Midwestern Mommy

It had come on so slowly that I hadn’t even noticed. It snuck up on me — this thick fog, this black funk, this leaded fatigue.

At first I shrugged it off, thinking it was a series of bad days. Then I thought it was PMS. Then I thought I just needed more sleep. I stopped listening to my body and soul. I just kept making excuses, hoping it would go away.

But it didn’t. It got worse. I was ill-tempered and consistently felt like an exposed nerve. I felt overwhelmed by day-to-day demands. But what made me really start to wonder was when I went to a certain corporate sponsored “baby camp.” At the gathering, I saw a room full of these   amazing,    talented     women  –   women   I   respect,     admire     and     adore. (I’m sure I’m forgetting others here.) But I wanted nothing more than to dissipate, to melt into nothingness. I felt painfully self-conscious. 

I walked up to someone I knew to say “hi.” She said, “Oh. I didn’t know YOU’D be here.” In my mind she was unhappy to see me. This solidified my thoughts of, “I am nothing and have no right to be here. Someone else should be in my place. Someone who can write.”  

I was (and still am) incredibly grateful to warm, wonderful Liz, Jaelithe and Dana. I clung to them like a newly born kitten to its mother. I felt just as blind and vulnerable.

After that, I began to avoid people and social invitations. This anxiety enveloped me even during meetings with family and old friends. My mustered energy was mainly spent on trying not to cry and wishing myself invisible.

I had these heartbreaking thoughts. The “I’m such a shitty wife and mother. My husband and son would be so much better off without me” thought alternated with the “I’m such a fuck-up. I have no value. Me not being on this earth would probably make it a better place” thought. 

That was when I knew I needed help. That this thing was bigger than what I could handle on my own. I’d been through this nine years ago. During that time, I got to a point where the only thought that got me out of bed was, “hey, maybe today will be my lucky day and I’ll get hit by a bus!”.

But now there’s a little boy I need to take care of. And a household. And a marriage. And a yard. And other obligations. And I knew I couldn’t afford to slip further.

So I went to the doctor. I starred at the shiney, white-tiled floor and said as little as possible, holding my breath whenever my eyes would well  with tears. I told him about the anti-anxiety drugs I’ve been on throughout the years that were supposed to ward off the many migraines. We discussed how the side effects had always overshadowed what little improvement they’d bring. I told him if they were my only option, I didn’t want them. But he had a different medication for me to try. 

So its been about a week since I’ve been on “a little something.” I know its still pretty new. But it is keeping me from drowning in depression — my buoy in the sea. I know medicine isn’t the only answer. I need to make some changes. But the horrible thoughts, irritability and heavy numbness is starting to slowly dissipate. 

I can’t adequately discribe how precious it is to see Seth’s sweet little smile and feel a bit of joy. Or to appreciate the vivid colors of spring flowers. Or to think about the future and not feel dread. I had forgotten what it felt like to genuinely experience those emotions. And I missed that. I missed feeling like “me.” 

Thanks to JJ for writing a post a few weeks ago that really stuck with me. Thanks to a few other bloggers who’ve been very frank about their depression as well as the aspects surrounding it.

This afternoon, I have a date with a feisty and funny friend named Dana. (No, not the funny and feisty blogger friend named Dana. Although the two do have lots in common which is probably why I love ‘em both!) It has been decided that we will do a little something called “margarita hair.”

Margarita hair:  Your beloved friend who used to “do hair” (or “hahhhrrr” as some say around these parts) for a living will highligh/color your “hahhhrrr” at her house while you both drink margaritas and your kids run amok and eat junk.

I’m looking foward to the experience, as is “the boy”. (He loves her kids. And her trampoline.)

Being that I’ve been a blondy-girl all my life, the decided color is far different– a warm brunette. Been wanting to do it for awhile now. (Yes!    All     of      you      super     hot      brunettes      have      truly      inspired     me. )

So by 6:30 tonight, I’ll either be laughing, crying, or both. Will I bemoan the color I chose? Is combining alcohol with hair color a bad idea? 

Stay tuned…

Have a little review of The Zula Patrol’s “Explore Space!” dvd on behalf of the Parent Bloggers Network at Midwestern Mommy today. Go ‘head. Have a looky-loo. There’s a virtual margarita in it for you!

Saturday morning began unlike most. I’d gone to bed hazy, tired and emotionally drained the night before. I awoke intensely angry, tired and on edge. I snapped at my son and simmered in anger. My head pounded, so I fetched a fountain soda. (It seems to work sometimes.) When I got back home, my son was upstairs talking to his father. He stood out in the hallway when he heard me open the door.

“Daddy says you’re really selfish for only getting yourself something and nothing for us,” he said.

It was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. At that point, I felt so angry I’m surprise my head didn’t explode. Although that would have been quite messy, it definitely would have spared both men of the house the tirade I unleashed.

I stomped up the stairs. “Do you WANT to talk about SELFISHNESS?” I screamed at my husband. “DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GO THERE?”

Suffice to say, I unleashed a very strongly worded monologue in a very sharp tone about how I felt and why. Ideas were exchanged in a nonconstructive, hurtful way. Our perspectives on a number of instances were vastly different. 

You know what they say. There’s three sides to every story. There’s my side, your side, and the truth.

After a bit of time, we calmed down and really talked. We worked through the hurt and frustration. The bottom line is I need more from him — more support, more kind gestures and for him to be more emotionally involved. He’s a good man. He works hard to provide for our family. We have a comfortable home and life. Seth has some amazing opportunities. This is all because of HIS efforts, brain, ambition and talent. But most women will agree — financial support isn’t the be all and end all. We need more from our partners.

We ended our fight with concessions. We made sure to let Seth know we weren’t upset with him. We still love each other and we worked things out.

I went about the rest of the day cleaning, paying bills, running errands and feeling even more emotionally haggered than I had felt Friday night.

Then Seth’s BFF came over to spend the night. We’d promised them a trip to Seth’s most favorite place in the world - the City Museum.

“I can tell you’re tired and don’t feel good. You’ve had a rough week. Why don’t you stay home and watch chick flicks while I take these boys to the City Museum,” he offered.

I took him up on his offer. “I don’t know if I’ll even be awake long enough to watch anything,” I said. “But thanks. I need some quiet time.”

He hugged me and whispered sweet words – a healing balm for my battered soul.

I watched them leave. Relief washed over me.

We live. We learn. We love. We hurt. When we forgive, we grow. And then we do it all over again, tomorrow.

I know I promised to post the winner of the drawing on Thursday. But this week has been on filled with some intense sinus headaches as well as me “sucking it up” and taking care of business anyway. Last night I was up with a sick little boy. He’s still not back to normal. 

I feel like I’ve just been through some sort of emotional hazing. This past week, in the midst of nasty headaches and getting things done, the boy has seemed even more emotionally needy and restless. By 7 each night, I was feeling as if I was thiseverlovingclose to losing my sanity.

Of course there’s more affecting my mood. I’m tired and saddened by so many things I can’t speak of involving my marriage. You know what I’d really like? Some respect. Some kindness. I’d like my husband to put our family before his work every now and again. I’d like for him to come home from work before 7:30 most nights. And when he’s home, I’d like for him to take more interest in our son than he does in the tv and his computer. I’d like for him to not act as if he’s done me the favor of a lifetime just because he put the boy to bed after I begged him to. He can keep the empty promises and pretty words. A little gesture to show me he values me would be lovely. 

Early, early in the morning, once Seth was finally asleep, I wrote him an e-mail begging him to come home between 4-5 tonight because I’m utterly fried. He said he would. It would be really nice if he’d actually done so. But he arrived home about 6:15 p.m. instead. Of course there are excuses. There always are. 

You know what would also be nice? If he’d have come home by 7 p.m. last night so we could have a family dinner. But of course, he “couldn’t get away” from his meeting so he came home about 9 p.m. instead. I didn’t expect a gift or even a card for Valentine’s Day, although I did do something special for him and our son. But coming home at a decent time would have been nice. Am I asking too much?

Come April, it will be 9 years of this stuff. I’m tired of feeling so alone in our marriage. I’m tired of fighting for it. I’m tired of trying (for years) to explain my perspective only to have him refuse to see any of it. I feel hopeless and heartbroken.

Sorry for the spiel. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t have the heart or energy to post a winner. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

By this afternoon, my husband will be a few grams lighter. He’s slated for surgery to remove his uvula.

Ya see, Marc’s a snorer. But not just any ole’ snorer. To describe the noise as “loud” is a great understatement. (Sometimes I can even hear him across the hall in the guest bedroom despite the hum of a noise machine.) The “noise” is not a rhythmic, smooth kind of sound either. It is of the “quiet for a few minutes, then it starts, then it stops, and then it starts again ALL NITE LONG . (Whether he’s on his back, sides or stomach.) Sleeping with that man is like trying to take a nap next to an onery cuss with a chainsaw lookin’ to mess with you. When will the noise start? Wait for it. Waaaaiiiit for it. I find myself waiting “for the other shoe to drop” the entire time I’m laying next to him — but its as if there’s 5000 damn shoes!

So after trying a sleep device, different herbal and over-the-counter stuff as well as allergy meds, (all within the past two years) the ENT decided surgery was the only option left. Marc (tired of his wife sleeping in the Pepto Bismol pink guest room) agreed.

 The doctor planned to fix his deviated septum (Dude! There are things on that man’s body far more “deviant”. Can you fix his digestive system too?) as well as take out his uvula.

So I ask Marc: “If they take out your uvula, will you no longer have a gag reflex? That would be so cool if you didn’t. You could have a career swallowing swords and stuff!”

Marc: “If I don’t have a gag reflex I may turn into a VERY POPULAR gay prostitute.

And then he looks at me. With that odd little mischievous smile. Sometimes, I KNOW what he’s thinking before he even thinks it.

Me: “NO!” (Scurries back upstairs to hide…)

Sorry hon. I’m keeping MY gag reflex.

Speaking of uvulas… Did you know they can be pierced?

Are you t’ard of them ornery critters getting away from you while you’re trying to “hook-up” with that “carnie” at the swap meet or when you’re at the neighbors’ trailer buying your crystal meth? Have we got the product for you! This here is whut we like to call the “Critter Keeper 2000.”

And look! You can even “steer” them in the direction you want to go. So if you want to hide them while talking to baby-daddy #1&3″ (Cause DAMN! He’s lookin’ pretty good since he got d’em brown teef pulled) you can!

And it comes off fairly easily — you know,  so the critter can git ‘cha another beer or swat flies.

Call now and git two fer the price of one! Operators er standin’ by.

(No “critters” were harmed in this display. In fact, “the boy” seems to thrive on us messing with him in this way. Hey, you may call it “antagonizing”. We call it “attention.”)

(Dear DCFS — I joke about this because it is SO VERY, VERY FAR from the realm of my family’s suburban, white bread world. But in all honesty? He DOES thrive on the hasslin’!)

The very cool and crafty Heather awarded me a Rockin’ Girl Blogger Award awhile back. And sorry for not passing the love along sooner but better late than never, yes?

There are alot of blogging babes who totally rock. (Like, dude!) So I’m gonna highlight a few that come to mind…

Rebecca is a St. Louis blogger whom I met at a blogging panel. (Kristie and Dana were there too.) Rebecca has the shiniest hair ever. Worthy of a commercial even. And she has a thing for Chris Pronger. (And that just cracks me up.)

Another Rebecca (Or Reba)is getting married soon and is moving with her son to her hubby’s farm — an area so rural, the closest grocery store (aka Wal-Mart) is 30-something minutes away. Ask her about hubby’s love of mancrafting. Hysterical.

Linlee is not only a rockin’ blogger but a rockin’ new mom. She and her hubby are handling their beautiful little wild woman wonderfully. I hope she’s up for a few drinks at Trainwreck soon.

The next chicks are moms who collaborate on a really great blog. Andrea, Erin, MK and Nicole have alot of fun just “shootin the poop.” I would love to be a fly on the wall after they’ve all gotten together and have a few drinks in them.

Also, have you ever stopped by Quin’s place? She says she’s a total dork socially but, pshaw. I think she’s probably wickedly funny in real life.

I think of Isabel daily ’cause she sent me the most adorable photo of her little guy. (Its on the fridge o’ fame, baby.) She recently met her favorite-est musician Rhett Miller AND had an actual conversation with him. Its a cool story. Go look.

Finally Hollow Squirrel is a cool chickie. She loves Harry Potter and has a thing for quadrants. And she’s got cool features like, “What the J?”

Am back from BlogHer and have pics and stories. Will get to those sometime this week. But I did get to meet lots of cool chicks. T’was fun.

Dear Dude,

Today I took my little man to the pool. BlogHer is coming up and in a fit best described as “brave stupidity” I bought a few sleeveless blouses. I hear a tan will help the look of my old-lady arms so we headed out for a bit o’ sun.

And what to my wandering eyes should appear but you, dear old man. You were, um… something — sauntering around in your shorty-short trunks. And wow, the tightness of those shorts really, uh… highlighted your “package”.

I quickly realized that looking at your “junk” was like looking directly at the sun. I shouldn’t do it at all, lest I WANT scorched corneas.

But next time, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE wear some trunks that actually fit you. You may think squeezing into your 8-year-old grandson’s shorts makes those chicken legs look good but, um…. No.

Good luck.

Lisa

P.S. Your lady friend didn’t seem embarrassed at all in regards to your “look”. In fact, she seemed sort of proud of you. I guess she agrees with that saying — “good things come in small packages.”

And happy to be back.

How are you? How’s your summer going? Have a cookie. Sit a spell. Yeah, put your feet up. I’ll get the drinks. Would you like wine? Beer? A martini?

Ok. So some of the hiatus was to sort out some health-related stuff. (Which is much better.) I got on some new allergy meds with some sort of asthma med which opens airways. I can BREATHE at night. And I sleep! Through the night even! Its freaking awesome! And I don’t wake up with a nasty headaches. And I have some energy. Wooty-woot-woot-woot.

Some of the hiatus was spent party planning, cleaning, doing home improvement projects and drinking. Oh and working on my new website. I would debut it now but there’s something wrong with the SQL server (what ever THAT is) and its not letting me customize mah columns. But if you are interested in a little peeky (even tho it ain’t finished because I still needs mah “flair” and some important linky-links) go here.

Another reason for the hiatus is that I’ve come to some sort of bloggity-type crisis. I have no answers for the following questions: What kind of vibe do I want to put out there? Should this blog be funny, philosphical? Should I curse? Should I not? Is it ok to be rude and crude at times? Or bitchy and whiney. (Cause if there’s one thing I do well, its bitchy and whiney.) I have family reading these days. Are they comfortable with the TMI? Are they going to read some of my stories and think, “That Lisa. She just ain’t right. I think she must have gotten kicked in the head by a cow in her youth.” (And no I didn’t. But I did get hit in the face a number of times with softballs. And not THOSE kind of soft balls. So get your mind out of the gutter. See? What an inappropriate comment. Is that ok to do? Will my in-laws read this and feel a bit ill because WHAT KIND OF WOMAN IS RAISING OUR ONLY GRANDSON?)

A blog is like a blank canvas. You can create anything you want. But some times knowing that so many possibilities exist and knowing you want to create the bestest thing you can can be a bit daunting and overwhelming.

So what do you guys think? How do you look at your blogs? Do you look at it as a sanity saver? A way to fulfill your dreams of being a fiction writer, reporter, fashion photographer, researcher, or teacher? What are your goals? Are you hoping get a book deal? Or get a fresh career start? Or are you just looking to stay sane and meet new peeps? Enquiring minds want to know!

And THANK YOU so much for your lovely, warm comments. They were the equivilant of double fudge brownies to a woman who’s suffering from a raging case of PMS. Much need and very appreciated! You chickies “Rock the Casbah”.

Albin was the father of 10. As a man who had spent his entire life farming the land, he also had a penchant for pranks, smokes, and playing his steel guitar. When I was nine, I saw my dad cry for the first time. His father, this tall, strong farmer, had lung cancer. I watched my grandpa fight. He admirably did so for a long time. But in the end, cancer won. Since then I’ve come to know more people who tangled with “the big C”. Some have beat the beast, some are in the process of administering a beating and some fought until they could no longer.

A. is a mother to an active preschooler. She has a quick wit and — whether through written or spoken word — has an extraordinary gift for telling a story. Like an experienced gold miner, she can spot a piece of comic gold a mile away. And she can glean the bits of funny (that most people would miss) from the most ordinary situations. Two years ago, A. (a woman I’ve known since we were babies) was diagnosed with ALS.

It is so gut-wrenching to know the people you love are grappling with stubborn diseases like this. But thankfully there are organizations in the United States on a quest to cure these diseases. That’s why Cancer Research Institute and The ALS Association, St. Louis Regional Chapter are charities almost as dear to my heart as these Albin and A.

Now there’s a way for you to help charities or groups you admire. Ibakesale is a supercool way to shop hundreds of great merchants and earn cash back (a percentage of the purchase in most cases) which can be donated to the charities or groups of your choice.

How it works:

1.) Go to ibakesale.com and sign up (this is free.) This is where you also can choose from the expanding list of charities in which to donate a percentage of your purchase or add a new charity. This is also where you can decide what amount of that percentage you’d like to donate. (You can do 100% or 20% or whatever.)

2.) You shop a number of merchants like Lucky Brand Jeans, Sports Authority, even Macy’s.

3.) iBakeSale sends your group a check at the end of every month. (Once the funds have accumulated to $100.)

More info:

After you sign up, you can shop as well as choose from the list of charities of which to donate. (For example — I chose to donate 50% of my proceeds to The ALS Association of St. Louis and 50% to Cancer Research Institute.) Or you can create a listing for an organization dear to your heart. Want to include several? You can do that and split the proceeds from your purchases. And if you change your mind? You can add or drop organizations too.

In order for your charity to get the profits, you must go through ibakesale and click on the desired merchant. After your purchase is made, you will be contacted through ibakesale. And once you accrue $100 you can decide how much of that money goes to charities or how much goes back into your wallet.

I’m not be in a research lab working on a cure. But donating to a worthy cause does help me feel I’ve helped in some small way. Like Mother Theresa once said, “In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love.”

Years ago, a few days shy of my son’s due date, I found a strand of fine, reddish hair in my panties. For a moment I had a wild thought. Is it my baby’s? I should have called my doctor but I didn’t. I asked so many questions during my pregnancy only to be met with a “you’ve GOT to be the biggest moron I’ve EVER come into contact with” look from my doctor. After scouring my pregnancy volumes, I failed to find an answer.

Later the mystery was solved when a different doctor, who was supposed to break my water, informed me that there already was a small tear. My suspicion had been correct.

Like most moms-to-be, I had read a lot of literature on pregnancy. I found that most books focus heavily on the bodily changes but not much else. I wondered if these writers viewed a pregnant woman as a real, live person or as a walking, baby-growing container. Body, Soul and Baby, written by Tracy W Gaudet and Paula Spencer, is quite different.

The rest of this review, done for (Parent Bloggers Network) can be found at Midwestern Mommy Reviews.

P.S. The hiatus will soon end. I am feeling better and less serial-ish bitchy, (which is a GOOD thing for my poor husband and son. Yeay them! Consider their “survival skills” sharpened.) Regular (kinda-sorta) blogging is slated to continue Friday. I MISS you all!

Hey you! Yeah, you there with the ibuprofen (or aspirin).

Did you know that while the drug in your hot little hands may relieve your headache, it is also robbing your body of folic acid? And your body NEEDS that folic acid.

The 24-hour Pharmacist, by Suzy Cohen is chocked full tips, tricks and human body know-how. From dealing with insomnia, slagging energy levels, lagging sex drives, to how to handle PMS, Cohen’s got lots of ideas and information. For the rest of the review please click here.

This book was reviewed on behalf of the Parent Bloggers Network. And if you visit PBN and leave a comment on the campaign launch, you could win a $50 CVS gift card! Woot!