Shifting From Dark to Light

While we were dating, Ben and I often went hiking on the beautiful Alaskan mountains. One particular morning found us at the top of Flattop a little after sunrise. I remember observing the gradual shift from dark to light as the sun's rays spread across the land, leaving a kaleidoscope of shadows.

These last few days I've been reflecting on that scene in connection with my newly found happiness.  For years I suffered under a cloud of despair: Seeing my future as hopeless and desolate.  Looking back through time, I can only remember brief stints of joy splattered on a canvass of bleakness--my existence.

Up until a few months ago, before I recognized the need of intervention--in the forms of therapy and medication--I would wake with a rising sense of dread.  The kids would watch hours of the Wiggles so I could sleep through the pain of severe anxiety and depression.  When they engaged in normal child activities, the screwed up wiring in my brain produced reactions of intense and irrational irritation and anger.  My husband was terrified to come home because he did not know what Amber he would find: the cheerful and supportive wife or the desperate and despairing wife.  Multiple times a week I would have meltdowns complete with tears and dreary announcements of our future.

Under the guidance of a wonderful practitioner, I received the help I needed.  After finding the right dose and mix of medications--to treat the clinical depression and anxiety--I saw a noticeable difference.  The manifestation began by waking up full of hope and excitement for the day ahead of me, followed by joyful anticipation of the transition our family will soon make when Ben begins medical school, and capped when I no longer dreaded my husband's long work week but looked forward to any time we had together.

The medication precipitated a symbolic sunrise in my life.  No longer do I dwell in darkness; rather, the shadows are carefully dispelling under the gentle caress of the sun's rays.

No longer incapacitated by mental illness, I am peeling away the layers and finding the person I have always been: Compassionate, optimistic, and happy.

Thank you all for supporting me through this painful journey.   Your patience, kindness, and friendship has meant so much to me.

On Being a Stay-At-Home Mom

I struggled for a long time with what I thought being a stay-at-home mom meant.  I visualized a day full of baking, putting together puzzles, reading story after story, and, of course, creating art and making crafts.  As many of you know, I detest baking and abhor having to participate in making arts and crafts.  And, with my recent health problems, floor time is very challenging.

In my mind, this makes me atypical; which, in turn, makes me feel highly uncomfortable with my new profession.

It doesn't help that I don't fit into any mold.  We live in an apartment, my husband works two full-time jobs, we have one very old vehicle, and our food budget is meager.  I struggle with chronic anxiety and depression and can barely keep our tiny space from imploding from the chaos of two kids.  Not the suburban bliss most people picture (or at least I pictured) when thinking of moms staying home with their kids.

So, when I hear women saying "I'm not the stay-at-home type" I can relate.  At least if their definition is the same one I've always used.

What am I to do?

Change the definition.

As with parenting, there are all sorts of moms who decide to stay-at-home.  I have to believe that not every mother delights in the typical homemaking (a word I really dislike) pursuits.  We all have talents and interests, outside of mothering, that spice up our résumé.

Some of my interests include helping the low income, minority, and mentally ill populations find the healthcare they need, continue on to higher education, and apply for jobs directly related to their individual talents;  fitness and helping women and men find their inner beauty and perfect their own healthy body image; and pursuing life long education by obtaining a masters, followed by Ph.D, in some area of expertise and conducting and publishing research in premier journals.

My talents include reading to and teaching my kids all sorts of things beyond picture books; incorporating exercise--whether it's walking or aerobics on DVD--into our daily schedule; and managing our finances so we do not go over our budget.

These talents and interests make me, me.  Even if it makes me an untraditional SAHM (another term I dislike).  I'd much rather do what I always wanted to do (stay at home with my kids) my way than stay within some defined boundary and feel miserable by not staying true to myself.

What about you?  (I'm sure you can relate this to your own life and whatever profession you have. You don't have to be a mom to feel as if you are an outlier.)

A Slow Healing Process

I thought I was pregnant last month.  I had all the symptoms: nausea, vomiting, headaches, frequent urination, etc.  Setting aside my reservations, my excitement started mounting.  How could it not?  Sickness is a good thing, for me, in determining a viable pregnancy.  I felt the phrase "the third time is the charm" might apply this time.

Except it didn't.  Because I started my period a couple weeks later--right on time. (And, to confirm this, I also took a couple pregnancy tests.)  With the nausea, vomiting, and all the other lovely things that now accompany me constantly.  You know, without a pregnancy.

To say I was angry is an understatement.  Ben and I thought for sure all my symptoms meant the one thing we really want--another baby.  Instead I was greeted with the mother of all cramps and her crimson venom.  Once the bleeding started, I texted Ben telling him that I did not want to have any more kids.  I was done with pregnancies, done with fertility stuff, done with everything.  He called me on his lunch break and let me talk.   And cry.  Because I cried a lot.

When he came home that night, he held me.  He let me vent without saying one contradictory word.  He let me rage against my body, my period, and against God.

(Have I mentioned I married the perfect guy for me?)

*****

Andrew is learning to climb on and off furniture.  As I have taught him many times that the safest, and most effective, way for him to climb down is feet first, I must now let him learn the painful lesson of not following my guidance.

When he starts crawling off head first, I tell Ben, "Let him go, he needs to learn by falling on his head."  Which he has, slowly.  It can be hard to watch him fall, but I know it is the only way he will learn.

*****

Right now, God is letting me fall on my head.  I don't know what I am supposed to learn through this process, but I do know it is mighty painful.

This recent period was a frightful reminder of my miscarriages.  (Two! In the same year!.)  It brought me to the lowest depths of depression I've been in since I can't remember.  Along with the sadness, I embraced bitterness.  A bitter person is not good company, as Ben has unfortunately experienced.  I'm not proud of the person I've been over the past couple weeks, a big reason this space has remained unoccupied, however I understand, and Ben understands, the complicated emotions that assailed me over something that I've had once a month (besides pregnancy) since I was 14.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have had some recent revelations that have forced me to evaluate many parts of who I am and who I want to become.  While I don't intend to be vague, I am still figuring out the different pieces and at the moment cannot adequately articulate what they mean.  But, if you'll be patient with me, I feel ready to write about them one at a time.

Yeah, I guess that means I'm back.

***Image via FreeImages.

Motherhood Ease and Taking A Break

I wanted to be a mother since I was a little girl. However, in all my imaginings I didn't anticipate the anxiety that accompanies this occupation.

There are many mothers who I admire; most of them seem to easily bear the mantle of motherhood. When I observe them, I see how comfortable they feel with their role and how they adjust naturally to changes.

I wish I felt that way.

I love being a mother and I adore my children. Recently, I've started daydreaming of having a big family again. A huge step for me since the miscarriage.

However, I don't feel qualified. I see this in simple things.

When Ben leaves for work, I am gripped by this terrible fear of being left, alone, with the kids. I think about the hours I have until they are down for naps and then until they go to bed. I dread meal times and bath times and almost everything in between. So I plan lots of activities to fill the voids--library visits, aerobics, shopping trips, and appointments. I don't prefer play groups because it means I must visit with other mothers who probably are much better at being a stay-at-home mom than me.

If the kids start to cry, I become rattled. I tell myself that I cannot comfort them and that the crying will continue for hours during the day. A lovely relic of the heavy duty colic I survived with both kids.

I spend half the day chasing after Emily and the other half cleaning up the messes she has made. Sitting down and playing with her rarely happens as she is too busy getting into the things to have anything to do with puzzles, blocks, or any crafty thing.

As a woman with a degree in family science (with a heavy emphasis on child development), I know what I need to do to encourage my children in their intellectual growth. Thus, when these things aren't done, I feel the failure even more significantly.  And it scares me.

I crave comfort in motherhood.

*****

My life is in chaos.  I don't mean that lightly.  The family has yet to adjust to Ben working two jobs.  I'll freely admit that I am struggling with it.

The hardest part is being responsible for everything.  Sure the dishes can wait...for me. If I don't clean, no one else will.  It's not that Ben doesn't want to help, it's that he can't.  His burden is our finances while mine is the household.  Hefty responsibilities for both of us.  We share what we can while doing our bests to fulfill our sole obligations.

I am taking a break.  I need time to organize my life so I don't feel overwhelmed by the slightest setback.  I don't know when I'll be back; it could be a couple of days, a couple of weeks, or couple of months.

Perhaps this break will stop the unsettled feeling I have.  I'll let you know when I get back.  Until then, know that I will read here and there, and that I will think of all of you during the absence.  Hey, as the saying goes, "absence makes the heart grow fonder."  Or maybe that's intended for a different context.  Yeah, that's a bit awkward.

Anyway.  If I'm not back before the holidays, I wish all of you the best.  I'll see you when I see you.

A Spectacular Failure

My plan of posting daily was foiled by sickness and travelling.  We are home, thankfully safe and sound as inclement weather wanted otherwise, but the sickness is pervasive.  We are all busy living in a haze of congestion, chills, and fevers.

Before I stopped, I had published every day, except one.  A decent record, for sure, but did I really do what I set out to accomplish?

Yes.

Writing daily became a habit.  I set aside a block of time for myself, nightly, to sit and write.

Posting was more enjoyable.  I wrote on a variety of themes, allowing my creativity to flow.

Giving myself a break each day provided me with the escape I needed from the incessant worries that accompany motherhood and solo parenting.

And no.

I am not satisfied with my writing.  Many days, the posts seemed more like stream-0f-consciousness writing rather than organized, coherent, and cohesive thoughts with few grammatical and punctuation errors.   My time, like so many people's, is extremely restricted.  If I choose to sit and write, I also choose to ignore the mess and continue living in a chaotic household--something I am not okay with.

While I did go outside of my comfort zone in small ways, I still kept within the confined zone.  Struggling to find the perfect word choice/combinations, appropriate tone, and correct word usage has placed more than one important piece inside the drafts folder.

I did not find that niche of which I am looking.  The subject that defines this place.  I also found myself in a vulnerable position of confronting a truth I have been avoiding.  A truth that will lead to more time and effort in order to receive adequate help.

I managed to break through the fog I had been living in by trying the NaBloPoMo challenge.  In the process, though, I found another fog that will take longer to navigate.  Something I'm not exactly prepared for but understand the necessity of facing it.

Perhaps I should dedicate this blog to figuring out pieces of myself as I venture further and further into motherhood and wifehood.  It seems to be heading in that direction anyway.

Practically Speaking

Writing is a good way for me to search deep inside and figure out exactly who I am.

I thought that in writing about my non-womanly likes (and dislikes) would help me to stop comparing myself to other women who do enjoy crafts, baking, and romantic stuff.  Honestly, I compare myself to these highly talented women quite frequently.  It's time that I recognize that though I have different interests, I am not less girly.

It worked.

In connection with this, writing out my thoughts also forced me to look at the logical side behind my words.   Since I am a very practical person, there usually is one.

For instance, my aversion to baking isn't necessarily that baking isn't fun, it's that baking requires too many dishes and too much of my attention.  With little ones running around my feet (or hanging on my pants screaming), I can't devote that much time to one item.  Also, as the resident dishwasher (literally we have no dishwasher), thinking about washing those dishes later in the evening is quite undesirable.  Especially if I want to make an edible dinner for my kids at some point before bedtime.

As for crafts?  They probably are fun, but my hands are so dry--no matter how much lotion I rub on them--that the very thought of touching paper screams paper cuts.  Cringe.  Even sewing and painting require me to be near textures that make my hands shrivel up in fear (and dryness).

(Romance is a topic of an entirely different post.  Though I will say this, it's all my father's fault.)

Just goes to show, you learn something new about yourself when you take the time to investigate.

Football and Spirituality

My team is not doing so hot this year.  In all my years of fanhood (something like 6), I have not witnessed such an awful season.  I believe I tempted fate by agreeing to cable, thinking it would be fun to watch our team trounce other teams.  Needless to say,  I am not having fun.

But I continue to watch their games each week.  I cheer them on, despite knowing there is only a -1% chance that they will win.  When they are losing, I stress their strengths, point out the improvements, and hope that next year these things will produce a winning season.

In many ways, I feel like my football team.  This year has been a hard one.  Colic, postpartum depression, miscarriage, loneliness, and another miscarriage have left me desperately dry.  So much so that I turned to Ben the other day and expressed, "I feel like a part of myself is missing.  The person I worked so hard to become--a loving and patient mother, a supportive and caring wife--has disappeared.  Anger, resentment, and depression have overridden my once happy existence.  I feel lost, alone, and confused."

My faith is still strong, but my self-worth has diminished.  Sure Heavenly Father will take care of His children, I tell myself, just not me.  Because I am unworthy.

I make countless mistakes during the day.  I pray, ask for forgiveness, and make the same mistakes again.  I ignore guidance while feeling increasingly sorry for myself.  During the hard times, I fail to recognize the blessings I have been given.

My record is a losing one.

Yet,  God has not given up on me.  He cheers me on even when He knows I might lose that game.  He reminds me of my strengths, points out my improvements, and remains on the side lines chanting my name.

He is my biggest fan.

I had to make some tough choices this week that placed people in hard positions.  Choices that were necessary, and felt right, for my health.  It was hard.  As I followed this prompting, I felt a small piece of myself return.  Ben being home more to help me is a big blessing,  yet it is much more than that.  My Spirit is transforming.  Back to the woman I was and so much more.  My mind is alive and my fingers are tingling as I reclaim my passion in writing.

I have much to improve on, of course, but the process doesn't seem so overwhelming.

See?  Football really is more than just a game.  (Wink, wink.)

Who Are You?

Sometimes I find myself wondering who I am.  More specifically,  who am I to you?   In this space I am a featureless person who occasionally posts life altering moments--at least for me--but mostly whines.  At least that's how it feels.  Which leads me to wonder,  what kind of person do you think I am?

I cannot write funny posts.  I try and fail miserably.  My humor does not translate on-screen.  I think it's because I'm sarcastic and, in real life, am usually poking fun at myself for things I've said.  Hey,  if I'm going to stick my foot in my mouth several times a day I might as well laugh about it!

If you were to hang out with me for a few hours--or even minutes--I wouldn't even mention the woes I am experiencing.  I might say something and reference it to my miscarriage in a very matter-of-fact way because that's how I am. For real, I shoot straight.  (That's actually how I talk.)

The conversation would probably be centered on you as I ask you a million questions.  I enjoy getting to know a person in depth and can ask some pretty awesome questions--granted that I feel comfortable enough asking them.  Talking about myself is something I actually avoid.  It's not as fun.  Unless I can share a lesson I've learned that might help you in some way.

When you read my words here,  can you picture a determined woman?  Who cares deeply about social issues?  Who researches how to be the best mom?

I tend to relax in a unique manner,  by watching shows or reading books that make me think.  Sitcoms and love stories tend to irritate me so I stick with things I like.  Shows like The Universe, Gangland, and The First 48 are my top picks.  It isn't unusual for Ben to come home from work to find me conked out on the couch and The Universe playing in the background.  Heck, the only books I've read lately have been my Astronomy textbook from college and Ben's Biology textbook.

I'm not all serious.  I have a playful side that comes out when I'm with my family and around Ben.  I smile and giggle very often throughout the day as I watch Emily and Andrew play.  My family blog is devoted to how silly my kids are and how much they make me laugh.

Here, though, I'm a different person.  This is my place to ponder, analyze, discuss.  Even if there has been limited amounts of that lately.  I enjoy the relationships I have developed with so many of you; the bloggers I have surprisingly connected with.

Yet.  I feel a change coming.  A shift.  These past few months have been emotionally and physically taxing.  I have evaluated myself--my passions, my dreams--at a deeper level than ever before.  What I found was a person that I am still discovering.  Not necessarily a new me,  but a different me.  Perhaps someone I buried once I graduated from school, thinking that part of me was over,  who is emerging when I most need her.

I realize this post is dancing in and out of subjects.  Confusing as it might be, it accurately describes my mind at the moment.  I hop from thought to thought, subject to subject, trying to maintain some sort of rhythm.  Presently, the pattern alludes me.

But.

I feel closer to recognizing it.

Do you feel your blog fully represents who you are?  Or, do you feel that a one-time meeting would provide a person adequate time to really get to know you?

A Tale of Nursing

To all my male readers: You are excused from reading this post.  Unless you really want to, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Andrew lost weight at his last doctor's appointment. His weight has been teetering at the edge for the last two and causing me a bit of worry.  My kids are short.  I understand that, but to go from gaining 3 or 4 pounds a visit to gaining a half a pound and then losing a pound usually signifies something else is happening.

Talking with the doctor, we narrowed it down to one thing: a reduction in my milk production.  I had a feeling this was happening.  Andrew has been waking up a couple times at night absolutely famished.  Considering he usually sleeps through the night, this was a bit odd.  I understood this could be due to a growth spurt, but he wasn't getting any bigger.

My doctor suggested I start supplementing.  I was devastated.

I have a love/hate relationship with breastfeeding.  In the first few months, it hurts horribly.  I crack and bleed and nothing soothes my throbbing breasts.   I cry and push my feet into the ground until the baby is latched, then I clench my teeth the entire feeding.  I develop serious tension headaches because the stress.

Why do I continue?  Because I give myself a goal after each baby is born: if I still hate it by month 3,  I will stop.  Somehow this goal gives me the stamina to continue.  That and my pride.

Once the pain subsides (around month 3),  I begin to enjoy it a little more.  Around month 5,  it starts hurting again.  For 2 weeks out of the month, it is painful and I, once again, cry during feedings.  I persist because by that point, my babies will not take a bottle.

I enjoy the bonding moments my babies and I share during those 10-20 minutes, but I don't love breastfeeding.

However, when I realized my milk production was decreasing, I was disappointed.  I have sacrificed so much to continue breastfeeding and it seems so...unfair to have this happen.   And I fought.  I tried to feed Andrew more, tried drinking and eating a little bit more, but it still wasn't enough for my poor little guy.

It was then that I realized that breastfeeding was something I thought I could control.  It seems natural that I would produce something that keeps my baby happy and healthy.  The practice was, in many ways, defining me in my motherhood.  I felt cheated.

Until I realized my goals were warped.  Raising a healthy baby should be my first priority and if I must combine nursing with supplementation to achieve this? Then so be it.

It makes me wonder what other priorities I need to readjust.

My Dreams Are Usually Not Tools of Revelation, But Sometimes They Are

After a rough day, I finally headed off to bed.  The dreams eagerly entered my mind, taking me away from reality.  They were fun.  At first.  Then they gradually turned into a haunting scene ripped from the headlines.

I head out on an overnight trip with Ben.  We leave Andrew and Emily in the van and take the car.  We don't think anything of it until we come back.

When we arrive, Emily is gone and Andrew is sleeping.  Ben is slightly worried that we don't see Emily, but I tell him to not worry about it.  Besides, I am too happy from our trip to worry.  I take Andrew out.  He's a  little cold, but okay.  I finally begin looking for Emily.

A sweet lady from our congregation comes out onto her porch and tells us that she has Emily.  "Don't worry! I saw her and brought her inside.  She is such a doll!"

I finally wake myself up.  I lie in bed with my heart pounding.  I go check on Emily.  She's sleeping in one of her many wild positions.  I smile through the hurt.  I grab Andrew from his crib and snuggle his little body.  Breathing in his sweetness and innocence.  I am angry with myself.  How could I do that to my children in my dream?  It is horrible!  Abandonment.  Carelessness.  Selfishness.  Abuse.  Things I only read about.  And I played them out in my dreams.

After realizing that sleep has fled, I go and get a drink.  I try to calm my rapidly beating heart.  I just can't get those horrible images and feelings out of my mind.

I think about what this dream could mean.  I rarely analyze my dreams,  but my mind would not rest until I looked at it from every angle.  After a few minutes, the meaning becomes clear: I am too connected to the internet.  While I don't literally abandon my children,  my thoughts are far from them.  I often put the computer with the e-mails, new posts, and tweets before my kids' needs.

I think about how I can slow down and really engage with my children.  The brainstorming helps to soothe my anxiety.  It is still late, but I know sleep is far from my grasp.  So, I wake up Ben. With a shaky voice, I tell him fragments of my dream.  He wraps me in his arms and I finally drift off into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning was Friday.  I decided to reset my priorities. I wrote a quick post and turned off the computer.  That was the start of my blog break.  Or, as Kristen and Becca put it, my digital diet.  The break gave me the chance to get on the floor and play with my babies.  I tickled, they giggled; I read, they listened; I sang, they danced.  They were moments that are forever etched into my mind.  Rather than losing myself in the computer while they napped, I cleaned.  Our house was tidy, we were all happy.

At night time, I reviewed different ways to effectively balance.

Writing is something that I can't avoid.  It provides relief and comfort from the daily stresses of parenting;  thus, I need it to relax me when the kids are sleeping.

At the same time,  reading each of your blogs infuses my soul with pieces of infinite wisdom.  Your inspiring posts encourage me to become a better person;  therefore, I need these interactions as well.

I could get up before the kids are awake in the morning.  Of course, that would mean waking up early.  Something I try to avoid.  Hey, my little guy doesn't sleep through the night yet!

I could try using nap times to clean.  That way, when the evening comes, I can enjoy blogging and writing without too much angst.  I don't have to worry about paying attention to my husband because he's not here.  Ha!  Takes care of that guilt.

I have yet to receive a striking revelation. One thing is certain: I cannot let that dream become a reality.  Just thinking about it makes me want to cry.  And vomit.  It was too powerful to ignore.

Do you have any tips/advice on how to achieve a good balance in your life?  Please share.  I need it.

I Can Find Alone Time!

I think that cliff hanger was pretty awesome.

In yesterday's post, Wolf presented three things (sanity networking, furs for perfumes, and thanks for angels) to help all of us find some alone time.  With this half, she will provide us with more specifics.

How to get a moment alone (and what to do with it once you get it) Part 2

Network

Without question, it’s easier to build a network when your children hit preschool or elementary school. You have a built-in community with whom you share common ground. You can help each other in a pinch, including finding a way to get an hour or two to yourself. If your children are younger, you may be able to build your network from mothers you meet on the local playground, after church or synagogue services, or by other means.

• If you don’t have a network, start building one. It won’t happen overnight. We’re talking about getting to know others who will potentially care for your children.


• Is there someone you trust to spend an hour or two with your child? Someone from church, for example? Or a neighbor you’ve gotten to know over the past several years?


• Is it possible to ask that person to stay during naptime – perhaps for an hour? Make it clear that you cannot afford a babysitter at this time, but you would be more than happy to reciprocate.


• Suggest that you spend some time together first. Invite her (and her child or children) to your place – for coffee or tea. Get to know each other and see how it feels.


• The act of sharing some adult time with another parent in your situation will be helpful. You won’t feel so isolated. And then give it a try – cell phone numbers exchanged – and don’t go very far the first time if you prefer. Maybe for a walk in the neighborhood. And eventually, an hour or two for yourself, every other week – or whatever works for you.


• Tap into your blogging community. What other mothers may live near you, or have a sister or cousin or friend who’s in the same boat, who may live in your area?

Is it easy?

No, but it is workable. Am I a trained life coach, psychologist, or educator? Nope. One weary, single mom, offering suggestions from years of experience.

Exchange of services, including for babysitting

Need a way to find a babysitter that won’t cost $10 to $15 / hour? Not sure where to start?

• Try your clergy, your neighbor, your alumni association, a local college. Well, you’re thinking, there’s no trading off kids in that scenario. True enough, but you could trade services.


• Talk to people when you’re out. Be friendly. In line at Starbucks or Caribou. At the library. In the pediatrician’s office. You never know when you might strike up a conversation with someone who can help, and whom you can help.

Are there skills you might trade with a college or graduate student? Absolutely! Perhaps it’s proofing, editing, Spanish tutoring, web site design suggestions. Believe me – you have skills, and they have value. Exchange them for something of value to yourself. Something like a little “me” time that will keep you healthy and sane.

Angels

There really have been angels on my life and the lives of my children. There is a remarkable woman in my neighborhood, a piano teacher, who gives lessons to my younger son. Free of charge. She also made arrangements for us to get a piano at no cost. We didn’t have one, and I certainly couldn’t afford it.

This wonderful individual has been teaching my teenager for 18 months. He adores her; she adores him. She is an angel to both of us, and in his own way, he is an angel for her. Unlike the little ones she’s used to, he wants to be there. He practices for hours each day, has begun composing, and has made remarkable progress in a very short time. She pushes him – hard – and surely she senses that she is influencing his future. Tremendously.

Angels are real. We are each other’s angels.

So what can you do with an hour or two and no money?

Think you can’t renew with an hour or two?

• Even an hour is enough to browse a local bookstore, sit and read (without buying), watch people, write, or simply wander the aisles and poke around whatever is of interest.


• That same amount of time would permit you go to a nearby department store and meander. Try the perfumes. Chat with strangers. Have your make-up done for fun. (It’s free.)


• Or, talk to no one. Sit on a bench with a thermos of coffee you bring from home, and watch the world go by. No one is asking anything of you. (And remember to leave the credit card or check book at home – if I can do it – you can do it!)


• No mall nearby? Take your thermos and a paperback and go. Walk to a nearby park. Sit, sip, watch, read. Breathe. Be part of the world in the most unobtrusive way. Free of charge, while you charge your own battery.


• Perhaps you enjoy massage, but you can’t afford it. Furs for perfume. Perhaps you try a masseuse at a local hairdresser who might exchange a 30-minute session for practice with English as a second language. Or learning to crochet, or bake. Get creative. Trade. Ask.

Another thought? I used to be an avid quilter. I find it relaxing – especially the design and piecing of the top. I always quilted in small bits, and by hand rather than machine. That made my sewing portable, and also, when we use our hands, we seem to naturally unwind.

If you can use your hands to make something, consider it. Knit. Embroider. Knead bread. Try origami. Fold forms from paper and make a mobile for your babies!

A final word on how you spend your time

Even now, with teenagers, I’m a single mom with no “backup.” It’s not as crazy as it was when they were little; it’s crazy differently. I feel like I’m always on duty, or at the very least, on call. But over the past few years, I’ve slowly taken back chunks of time for myself. Probably not enough, or often enough, but I’m doing it. It’s good for my kids, and it’s good for me.

Even if all I do with that time is sit in a bookstore and watch, and write – I’m close enough to be accessible, I’m less isolated because I’m around people and movement – and that is the stuff that nourishes us as people, and fuels us as writers.

Last resort? Host a Latvian. Maybe you’ll find one who can babysit! And yes, hungry foreign students certainly add to the food bill, but the laughter alone is worth its weight in gold. Or rather, dzintars – and the irony in that? It is precious currency indeed, and it means Amber.

******

Wolf, I am deeply grateful for this thoughtful--and thought provoking--guest post/extensive comment.

I know that I have many angels surrounding me.  Many friends who would be willing to step in and give me a break.  But, I usually hold back because I don't want to be a burden.  With these ideas, though, I feel a surge in confidence.  I like bartering.  Both sides win.

Alone Time? Me? No Way!!

A few weeks ago I was feeling down.  It had been one of those mornings.  I was physically and spiritually worn out.  Wolf, in her peculiar way of knowing my moods, e-mailed me and asked me how I was doing.  She also suggested that I click over to her blog.  I did and read a thought-provoking piece entitled Do you know your body's rhythms? While reading, I puzzled over how Wolf knew what I needed to hear that morning.  I also thought about how her post, though fabulous, could not apply to me.  I don't have the time to figure out my body's rhythms.

Since I was feeling whiny, I asked Wolf how I can follow her advice.  She, in her usual sage manner, wrote back with an amazing comment.  Reading her words inspired me.  I instantly e-mailed her and asked if I could re-post her comment on my blog.  She not only said yes, but sent it to me as a whole new post.  Yes, she is incredible.

For any woman/man who is feeling tired, worn out, and just plumb tuckered, Wolf has provided us with an amazing array of remedies.  Especially for those of us who are short on cash.

In order to give her post all the attention it deserves, I am breaking it up into 2 different segments.  Think of it like a cliff hanger. I love a book with good cliff hangers.

Without further ado, please welcome Wolf of Big Little Wolf's Daily Plate of Crazy.

How to get a moment alone (and what to do with it once you get it) Part 1

Love your family, but enough is enough?

Losing your sanity? Don’t want to admit it? Sorry. I have no 12-step program, no quick fix, and not even a chocolate giveaway to take your mind off things. But I will tell you you’re in good company. The reality for most mothers, unless you have help – and I mean real help – there is never enough of you to go around. It’s true for stay-at-home-moms, for work-outside-the-home moms, for do-it-all-moms, and all the other variations of motherhood whose classifications don’t matter whatsoever.

And if your budget looks anything like mine (the UnBudget), a trip to the day spa (with pricey sitter at home) just isn’t in the cards.

Maybe you’re married and the husband works extra hours, or goes to school at night. Maybe you’re a single mom with little to no time off (for misbehavior). Whatever the scenario, don’t feel guilty for wanting a break. You need one. Consider it a sign of mental health.

But what do you do when you’re constrained by lack of money or help? No bucks for a sitter. No family to assist. Now what? Run away from home? Most of us have considered it at one time or another. But shhhhhh. Don’t admit it to the kids.

Sanity networking, furs for perfumes, and thanks for the angels

Say what? Yep. I believe in sanity networking, furs for perfumes, and angels, as follows:

• Network (the “it takes a village” concept)


• Exchange of services (good old fashioned barter)


• Angels (they’re everywhere, and they look like us)

A support network is essential. If you’ve lost yours following a relocation or divorce, do whatever you can to rebuild. (Some ideas follow.) Simply put - you need people to help give you relief. A network of trusted “villagers” – other parents, teachers, students, neighbors.

Remember barter? You give me this, I’ll give you that? According to some sources, barter systems date back to 6,000 BC. Long before there was money, goods and services were exchanged. My furs for your perfume. And at an even more basic level – your hunting and fishing for my giving birth (not to mention, fabulous cave painting). Believe me, you’ve got skills that someone can use, and they’ve got skills that you can use. Barter!

As for angels, I’m not channeling Travolta in wings, nor the Sistine Chapel. Not even the backers of Broadway musicals. I’m talking about everyday people who are kind and give, for no reason except that it feels good, it’s helpful, and they can. The fact is – we all can. We can be angels for each other, perhaps by listening when someone needs an ear, or by helping a stranger who is lost. Perhaps in that “exchange of services” way I just mentioned.

I hope I’ve been an angel in my own way, and I’ve certainly run into my share in recent years. Angels are not defined by age or gender, by religion or even spirituality. They simply understand that we are a human community. And when they see someone who needs help, if they can, they help.

Haven’t you been an angel? I’m guessing the answer is yes, if you think about it. And if you’ve been on the receiving end, you pass it along when you are able.

Specifics

Just so you know where I fit in this picture (yes, this is the part where I establish my credentials), I am the mother of two teen sons, now 18 and 17. I was technically married for many years. My (then) husband traveled, a great deal, and we had no family in the area. I worked a full-time job (close to home), then a full-time job from a home office while being “full-time mom” to my boys. Helping other mothers with pickups and free time is the stuff that gets you through. I was often the “helper,” for many years.

Following divorce, layoff, and a move, my former network fell apart. Things got challenging very quickly, and frankly, I was in the robotic zone for months (years?) as I scrapped for project and freelance clients, raised my kids, and tried to keep myself semi-sane and semi-healthy. Somehow, I thought I ought to be able to do it all - if I just tried hard enough. Listen up, please. It’s not possible. No one can do it all alone. Furthermore, I don’t believe we are meant to. And nor is it the best thing for our kids.

My Kids Hate Me

Before I continue, I want to make something clear:  I can't complain about my night's sleep.  When I am tired, I am completely to blame.  However, I can complain about my babies recent naptime sleeping--or lack thereof.

I find naptimes to be slightly more essential than nighttime sleep.  See, it is during naptimes that I take a shower, do the dishes, and write.  It is also during naptime that I gather my energy to make dinner, take walks, and start laundry.  So, when nap times are compromised, I become grumpy and my house becomes dirty.

Lately, my kids have been doing tag napping.  You know, when one falls asleep the other wakes up.  It is very aggravating.  It has led me to the conclusion that my kids hate me.  This must be true.  Why else would they put me through so much torture?

Now, if you are looking to excuse my children, it is because you don't know them.  Sure, they might look angelic,

but deep down they are devious little creatures. I should know.

Take Andrew.  He used to sleep moderately well.  He would at least give me a half hour to an hour of good napping 3-4 times a day.  I can do that.  Lately?  He has been fighting sleep.  After vigorous rocking, he might close his eyes.  But, the instant I put him down--BAM! He wakes up.

I did expect this.  He is 4 months after all.  His sister did the same thing around this time.  It doesn't make it any easier.

Emily, on the other hand, sleeps pretty well hen she wants to sleep.  If she does not want to sleep, she is grumpy.  She whines and has melt downs when I give her something besides cookies to eat.

After a day or two of their ornery sleep habits, I pout.  I'm pretty good at pouting.  I will put on a movie (I'm on a classics roll right now) and let them go crazy while I sit and inwardly moan and groan.

It's funny when epiphanies hit.  While writing this sarcastic, and somewhat true, post I realized something.  I really have a good life.  Sure, my kids may drive me nuts with their non-sleeping habits, but I know that phase will end too quickly.  Before I know it, they will be leaving the house.  Then I will have quiet.  I will be able to nap when I want and write when I want. Strangely enough, I'm sure I will miss this time.

I  think I will go and kiss my little babies' faces.  This sleeping thing will not last forever,  the joy they bring to me will.

Dreary and Dark Vs. Cheery and Bright

I was going to talk about the awards I have received lately, but I can't.  Not today.  Today is a day for reflection.

I was glancing through my blog stats,  smiling over the Google searches that landed some unsuspecting soul into my blogging world, when I saw a phrase that caught my breath: tired of being a mother.

I was instantly transported back to the day I wrote that post.

Motherhood, for me, is like a roller coaster.  Once I have begun that thrilling ride down the ramp, opened my eyes, lifted my arms confidently, I reach the bottom and look up, terrified by the apex of the roller coaster.

I had reached the bottom that day.  I felt deflated.  Unsure of where to go, who to turn to, and how to handle the cries of my babies.  I did the one thing I knew would bring relief: I wrote.  I described the emotions tearing apart my sanity.  I, unknowingly, cried out for help.  And I found comfort.

I have been sailing down the ramp these past few weeks, feeling confident in my mothering abilities.  Yet,  that day has hovered around my consciousness.  Reminding me that I will inevitably feel its tortuous bond, cutting deep into my psyche, leaving me to limp slowly around my apartment, unaware of my babies' needs.

Today, though, I look around my messy apartment.  Frowning that I picked it up just yesterday and smiling at the proof entropy's existence.  Irritated that I put Manly down for a nap, only to have him wake up moments later, ticked at me for putting him down rather than holding him.  Glad that the Queen is happily engaged in "reading" her favorite story book.

Negative emotions, positive emotions, each coming and going.
Reminding me that I am human, that I am alive, that I am blessed.

To that lady who is tired of being a mother, I promise that it will pass.  Find a friend (or a dozen!), shed a few (or a hundred) tears, and take a nap.  Forget the messes for a day or two.  Listen to your child giggle.  Take a picture of your child's eyes.  Snuggle, snuggle, snuggle.

It may take a few days to recuperate from a dark day, but know that the sun will greet you, wipe your tears away with it's rays, and hug you tight with its warmth.  A community of wonderful mothers (and fathers) can be found on-line.  I know because I have found them.

The dreary days stand as a stark contrast to the cheery days.  A contrast that I welcome.

Ladies, Speak Up!

While in school,  I was usually never afraid of offering my opinion on a subject that I felt passionate about.  After thinking,  I would quietly raise my hand and poetically offer my thoughts.

Hah!  I wish.  Usually,  I chose to not speak unless my heart was racing so hard that I had to stammer out my piece.  Once I was finished,  I wouldn't speak for a week.  I always envied those who could state an opinion eloquently and without "ummms" and "sos."  After much reflection,  I realized that most of those speakers happened to be men.

Then I asked myself,  why were the men more eloquent.  More importantly,  why were the men not afraid to speak up?

Recently Mr. B's English professor told the men to shut up and the ladies to speak up.  She informed them [the ladies] that their opinions were needed as much as the boys.  She then related a story.

She described that in one class full of boys, with only 3 girls, she rarely heard from the ladies.  In an effort to get more participation from them, she summoned them to her desk after the bell rang and told them to write her a 1 page essay explaining why they didn't speak in class.  Their participation grade would be determined by this essay.

After receiving the essays back,  she found a disturbing trend.  The women felt uncomfortable speaking up because they felt their opinions had to be flawless and particularly brilliant.

Ladies:  I know what these girls are talking about.  I have felt this too.  Now I am asking you--why do we feel this way?

We live in a time when women have more rights than they have ever had before.  We see women in high positions of power.  We see women making waves.  We see women flaunting their brains rather than their bodies.  We see women being strong.

But.

There is still a lingering sense of inferiority.  For example, when I walk into a room full of men my palms begin to sweat,  my heart starts pounding,  and my head starts spinning.  These are physical responses to my tense, nervous feelings of insecurity.  I am afraid of these men.  They seem more powerful, more respected, than little old me.  They are confident.

Submom recently addressed this issue.  I found her thoughts especially well dictated.  Allow me to quote her.

"At first I thought that men are so good at “chiming in” and “making their points” at any meeting because they somehow were privy to this secret [of being intellectually confident enough to appear stupid sometimes]. Nah. Based on my years of ethnographic study of the male species in the corporate jungle, I believe that they are so good at “speaking up” because, unlike women who are often self-reflexive, most men never even consider the possibility that what comes out of their mouth may just be flat out the stupidest thing someone has ever heard of. See, they never apologize before they speak. The strength of not giving a damn. THAT is the Super Power I would like to have."

Me too, Submom, me too.

I Hate to Burst Your Bubble.....

but, I'm not perfect.

What?!!?! You Don't Have Cable?  I Wish I Were As Strong As You!

We may not have cable, but we have an on-line Netflix account that we log into daily (thanks, Mom!).  (Oh Netflix, how I love thee!)  If I wanted to, I could watch a full season's episodes of certain television shows.  I prefer to watch movies. As for the Queen,  when I am fixing dinner or trying to clean,  she watches Blue's Clues or the Jimmies.  Hey, I need her to stay out of things as much as the next Mom.

In that post, I didn't mention another reason for not having cable: I was afraid of the temptation.  I already spend inordinate amounts ignoring my children by blogging that I don't need another media outlet to distract me.  When thinking about getting cable all I envisioned myself in front of the television telling the Queen to stop playing so I could hear the TV.  I am already too absorbed in my own thoughts that I didn't need something to make me more mentally absent.

All You Need is Balance!

As Kristen mentioned,  one of my favorite words is balance.  At least it used to be.  I am still trying to achieve balance in my life,  but I am learning to let some things slide.

I used to dream of being the perfect mom, wife, and woman every night.  A mom whose attention is more focused on her children and not the internet.  A wife who doesn't get angry or become resentful with her husband over silly things.  A woman who doesn't excuse away her profession because of shame.

I am beginning to accept that perfection is not expected of me.  I will constantly be searching for balance.  I am just not as stuck on it as I used to be.

I Am Feeling Pretty Lazy These Days

I once wrote about waking up at 5 am to work out.  Oh the responses I got! Well, that regime lasted a total of 3 weeks.  I realized that when I began to dread the morning something needed to change. I am still working on that change.

I used to love the mornings.  I would rather wake up early than stay up late to finish an assignment.  I loved to watch the sun rise.  After I had children my schedule became whacked.  Right now, Manly enjoys staying awake until 1 or 2 AM.  Rather than resent his night time preference, I make a party out of it!  This only makes mornings that much harder.

Comments, Comments, Comments!!

Your thoughts on comments really made me think.  Thank you for expressing your opinions and validating my own need for comments.  Want to know a secret?  I'm kind of afraid of comments.  What if you tell me I'm wrong?  Point out my grammatical errors? Or, worse, express amazement at something I'm doing?

These fears are best faced head on. I guess blogging is a form of bravery, huh?

I think that is enough for today.  When I feel that you are once again putting me on some pedestal,  I will add to this list.  Hey, I may even have something substantial for you tomorrow!

How Do You Define Depression?

Depression.  I have survived.  I am here to tell you it is horrible,  something that leaves your spirit bare.

This past week I have been feeling down.  Down and angry.  I have expressed rage that I cannot understand.  In the midst of these temper tantrums  (I guess we never really move away from tantrums, do we?), I will begin to cry uncontrollably.

What is wrong with me? I often asked myself.  Why am I so crazy?

I thought and thought,  and finally realized: depression.

Before I went and confessed all to my doctor,  I decided to wait a few more days.  I am  glad I did.

After a couple days and a big blow-up,  my husband sat me down for a talk.  In the course of his talk he made me realize how much I was hurting him.  He and I are both working extra hard.  He at school, me at home.  There really is no inequity in the diversification of our roles.  However,  I was sitting in a cess pool of pity.  My anger and hurt were eating away all the compassion I once felt.  He, on the other hand, was struggling to maintain a healthy balance between family and work in order to keep our family thriving.

I decided that I need to take a moment for myself.  The next day I went to the temple.  After some much needed alone time,  I recognized my problem:  I was not depressed,  I was hormonal.

Have you ever been around a lady who goes crazy during "that time of the month?"  Well, I am that lady.  When my hormones are imbalanced in any way,  I become a, well something that rhymes with "witch."

What scares me about this whole scenario is that if I had gone to my doctor he would have inevitably prescribed some form of SSRI.   I would have started taking medication that would only solve part of the problem.

Bruce recently wrote a provocative piece about this very topic.  He references an interview in which an author suggests that,

"mental illness is culturally determined, and that big drug companies have systematically worked to change the way other cultures view melancholy, for example, in order to sell them anti-depressant medications."

While, as Bruce infers, this viewpoint may be a bit extreme, it does make me wonder:  how much do doctors consider a holistic approach to depression and other mental health issues?

My dear Mr. B is considering becoming a Psychiatrist.  He and I have had many discourses about the importance of holistic medicine, an approach that looks at a person's life style to determine if any changes could alter the depression.

In my case,  the form of birth control I chose has altered my emotional state.  I should have recognized it immediately but I was so focused on depression that I failed to look at other options.

Believe me, I understand depression.  I have had my dose of that debilitating mental disease.  This time, though, I am lucky:  I only need to change my birth control.

The Tale of the Gypsy Wanderer

Once upon a time, there was a gypsy named Ambrosia.

Ambrosia traveled far and wide to find her true self.  She ran to escape the demands of her daily life. On the road, she encountered fellow travelers. These travelers offered sage advice and friendship.

Feeling more understood than ever before, Ambrosia began to walk. Her journey became an adventure rather than an escape.

After a few short months, Ambrosia found herself. She turned around and walked home without any trepidation. Only with excitement.

Hello there. I used to be Ambrosia. Thanks to you (yes, even you lurking in the corner) I have found myself. There is no need to hide behind the mask I created.

I am Amber. I am a mom. A happy mom.

I recently won a battle with depression. A victory that God and you helped me achieve.

What does this victory mean?

It means that I am Amber again. I am that kind, silly girl I used to be. I am able to laugh and giggle with the Queen. I can smile and coo with Manly. I have rediscovered the funny side of life.

Strangely, I am grateful for my bout with depression. I have gained an understanding and appreciation for those who struggle with it day in and day out. I can console friends who struggle.

I have learned the importance of ups and downs in everyday life. I am not talking about the convulated ups and downs as seen in the prism of a depressed perspective, but the normal ups and downs experienced in living life.

I have days when  I feel completely knocked down followed by days of incomprehesible joy. I have silly days and sad days. Each of these are necessary. How could I see the joy if I didn't have the sorrow? How could I appreciate happiness if I didn't feel blue? It is the natural flow of living life.

Ladies (and men), thank you for aiding me in my journey.

I still have much to overcome. Days where I will feel desolate, disconsolate, melancholy, and heavyhearted.

I also have much to look forward to. Days of triumphs, bliss, felicity, and euphoria.

Through my continuous journey, I will seek your help again. The important thing is that I have learned to help myself.

Hello. I am no longer Ambrosia. I am Amber. It is nice to meet you, all of you.