Soon, I will be the mother of a four year old. Unbelievable.
Some days I'm not sure I "fit" in that category, "mothers of four year olds." I have very distinct memories about what mothers or grandmothers do. Moms are awesome. They are there to get you off the bus, when you are little they give you donuts to eat when Mr. Rogers comes on, when you are older they let you buy something in the store next to the parts store where they work and you can eat it while you do your "homework" while sitting on a huge stack of tires. They let you cry about stupid stuff, then they make sure you splash some cold water on your face. They hug you when you need it, and more when you think you don't. They tell you what classes to take. They give you advice whether you want it or not, and when you don't want it, they say it twice to make sure you get it. After a certain amount of time has passed, they'll even laugh with you about the advice you *didn't* take (in my case a certain ex-husband), playfully nudge you on the shoulder, and chide you with a, "What *were* you thinking?"
Moms forgive mistakes. All of them.
If moms are great, grandmothers are even better. My mom is the perfect grandmother. She's a great example to my daughter of a strong, smart, independent woman. The Princess *adores* her grandparents, my parents. I'm so glad that she has a strong bond with them. My own grandmother was... there aren't words good enough to describe her. She knew everything about everything, and there wasn't anything she couldn't do or make or whip up out of thin air, she knew things about you before you knew them about yourself sometimes, and I swear my mom is becoming just like her.
Everyone should be so lucky.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Having Babies vs. Raising Children
I had an epiphany of sorts recently. I'm no longer "having babies" so much as I'm "raising children," if that makes sense to those of you out there on the other side of blog-land.
After putting together a family of four kids (one ready made and three cooked to order) and saying goodbye to one cat, we no longer seem like the "young" family that I still feel like. Although we are over thirty (me just barely, Monk *cough, cough* a bit more), and I find fewer and fewer reasons to be at the baby consignment shop unless I'm dropping off a load of "well-loved-by-the-twins" items, it doesn't set off a rampaging case of hormones like it did after the Princess was born. I guess this is what it feels like to know you're done 'having' kids and ready to move on to the next phase in your life. Rasising them to be happy, healthy, productive members of society.
Eeek.
One problem- although I envisioned that stage happening for my kids while I was pregnant many times, it was always like it was a movie on fast-forward.* The before-you-know-it-they're-one-the-its-kindergarten-then-it's-college-oh-my-they're-grown-and-out-of-the-house kind of movie. In real life there are oh-so-many decisions to make, which really translates to oh-so-many ways to screw up. I think so far we're doing an okay job. I mean, of course, we can look back and see a bunch of things that we coulda shoulda woulda done differently, but we not too anxious to build another human just to try out some new parenting techniques. I figure we'll hone the ones we've got and test 'em out on this crew, see what we get.
Funny to think that 20, 30, 40 years ago- our parents were saying the same things?
*Fast Forward.That was a great movie, wasn't it? At least a great bad movie. Right up there with Who's That Girl with Madonna. :) Okay, NOW I'm showing my age!
After putting together a family of four kids (one ready made and three cooked to order) and saying goodbye to one cat, we no longer seem like the "young" family that I still feel like. Although we are over thirty (me just barely, Monk *cough, cough* a bit more), and I find fewer and fewer reasons to be at the baby consignment shop unless I'm dropping off a load of "well-loved-by-the-twins" items, it doesn't set off a rampaging case of hormones like it did after the Princess was born. I guess this is what it feels like to know you're done 'having' kids and ready to move on to the next phase in your life. Rasising them to be happy, healthy, productive members of society.
Eeek.
One problem- although I envisioned that stage happening for my kids while I was pregnant many times, it was always like it was a movie on fast-forward.* The before-you-know-it-they're-one-the-its-kindergarten-then-it's-college-oh-my-they're-grown-and-out-of-the-house kind of movie. In real life there are oh-so-many decisions to make, which really translates to oh-so-many ways to screw up. I think so far we're doing an okay job. I mean, of course, we can look back and see a bunch of things that we coulda shoulda woulda done differently, but we not too anxious to build another human just to try out some new parenting techniques. I figure we'll hone the ones we've got and test 'em out on this crew, see what we get.
Funny to think that 20, 30, 40 years ago- our parents were saying the same things?
*Fast Forward.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Thanksgiving
I have a lot to be thankful for this year.
My boys are growing like weeds- a little wild and out of control, but strong and resilient in all the right ways. The Princess is, too. She's in preschool now and it's a perfect fit for her. She's made a lot of friends and loves her teachers. The oldest, Mr. Cool, is a senior this year, and I hate that we are so far away from him, but I am grateful that he is growing up to be a wonderful young man. I am so proud of everything my kids are doing- from guitar solos and prom to giggling babies and fingerpaint.
And I have my health. What's left of it, anyway. :) Physically, I could be better. The fibromyalgia is kicking my ass, leaving me with pain and tingling in my legs that waxes and wanes with no rhyme or reason. Plus a few other bonus issues.
Mentally... *sigh* you know what? Not that great. I mean, I guess I could lie to you and tell you things have been all roses and lollipops since my last post when the boys were just six months old, but it would be a big huge lie. Some of you who follow my blog already know that. As condensed as I can make it, here's what's been happening in the last six months or so...
I had some minor surgery. Not too big of a deal, but I wasn't able to care for the kids for a few months afterwards. Day care was set up for the munchkins, and some heroic friends and family stepped in to even do some night care. Despite the fabulous support network we had in place, I think this is where I started to get more depressed. I already had post-partum depression, I already felt like a crappy mom that didn't know what the hell she was doing half the time with two little boys that seemed to zap the life right out of me.
(And let me just insert here- Hopefully it's understood, but just in case- I don't share my experiences looking for pity or sympathy, I share in hopes that it will help someone else that might be going through something similar, and they will feel less alone because of reading about my experiences).
Day care ended and the kids were home for what we hopefully called "summer vacation." On Monk's days off I took the kids to the zoo and playground. We did art projects. We played outside. We had high hopes of getting at least the Princess back to school in the fall for the morning session, but we had no way of getting her there and back. More depression. Hopelessness loomed. Pain worsened.
Then I went ahead with a "solution" that I had been thinking about for awhile.
I tried to kill myself.
Obviously, my plan was thwarted.
Not a bad thing.
What I was really surprised by was Monk. After they shipped me off to the crazy house (exactly what I needed, and very restful, by the way), they told me that he had arrived and wanted to speak to me. I was afraid. This was not my plan. Never when I was thinking it through did I think someone would stop me somehow. Now I was faced with a whole new set of challenges- namely, what do I tell people? Oddly enough, as okay as I had become with the idea of people eventually finding out I had taken my own life, telling them I had just "tried" to- but failed- seemed like... well, I know I should have been grateful, but it just seemed like one more thing I failed at, just like I had been a failure at being a good mom. So when the staff told me my dear husband had trekked "all the way" up to the hospital to see me, I was so scared of what he would say, what he would think of me. I thought it was a good possibility that he was coming to tell me he was taking the kids and I would get the divorce papers in the mail. But when he walked into the room, he hugged me (despite my sweat-stained paper clothes), the tightest hug he's ever given me, and choked back tears as he gently asked me what was going on and what did I need? I was shocked. I know he's my husband and all, but I guess the depression really clouded my judgement- I figured he would be relieved to be rid of me and all my problems. I was totally wrong, luckily I can see that now.
Since then our marriage has really grown stronger in some ways, but that's not to say that everything has been perfect- far from it. We've both had a lot of work to do, and it's been overwhelming sometimes. We've said things we shouldn't have. We've fought in front of the kids- something I especially hate doing. But we've also learned to appreciate each other in different ways, and not to take each other for granted (usually).
Some other things I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend are: my church and my faith in God. Without the people in my church praying specifically for my recovery and a little peace for my mixed up soul, I don't know if I'd still be here. I'm thankful for my family and friends who stood by me while I sorted everything out, and helped out when we needed them to.
So I'm glad my plan didn't work. There's still a lot of stress in my world, but I'm a little better equipped to deal with it now. And I'm much happier, not to mention grateful to be alive and with my family for another holiday.
My boys are growing like weeds- a little wild and out of control, but strong and resilient in all the right ways. The Princess is, too. She's in preschool now and it's a perfect fit for her. She's made a lot of friends and loves her teachers. The oldest, Mr. Cool, is a senior this year, and I hate that we are so far away from him, but I am grateful that he is growing up to be a wonderful young man. I am so proud of everything my kids are doing- from guitar solos and prom to giggling babies and fingerpaint.
And I have my health. What's left of it, anyway. :) Physically, I could be better. The fibromyalgia is kicking my ass, leaving me with pain and tingling in my legs that waxes and wanes with no rhyme or reason. Plus a few other bonus issues.
Mentally... *sigh* you know what? Not that great. I mean, I guess I could lie to you and tell you things have been all roses and lollipops since my last post when the boys were just six months old, but it would be a big huge lie. Some of you who follow my blog already know that. As condensed as I can make it, here's what's been happening in the last six months or so...
I had some minor surgery. Not too big of a deal, but I wasn't able to care for the kids for a few months afterwards. Day care was set up for the munchkins, and some heroic friends and family stepped in to even do some night care. Despite the fabulous support network we had in place, I think this is where I started to get more depressed. I already had post-partum depression, I already felt like a crappy mom that didn't know what the hell she was doing half the time with two little boys that seemed to zap the life right out of me.
(And let me just insert here- Hopefully it's understood, but just in case- I don't share my experiences looking for pity or sympathy, I share in hopes that it will help someone else that might be going through something similar, and they will feel less alone because of reading about my experiences).
Day care ended and the kids were home for what we hopefully called "summer vacation." On Monk's days off I took the kids to the zoo and playground. We did art projects. We played outside. We had high hopes of getting at least the Princess back to school in the fall for the morning session, but we had no way of getting her there and back. More depression. Hopelessness loomed. Pain worsened.
Then I went ahead with a "solution" that I had been thinking about for awhile.
I tried to kill myself.
It made sense at the time.
As simplistic as those words are, they are pretty brutal when just written on the page like that, like they could be any sentence. I will try to explain, to work up to it, but really, nothing helps. You'll either understand and forgive or not. I hope you try to understand. (And if you are reading this and you are in the same place, there is help out there- Suicide Prevention Hotline 1800-365-4044 or 401-272-4044, Butler Hospital Patient Assessment Services 401-455-6214 or 401-455-6215. Or you can always call 911 or go to your nearest emergency room).
Obviously, my plan was thwarted.
Not a bad thing.
What I was really surprised by was Monk. After they shipped me off to the crazy house (exactly what I needed, and very restful, by the way), they told me that he had arrived and wanted to speak to me. I was afraid. This was not my plan. Never when I was thinking it through did I think someone would stop me somehow. Now I was faced with a whole new set of challenges- namely, what do I tell people? Oddly enough, as okay as I had become with the idea of people eventually finding out I had taken my own life, telling them I had just "tried" to- but failed- seemed like... well, I know I should have been grateful, but it just seemed like one more thing I failed at, just like I had been a failure at being a good mom. So when the staff told me my dear husband had trekked "all the way" up to the hospital to see me, I was so scared of what he would say, what he would think of me. I thought it was a good possibility that he was coming to tell me he was taking the kids and I would get the divorce papers in the mail. But when he walked into the room, he hugged me (despite my sweat-stained paper clothes), the tightest hug he's ever given me, and choked back tears as he gently asked me what was going on and what did I need? I was shocked. I know he's my husband and all, but I guess the depression really clouded my judgement- I figured he would be relieved to be rid of me and all my problems. I was totally wrong, luckily I can see that now.
Since then our marriage has really grown stronger in some ways, but that's not to say that everything has been perfect- far from it. We've both had a lot of work to do, and it's been overwhelming sometimes. We've said things we shouldn't have. We've fought in front of the kids- something I especially hate doing. But we've also learned to appreciate each other in different ways, and not to take each other for granted (usually).
Some other things I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend are: my church and my faith in God. Without the people in my church praying specifically for my recovery and a little peace for my mixed up soul, I don't know if I'd still be here. I'm thankful for my family and friends who stood by me while I sorted everything out, and helped out when we needed them to.
So I'm glad my plan didn't work. There's still a lot of stress in my world, but I'm a little better equipped to deal with it now. And I'm much happier, not to mention grateful to be alive and with my family for another holiday.
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