Merry AND Bright

Where we live:

Sat

24°F | 22°F

Sun

38°F | 21°F

Mon

31°F | 20°F

Tue

27°F | 19°F

Where we're going:

Sat

75°F | 48°F

Sun

67°F | 45°F

Mon

72°F | 45°F

Tue

73°F | 45°F

We Believe

At our house we tend to believe in magic. Sometimes it gets a little out of control even. Way too much magic happening. And then there's the youngest in the house. He wants nothing to do with the magic; and especially dislikes Santa Claus. At first I thought he just didn't like the Christmas books with Santa. Then I thought it typical of my "shy-in-public" child to not want to go see Santa or sit on his knee or tell him what he wants for Christmas. But no, he really doesn't want Santa to come to our house AT ALL. In fact he prays every night for Santa to NOT come to our house. He does NOT want his stocking filled with candy and toys and he does NOT want any presents because, he claims, he has enough toys in his house already.

Santa doesn't get a lot of credit at our house. For Christmas our children get three gifts each from us: gold (what they want the most), frankincense (something for their body or mind) and myrrh (a religious gift they open on Christmas Eve). Santa has typically filled the kids' stocking and brought a family gift. This year he is bringing them each their own gift. But still, much smaller than their gold gift. We like to take the credit of knowing and giving to our kids!

Tonight we were talking about Christmas being the celebration of Jesus' birth - like His birthday. Our youngest piped up that Jesus does not want to invite Santa to His birthday. I suppose the real reason for the season is enough for him, and he doesn't need all the fluff and magic to make it special. We'll see how he feels about not wanting presents on Christmas morning. (He already had to buy himself a pack of gum when he picked gum as his presents for all his siblings!)
Merry Christmas. No matter what you believe.

I didn't choose depression; it chose me

The first time I experienced depression was when I was a brand new young mother. Severe postpartum depression was the worst sort of initiation into motherhood. And the worst of it was that we didn't know what was wrong with me. We, meaning my husband and I. We tried to keep it hidden from anyone else, since we didn't know what it was. I think we mostly succeeded. Though I do remember a new visiting teacher coming to visit me during that time and saying, "I've heard that you used to be normal before you had your baby." So apparently it wasn't as hidden as I thought.

This time I know. I know what's wrong, and I know what needs to be done. It's still hard. And really it totally sucks. But I'm less afraid to share what I'm going through. Sometimes I don't know what to say. Sometimes I don't know how to tell someone I really don't want to get out of bed and have a playdate... but I'm trying. Trying to be honest with myself and others that this is hard. My husband is reading all the support materials and online forums he can to know what is me and what is my depression. And that's helpful. He knows he needs to get me off the couch, even when I beg to stay unshowered and in my pjs. I almost always feel better once I get up and out - even without any make-up on. My Mom sent me some books. My first impression was that I was embarrassed that these books were for me. Embarrassed that I can't just snap out of this, and also scared that I would find myself in these books. But I'm searching for recovery, and I'll take all the help I can get.

I have some pretty good reasons to want to get better:
Recovering is the most and the least selfish thing I can do.

Reading with my Three Year Old

I wish I had gotten this on video- or at least the audio. There's always tomorrow.

Here's what it's typically like reading to my little guy. This was just ONE of the many books we went through today... and this was a short one. His comments are in bold. He talks constantly, and more than I even read!

I am a ...
a puppy. Him's a puppy.
I am a Puppy.
Yup. A puppy. That's a dog. A baby dog. Hims parents are dead. Yeah. Dead.
I am a puppy. My name is Bruno.
That's not a good name. I don't like that name.
I am a beagle.
Look there's a squirrel thing popping up.
Him wants to eat that bird.
Hims parents are not dead. They're gone with the other kids.
Oh look - that's the mom. There's the mom chasing him.
I like to play with my friends. Sometimes we run across the fields.
Sometimes we wrestle and roll around.
Yeah. That's fun. Fun with hims mom. Hims dad is dead.
Whenever I find something nice I bring it home.
Is that hims shoe? Him needs to put ON hims shoe.
In the summer, I swim in the creek.
I like to swim. That's a froggy.
In the winter, I play in the snow.
ME TOO! That's a bunny. Hims chasing the bunny.
But best of all, I like to explore. I creep through bushes. I crawl behind rocks. (This was the only page I got through without interruption.)
Once I met a skunk. Luckily, he was friendly.
Hims a stinker. There's that squirrel thing.
Once I met -
Hims scared of the big dogs.
Once I met some big dogs. They turned out to be friendly, too.
Them not. They mean.
Ouch. (I turned the page on his finger) That hurt. That your fault.
Every time I get myself dirty I have to take a bath. I HATE BATHS.
Yeah. Him hates baths. That's a bad word. Him want to get out of that thing. (We used to change that bad word to "not like" but the readers in the house haven't caught on when they read to him, so now he can't be tricked!)
And every night, I curl up in my bed and go to sleep.
There's that fire guy. See... that's the fire guy. Him doesn't see him. Hims invisible. Fire guys come at night and they're invisible. Some are good and some are bad. I'll shoot the bad fire guys. (Check out the fire guy... I didn't know what he was talking about, so I had him point it out!)
I be right back with more books for you to read to me under the cold covers.

Here he is... this time quiet:

God kept ringing my doorbell

I am making a switch in meds right now and I forget that it takes a while for things to kick in. So I will wait a little longer and hope for the best, otherwise I may be making the switch back. I think this can account for my recent slump. Thankfully I conquered my finals and finished my semester before plummeting once again. And the plummet is not as bad, but still exhausting and draining.

It felt so good to read so many of your thoughtful comments. There is a part of depression where even knowing you are loved and there are people who support you doesn't help a bit, and then there is the part where you crave knowing until you can really feel it. And I am starting to feel it. During some of my darkest days, there were random friends who came out of the woodwork and made me feel loved. Often when you know someone is going through something you don't understand, it's hard to know what to do. I struggle with knowing how to help someone who has lost someone in death. Depression is equally mysterious, and I've learned that sometimes the best way to help someone is to simply do anything. You don't have to say much. Do what you do best, and that person will feel loved. I had two friends ring my doorbell and bring me a nutritious and delicious meal. Another friend stopped by with a yummy treat. And during a day when my son had had a potty accident and cleaning up that mess seemed like a mountain to climb, my doorbell rang and someone brought me flowers that they claim they saw and made them think of me. The day was still hard, but I could accomplish my small task at hand, and I knew that God would help me because He made someone come to tell me He loved me.

I think that's what Christmas is all about. Not the hustling and bustling, but finding simple and sweet ways to share His love. Because God loves us and gave to us His Son. I hope we can all feel His love and find ways to share it this Christmas season.

Hanging in There

After a month of being on my medication I had a follow-up with my doctor. Things were better and easier, but still not great. I was getting tired of saying each week "well, this is just a hard week." My anxiety symptoms were overwhelming. Some of you can, but imagine having your jaw clenched tight all day long and having to literally open it up to try to relax a bit. On top of that, I have series of numbers repeating themselves constantly in my mind, while my fingers continuously type the last word I hear, say or see. It's exhausting. We decided to up my dosage and another month later also make a switch to another type of medication. There are side-affects I don't enjoy, but on the whole I think I am doing a little better. Time will tell.

Yesterday was a bad day, however, and I find myself wondering and praying for help to know what to do to want to get better. I remember a person I used to be and sometimes I think I am her, but more often than not I can't summon the energy to try, and I wonder what will become of me if I can't try.

The worst of all of this is that I know in reality that my lot in life is supreme. I can't complain, or at least I shouldn't. And I HATE that I feel this way and can't function the way I want to. It's similar to when I was on bedrest with my last pregnancy. There was so much I wanted to do and knew that I could, and yet I just had to sit there and let a lot of things pass by. I want to be fully present. I want to enjoy my life, my family and Christmas. I want to want to do things and I would really like if it came naturally. For now I'm just doing my best and trying not to let the guilt of all that I can't do overcome me and freeze me up entirely. Maybe I will give everyone some guilt this Christmas and then I won't have any left for myself.

On a happy note, because I have to find things to make me smile - my son had crazy hair day in his class recently. The week prior he had been star of the week and had brought in pictures of the "jayhawk" haircut he gave himself when he was younger. It made him famous at school apparently. So, good parents that we are, we let him sport his jayhawk haircut to school to please his fans. He came home early that day sick, but pleased that he had been able to show off his invention once again. (It's now all the same length again!!!)

2008 "Jayhawk"

2011 "Jayhawk"

The Final Chapter

Our family redboxed the final Shrek movie last week while we were all sick and oh, my goodness was it hilarious! As a child, I remember often asking my Mom to sit down and watch whatever movie we were watching with us - as she would walk in with a load of laundry on her hip, or in between making meals. I could never understand WHY she couldn't watch the whole thing, I mean, I thought it was a good movie. Now, as a mother, I get it. I've seen snippets and know lines from numerous children's movies but hardly know entire plots or sit through a whole feature length anymore. I'm either too busy, or would rather do something else with my precious downtime than watch some talking animal sing and dance. But SHREK FOREVER AFTER is a movie you need to ALL sit down and watch. It's like a comedy version of "It's a Wonderful Life" in some ways, and as parents... who can't relate to this:
Unfortunately, our little kitten we got almost a year ago can also relate to this character's fate:
And now that I am D.O.N.E. my finals and my first semester back in school, I am feeling a little like THIS:

I couldn't help but smile later that night when I realized that we have our own flying donkey in our house - check out our advent:
Love what the preschooler brings to Christmas in our home. And now, I say: BRING ON MY BREAK. (But not "break down!")

"Elementary, my dear Watson"

I just experienced the most embarrassing review session of my life. I came prepared, even amidst having a sick husband and sick (including puking, fever, snot rockets) kid this week and juggling all of my roles. (You really should see my house this week - I guarantee you will all feel magnificent about the state of your own homes!) I had a page of specific questions including problems for our professor to review. And this was after I had emailed him numerous times with other specific questions. To me, a review session means that we come ready to learn whatever it is we didn't figure out throughout the semester, in time to hopefully learn and regurgitate on the exam. My instructors have been very clear that they aren't going to be coming prepared with anything to go over, but that the time is ours and we are to lead where the discussion goes. So this I did. And for a little over an hour and fifteen minutes and all but two questions, I asked and my professor answered. Yup. Slightly embarrassing. And yet, part of me feels like my classmates owe me. And I'm a little embarrassed for them as well.

In another one of my classes today we were filling out our teacher evaluations. My classmates huddled together deciding if they would be mean or nice. How about honest? I was, I'm afraid, brutally honest. As we were filling out the evaluations, I felt like it was homework time at my house with my little grade schoolers constantly asking me how to spell this and that. I must have rambled off at least a dozen correct spellings of words amidst completing my own evaluation. My favourite was when we had to fill in the spot for our major and a classmate beside me couldn't spell "elementary" correctly. As I helped her, two others realized they had misspelled it as well. Just one of many situations this semester that has led me to wonder at these students who could someday be my children's future teachers. Then again, they may wonder at me. And for all I know, you've spotted a good bunch of spelling errors in this small entry (though favourite was spelled Canadian correctly!)

I'm down to one last class tomorrow and then my finals will be Monday and Tuesday. I can almost breathe a sigh of relief. The break will be much too short, I am sure, but I am thrilled to be done with these classes and even excited for what next semester brings. Still, I don't know how people manage to juggle it all. My problem is that as much as I tell myself that it doesn't matter if I don't get A's... it does. As much as I want to be able to just do okay at everything I am doing, I don't. I don't want to be THE best, but I do want to do MY best, and perhaps I expect too much out of myself. I know I do. Just don't know how to change that, or at least get rid of the guilt that I feel when I can't do it all and do it all well. Ironically, the last time I dealt with depression I was in school too. Causation or correlation?

Something merry and bright -
a friend from my childhood makes me smile in this music video(pause the music playlist at the bottom first!):

My Fall

I’m not sure if anyone will still read this blog, and I really wonder why anyone does anyways. But I’ve decided to share my story of why I fell off the blogosphere and other spheres for a time. Therapeutically, writing this helps me, but I can just as easily keep it written and hidden. However, my hope is that my experiences in life help others either in their own lives, or in our attempt to have empathy and love for those around us; and understanding things that we may never experience ourselves can aid in that endeavor.

This was me last fall:
I hit rock bottom. My fall sucked.

There really aren’t words for all that I was feeling and going through. Basically I was done. And while I hated feeling that way, pretending that I wasn’t was just making me feel worse. I know from experience that even if you fake happiness and togetherness long enough, it doesn’t make it real. I had everything good in my life, and yet I couldn’t enjoy it or experience happiness. And that’s just not fair. I really feel that we all deserve to feel happiness. And when you can’t, you need to get help to feel it. Of course, try telling that to someone who is depressed. I knew I wasn’t happy, I knew I couldn’t “feel” and I knew that this problem was making me intolerable to live with or be around. My solution, at the time, was to make the problem go away so my family could be happy. And with me being the problem, I resolved to leave. I would hide under the covers of a bed somewhere and sleep and not cause problems anymore. At the time, I was hardly eating (just didn’t enjoy it – not even chocolate) and had lost a good ten pounds, so lack of food under my covers wouldn’t be a problem. Hopefully after some time I would simply cease to exist. My biggest worry with this plan was that there really was an afterlife where I would no longer be able to hide and once again have expectations I didn’t feel I could meet. I know this may all sound crazy, but I’m not joking; this was my reality.

I felt completely overwhelmed. I had so much to do, and yet I would sit in my house not doing anything because I just couldn’t. Doing anything was like moving a mountain. I was exhausted: physically, mentally and spiritually. Drained and done and ready to leave, my husband begged me to go see a doctor before I went. I told him I didn’t have time. He made the appointment; I canceled my afternoon and got a babysitter. And then I bawled my eyes out to my wonderful Doctor who agreed that I shouldn’t feel this way and promised to help me feel better for Christmas. Of course he asked how I was eating and sleeping, if and when I was exercising, how my relationship with my husband was, how often I had alone time… and I looked at him like, “how is a depressed person supposed to do any of that?” I was beyond the healthy habits tricks. So for the time being, I am on medication to help me get to the point that I can work on making myself healthy again; healthy and, hopefully, happy. I have references for therapists… but have a hard time making that step. Not sure how spending $180/hr will help me not stress about money or time. I know what my problems are, just don’t know how to fix them all yet.

The fact that I could cry (and cry a LOT) was a good sign to me. Ten years ago, when I suffered from severe postpartum depression, I was so far gone that I couldn’t feel anything and couldn’t cry if I wanted to. So, I’m looking on the bright side at the fact that I spent weeks doing nothing but cry. Tears can be healing, right?!

Ironically, this blog is about my many coloured days, and yet I didn’t want to share the dark days. Really I couldn’t. But I’m going to try, and hope that they get brighter.

Merry and bright. Because ‘tis the season.