Portrait of the Songwriter as a (VERY) Young Woman

It appears that the hubs and I have indeed produced a little songstress. How do we know? She constantly sings made-up songs throughout the day. She has even "written" a few that she repeats. One of my favorites is when she goes to grab her tiny guitar that we got in Mexico a few years ago and she strums open strings and sings "When I was in the meadow, I heard a strange sound . . ." then she usually gives a few different animal sounds. I can't remember if I already wrote on here about another favorite that I am only allowed to sing on Fridays. The chorus goes "I love you! in a very sweet vo-o-o-oice." And the verse contains my favorite line of hers ever "I want you to go away like a rocketship." Lately most of her songs start "When I was a little girl" or "When I was young." Homegirl has a real sense of history at three-and-a-half years.

Today she told me she wants me to help her write all her songs down. Then she wants to buy lots of little guitars. Then she wants to give copies of her songs and the guitars to "all the little kids" so they can learn "how to make songs." She is the greatest.

Nightswimming

We went camping on Friday and much of it was awful. Mostly the getting there and getting started. I wanted us to get there earlier than the husband so we had time to chill and it was a less stressful experience. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. So yeah I asked the universe for what followed. What I thought would be a 1 1/2 hr drive was a 3 1/2 hr drive. Just me and one crying toddler and one demanding three-year-old. Then I had to set up the tent and the fire by myself whilst keeping the children from jumping in the VERY nearby lake. And then cook dinner by myself whilst the toddler mostly cried some more. BUT, but, but . . . after the husband got there and we started to eat dinner and I decided to finally give in to the little toddler's cries and go swimming with him already (even though it was past his bedtime at this point), things got better.

I sank into the brown lake and washed all the disgusting sweat off me with the almost-as-disgusting silty, gasoliney (boats) water. Oh, it felt good. I swam around with the kiddos and all their giggling in the dusk. Spinning in the near-dark and me and the littlest taking turns zerberting each other. And finally, finally there was some calm.

And that is why we go camping with the lunatics we call our children.

I was too exhausted to take pics most of the trip, but here's some semi-recent pictures since I've had too many pictureless posts lately.

Our kids are frequently wet and dirty.

 

 

And to show that we all exist, here is the whole family in St. George, UT:

Mother's Little Helper

I just turned 35. I guess that’s okay with me, but it’s strange because it is the age I imagine my parents to be when I think of my childhood. And as a kid I had this sense of safety and trust in my parents that I didn’t need to question. Never in a million years would I have considered that my parents did not know what they were doing, but instead were just making it up as they went along. I could definitely admit they made mistakes (more so than my brothers as I was a pretty precocious little stinker), but never would I think that they needed HELP.

Now I’m 35, and sometimes I need help.

Let’s talk antidepressants. There’s been a lot of shame associated with them for many years. Even though mental health is seen as a more legitimate part of overall health than in the past, the stigma is still pretty entrenched. A lot of people think antidepressants are for people that can not handle life. That they signed up for the course, not fully understanding how hard it was, and they failed. And, that if they have to resort to such EXTREME steps they certainly can’t be trusted to handle anything else life has to throw at them. While it is true that stress often precedes depression, I think it is more accurate to call depression another challenge to handle; it's another form of stress rather than a coping-with-stress FAIL.

I’ve had the Rolling Stones song “Mother’s Little Helper” in my mind all week, especially the lines “she goes running for the shelter of her ‘mother’s little helper’ and it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day.” Why? Because I ran out of my Zoloft prescription and had a hell of a time without it, yet I kept not finding time to go get a refill. And, I guess I must have felt a little ashamed. My son is 16 months old. Surely, post partum depression is over by now. I should not have to rely on this chemical substance to get my head right, should I? Well, except there is such a thing as withdrawals—you’re not supposed to go cold turkey. Also, I am still nursing the little babe. Oh, how he loves to nurse. I’m kind of over it by now, but I just melt when he sticks out that bottom lip and points to what he wants. Anyway, nursing means my hormones are still not back to normal.

So, the battling thoughts. Well I did some quick research and the “little yellow pill” spoken of by Mick Jagger is valium. Not an antidepressant, but a sedative meant to dull senses. Maybe this is already obvious to everyone out there, but it helped me a bit to make the clear distinction. The kind of antidepressant I take is an SSRI –Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. It keeps serotonin from being reabsorbed in the brain, which helps brain cells send and receive messages and improves mood. According to “my” therapist (I only saw her once), if you don’t have an imbalance of serotonin, then the medication should do nothing. Therefore if it does help your mood, that’s how you know you HAD a serotonin imbalance. So it’s pretty simple. An antidepressant corrects an imbalance. Just like if you have a thyroid imbalance you’ll take something to correct that. What causes the imbalance in the first place is a whole other discussion.

So, back to me, since this is my blog. I have worried that my post partum depression may someday be called depression (minus the post partum). It worries me a bit, because that means it’s permanent. But, then, so is diabetes or many other types of treatable illnesses that people live with. It kind of stinks, but it will not make my life any less fantastic. If anything, it should motivate me to seize joy.

I’m a little hesitant about this next part, but . . . this is me, right now, without the SSRI (luckily this is infrequent): I feel tense always. Physically I feel as though my teeth and hands are clenched, though they are not. My precocious destructive three-year-old breaks something or hurts her brother and a demon is unleashed. I can almost watch myself shouting at her and pleading and begging with her to not set off that thing in me that comes out of my mouth and my bones and gnashes its teeth and stomps on everything. Yes I'm just talking about shouting, but it's shouting that doesn't feel okay. I try to tell myself to take it easy. It’s a very good thing I have made a commitment to never spank my kids or touch them in any negative way. Yes, that kid needs discipline. Frequently. But she needs that from an adult who has some self control.

I know this might sound weird to some because my depression manifests as anger, but whatever you want to call it (Post-partum Anger is a thing), more serotonin is definitely my friend.

Me, now, with the drugs: Despite my fears and worries prior to starting antidepressants, I feel more like myself WITH the stuff. I have a much, much, much, much longer fuse and a better functioning brain. I can discipline with calm. I don’t feel any rage boiling under the surface. I can relax. Physically I feel . . . just normal.

This is no mother’s "little" helper. This is what saves me and makes me an okay mom, even a good one maybe? This makes PPD something I can master. This also makes it possible for me to think about having another child. I love my kids so, so, so much and I don’t feel quite done. I do still hope that when I finally get the babe weaned I will be able to ditch the drugs completely, partially just because my memory is poor, but whatever the case I am not going to give up and say I can't handle life.

I’m 35 now and sometimes I need help. I’m pretty sure that’s okay.

latest

I just don't even know how to begin to think about knowing how I will write about this topic.

Ha ha. Okay no one is terminally ill.

We're just moving. And not even that far. Twenty miles?

I just have such mixed feelings about it.

So, instead I'll write about things I don't want to forget:

That husband reads Frog and Toad to Big Sis in a Scottish accent. Every time. Weirdo. (I like him.)

That Baby Boy does anything for clapping. It's a family of hams.

That Big Sis makes up songs constantly. And they are usually about loving her family. Aw. Recently she even sang to her brother in the car until he fell asleep.

Baby Boy's sharp nods to answer most questions. And that "aren't I so cute?" cocking his head to the side thing.

How Big Sis makes up games on the fly to go with whatever action Baby Boy happens to be doing. (e.g., "We're playing Blah-go-scat. It's when you tear paper and throw it.")

How Big Sis talks like a grown up (a dorky one -- namely me) with her "Well actually" and "For starters" and whatever else I hardly notice since it seems normal to me until I take a step back.

Baby Boy's kisses. He's gotten quite good at it. He will close his lips now and pucker them and then grab onto your head and move it into position for you. It is darling.

Cuddles. With everybody. Big Sis likes to nuzzle noses, like Corduroy the bear. Today Baby Boy sat on my lap on the swing for just ever and ever. Someday these kids might get to old for cuddles. Hopefully the husband and I never are.

Oh, I have to add Baby Boy and music. He always nods his head to the beat. This morning I let him play our keyboard for a while and he does the cutest wiggle and nod. I really need to video it for maximum cuteness.

So much to say so much to say so much to say so much to say

little babay.

Remember when hating on Dave Matthews Band was the thing to do?

Remember before that when Dave Matthews Band was like the gateway drug to Phish and also to actual drugs?

And before that when you thought Under the Table and Dreaming was cut from the same cloth as your very own soul?

And how you spent a lot of time trying to teach your fingers to play "Satellite" on your guitar that has since died/been sold/been stolen by gypsies/been placed in permanent storage/been stepped on?

Okay, enough reminiscing.

But speaking of little babays, for item #1: mine is a whole year old now!

I think it was a few days after he turned one that he really started to SEEM one to me. Mainly because of his increased interest in what his sister is doing. And even though he's not a big talker yet, the way he gestures and babbles make it seem like at least HE knows what he is saying now. Also he's starting to get these little wisps of longish hair. Oh. so. cute.

I love him a lot. Yeah, no duh.

Item #2: I keep thinking that maybe I need to review all these children's books we get from the library. There are some really fantastic children's books out there with some mind-bogglingly awesome illustrations. And some of them even have very cool concepts and inventive language. I have also had great fun introducing my daughter to children's poetry of late.

I wish I could go back and look at all the books we have checked out in the last two years or so. In the meantime, maybe I can just remember and list some of the stand-outs that big sis really loved:

The Runaway Bunny
Jump!
Snip Snap!: What's That?
Fortunately
We're Going on a Bear Hunt
One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish
A Sick Day for Amos McGee
The Lion and the Mouse
Tough Chicks

We also own a lot of books that she loves too, but I'm just not feeling a marathon post as much as I thought I was.

Item #3 is where I run out of steam altogether. But I do want to give a shout out, because I have read a lot of parenting books and this one is MAYBE my favorite so far (although there are a couple of infant care ones that were really handy during the first go-round): Screamfree Parenting.

I hesitated to read this one because it seems kind of faddish. There's apparently a heckuva lot of marketing and branding associated with this book (like I could probably buy a couple online courses, a t-shirt, five other books with similar titles, etc.) and all the tie-ins made me a wee bit suspicious and skeptical. For now, though, I think it's like Jillian Michaels legit. You know, it's for real as long as you actually do something about it.

It's too early and maybe overstating things a bit to say it changed my life but it really has altered my perspective. It doesn't hurt that it was short and easy to read. The main idea is pretty simple: focus on the thing you can control -- yourself. Also, you are not responsible FOR your child (as in every behavior and choice made by the child does not automatically reflect on the parent) but you are responsible TO your child (to SHOW them how to behave and make choices). Though simple, I have found this idea to be very important and even more important the somewhat counter-intuitive idea of focusing on myself when disciplining my child (i.e., instead of considering what will get her to behave or change I consider how I can best 1) restrain myself from getting heated and 2) give the most appropriate and natural consequence for the behavior). It's going to take a lot of practice but I think I am slowly moving toward the parent I want to be, which is of course Claire Huxtable.

Mommy I Feel My Heart

I am not always 100% sold on this stay-at-home-mom thing. Also this constantly-looking-for-freelance-work thing. But, for the first, there are those days where the kiddos and I go traipsing through the woods near our house on an adventure. Or that time about a month ago, when Big Sis stopped mid-play, turned to look at me with the widest eyes and a faint smile and said "Mommy, I feel my heart." To witness the first moment another human notices their own heart beating, and particularly when that human is a child that you love, is kind of awesome. Then she just ran back to playing and I was like "Oh yeah, this gig is not too shabby." And by-the-by I'm alive too, which is cool.

Purple Corduroy Jumper

Thirty dang years, you guys. That's the kind of time separation we're talking about. Also, I think this settles it that Big Sis looks more like LCD (except for the hair).

This is approximately 1983:

And of course 2013:

Probably the most surprising thing here is that Big Sis is holding the tag to that dress in her hand. We found her dress in the hand-me-down section of her closet and somehow it has never been worn? Firstly, it can't be less than twenty-five years old, can it? Secondly, how do you just ignore a dress with that incredible paisley/corduroy/duck combination? What genius came up with that anyway? We will be remedying the years of neglect as soon as it is practical. LCD better not try and overrule this.

Failures and Successes

I'm redoing some of my resolutions this year because they were huge, embarrassing failures last year. (Does "embarrassing" really need to have two double letters in it? It throws me every time. Gah--spelling.) I like resolutions, though, so the fact that I failed does not really discourage me that much. It is such as it is. It was a bad year to (1) be a calmer mom. I had a two-year-old and a newborn. So I'm calling do-over on that one. Also because it matters. I even got a book called Buddhism for Mothers, which I have already read the first chapter of, so this is REAL.

Also re-doing? (2) Increase my spirituality.

But just for a minute let's celebrate the fact that I had a better birth experience AND I  rocked meal planning. I think it is safe to say I am now a step above "adequate" as a cook.

Other than the re-dos, I plan to (3) enjoy my life more this year. My life is pretty darn good, though sometimes trying, and I think I too often drag myself through it. Or at least I did last year. Despite the fact that I birthed a ridiculously sweet baby boy--he is my little love--I just survived a lot of the time. I think I have enough distance now to blame that partly on postpartum depression round two (this time with lots more anger and lots less despair). Update 1/13: I found a quote that really speaks to me in this category while staying home from church for the THIRD time in the last month because someone was puking:

“EACH LAST DAY or EACH LAST WEEK should be the BEST that we have ever experienced, that is, we should advance ourselves a little every day, in knowledge and wisdom, and in the ability to accomplish good.” (Lorenzo Snow)

This is not a resolution, but I also need to earn some green this year. Like a lot more than last year. Sponsor?

Big Sis at the Keyboard

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