Different Shades of Orange

Dear 2012...

2012-01-15T12:09:00.000-07:00

Dear 2012,

So far, you haven't proven to be much different from 2011, which is most definitely NOT a bad thing. Wonderful things happened to me in 2011, like the attainment of a Masters degree (finally!) and the miracle of my house amid all the heartbreaking foreclosures. (After a year of not making mortgage payments and having resigned ourselves to a lifetime of bad credit and renting, the mortgage company, who must have received a direct order from God, himself, decided to modify our loan and make the payments affordable again.) Last year also presented new discoveries, like Spark energy drink, which makes me considerably more productive than I am without it and doesn't cause me to crash and burn like other energy drinks; and Pinterest, which inspires me to read and learn about more than I ever thought I wanted to read and learn! Given my life's history, I am grateful for what some would say is boring, consistent, predictable stability; thus I am pleased with your choice to mimic 2011 (yes, even the few terrible things that happened, because they were learning moments). I am hoping that you continue to bless me with monotony as you unfold.

There is one way in which you have begun to stand out. I find myself reflecting again, and not in the negative way that my depression normally commands. I'm experiencing an unusual, but amazing, abundance of clarity. Have you ever experienced a moment of clarity so striking that it pierces your thoughts and redirects your life's path? I think we all do, but sometimes they are not as obvious as lightning strikes. I have been lucky to have so many that I recognize, like the instant so long ago when I looked into George's eyes and saw that he would achieve every one of his goals (and I am so proud to report that he has!), so I wasn't afraid to embark on the adventure that is marriage with him. I spent a summer working with rising 5th graders that caused me to change my college major from secondary to elementary education, and the effect was life-altering, leading up to my teaching third grade (something I once passionately argued that I would NEVER do). After spending two years working as a teacher half-time, I realized that my place is as a full-time teacher...and though my initial concern was that it would mean precious time away from my child, I think being a full-time teacher (which really means being a teacher 24/7, whether I want to be or not) actually makes me a better mother, not to mention a person better able to contribute positively to the world.

I hope to continue to think clearly (as opposed to having to deal with the fogginess in my head...another gift of depression), especially because there is so much to consider, and there are so many connections to discover. Already I am seeing that no matter what you have planned for December (part of me, perhaps the Filipino Catholic, doesn't want to discount the mysticism of the Mayan calendar, so I'm inclined to believe that there is a chance the world will end...), you are truly a year for recognizing multiple perspectives. I want to see, hear, and understand as much as possible!

Thanks for reading, and thank you in advance for turning my wishes into my reality.
Warmest regards,
Darna

San Diego County with 2.5 year old guide!

2012-01-15T10:00:00.000-07:00

Found this in my Drafts Folder. Not sure why I never posted...

*******Once upon a time, a lovely little family of three went to San Diego County for a week (because apparently, they learned nothing from the week-long excursion to Orlando over Fall Break). This is the story of that journey, told through the eyes of the 2.5 year old, who happened to decide where, when, and how long we stayed anywhere. So in other words, he was the boss.*********

After an incredibly long time in my car seat, we got to this place called Welk Resort San Diego. I giggled with glee as I ran circles around the front lobby (to exercise my leg muscles, of course). One of the ladies in the lobby told my mama not to worry because all kiddies my age do the exact same thing! We got there on Saturday evening, so Daddy and Mama ordered pizza for dinner and we just hung out. I loved the room because it had lots of hiding places (closets, a bathtub, a separate shower, a balcony, etc.) and room to run around. Mama said it was as big as the apartment she and Daddy lived in before they moved to my house! The next day we went to the grocery store, and then we went to Oceanside Harbor with our friends, the Jarvis family. Right next to the harbor was an awesome playground on the beach!

Here's a picture of me on my Daddy's shoulders (one of my favorite places to be!) and the littlest Jarvis, Alanna, who happens to be a few months younger than me, on her daddy's shoulders (her daddy's name is Dan). I'm usually nervous about little kids (like Tommy), but I liked Alanna because she was spunky and she chased me around a lot. I love to be chased! Daddy and Dan joked about chicken fighting, but that was silly because Alanna and I aren't chickens! We're 2 year olds!!

The next day we went to Legoland. Hooray! I love this place! We came here last year, but I don't remember it being so much fun. Mama says we will try to come back every summer, so next year I bet I'll go on more rides and stuff.

The Art of Complaining

2011-11-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

From 11/5/2011:
If I was to randomly question a group of people, I'm willing to bet that the majority of the group would agree that complaining is bad. However, I think that complaining is necessary to keep balance! I believe this because in the past week I have made a conscious effort to NOT complain and it's resulted in my feeling like I have nothing but complaints in my head. Surely this is not how it's supposed to be, with the scale so obviously over-tipped?? So this morning, I've decided to craft an argument that somehow, complaining has gotten a bum rap. I even Googled the issue of complaining and found someone else's helpful blog entry about it: http://dailyfreedom.com/2009/03/the-art-of-complaining-how-to-complain-effectively/.

Precisely a week ago, I didn't really have much to complain about. I had a fantastic morning, followed by an equally wonderful day full of accomplishment. And then Sunday morning happened, and there have been so many reasons to complain since then! This is how my life works in general...things are good, and then bad things happen and I complain about them, and then things are good again. Except I haven't been complaining, so the bad things and my complaints are still in my head, swirling around....and this is unsuitable given my brain's tendency to cleave to all thoughts unpleasant anyway. When I complain, I allow the negativity to escape my mind and make room for more "appropriate" thoughts of gratitude. I liken it to the delicate relationships between good and bad, light and dark, or joy and despair. Without one, the other is likely less appreciated, not to mention overshadowed. Not complaining has disrupted my life's balance, and I am determined to set things right!!

Amazing Affirmation

2011-08-06T14:09:00.000-07:00

This is a blog entry that I stumbled across by actually reading my e-mail. I'm glad I did, because it reminds me of the value of being patient and kind in the classroom and the reason why I am so much so during the day that I practically explode by the end of it (I am, after all, a human being!)! My actions are what students (and their parents) remember, good or bad, and having had various teachers of my own, I definitely do not want to be remembered with cringing and relief that the year with me is over! It also makes me feel good about speaking up for those programs and practices that are good for students, even if it makes me unpopular with colleagues. Teaching, when done with students in mind, is the ultimate act of community service (especially when one really keeps track of all the unpaid work time). I wholeheartedly agree with this blog's author that it's not about me (though the feel-good moments of triumph and the endless life lessons are a bonus)....it's all about the shaping of people who will hopefully give back to their communities in some meaningful way.

Haunting Words to Inspire Every Teacher

By Marilyn Rhames on August 2, 2011

Back in the days when I had no idea of what was actually required to be a good teacher, back when I was in grad school studying education theory and making foolish assumptions about how to manage students, I walked in on a conversation in a teacher's lounge that would change my life.

I had recently fled—yes I said fled—an elementary school on the West Side of Chicago. My year of student teaching had begun with the principal telling her staff that she hired us because we were physically attractive and that she loved the "green stuff" (gesturing money with her fingertips) and thus would have no problem firing any of us to save her job. She frequently used the P.A. system to spread her tyranny. Once she announced basketball try-outs and bluntly added that students who weren't skilled at the game should not show up. "I like to win," she said.

I shared a class with a mentor teacher who passed out worksheets all day and once responded to an insult from a student by saying, "You're talking about yo' mama." Some days I felt more like a bouncer than a resident teacher because I had to break up fights in the hallways and shout at the top of my lungs to get students' attention in class. I knew that if I were to gain any positive teaching tools, I'd have to go to another school. So after six months, I fled. The split was so messy that I didn't get a chance to say good-bye to my students. I ended up finishing my training at a progressive public school on a different side of the city.

That's when I stumbled in on that life-changing conversation in the teacher's lounge. The chatter was animated. A few teachers were reminiscing about their classroom horror stories at other schools: John dashed out of the classroom ... Sarah threatened to jump out the window, again ... Angel knocked over bookshelves in a fit of rage .... And in my desire to fit in and one-up the last tale, I began to share about the unbelievable dysfunction at my old school. Even though I hadn't yet earned my teaching certificate, I felt like I had earned some stripes. I was persevering to educate the youth despite the insanity within the urban public school system. I was the heroine of the story, fearless and unafraid.

"It happened to them," were the four words that shut me and the other teachers up. "It happened to them, not to you. You tell the stories like it's some kind of entertainment, but it happened to them—the kids. They are the ones who 30 years from now will remember these stories with tears in their eyes."

It was the middle school social studies teacher. He was a demur white man in his late 30s who often wore cardigans like Mr. Rogers. Until then he had kept silent, even as each story gave rise to a higher level of ridiculousness. He went on to explain that he, too, used to complain and feel like the victim until another teacher rebuked him with those words. He felt compelled to pass that wisdom on.

It happened to them: This truth has haunted me for the past eight years I've been teaching. I am only glad that I got set straight early in my teaching career. Some teachers never seem to get it. You know this when their debates about education reform are centered around teacher rights, and not student rights. Teachers' needs are important—I have a mortgage; I have a family; I would like to retire one day—but they are not the core issue. The mission is bigger than us. Educators and policymakers must boil the chatter down to two essential questions: To what degree will this policy enhance student learning and how will we know?

My children attend the school where I teach so I am all the more aware that "it"—whatever "it" is in a school, good or bad—is happening to them. I have to continually raise my expectations for myself, as a practitioner and as a parent. I must think deeply about what I believe, and then advocate for it. I can no longer rely on the teachers' union (if I were still in one) to represent my views and values about education. I must be like that social studies teacher who took a risk and spoke up for what was right. That is the only way anyone has ever changed the world. And that's why I am "Charting My Own Course."

The Call

2011-07-21T12:09:00.001-07:00

This song speaks to me (uploaded by a 7th grader on 5/26/2008):
REGINA SPEKTOR- THE CALL
It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word

And then that word grew louder and louder
Till it was a battle cry
I'll come back
When you call me
No need to say goodbye

Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never been this way before
All you can do is try to know who your friends are
As you head off to the war

Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye

You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye

Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean that you have to forget

Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Till they're before your eyes
You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye

You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye...

I am an American....

2011-05-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

My husband has accused me of being unpatriotic, and I feel alone in my non-celebration of Osama bin Laden's death. While I recognize that this was an affirming event for our country, I just can't get excited over someone being killed. True, the world is now minus one more horrible person...maybe that is something for which to be thankful. But as evil and unfeeling as he was, he was a human being (had any of us the misfortune of being born in his position, we might have turned out as he did...), and how are we any different from the terrible people who rejoiced over the deaths we suffered on 9/11 if we are celebrating someone's death at our hands?

I found this quote that someone had posted on a blog that was discussing how to broach this subject with children:

”I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Thanks, MLK, for reminding me that I'm not the only one who feels this way. And thank you for inspiring me to keep sharing light and love with all those whose lives I touch.

Aren't teachers human beings too??

2011-02-19T20:08:00.000-07:00

I just discovered that if I have a bad day and make sarcastic (but nonspecific) comments related to my job on my personal blog that don't encourage violence or endanger national security, I just might 1) attract national attention, 2) be the subject of several discussion forums on which people who have never done my job will judge and make sarcastic comments about me, 3) get suspended from my job, but with pay, and 4) cause everyone to lament the state of public education and blame a wide range of people, including me.

Guess I won't be doing that. But Natalie Munroe, a teacher in PA, did, and I bet she wishes now that she'd kept her human feelings and thoughts to herself. Still, I can't help but be a little upset on her behalf. Seeing as how I know my blog gets posted on the Internet and on Facebook and I happen to be friends with students, parents, and colleagues on Facebook who could easily see whatever I write, I am definitely thoughtful about what I publish. HOWEVER, despite how "careful" I am, I know that not everything I say will be considered wonderful and there is always the possibility that someone will be offended/upset by my words. How do I know this? Because I'm a human being who recognizes that people think differently from me. I know that I don't like everything I see and hear. What I hope is that those who disagree with me respect my right to express myself, as I respect their right to disagree with me. I would hope that they wouldn't bring a lynch mob to my door insisting on my punishment, silence, or even worse, demanding that I change my mind because what I think is wrong. This is America. We don't really do that.......anymore........right?

Unfortunately for Ms. Munroe, someone who was reading her blog was offended by her comments. Instead of recognizing that as a human being, Ms. Munroe is more than entitled to her feelings and thoughts, the offended person(s) decided to go the lynch mob route rather than to do what we all have the power to do: stop reading, make a mental note that it was offensive, and move on. People who are so inclined even have the power to offer comments on things they read or send messages to others sharing their opinions. I cannot speak to whether I would've agreed with Ms. Munroe's comments (the "offensive" entries aren't available for me to read), but it doesn't even really matter. Denying her humanity would be denying my own.

Why Everyone Should Want a Cure for Depression

2011-01-01T16:23:00.000-07:00

I just read an article that mentioned that there is still a stigma attached to being depressed. It makes me feel brave because I have chosen to be so vocal (to the point that even I sometimes think, "Enough already about how depressed you are! Can we talk/think about something else now??") about my experience with depression- and to share, as openly as appropriate, how difficult this illness can be. Even if it means that people think I'm crazy, or unstable, or whatever it is people think that causes there to be a stigma...I have gained so much from reading about others' ways of coping that I don't dare withhold what I have discovered! (Besides, I am a touch crazy. It's part of my charm!)

I've referred to depression as cancer with no remission- but it's probably more aptly described as being like ADHD. Everybody probably has a touch of it every now and then, whether they realize it or not; everyone knows someone who has it; and even those who have been "officially" diagnosed and who are "properly" medicated still demonstrate symptoms. For these reasons, and many more, what I want for my birthday is a cure for depression.

Imagine it! Though the elimination of depression would end up in people losing their jobs (drug manufacturers, therapists, etc.), it could mean thousands of dollars and hours of energy and effort saved- money, energy, and effort that could go toward other things, like education! No more depression would mean many more people are able to have productive days more often. It would likely result in fewer divorces and bad decisions as well. The simple fact that it would be the end of the bulk of all suicides is reason enough to find a cure!

Everyone will benefit from no more depression When I blow out my 32 candles this year, its total disappearance will be my wish.

Tomika and her Five F's

2010-12-31T16:44:00.000-07:00

Since she admitted that she did not trademark her Five F's, I hope she doesn't mind that I'm sharing them in my public blog...

I had lunch with a good friend today. I've known Tomika since the summer of '97 when I prayed (silently, of course) that the "loud Black girl" (lmao- especially because I am sometimes that girl) would NOT come sit next to me during our ASU LSP orientation. Of course, she sat next to me, and my life has been SO much the better for it. I have many memories that include Tomika...from the crazy outfit shopping at Savers for our Freshman skit (I wonder if Rob-Bob still has those pants with the upside-down ducks on them?) to the night she met George and declared him "good people," to the night I called her, sobbing hysterically, when the two people who mattered most in the world to me were in separate emergency rooms and I was frantically driving back and forth between them (which, in hindsight, I had no business doing)...and she helped me pull it together. There are others, of course, but those are the ones that just now popped into my head.

As I've mentioned in a previous blog, Tomika is the strong voice in my head that keeps me going whenever I feel like spontaneously combusting. And today, she shared with me her plan for 2011: The Five F's. They are, in no particular order, Family, Fitness, Fun, Finances, and Faith. (She says that Food isn't one of them, but I think Food and Fitness could go together, as part of fitness is making good choices about food, which is the fuel that makes all the other F's possible...besides, I like food!)

Anyway, Tomika impressed the heck out of me, which isn't unusual...most of the people I know impress the heck out of me and either a) inspire me to emlulate their greatness, or b) make me acutely aware of my non-greatness, or c) both a & b. So I may have to adopt her plan or modify it a bit in development of my own. Her strong voice in my head is saying that it's a good idea.

Smarty Pants

2010-12-29T22:55:00.000-07:00

Alex is convinced that he knows everything, a sentiment he shared with me this afternoon in the car. We were discussing the rest of our day's agenda (including completing some of his homework that should've been done a week ago!) after a fruitful excursion to Fry's Marketplace (we scored two awesome lighted Christmas decorations for $6.25 each due to their 75% off everything Christmas sale!). When I suggested that he might want to keep studying to become smarter, he replied, "I'm already smart, and I already know everything." Oh boy.

Sadly, Alex probably does know "everything" when it comes to me. He knows that he came from my tummy, that I'm married to his father, etc. What is sad is that he also knows that Mommy has some days when she's very sad, cries a lot, or is in a generally bad mood. I have explicitly told him that my bad days are NEVER because of him. He has already proven himself to be a sensitive child, but what strikes me most significantly are his quiet ways of dealing with my depression. For instance, he has instituted "Hug Time," which is when we drop everything to give each other big, bear hugs. Alex is also incredibly good about making sure that no one feels left out during our family moments. He gives "equal time" to both myself and George by insisting that we take turns when playing games, riding rides, choosing movies, or merely sitting next to him on the couch. I am never "permitted" to stay home when he and George make impromptu trips, and though I often feel like I am being dragged along, I appreciate my wise son's insistence that I engage in his activities, and as a result, in life.

How did he become so emotionally, interpersonally savvy? Perhaps his inability to remember to flush the toilet every time (or his selective hearing) is explained by all the energy he's putting into loving his family- and me. Somehow, he has already figured out how to prioritize! Maybe, in his own little 6 year-old way, he really does know everything. I'm so proud...and eternally grateful.

The Circle of [my] Life

2010-12-28T11:14:00.000-07:00

This time of year always causes me to be reflective. Perhaps it's the 200% more sleep I get as soon as Winter Break starts. Maybe it's the lack of children following me around, poking me, and saying, "Mrs. Davis," in varying tones of urgency and at different noise levels (very distracting). Whatever the reason, I have time to think, and if I've learned anything in the last decade, it's that thinking time can be as bad as it is good.

For me, time to think means looking back on everything I've accomplished, relishing the amazing moments and wondering where my brilliance, strength, and/or charm came from. Honestly, I'm still not sure how Alex has turned into such a lively, positive, considerate child; nor do I remember how I survived my consistent fog of exhaustion that was his first year of life.

Unfortunately, I end up spending the bulk of my free time focusing on my mistakes, failures, inability to accomplish all the fantastic things I thought about doing, and how much disappointment I have caused. I try to be constructive, reminding myself that true power and success have nothing to do with quantity and everything to do with quality and prioritization. And then I end up spending at least one entire day in bed lamenting my inaction and putting my negative soundtrack on a loop so I can listen to it over and over again. Luckily, this year I was able to pull myself out of the dark abyss, though in previous years, that has not been the case more often than not. I see this as progress, even if I am mostly horrified that it happens at all.

I will be completely fine again once the second semester of school starts and I become immersed in work and in the day-to-day routines that I've established for Alex. Truly, doing for others takes away depressed thoughts like nothing else! I'll long for days of having nothing pressing on my agenda during which I spend a very large amount of time doing nothing of note. And I will forget how dangerous time to think can be for me, at least until the Christmas season rolls around again. Maybe when it does, I'll be ready.

Here's a thought...

2010-08-21T11:39:00.000-07:00

This is advice, not just for dealing with people with depression, but for interacting with everyone (from Beyond Blue Blog):

Listen.
"When people are talking," writes Rachel Naomi Remen, "there's no need to do anything but receive them. Just take them in. Listen to what they're saying. Care about it. Most times caring about it is even more important than understanding it." Suggestions [come] off as condescending, even though...they were meant to be helpful. Advice [can be] annoying. Many times [they] just [need] to be heard, to be validated. Don't hesitate to say nothing. Because silence often speaks the most loving message.

From 'Beyond Blue' Blog....What to say to a depressed person

2010-08-21T11:34:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking that a lot of my recovery was hindered by these very comments. After years of individual therapy, a stint in group therapy, and several combinations and dosages of different anti-depressants, it's amazing to me that I have heard every single one of these comments (sometimes the same message, but paraphrased)...and mostly from the people who love and care about me most.

1. Snap out of it!
Your loved one hasn't left the house in what seems like days. Should you tell him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and just snap out of it?
Don't say it.
You may be tempted to tell someone who's depressed to stop moping around and just shake it off. But depression is not something patients can turn on and off, and they're not able to respond to such pleas. Instead, tell your loved one that you're available to help them in any way you can.
2. What do you have to be depressed about?
In a world full of wars, hunger, poverty, abuse, and other ills, you may feel impatient when someone you love feels depressed. So do you remind him how lucky he is?
Don't say it.
You can't argue someone out of feeling depressed, but you can help by acknowledging that you're aware of his pain. Try saying something like "I'm sorry that you're feeling so bad."

3. Why don't you go for a nice walk?
Exercise is a known way to lift your mood. Is it a good idea to suggest that your loved one with depression go out and enjoy some fresh air and activity?
Say it -- but with a caveat.
By definition, depression keeps you from wanting to engage in everyday activities. But you can show your support by offering to take a walk, go to a movie, or do some other activity with your loved one. How about: "I know you don't feel like going out, but let's go together."

4. It's all in your head.
Some people believe that depression is an imaginary disease and that it's possible to think yourself into feeling depressed and down. Should you tell your loved one that depression is just a state of mind -- and if she really wanted to, she could lift her mood with positive thoughts?
Don't say it.
Suggesting that depression is imagined is neither constructive nor accurate. Although depression can't be "seen" from the outside, it is a real medical condition and can't be thought or wished away. Try saying instead: "I know that you have a real illness that's causing you to feel this way."

5. Seeing a therapist is probably a good idea.
You think your loved one could benefit from talking to a mental health professional. Should you say so?
Say it.
Reinforcing the benefits of treatment is important. Encourage the idea of getting professional help if that step hasn't yet been taken. This is especially important if your loved one has withdrawn so much that she is not saying anything. Try telling her, "You will get better with the right help." Suggest alternatives if you don't see any improvement from the initial treatment in about six to eight weeks.

I'm okay, you're okay...

2010-08-10T20:28:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to think that maybe I'll end up in a very unpleasant nursing home. Alex made the bad decision to sit on the arm of the couch and fell backwards, landing on the handle of his newly-remodeled light saber (ouch). He cried out in pain and I went to investigate, thinking that his injuries always sound worse than they actually are. Turns out I wasn't wrong in this case. I said, "Wow, that was a dumb thing to do," and Alex immediately insisted that it wasn't very nice of me to 1) use the word, "dumb," and 2) use it in relation to him. So I apologized and he gave me his how-dare-you-not-think-everything-I-do-is-wonderful look. This incident, coupled with yesterday's rant about how he doesn't need me anymore because he can do everything himself and how much I bother him by standing nearby to watch him do things (like put on his seat belt properly) AND how I need to be more patient (something I'm constantly telling him)...not to even mention that this morning he told me that he already knows everything, so why do I keep telling him?...gives me the impression that there's a poorly-run old folks' home in my future.

On a different note, I still feel tired and angry/irritated, but I've decided that I'm okay and not sinking into the pits of depression again. Despite the fact that I am the negative self-talk queen, I have managed to think of some concrete examples of how okay I am:
1- I actually said something about not feeling well instead of going into full-fledged denial.
2- I'm still making it to work on time, if not slightly early (a HUGE deal for me!).
3- I know that I won't feel this way forever.
4- I make positive comments to George to note his improvements- so that shows I'm feeling hopeful.

There is hope. I'm okay.

Fighting the Good Fight

2010-08-09T22:09:00.000-07:00

I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Thursday and adrenaline has been flowing through my body to keep me awake, alert, and able to take care of others. Now I'm tired. And worried about how tired I feel because I'm battling my depression....again.

I first noticed something was up when on Friday afternoon I started to cry when I couldn't find my backpack for camping. On the drive up to Williams, all I could think about was how much work I need to do since it's the beginning of the school year and how disappointed people will be because I will inevitably fail to meet deadlines or something like that. Today I went to Target for a heating pad for George and ended up spending too much time and money there (actually, that's fairly normal). The bad thing is that all the shopping made me feel worse because now I have to put everything away.

George's being unable to walk, sit, stand, breathe, blink, etc. without pain is painful for me to watch. My husband is a stoic sort of fellow- the kind who fits stereotypical descriptions of strong, silent men who don't share, much less display, emotions freely. On Saturday night and most of yesterday, George cried everytime he had to move. It was better today, but something has gone wrong in the world if my husband has to depend on me as though he was my child. Not that I begrudge him anything that he needs. He is actually very thoughtful and polite about his requests, and I am happy to be helpful. It's just hard to be unable to do anything to stop his pain. It's heart-wrenching to comfort my son, who is "worried that Daddy will be hurt forever," when I myself am worried and upset.

I try to calm myself down by remembering that it would be upsetting to anyone to see someone with tears streaming down their face because of pain. I try to reason with myself about feeling overwhelmed and I can identify the negative thoughts in my head and know that my exhaustion is part of the reason they're there.

But I'm fighting back anger that despite taking my medicine religiously, and despite all my awareness of signs and triggers (of which George's state is a major one), I still have to feel this way. I'm angry (all over again) that I am susceptible to every sort of stress overload there is and that I can't handle as much as I think I should be able to manage. I'm angry that I feel burning tears waiting to slide down my cheeks at random moments. I'm hoping that my anger will subside soon. I'm fighting it, but I'm also very tired.

Support

2010-07-18T10:34:00.000-07:00

From the blog, Fighting the Darkness: My Secret Battle with Depression (fightingthedarkness.blogspot.com):

Since I’ve started this blog I’ve had several people contact me to let me know that their spouse suffers from depression and that my blog has helped them grow in their understanding and helped them to become more supportive. I am always so happy to hear this!
Today I’d like to share something with you about my relationship with my husband. Its secret I don’t share very often, but I did want to share this truth for those of you in the same boat. The ugly truth is that my husband is not supportive of my depression and it can hurt.
He doesn’t understand it. For example, when I want to warn him that I feel a depressive episode coming on, he asks me what I have to be depressed about. When I tell him that there is nothing for me to be depressed about, it’s an illness that I feel like I have no control over, he tells me to “snap out of it.” I find there is nothing more infuriating than having someone tell me to “snap out of it” – like I wouldn’t snap out of it if I could! I certainly would have snapped out of it 20 years ago when it first appeared.
We’ve been married for 14 years, so he’s heard it all from me. He’s heard all about my serotonin levels and how I can’t control something that is physically wrong in my brain any more than his grandpa can control his diabetes. He’s seen the medication changes, the nausea (from changing medications or changing the dose), the post-partum depression, the inability to function when my depression gets bad (can’t shower, can’t get out of bed, etc.), and the seemingly normal life I can live when everything is under control. And yet he doesn’t really get it.
It’s as though he thinks my depression is something I can control. Sometimes he acts like I “get sick” on purpose for attention. Once again we are back to the “just snap out of it” argument. To be honest, I could find way more creative ways to get attention than being depressed!
I can’t even begin to tell you how frustrating this is. It hurts that my best friend and the love of my life thinks that I have any control over the depression that ravages my life. It’s frustrating when he tells me to snap out of it when I physically cannot. It’s painful that he could believe that I would choose to feel and act this way instead of embracing life with the joy I wish I had inside of me.
Sometimes it makes me wish my depression was something that looked physical instead of a mysterious mental illness. I wish he could feel the pain it causes and understand how difficult it really is.
I also wish my husband had the magical ability to know when I should stay in bed and block out the world for a day, and when to drag me out of bed and plan something fun that might chase away the depression. But he doesn’t understand and somehow I accept that and we accept each other.
Now this isn’t to say that I don’t have support – I find support when I need it. I have a friend who understands depression even though she has never suffered from it. Her sister and her mother have both battled depression so she has seen a lot of it in her life. When I’m going through a depressive episode, I ask her to phone me first thing in the morning so that I get out of bed. Hearing an encouraging voice helps me get going on my day – or hearing that her day is tough too (and that a cup of coffee waiting in the kitchen is the only thing that motivated her to get out of bed) helps me feel less alone.
Planning exercise and sticking with it even when I don’t want to helps. A running group, mountain biking buddies, or a bootcamp (I’m looking into joining one in August for some additional motivation) helps. My friends in these groups don’t know my health issues and don’t have to. That’s enough to motivate me to get out.
Sometimes our spouses can’t be supportive, but that’s okay, it has to be okay. I find support where I need it and somehow everything works out.

I've been subscribed to this blog since 2006- it intrigues me that someone is able to eloquently describe some of what I feel. I always feel inadequate in that ability. I especially appreciate this post (written today) because George seems to feel the same way as Jamie's (the writer's) husband, and I've told him so on several occasions. I think she said it best with this line, "To be honest, I could find way more creative ways to get attention than being depressed!"

If it was a matter of just deciding to not feel depressed, I heartily assure you that no one would feel depressed for very long, and they certainly would not choose to rely on daily doses of medicine that are subject to change but that are never truly guaranteed to work.

If you are depressed, please be kind to yourself. Set one goal every day, even if it is as small as picking up your mail, and do your very best to achieve it no matter how horrible you feel. Then celebrate yourself for being able to accomplish something. If you can't get to your goal, be patient with yourself. Chances are very good that you will find a way to make it happen tomorrow. (And as you feel better, you'll find you can exceed your goals!) We are often our worst enemies when we feel depressed because we can't get away from the berating we give ourselves in our heads! Because of this, we must treat ourselves with the same kindness we would offer to any stranger who is suffering.

If you know someone who is depressed, please be kind. Consider the wisdom of Plato: Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. For those who are depressed, the battle is ever present, even on "good" days, no matter how much we wish it would go away. It's a cancer that never goes into remission.

My Back Hurts

2010-06-30T10:08:00.000-07:00

2/27/2010
Once upon a time I had a chocolate Lab named Ralph (named Ralph because George always wanted a brown, male dog named Ralph like the piano-playing Ralph of The Muppets). Ralph was a sweet dog. He was even more lovable than normal because he was unaware of his massive, 116 pound size, and honestly believed that he could sit on your lap. Ralph was also very curious and had what is probably the dog equivalent of human ADHD. One day I needed to put a harness on Ralph so that I could take him somewhere. It completely escapes me right now why I was in a hurry to accomplish this task. As usual, Ralph was interested in something else, so he wasn't terribly cooperative. I tugged on his collar to get his attention, which eventually progressed to my pulling on him as though he was a tug-of-war rope to get him to move. With as much effort as I was using to pull toward myself, Ralph was pulling in the opposite direction. And then, all of a sudden.....Ralph stopped pulling. I landed on my bottom on the cold, hard, tile floor....and was unable to stand.

That must've happened at least 8 years ago. We've since given Ralph to a wonderful woman who operates a doggy bakery and who has veterinarian parents. We had to, since Ralph was a very, very needy dog and we'd just brought home an attention-hogging baby. Still, every so often, I think of Ralph, and I miss him...until my back starts to hurt. Then I think of that fateful day that I should've decided to change my plans!
Prior to last weekend, I took my back for granted. I forgot how important it is in the process of walking. I bent over frequently without giving it a single thought. I used it often to sit and stand straight. And then all of a sudden, my back got tired of being used with no thanks. It finally got mad and pretty much declared that it would no longer work for me until I showed it some care and appreciation. I have had no choice but to listen and wait.

Alex's Journey Toward God

2010-06-30T10:07:00.000-07:00

4/4/2010
Six years ago, if someone had told me that I'd be baptizing my son Catholic, I definitely would not have believed them. I didn't know I was pregnant yet six years ago today, but I already knew that George was vehemently against infant baptism, since he was raised Mormon and he insisted that baptism was a choice that older children should make.

When I found out I was pregnant, we battled fairly regularly over the fate of my unborn child's soul. I eventually gave up the fight, convinced that God would not only protect my son, but would also show mercy toward his innocence. Still, I prayed regularly for years that somehow, Alex would be blessed with baptism. Over the last six years I have truly battled with my love for the Church and my passionate distaste for all of the pain that has been caused by the Church....and while I am at peace with God and am still a religious person in the sense that I pray and try to live each moment in such a way to serve God, I have become less and less Catholic. Somehow along the way, I

Imagine my surprise when a year or so ago, George began insisting that Alex be baptized....Catholic.

Imagine my utter shock when a few months ago, George started talking to Alex about God and began insisting that Alex learn prayers....Catholic prayers.

June Musings

2010-06-30T09:56:00.000-07:00

May and June were big months for me (and by extension, those involved in my world)! Part of me wishes that I was a better blogger, especially because I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the ideas I want to talk about, but a larger part has decided to stop chastising myself for not doing things like this regularly. It frees up a significant amount of time that I now spend chastising myself for other things, like sleeping too much and not ingesting enough fiber on a daily basis.
At any rate, I'll just list things and add a little commentary. That way it all gets out of my head and onto the screen:

A small fly died in my bosom last Saturday night. (This sounds like the beginning of a bad story.) I was at the wedding of my former student teacher/current friend in Prescott, and the weather was gorgeous, but my dress was entirely outrageous. First of all, it is a coppery color (I love it because it is a derivative of my beloved orange) and it's made of shantung fabric (so it has a bit of a shine to it- this is a dress that pretty much screams, "Look at me!"). Second of all, it reveals entirely too much of my womanly parts up top. I spent the entire evening fretting because I'd forgotten to pack safety pins. Naturally, we were running a bit late to the wedding, so we couldn't stop to get some at one of the many convenience stores in Prescott (sarcasm). George later told me that the gentleman who sat to my right at the reception seemed to be enjoying his view. Some women probably think nothing of displaying their cleavage to the extent that I was...but it turns out that I'm a bit prude-ish when it comes to this sort of thing. So anyway, I was sitting next to George and the ceremony had started. As I admired the bride's dress and choice of bridesmaid dresses, I felt something crawling around. I looked down and saw a small fly on my chest, in my dress. In my attempt to inconspicuously help it out of my dress, I smashed it with one of my two humps. The poor, smashed, disgusting, dead bug stayed on the valley of my chest until after the ceremony, when George (who was amused) walked me over to our truck so I could fish the fly out with a tissue. Needless to say, I scrubbed much of the area with Purell at my first opportunity!
Need to get rid of stuff? Move! I have been soooooooo generous in the past few months and have given away amazing things- decorative items, furniture, window treatments, boxes, food, clothing...and the giving hasn't ended yet. As I unpack, I find myself wondering why I have held on to some of this stuff so long.....and then I throw it in the give-away pile. I suspect that the move, which has been disorienting, has caused me to notice possessions I'd forgotten about over the years. Of course, this doesn't apply at all to items with sentimental value, like my HOBY Orange sign that Tomika told me to throw out last week.
I've lived in this new-to-me house for a month now, and it still kind of feels like I am a guest in someone else's home. This morning I found myself missing the old house as I lugged a laundry basket up the stairs. And then I marveled at how in a short amount of time, I've almost completely cured myself of my fear of falling down stairs. That's when I almost tripped and almost fell down the stairs. Maybe I should limit my thinking when I'm on stairs. I definitely won't be texting or talking on the phone while climbing/descending them!
Last night, as I was playing my 1,752,467th game of Bejeweled (and that was just in one day-lol!) because I couldn't sleep, I started to think about.....work. It's been a month and I have managed to not think so much about work- in fact, I identify more with "housewife" than I do with "teacher" these days. But the thoughts came last night. In a very short amount of time, I will be thrown back into teacher-mode, and the joys and sorrows that come with it. And then my own classes will start and I won't have a life and will probably become an unsightly caffeine addict....it was easy to start predicting at what point of the year I would burn out and get sick. Once I started doing that, I started to think about my behavior patterns over the years. I started out teaching with gusto ten years (ten years!?!?) ago, and I truly loved my job until Alex was born. Looking back now, I had a severe identity crisis after he was born that was exacerbated by leaving Moon Mountain (a decision I still sometimes regret) and working half-time. I'm fairly flexible and able to handle new things, but being a young mother who went from full-time work to half-time work at a new school was too much change for me at once. Then I had hormone issues (that makes EVERYTHING worse!) and had the worst depressive episode of my life- so bad that I had to do a stint in group therapy for a month and take short-term leave from my teaching and miss the last months of school. At that point, I thought that maybe teaching was too stressful for me, so I briefly (for like, two weeks) considered a career change. Then I took a job teaching at Rancho Solano, which renewed my love of teaching because it was all I had to do- I didn't have to worry about all the other roles public school teachers have to assume. Interestingly, that same thing- not worrying about all the other roles- made me want it again...and that's how I ended up at Desert Heights Charter School. I love my job again, which is a huge comfort! Still, I've noticed that my health has deteriorated/absences have increased at the same time for the past two years...so last night when I had an "ah ha!" moment, I took a break from Bejeweled and looked up depression in the workplace. I have (reluctantly) accepted that my depression (a.k.a. clinical depression, major depression, unipolar depression, etc.) limits me in certain ways. I'm "stress intolerant" according to my psychiatrist, and my medication helps me to deal. Still, I don't handle stress as healthily as I could, and once I reach my "limit," I get sick, or my back hurts, or I start to become disorganized and disconnected and it affects my job performance. Even though I have become self aware, I'm not quite sure how to avoid it happening again....still thinking about it. In the past I have considered asking for accomodations (while I was in college), but that isn't such an appealing idea to me because 1) it means admitting that my depression is disabling at times, when I'd rather believe that it isn't and 2) teaching doesn't lend itself naturally to usual accomodations, such as extended deadlines, breaks and working from home. It's funny to me how patient and compassionate I am toward students who struggle and need accomodations when I am not that way with myself...
I'm the person I always wanted to be ten years ago- in my thirties, somewhat settled in my career, married, and a mother. I feel a sense of pride when I think of all I have accomplished in the past decade, but also a sense of horror that so much time has passed and I still have yet to find true inner peace, discover the cure for procrastination, or become a statistic (though it is too late to become a teenage mother...sigh). Guess I'd better get busy!
OMG! My parents' 33rd wedding anniversary was yesterday, I think. We don't celebrate it, mostly because the marriage is a strange testament to why divorce is necessary...but still, 33 years is a long time. I should know, I'm almost that old!

Yes!

2010-02-27T11:12:00.002-07:00

Look back and thank God. Look forward and trust God. Look around and serve God. Look within and find God! God closes doors no man can open and God opens doors no man can close.

Already???

2010-01-29T19:13:00.000-07:00

SETTING: In the car yesterday (Thursday)

Mommy: Alex, what do you want for dinner?
No response. Mommy is driving on Bell Rd. and there is traffic, but she glances in rear-view mirror to make sure Alex is still alive. He usually only remains silent when he's sleeping or angry with Mommy, neither of which applies in this case.
Mommy: Alexander (said exasperatedly), what do you want to eat?

Alex: I'm going to marry Elizabeth (said matter-of-factly).

Mommy isn't quite sure she's heard right.
Mommy: Huh?

Alex: I don't know why, but her says she loves me. I love her. I want her to come to my house.

Mommy is still confused. He's five and he has spoken before of girls wanting to marry him on the playground, but he has never declared love for any of them before.
Mommy: I'll have to talk to Elizabeth's mommy and daddy to see if that can happen.

Alex: Yeah, her said she loves me. I'm going to marry her.

Mommy doesn't say anything more and wonders if maybe Alex was playing pretend (or something) at school today. She feels oddly sad that her baby (who is now definitely NOT a baby) thinks about things like loving girls and getting married, especially because he's only five and she thought she had more time to be his number one gal. She remembers one of her 3rd graders from last year who was infatuated with girls and quite a lover-boy. She worries that Alex will be like that kid. She soothes herself by thinking that Alex is only five, has no idea what he's saying, and will forget about it tomorrow.

Mommy pulls into driveway and takes Alex out of car.

Alex: You and my daddy are married.

Mommy: Yes.

Alex: Elizabeth and me will get married too.

Mommy: Okay.

NEXT DAY, during dinner

Alex: Raise your hand if you have a baby. (Grinning) Not you, Mommy. I'm a kid.

Mommy lowers her hand. Alex asks why she isn't raising her hand.

Mommy: Because I have a big kid named Alex.

Alex: And you need a baby in your tummy, and when it grows big like me it will be my brother. Tell Daddy.

Mommy: Well....

Alex: And Elizabeth will be in this family because her and me is going to get married. And you're in this family too, Mommy!

Mommy goes to tell Daddy about what Alex has said (he has asked for a little brother before) and she and Daddy share a chuckle. Alex decides he wants to watch a Thomas the Tank Engine video. Mommy goes to type this blog entry.

How Lucky Are We Who Know Our Life's Work?

2010-01-23T22:41:00.000-07:00

George and I had dinner with an old friend of mine from highschool and her fairly new husband last weekend. Among the topics of conversation was the typical "catching up" that we always do- who have we talked to? what good things have happened? what struggles are we muddling through? how crazy are our mothers?- stuff that would be gossip if it wasn't about ourselves. Then my dear friend (who has never been much of a technophile and who I was sure had fallen off the face of the Earth because I hadn't heard from her in almost a year) and her husband announced that they didn't see a need to have Facebook accounts because 1) they didn't really want to talk to anyone except for who they already made the effort to keep in touch with and 2) they didn't want their affairs to be public knowledge. I was about to open my mouth in defense of my beloved FB when my husband, who happens to be a very private person who had the misfortune of marrying a heart-on-sleeve-wearing-open-book (me), chimed in on their "side." I had the immediate feeling of shame that I imagine works in gangs, cliques, and other small groups: I believed differently, so something must have been wrong with me (not to mention that it takes a lot of courage to be a lone voice against a majority that is loudly opinionated). I quickly decided that pursuing this topic of discussion would've been fruitless and needlessly uncomfortable, so I let it pass. (This behavior is new...I think it has something to do with being in my 30s. Prior to this, I probably would've opened my mouth before thinking. Amazing!)

Here I am, a week later, still pondering the merit of valuing one's privacy. I certainly appreciate my friend's stance, and I have lived the last 11 years finding a way to live with my husband's insistence that the happenings of our lives should not become news feed for the masses. Despite this, I am often excruciatingly public when it comes to myself and my life. I have a few theories as to why (including that I have parents who have no concept of their daughters' personal boundaries, so it wasn't until I was an adult that I learned it's healthy to have lines that should never be crossed), but the one I think is most true is that I see myself as one who teaches others. Not just during my day job....but always, all the time, and about all sorts of things.

Some people believe their lives have a purpose, and I believe that mine is to teach people. That is why everything about me, from my neverending battle with depression to my trials as mother to a maniacally brilliant boy, is something I might share with others. This is not to say that I share EVERYTHING, because I most certainly do not (to my husband's relief!). It's just that I have observed that I'm willing to share more than others, more of the time. It's not even that I feel that what I have to share is better than what anyone else has....it's that I recognize that I learn the most important life lessons from other people, and I think that it's only fair that I am willing to help others learn. At the very least, I take comfort in knowing that I'm aware of my purpose and embracing it.

Darna Betts Davis and the Endless Quest for Serenity, Volume 30 Chapter 10

2009-12-31T09:02:00.002-07:00

Here’s a post that caught my eye in my most recent Depression and Bipolar Newsletter:

BIPOLAR, PTSD, ADD, RAGE; WE DONT NEED TO 'FIGURE IT OUT' WE NEED TO LOVE OURSELVES

Hello- I am BIPOLAR, have PTSD, am an INCEST survivor, am 46 and single. I also have a CHRONIC BACK INJURY that disallows me from exercising (my first line of defense against depressions- and i have gained 35 lbs)and my passion- dancing Flamenco.
I tried to kill myself 4 months ago-That was the 3rd time in my life. I came very close.
My life is pretty empty. My love of 10 yrs. left me, my friends are tired of seeing me so so sad for so long. My job is exhausting, and I would LOOVE to quit but can't find anything else. Seriously. I used to have a large circle of friends, was very productive, excited, creative (I am an artist)- now i watch tv.

I see a lot of posts about trying to figure out which emotions have to do with which part of our challenges and as I read them I so strongly feel-
it doesn't matter!!! The reason is we all are how we are right now; struggling with meds, personal lives, etc. It's hard- we know that much. We go to our Dr.'s get our meds, go to therapy, if we can afford it...we try to eat right, take vitamins....we try everything!
Although we most often feel BEATEN we are not-
we are SURVIVORS. How many people do you know could live YOUR life? I think instead of focusing on in which ways we are (insert negative comment here),
we could take some of that energy and look at ourselves and see the amazing warriors we are.
None of us asked for depression, or imbalanced brains, or PTSD....but here we are. The most important thing we can do, the most healing thing we can do is LOVE and ACCEPT ourselves just how we are. I started to meditate and it helped. When I am so depressed I feel like I am holding myself back from suicide, I squeeze a pillow to my chest and say over and over and over, " I love you, I love you, I love you."
So this is my message of love to all of you-
I KNOW your pain and suffering. I live it every day with you even though I am over here and you are over there. I Empathize with you, and I know you are doing the BEST YOU CAN RIGHT NOW and that is MORE THAN good enough. May we all find peacefulness, rest and tranquility in our minds

Survived another depressive episode. Of course, I didn’t realize I was suffering one until yesterday, when I fully came out of it. Still, whether I knew it or not, I experienced one. And the most important thing is as I said in my first statement: I survived! I am so proud of myself, especially after being someone to whom the above post really applied.

My intent in starting to blog was to document my feelings and use the posts to help me understand how (and maybe even why) I slip into depressive states, as well as to remind myself that I can…and obviously do… pull myself out of them. The hardest part of feeling depressed is completely forgetting that I am often a happy person. It’s a vast, frightening feeling of being lost. It’s like having amnesia or dementia, all the while without forgetting who I was, but still being unable (and without having a clue what to do) to get back to being that person. Re-reading my last couple of sentences, it doesn’t make much sense, and if I had no idea what I was talking about, I wouldn’t understand. So if you are reading this and are utterly puzzled, please know that I am sorry.

I know what happened this time. I lost sight of my essence. It’s appallingly easy to do, especially because everyone has some “idea” of who you are. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always match who you think you are; this is especially true if you are prone to distortions that cause you to focus only on your negative qualities and prevent you from registering any positive feedback or from providing yourself with positive self-talk. If you don’t hold on to your essence, or your unwavering knowledge of yourself, it can slip away, like a bar of soap in the bath. It leaves you quite vulnerable to being a plane in the air without a pilot, not to mention all the soap that gets wasted.

A while back I read something that caused me to ponder this “gift” that can be the equivalent of an emotional black hole- something to the effect of depression possibly being a way for our minds to organize and focus. Maybe it is more of a gift than it is a curse. Either way, it appears that as I get older and hopefully, wiser, I embrace myself more fully. I’m more tolerant of the limitations my depression gives me, and more than happy to celebrate who I am and what I have accomplished despite this often invisible, undetectable disease. I really am doing the best I can right now. Perhaps the most satisfying thing out of all of this- my piece of serenity, actually- is that in loving and caring for myself I am better able to love and care for others.

What I've Learned since October

2009-12-19T11:32:00.002-07:00

I've learned some important life lessons since October. Following is a list (in no particular order) and some of my commentary:

1. No matter how guilty I feel at times about giving birth to an only child, I cannot have another baby anytime in the near future. It might push me over the edge. And how fair would that be, having another baby and having to explain to him or her that the reason Mommy had to be committed was his or her birth? Not fair, I say. So to those who have been wondering, Alex is an only child until further notice.

2. There's something to putting on blinders and telling yourself that you can make it through "X" and that everything will be better when "X" is over. Unfortunately, it's important to make sure that others are aware that everything that is not "X" will get neglected and or thoroughly forgotten until "X" is over, or else some people (like your husband) will be very upset with you. AND, this way of living doesn't work as well as one would think if there are about 500 "X"s on your agenda, some of which demand the same amount of time at the exact same time.... On the bright side, this mentality is what caused me to get through what I can-not-yet-fondly-recall as "The Horrific Month" without a meltdown (see below for more thoughts on meltdowns). So to summarize, compartmentalizing is a good strategy....assuming you have informed all stakeholders and there aren't too many pressing items on your agenda.

3. Holiday meltdowns are inevitable. For me. Especially when the "season" kicks off before Halloween because of the annual trip to Disneyland and doesn't really let up until after New Year's. So I should just have one sometime before Thanksgiving to get it over with and not wait until the week before Christmas... Or maybe I should just have one when it comes and then realize that it's not the end of the world if I have one...because really, aside from some sobbing and tears and a voice in my head telling me to pull it together (thanks, Tomika), what's the big deal?

4. If, for over a month, you don't really get restful sleep and you're living with a stress level that would cause a heart attack or stroke for most people, you are going to get sick. (Just learned that one this week.) And when you do get sick, you might as well stop to rest and try to get well, because you really have nothing if you don't have your health. And you have to miss all kinds of things you've been looking forward to doing/experiencing/seeing because you don't feel well enough to participate. So maybe restful sleep and meditation shouldn't get thrown out the window at the end of October...

WOW

2009-09-25T20:06:00.001-07:00

http://jonnycardboard.com/sculptures/sculptures.htm

10 Quotes that Induce Mindfulness

2009-09-24T20:38:00.002-07:00

1 “Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.” ~ Dalai Lama

2 “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.” ~ Dalai Lama

3 “There is no way to happiness, happiness is the way.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

4 “If it isn’t good, let it die. If it doesn’t die, make it good.” ~ Ajahn Chah

5 “If we learn to open our hearts, anyone, including the people who drive us crazy, can be our teacher.” - Pema Chodron

6 “As soon as we wish to be happier, we are no longer happy.” ~ Walter Landor

7 “Hatred never ceases by hatred; it only ceases by love.This is a timeless truth” ~ Joseph Goldstein

8 “There is no enlightenment outside of daily life.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

9 “Realize that this very body, with its aches and it pleasures… is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.” ~Pema Chodron

10 “When we scratch the wound and give into our addictions we do not allow the wound to heal.” ~ Pema Chodron

A good description of what it's like...

2009-09-24T17:25:00.001-07:00

When a Depressed Spouse Refuses Help

By Erika Krull, MS, LMHP
June 1, 2009
Having a depressed spouse and parent in the family creates a difficult problem. The parents are supposed to be the leaders, the example setters, the encouragers both to each other and to their children. When one of the adults has big mental health problems, this changes the balance and affects everyone.

Here’s how the dynamic can go:

You spouse has found themselves in a deep hole from circumstances beyond their control. This could be health problems, job issues, financial responsibilities that have gone badly, fallouts with friends of family, etc. These circumstances leave them depressed and not functioning well.

You see they are in the hole and try to help without falling in yourself. Up around the edge of the hole, you find a few things that look useful. There’s a map of how other people have gotten out of similar holes, showing footholds and good ways to make the climb up. You find a long rope with knots, which looks like it could hold your spouse’s weight. You also find a few shovels that they could use to change the shape of the hole and more easily climb out themselves. It seems there are other possibly useful things around the hole as you keep looking, but you are sure one of these will work.

You tell your spouse about all these solutions up here at the top of the hole, hoping to provide some encouragement. It is dark down there and they are feeling lonely.

You throw the rope down and tell them how you think they could use it to climb up. You assure them that you and others will hold it tightly as they climb up the knots.

Your spouse tosses the rope back up. Says there’s no way.

Confused but undetered, you toss down the map of how others have climbed there way out of holes like this. You explain that the directions are thorough and they just need to follow them. You will be up at the top making sure the way stays clear of any falling rocks or dirt, and will be ready to grab their hand when they get to the top.

Your spouse tosses the map back up. Says that won’t work.

You are feeling a little scared now, but also more confused. Even a little angry. How do they expect to get up if they won’t try something? You finally toss down the last thing in your hands - the shovel. You say that the dirt looks pretty soft in some places and they could probably scoop it in such a way that they could climb on top of it and get out.

Your spouse tosses the shovel back. Says they won’t do that.

The only solutions that would have worked were if the hole didn’t exist in the first place, or if the ground shifted and made the hole shallower. They can’t possibly do anything to get out themselves.

Well, now what? If your spouse won’t come out, do you and your family just try to live close to the hole now? Do you keep throwing things down hoping something will work eventually? You don’t want to abandon them down there. But you feel torn. Your and your kids want to do things that require you to move away from the hole, things your spouse would have done, too. Except now they won’t come out unless a very unlikely or impossible solution comes along.

This isn’t pretty, but it is a problem many people with depressed spouses or partners face. Depression and other personality traits can trap a person in their own prison. Outside influence seems to have little effect on them coming out. It’s frustrating and can be even depressing for the healthy spouse. They are losing their life partner right in front of their eyes and can do nothing about it.

What about you? Have you had experiences like this, either as the spouse in the hole or the spouse trying to help? What solutions have made the situation better?

My six year-old To-Do List

2009-09-24T15:21:00.003-07:00

I didn't go to work today. Alex woke up with a very stuffy nose, redness around his eyes, and a fever. We spent the early morning arguing (actually, he argued as I placed a cup of juice on the table and walked away) over whether he should have chocolate milk or apple juice....then I went to school to make sure a sub plan was in place....then I came home and after doses of Claritin and Tylenol, he felt better enough to join me in playing Lego Star Wars II on the Game Cube. We just woke up from a nap, and now he is lethargically sitting on the rocking chair, watching The Fairly Oddparents.

Since I have some time, I decided to go through my e-mail Inbox (now up to an unbelievable 750 new messages, most of which are not urgent...obviously...) and start with the oldest messages first. I came across an e-mail I'd sent myself, back in February, with a few items for my to-do list: e-mail a teacher about some accomodations for a student (check), and blog about an article I read in O Magazine (not check). My actual to-do list exists in physical form and has been transferred to about three different places over the course of six years. Currently, it is a small, black memo book that I carry around in my purse- the book also serves as a place to write down things I don't want to forget (though I suppose I could enter this into my calendar on my phone...there's just something lovely about writing on paper!).

The article, written by O's regular contributing life coach, Martha Beck, was about three different ways to approach even the most unpleasant of situations and/or people: love it, leave it, or lead it (I will say now that I could be interpreting her message incorrectly; after all, it has been about half-a-year since I read it). What made such an impression on me was that there are actually ALWAYS three different ways to respond- and there is no one best way. How we respond very much depends on who we are, what we're encountering, and whatever else is affecting us at any given moment. When we are aware of this, we will always make a good choice because as I said above, none of the three options is best, and none of them is horrible, given we are acting as kindly as possible.

For instance, when someone (let's say George) has a problem and wants to hear the world's smallest violin, instead of half-heartedly listening I could be George's cheerleader and encourage him to look for the silver lining of his issue. I could love it, love George, love everything....love.....love......love. This response would likely cause him to stop talking to me in disgust...and then I wouldn't have to listen to him anymore. Granted, this is not the "nice" thing to do, BUT there are times when listening to someone complain about a problem that they've complained about every day for the last two weeks wears you down. Especially when you started out listening empathically, brainstormed and offered several viable solutions, and then encouraged and supported George's choosing and following through on a solution. Obviously, George doesn't want to do anything about his problem OR he hasn't realized that complaining has become a habit for him. Either way, if I love his complaining to death, he'll stop.

There are times when it is appropriate to "leave it," though. For instance, I get very weighed down when I stop to consider the problems of the world. This is especially true whenever those problems seem to be affecting one of my students and I am powerless (meaning I can't mandate 100 hours of parenting classes) to do anything. In order to stay sane, I have to leave the problems alone and move on. This is one of my favorite ideas- to let go and move on. Moving on means I can focus on what actions to take and to have some hope- instead of being mired down by all the yuckiness that is poverty and ignorance and a general lack of time.

Finally, the third option is to lead the situation/person to a different place. It requires a commitment of time, effort, and patience, and I think this option offers most in terms of making human connections and personal growth. Martha Beck's article wasn't written to inspire others (at least, I don't think it was); instead, it was offered as a practical way to deal with life's issues disguised as complainers and uncomfortable events. Still, I came away with the idea that if more of us took the time to lead situations/people, the world would be a better place. Unfortunately, not all of us do this- perhaps this is why we're not all canonized as saints?- and maybe that's the best part of being human. We have so many demands on our time and our thoughts- but we also have the freedom to devote ourselves to what we care about most. And since we are all different, so too are our passions. I'm finding that as I get older, I understand better why I can't accomplish everything I would love to do. It's because in the end, I only "lead it" when it really, truly matters to me; otherwise, I'll "love it" or I'll "leave it."

Gifts of the Heat

2009-07-19T18:26:00.000-07:00

Last night, before squirting Alex with the water nozzle connected to our hose (an annual tradition in our family that opens water-gun season, which will continue into November), George poured some lighter fluid on a section of overgrown grass in our backyard and tried to burn it with a lighter. (!) He claims he got the idea from me, since I’m always pushing for the purchase of a weed-burning torch. Unfortunately, the grand erroneous-grass-burn-off didn’t happen because, according to George, the grass was too green. I’m thinking that maybe the guardian angel sent to watch over our house by Liberty Mutual had something to do with the failure…but naturally, I can’t prove it, so it’s just a theory. Still, I’m pretty sure Liberty Mutual (and the Peoria Police and Fire departments, for that matter) would frown on this type of creativity with fire, so it’s a good thing his experiment didn’t work.

This particular incident, paired with today’s discovery that Alex really does have A LOT of socks despite what I think in the middle of January when I am unable to find any and my sort-of meltdown when I found wood chips in about half of the aforementioned socks (I HATE WOOD CHIPS! They are the bane of my existence.), makes me think that maybe the heat causes the logical/reasoning portions of our brains to malfunction. Alex just now tried to bit off his big toe, providing me with yet another piece of support for my assertion.

It’s been a big day of insanity for Alex, who learned this afternoon that yes, if you announce you have to pee but don’t move, you WILL have an accident. He also unearthed an amazing property of scissors (they’re sharp!) when he tried to use them to open some mail. I’m hoping that lesson will stick with him, especially after the fun mother-son bonding time we had as I practically sat on his arm to keep his hand still enough for me to clean and bandage his scissors-related wound. We had so much fun today; I sincerely hope tomorrow is NOT fun.

As if trying to burn grass wasn’t crazy enough, George announced that we’re having another child because Alex needs a sibling. Huh? Though I have been known to go through I-want-a-baby phases, I kind of like that I get to sleep a lot more. The fact that my largest concern about bringing another child into the world is that I won’t get enough sleep sheds enormous light on my readiness for this.

It’s hot here and people (mainly my immediate family and ME) are going insane. Good thing it’s not going to rain and/or storm to clear the air…..

Sunday Morning Blues

2009-07-12T12:05:00.003-07:00

It started on Friday when I checked my school e-mail...the antsy frustration that is all too familiar during the school year due to an insurmountable to-do list and not enough time in which to accomplish much. School is coming. School is coming! I've already spent a significant amount of time brainstorming and mentally forming a classroom layout. I'm already worried about how I can have 1st quarter grades and everything done before I leave for Disneyland (in October). I'm behind, and the race hasn't even started yet!!

On a completely different note, I read a women's health blog this morning (written by an average Jane Doe) that covered such topics as vaginal odor (apparently, it's a serious problem in the summertime, and here I was totally unaware...) and bra washing (somebody's survey found that on average, women wash their bras six times a year....but that's not what was interesting to me, though that is pretty riveting. What fascinated me is that whoever did the survey also figured that the average woman owns 15 bras. What? I'm singlehandedly bringing down the average. Must go purchase 5 or more bras pronto!). I just noticed that I'm using the word average an awful lot. But I can't think of a synonym in my beginning stages of panic and meltdown.

So to summarize, I'm not ready for school and have roughly two more weeks before I have to get into full-teacher mode, but I'm running behind a bus that hasn't even left yet; and I don't have enough bras. Wow, and I haven't even really thought about the fact that NAU classes start sometime in August...

I'm sorely tempted to return to bed and figure out a way to stay there for the next 14 days in order to store up enough energy to make up for the certain deficit I will experience too soon.

My Favorite Bedtime Prayer

2009-07-08T22:13:00.001-07:00

This has been my favorite since I read it somewhere back in high school.

I thank you for this day of life,
for feet to walk amidst the trees
for hands to pick the flowers from the earth
for a sense of smell to breathe in the sweet perfumes of nature
for a mind to think about and appreciate the magic of every day miracles,
for a spirit to swell in joy.
--Marian Wright Edelman
From the book Guide My Feet

Random Thoughts in Random Order on a Random Day

2009-07-02T15:42:00.002-07:00

I have all kinds of brilliant thoughts when I'm driving, in the shower, sitting on the toilet, or anywhere else where I can't get to pen & paper or a keyboard. This explains why none of my genius ideas have made me rich or famous. It also explains why I now carry a memo book in my purse at all times.
I have the attention span of a kindergartner most of the time. If I'm not actively engaged in conversation (nodding, asking questions, etc.), it's a key sign I've moved on to other thoughts/pursuits. I am also a slow auditory processor, meaning that sometimes what feels like minutes to me will pass before I "get" what is said. I find that my processing speed slows down in direct proportion with how much sleep I haven't gotten.
My childhood pet, Arioso, took her last breath back in February. I was there. She literally took one last breath, and let it out, and she was gone, just like that. Since then I have mourned her everytime I hear Bach's Arioso played on the cello (it's the song that gave her the name) because the piece seems to tell the story of Arioso's life. I have also seen three dogs since February who I could've sworn were Arioso...but I honestly don't know if I was just seeing things.
I am a technophile. I have always been fascinated by computers and the Internet- I am the reason why my family signed on to the Internet in the first place, when I came home with a free trial of a program called Prodigy and insisted my dad install it. My very first job had to do with computer programming (really, this sounds much more impressive than it actually was!). I met my husband on the Internet (AOL, actually), back when it just wasn't done! So you'd think that my husband would understand this and not be so dismayed when I start hyperventilating because I have no Internet access while on vacation (true story: the first two days of our SD trip, I didn't have access. I still am not quite sure how I survived, though I didn't actually hyperventilate.).
I honestly cannot understand why someone would ruin a perfectly good Chevy, white, full-size truck by spray painting "FU Prez. Pelosi- No new taxes!" in neon orange, all over it (saw this on the freeway on the way home today). But I also cannot understand how you could not realize the need for taxes. There's a reason why taxes are on that list of unavoidable things (you know, the one: aging, death, and taxes)!! People who seriously believe that all citizens would donate enough money out the kindness of their hearts to cover everything that taxes currently provide are not living in the reality that is our country.
I have sunburn blisters on my arms for the first time in my life. They're not painful and I'm amazed by how easily they burst. However, I just learned that they are also the hardest to treat because they are so easy to burst and are prone to infection (lucky me!). I also just learned that three blistering sunburns by the age of 20 is a sure path to cancer. (See my thoughts above on being a technophile: I am Google-dependent. If Google didn't have some good search results for me whenever I wanted to know about something, I really don't know what I'd do...I wouldn't know anything! Seriously, I even use Google to help me complete assignments...) For the first time in my life, I am grateful to be 30! I also had a cold sore/fever blister (apparently, they are the same thing) from too much sun exposure...I seem to get one every single time I go to San Diego!! Finally, my forehead looks like the dry, cracked desert earth that we see in movie scenes where the story teller is trying to make the point that there is no water. The dark, burned skin is cracking and flaking off. It's NOT a pretty sight, and I will NEVER leave my house without sunscreen on my face (and my arms if I'm wearing a sleeveless shirt) again. Never again.
The first recorded instance of my love for orange was created when I was in 8th grade. I went through an awkward camcorder phase where I recorded anything and everything, and I have myself on camera declaring my love for orange. That was BEFORE orange became the new pink and all this other madness that has transpired for orange. Though I originally liked orange so I could be different from all the blue-lovers out there, I have come to really appreciate the color- I look good in it, it can be a happy and energizing or even a calming shade, and I still feel a slight disdain for people who claim blue is their favorite color- especially when they say things like, "I don't know, blue? It's the color of the sky." (It's not rational, but I guess it doesn't have to be.) I don't have anything against people if blue is their favorite color (it's not like they went to U of A or voted for GW Bush or something seriously offensive like that). Alas, there is also a record of my affinity for blue back in 5th grade- I wrote a poem about it. So even if I did want to launch some kind of assault on blue-lovers, that one piece of evidence would be tough to explain and would blow my credibility to bits...

I went on a trip...

2009-06-30T09:08:00.009-07:00

George, Alex, and I went to San Diego (northern San Diego County, to be most precise) for a week and returned on Friday. What a week! We were busy the whole time, but what will forever be memorable is not the amazing list of places we went, but the "little" things that happened. As I get older, I find this to the be case for almost everything....

For instance, the front passenger window on the Pacifica fell down all of a sudden on Monday morning. George thought that maybe someone had tried to break into the car- nice, huh? We were able to raise the window, but it kept slipping. Finally, on the way home, after its disappearing into the door while I was in the hills on the CA60 going approximately 60 mph, George had the good sense to purchase duct tape in Beaumont and secure the window's closure for the remainder of the trip. We finally got it fixed at the dealership yesterday for the bargain price of $609. Apparently, only $109 of that amount was for labor. The door part actually cost almost $500!

For those who don't know, our family makes an annual trek to San Diego in the summertime. At first it was motivated by my absolute love for La Jolla (which oddly, I haven't visited in four years), but since Alex has taken over our lives (as those of you with children understand), our trip has really been all about Legoland and visiting his friends, "the girls," who happen to live in Oceanside. "The girls" are three lovely young ladies whose mother happens to be a dear friend- she and I did Summerbridge together back in 2000! Every other year we go and stay by exchanging our timeshare week...and in between, we stay somewhere in Carlsbad by taking advantage of great rates on getawaytoday.com. Next year is a Carlsbad year...though honestly, we will likely not ever stay in Escondido again...so maybe every year will be a Carlsbad year!

As though a broken window was not enough excitement for an otherwise lovely trip, we had a surprise visitor on Monday night in our room....a mouse! We stayed at the Villas on the Green at the Lawrence Welk resort in Escondido. We stayed there two years ago, on Alex's first trip to San Diego, and I decided we'd stay there again because the suites are large and the resort always has availability in the summer...it was either Escondido or the Gaslamp Suites in downtown San Diego. If Alex hadn't been with us, I wouldn't have minded the Gaslamp...but anyway, I was in the bedroom, catching up on some e-mail and monitoring our finances when I heard a big thud in the living room. I thought George had fallen off of the couch, so I ran into the other room to see George crouched on top of the couch. Apparently, the sound I'd heard was not him falling off, but rather, jumping on to the couch because the mouse ran over his feet! Seeing as how it was already about 10 p.m., Housekeeping sent someone over with massive glue traps, and whoever was manning the front desk assured us that moving to a new room would be possible in the morning. Fast forward about ten hours- after eating breakfast, Alex and I parked ourselves in the resort lobby as the manager (amazingly young and blonde...I hadn't thought he was a manager, but George assured me he was) apologized to George and handed over the keys to a new suite. We packed and moved in about an hour. In retrospect, we should've known something was up when the crumbs from Alex's food (I was pretty sure there was some kind of vacuum fairy, but I guess it was the effect of too much sun) kept disappearing...

Here's a synopsis of our trip:

Friday, June 19th- left home and took Honey to Bow Wow (dog boarders). Alex cried as we left her and wanted to know why she couldn't sit on his lap all the way to San Diego. Arrived in Escondido right at 4pm check-in time (impressive, since we're always either significantly early or embarassingly late!) and I was overwhelmed by the humidity, but pleased with my hair's ability to hold off frizziness.

Saturday- beautiful day of laziness for me :) Turned out to be fun for Alex. George took him swimming and they saw Kung-Fu Panda by the pool when the sun went down. We also walked over to another part of the resort and went to the grocery store to stock up for the week (paper products, apple juice, peanut butter...necessities when living with Alex).

Sunday- went to the beach in Oceanside with our friends. I got to sit and talk with Lyndsey as George and Alex played in the water, built things out of sand, and got sunburned. It was an awesome day!

Monday- Legoland! (Need I say more?)

Tuesday- San Diego County Fair at Del Mar Fairgrounds. The highlights of the day were the Swift Swine Races (so cute!) and the Turkey Stampede (hilarious!!), though Alex would probably say he enjoyed all the kiddie rides...

Wednesday- Back to Legoland...

Thursday- relaxing morning followed by a visit to the San Diego Children's Museum and Little Italy with our favorite Oceanside family!

Friday- back home to the heat!

The Abrupt End- now what??

2009-06-02T17:22:00.003-07:00

It happens EVERY year, so you'd think that by now I would be prepared to deal, but alas, no. I'm talking about the sudden empty schedule I have. All during the school year I look longingly at my scrapbook supplies and remind myself that I'll have time over the summer...and then summer rolls around and I spend at least a week sitting around in a sort of shock as I recover from the effect of abrupt nothingness after nine months or so of crazy juggling. I know I'll be fine, especially once I allow myself the time to experience this, but it's still weird.

Technology is invading my life!

2009-04-04T18:01:00.001-07:00

I never thought I would ever do this, but I am now blogging from my cell phone...what's next? Virtual childrearing??

For Sale

2009-01-11T12:41:00.004-07:00

I am on a blogging roll...

I have one last post for now: George and I have decided to purchase a twin-size bed for Alex (who has actually slept on his own bed in his own room about 4 of the last 7 days!!) because Alex is convinced that his Thomas bed, which is toddler-bed size, is making him shrink. Who am I to argue with my son's logic? According to him, as a big boy, he should be sleeping on a big bed. So George and I have promised him that he will have a big bed soon.

Right now Alex sleeps on a Thomas bed. It uses a crib-size mattress, so it's basically a toddler bed that looks like Thomas the Tank Engine. If anyone is interested in buying it, PLEASE let me know. Your purchase would include the bed and the mattress, as well as a Thomas toy chest, made of that super durable plastic that children's things are made of. These items are Little Tikes brand. If you're interested, make an offer somewhere at or around $100.

While I'm on a "for sale" kick, we are also selling the Thomas train table that appears in an earlier post on my blog. It's the genuine Thomas the Tank Engine play table, and it's in good condition (Alex drew a little on one side, but it doesn't detract from the table's function). It includes the Island of Sodor play board. Unfortunately, the actual train items are not for sale (maybe some will become available as Alex gets more into GI Joe). Again, make an offer somewhere at or around $100.

We also have a brand new Little Tikes Deluxe Cozy Convertible that we will give away to anyone who wants it. My older sister sent it for Alex's Christmas present, but he is not interested in anything that is not his bike, so we're not going to take it out of the box.

Let me know, and please share this info with any interested friends!

GI Joe and the Gunshooter Daddy

2009-01-11T12:21:00.002-07:00

George and I have been diligently working to prepare Alex for various emergency situations. I don't think we made a conscious decision to do this, but given George's line of work, his paranoia because of his line of work, and my worst nightmare ever having to do with something or someone hurting Alex, it makes sense that we should just naturally start.

Alex now knows his full name (and he now acknowledges his middle name, which is a huge thing considering he angrily denied it for almost two years), his father's full name, my full name, what I do for work, and 8 of the 10 digits of his home telephone number. I expect that once he gets his whole phone number, we will teach him his address, his SSN, and the account number of my checking account (just kidding....about the checking account, and possibly his SSN. Does a 4 year-old need to know his SSN?). He also knows how to call Daddy when using Mommy's cell phone, which he used to do often by accident and now does often on purpose (this is a kid who always has a lot to say to his daddy). I suppose we will teach him to use the home phone, though I suspect he already knows how and just hasn't made any long-distance calls to Timbuktu yet.

What is really funny to me is that when you ask Alex what his daddy does for work, he always mentions guns in the answer. This started shortly before his 4th birthday, because before that, Daddy worked at a toy store (if this wasn't an indication that George was bringing home too many toys too often, I don't know what is!). These days, Daddy is a gunshooter (George quickly corrects him, pointing out that the appropriate word is 'gunfighter') who goes to the gun store everyday to get a gun and shoot the bad people like the police. When I point out that Daddy is a police officer (I guess technically he's a detective), Alex says, "Yeah, and he's a gunshooter."

In addition to a connection between his father and guns, Alex has shown a sudden, intense interest in GI Joes and Star Wars figures. Yesterday, George brought out a couple Joes from the stash in his Dungeon (we refer to his room in the house as The Dungeon). George has all kinds of things in The Dungeon, ranging from a treadmill to $70 worth of Star Wars toys that have never seen the light of day and were purchased long before I even became pregnant! So I didn't bat an eyelash when he came out with these dolls (because they ARE dolls! They are called 'action figures' so as to be more appealing to fathers who would otherwise refuse to buy dolls for their sons). He and Alex promptly proceeded to play with these toys, battling each other and making sound effects for the automatic weapon one GI Joe was holding and the swords the other had. They disappeared into The Dungeon for almost an hour, and when I was finally curious enough to see what happened to them, an entire sackful of GI Joes had been released onto The Dungeon's floor and the two boys (because let's face it, George reverts whenever he's playing with Alex) were still battling each other. It was a funny sight that I was not able to photograph, but I did tell Alex that his father had been waiting about five years, from the moment we heard, "It's a boy," at the first ultrasound, to be able to play GI Joes with his son. It kind of makes me wonder what the heck we would've done with a girl!

Another first!

2009-01-11T12:14:00.002-07:00

All of the Christmas stuff has been put away at my house! And I didn't swear or cry as I was trying to get the tree into its bag! Last year I believe it was down fairly quickly as well, but not within the first two weeks of January. What an accomplishment for me! It was especially important to get everything down and put away this year since Alex LOVES Christmas and pretty much revolted throughout the entire process. I thought that prolonging his exposure to Christmas-related items might not be healthy, given his obsession. We did end up leaving a tiny Christmas tree in his room so that he can look at it whenever he wants....I put my foot down at leaving The Polar Express and Mickey Saves Santa out to watch all year long! Now we just have to convince him that his birthday only comes once a year...I'm kind of nervous about Tommy's upcoming birthday because Alex will undoubtedly try to steal the show.

The house seems empty without the tree up, but I'm sure I'll get over it. I'm liking that I don't have to be annoyed about Honey knocking ornaments off the tree with her tail!

Some new thoughts for the new year

2009-01-01T16:18:00.002-07:00

This holiday season (which, by the way, is NOT over until Tuesday the 6^th) has been one of the best ever for me. I certainly didn’t think so as I was living it, but now that it’s drawing to a close, I can say that it really was. I sent my Christmas cards out late. It caused me anguish because I normally send them out the day after Thanksgiving, but in retrospect, it was fine that I sent them when I did. George and I couldn’t agree on a “family outfit” for our traditional night-before-Thanksgiving portrait, and then there was the issue of not having much disposable income- so this year’s Christmas card photo turned out to be a candid photo taken while we were experiencing The Polar Express in Williams, AZ for the first time. I love the picture because Alex is showing his true personality, and George and I look like the happy and adoring parents we happen to be. The tree didn’t quite make it up “on time” either, but the delay this year was due to Alex’s insistence that he help put the ornaments up- and he did a fantastic job. As George says, he seems to have inherited the “Christmas Nazi” gene.

There were other things that didn’t happen as they have in the past: we didn’t drive through the Church of Joy light before Christmas and we still might not get to it this time around; we got to Zoolights early and waited in line (though George would say that this was a wonderful thing); as of right now we haven’t seen the light display at McCormick-Stillman Railroad Park; and finally, no lights adorned the outside of our house, though they existed in abundance inside the house. In previous years, that these things were missing would be enough to spoil my holiday. However, this year, I am grateful for everything that did happen, from Tommy spending Christmas Eve with us (and refusing to sleep, which made for a very tired Tantee on Christmas morning) to George unwittingly forgiving me this year’s trangressions so that Alex could have an amazing Christmas experience.

For the first time in a long time, instead of getting caught up in getting things done, I was living in and enjoying the moments. I’m hoping this continues through 2009.

Pure Romance = Pure Fun

2008-07-10T19:41:00.003-07:00

A couple of days ago I hosted the most entertaining party I have ever had at my house. Ever! There were five of us- all ladies around 30 years old- and a Pure Romance consultant. I signed up to host a party after visiting the Women's Expo back in April. The consultant, Nancy, told me that her presentation would last about an hour and would be educational. She also insisted there be no men or children in the house during said presentation. My friends and I were pretty excited- one of us had been to a Passion Party, and another had been to a Pure Romance party a while back- and VERY curious about the education we would experience (we are all teachers, after all). Besides getting to sample lotions/oils that actually tasted good (I was skeptical until the party), one friend picked up a book about 101 different positions- amazing, since between the five of us, we could only think of five or six without the book's help. Wow! There was a lot of laughing, but also a lot of educational information! So much that I still haven't yet shared it all with George, who was amused by the fact that I was having what he called a "porn party." I think I surprised myself too...but so glad I did! Though my girlfriends and I can be quite fun, I think Nancy is the reason the party was such a success. Anyone interested should take a look at her website: www.nancywharton.pureromance.com.

If ignorance is bliss, reality is a potentially fatal disease.

2008-07-06T20:27:00.003-07:00

**Correction 7/11/08: When I mentioned to George that we hadn't celebrated our anniversary in a while, he gave me a funny look and said that yes, we did celebrate our anniversary in 2006, because we went to Lon's at the Hermosa for dinner and then stayed a night at the Hilton on Lincoln Drive and Scottsdale. Besides being impressed by his memory, I was surprised that he remembered we'd gotten an anniversary card from the wait staff at Lon's. So this blog post should say that I haven't celebrated my anniversary since 2006, which is still not good, but is better than 2005.)

I haven’t celebrated my wedding anniversary since 2005, which was the year George put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, lit candles, and treated me to an amazing picnic of Chinese food in our bedroom (as Alex slept in the room next door). Chinese food picnics (three of which we’ve had since we met) are pretty special for the two of us- in March of 1999, I surprised George with one at my then-favorite park in Scottsdale (my new favorite park is Rio Vista, which is in Peoria), and then he surprised me with one on my 22^nd birthday in our second apartment, and again for our 6^th anniversary. Anyway, I haven’t celebrated my last two anniversaries. In 2006 I’m pretty sure it had something to do with Alex. Those were the days when we went nowhere and did nothing that did not involve Alex. In 2007 (last November), I didn’t feel like celebrating because my husband and I were having troubles liking one another. He’d tried to plan something, but I told him to cancel. Then I felt guilty, but it was too late. So we did nothing. I can’t even remember if cards were exchanged.

George and I have been together for ten years and married for eight of them. I’ve thought over the years that our marriage was normal, except I was very, very, very, very wrong. I’m depressed, and I’ve had a couple major depressive episodes in the time that I’ve known George (maybe three). That fact makes our marriage decidedly NOT normal. That and George is a police officer (which could be its own blog entry in and of itself), communication-challenged, and emotionally repressed (wait, those last two might not be so abnormal). My point in bringing this up is that my tumultuous marriage is fraught with conflict. I’m not afraid of conflict. I appreciate it because I like the learning and growing that happens while I’m working through it. (Of course, I only say this when the conflict is over, because by then I know it turned out okay and I’m no longer living through the stress and impossibility of it!) I expect conflict to be part of my daily life, and as such, I more than expected it in my marriage to George. We come from different worlds. He grew up poor, as in with nothing, and I grew up fairly indulged. His mother was neglectful and a poor decision maker; mine was a depressed tyrant who wreaked havoc on my emotional development. His father was a segregationist who died of a heart attack when George was 17. My African-American father is still alive and well at just about 75 years old. When I met him, George was a conservative traditionalist who belonged to the GOP. Just two years earlier, I’d been voted by my senior class as someone “most likely to be voted president,” but on the ultra liberal ticket (George is still a Republican, but not nearly as conservative, and I have since become a more mainstream Democrat). Our worlds were so different that I not only expected conflict, I embraced it- the lively discussions on gender equality (something George doesn’t quite believe in), whether or not women should be allowed in combat (as if they aren’t already having to be in combat situations), the existence of God (a definite yes for me compared to his maybe), gun control (at first, George scoffed at the idea of any while I wanted guns eliminated- we’ve since changed our views), the rights of homosexuals, and whether or not the military at its peacetime state was a waste of taxpayer dollars (George called many a time, on duty, from the gym or the beach). So whenever we had a disagreement, I thought it was normal. I thought we “fought” fair since there wasn’t any name-calling or giving each other the silent treatment. But George always thought our marriage was in trouble, and one of the clear signs was our frequent squabbles. I dismissed him as being too pessimistic, as he had and still has a tendency to see the dark side of everything.

I don’t remember much of our early days, except the first, tiny apartment we lived in (in Sunnyslope! among drug dealers!) and how the air conditioning leaked. I do remember having a lot of time on my hands, never having enough money, and helping him through the police academy. I can recall moving to the second apartment and buying furniture for it together. I also remember one huge argument we had after 9/11/2001 about what to do with the money George Bush was pumping back into the economy (but that might be because it took place in our insanely large closet that I still miss). I think of wonderful things easily, like trips we took together, entire afternoons wasted away in each other’s company, and buying our house. According to George, however, our married life was horrible. If you ask him to describe life before Alex (this is how we distinguish the significant time in our relationship: “before Alex,” “since Alex,” and “right now, with Alex”), he will bring up every time we almost split up (definitely for petty reasons). He will say that I was impossible to live with and that I was too controlling. And he would be right. Before I finally broke through my haze of depression, I was very self-absorbed and emotionally out of control. The problem is, George describes me now as he does if you ask him about back then. He admits that he does not see the transformation I have undergone compared to who I was even one year ago. Even my therapist’s testimony (she has a Ph.D. in psychology) is unconvincing. As he puts it, he cannot see the forest for the trees.

It is NO picnic living with someone who is depressed. I know this because of 19 years with my mother, and I know that George has weathered difficult times. And now that I am significantly mentally/emotionally healthier (it only took twenty-eight years, three therapists, several medicine/dosage changes and a stint in group therapy nine hours a week for four weeks), I know that it’s still not the easiest thing in the world to live with me…but if I know anything, I know that it is infinitely better than it was. At first I thought George would be grateful- happy even. I had to readjust my thinking to realize that just because the monster is gone doesn’t mean you stop being afraid of the monster. What shocked my pants off is that while he was coping with living with the depressed version of me, George fell out of love with his wife. I’ve had some pretty awful experiences in my lifetime, but among the worst is the feeling of despair that washes over me when I think about this. It’s not my fault that I was and am depressed. I can’t even say that I only just now got my act together to get better because I’ve been fighting the good fight for at least a decade. So if I did nothing to bring on the depression and I have done what I’m supposed to do, which is to get better, why am I being punished now (because I definitely feel that I am being punished for being evil and hateful)?

Maybe George was right when he told me I was too young (at my 19 and his 26) for him. Maybe when I told him about my depression and the therapy and the medication and told him that I didn’t think we could have a relationship, he should’ve listened to me and heeded my advice to run far, far away. Maybe when he kept fretting over how different we are, I should’ve paid more attention. I can come up with a million maybes and what-ifs. The reality is that now it looks as though our marriage is forever damaged unless George remembers why he ever loved me in the first place.

P-O-T-T-Y!

2008-06-18T15:57:00.004-07:00

My son, Alexander, is 42 months old. For the last two weeks or so, he has been POTTY TRAINED (during the day- at night we are still using Pull-Ups because my son sleeps like me, and that means that the house could burn down and he probably wouldn’t notice. The house alarm went off once and my dear son didn’t even move!). I have had pretty much NO life, as I have been focused on making this potty business happen.Now I am trying to figure out how to transition from this little potty to the big, “grown up” potty. Needless to say, Alex will NOT use the potty if we are out in public. He didn’t start refusing until George took him to the restroom in Home Depot and the automatic toilet flushed while he was on it, scaring Alex to death. He has only used the “grown up” potty once, at his doctor’s office, and that’s only because I dragged him to the bathroom three times and held him up in front of the toilet. His doctor (I just love her!) did share with me that most of the kiddos she sees who are Alex’s age are not potty trained. I was surprised. That means that a lot of people lie about whether their kids are or not and/or I have only run into the mothers of overachievers!

I have purchased a portable potty that I will make Alex start using all the time, and maybe I’ll be able to go somewhere for more than an hour because he’ll actually use the porta-potty. I’m not getting my hopes up, though. After all, we’ve been working on potty training since Alex was two...so based on that timeline, he should be using the “grown up” potty by the time he starts kindergarten!

For those who are anxiously waiting for this magical potty use to begin (really, I can’t think of anything more exciting that he’s done since he started walking!), check out http://www.3daypottytraining.com. At first I balked at the idea of paying for the guide, but it turned out to be the straw that broke the camel’s back!

Since the last time I wrote....

2008-05-23T10:54:00.001-07:00

I've been sick. Not the whole time, but significantly most of the time. In fact, I'm not at work right now because I have strep throat AGAIN! (I'm reconsidering my career as an educator due to the health risks.)

I ended up not going to my eleventh high school reunion for totally unbelievable and random reasons. As I was getting dressed (I'd purchased a new skirt to wear a week before), I twirled around in front of the mirror and something caught my eye: the round ink tag was still on the bottom of the skirt! George laughed at me and offered to take it (the tag, naturally) off, but seeing as how that could have ruined my skirt (and hurt him, of course), I declined his offer. I frantically searched for the receipt, but of course, it was gone. Luckily, I still had the price tag with the "must be present for return" sticker on it. I called Macy's (not a very helpful customer service line, by the way) and was told that if I brought in the skirt, its price tag, and the credit card on which I made the purchase, they could take off the ink tag for me. Well, at this point it was 6:50 (and the reunion was supposed to start at 7 pm).

My husband, still laughing, tried to calm me down (at this point I was pretty riled up), and convinced me that the aforementioned skirt could be replaced by another skirt, or even a pair of pants. I reluctantly changed to a pair of slacks. By the time we made it outside to get into our truck, Alex decided that he wanted to stay at home. So we had to coax him back outside. It took a lot of promises to go to the train park and a couple chocolate chip cookies (he's obsessed with trains and chocolate, or pretty much anything sweet).

That's when I spotted two baby birds, huddled in the rock, right next to our driveway. It had been windy, so we figured they'd been blown out of their nest, which likely was in the tree right next to our driveway. George, who grew up on a farm and is known as the "Animal Whisperer" at work, was adamant about helping them to survive. In the past, we've taken found birds to the Wildlife Rescue, but seeing as how it was a Saturday night, I doubted they'd be open. So as I was seriously considering letting the poor birds fend for themselves (something I'm sorry to admit), my husband got gloves and a shoebox out of the garage, scooped them up and ordered me to call 411 for the number of the Wildlife Rescue. We sat in the truck for about 15 minutes as I waited for the 411 operator to tell me that she couldn't find a listing, and then George decided to put the box back up in the tree to protect the birds from coyotes and cats (I've never seen a cat in our neighborhood, and haven't seen a coyote since they started building houses in the desert that used to be across the street a year ago- but this was not the time to engage in a debate with George).

By then, it was almost 7:30 pm. My husband, satisfied that he'd done all he could for the birds, smiled over at me and asked if I still want to go to the reunion. I'm one of those who believes in signs from God, and at this point I was not sure what God was trying to tell me, but I said okay, and we headed off to my parents' house to drop off Alex. When we got there, my parents were watching a not-appropriate-for-a-three-year-old movie, and when I asked that they put in a Dora the Explorer DVD instead, my father and mother got into an argument and I was tempted to take my son and run.

Finally, at about 7:50 pm, everyone calmed down and my son settled in to watch his much-loved Dora. George and I left my parents' house and got in the truck to go to the reunion. We were almost there when we saw a DPS officer who'd pulled over two cars. At that point, I turned to my husband and suggested we just go to dinner somewhere nice, since we were both dressed up. He obliged, and we had a nice, quiet dinner, after which we picked up my son and went home.

A week later, the baby birds grew up (their parents came each day and fed them) and looked like adult birds, and then they flew away.

So I don't really know how the reunion went. But I guess I'm thrilled that we saved the lives of two birds who otherwise wouldn't have survived because of high winds, coyotes, and/or cats.

Yikes!

2008-04-14T20:22:00.002-07:00

My 11th high school reunion is on April 26th. The fact that it's the 11th year and not the 10th speaks volumes about what type of event it may very well be and what sort of group is hosting it (at least, in my opinion). The Class of '97 never was good about this sort of thing- we were probably the only Senior Class in the history of Greenway High School Homecomings to lose the Homecoming Float competition four years in a row....to the class behind us, which also happens to be my overachieving sister's Class.

I have until this Wednesday to decide if I want to go to the aforementioned celebration. George has already ageed to go with me as my "trophy husband" (thoughtful, isn't he?) and I have an idea what I might wear. But I have mixed feelings about going. First, I have kept in touch with everyone I care about from my high school days (for the most part). If I go to the reunion, my luck dictates that I will run into people who I have been grateful to be away from for the past 11 years. Like my stalker (whose name escapes me), to whom Brent Simmons unwittingly gave my phone number during Senior year (though it's possible that he'll be unable to attend because he may or may not be incarcerated). Second, those I haven't kept in touch with happen to have MySpace pages, so I can at least talk to them a little. And there's nothing wrong with a little distance to keep things friendly. Third, I weigh about 80 lbs. more than I did when I graduated from high school, which doesn't matter to me as much as I thought it would, but I know I will notice if someone appears to be 80 lbs. heavier. I won't judge them for being heavier, but I do know that I will notice (and comment to George) if they don't look good or happy. I'm not so sure that I look so good, and these days I don't look too happy. And I'm certainly not as cute and young as I was (though my homeopathic doctor told me last week that I'm looking radiant- George thought he was hitting on me, which makes his compliment questionable and slightly less valid). Finally, I was such a go-getter in high school (though it was at the expense of my sanity, well-being, and sense of calm...NO ONE knew about my home life or my depression). I was the prom queen my senior year (that year we were the Duke and Duchess) and was nominated for homecoming queen. I sang the National Anthem at my graduation. I was the Rotary Student of the Year. I could go on and on to point out everything I used to be that I am not any longer. I was amazing and competitive, and I don't feel like much of either any more. These days, my grandest achievements are my son, but I can no longer attribute my body size to baby weight, plus his being adorable is really none of my doing, as I have no control over my genetics; my 8 year marriage that has, quite frankly, seen better days; and my ability to not hide under the covers or in my closet on a bad day. I actually avoid the types of things on which I thrived in high school (and even college). My life is sooooooo different from what it was, and thankfully so. Where it was once frenzied and complex, it is now simple and blessedly uneventful. If I was sure that the reunion won't be a "who's done the most amazing things?" contest, I would go in a heartbeat.

In my mind, a little voice is pointing out that all of what I've mentioned above could be true for other reunion attendees. But unless I can convince myself that 11 years has mellowed everyone out, I likely won't be going. Then again, no one is so on top of it that this happened last year, like it should have, so maybe there's hope!

The Trains Have Taken Over!

2008-04-08T17:41:00.004-07:00

It's been a while. Since the last time I wrote, I suffered the effects of the Writers' Strike (lots of Noggin kiddie shows and reality TV), witnessed my husband spend about $500 on Thomas the Tank Engine paraphinalia (sp?) for our son, officially decided to postpone my Ed.D. and persue a Masters from NAU, and have survived a very ugly period in my marriage. Actually, that's not over yet...but out of respect for my husband, I will refrain from commenting on that here.

Mood wise, I have been stable. I am so proud to type that! I have my periods of woe, but I can pick myself up out of them. I'm even beginning to get over my fear that I could slip back into a depressive episode at any moment, because I know that I can control my thinking, which affects my feelings.

Now that my mood isn't holding me hostage, the trains have taken over my home and my life. Here's a picture to help you imagine:

That particular picture isn't as good at showing exactly how much STUFF we now have in our living room area. Here's another:

At first I was intrigued by these wooden trains with facial features, but now I think I've become disenchanted. I can't even remember what my house looked like pre-Alex!

My one comforting thought is that I might be able to make a pretty penny on all the trains and the accessories on Ebay...

getting in touch with my inner child

2008-02-24T17:12:00.001-07:00

I have been waiting ALL week to see the Fairly OddParents episode in which Cosmo and Wanda have a baby. I don’t know if it’s because it’s a show about a baby, or because it’s animated (I do have a thing for children’s shows, like Spongebob Squarepants or Little Bill), but I have REALLY been wanting to see this. And now it’s on, so I’m watching it as Alex tries to convince me to let him have two cookies.

Happy Superbowl Sunday!

2008-02-03T14:04:00.001-07:00

God helps those who persevere.

-The Qur'an

Maybe it's getting a little out of hand...

2008-01-29T17:32:00.001-07:00

Here's another bunch of pretty neat quizzes and my results:

http://www.outofservice.com/music-personality-test/

http://www.outofservice.com/music-personality-test/results/?complex=92&edgy=24&fun=74&energetic=35

http://www.outofservice.com/morality/

http://www.outofservice.com/morality/results/?morality=76&political=84&social=82&o=76&c=25&e=74&a=69&n=80

The ultimate quiz

2008-01-29T17:08:00.001-07:00

http://www.outofservice.com/bigfive

My results:
http://www.outofservice.com/bigfive/results/?o=70&c=25&e=79&a=69&n=76

A great poem

2008-01-29T16:55:00.001-07:00

New Beginnings
By: Helen Steiner Rice

How often we wish for another chance
to have a fresh beginning
A chance to blot out our mistakes
and change failure into winning.
It does not take a new year
to make a brand new start.
It only takes the deep desire
to try with all your heart.
To live a little better
and to always be forgiving
To add a little "sunshine"
to the world in which we are living.
So, never give up in despair
and think that you are through,
For there's always a tomorrow
and a chance to start anew.

Okay, here are some more...

2008-01-27T14:19:00.000-07:00

You Are 92% Democrat

You are a card carrying Democrat, and a pretty far left one at that!
There's no chance anyone would ever mistake you for a Republican.

How Democrat Are You?

What Your Favorite Color Orange Says About You:

Joyful --- Enthusiastic --- Optimistic
Outgoing --- Accepting --- Confident
Loud --- Unruly --- Impulsive

What Does Your Favorite Color Say About You?

Your Theme Song is Beautiful Day by U2

"Sky falls, you feel like
It's a beautiful day
Don't let it get away"

You see the beauty in life, especially in ordinary everyday moments.
And if you're feeling down, even that seems a little beautiful too.

What's Your Theme Song?

You Are 25% Left Brained, 75% Right Brained

The left side of your brain controls verbal ability, attention to detail, and reasoning.
Left brained people are good at communication and persuading others.
If you're left brained, you are likely good at math and logic.
Your left brain prefers dogs, reading, and quiet.

The right side of your brain is all about creativity and flexibility.
Daring and intuitive, right brained people see the world in their unique way.
If you're right brained, you likely have a talent for creative writing and art.
Your right brain prefers day dreaming, philosophy, and sports.

Are You Right or Left Brained?

Your Personality is Somewhat Rare (ESFP)

Your personality type is playful, charming, open minded, and energetic.

Only about 7% of all people have your personality, including 9% of all women and 5% of all men
You are Extroverted, Sensing, Feeling, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

Your Superpower Should Be Mind Reading

You are brilliant, insightful, and intuitive.
You understand people better than they would like to be understood.
Highly sensitive, you are good at putting together seemingly irrelevant details.
You figure out what's going on before anyone knows that anything is going on!

Why you would be a good superhero: You don't care what people think, and you'd do whatever needed to be done

Your biggest problem as a superhero: Feeling even more isolated than you do now

What Should Your Superpower Be?

Your Values Profile

Loyalty:

You value loyalty highly.
You're completely devoted to your friends and family.
Even if they totally screw up, you're still there for them.
Just make sure they're equally loyal to you!

Honesty:

You value honesty a fair amount.
You're honest when you can be, but you aren't a stickler for it.
If a little white lie will make a situation more comfortable, you'll go for it.
In the end, you mostly care about "situational integrity."

Generosity:

You value generosity highly.
So much so that you often put your own needs last.
There's nothing wrong with having a caring heart...
But you may want to rethink your "open wallet" policy.

Humility:

You value humility highly.
You have the self-confidence to be happy with who you are.
And you don't need to seek praise to make yourself feel better.
You're very modest, and you're keep the drama factor low.

Tolerance:

You value tolerance highly.
Not only do you enjoy the company of those very different from you...
You do all that you can to seek it out interesting and unique friends.
You think there are many truths in life, and you're open to many of them.

The Five Factor Values Test

You Are 56% Lady

You're part lady, part modern woman.
Etiquette is important to you, but you brush aside rules that are outdated or silly.

Are You A Lady?

I LOVE identity/personality quizzes!

2008-01-27T13:13:00.000-07:00

If I could, I would avoid work all day by taking these quizzes/questionnaires!
Here's some of the ones I just took now even though I should be grading papers and entering grades in my gradebook:

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are a warm hearted and open minded person. It's easy for you to forgive and forget.

You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds.

You see yourself with pretty objective eyes. How you view yourself is almost exactly how other people view you.

Your near future is a lot like the present, and as far as you're concerned, that's a very good thing.

For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

You Are Cameo

You are understanding and very empathetic.
You don't tend to have acquaintances. Everyone is your friend.
And all of your friends tend to be friends. You have a knack for bringing very different people together.

What Color Orange Are You?

You Are an Optimist

You definitely see the sunny side of life, even when things aren't going so great.
And while you may not be a realist, your optimism has really improved your quality of life.
You have the energy to take charge, solve your problems, and enjoy life for what it is.
Optimists are happier and healthier - so keep thinking positive!

Are You An Optimist or Pessimist?

You Are 84% Intuitive

Your intuition is so spot on it's scary!
You can learn a lot about people and situations, simply by listening to your gut.
And you've even wondered if you can predict the future at times.
Just be sure not to always listen to your intuition... someday it could be wrong!

How Intuitive Are You?

Your Life is 88% Perfect

You truly have the perfect life. And you probably feel like the luckiest person in the world.
You have a great career, family, and personal life. You have it going on!

How Perfect is Your Life?

Your Inner Color is Blue

Your Personality: Your natural warmth and intuition nurtures those around you. You are accepting and always follow your heart.

You in Love: Relationships are your top priority, and this includes love. You are most happy when you are serious with someone.

Your Career: You need to help others in your job to feel satistifed. You would be a great nurse, psychologist, or counselor.

What's Your Inner Color?

You Are 80% Happy

You are a very happy person. Generally, you feel content and that all is right with the world.
Occasionally, you have a down day - but you have the ability to pick yourself right back up.

How Happy Are You?

Your Heart Is Green

Love completes you, but that doesn't mean you seek it out.
When love comes your way, you integrate it peacefully into the rest of you life.

Your flirting style: Laid back

Your lucky first date: Walking around aimlessly and talking

Your dream lover: Is both enthusiastic and calm

What you bring to relationships: Balance

What Color Heart Do You Have?

You are a Brainy Girl!

Whether you're an official student or a casual learner, you enjoy hitting the books.
You know a little bit about everything, and you're always dying to know more.
For a guy to win your heart, he's got to share some of your intellectual interests.
A awesome book collection of his own doesn't hurt either!

What Kind of Girl Are You?

Your Power Element is Earth

Your power color: yellow

Your energy: balancing

Your season: changing of seasons

Dedicated and responsible, you are a rock to your friends.
You are skilled at working out even the most difficult problems.
Low key and calm, you are happiest when you are around loved ones.
Ambitious and goal oriented, you have long term plans to be successful.

What's Your Power Element?

If it is to be, it is up to me.

2008-01-27T13:11:00.002-07:00

Don't wait for your ship to come in. Row out to meet it. –Anonymous

I am one of those people who definitely lives for today- in the NOW. In fact, it’s such a part of who I am, I remember being told constantly to be patient when I was a child. My mother would ask me why I was always in such a hurry. I couldn’t explain it then, but in retrospect, even as a kid I understood how fleeting time is and how fickle opportunity can be. Why wait until tomorrow to do something that I can do today? There might not even be a tomorrow. (This kind of thinking was probably cemented by my experiences with depression; I remember being especially passionate about seizing opportunities after my first suicide attempt at the tender age of 11.)

That said, I’m constantly working on finding a happy medium between my “do it now!” attitude and my grown-up reality. I think I may be working on it forever!

Me and My Marriage

2008-01-20T17:06:00.001-07:00

There are many things in adult life that require preparation, and as a result, we spend much of our youth studying and learning in order to be as ready as possible for “real life.” But I think that maybe we’re spending our time on the wrong things. Take for instance, marriage. There aren’t any classes, from the elementary to the high school levels (and I can’t think of any in college either, but if I’m wrong, please enlighten me…and no, Sociology of Marriage doesn’t count because it studies marriage from an outsider’s viewpoint), that address the experience that is marriage. Sure, some would argue that learning to share crayons or to work cooperatively in groups leads to grown-ups (including those who get married) who have social skills, which are certainly necessary for marriage, as well as any relationship. However, we are all gypped by the absence of any class in the thirteen-plus years called our “education” that deals explicitly with how to have a pleasant marriage. By posting this blog entry and suggesting that I could benefit from such a course, I am admitting (without shame or guilt, I might add) that my marriage is sometimes not pleasant. This is not to say that it’s never pleasant; it’s just plagued a little too often by what I like to call Life (with a capital L because of its overbearing and immediate urgency that makes doing anything else impossible and unwise). My marriage was consistently pleasant for quite a while…before it existed anywhere but in my head! I could blame Hollywood, with its writers and directors and actors and producers who sell these movies and television shows that depict married life as some kind of journey of bliss to a destination called “Happily Ever After.” But that would be too easy. And it would get me no closer to my goal of a marriage that doesn’t ever make me think that swimming in an alligator-infested lake would be a lot more fun than being legally bound, “til death do us part,” to my husband.

I’ve come up with a series of courses that would be very helpful. All of these would be taken PRIOR to marriage (this would be a requirement for a marriage license, as would be a psychiatric evaluation and a pedigree chart of some kind, because that would be very helpful information!), and would all be taught by people who have been married at least 35 consecutive years to the same person. The instructors, in addition to their experience due to the lengths of their marriages, would also have considered divorce at least once, would have at least one child that they raised with their spouse, and would have had to deal with the realities of large, joint financial responsibilities, and in-laws. There would also be teachers with special experience who could enlighten us on how being married to a law enforcement officer, teacher, doctor, or mob boss (or anyone else with a life-encompassing job and/or schedule) affects the marital relationship in exceptional ways.

Pleasant Marriage 101 would deal with topics that are crucial to marital harmony, such as how to divide the household chores fairly, why putting the toilet seat down is hygienically necessary, how to separate laundry, picking up after one’s self, and how to interpret grunts, shrugs, evil looks, and blank stares.

Pleasant Marriage 102 would delve deeper into the topics that 101 introduced, but would also address how to accept an apology, how to make an apology, how to forgive, and how to make meaningful gestures of kindness.

Once people exhibited mastery of the tips revealed in 101 and 102, they could move on to Pleasant Marriage 201, which would be a semester-long course in why it’s a bad idea to interpret anything your spouse says, and would teach how to communicate clearly and honestly.

Pleasant Marriage 202 would then cover exceptions to the teachings of 201. (Because the truth is, sometimes communicating honestly is cruel. Like when, in our first or second year of marriage, my beloved husband told me that sometimes he tunes out while I’m talking. He should never have told me that.)

Pleasant Marriage 301 and 302 would exclusively address childbearing and its effects on marriage. One of the class’s pearls of wisdom will be to get all the crazy stuff out of your systems before a little bundle of joy makes its way into your life, because CPS frowns upon parents who do crazy things. And there would also be helpful snippets, like how to deal with paranoia and vomiting in public.

Pleasant Marriage 401 would be about major purchases and how to avoid an interruption in the pleasant-ness of your marriage because of them.

Pleasant Marriage 402 would be about how to preserve domestic harmony (in other words, how to come up with the money to hire help, and where to look to find the perfect house cleaner, nanny, cook, yard maintenance crew, or whoever else you might need so that you don’t argue over who should be taking care of these things).

Once students progressed successfully through 402, they would have to complete some kind of practicum/apprenticeship (with the person they’re considering marrying) for a minimum of 24 months (which is a relatively short time if you consider the amount of time that is really involved in spending the rest of your life with someone), during which time they’d have a mentor who would be watching for effective use of strategies and skills learned in the Pleasant Marriage classes. Upon successful completion of the practicum (which would happen as long as no one was murdered and the two people are still together and still want to get married), you could get married.

This is just a sample of the kinds of things I think about on Sunday afternoons…..

I like this!

2008-01-04T16:05:00.001-07:00

Prayer For Protection

By James Dillet Freeman
The Light of God surrounds you.
The Love of God enfolds you.
The Power of God protects you.
The Presence of God watches over you.
The Mind of God guides you.
The Life of God flows through you.
The Laws of God direct you.
The Power of God abides within you.
The Joy of God uplifts you.
The Strength of God renews you.
The Beauty of God inspires you.
Wherever you are, God is!

The joys of the holidays...and other things

2008-01-03T20:58:00.001-07:00

Here’s to 2008- may it be as varied and educational as 2007, but without the major depressive episode. Cheers!

I haven’t made any resolutions. George asked me if I had when we went out to dinner (alone! Without Alex!) the Sunday before New Year’s. I said I hadn’t because I have a mental list (in my head) of things I need to work on, so making resolutions would only add to an already long list and curse said list to be abandoned two weeks into the year. So now it’s time to share my list and report a bit on the progress:

My Improvement-NOT-Resolution List (items not listed in any particular order)

© Drink more water. I’ve been working on this particular goal since pregnancy, because there was a nurse in my OB’s office who scolded me whenever my urine had high levels of ketones, which indicates an absence of hydration. While I drink tons more water than I did during my pregnancy (also necessary because of post-baby constipation that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy), I don’t think I drink even 32 oz. a day. Sad, I know.

© Exercise more. This is a no brainer. I’ve always hated to run, but actually used to work out (I know, it’s amazing!). I used to love to go to the gym (until a woman’s body was found outside of the LA Fitness I frequented) and I used to drag myself there after work. Before I graduated from college, I spent lots of time at the SRC (Student Rec Center), which I loved, loved, loved. Alas, the most exercise I get now is the chasing/carrying/watching of Alex, and the occasional walk around the neighborhood with the family. I’m a couch potato, which is pathetic.

© Be better “put together.” On days when I’m tired and/or ill, anyone can tell because I don’t wear my contacts, do my hair, wear jewelry, or wear makeup. And the clothes are usually the bummiest (is that even a word?) I own. But I know that when I look good, it affects how I feel, so putting myself together well can help me to a)hide how tired/ill I am and b)make me feel a bit better.

© Control my emotions by controlling my thinking. This one comes from my stint in group therapy, and it’s AMAZING how powerful controlling my thinking is turning out to be. I’m not wasting my time by getting worked up (as much), and I’m more appreciative, empathetic, and confident. But I still have some work to do in this area. Mostly, I need to stop overanalyzing everything and create more definite boundaries.

© Get a graduate degree. I started a doctoral program…and then stopped. And then I started it again. And then stopped again. Each time, it was clear that I felt guilty about spending so much time and money on a pursuit that wasn’t about Alex. And then one day, I realized that Alex won’t be a little, demanding, bossy boy forever. He might not even want me to play trains with him. So I’ll finish my doctorate then. It’ll give me something to do while I mourn the fact that most boys grow up to be men who don’t have relationships with their mothers like the ones daughters have with their mothers (as it should be, because in my experience, a man who is too attached to his mother is about as useful as a fire with no heat on a cold day). And I found out that the company that now owns Rancho Solano will pay for my Masters degree. No need to feel guilty about money!

© Love my body. Sometimes (and I know this is going to sound weird), I have moments when I am so comfortable with myself (flaws and all) when I look in the mirror that it seems this particular goal is unnecessary. But the moments never last long before they are pushed out by anxiety about what other people think about how I look, or nostalgic thoughts about how I used to look or what size I used to be. But it’s important. Because my body is going to be a major part of my life until I die. Might as well make peace with it, right?

I have been on Winter Break since the weekend before Christmas. So has Alex. I was REALLY looking forward to the Break because my students were bouncing off the walls and I caught strep throat, plus I was burning the candle at both ends: I’d finished my Christmas shopping early, got the family to Picture People for the annual family photo and then printed a million copies of the photo, which I sent in Christmas cards; then I’d been busy hosting Thanksgiving (thank God for Marie Callendar’s), celebrating Alex’s birthday, and planning and throwing a pretty awesome birthday party for him. But when Break first started, I was a bit despondent. With the promise of two entire weeks of time that wasn’t structured, I slept a lot and sat around watching too much kiddie television. The fact that my presents hadn’t yet been wrapped, I hadn’t made my mom’s annual Christmas present (a calendar with pics of Alex and Tommy from the year) and my house looked like a toy fairy threw up in it only served to cause me anxiety and add to my blah feeling. By Christmas Eve, I was immobilized, but when the sun set, I was able to pull it together…and fall asleep with Alex at 8 p.m. (He had a high fever for two days, starting on the night before Christmas Eve and ending on the night of Christmas.) When I woke up Christmas morning, I frantically wrapped presents and finished my mom’s calendar. It’s a good thing that George put some stuff from Santa under the tree, because I didn’t put anything in our stockings. In retrospect, Christmas this year was glorious compared to last year’s Eara-is-getting-married-and-moving-and-the-wedding-reception-will-be-at-my-house fiasco. But it just seems like every year, something is neglected and/or forgotten until the last minute. In addition, it seems that I spend way too much time alone with my small child, and my perception of the world gets warped so that I forget that there are grown-ups with whom I can spend time and/or talk on the phone. So then I start getting….needy. Ugh.

Still, there have been nice things about this year’s holiday season. I read and finished a book (The Great Santa Search) and went through a few magazines, though there’s still a HUGE pile waiting to be read; we went to the Science Museum and Alex was able to sit through a whole hour of The Polar Express on the IMAX screen in 3D before we took mercy on the other members of the audience and left; George and I had a good laugh or two as we drove through the Church of Joy’s Celebration of Lights (Alex’s eyes were wide open and glued to his window so he could see everything), especially when the girl at the end said that if we “[felt] the need to pray after seeing all of the lights,” we could stop at their faith center; Eara and I went to see The Nutcracker at Symphony Hall and had the most fantastic seats we’ve ever had; Zoolights was cool, and there were these awesome, purple, LED lights that played tricks on my eyes; a hummingbird came right up to my arcadia door, which I believe to be a good omen; I got to have lunch with my LSP friends RobBob AND Tomika, which was great fun; Alex has learned the rhythm, melody and a lot of the lyrics of Jingle Bells and Santa Claus Is Coming to Town and loves to sing; and finally, though we didn’t get to do The Polar Express on the Grand Canyon Railway, I’ve already made reservations for next year! We’ve even got a couple more holiday events before the twelfth day of Christmas, which is on Sunday (Christmas is NOT over yet, despite Target’s efforts toward making you feel that you’re already behind in your preparations for Valentine’s Day- though really, what is there to do??). Tomorrow night we will be going to McCormick-Stillman Railroad Park to ride the train through their light display, and Saturday night we will visit the Wild Winter Nights at the Wildlife World Zoo for the first time.

Once Christmas is over, I get to go back to work, about which I’m actually happy (a good sign, considering last year’s employment situation), and I get to break it to Alex that no matter how many times he sings it, Santa Claus won’t be coming back to town for a while. Not so excited about this last thing. But it’s bound to be easier than potty training.

Here's my mantra!

2007-11-04T22:28:00.001-07:00

I read this today and immediately thought, “This is so me! This is what I do!” Sometimes it’s to a fault, so I’m still working on figuring out how it works for the best results…

If opportunity doesn't knock, build a door.

-Unknown

Wow, what a great blog entry!

2007-11-02T23:45:00.001-07:00

I just read this and it amused me so much that I want to post it on my blog for others to see. So visit this site for fabulous advice on how to make friends. I plan to follow this advice post-haste!

http://blog.beliefnet.com/beyondblue/2007/10/12-ways-to-make-friends.html

I’m getting sick. I’ve been getting sick for the last three weeks. I hate when this happens because when I do finally get sick, it’s REALLY bad because I’ve been worn down for ages beforehand. And then I might as well be dead for the amount of energy I don’t have. Alex has a cold-slash-allergies. One of these days I will take him to the doctor and remember to ask if I should be concerned that my two year old snores louder than my husband. And then maybe we will discover that Alex’s runny nose and sneezing at certain times of the year is a result of allergies. Until then, Benadryl works well to get him to fall asleep and not worry about the runny nose. J

Lots of people in my life have/had laryngitis too, and seeing as how my latest self-induced challenge is to see how much I can talk in an 80-minute period (that’s how long I have a group of students at any given time during a school day), not having a voice would be terribly inconvenient.

I am in the process of reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It is a goldmine! It’s so powerful (like The DaVinci Code also was for me) that I can do nothing but read and consider the adjustments I need to make (and even those I don’t need to make) within my life. It makes me think!

***I just realized I have started three sentences in a row with the word “it,” and I think that perhaps my writing is being negatively affected by the oversimplification of speech that happens at my house so that Alex can learn to speak English . I mean, what I typed just a few sentences ago is how I think these days. It is ----. It is -----. I am ---. You are ----. Once again, I am humbled by the far-reaching, life-changing effects of motherhood.

Lyndsey Lovelace-Jarvis, if you read this will you please send me a note so I know that you, Dan, and the girls are okay? I heard from a San Diego friend that Oceanside was not affected by the fires, but I will feel better and not worry about you when I hear from you. Thanks! J

Stuff I think is cool

2007-10-13T06:54:00.001-07:00

I’m on a blog-posting roll today. It just occurred to me that I can keep track of all the ideas I want to save by posting them on my blog! Not only will I have everything in one place, someone else might benefit from what I think is awesome…

Disposable panties- awesome idea that means I can throw out my period panties!! http://www.wearonce.com/

Batteries that recharge in your USB ports! http://www.usbcell.com/

Brownie pan that has more crusty edges: http://www.fredflare.com/

Laptop/computer privacy filter: 3MPrivacyFilter.com

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Great quote…comes on a necklace in the Acacia catalog (http://www.acaciacatalog.com/): “Keep the peace within yourself, then…bring the peace to others.” Expressed by German theologian Thomas a Kempis (1379-1471)

Another thought on peace, also found in the Acacia catalog: “Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”

A reminder: Bidden or Not Bidden God is Present

Here’s a book I need to read: A Perfect Mess: The Hidden Benefits of Disorder by Eric Abrahamson and David H. Freedman

Awesome website! http://360travelguide.com/ Lots of panoramic views.

A To Don’t List:

1. Don’t overanalyze or overcomplicate things. Commit to taking the easy way.

2. Don’t become consumed by negative possibilities. Assume a positive outcome.

3. Don’t insist on perfection.

4. Don’t do it alone.

5. Don’t become angry or upset when things don’t go according to plan. Roll with it.

Steps to Forgiveness

2007-10-12T08:51:00.001-07:00

Most people have great difficulty forgiving someone, especially if they feel wronged. It isn’t easy to forgive a person who has hurt you and made you feel pain; it’s never a quick fix or an instant happening. But here are four steps to help you learn how to forgive and remove the many layers of pain you have experienced in your life.

Accept it. Take responsibility for the happening but feel no guilt or self-judgment. It’s a human response oftentimes to either judge the other person or place self-judgment upon yourself. Instead, realize this experience has a lesson in it for you and your life that will help you grow.
Feel it. Feel the emotions of the experience. What are you feeling? Actually name them without censoring them in any way. This makes it real and realness is the only place in which you can lovingly make changes. Once it’s real to you, you can shift the energy into something positive.
Surrender it. Drop the need to be right. Understand there is a definite reason for this experience and there is perfection in it. It’s really a prayerful surrender in which you release all judgments and allow humility. There is no right or wrong in this place.
Choose peace and harmony. Everything in your life involves a choice, either one you voluntarily make or one that someone else makes for you. So you have the power to choose how you will respond. Understand that God is in the other person just as God is in you, and that they are coming from their truth. Don’t get into the dance with them so that they pull you down. This will happen if you become defensive, add blame, or feel like a victim. If you dance with them into the place of unforgiveness, you create negative experiences for yourself. You could even try putting yourself in their shoes for a brief moment; you might be surprised how you see things differently.

The gift that keeps on giving

2007-10-12T08:50:00.001-07:00

About eight months ago I was given a gift- a major depressive episode kicked off by a massive anxiety attack. Though I didn’t want it at the time, I am now grateful because of the life changes that have happened as a result of receiving this gift.

The biggest change? Everyday I learn to accept myself more. It’s very humbling to realize that I cannot do everything; in fact, I can’t even really do more than a couple of things at a time. By accepting what I can do instead of pushing myself to do more, my stress levels have dropped dramatically.

Just some good ideas....

2007-07-29T21:46:00.001-07:00

The door of opportunity won't open unless you do some pushing.

-Anonymous

Love truth, but pardon error.

-Voltaire

Big Happenings on Albert Lane

2007-07-24T20:21:00.001-07:00

When I looked at Alex for the first time, after over 24 hours of labor and more than 9 months of a difficult, uncomfortable pregnancy, I thought that it was all worth it, just to see my adorable baby boy and to fall deeply in love with him. And I still mostly think that… keep this in mind as you read.

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Times are rough for a certain 2.5 year old at 9473 W. Albert Lane. And somewhat tougher for those with whom he resides. On Thursday, June 29^th, war was declared quickly and without much fanfare after the young Mr. Davis decided that no, he would not be taking a nap, and how silly of Mama to suggest one! Prior to the declaration of war, Mama read Toddler 411, a brilliant book that provides hope to the masses of battered parents of headstrong toddlers. It was because of the empowerment Toddler 411 issued that Mama found the strength, deep within herself, to propose a nap, and also due to the book that Mama did not throw up her hands in disgust and lock herself in the bathroom after a failed attempt. Armed with a baby gate and nerves of steel, Mama limited Alex’s mobility to his bedroom and listened as he howled, screamed, and threw things over the baby gate. The young Mr. Davis fell asleep shortly thereafter. Though a similar battle ensued at bedtime, the period of time dedicated to throwing things over the baby gate was considerably lessened.

Alas, Alex is not one to go down without a fight…or nine or ten. Neither leaves Albert Lane together very often because of battles waged throughout the day. (For instance, the once simple act of getting into the car for an excursion has now become a hide-and-go-seek game.) Young Mr. Davis, still adverse to nap-taking, behaves garrishly and without regard to the generally-accepted rules of engagement in everything, not just the issue of sleeping on his own bed, which has forced Mama to “fight fire with fire,” so to speak. What could be considered cruel (as murmured by the elder Mr. Davis) has become the norm around the family home, as Alex is mercilessly sent to his room to be “stuck,” (a.k.a. have time out) after any and all infractions and disrespectful gestures. One would think that Alex would gracefully defer to Mama’s clearly more advanced battle-tactics, but one would be horribly wrong. Nearly one month later, young Davis is still as spirited as ever, and it appears that each day he becomes a little more wise about the art of manipulation. Always charming, the younger Mr. Davis has now perfected the maniacal smile one usually associates with charismatic, yet evil, villains and is a master at pitiful pleas for juice. One wonders if toddlers are issued some kind of manual that contains instructions on how to thoroughly baffle and frustrate parents, but especially mothers. Obviously, such a manual is either invisible to grown-ups, or is cleverly disguised as the book that parents have read and re-read 100 million times so that they have either memorized the story (and no longer need to refer to the book’s pages) or they refuse to read it even one more time.

Despite the war, morale is high and Mama looks forward to the days when Alex’s favorite word is something other than “no.”

Wow, this has never happened before!

2007-07-18T15:26:00.001-07:00

I have a babysitter tonight because I'd originally planned to make meals at Dream Dinners. I don’t cook, so meal prep stores like Dream Dinners and Super Suppers have become even more familiar than the grocery store! But I've changed my mind, so now I have a babysitter and nowhere to go. I’ve called a few people and left messages, but chances are good that they a) have plans, b) have children and have no babysitter, or c) balk at the idea of doing something that isn’t previously scheduled. What happened to the life I used to have, where I could call a friend and someone would be free and we'd hang out tonight?? Or where I’d drive myself over to Mill Ave. or someplace like that and people-watch? Have I really become one of those grown up women who plans everything and avoids the unexpected?

Thomas the Tank Engine, Dogs, Frogs, Binkies, Prizes, and Mickey Mouse.

2007-06-23T22:22:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I wish I thought everything is as mind-blowing as Alex does. He gets excited about such little things, no matter how many times he’s seen them or done them or eaten them, and the enthusiasm is often catching…but I still don’t think everything is amazing enough for my eyes to light up and for my feet to do a happy dance just because I’m getting a snack-size bag of Chips Ahoy.

Lately, there isn’t enough joy in the world to match what Alex experiences when he sees or hears anything having to do with Thomas the Tank Engine. He’s two-and-a-half years old and he knows the names of 99% of the characters, which is impressive because there are quite a few. Just today he was telling me about Bertie the Bus and Mavis and pointing out Harold and Duck. For those of you who are familiar with Thomas and Friends, you know that Duck is not one of the major engines, but Alex knows who he is anyway. I can only keep the engines straight because of their colors, so I assumed Alex was using their colors too, but he has a coloring book full of them not colored in and he can STILL tell me who everyone is!

My son is ecstatic whenever he comes across Mickey Mouse, and every duck is Donald Duck (he always has to stop and say, “Quack, quack,” at that point). We have seen the Disney version of The Three Musketeers so many times that the poor DVD is badly scratched and Alex knows to have something to hold on to once the music starts; he pretends it’s a rapier and jabs at the air in true musketeer fashion. Picture a skinny two year old lunging at you with a pacifier. It’s so hard to pretend I’m scared when all I want to do is double over with laughter! Having Alex has meant turning into a true Disney fan, since he loves Disney so much.

All of it is amusing. But nothing is more remarkable than his latest favorite thing. Alex has been spending a lot more time with our yellow Lab, Honey. I suppose it’s because he’s older and Honey is more comfortable with him; I make the guess because Alex’s being older is the only thing that has changed, and until recently, Honey was terrified of Alex, preferring to be outside instead of being inside and subject to Alex’s squeals of glee as he chased her (it was astonishing at the time, because Honey LIVES to lay around inside the house and be petted and told how wonderful she is!). So Alex still shrieks happily as he chases Honey around (we’ve even had to chat about why we shouldn’t smack Honey on the rump and yell GO!), but she doesn’t always run and hide. Eventually, Alex calms down, gets on all fours, sticks his tongue out, and starts panting. Honey eyes him as though he’s gone mad, so she gets up to move, and he follows her, still on all fours. Long after Honey has gone outside (or found a place to hang out where Alex won’t bother her), Alex still pretends he’s a little doggie. He licks George and me, nuzzling us with his head, as Honey does. He even barks!

As if this were not weird enough, he also likes to pretend he’s a frog. We don’t have a frog, and the only thing I can think of that he’s seen on TV having to do with frogs is a two-second blip in the theme song of the PBS show, Kipper. He also has a frog hooded bath towel, but it doesn’t DO anything. But anyway, he knows that frogs stick their tongues out quickly and make a “ribbet” noise, so he will often hop around, making the frog noise and sticking his tongue out. I wonder if he’ll ever think he’s a sloth. I doubt it, because they tend to sit still and do nothing, and that seems to be out of Alex’s range.

It’s fun times around the Davis household these days. Alex’s vocabulary expands exponentially each day; yesterday he told me his ice cream was “elicious,” which threw me for a loop because I never expected my two year old to use the word “delicious” correctly! He might just sleep in his own bed now, since I informed him he could get prizes for sleeping like a big boy (you should’ve seen his face when I said that- you’d think I told him I was going to buy him a new car!). He may also finally let go of his beloved binky…I keep telling him that Binky runs away to visit Binky’s Mommy, and he seems to think this is reasonable.

I just hope that in all my BS about why Binky has disappeared and why we have to put the trains away (they need to go night-night too to get their restful sleep, you know), I don’t lose touch with reality. Because I read in Toddler 411 today that the more imaginative your child is, the more likely he is to be a top-notch liar through the preschool years. Between the two of us, Alex and I could build a whole world based on Thomas the Tank Engine, dogs, frogs, binkies, prizes, and Mickey Mouse.

If it's in your blood, good luck!

2007-06-22T09:53:00.001-07:00

Seeing as how a filling my gas tank now requires my dipping into my savings account, making a decent amount of money matters to me. Gone are the days of honestly not caring that I am seriously underpaid given what teaching requires of me. Gone are the days of insisting that I’d teach for free (though I will most happily do it if I should win the lottery or inherit a tidy sum of money!). It’s time to be painfully realistic. And the reality is that I have to have money to buy gas. I have to buy gas because it makes my car, which is dreadfully NOT fuel efficient, run (but my car does okay on gas mileage- it’s not like a monster SUV- and has anyone noticed how much I love using parentheses?). I need my car to run so it can take my son and me places. We need to go places like the grocery store and to school….you get the picture. Money makes the world go ‘round. (I think I just vomited in my own mouth.)

So, now that I have admitted that money is important (and I suppose I will hear about it from some), I will also admit that though I enjoy teaching, I don’t enjoy it so much that I’m willing to lead my family to a gasoline-induced life of poverty. Back in 2003, I jokingly lamented that a part-time manager at QuikTrip, a.k.a. QT, made more money than I did as a third-year teacher. Today in 2007, I am still lamenting, but not joking so much anymore. I seriously considered submitting an application, but as my nearest and dearest will tell you, superficial perkiness isn’t my thing, and those folks at QT are always saying hi and goodbye with smiles on their faces. However, I DID start looking for jobs that would take me out of the elementary school setting. Even jobs that had absolutely nothing to do with teaching or a teaching certificate. I applied for positions with all kinds of institutions, from the University of Phoenix to Citigroup. I interviewed for quite a few and even seriously considered them. But at the end of the day, what position did I take for next year? A teaching position. At an elementary school.

Apparently, teaching at the elementary level is in my blood. Because no matter how much I told myself that it was time to do something different, whenever an opportunity presented itself, I wasn’t whole-heartedly sure. At one point in the last four months, I said that I would not take a classroom teacher position next year. And while I won’t be a homeroom teacher (I’ll explain in a bit), I have still landed myself a job in which I will be teaching….. in a classroom. It must be in my blood. Or I must really, really like it. Or I’m an insane glutton for punishment. Maybe a little of all three.

I am now employed by Rancho Solano Private Schools as a 4^th grade social studies teacher (I’ll be using a 5^th grade curriculum, so this is right up my alley) and a Preschool-4^th grade music teacher. I think it’s wonderful because I LOVE the 5^th grade social studies curriculum! It was by far the highlight of my 5^th grade teaching days. Plus I never thought I’d teach music in a school setting, so this is quite an opportunity, given my musical background. The most fantastic thing is that the school (the owner, the admin board, and the principal) is willing to work with me as far as the hours I can and cannot work. I’m definitely blessed.

Now here's a thought.

2007-06-12T08:41:00.000-07:00

To be wronged is nothing unless you continue to remember it.

-Confucius

For the longest time, I was intensely angry about the circumstances of my illness. I felt very much the victim, so I blamed others for how it came about instead of focusing on what I could do to get better. It wasn’t until I followed the advice of Confucius (though I didn’t know it was his advice until today) that I began the slow journey toward healing. I share this thought today because I think its value is immeasurable. There is certainly nothing more damaging to our spirits than holding on to that which causes us pain, or grief, or anger- and it feeds hate, which destroys our world. So I challenge myself and everyone else to work on forgetting, and to focus on moving on.

Sometimes life is the therapy.

2007-05-27T20:31:00.001-07:00

Here's a thought I'd like to share: I am happy and content because I think I am. -Alain-Rene Lesage
I figured it was time to post another entry. I've wanted to, but life keeps getting in my way, which is my polite way of saying that I am often a hostage to the whims of a two year old boy who is obsessed with trains. The good thing about this is that sometimes he gets so absorbed by pushing his little trains around and making the appropriate train noises that I can get something done (or at the very least, go to the bathroom).

I am still on short term disability, but it ends when my teaching contract ends, which is May 31st. When I saw my doctor at the end of April, she said that I still seemed "down." I have no doubts about that, since it's only in the last couple of weeks that my mood has lifted beyond what it has been in the last two months. Looking back, I see that I was at my lowest in the end part of April/early part of May, and now it's as though I am waking up after a long sleep. My psychologist insists that my feeling better has to do with not being at work, since it was a major stressor, and I'm inclined to agree. Today I am a 7 on a scale of 0 to 10 in which 10 is the best possible mood and 0 is the worst. I have been at 7 or higher for a while! I'm also happy to report that a suicidal thought hasn't crossed my mind in the last three weeks, though I did think about one I used to have and think it was completely absurd.

I strongly believe that my improved mood is because I've been in group therapy (three times a week for three hours at a time) since April 30th. At first I was very nervous, but now I can't believe that I ever thought doing this was a bad idea. It is tremendously helpful to hear about others' battles and triumphs, and it has been invaluable to realize that I can control how I feel by learning to recognize what I think about any given situation. That's why I like the quote up above; I have learned that no one event or person can make me feel a certain way, because it's what I think about that event or person that causes the feelings I have. And as I'm sure everyone knows, our feelings have a significant impact on our behavior. It's empowering to realize that I can have control over how I feel and what I do by changing how I think. Especially because my depression often leaves me woefully unable to control my thinking.

I have suffered from depression for the better part of 18 years. It's only now, after a journey of denial, inadequate medication, therapy, secret-keeping, many concerned people, adequate medication, more therapy, and honesty that I am working on my thought patterns in an effort to combat the depression and anxiety. A huge part of me is screaming, outraged that it's taken this long. But one of the things I have learned is that things happen within our lives in their own time. Like the message in Ecclesiastes. There's a wisdom in recognizing that sometimes we're not ready for what is best but that if we are patient and we are listening, it will happen. Apparently, I wasn't ready to work on my thoughts until now; had I not worked through the pain of my childhood and being honest about the fact that I am a victim of emotional abuse, I might not have been open to adopting new ideas. Though I've been seeking it for a long time, I'm just now finding the peace within me. It's high time I actually felt what people have told me they perceive me to be, right??

A while back, I wrote an analogy to explain my experience- I described a maze. (Look through March or April entries if you don't know what I'm talking about.) I'm happy to report that the negative soundtrack I described is less powerful, because whenever I hear a negative thought about myself (my self-talk), I work hard to challenge the thought. Is it distorted? Why do I think that? If it is distorted, I have to figure out the truth. And then I have to accept the truth and replace the distorted thought with the newer, more positive and balanced one (not always easy). This tough work is what consumes my energy each day. But the fact is that it's working, and I'm so grateful to even be able to come up with positive, balanced thoughts that I dare not complain.

Joke

2007-05-08T21:41:00.001-07:00

> >>>>> Two little kids are in a hospital, lying on beds next to each
> >>>>> other, outside the operating room.
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The first kid leans over and asks, "What are you in here for?"
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The second kid says, "I'm in here to get my tonsils out and I'm a
> >>>>> little nervous."
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The first kid says, "You've got nothing to worry about. I had that
>
> >>>>> done when I was four. They put you to sleep, and when you wake up
> >>>>> they give you lots of Jell-O and ice-cream. It's a breeze."
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The second kid then asks, "What are you here for?"
> >>>>>
> >>>>> The first kid says, "A circumcision."
> >>>>>
> >>>>> And the second kid says, "Whoa, Good luck, buddy, I had that done
> >>>>> when I was born... Couldn't walk for a year."

What "Crazy" Looks Like

2007-04-28T13:15:00.001-07:00

One of the definitions of 'crazy' according to the Google dictionary is: brainsick. If I go by that, I am most definitely crazy, and it was confirmed yesterday when I visited the crisis intake area of Banner Thunderbird's Behavioral Health Center. As I walked in, I saw notices on the doors- something about no food being allowed and purses/backpacks being locked up. But there was entirely too much text for me to get it all as I passed, so I didn't read everything. Maybe if I had, my anxiety levels wouldn't have hit the roof. As soon as the door closed behind me, someone asked for my purse and for anything in my pockets. My belongings were placed in a locker to which I did not receive a key. I was given a clipboard and told to sit in the lobby as I filled them out. The lobby had many chairs, a couple of couches, and some of those convertible seats that turn into cots that are often in hospital rooms. Two people were in hospital gowns, sprawled out on the couches with blankets. A couple other people were dressed, but had hospital bands around their wrists and wore pained expressions on their faces. I immediately felt out of place, and the feeling turned to one of near-panic as I noticed the lobby doors had wires in the windows and could be locked to prevent the inhabitants from exiting. Still, I was fairly confident that I could leave whenever I wanted, and that, along with The Learning Channel, which was on the lobby television, calmed me a bit. Now that I think about it, it's a REALLY good thing I didn't know that you can't even access the crisis intake area unless accompanied by a staff member with a badge, because the door is locked. As in, there's no key and only a badge will make the electronic lock open. Yep, that was a good thing. I wa already frightened enough.

In the last couple of months I have had some pretty bad days, and on more than one occasion I've wondered if I didn't need to be hospitalized to get well. So I looked into it, but when I realized I'd go as many as five days without seeing Alex, it ceased being an option. Luckily, Banner Behavioral Health offers an intensive outpatient group therapy that focuses on recognizing and changing self-defeating behaviors (which I believe are gifts of my childhood that I'd like to get rid of now). I'm way beyond the point of thinking that I can do this on my own (in fact, I am starting to panic by how completely unable I am to help myself these days), and my visits to my therapist with George have turned into marital therapy (even if George isn't there), so I figure adding another form of therapy that focuses more on what I need to do to feel better can't hurt.I waited in that lobby-slash-holding-cell for an hour (during which time a lunch was provided, the most exciting of which was the two chocolate chip cookies provided for dessert) before I was called out by a therapist named Melissa with long, blonde hair and equally long electric pink nails. She took me into her office that was labeled an "interview room," and explained that we had half an hour to decide whether the intensive outpatient group therapy program was a good fit for me. We talked about what I like to do in my spare time; I thought it was interesting that most of the time we talked was focused on positive things, rather than the negative things that brought me to her office. She agreed that the outpatient program was a good idea, especialy because if something wasn't done, I'd probably end up an inpatient at the hospital. I had to complete a Safety Plan that stated my stressors, signs that my stressors are getting to me, and three things I would do whenever I felt myself starting to go into "danger zone." Then a doctor had to agree that it was safe to allow me to go home. Oh, and I had to agree to throw out any extra medication lying around and urge George to lock all weapons in his gun safe (there was an incident about two weeks ago that makes guns a VERY bad idea for me). I start group therapy on Monday afternoon and will go three days a week for four weeks, after which time we'll reevaluate to decide if I need individual therapy that focuses more on me, or if I need to continue group, or if I should just continue the marital therapy.

A retraction

2007-04-23T23:49:00.001-07:00

The stuff I wrote about feeling better and being stronger? Not true for today. I didn't make it out of bed until 2 p.m., and even then, I really did nothing. Does it get worse than this?

To Do

2007-04-22T16:49:00.001-07:00

Something awesome from http://www.mayyoubeblessedmovie.com/420.html, which you should visit if you haven't already!

There's an old story about a group of monks living with their master in a Tibetan monastery. Their lives were disciplined and dedicated, and the atmosphere in which they lived harmonious and peaceful. People from villages far and wide flocked to the monastery to bask in the warmth of such a loving spiritual environment.

Then one day the master departed his earthly form. At first the monks continued on as they had in the past, but after a time, the discipline and devotion that had been hallmarks of their daily routine slackened. The number of villagers coming through the doors each day began to drop, and little by little, the monastery fell into a state of disrepair.

Soon the monks were bickering among themselves, some pointing fingers of blame, others filled with guilt. The energy within the monastery walls crackled with animosity.

Finally, the senior monk could take it no longer. Hearing that a spiritual master lived as a hermit two days walk away, the monk wasted no time in seeking him out. Finding the master in his forest hermitage, the monk told him of the sad state the monastery had fallen into and asked his advice.

The master smiled. "There is one living among you who is the incarnation of God. Because he is being disrespected by those around him, he will not show himself, and the monastery will remain in disrepair." With those words spoken, the master fell silent and would say no more.

All the way back to the monastery, the monk wondered which of his brothers might be the Incarnated One.
"Perhaps it is Brother Jaspar who does our cooking," the monk said aloud. But then a second later thought, "No, it can't be him. He is sloppy and ill tempered and the food he prepares is tasteless."

"Perhaps our gardener, Brother Timor, is the one," he then thought. This consideration, too, was quickly followed by denial. "Of course not" he said aloud. "God is not lazy and would never let weeds take over a lettuce patch the way Brother Timor has."

Finally, after dismissing each and every one of his brothers for this fault or that, the senior monk realized there were none left. Knowing it had to be one of the monks because the master had said it was, he worried over it a bit before a new thought dawned. "Could it be that the Holy One has chosen to display a fault in order to disguise himself?" he wondered. "Of course it could! That must be it!"

Reaching the monastery, he immediately told his brothers what the master had said and all were just as astonished as he had been to learn the Divine was living among them.

Since each knew it was not himself who was God Incarnate, each began to study his brothers carefully, all trying to determine who among them was the Holy One. But all any of them could see were the faults and failings of the others. If God was in their midst, he was doing a fine job of hiding himself. Finding the Incarnated One among such rubble would be difficult, indeed.

After much discussion, it was finally decided that they would all make an effort to be kind and loving toward each another, treating all with the respect and honor one would naturally give to the Incarnated One. If God insisted on remaining hidden, then they had no recourse but to treat each monk as if he were the Holy One.

Each so concentrated on seeing God in the other that soon their hearts filled with such love for one another the chains of negativity that held them bound fell away. As time passed, they began seeing God not just in each other, but in every one and everything. Days were spent in joyful reverence, rejoicing in His Holy Presence. The monastery radiated this joy like a beacon and soon the villagers returned, streaming through the doors as they had before, seeking to be touched by the love and devotion present there.

It was some time later that the senior monk decided to pay the master another visit to thank him for the secret he had revealed.

"Did you discover the identity of the Incarnated One?" the master asked.
"We did," the senior monk replied. "We found him residing in all of us."
The master smiled.

Affirmations

2007-04-22T14:10:00.001-07:00

It has been 53 days (I know, because I just counted) since the bottom fell out from under me, and I am still alive. I'm proud of this. It's scary to admit this now, but there were some touch-and-go moments. Thank God for guardian angels and little boys named Alex! I am a fool if I honestly think that all of that is buried and gone- but I can hope that the next 53 days are more about rebuilding the bottom than falling through it.

I'm not sure I can adequately describe where I've been for the last couple of months, but I can say that it has been dark. I'm not entirely out of the dark yet, but at least now I can see light for longer periods of time. I'm happy about that.

When I first realized things were bad (like when I had to go on short term disability instead of going to work), I accumulated a lot of reading material that I thought would help me get through my tough time. I'm just now feeling like I can actually read without being cynical and wanting to track down the authors to bonk them over the heads with my rubber mallet (I don't have a rubber mallet, since George won't allow me to buy one, but I think owning one would enhance my life, since no one has ever suffered death-by-rubber-mallet but I would still benefit from the therapeutic act of bonking someone on the head). I don't suppose anyone who hasn't been depressed can understand how much it DID NOT help me when people (or reading materials) gave me logical reasons why I won't be depressed forever. When I was having a really bad time of things, hearing about how I'll one day feel better only magnified the fact that I didn't feel better right now. I once said to George that I wish I'd had the foresight to document my gloomy periods before, because then I would've understood how I got to the happy pictures I see of myself all over the place. When I don't feel well, seeing my smiling face in records of time past also emphasizes how bad I feel. When I feel depressed, I am capable of logical thought. I KNOW that there is much in my life to rejoice over and embrace. I just don't FEEL like rejoicing or embracing. And I completely forget that I once endured and overcame- and more importantly, HOW I endured and overcame. I made a big mistake thinking that I could fix myself if I followed the steps in a guidebook- because depression isn't like overcoming an addiction or "getting over" an unpleasant experience. For me, it's about finding a way to survive by remembering HOW to survive. I just re-read what I wrote, and it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. I have noticed that I'm not able to say what I mean as well as I have been able to in the past- and amusingly, this still doesn't stop me from saying stuff. I may have mentioned the cognitive effects of my depression before- but just in case I haven't, this particular episode has messed with my ability to quickly process and produce information. I finally get why some of my students with processing issues looked at me blankly right after I gave them directions- it takes a minute for the comprehension to happen.

But anyway, now that I do feel a little better, I'm open to these "pep talks." One of the things I've read about that reminds me about what has worked in the past is making affirmations. When I was in junior high, I somehow came across the same idea, and I made lists of things that I liked about myself- things that made me feel strong. I'm sad that I couldn't even begin to think about creating such a list until now, but what matters most is that now I can, so here goes:

I am a survivor. I have survived a lifetime of feeling inadequate, unworthy, and unwanted. I can do it.
I am resilient. I can "bounce back" when bad things happen to and around me.
I am strong. I can withstand physical and emotional pain and it won't destroy me.
I am worthy of love. I can give it away and I deserve to get it back.
I am smart. I have good ideas, and even when my ideas aren't good, I can learn from my mistakes.
I am funny. I can laugh and help others laugh.
I have a lot to offer this world. I am leaving it better than I found it by raising Alex, teaching others, sharing, and being kind.

Here's some advice

2007-04-20T23:52:00.001-07:00

Here's some advice: don't eat sandwiches that have mayonnaise on them when you've left them in the car for a couple of hours. This is one of those NO DUH pieces of advice that I totally failed to follow. Yesterday I bought a yummy patty melt from Sonic, but then I went to pick Alex up from my parents' house (where he has been spending A LOT of time lately), and I left the sandwich in the car, thinking I'd just be a few minutes. Minutes turned into hours before I found myself headed home again. To make a long story short, I was hungry at about 9 p.m., so I started to eat this patty melt, since it was readily available. And honestly, I'd forgotten it had mayo on it, so it's not like I made a conscious decision to poison myself, especially since Alex had a bit of the sandwich too. WELL, today I couldn't quite get out of bed. I had a horrible headache and my stomach was doing flips and turns and other things it shouldn't have been doing. I hardly ate anything today (two chicken nuggets, a cup of lemonade, some water, and a toaster strudel, which I'm hoping I'll be able to keep down), and my stomach is making those loud growls I'm all too familiar with. They're the growls of post-really-bad-upset-stomach. I'm pretty sure it was the sandwich that made me sick today. Either that or my being really upset that my paper STILL hasn't been written or turned in. Either way, be sure to heed my advice. I hate to admit it, but George may have a valid argument when he doesn't want me to eat stuff that's been sitting out more than 15 minutes.

Oh yes, I'm the great procrastinator...

2007-04-18T23:22:00.001-07:00

I have a paper to write. I've known about it for almost a month, but I still haven't written it. Luckily, I know I can do this- the paper needs only be a couple pages long. I even have an idea what I will write. I just haven't written it yet. I started the first class in my Training and Development Leadership doctoral program a little over two weeks ago, which is the class for which I need to write the paper. I am REALLY enjoying the reading I have to do, because it's all about considering human potential and recognizing and developing natural talents…all stuff I am interested in anyway. I'm overjoyed about getting to think about personality and development AND earn a doctorate too- it's one of the most wonderful things to happen to me in the last six months. It's lucky for me that I can work at my own pace, since the "class" takes place online. Plus instead of panicking about turning a paper in a week late, I can just work twice as hard for the next couple of weeks and get back on track- all without having my grades suffer negatively. Except for the cost (it'll be close to $50K by the time all is said and done-yikes!), I couldn't be happier about my decision to earn my doctorate. I worried for the longest time that it is a frivolous endeavor, since I can most likely accomplish all of my career goals with a shorter (and cheaper) masters program. In talking with the dean of the College of Teacher Education and Leadership at ASU's west campus about it, I even learned that many women question the need for a doctorate- especially because the process by which one is traditionally earned is less than family-friendly. I can only shrug my shoulders and say that it's something I want to do; something for which I am truly proud of myself. I don't know why, but more than ever before, being accepted into the program has been the most compelling proof to me that I am smart and a hard worker who is worthy of joining the ranks of amazing professors and organizational leaders. Up until I was accepted into this doctoral program, I often thought that many of my accomplishments were somehow the product of really good luck. Sometimes I look back at the things I've done and I'm truly awed…like I'm reading a book or seeing a movie about an undoubtedly fictitious person. In my "everyday" moments, I certainly do not feel smart or amazing; for instance, when I'm stuck in traffic, I don't feel brilliant. But now, as I work toward this huge goal, I feel that a seed has been planted within me, and it's starting to sprout- I'm starting to really believe that I'm responsible for the good things that have happened to me.

I am a functioning mass of numbness when it comes to most everything else in my life at the moment. I say I'm functioning because I don't sit on the couch all day- I actually put some of Alex's laundry away today! But I'm definitely numb, which I suppose is better than feeling a sad rage. I've noticed that I have an emotional cycle- or spiral. I'll feel fine (my medicine works as it should), which puts me at the top of the cycle/spiral. I'll feel a bit on edge, which is a downward motion. If I'm on edge for a while, or things are particularly stressful, I keep "going down" until I get perilously close to "rock bottom." If I am at the bottom, I'm not functioning anymore, which is what I have experienced off and on since the beginning of March (and at other times in my life, like senior year of high school and 5th grade). I can start moving upward again, which is what I think it happening now- and that means I function (I actually get out of bed and take care of myself and others), but I feel emotionally bland. Hopefully I'm going to continue going up. Sometimes it seems that I slipped into this depressive episode and I can just as easily slip out of it (especially because this is all due to wacked-out hormones). When I do feel well, I get my hopes up thinking that my hormones have fixed themselves and I will start feeling normal again. But I saw an endocrinologist on Tuesday who ordered all kinds of tests and asked me a bunch of questions- so the reality is that the hormones are still not as they should be.

This morning I visited a Sonora Quest Labs patient care center (why aren't they just called locations anymore??) to have blood drawn. From what I could understand in doing my Google research, the doctor gave me dexamethasone to suppress my adrenal gland function in order to test my pituitary gland, but also to find out if my adrenals have changed in their output since my last round of tests in February. I felt AWFUL after taking the dexamethasone. It made me feel sleepy and a bit grumpy- in fact, I couldn't really wake up today until well after 11 a.m. Now I have a bit of a sore throat (apparently, this medicine leaves you a bit vulnerable to illness) that I'm hoping will go away. I have not felt that exhausted since the early part of March, which tells me that making myself take several million supplements is helping somewhat (I'm taking multivitamins with heavy emphasis on B and C vitamins and DHEA, as well as a large dose of omega 3 fatty acids, or something like that). In a few weeks, I get to go back to have a butt-load of blood drawn to test all of my hormone levels- if it's a hormone, it's listed on my lab paperwork. My doctor is definitely experienced and wise, but unfortunately, he also has a thick Chinese accent that makes him a bit hard to understand. From what I gathered at my appointment, he wants to make sure there are no abnormal pituitary growths (hence the blood test this morning), and determine the extent of the adrenal fatigue. He wasn't too worried about my irregular periods or my polycystic ovaries, since I have been pregnant and I am still ovulating (hence the periods). For the first time since I started feeling yucky (in November/December), I actually am hopeful that a true diagnosis will be made. Plus I'm glad that I've listened to my instincts and not followed the advice of doctors that wouldn't have solved any of my problems (like the naturopath who wanted to treat polycystic ovarian syndrome or the OB/GYN who told me I most likely had chronic fatigue syndrome). I have another appointment with the endocrine guy in mid-May.

I suffered from severe abdominal pain in my lower left side on Easter weekend. I was worried it was an ovarian cyst (if you know about Eara's experience, you certainly understand), so George took me to Urgent Care. Curiously, the doctor asked me all kinds of questions, did a pelvic exam AND sent me for a CT scan of my abdomen to try and figure out what was causing the pain, but everything appeared normal and nothing suggested my life was in danger, so he finally (and reluctantly) gave me a prescription for Vicodin. But not before he asked me if I'd ever considered visiting a homeopath (doctor who practices homeopathic medicine). I shared that I'd already seen a naturopath, but he insisted that the homeopath experience would be different and possibly more enlightening. Given my adventures through health diagnosis navigation, I agreed I'd give a homeopath a shot. So I'll see one on May 21st. Supposedly, the remedy they suggest will be one that addresses all of my issues, from the depression to the mysterious side pain, to the crazy hormones. Here's hoping.

If I have learned anything in the last six months, it is that I should listen to my body more closely and act based on what it's telling me instead of putting off the inevitable "breakdown." I know now that I probably could've felt better sooner (and possibly have avoided my major depressive episode all together?) had I taken the time to realize that my level of exhaustion was not normal, even though I'd been sick quite a bit and I have a two year old. Ever the teacher, I have to point out the lessons here! I must encourage others to listen to their bodies. Listen to what your body tells you! Pain means you need to stop. Exhaustion means you need rest. Tension means you need to eliminate stress. And be aware of your instincts. Doctors are people who are trained in medicine and caring for us, BUT they are not always right, just like we're not always right about whatever it is that's our line of expertise. Had I not listened to mine, I might be sitting around, thinking I am doomed to always feeling so tired.

Hi, my name is Darna, and I'm a complainer.

2007-04-10T21:03:00.001-07:00

I'm a complainer. I've been in denial about this, but I can't pretend any longer. I'm a complainer, and I'm most likely comfortable when I'm complaining. I'm pretty sure I haven't always been such a complainer, but I won't dare announce that I have been a non-complainer in the past. Although I do remember days when I wasn't so quick to start whining. Those days are gone.

I have a lot to complain/whine about these days. I wish I could say that I rise above it and only think of pleasantly positive things, but I don't. If something seems difficult, I have to wonder if it's because of my depression, or if it's just because it's a hard thing to do. But either way, I'll complain about how hard it is. Often, since no one is around, I'll complain to myself. How sad. In my head I'm constantly complaining about the state of my house. I've never been freakishly neat (a trait I've adamantly avoided), but I'm pretty sure my home has never been so…..cluttered. I don't have enough energy, and when will the energy come back? I start projects, but then I can't finish them because I get bored. Except that's a ridiculous thing, because I have so many things I could do that I don't really have enough downtime to be bored. So I complain about having so much to do, even though I do very little to accomplish anything, and I feel ashamed about my complaints because I know other people have much busier lives than I have. I don't like feeling this way- disjointed and cognitively fuzzy.

My huge complaint these days is about how I feel. I'm miserable sometimes. Truly. Today I felt such despair so quickly that I once again was tempted by the big sleep. It's scary how tantalizing the idea of not having to deal with anything anymore can be. I know I'm supposed to call someone when I feel this way, but I'm often at a loss when the feeling hits; I don't want to call George because he gets anxious, and I don't want to bother Eara, because she has a lot on her plate, and I don't want to unload my burden on any friends. My parents would be the last people I would call when I feel this way….and the idea of talking is exhausting anyway. It makes it worse that I don't want to call anyone, though a small voice in my head keeps telling me that there are people in my life who would much rather I call than hurt myself. I isolate myself, and I'm not sure how to quit doing that. I need help, but I don't want to bother anyone to help me. It would be a lot easier if I could not be myself…maybe I could make some progress.

Since I didn’t call anyone, I decided to hang out on my bed. Alex wasn't entirely happy with that, as he wanted me to play blocks. (He says, "Play blocks? Okay, play blocks," as he pulls on one of my fingers AT LEAST TEN TIMES A DAY.) This time I didn't move or respond. We had a tough day, and there were times that I'm horrified to admit that I wanted to yank his little arms off so he would stop throwing things. I considered locking him in his room, but that seemed cruel and I'm pretty nervous about doing anything that could leave him with mental/emotional scars, understandably. Not to mention my fear that he would figure out how to climb his dresser and jump off of it (he did a lot of leaping off the couch this afternoon, much to my dismay. Is that gut-wrenching fear when it comes to his safety ever going to go away???). Our day was tough because he was tired but refused to nap (did I mention he was up at 4 am?). Couple that with my agitation, and it was torture. But we survived. At about 6:30 pm, he finally agreed to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after turning his nose up at other foods I offered for dinner. What he really wanted was cake, but I refused to give him some of George's birthday cake (he's consumed enough sugar between Easter and today that he could go without sugar for the rest of the year), so he threw a five-minute tantrum. Eventually, he calmed down and became agreeable. Then we read some books, and by 7:30 he was snoring away. He's so sweet when he's sleeping. And he was adorable as he brought me book after book about trains and when we talked about circles and he pointed out that his drawer knobs are circles. We even counted them, though he kept insisting nine came after three and had to count to ten even though there were only six knobs. I'd planned to give him a bath tonight, but there was no way it would've gone well. He likes to throw water out of the tub….and that might have sent me over the edge of the edge I'd gone over earlier in the day. I'm a horrible mother because my son went to bed with horrendously dirty feet from running around all day barefoot. And I'm also a horrible mother because he doesn't bathe every day. Doesn't that count as neglect?

My complaints and general negativity have taken their toll on George. He's never been one to focus on the positive, so now that I'm not my idealistic, optimistic self, things are pretty dreary. Instead of being grateful that he doesn't tell me to go away and come back when I've gotten my act together, I rant and rave and make him listen to my complaints about how little he does around the house and how he must not love me because he doesn't gush about how much he loves me. He rarely yells at me, and even when he does, he is good about having issues with my actions, rather than with me. I don't mean to paint him as an angel, because he has major issues with expressing himself and his emotions, but the fact is that George really is trying. He tries to do everything I ask. I've been a witch (replace w with b). He's still nice to me, even though I'm probably laying the foundation for a stress-induced stroke. Someday I will make this up to him. I just am too exhausted to figure it out right now. In the meantime, I have realized that I was holding him to unfairly and unrealistically high expectations. I'm humbled now by the fact that I have to see him for who he really is and what he really does and not keep yearning for everything I want exactly as I want it whenever I want it.

George and I went to a parent/teacher conference at Alex's school on Monday. Apparently, Alex is wonderful except for his constant need to run around the room (can anyone say ADHD?? But I'm joking about that….kind of). He is even exhibiting leadership and social skills, since he can get all of the boys in his class running around the room with him. I can't help but be proud of my little ring-leader. It is really nice to hear someone else say that my child is delightful and funny. I can totally understand why some parents dread conferences now- because they haven't had a teacher point out their child's wonderful qualities. If I ever find myself on the opposite end of the table again, I'm totally going to emphasize the terrific things about my students, no matter how devious or lazy they can be, if only because I think that compliments about our children stroke our egos and make us realize that there must be something right about us if it has come out in our children. Or something like that. When I consider that who I am is reflected through Alex, I can't help but cry because I'm so grateful that the happiness and the impulsive hugs and kisses and the singing and the creativity are there. There must be happiness somewhere within me, but I've lost it now. Oh, how I wish it wasn't so hard to find it again. I have a feeling that if I hang out with Alex enough (on days when he's not gotten up at an unusual hour AND has had a proper nap, of course), it'll come back.

growing bladder + 10-20 oz.=3 x (leaky diaper+wet mattress)

2007-04-02T10:41:00.001-07:00

Before I started feeling really miserable (I'm thinking it was back in September), I think I was truly starting to accept myself. I was developing an understanding of my limitations in a way that allowed me to feel at peace instead of feeling like a victim; I held on to the fact of the amazing power of my body and the miracle it produced (Alex) as a way to combat the inner desperation I sometimes feel about my body; and I was no longer afraid of sadness or anger, because they were controllable. I wish I could say that I know exactly when things started to change, but I don't know, and I think that's because the deterioration of my health has been a gradual process.

For me to even acknowledge that my health has deteriorated is a major step for me. Up until Friday, when I visited my primary doctor and heard a brief account of my health over the last year, I think I honestly believed that what I'm experiencing right now is a minor setback, like a cold or the flu; something that will be gone quickly and then I can get back to living my life the way I used to with the range of emotions I used to feel and the capability to multitask (I'm woefully unable to do it now, since doing more than one thing will result in 1- frustration and potential shut-down on my part and 2- any tasks I'm trying to do simultaneously being done poorly, at best.). I finally get that something is really wrong with me that left unaddressed could limit and shorten my life, and what's more, it has sunken in that fixing what's wrong will take a couple months at the least. It's going to take a major paradigm shift (I use that word at the risk of regurgitating all the Stephen Covey stuff I studied my freshman year of college in Leadership class)- and the thought is so overwhelming that I wish I could just go buy a new brain at Target. They'd probably have a better deal than Walmart, as far as quality for price goes; besides, Walmart would probably end up unethically taking down smaller brain stores/factories in third world countries to achieve their amazingly low price on brains.

I almost didn't go to my doctor appointment because I was so afraid that she wouldn't believe that my depression is so debilitating. How ridiculous is that? Somehow, I've convinced myself that people will automatically think that I'm not really depressed and assume I'm trying to cheat the system. Where is this paranoia coming from?? Especially because so many people have been wonderful to me about this, including my doctor yesterday. (I had to see her for my short term disability paperwork to get filled out because my psychiatrist doesn't do paperwork, which caused me to shed a lot of tears when I heard that.) Anyway, the rest of the day was fairly uneventful until Alex woke up from his nap and decided to "help" me with putting stuff away by throwing a ton of cards EVERYWHERE. I can't explain how I crumple when Alex makes an amazing mess that will take more than a minute to clean up. I know he's a little boy who is experimenting and experiencing and learning….but the fact remains that I already feel overwhelmed by life most of the time, and when Alex gets into one of his "messy" moods, it pushes me over the edge. Luckily, instead of flying into a rage (as my mother used to do), I shut down. I usually go numb and sit on the couch until the numbness goes away, and then I either leave the mess (no energy to clean it up) or I start to clean up a little at a time. If Alex is agreeable (meaning he's had a proper nap), I can get him to help me. Otherwise, he can very quickly make the mess worse than it was in the first place. It doesn't ever seem that I'll accomplish anything significant around the house, which I guess is okay since Carla, our fabulous angel-disguised-as-a-cleaning-lady, insists on doing more than I ask. For instance, this past Wednesday she brought all kinds of books and toys over for Alex. And she picked up dog poop and cleaned off my patio; things which are totally unrelated to cleaning the house. But anyway, since I've become a mother I've had to accept the fact that any plans I make are indefinite until they actually happen, and there will always be something on the floor- blocks, cards, Legos, cars, paperclips, whatever…if Alex can get to it (and sadly, he can figure out a way to get to just about everything), it will end up on the floor.

So let me get to the newest gift of motherhood: leaky diapers. But not leaky diapers like the ones when Alex was born and we had to find a diaper that fit well; oh, no, we're talking diapers that get so full that they can't absorb any more so that urine flows freely from baby to bed. Would it be a big deal if Alex slept on his own bed? No, not really, because he has a waterproof mattress. But does Alex sleep on his own bed? Actually yes, but he gets up in the middle of the night to come sleep on mine. THAT is the big deal. It happened three times before George suggested we get a waterproof mattress cover. George is brilliant! Why didn't I think of that sooner?? I suppose some day we'll have to limit Alex's drinking liquids after lunchtime, since it seems like he saves all his liquid from the afternoon for peeing while he's sleeping, but in the meantime, Alex seems content with the way things are. Oh, and he has found a new place to pee: my shoes. Yesterday he took off his diaper, ran around the house gleefully due to the free feeling, and then ran into my closet and peed on my new shoes. Isn't motherhood glamourous?

I have something to say.

2007-03-26T23:38:00.001-07:00

Earlier this evening, George asked me for a list of Dos and Don'ts because he felt at a loss for how to deal with me right now (we had a major discussion this morning about all of my frustrations with him). I was frustrated by the task at first (I even had one of my inner tantrums….maybe I'll explain those later), but after putting Alex to bed and thinking a little (and also by some miracle), my heart opened up, and here's what came out. Some of it applies to anyone in my life, but for the most part, I thought I'd post it here because it is part of my truth for right now:

Everyday, tell me you love me. And mean it. Don't wait until you are leaving the house or on the phone. I know it's awful, but I automatically assume no one loves me.

Everyday, make an attempt to touch me. Hold my hand or give me a hug, or pat my back or stroke my arm- whatever. Don't expect it to lead to sex.

Everyday, remind me why I love you.

Everyday, tell me a joke, or try to make me laugh. I love that about you.

Every now and then, kiss me (not just a peck on the cheek). Don't expect it to lead to sex.

Every now and then, show me that you're glad I'm your wife. You will probably do this by telling me you love me and touching me, but there are other things, like saying you're glad I'm your wife or smiling at me, or reminding me that I'm more than your son's mother.

Every now and then, remind me why we're together. Help me remember the awesome things about our past and encourage me to think about the good things in our future. Make it clear that you believe there's going to be a future no matter what because I often can't even think about tomorrow.

Every now and then, acknowledge that you are working a lot, but that you would rather be home with me or with Alex.

Call if you're going to be late. For whatever reason, whenever you go anywhere. (So you need to have an idea of when you're going to be home.) But if you go out (either by yourself or with friends), after work, call me at least once so I know you're okay. I don't care when, and if I don't answer, leave a voicemail telling me where you are and when you think you'll be home. And please try to call before you start drinking, or while you're drinking, but before you get too drunk. I'm sorry I'm so demanding about this, but there have been too many times I've woken up and freaked out.

Every now and then, talk with me about the plans you have for us, or the thoughts you have about us. This will show me you actually think about us on your own without my prompting or my questions.

**I will make an effort to do these things more too. But some days, just breathing is a little overwhelming. So please keep doing them, even if I'm not doing my fair share. I am grateful in advance.**

On a more depression-specific note:

Please do not ask me what's wrong. I often don't know and the question ends up frustrating me because I feel like I should know. If you want to know something, try asking a specific question, like "Are you upset about _________?"

Please do not point out that things around the house are bad. I know the dishes haven't been done and the laundry hasn't been folded, and I feel terrible about it. Instead of saying anything, or announcing that you will take care of it (which makes me feel worse because I know I'm causing you extra work), encourage me to help you take care of things.

Please do not expect me to cook. Or make jokes about it. Same goes for exercising and eating and my weight and my hair…pretty much anything about my physical appearance. You can still encourage me to do these things, though.

Please be explicitly clear about how you feel, no matter how good or bad it is. Otherwise my very negative imagination will make things worse than they are. I'm probably going to cry, whether you say something bad or not. But that doesn't mean I'm going to fall apart or that you hurt me. If you feel like it, just sit with me or give me a hug until I stop crying. I usually hate that I cry so much. You are not a bad husband and it is often not your fault that I cry.

Please do not let me sleep too much. Be kind about getting me out of bed, though. Please don't suggest that I'm lazy. I already think I am.

Please understand that I will take care of Alex, but that some of the ways I go about it are completely unconventional. For instance, when I don't feel that I can fight with him, I let him stay up with me until he falls asleep on the couch or on our bed. Or he may not take a real bath every night because I'm so exhausted. But I tell him I love him every chance I get and I hold/cuddle him as much as he'll let me. And I do try to play/read with him several times a day. If you don't feel like Alex is getting something he needs, please don't get mad if I'm not doing it the way you would- but feel free to do it yourself. Please believe that I will never let him go hungry or get hurt (if I can help it, of course). Please trust me with our son, because when I feel that you don't trust me, it only proves my theory that he would be better off without me.

Please do not ever give up on me. I want desperately to feel better, but if you don't think I'll feel better, I'll believe you.

If I call you because I'm anxious or frustrated, please do not ask me what I want you to do. I don't have a clue; I called you because I thought you might help me feel better. Definitely never tell me there's nothing you can do to help me. Remind me that everything will be okay. I always believe you when you tell me, even if I don't seem like it right then.

**I know I'm asking a lot, and as I have said before, if you can't handle it, I will understand. I love you, and I believe that you are the most important person to help me feel better. You can't fix me, but you can help me fix myself.**

Love,
Darna

Ask and you shall receive; knock and it shall be opened unto you...

2007-03-23T23:48:00.001-07:00

When I was a kid, my mother would often drag Eara and me to funerals because attendance meant indulgences to keep us out of purgatory. We didn't always know the deceased (but I'm hoping my mom did). We participated in countless novenas and prayed the rosary together at our house and the houses of her friends. We went to mass in the mornings when we didn't have school. I can't fathom how many times I've heard the words, "…ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened into you…" Let's just say I've heard them a lot, and spoken them in prayer many a time. There are some really good things that came from my mother, and the gift of God and prayer is one of them. God has answered so many of my prayers, and not answered just as many, and I'm grateful.

That said, I had a major revelation about God roughly four years ago, mostly because of the Catholic Church. It's one of the issues I deal with that makes my depression a little more…difficult. My close childhood friends can probably attest to the church time I logged in my early years; I sometimes attended two masses on Sundays because we were so early for the mass Mom wanted to attend that the previous mass was still happening. We went to church EVERY Sunday, because if I dared suggest to my mother that I didn't want to go, I was assured a seat in Hell. Now that I think about it, I feared God's and the Church's wrath and thought of myself as truly unworthy, mostly because my mother made every mistake, no matter how innocently made, seem like one that disappointed God and the Church. (That changed around the time I was 11, which also happens to be the age when I first attempted suicide. But that's not such an issue anymore because I finally dealt with the post-traumatic stress and accepted that it was something I'd done and…well, I've dealt with it and "embraced" it. It's actually a critical piece of my history and probably explains why even though I often think about suicide and ways to achieve it, I would really have to be out of my mind to do it. Life is bad sometimes and I feel such pain that I'd like it to be over, BUT there are people for whom I care so much that I don't want to be the reason for their distress.) When I met George and told my mom I thought he was the one, she asked if he was Catholic, to which I explained that his father was, but he'd converted to marry George's Mormon mother. She stared at me blankly, probably hoping it would go nowhere. When George came home and we lived together, my mother often lamented, claiming she'd failed as a mother because I was living in sin, and she was having to lie to my uncle, the Catholic priest (though I seriously doubt he would've cared too much). When I married George in a civil ceremony, she was crushed that it didn't happen in a Catholic church. And when Alex was born, she was devastated by George's and my decision to not baptize him in the Catholic church. As you have probably figured out, the Church and my mother are practically one and the same; she is still an avid novena participant who goes to mass every chance she gets and pushes for a homecoming between me (and thus, Alex) and the Catholic church.

I'm not sure if it's because I lived and breathed Catholicism for so long or if it's because I'm a natural mystic, but I believe strongly in the existence of that which cannot be explained with logic- so much so that I approach life with a heavy reliance on my intuitive and emotional feelings. I believe in magic, fate, destiny….all of those things, like religion, that aren't tangible and have little, if any, tangible proof to support their existence. And because of my childhood, I have no tolerance for knowingly allowing suffering to happen or going to great lengths to keep the suffering hidden. It's because of this (and the parade of child molesting Catholic priests) that The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown rocked my world, as I mentioned above. I realize that as a work of fiction, The DaVinci Code isn't a good reason to throw out all of your faith in your church and suffer a few years before you figure out what it is you REALLY believe in. But as a work of fiction with several compelling themes that happens to include factual items/places, the book prompted me to do research. It was what I learned through research that gave me lots of good reasons to lose faith in my church and suffer for a couple of years while I tried to decide what I believe in my heart.

There are some crazy concepts out there. But I have to point out that everyone thought Galileo and Columbus were insane for a while. That said, some people believe that because Jesus Christ was a human being, he could've been married to Mary Magdalene, or at the very least, romantically involved with her. Then there are ideas that Mary Magdalene is the Holy Grail, or she gave birth to a child who was the Holy Grail, or Mary Magdalene was the author of the 4th Gospel in the New Testament. I've read books, spoken with others, searched the Internet, and read scholarly articles- I really attacked this research project like my life depended on it. I asked and seeked and knocked. Here's what I received, found, and opened:

First, if we are all created in God's image, then who's to say that God is exclusively male? My belief is that God is an entity that cannot be humanized easily. God is me and you and the folks down the street…..each of us carries a piece of God, which is why there's power in numbers and "no man is an island." God is more than our father- God is mother and sister and brother. Since this is what I believe, I have made a conscious effort for the last couple of years to refrain from using masculine pronouns when referring to God- not always easy. I'm not saying that God cannot be a father figure- just pointing out that God is more than a human male, so when we talk about God, our speech should reflect that.

Second, I believe that Mary Magdalene is a very real part of the history of Christianity, if only because her presence provides proof that our male-dominated notions about Christianity are not necessarily true at face value, especially when we consider that through much of Western civilization's history, men have been so insecure that they have seen fit to eradicate women's contributions from the records. I do not know if Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married or involved, and it doesn't really matter to me. In fact, it's comforting to think that they were because it makes Jesus that much more human. There's a really good website that presents several perspectives on Mary Magdalene: www.magdalene.org, including a link to a well-written paper on why Mary Magdalene is in fact the author of the 4th Gospel, which is commonly attributed to John.

Third, it makes total sense to me that the Catholic Church would make every effort to cut Mary Magdalene (or any other woman) out of its dogma. Mary, the mother of God, is revered, but mostly because Catholics feel she will put a good word in for us with her son and his father (and honestly, when the Church was pushing the Magdalene-as-prostitute agenda, it created a striking contrast to the purity of the Virgin Mary, emphasizing "purity" all the more). The Church is now notorious for keeping things hush-hush (how anyone could willingly keep the actions of child molesters secret is BEYOND me!), and I personally have witnessed suffering because of the Church's law. That's nothing compared to the grand-scale suffering the Church has caused historically- think Spanish Inquisition, etc. The Catholic religion came at a time when a way to control the masses was necessary for empires to be successful- and also, I might add, at a time when a common Greco-Roman belief was that pure love could only exist between men, since women were just for breeding. As a result, I'm pretty wary of any organized religion, though I find myself missing the predictable flow of a Catholic mass every now and then. I just don't think it's a good idea to sit in mass angry and think angry thoughts.

All of this makes my depression more difficult because I'm a heretic, essentially, and that feels a bit isolating given my background. I sometimes wonder if God is mad at me for not staying true to my Catholic faith, and that's why I suffer from time to time. And most significantly, if I can realize that the Catholic Church isn't for me, can I do that with my mother? I'm asking, but I don't necessarily want to receive. All I know is that the idea of disappointing God, the Catholic Church AND my mother is a huge pill to swallow (and I have a strong gag reflex).

Rating: 5 (sooooooooo tired today)

Amazing Grace....and Nicole and Teresa and Lyndsey and Loretta and Eara and........

2007-03-22T19:15:00.001-07:00

I've felt good the past two days- definitely an 8 yesterday (except for a few minutes when I was upset and couldn't get over it easily), and more of a 7 today. Something is going on with my hormones because I've noticed a major change in my ability to fall asleep and I'm breaking out more than usual- so I attribute the feeling well to that, since I have my hormones to thank for my bad days. It's only fair….

Anyway, this particular entry is written to send heartfelt gratitude to my friends, and especially my friends who I didn't realize were such good friends until now, when it really matters (interestingly, I have also learned that some people really do not care about other people's well-being and they don't ever consider that someone's "problem" could be helped by a kind word or two….reminds me of another quote I've read somewhere- something to the effect of being kind to everyone you meet because he or she could be fighting a major battle). It is an endless source of comfort to know that there are people in the world who care about me- and it makes it impossible to say that no one would notice if I wasn't around.

I've made it out of my maze before and seen the light, so I know I can do this. And when I forget, I thank you for reminding me.

An Analogy

2007-03-20T19:47:00.000-07:00

It has not been a good day. But I came up with one way to help people understand what I'm going through. Visualize as you read:

You've been placed in a poorly lit maze- a labyrinth, if you will. You've been given simple instructions to follow the arrows, as they tell you exactly where to go, and they will lead you out of the darkness. No one mentioned how long the maze is, but they made it sound like it should be easy and take no time. But you are tired, and the walking makes you more tired, so you have to stop to sit a lot. You're wearing the wrong shoes and your clothes don't fit well. You forgot a flashlight and sometimes your glasses fall off, so you can't always see clearly. Even when you do walk and follow the arrows, sometimes you misunderstand the arrows (even though they're simple) or they seem to disappear, and you end up off the right path. The tangent paths are sometimes very short, or they can be long and it takes a while to find your way back, so you get frustrated easily. Sometimes you seem to know exactly where you're going and you can even see the light at the end of the maze, but that clarity doesn't always last. There are arrows and you should be able to follow them, but you can't always, and it makes you feel dumb and inept. You sometimes lose hope of ever making it out to the end, and you sometimes think it would be better to just quit walking.

As you walk in the maze, a soundtrack of people saying things to you and/or about you plays on loudspeakers. Oddly, everything nice or encouraging is said very quietly, and it seems like those pleasant thoughts aren't played as often as the put-downs and discouraging thoughts that blare constantly. Even when you go on a tangent path, you can hear the loudspeakers clearly. You strain to hear the positive words and when they're gone, you try really hard to remember what they are and to believe that they are true, but the bad words and ideas are so much louder and constant, and they're mostly in your own voice, so you get tired of trying to remember. Sometimes you just can't remember, or the loud, mean messages are all you can concentrate on- and you really start to believe that maybe they're the loudest because they're true. You'd like some quiet so you can think, but it never comes, so you're jumpy and anxious. Every now and then, there are mirrors on the walls. Sometimes you stop to take a look, but mostly you shut your eyes as you pass them. You don't want to see how tired or frustrated you are, and even when you do look, you don't recognize what you see. You marvel at how someone who looks perfectly fine on the outside can be suffering so much on the inside. But then you focus on your eyes, and you see the sadness and the anger and the confusion.

You wish you didn't feel so alone in the maze. You really want someone to hold your hand. But then again, they might want to talk, and you don't want the talking to take away from your journey. Besides, you don't have anything interesting or intelligent to say.

Cookies make everything better.

2007-03-19T16:56:00.000-07:00

I feel a little more connected to the world today. I can tell because I've actually made phone calls to friends and I want them to call back. It's not always the case- in fact, I have been known to wish for complete alone-ness recently. And Alex and I have played together more throughout the day- and I was actually able to get him juice and cookies before he cried desperately because I wasn't responding to his pulling on my fingers to get me up off the couch. He smiled happily when I said he could have the Oreos (I'm usually chanting, "No more cookies.") and did a little dance. Cookies can fix anything- even a mom who doesn't seem to ever get off the couch is forgiven if she gives cookies. Even though I've felt okay all day, I still feel like I'm being held prisoner by The Dirty Bubble (those of you who have ever heard of Mermaid-Man and Barnacle Boy know what I'm talking about). I can feel happy, but not too happy; I am curious, but not too curious....I can see, but not too clearly because there's a film over everything.

I saw my psychologist today. I have really come to like her and I often feel that sitting on her couch for an hour is really visiting a friend who gets me and George and my issues.... oh yeah, and who happens to be covered by insurance. She filled out my FMLA qualifying paperwork and asked me how I felt about not going to work for a while. Her advice is to stay away from work for as long as possible- like until May 31st. I feel like a loser whenever I think about how I can't even teach half a day. As if feeling like a loser isn't enough, I now may have to take my FMLA time (which may not even be approved because I may not have worked 1250 hours in the last year since I'm only half-time) unpaid because though I qualify for the district-offered short term disability, which pays a measly 66 and 2/3 percent of my salary (still, better than nothing), my psychiatrist has a policy of not filling out paperwork, and that qualifying paperwork must be signed by an MD or DO. George says not to worry too much, since I can probably ask our primary care physician to do it....but it's just one more thing to worry about. I couldn't NOT worry, even if I really, really tried. It's one of the gifts of depression.

Speaking of gifts, a while ago I read about embracing all of life's gifts, including that which brings us intense pain or confusion. So I'm supposed to embrace and accept my depression, instead of being mortified by the fact that my mind "plays" tricks on me by making me believe that things are really bad and can never get better. Obviously, I'm not ready to embrace it, and I don't know how to get ready. I have a feeling that accepting that depression is a good thing is one of my key obstacles. How exactly do I stop feeling like my body is worthless and my mind is weak?

Three words: restless, approaching (versus meeting or exceeding), disjointed
Rating: 7 (an improvement! I actually went out in public and accomplished something today!)

In and out....and in.....and out

2007-03-18T16:13:00.001-07:00

I'm very tempted to stop blogging. George read my blog and said that I don't paint him in a very good light. I just read my blog and it's so depressing to read about how depressed I am! I don't know how much it's helping….and I'd much rather write about funny things, like Alex's latest adventures. Except I don't find all of them very funny, especially when I'm by myself to deal with the consequences of his adventures (most of them are messy). Last Sunday night I had a bad depressive episode. I wasn't feeling well on Sunday in the first place, but I didn't see Sunday night coming. Let's just say that I sat in the dark of my office (formerly known as George's Den and Tommy's room) and pictured the nothingness after pulling a trigger…and it seemed like a relief. Scary, because in my past suicidal moments, I always thought using a gun would be too messy.

The past week hasn't been good. I can't say there weren't good moments, because there were. Like getting to see Tommy and Alex actually play together instead of witnessing Tommy go after one of Alex's toys and Alex retaliating by giving Tommy a good shove onto the floor. And I suppose there have been other things, like how good my skin looked yesterday after I put on my foundation/moisturizer. It just seems like for every good thing, there are about 100 not-so-good things. And if one more person asks me what's wrong, I might scream at them (but mostly my mother), so here's what's not-so-good: George didn't come home until after 9 a.m. on Wednesday morning. He called on Tuesday night and said he'd be late coming home. I figured it was because of work. He sent me a text message that said, "Way drunk. Sleeping it off. Be home later," at about 5 a.m. I got up, which is a good indicator of how alarmed I was, since I usually can't drag myself out of bed until well after 8 a.m. I was worried about where he was. I was worried about if he was by himself or with friends. I was worried, worried, worried. I didn't know who to call- I called Eara, and I ended up texting some of his friends. When he did finally call after 9 a.m. on his way home from wherever he was, he got upset with me when I said I sent text messages to his friends. He said I overreacted, especially because he'd left me a text message. Luckily, my anger cleared the fog in my head and allowed me to see that no, I was not overreacting, and he had no right to be angry. I don't remember much else about the day. But I do remember him telling me that his friends wouldn't have told me anything if they had known what was going on or where he was. Something about a "cop code." All I know is that even though I'm George's wife, I don't get to know anything unless he wants me to know. And his friends, who may be able to know, won't tell me because I'm obviously not important enough to be privy to information about George…unless he says it's okay. I'm STILL mad about it! I have felt for a long time that I come a distant second to the job- maybe even third behind Alex- but nothing made it more clear than this stupid "it's the way cops are" attitude that George throws in my face at times. I should clarify that I am not mad at George anymore- though I am worried about any time that he starts to drink a lot (which he insists he does all the time, but then why is it that it seems to pick up whenever there's trouble in our relationship?).

The Phoenix Police Department is not the only thing "wrong" right now. I feel guilty about Alex's hearing. I think I've thought something was wrong with his hearing and speech for over a year, but it's only in the past month or so that I've actively done anything about it. My poor baby. There's nothing that can help me get over feeling guilty, except for maybe him to turn out to be a normal speaker by the time he starts kindergarten. But that's a while away.

Then there's my overwhelming exhaustion. I am often so tired during the day that I must nap in order to function (not that I do a whole lot in my waking hours most of the time). In fact, it took the embarassment of having dirty laundry all over the place for me to do something about it…like stuff it into plastic bags and throw it into the laundry room…we've hired a new cleaning lady, Carla. She's remarkable and likeable and definitely likes to talk. She and Alex get along famously, since Alex seems to have inherited my father's gift of gab. But anyway, I did more work on Wednesday afternoon than I've probably done all month. And why? Because I was sooooooo worried about how dirty my cleaning lady would think my house was! That's another thing- I care way too much about what other people think, to the point of obsession.

Alex is obsessed with liquids right now. A few weeks ago he had water flowing from the dispenser in the kitchen- an entire gallon must've emptied before I realized what was going on. Then there's his favorite- take a drink and let the liquid dribble out of your mouth and down your shirt. This morning I gave him milk in a cup- no lid or straw- and he was fascinated by it. So he dipped his donut into it repeatedly. Just now, he was awed by how quickly his juice flowed from his cup to the floor. One of these days he's going to figure out how to open the child-proof door lock, and then I'm sure I'll catch him playing in the toilet.

George said he had a meltdown last night. I figured one was coming, since he practically had a heart attack (numb arm and chest pain, etc.) on Sunday night when I told him what I was thinking. Anyway, he told me today that he's most frustrated that there's nothing he can do about my depression. When we met and I finally told him what was going on with me, I told him that I didn't think I could see him anymore. Ever the white knight (even now, when he knows that the battle could be long and weary), George swore we'd get through this and he'd take care of me. The last week I've been insistent that if he can't handle me or this, he can certainly "be excused" from us. Today he informed me that it was his decision whether or not he would leave, and he chooses to stay. Though I know he loves me, I can't help but feel that we're doomed. He can't fix this.

He wants to go back to working in the Maryvale precinct. Maryvale, where his accident happened. Maryvale, where he had chronic heartburn and hated his bosses and his squads and felt that nothing he did made a difference. I keep begging him to not make the change. But it doesn't look like anything I say makes a difference in this case.

Frequently Asked Questions

2007-03-09T21:24:00.001-07:00

How are you? What's wrong? How are you feeling today? Are you going to work today? Will you continue your studies? What about Alex? Do you need help? What do you want me to do?

These are just some of the questions I've been asked a lot lately. I've been responding, "I don't know," a lot, or saying, "I've been better." There are also the standard "Yes," and "No." Then there are the questions I ask myself: What's wrong with me? Why can't I feel better? Why can't the doctors agree on what is wrong with me? Will the Mayo Clinic Internal Medicine doctor be able to figure it out? Will I have to drastically change my lifestyle? Should I really take time off from my current teaching job, since it's one of my major sources of stress? Why isn't my depression medicine working? How long is this going to last?

Unfortunately, there are no clear answers. I keep thinking about a quote I used to have up on the wall in my childhood bedroom (I had a quote-a-day calendar two years in a row, and each day that I liked the quote on the calendar, I stuck it on my wall. It was actually pretty cool- looked like a quote museum, and whenever I felt dumb and lost, I could just read my wall and feel enlightened.) that said, "There are years that ask questions, and there are years that answer." I want to say Pearl Bailey said that, but I can't remember. This is DEFINITELY a year of questions.

I have no short term memory these days. I keep asking the same questions because I can't remember the answers. For instance, I asked Eara THREE TIMES today if she had cold water. Yikes! If I don't write things down, they could be lost forever, like Amelia Earhart. Even if I do write something down, there's no guarantee I'll remember why I wrote it or what it means. So not only are people asking me the same questions, I'm doing it to some people. Crazy.

I haven't been writing because I have been sooooooo tired by the time 7 p.m. rolls around that I just sit down and be still. I've caught myself just sitting, and staring into space, absorbed in a fog of nothingness, really, because I'm not necessarily aware of what's going on around me. Yesterday was a curious exception to the sitting still. Alex fell asleep at 3:45 p.m., naked (except for his diaper- a recently developed favorite activity) and slept until 5 p.m.-ish. He asked for cookies when he got up (interestingly, "cookie" was one word he learned to say clearly right away), so we walked to the kitchen and I got him a snack-size bag of Chips Ahoy (the 100-calorie packs, for those of you who didn't know that they exist and/or that they taste like the real thing, and so much so that my finicky toddler LOVES them). He started to cry. I asked him what was wrong. He cried harder. I got him juice. I had to go to the bathroom, so I started to walk out of the kitchen. His cries became louder and more intense. I went back to him and took him by the hand. He screamed and cried and threw his cookies all over the floor, but then seemed extremely distressed by not having any cookies in his bag, so he then threw himself onto the floor. "Spongebob Squarepants" was on TV, so every now and then he'd stop crying and watch, but then he would just start crying again. Needless to say, I was beside myself. I didn't know what to do. I grabbed him and held him tightly, but he didn't want that. I followed him around the house, but he was so upset that he couldn't even gesture for what he wanted. When Alex cries I feel especially bad because he has little-to-no verbal language skills, and his frustration then becomes my shared frustration. It's kind of hard to be the calm grown-up when you wish you could throw yourself on the floor and cry too.

After nearly thirty minutes of this crying/screaming, I broke down and started to cry. I'd already called George (at work) a few times, who was quick to offer suggestions to get Alex to stop crying (none helped) and who had the nerve to ask me, "What do you want me to do?" I wanted to reach into the phone and put my hands around his neck to make it crystal clear that I am really unable to handle stressful and upsetting situations like this and I absolutely need help, but I am also unable to articulate what I need when I am feeling panicked and scared and frustrated and convinced that I am the worst mother ever. I did tell him that I thought I was the worst mother ever. He didn't argue with me or tell me I was wrong. So now I'm convinced that on some level, he thinks he's a better parent than I am.

That's another wonderful gift of my gray cloud, aka depression. I am an expert at assuming that people think the worst of me. When in doubt, I believe that people are upset with me, or they don't like me, or they're talking about me behind my back. What is nuts is that I KNOW this is not always true. But when I don't feel well- when my medicine isn't working as it should- even things that I know are true are things that I question. This morning I asked George if he loved me. He didn't come right out and say so until I asked him to tell me that he loved me, and then he said it (but maybe it was because I insisted?). My heart felt broken and I seriously question whether or not he loves me. He sure isn't acting like it these days. Once, a while ago, he told me that he was mad about my depressive episodes because he wondered if they were real, or if I was faking. Since George's mother is a piece of work who is manipulative (and a bunch of other unpleasant things), he grew up thinking that all women are manipulative and they don't ever say what they mean. Though we have had many a fight about how NOT his mother I am, he still doesn't entirely trust that my words and feelings are genuine. So right now, I wonder if he's thinking I'm faking? I would LOVE to be faking, because I would absolutely stop faking right now and not be considering leaving my job for an extended amount of time to rest and take care of myself so that my adrenal glands can start working again so I can not be depressed even though I am taking high doses of antidepressants!! I wish I were faking. Being thought of poorly for faking seems better than going through my unstable emotional condition.

I saw both my psychiatrist and my psychologist on Tuesday. I also have a primary care physician, an Ob/Gyn, an optometrist, a dentist, a naturopathic doctor, and soon, an internal medicine specialist and an endocrinologist. Wow. Maybe I should throw a party for all these health care providers. And invite my insurance company, because I'm sure CIGNA is LOVING that I am single-handedly funding their company this year.

Anyway, my psychiatrist, whose opinion I very much respect, did not feel it is wise to change the dosage of my antidepressants, since my problems are all hormone-related, and until the hormones are back in balance, no amount of antidepressants would help. Though this means I have to continue feeling the way I feel, it also means that I haven't gone crazy or lost my mind or become mentally/emotionally weak to cause my depression to come back so severely- it means that my body's hormonal catastrophe is messing with my head. Literally. Okay. So the depression is not my fault. When I told my psychologist I was nervous about going back to work (I didn't go to work on Monday or Tuesday) because I felt people would think negatively about me and my absences and that I felt guilty, she threw her hands up in the air and said, "Of course you feel guilty, Darna! Your mother instilled guilt in you when she blamed you for everything as a child. She invented ways to make it your fault. But it's not your fault. You haven't done anything wrong." Fireworks went off in my head. She's right. My mom blamed me for everything, from speeding tickets to why her friends didn't call to why her marriage was so unhealthy. She used to always ask me why I was so bad. She threatened to tell people at school "who I really was," suggesting that if they knew they would all hate me. I was afraid of her. For a long time. I thought she was right. It turns out that I was an absolute angel compared to some children (especially Alex!) and what she considered bad was a bright child's natural curiosity shown by asking questions about almost everything (my mom STILL hates that about me, I think. She doesn't like to be questioned because she sees it as challenging her authority.). But I still was anxious. I called George at work. He agreed that I did nothing wrong. I felt a little better.

My first day back at work was a nice one. The kids were happy to see me. And amazingly, I pulled things together and was prepared for my lessons. But I was so tired. I came home and cried because I was still reminded, through e-mail messages and things that were said, that I cause(d) a lot of needless stress for my students and my colleagues.

Yesterday my heart raced and I was dizzy for much of the day. When I got home, I started to experience chest pain. And this morning, I woke up shaking/trembling and couldn't stop until well after I got to school. There have been a lot of unusual physical things going on with me.

I subscribe to a daily mental health newsletter, specifically tailored to discuss depression-related topics. Last night I read all about studies that are showing that children suffer brain damage when exposed to extreme stress- particularly those stressful situations caused by physical, sexual, or emotional abuse. There were pictures (CAT scans?) showing the brains of abused children and those who were fortunate to not be abused. I sobbed. Most of my life I've been lucky to be smart. I was identified gifted in 3rd grade and had stellar grades in my accelerated and AP classes. I graduated suma cum laude from ASU (only one 'B' in four years) after having earned several merit-based scholarships. But I sobbed. Because I know my brain was damaged. I have severe depression which requires medication to help my brain chemicals be normal. How many more great things could I have done if I'd not had a damaged brain? Would I have been able to pull off starting a Summerbridge in Phoenix? (Summerbridge is a really cool educational workshop. Google it if you're interested.) Would I have pursued medical school? Would I have had enough confidence to go after the many things I didn't go after because I thought I wasn't good enough? I don't know. And I guess it's a waste of time to wonder. It makes me that much more determined to make sure Alex NEVER suffers as I did. I'd rather die than subject him to that. And I think a crime of passion could happen if my mother ever subjects him to it.

I'm angrier the past two days. Mostly at myself, but also at my parents. Eara said that my dad thinks he had a part in the development of my depression. Wow! He must've really been in denial, especially in sixth grade when I gave him a big stack of research to support my theory that I was being emotionally abused by my mother. You know what he said when I did that? He said, "We'll talk about it later." But we never did. In college, I did make him pay for my therapy. I insisted he owed me that much. I was much angrier back then- but he was still convinced that I just needed to pull myself up by the bootstaps back then too. And then there's my mother, who calls me up to four times a day to ask me if I'm okay and what's wrong and if I need her help. I usually let her leave a message.

I'm told I should be honest and open about how I feel as I "write" because it will help me. I hope it starts helping soon. I did feel better today after I left school. I was genuinely happy to see Alex and I laughed and joked with both Alex and Tommy. But now I'm having a hot flash. I'm going to try to stick my head in the freezer.

Rating: 5

Three Words: spacey, angry, tired

Survival of the Fittest?

2007-03-05T20:46:00.001-07:00

I had a disheartening revelation today while driving south on State Route 51: if I'd been around in the days when Darwin's theory applied (though some argue it still applies today), I wouldn't have survived. I was a sickly kid, I'm blind as a bat without contacts or glasses, and then there's this mental health issue. This isn't a good thought to ponder when you're already questioning your existence, but it just popped into my head. A lot of my thoughts are like that these days. My thinking is fuzzy because my mind seems to be experiencing some kind of numbing fog, and every now and then there's a moment of clarity, but it's some kind of negative message that makes me wonder why I can't spend the rest of my life in bed.

I woke up this morning and I was irritable. I grumpily got out of bed, but I didn't have much time to be irritated because Alex wanted to play with his cars. He can say "play" now, and he usually says it as he pulls on your hand to get you to sit on the floor. George slept. I feel bad for him because he is facing a lot of stresses without the addition of my problems, so even though I wanted desperately to sleep, I let him sleep while I kept Alex occupied.

Then George left on a mission (to prepare for a big test tomorrow) and I was left alone with Alex, who most likely was just himself. But I felt that he was being naughtier than usual, and I was so irritated with him that I contemplated locking myself in a room to get away from him. When I told George that I'd had this urge, his face practically turned to stone- any threat to Alex, even if it's just perceived- gets this reaction from him. I still wonder how "bad" Alex really was. Maybe I was just so irritable that I picked up on every negative thing? I don't know. But it can't be good for my son to deal with a mom who doesn't think he can do anything wonderful, even if it's only sometimes. When I'm well, Alex is an amazing miracle who is sweet and funny. When I'm not well, he is still that, but it's harder for me to realize. As if I'm not frustrated enough, now I worry that I'm a bad mother, and I'm frustrated that I can't think of one good thing I do for him.

In a rare glimpse of my true self today, I made a funny comment that made George laugh this evening. I can't remember what I said, but I remember laughing, and it felt good.

Rating: 3 (When will the day be a 10 again?)
3 Words: angry, frustrated, irritated

Roller Coaster Ride

2007-03-04T23:02:00.001-07:00

It has been four days since my "breakdown" on Thursday morning in the kitchen. Today is the first day I actually started to feel like myself again. But the initial feel-good period I experienced when I woke up this morning was followed by a terrible low. I was enjoying my son's company when it occurred to me that he may be better off without me. I'd much rather be absent from his life than have him possibly turn out depressed because of an unstable and weepy mother. Though I know that when I'm well this is a crazy concept, right now I can't shake the idea out of my head. I read on a support site for depressed people that the disease puts these thoughts into your head, and you have to fight them. It's just that I'm tired, I guess.

Right now I feel tired and dizzy. And a little bit hopeless, because it seems that a medicine change isn't a good idea right now since tests are still being conducted to figure out what exactly is wrong with my hormones. But then does that mean I have to continue to feel this way? I'm nervous about going back to work and going to the doctors on Tuesday…and I feel oddly jumpy. It makes me wonder how I survived being depressed before I got medicine and the therapy I needed.

Yesterday George unloaded his feelings. While I think it was good for him to do that, it only served to remind me how much of a burden I am right now. I don't know how to help him. When I'm well, I can respond in a way that seems to help. But right now I can't even help myself. I am so frustrated about this!

I'm going to try to include a rating of my day on a scale of one to ten, with ten being really wonderful and one being dreadfully bad. Maybe if I do this everyday I'll see that I do have good days? Or something like that… And I'm also going to use three words to sum up who I am today.

Rating: 3
Three Words: lost, edgy, worried

To get caught up...

2007-03-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

Will the real Darna stand up? March 2, 2007
I'm surprised I'm awake. My body is tired, as it always is, but my mind is racing. Since typing takes relatively little energy, my blog affords me an outlet, and maybe once I've dumped the contents of my mind onto the screen, I'll feel like I can sleep. Here's hoping, anyway. I've had a cloud hanging over me my entire life. From parental accounts of life before my birth, my parents didn't like each other much and my mom really had no business being pregnant since neither her physical nor her mental health was optimal. I've heard my mother talk about being homesick (as I would be if I'd traveled halfway around the world to live without knowing when I'd see my family again), so I imagine her pregnancy was not a terribly happy time. I know that even though my mother is often the last person I go to for any kind of support, it was a comfort to have her around while I was pregnant. So she must've really missed her mother when she was pregnant with me. Or maybe not. Who knows? I've long given up on trying to understand what drives my mother.Anyway, both of my parents have said that I almost died in the process of being born. But God had other plans, I guess, because I was born shortly after midnight on Valentine's Day- or maybe God's attention was diverted for a moment.... While my mother remained in her drug-induced sleep, my father gave me the gift of conflict and turmoil through my name: Darna Valentina. (His thinking was quite innocent, but it just so happens that Darna is the name of the Filipino equivalent of Wonder Woman, and Valentina is the name of Darna's arch-nemesis. That's a lot for a little girl to handle.)As I grew, it became quite clear that my sister Eara (such a cute kid!) was the apple of my mother's eye. I accused her (mother) of it a lot and she always got mad. With my grown up mind I understand that no one likes to admit or face ugly truths, and this was certainly the case for her. In addition to thinking the world of Eara, my mom didn't like me much because I was so much like my father. She actually admitted it a few years ago- sometime between wishing I'd die of Anthrax and hoping I had a child who made me as miserable as I made her. I think about all the horrific things I had to hear as a girl, and instead of being angry now, I am sad for the mother who clearly needed help, and so sorry for the little girl who had to suffer. NO CHILD can ever deserve to hear what I used to hear. It's taken almost ten years to stop the tape from playing in my head. I am just so sorry that it even started.I do not mean to paint a picture of a terrible childhood, or even to use my childhood as an explanation for what I am today. I have experienced some amazing and wonderful things, and when my mother wasn't angry or frustrated, she was teaching me things and encouraging me to dream big. Oddly, she's probably part of the reason I was a resilient kid who was able to survive. (But really, that credit goes to teachers and family friends who loved me even when I didn't think so much of myself.) Times like now, though, when I feel like a failure who is weak and inept, it helps to remember that I didn't exactly get a healthy sense of self to fall back on. Though I try to have as little to do with her as possible these days, she is so in love with my son that it appeals to my vanity...but I also know that my son is a piece of me who will some day ask her too many questions so that she might get annoyed and say something mean. So she doesn't spend much time with him unsupervised. How sad is that? It just shouldn't be that you can't trust your own mother with your child.I had a nervous breakdown during my senior year of high school. It came about because the social worker at my school, my guidance counselor, and my student council advisor all somehow saw through my "act," which was by now perfected to an artform. Forced to admit the horrible things that happened at home and how I had to put on a happy mask for the world, I guess I couldn't deny the ugliness of my life. I stayed in bed for a week. I hardly talked. I cried profusely. I didn't eat. I wished for death and contemplated ways to help it come quickly. But I did nothing. I know now that my guardian angel was sitting in my bedroom with me.Even though I'd admitted that there were bad things going on in my life, it wasn't until I was a sophomore in college that I worked up the courage to admit that I needed help dealing with them. I took a depression screening test. One of the volunteer screeners took me into a quiet room and cried when I told her what I'd been going through (spontaneous crying spells, a desire to isolate myself socially, making really dangerous and reckless choices, etc.). She referred me to ASU's Student Health office to see a counselor. The counselor's name was Kevin. He was a doctoral student and he was marvelous. He listened to me talk and validated my life's worth, which I have always seriously doubted. It was 1998. I'd been my mother's verbal/emotional abuse victim for nearly 19 years. I was finally diagnosed as having major depression.It is now 2007. I'm not my mother's victim anymore. But the depression won't go away. In 2002, I was lucky to find a terrific psychologist who put me in touch with a gifted psychiatrist. I learned I'd been sadly under-medicated, but that was fixed. When I started taking Wellbutrin XL along with Zoloft, I really started to feel better. They are such staples in my life that I didn't even consider going off of them, even when I learned I was pregnant. They have helped me be myself, and most importantly, I got through some major life changes without falling apart.But they don't seem to be working anymore. I'm not working anymore. I've fallen apart. In my last blog post, I shared the medical nightmare I'm going through...I've since seen a naturopathic physician who agrees with my lab results that I am seriously fatigued and depleted of necessary hormonal support. She's given me herbs and vitamins and is running more tests to find out what else (if anything) is causing my health problems. My therapist comments that I am the most depressed she has ever seen me in the last five years. My son failed his hearing test. He needs tubes put in his ears. I am gone from work a lot and it makes a lot of people unhappy. What's worse is that I am powerless to stop the unhappiness. I only work half a day, and even the thought of that exhausts me.Is my depression the reason for the medical problems? Or have my medical problems caused my depression to come back in full force? I don't know. What I do know is that I am tired all the time, and it takes much more to make me laugh and smile genuinely. And I wonder a lot more now what would've been so horrible about missing my birth. But I have no desire to eliminate my life- I truly do want to find my way out of this scary fog and stop dreading life so that I can enjoy it again. Thursday morning as I sat on the kitchen floor, unable to move and having difficulty breathing, I realized that my son, who put his face on mine and wiped away my tears, is my guardian angel this time around. So he won't let me push life out of my way. I can remember not feeling like this, so I know deep down that it is possible that I'll feel happy again. I just have to not give up. So much easier said than done. I am soooooooo tired all the time. Who I am and who I have been the last couple of months is not the real me. I want the real Darna back.

Blog Stew: February 18, 2007
How is it that all the women on HBO's Rome have curly hair? Is this historically accurate? I mean, I'm struck by how wonderful everyone's curly tendrils look. Makes me wonder if maybe Italians in the day (as these Romans were) had naturally gorgeous hair that was lost with their empire, and is only now recreated with time-intensive hair manipulation. Hmm...Musings about hair aside, I'm up so late on Sunday night because I took a three hour nap today (and there's no school tomorrow). I fell asleep and George didn't try to wake me up (for once) to get Alex juice or a snack. I haven't been feeling well since yesterday, so the nap was much needed; I have to admit that I take a lot of these "urgent" naps lately, since I'm ALWAYS exhausted. I wake up some mornings after sleeping eight hours, and I feel like I've been up all night. Chalk it up to whatever is going on with my hormones.For the record, I finally made an appointment to see an OB/GYN for a pap smear and woman's exam.....and what happens? Exactly what I feared would happen, which is why I hadn't been to see an OB/GYN since right after Alex was born: I got bad news. During the exam, there was nipple discharge. I'll never forget the doctor's surprise- and the matching look of masked shock- when it happened and she nonchalantly asked me if this had ever happened before. She tried to assure me that it was probably nothing, handed me lab paperwork (apparently she ordered a full blood workup), and encouraged me to call right away if the discharge changed at all.At first I wasn't too worried. But there's something about nipple leakage that's unnerving. It was odd even when it was supposed to be happening after I gave birth, but now that there's been no birth, it's especially strange. Long story short, my bloodwork showed some strange hormone levels (I think my eyes must've glazed over and rolled back in my head as I heard the doctor explain all of this in her foreign medical jargon because I can't really explain what she said) and my doctor was concerned about a pituitary gland tumor, which can often cause the strange hormone levels and the nipple discharge. Mention a tumor, and most people wriggle in their seats uncomfortably. I freaked out. I put off scheduling an MRI. I went into full denial mode. This is why very few people knew anything about this entire health ordeal- until now, that is, when I've come out of denial mode.My MRI came back showing no signs of a tumor. {sigh of relief} The doctor wants another few blood tests done to try to specifically pinpoint which hormones have strange levels so that I can possibly be put onto hormone replacement/treatment therapy. I'm so NOT enthused about this possibility. Even after all the blood loss and the torture of having to lay still for the MRI, the doctor tells me that we may never be able to pinpoint exactly what is wrong with me, and it could just be chronic fatigue syndrome. What this has to do with the leaky nipple, I don't know. All I really understand is that there's not a definite answer for what is wrong with me, and I may be tired for the rest of my days. Not a very heartening thought.This latest health roller coaster has made me really understand how much of an asset good health is for those who have it. I took mine for granted, and now I see that should I ever completely achieve it again, I will cherish every minute of it.I had an interview on Saturday morning for the Arizona Virtual Academy. I REALLY, REALLY want this job, since it allows me some flexibility in the hours that I work, as well as the major perk of being able to work from home. I think it went well, but it's hard to feel good about myself and my teaching attractiveness when I've had such a hard time of it with my job this year. I'll sum it up by saying that I've missed a lot of work, and while 90% of the time my absences have been unavoidable, I work on a team that needs me to be at work. Plus my principal clearly doesn't share my philosophy on child-rearing, which is that I'm Alex's mom first, so that's a rub. I was getting down on myself when I realized that though the circumstances are bad, my passion for learning and teaching hasn't changed- I'm still an awesome teacher because I work hard to plan the very best lessons and be engaging; I read and keep myself abreast of educational issues; and I still have so much to learn! I'm so grateful for Presidents' Day tomorrow (and completely confused about the proper placement of the apostrophe) and I'm going to bed now!