory Survivor Finale (Terry so got robbed) followed by part 1 of the Grey's Anatomy season finale. So yeah, you really don't need to ask where I'll be tonight. 2 hour season finale. The phone will be off the hook, and I intend to have cup of chamomile tea in my lap because, you know, nothing goes better with cool melodrama than hot chamomile.

You CAN go home again...

T got in last night well after good little mamas were in bed, snoozing away. He's safe and sound and not much the worse for wear after his week of unbridled geeking in L.A.

I'll share any pertinent E3 post-mortem later, but for now I was reminded why I am his complete and total love slave tonight when he watched hours of the uninterrupted "America's Next Top Model" marathon with me.

Of course.. uh.. I'm sure it was just an excuse to spend time with me. Or because he likes looking at hot chicks. But definitely not because he was actually interested. *cough* (See, Hon? I've totally got your back.)

Points To Ponder...

* My TiVO missed the last 4 minutes of Lost last night.

* I watched 2 of the 3 hours of Live E3 Coverage on G4 last night attempting to catch sight of T, with no success.

* I have not verified yet, but suspect my husband is guilty of leaving the blog comment equivalent of a drunk dial. Which is not as funny as the time he drunk dialed me from a business trip to Elkins, WV after spending the evening in the company of some locals who taught him how to make something called a "flaming Dr. Pepper". Sweet message, Boo. I miss you, too. Hurry home, and bring me Morgan Webb as a souvenir, k?

* Dora the Explorer is very trippy at 7 in the morning. I'm not awake enough yet to learn how to say "where is the ice cream truck?" in spanish.

*

E is for Envy....

T is once again on the Left Coast, and the boys and I are fending for ourselves. You see, he is busy attending the Electronic Entertainment Expo, aka E3. Video game fanatics have been known to trade body parts for tickets to this event -- it's the Super Bowl of gaming, where all the game companies and console makers unveil the latest and greatest for the future of video games.

My husband is in heaven. He called me yesterday from the balcony of his Four Seasons hotel room overlooking Rodeo Drive to let me know that his coworker saw Hugh Jackman in the hotel lobby (apparently he is filming a scene for a movie there.) Then he told me that Venice Beach was pretty nice, and boy howdy wouldn't I love the shopping there. (Okay, so he didn't say boy howdy, that's my expression. I have relatives in Utah, you'll have to make allowances.)

If my skin is looking a little green today, pay no attention. It's just that I am about to SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST in jealousy.

You see, on Saturday the kids got sick. On Sunday night I was at the Emergency Room with Toby until 3am while they gave him anti-nausea meds so that I could get tylenol and motrin into him to control his raging 103 fever without him instantly puking it back up onto my shirt.

On Monday I went to the doctor at 10am, dropped T off at his car, and then went home and parked my butt on the sofa till bedtime. Which came around midnight, when Toby finally settled down enough to go to sleep.

Yesterday I did my level best not to fall asleep into the cheerios Jack and I ate for dinner at around 4:30. By 10pm everyone was asleep and I could at last crawl into bed and get a few hours uninterrupted slumber.

The hilight of my day today was watching Veronica Mars and eating lunch with my sister-in-law. Now normally that would be a really stellar day - one for the Dear Diary.... but once I heard that they saw Elisha Cuthbert while dining at some fancy french restaurant last night, somehow it seemed a little less spectacular...

So "E" is for Envy. And you can figure out for yourself what the "F" is for...

... and Potty Every Day

Last night we were watching our Tivo'd Survivor episode when Jack announced that he had to go potty. He does this periodically, and we're past the point of paying much attention quite yet since usually when we offer to actually put him ON the potty he quickly changes his mind. But, just in case, we've had the little plastic training potty in the kitchen for a few weeks now.

So, T looked over at him and, with a shrug, said "Okay. Go potty."

So, Jack walked upstairs, pulled down his pull-up, and sat on the potty. Then he peed. And some of it even made it into the potty. The rest may have ended up on the floor due to things being pointed in the wrong direction, but we didn't care.

You would have thought the child had just found the equation for the unified field theory and documented it in his alphabet soup - the way we were cheering and dancing, I'm sure the neighbors will be giving us curious looks for a while.

But there you have it, folks. My kid peed. In the potty.

And so, the rest of our lives begin.

Just A Big Goober

Last week was my mom's 64th birthday. Actually, it was last Thursday. I tell you this because I didn't forget her birthday - well not exactly. I remembered it on Wednesday. I decided to wait and call her on the actual day.

The next time I thought about it was around Monday.

So, okay. I feel like a terrible daughter. So I do the only thing left in my power to do in this internet generation - I send a belated E-card. THIS belated e-card to be exact.

Mom graciously brushed off my forgetting with something along the lines of "at this age, I try to forget them, too." I still feel like crap, but one small ray of sunshine has come out of my mishap.

Jack is obsessed with the card. About 20 times a day, plus any time he sees the laptop, he demands "Wanna see Goooooober!"

Every time I play it, he waves "Hello Goober!" and then talks along with the peanut, word for word.

I can't decide if he's a raging genius, or just finally exhibiting the signs of T's OCD.........

Checking In.

Posting to you live from PK's kitchen. What better way to get over hump day than burgers and beers with good friends? The guys played a little poker, the girls watched a little tv, and now the night is winding down as we prepare to head home for a well-deserved sleep.

T lost at Poker. I ate a fudge brownie with vanilla mouse and caramel and chocolate sauce. Jack played with some toys and ate some pistachios. Toby ate and slept and generally hammed it up.

Definitely an evening for the books.

Thoughts for a Tuesday

Losing my mind. Slowly.

It's the slowness of the speed that is the goal for the day. If I can slow my mental decline waaaay down, hopefully I can stave off total insanity until the age where I'd probably be plopped into a nursing home anyway.

That is if I don't get "The Cancer" first.

See? Something to look forward to.

Who says I'm not an optimist?

This is, of course, what happens when I start looking at available college courses at the nearby university. And then start googling the crazy sister, the one who has managed to combine pathalogical lying and enourmous breasts into an insanely successful career that pays for her McMansion (and the mysterious hospital stay that resulted in even MORE enormous breasts.) And then start thinking about the vacuuming still to be done today, and the toys to be picked up.

It's days like this that I can acutely sympathize with the hamster on the wheel, watching the crazy squirrels outside the window who have all the fun.

Let's file this entry under "brain dump".. or "things in my head that might be better left unsaid".