Yay! A happy post!

I love how fresh and promising everything is in the early morning. The birds are singing (and its a good thing for me I enjoy it, as my neighborhood is practically over-run), the sun has just begun to pull itself up into my world, and my mind is quiet and hopeful, somehow dreamy and alert all at once.
My children are dozing snugly in the little cocoons they've created for themselves, Sam surrounded by Kung Fu Panda stuffed animals, Anna with the 3 or 4 baby blankets she likes to hug beneath her as she sleeps. I have the bed all to myself - heaven! - and am free to spend 5 or 10 or 20 minutes breathing in the morning, stretching, preparing my mind for the day.
I don't know that I could call what I do each morning meditating. From the many times I've begun a meditation practice in my life, that word conjures up for me a constant struggle to force thoughts out of my mind, or worse yet a struggle to not struggle or force it, followed by exasperation, frustration and a stinging sense of failure. So instead I think of myself armoring my mind for the day: I want to dwell as deeply in this morning peace as i can, and use it to refill my well so that when the day's havoc is too much for me i can drink it in then, when i need it the most.
On days like this I find myself even looking forward to my children waking up, anxiously awaiting Sam's sleepy footsteps or Anna's insistent "Baba Mama!" from her crib. Anyone with children knows you don't always look forward to that; there are days when all you're thinking is "oh please just let them sleep late so I can have another cup of coffee in peace." I have lots of those days.
But today isn't one of them. I'm grateful for today, open to what it will bring, hopeful about how I will feel about it tonight when I snuggle into my own cocoon.

thunderstorm

I love a good thunderstorm. I love how slowly the fat clouds roll in, almost too heavy to move; how they hold out until they can't possibly hold out any longer, and then...release. Imagine what relief they must feel when they finally burst...
So I'm on a weather kick, I know...
Last weekend, over the holiday, the husband, kids and I went to visit my in-laws. I always like this trip, not just because my in-laws are nice people (if a little wacky about religion) but because it gives me a real break from the constant attentions of parenting. We show up, they shower the kids with kisses, I crack open a magazine and nod off on the sofa.
AND as a bonus, I can usually get some alone-time. So Sunday, while my father-in-law took my son to the grocery store and my mother-in-law picked up the spoon my daughter threw from her high chair 792 times, I snuck out to the back porch with my book, just in time to see some fat, round clouds rolling in. The back porch having a roof, I wasn't too concerned when the drops started falling. By the time I realized that I'd have to walk around the outside of the house to get in (due to some oddity of architecture) it was pouring, pounding really, and for a moment I felt pure relief. "I'm stuck out here. Alone. No one would expect me to run through this storm and get soaked when my kids are obviously being well-cared-for...awesome."
As things slowly improve with my depression, and they are improving (dear god what will i write about?!) I notice the irritability and fatigue lightening...lifting, a bit. And while this is of course a very good thing, it leaves room for my mind to dwell on a more disturbing symptom: I miss joy.
Time was, being alone, outside but sheltered, in a thunderstorm would have filled me with joy. I'm weird that way, but its true. I would have sat still & quiet and breathed in the rain smell, watched the little rivers form in the street, felt my hair starting to curl and been filled with anticipation for the next lightening bolt or thunderclap. Now, I merely welcomed this as an excuse not to care for my children.
Time was, I didn't want a break from my kids, or at least not so many breaks, because spending time with them filled me with a pure joy. Of course there were exasperating moments. Of course it was tiring and sometimes mundane - the feeding, the changing, the getting them to sleep. But still, in the back somewhere past all that, there was joy.
I don't really feel like the joy isn't there anymore so much as I can't get past 'all that' to the back to dwell in it...
I have storm clouds gathering in my life right now, and watching them slowly roll in, almost too heavy to move, fills me with a dread that thunderstorms haven't inspired in me since I was a child myself.

The Eye of the Tornado

Sylvia Plath wrote, "I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo." I revisited that gem last week, as I was gorging myself on books rather than packing them up for a yard sale as I'd promised. I don't think I've ever heard depression described more elegantly or more accurately.

For me the storm is my marriage, my dishes, my kids, my laundry, my (once-thriving-now-nearly-forgotten) career...what's for dinner? How long will it be until my husband and I have officially been in counseling for HALF of our marriage? Can I afford to have my carpet shampooed rather than scrubbing it on my hands and knees AGAIN? Where did all these toys come from? Am I actually considering medication for my 5 year old son? Can I squeeze $15 out of the grocery budget for sushi this week?

This is the...debris my particular storm throws about. And, just like an actual tornado, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to which parts of my life it will leave intact, which it will flatten.

I wonder, does the eye of the tornado steer the storm, or is it steered by the storm?

little mirrors

Oh these children. Little mirrors.
My five year old and I walked to the grocery store yesterday - just a few blocks from the house. We were both having pretty awful days, and I thought the change of scenery might do us some good.
As required by our previously adjudicated contract, I had to buy him a gumball if he was well-behaved during our shopping trip. I considered arguing the point that, since we were only at the store for 10 minutes, I technically didn't owe him a gumball but...what the heck. I really didn't have the energy; he's a vicious negotiator.
He's also a severely negative boy who can find something to complain about ANYWHERE. Trust me on this, I just took the kid to Disney world. So of course the first problem is that after inserting the quarter into the filthy machine, he is unable to turn the knob and must watch, disgusted with himself, as I do it for him. Then - o calamity of calamities! - a yellow gumball pops out. I remind him that a yellow gumball is better than no gumball, and he seems okay with that.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my inability to recover from disappointment. Some misfortune visits my emotional doorstep before 9:00am, and my day is shot. Recuperation is a pipe dream. So that's where my mind was when I glanced down just in time to see the yellow gumball, still intact, fall out of my son's mouth onto the parking lot and roll away.
I watch his face register the stages of grief - the denial, followed by the anger... and as he nears the bargaining stage he turns his teared up eyes to me. Realizing the need to nip this in the bud (I briefly considered the five-second-rule, then thought better of it) I say "I'm sorry Sam, we can't pick it up, and I don't have any more quarters."
He blinks, the tears fall, and he whispers "But I was just so happy."
You said a mouthful there, baby boy.

A very small window

Today was to start my triumphant return to the YMCA, knowing as I do that few things put a dent in depression like some good old-fashioned exercise. Well, that, and the baby-sitting room. 1 hour of alone-time is heaven, even if I have to spend it doing squats & lunges.

In typical Jeanine-fashion, I probably attached a little too much importance, emotionally, to the beginning of a new Y session. I'm about a week into trying Lexapro again (kick in any time now...really...) so my mind is full of "fresh start" hopes and "this time will be different" dreams. I have my own personal New Year's on a quarterly basis, at least.

Life had other plans. Infant daughter is fussy and fighting infection - only available doctor's appointment is during my new exercise class. Grr. Son, age 5 and starting Kindergarten in 3 months, announces that he hates (pre) school and will no longer love me if I make him go. Grrrrrrr. Husband texting with questions re: credit card bill. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. PUPPY HAS DIAREA.

Its too much. This is the part, for me, that comes off as weakness. The part I really can't stand. Its 8:30am, and the day has beaten me. The day I'd been looking forward to for the better half of a week as a 'tabula rasa' of sorts.

I ensure my children are safely gated in the baby-proof living room with some Yo Gabba Gabba, I lock my crap-spewing puppy in the bathroom, and I head to the garage with my coffee. Its the only place I can think of that's far enough away to approximate escape, yet close enough to avoid child abandonment charges.

As soon as I sit down I realize my mistake. The garage is not an appropriate place to escape. Its full of unfinished projects, given-up hobbies, and clutter. It virtually screams "lack of follow-through!" It is the physical manifestation of a to-do list I've been avoiding my entire adult life. If I thought about it, there are few places in the world I could go to feel more like a failure than my garage, really. And here I sit, coffee in hand, trying to cheer myself up.

There is a very small window in my garage. Through it, this morning, I can see part of my cherry tree, pink buds ready to burst. I can also see some of my Maple tree, whose light green leaves have just begun unfurling the last day or two. And, though its raining, the sky is still kinda bright this morning.

This is what "moderate depression" is like. I feel constantly weighed down by failure - those things I can't do but feel I should, or can do but don't do well enough, or can do really well but lack the discipline to see through to fruition. And by guilt - for losing my temper and yelling at my five-year-old, for forgetting my Dad's birthday, for crawling into a bottle of wine. I carry these feelings around with me everywhere, drag them behind me or throw them on my back, and its exhausting. And if I can muster the energy to look up or glance around, I can usually find a very small window with a happy view.

I imagine "severe depression" is similar, but without the window, and for that - I count myself lucky.

Lunch with professionals

Surprisingly, I'm not talking about my therapist (though, she could definitely afford to take me out to lunch once in awhile...)



Today I had the bittersweet pleasure of lunch with my former boss and coworker. I say bittersweet because I love these women. They are intelligent, upbeat, informed women who give back to their communities - they are precisely the kind of people I choose surround myself with when given a choice. Unfortunately they bring to the surface the dichotomy that is me: career Jeanine and mommy Jeanine are still not the same person, still not capable of peaceful coexistence. Its like I have to kill one in order for the other to thrive...



This duality was strangely easier to live with when I worked "outside the home" (awful, awful phrase). Take off one hat, put on another...I never really felt the need to dip into the resources of one to tackle the challenges of the other. Different roles, different people. Simple. The only time they bumped into each other was at the occasional holiday party or company picnic.



When I finally made the gut-wrenching, pride-swallowing, almost martyr-making decision to stay at home, I imagined myself tackling it like a new job. I bought calendars, scheduled my days (with an infant! woman plans: infant laughs.) I signed up for story time at the library, classes at the Y. I had learned from my professional life that I require a certain...framework, I guess...in order to excel. A system. And in my professional life that system served me well . Why has is failed me so miserably at home?

I think it might be because I'm Lisa Simpson.

I'm thinking of a particular clip where she's begging her teacher "judge me! evaluate me! please!" There's no eval time in the life of a stay-at-home-Mom (awful, awful phrase...) Well, there's the judgemental husband that begins his family time with a look around the living room and a "so...what did you DO all day?" - but that doesn't really count. He really doesn't know what you've done all day. And that's a post in itself...

But a good boss...geez I miss that. Which is strange - people say "so what do you miss most about work" and i think "having a boss"...but a good boss is a cheerleader, is invested in your success because your success means their success. They encourage you, they challenge you, they may even bribe you from time to time if necessary...and even when they're critical, you know its because they want you to succeed. Its not because they're passive-aggressive and pissed off that you drank a bottle of wine and stayed up on Facebook until 2:00am...again...but I digress...

Point is, I think I may be in the market for a Mommy Mentor. Any takers?

Oh - and stay tuned for future "so what did you do all day" post, apparently congealing as we speak...

Disney on anti-depressants

Ah....the happiest place on earth. no pressure.

Let's make this post useful, and in the form of a list.

Jeanine's Top Ten Tips for Clinically Depressed Mommies at Disney World:

10. Try not to obsess over finding the hidden mickeys. They don't actually exist - its all just a sick joke someone came up with torture those of us who aren't very good at 'i-spy' but can't resist playing anyway.

9. Repeat after me: Waiting is an opportunity to build patience. Waiting is an opportunity to build patience. Waiting is an opportunity to build patience. Now breathe...

8. Nap when your children nap. And make your children nap everyday.

7. Allow the most mentally stable adult in your party to take your kids on the 'Its a Small World' ride. You sit it out. It is not for those of us already teetering on the edge of sanity.

6. Every meal at Disney comes with a desert. Accept this in the beginning, enjoy it during, and do not give it a second thought until you're home unpacking the clothes that no longer fit you.

5. Try not to constantly remind yourself how much the trip is costing so you'd better enjoy every freakin' minute of it starting NOW damn it. It doesn't help.

4. Seek out the calmer areas of each park, and take some solace there from the constant over-stimulation. I suggest: the nature trails in Animal Kingdom, Robinson Caruso's treehouse in Magic Kingdom, Streets of America in Hollywood Studios and in Epcot - the Canada pavilion. That place was practically deserted...

3. Look at the expressions on little kids faces - they really are almost always happy, and it really is kinda contagious.

2. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR MEDICATION AT HOME.

1. The characters probably aren't actually smiling in those giant stuffed-animal costumes. That alone should make you feel a little bit better.