Day 32.2

     At a therapy appointment this evening, (an unnamed child) and I were given a homework assignment that coincidentally aligned with a thought I had the day before. We were told to pick 3 different five minute activities from a long list. The activities varied and weren’t to be done to completion, but only to the point that we were calmed down. We chose snuggling under a blanket, reading a portion of a book, and coloring. At the end of the fifteen minutes, this particular child and I were calmer than we had been since the 3:00 PM playground pickup. The rest of the house, not so much. 

     It’s hard for me to get started sometimes. On Monday I was supposed to start my training for the half marathon and I just couldn’t find the time to get on the treadmill. I started freaking out, but instead, I decided to get a quick but tough Pilates workout inbetween clients. 

            After performing "the magician"...

     All of a sudden I was centered. I had a sense of calm that I haven’t had for about two months. I want to hold onto this feeling by taking every opportunity I have to take care for myself- even if it’s 10 or 15 minutes. 

     2019 will be my year of calm moments. 

Day 31.2

     There was a song...

     

Mother's Little Helper

The Rolling Stones

What a drag it is getting old

"Kids are different today"

I hear ev'ry mother say

Mother needs something today to calm her down

And though she's not really ill

There's a little yellow pill

She goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper

And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day

"Things are different today"

I hear ev'ry mother say

Cooking fresh food for a husband's just a drag

So she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak

And goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper

And two help her on her way, get her through her busy day

Doctor please, some more of these

Outside the door, she took four more

What a drag it is getting old

"Men just aren't the same today"

I hear ev'ry mother say

They just don't appreciate that you get tired

They're so hard to satisfy, You can tranquilize your mind

So go running for the shelter of a mother's little helper

And four help you through the night, help to minimize your plight

Doctor please, some more of these

Outside the door, she took four more

What a drag it is getting old

"Life's just much too hard today"

I hear ev'ry mother say

The pursuit of happiness just seems a bore

And if you take more of those, you will get an overdose

No more running for the shelter of a mother's little helper

They just helped you on your way, through your busy dying day

Songwriters: Keith Richards / Mick Jagger

Mother's Little Helper lyrics © Abkco Music, Inc

     I think my version would be called "Mother's Life Savers"

     The other day I went to Target to get my prescriptions with the two older children. One took the shopping cart and ran down a display of cough drops, while the other ran down the aisles, oblivious to what was happening around him. Usually I go solo to pick up my medications, but this time I needed to bring the kids. I always chat with the pharmacist about my children, but this day they were there, live and in person and putting on a show. I was embarrassed. They were making a scene. I said to her "Now you know why I'm on all these medications!" She got a kick out of me and quietly said to her co-worker, "I'll tell you later." I instead chose to announce to the other customers gathered around that my meds were for depression, anxiety, and birth control.

Why can't I shut my mouth?

     I wonder sometimes why I am so open with my struggles. Is it that I want to let other people know they aren't alone? Or am I trying to "out" myself before someone else can- like, if I make fun of myself first, it won't hurt when someone else does. I was always big on self deprecating humor, but recently I've gone towards over sharing as my defense mechanism.

     In the past two months, three new medications have been introduced. I'd been resistant to two of them for quite a while, but the truth is, I'm not my best self right now. In the past, more exercise, better sleep, and social time with friends could improve my mood. Now, it feels like nothing can get me out of the dark. I left my job to be the best mom I could be to these kids- what is the point if I'm incapacitated by my depression and anxiety. Most importantly, how can I help the child who is battling the same condition I am, if I cannot help myself.

     It's been two days with the new plan in place. This isn't a quick fix, and I've been working toward this with my doctors. There is a lot I need to sort through, not only for my children, but for myself. I'm fortunate to be alive in a time when mental health is taken seriously. I'm incredibly lucky to have access to health insurance and physicians who care for my well being and are not just looking to numb the pain. I want to enjoy this time in my life because while "things are different today", I think that's actually a positive.

Day 30.2

     It took more than 8 years, but I finally reached the breaking point. I should have seen it coming. As I sporadically cleaned the house today (in between tending to a sick child and washing all the laundry that was soiled in record time this morning-thanks stomach virus), I noticed the can of Crazy Aaron's Thinking Putty. It was open. It was empty. I thought that seemed odd, but the cries from bathroom kept my train of thought from completing it's journey.

     Fast forward to bedtime, I'm tucking Caroline into her "big girl" bed, complete with brand new pink/rainbow/embroidered quilt from Pottery Barn Kids, when something catches my eye.

The missing putty is no longer missing...

     There's a saying about death by a thousand paper cuts. I'm pretty sure that's been 2018 for me. Any one of the events that have taken place are manageable on their own- but the combination? The accumulation? It's too much. 

     I've been pretty non-specific about the details surrounding my time off from work. While I'm fine over sharing my own life, I hesitate to put it all out there about my children. This is where parents in our shoes become so isolated. In a way, it's less taboo to talk about a life threatening illness than a nuerodevelopmental disorder. The stigmas. The behaviors. The judgments.

     I thought I understood children with special needs. I've been working with them for 20+ years, a teacher for 15 of them. I've taken the classes, read the books, gone to professional development workshops, and sought out any opportunity to help me work with this particular segment of the population. I know that my patience and depth of knowledge has allowed me to modify curriculum so that every student could thrive in my classroom. This was a point of pride for me.

Enter my own children.

     It's quite an experience to parent children with atypical nuerodevelopment. We've had to completely change our lives- me leaving my job, approaching daily tasks in a painstaking step-by-step process, adjusting our routines to be exactly that-routine. Through it all, our boys are amazing, brilliant, and hilarious- because of, not in spite of their differences. I would not change a single thing about them.

     But it's exhausting. Planning each day so as not to set off anyone-choices for meals, clothing, wake-ups and bedtimes, sibling interactions, play dates, transportation to and from school, no detail can be overlooked because it all matters at this point. And I know there are those out there who may say that kids need to learn/get over/deal with it. Honestly, for a period, I was there too. However, many appointments, tests, and interventions later, we've arrived at this place.

     I also know that many who know my children may be completely thrown off because they seem so "normal". The thing is, they work so hard at being "on" in public view (kind of like their mother in that regard...), it makes home life that much more difficult. We work really freaking hard to keep the bad stuff out of sight.

     I reiterate that I understand that things could be worse. We are not dealing with a life threatening illness. Behavioral modifications and academic interventions will provide them with the support they need. We are financially able to have me out of work for another year. Our school district has been amazing and clearly cares for our children. We will survive. But it's so much harder than I ever knew it could be. And I'm publicly admitting that I'm struggling.

     Tonight I dealt with my stress through the slow draining of a bottle of wine and some therapeutic writing. Tomorrow, I will wake up and tackle the day-and the Crazy Aaron's Thinking Putty- with renewed energy and lighter load to bare, because I finally opened up to the fact that this really sucks.
 

Day 29.2

I love the fall season, but it will always come with difficult memories.

A hopeful second pregnancy for us. One that would end on October 19, 2009

     We had already been through enough heartache that year. The loss of my father-in-law, the difficulty with conception, the previous loss, and my mother-in-law's cancer diagnoses. This pregnancy started off fairly normal, although the heartbeat wasn't as strong at first. By the second ultrasound, things looked good and I was almost out of the first trimester. Then came the devastating news following a third check, although we didn't find out right away. On October 16, 2009 I had cramping and bleeding, so I went for an ultrasound. I left work early and made it in time for the last appointment. By the time the tech was done, I could tell something was off. She wouldn't show me the screen and all the doctors had left for the day. She said she couldn't share anything with me because a doctor had to review the results first but that I should go home and rest for the weekend. I laid on the couch for those two days and cried. I begged the universe to let me keep this baby. On Monday my doctor called to tell me that I had the option of passing the baby naturally or going in for a D&C. I wanted it over immediately.

     I've had four miscarriages. They were all terrible in their own way. The first time I couldn't quite wrap my head around the experience because it happened so quickly. I never even made it in to the doctor for the first visit. The third time I had Lucas, and the fourth I had both boys, so it felt different, because I had other children to focus on. I grieved for them all, but not the way I did with this child.

   The middle of October always hurts. There is an emptiness and vivid memories of not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, sitting on my porch in tears, and the self-loathing, thinking that something was wrong with me. The months that followed were hell. I would have given anything to have a baby. My job, my right arm- anything at all.

     Flash forward to today. I have three amazing children who have challenged and changed me in ways I never thought imaginable. When I find myself struggling, I think back to those dark moments in the fall of 2009. I would have done anything for my imagined children then, and now nine years later I have to live up to that. I prayed, wished, hoped, wanted- no, needed- these kids. And now, they need me. I will be taking a leave of absence from my job to focus on some special needs. Together as a family, I know we will be ok. They are here with us, and I must be here for them.

     Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day and I will honor my four babies by doing the best I can for Lucas, Ben and Caroline.

Day 28.2

     One of the things I've learned this summer is that I can be depressed at any given point in time. I used to look back at my history with rose colored glasses and think that I was happier when I was healthy and focused. This summer proved me wrong.


     I thought I would use the summer to gain experience as a Pilates instructor and that having that purpose would help keep me in a positive frame of mind. I thought I'd use the time with my children to gain a better understanding of who they are becoming so that I could be a better mom in the tough situations. I thought I would use the freedom in the schedule to socialize more with my friends because I sorely miss them.
     The best laid plans...

Last night's recovery run game me some time to think

     I taught Pilates and I am happy to say that I'm thrilled with my decision to pursue the certification last year. I find immense satisfaction in the work of helping my clients to grow stronger and feel better. But I cannot derive my happiness from others. The positive work that would happen in the studio wasn't staying with me once I left. The time with my kids led to more questions than answers and many times over the summer I have wondered where I went wrong as a parent. The schedule turned out to be a lot more constricted than I anticipated and I found that I saw less people and had fewer social interactions than I did over the school year. And that was actually fine, because I felt so down that I couldn't really muster much of the effort it would require to socialize.

     So, I stayed home. I slept. I moped. I cried. But the thing is, I really kept trying to move past it all. I recognized that I was in a bad place and I kept trying to get myself out of it. I didn't ask for help though, which is something I regret after two months of suffering in silence. I'm not quite sure what would have helped. I mean, I was functioning- at least I think.

     All of this leads to today. Two weeks away from the start of the school year. I could look at this as two months that weren't lived to their potential, or I could see it as a lesson learned. I'm choosing the latter. I decided to train for a half marathon. I've scheduled my days to get back into running condition, because rose colored glasses aside, I'm happier when I'm running. I'm also happier when I'm writing. I'd like to start writing again- once a week for starters. The year ahead is going to be a busy one. The half marathon, the jobs, the middle child starting kindergarten, the soccer practices, the music lessons, the homework, the laundry.... oh, and the marriage, parenting and friendships.
I know I can do this- but I know it won't be perfect.

Day 27.2

     Some of you noticed that I have retreated these past few months. I finished my clinical Pilates certification process, took on work as an instructor, as well as continued the full time job of music teacher. My depression and anxiety have also deepened immensely during this time. We (my doctor and I) believe much of the cause is related to hormones (I'm no longer nursing Caroline), but the state of our world has also contributed significantly to my mental health.

     Maybe these past few days sparked something in me because the subject of breastfeeding was involved.

A treasured photo of my middle son and I

     I can't help but wonder if I was seeking asylum, would my child be ripped from my arms while I nursed?

     There is so much to unpack with the situation at our southern border, so I cannot address all issues in one post. I can however state that I unequivocally oppose the separation of families seeking asylum. I think nearly every parent I know would attest that they would do anything to keep their children safe. Those families seeking asylum are not crossing the border because it's easier, or because they don't want to go through the proper channels. They are doing so because they fear for their lives so much, they see no other viable option. I have never experienced that type of desperation, and I can only begin to understand what their situation must be like in order to resort to these drastic measures.
     I cannot fathom the people who have drawn a line in the sand and decided that these families must be separated. That these asylum seekers must be prosecuted. That nursing babies must be ripped from their mother's arms. That children should be placed in detention centers and be kept from their parents, devoid of human touch. My heart breaks.
     If you think this is an acceptable way to treat fellow humans, I cannot argue with you. If your heart is closed to the absolute horrors these children have faced and are currently facing, we don't see the world in the same way. This extends beyond politics, beyond race, beyond class. If someone is suffering and your immediate reaction isn't "how can I help them?", but rather "they didn't have to come here", you're lacking empathy. Most parents would not put their families in this situation if it was not necessary. Just because you cannot comprehend their reasons for seeking asylum, does not mean their reasons are invalid. It does not mean they deserve to be treated in such an inhuman way.

If I knocked on your door asking for help, with my son in my arms, would you turn me away? Would you put me in room, separated from my child and tell me you needed to wait until you figured out if I really needed help? Would you focus on the details of me being on your property uninvited?

Or would you help?

Day 26.2

     Happy International Women's Day.

This woman had a lot to learn

     If an alien ever came to earth and asked me to describe what it was like to be a woman, I think the best answer I could give would be that I feel like I'm simultaneously the cause of and the solution to all problems. Ok, maybe not the best answer. It's too complex an experience to sum up in sentence, but I guess it's the thought most on my mind right now.
      I cannot claim to speak for all women, but there is such an overwhelming weight that I carry on my shoulders. I should anticipate the needs of others as to prevent issues from arising. And if I can't do that properly, I should at least know how to fix the issue.

     I can remember before children, during difficult patches as I was first learning to deal with depression, where I would go into this dark place when I felt I was no good. I would mentally and physically beat myself up, insist that I caused whatever the problem may have been. House dirty? I am a slob and I don't deserve to live in a nice home. Pants fitting a little too tight? I'm not working out enough and if I truly cared about myself, I would. The examples could go on, but I think the point has been made. I was am very unforgiving with myself. And if you think that adding three lives, dependent upon my keeping it together helped, you clearly haven't been reading this blog...

     Since giving birth to Caroline two years ago, the addition of a female has forced me to confront many of the unnecessary expectations that I place upon myself. I don't want to raise her to be me. We all say that, I know- but I really don't ever want her to feel hatred toward herself because someone else's expectations weren't met. Or because her expectations were so outrageous that they realistically could not be met. I didn't have this reaction to the birth of my boys, and I think that is in part because we as a society have been raising our boys differently. However, over the past few years, there has been a change in the collective mindset. We are working on teaching our kids to be empathetic, independent, and aware of others. We are having honest conversations with our children. I couldn't imagine my parents or teachers talking so openly with me about mental health, emotions and struggles. Sometimes I wonder if I'm too open, but I guess that's another post...

     One of the most amazing things that Caroline does is that when she is stressed out, frustrated, or simply not in the mood for antics, she'll yell out "WALK AWAY". It's simultaneously hilarious, annoying, and inspiring. She takes care of herself and her needs in a way I aspire to! Granted, I don't think it would be appropriate for me to start yelling "WALK AWAY" every time someone placed unnecessary stress on me, but I do need to find a way to start protecting myself. I'm not the cause of all problems and definitely do not have the solution for them either. If I'm able to keep raising my daughter to follow her instincts and trust herself, maybe I'll finally start doing the same.

Day 25.2

     This morning I woke up to the news that Donald Trump was advocating for teachers to be armed in response to the crisis unfolding in our country. I say unfolding, but really, it's been unfolded for a long time. With every year that passes, every month, every week- mass shootings have become common place, a case of not if, but when.

I now watch the news with a permanent look of disgust and tension.

     I'd say this isn't the job I signed up for, but that is not entirely accurate. You see, I was in college during the Columbine shooting. I was hired as a teacher after 9/11. I knew that things were different than when I was a student. Along with my new teacher training, I was taught procedures for lockdowns and evacuations. The monthly drills of locking my classroom door, turning off the lights, hiding my students out of sight and pretending that everything is fine, is as routine as taking attendance. The only thing is that as the years have passed, the shootings have continued. The cries for more guns have gotten louder. But would more guns solve the problem? Would stricter gun control laws have any impact? Perhaps it's time for a different approach.

     Today my best friend/coworker/other half and I were interviewed on the issue of guns in the classrooms. I struggled with the comments I really wanted to make, because I wasn't sure if they could be taken out of context. The truth is, I wanted to share my real concern with categorizing all of these shootings as the products of a mentally ill individual who had access to weapons because 20 years ago, I was a mentally ill individual who had access to weapons.

     As a middle and high school student, I was always aware that I was a little off. Highly emotional, depressed, and anxious. I had trouble with sleep, perfectionist tendencies, and the overwhelming feeling that I wasn't good enough. In my darkest times, I would isolate myself from friends and family. They probably didn't even notice because I got very good at hiding those feelings from the public eye.
     Now, my father was a police officer so there were guns in my home. They were locked, but they were available. The thing is, using them to harm myself or someone else simply was not an option. One of the biggest differences I can identify is that I had resources around me that so many of the shooters did not have. Access to guidance counselors, small class sizes so that my teachers knew me, and a sense of community. I was connected to my peers through involvement in music and drama. Despite the fact that I wasn't able to open up and accept my struggles with depression and anxiety at that point in my life, I had a support system around me that I could draw strength from. Just by having those connections, I knew that I was cared for- even if I couldn't care for myself at that moment.

     Our schools and teachers have been stripped of the resources we need to help the most troubled students. Our country is completely focused on stopping the shooter in the midst of an attack, but why aren't we focusing on preventing the student from ever getting to the point where a mass shooting seems like the only choice they have? Even if I was armed with a gun and able to kill an attacker before they got to my students, there would still be an unspeakable tragedy. How can we better serve our children so that they realize that they are loved and cared for. so that they feel nurtured and respected, so that they know there is always another option? I have many weapons to use in this crisis- my genuine love and respect for my students, my expertise in social and emotional learning and my belief that we are better when we connect. A gun is simply not an option for me.

Our students do not deserve this reality. I will fight every day from this day forward, with and for them.

Day 24.2

     Women's March 2018.

Since I couldn't march, I ran.

     Instead of taking to the streets and demonstrating, I was taking my kids to swimming lessons. Then I took them to get bagels. Then I put the littlest one down for a nap and washed the kitchen floor by hand. I helped the older two build tunnels out of chairs. I read the news and scanned the pictures that friends shared on Instagram, Facebook and twitter. Next, I took the kids outside and let them play in the mud. I made dinner (half of which was eaten, the other half thrown on the newly cleaned floor) and brownies from scratch. I ran a few loads of laundry, but haven't folded them yet. Finally I took the kids upstairs to bed and fought with them for an hour until they remained in their beds.

     It seems odd that one year ago I marched with my daughter, vowing to fight for her future. Twelve months have passed and so much has changed- I returned to full-time work out of the home, began working toward a second career, came out about my personal experience with sexual assault, engaged in so many wonderful, deep, and challenging conversations, and I feel so much more connected to the world around me. I also feel a greater sense of responsibility to be out there and active in the difficult work taking place. Yet, here I sit at home, drinking a beer to congratulate myself on not hitting my kids when they really pissed me off and pushed me to the limit tonight.

     The movement is here is to stay, and I know that there will be days when I can be a more active and present participant. In the meantime, today I talked to my boys about consent and making sure you always ask before you touch a friend and that if someone tells you to stop, honor their request. I also squeezed in a quick run while the boys had their swim lessons, because this movement for equality is going to take a lot of work and I need to build up my strength and endurance.

Day 23.2

     Happy 2018. May this year bring us stability, strength, control and balance...

     I for one, have already achieved Control Balance.

Notice the control and balance I maintain, while son #2 melts down behind me

     This is a Super Advanced Pilates exercise called Control Balance. It's horrendously difficult and one of my biggest achievements in 2017. In 2016, I couldn't imagine having the core strength to get into a "rollover position", let alone the flexibility, control, and balance to perform the full exercise. I shocked myself when I was able to do this on my first attempt.

     I laughed when I read the name of the exercise during my Mat 2 training, because the movements seemed unattainable and the name was ironic. There are two things escaping me right now- Control of my life/home and balance of work/family/friendships/all other things. In this exercise there are so many opportunities to lose it- the rollover, the leg positioning, the engagement of the core, the stability required by the back and shoulders-combined with the strength of the hip extensors and flexibility of the hip flexors. Plus, having to roll down to a supine position after switching the legs numerous times. Also- you have to breath!

     I was so determined to prove my instincts wrong and do this exercise well. I was pretty scared, partially convinced that I would hurt myself. I inhaled deeply, engaged my body to prepare and went for it.

I think this is how I'm going to approach 2018.

     2017 was a pretty mixed year. I marched for women's rights with my daughter. I called senators and members of congress. I shared extremely personal struggles in my writing. I took on a new personal challenge by studying to become a clinical Pilates instructor. I returned to work as a music teacher after two years of maternity/childcare leave. But there have been challenges. The end of the year saw a deepening of my depression and anxiety. The world has become a more frightening place in the last 12 months- or truthfully, maybe I was just awoken to the state of affairs as they have always been. I've been insecure as a mother and as a partner, feeling an increased sense of guilt as I've tried to adjust to working outside of the home. I'm overwhelmed with it all.

     Honestly, I don't know that I will ever find complete control and balance in my life. But I'm just going to inhale deeply, engage to prepare, and go for it.

Day 22.2

     Every once in a while, we need to give ourselves a shout out.

The relief of a clean bill of health

     Today, I did something for me. Now, I am not going to get into the details, but I had an issue that I could have easily put to the side and not taken care of because it was just easier to focus on the needs of others-especially during this time of year. Instead, I put away my pride and made my health first priority.
     This afternoon, I sat on the couch in our new family room and enjoyed the remaining sunlight before attempting to tackle the laundry (5 loads and no end in sight as of this posting). I could have gotten frustrated with myself, or annoyed at the circumstances surrounding the day, but I'm choosing to embrace the fact that for the first time in a long time, I put myself ahead of others' expectations of me. I can't remember the last time I felt like I had even the slightest bit of control- apparently taking care of myself can help with that!

     I think this is one of my most empowering moments of 2017.

Day 21.2

     Try as I might, depression shows it's ugly head. I blame the holidays... sick kids... never ending home construction...the fact that a 21 month old is sleeping in a crib, two feet from my head...work stress...lack of exercise...this stupid, stupid world we live in...

I wonder what I would do if I was faced with an active shooter situation.

   

     Why aren't more people in America OUTRAGED that I as a teacher have to think about this EVERY FUCKING DAY?!?!?!?!?!?!?! That I practice how I will get the door locked in the quickest way possible? That I set up my classroom so we can easily escape if needed-or easily hide? That I've mentally prepared myself to do anything necessary to protect the students that I've been entrusted with?

     I wonder how a gun lobbyist would feel after experiencing a lockdown with 25 panicked 7 year olds. What words would they use to soothe a frightened child? I've held hands with sobbing students during surprise precautionary drills. This is the screwed up norm that we face in America because for some reason our elected officials can't address this crisis.

     5 YEARS.

     Nothing I type out seems to articulate what I am trying to say. I just want to scream. I want to punch something. I am so angry.

     Nothing has changed.

     Yet everything has changed. 5 years ago, I had one child. Now that child has gone through his first grade year. THOSE KIDS NEVER DID.

WHY HAVEN'T WE ADDRESSED THIS?????????????????

     I am so mad. Every single day there is something else this fucked up world hands to us on a silver gold platter to lose our minds over. And every single day the Sandy Hook families live with loss.


I don't have anything productive to write tonight. I don't feel any better having written a slew of curse words and sentences in all caps. Nothing can make this feeling OK.

How do we find hope when this all seems so hopeless?

Day 20.2

     Like many others, I'm limping across the finish line of the disaster that is 2017. 

     WTF?!?! Where do I even start? The politics? The mass shootings? White supremacist marches? #metoo? Natural disasters and hurricanes? 

     I think for me, the most painful part of 2017 has to do with mental illness. 

Anyone else tired of this shit?

     Someone inexplicably murders innocent people in a mass shooting and the conversations that follow focus on mental health issues- not gun control. The president posts incoherent tweets and the world questions on his mental health. People speak out on the injustices in the world and they are labeled "crazy snowflakes".

     The news is dominated by stories of powerful men using their positions to sexually assault women. Or those who use their positions to deny basic rights to people of color, members of the LGBTQ community, and those of a lower socioeconomic status. Instability in the Middle East, tensions among nuclear powers...

If you didn't already have depression and anxiety, it wouldn't be surprising if you do now! 

     So much of the conversation surrounding mental health has been when it is used as a scapegoat for the travesties we see before us. The mental health of American citizens is something we discuss only after tragedy strikes. We never celebrate the accomplishments of someone who battles their demons everyday. We don't acknowledge the strength it takes to get out of bed each day when the world sees mental illness as a defect. Fuck. I really have no idea how I do it half the time.

     There are millions of us out here doing the hard work in therapy. Getting our prescriptions filled- and taking those meds. There are millions of supportive families who drive us to appointments when we can't do it ourselves and have the really tough conversations even when we don't want to. 

Those who fight this battle alongside us. 

     This year has been unbearable at times. I've had more anxiety attacks than I care to recount. I'm feeling broken. Some aspects of my life have been repaired. Others have a long way to go. I've hated myself with a passion and anger that scares me, yet I've also fallen in love the person I have become- mental illness included. 

     A huge source of strength for me has been finding my purpose again in music. 

Teaching, singing, listening. 

     I want to spend these last few weeks of 2017 compiling some playlists of the songs that have gotten us through the year. The songs that calm us when we feel the weight of the battles we have yet to fight (literal and figurative), the songs that give us the power to resist, the songs that give us the energy to push through the hard days, the ones that inspire joy- heck, even the ones that turn us on and help bring us some much needed intimacy.

Share your songs and let's set ourselves up with a inspiring soundtrack for 2018. 

We've got a lot of work to do...

Day 19.2

     In the spirit of frank and honest discussions I've had with myself about my role in the world, I'm taking a look at myself as a teacher. I've come to the realization that I've been inadvertently sanitizing the music in my classroom. 

     Work Songs. They are listed in the textbooks as work songs. I've utilized them in class. I've taught and talked about them. But I've never outright said, "these were slave songs". I changed that this week. 

Looking for The Courage to Teach

     14 years of teaching and I thought I was being inclusive and culturally sensitive. I've done a disservice to my students by not calling them what they were, and for that I apologize. 

     Picking cotton was not work. It was slave labor. To call it work is horrendous. I didn't even realize I was doing this. I think I'm a pretty great teacher. I design thoughtful lessons that incorporate a multitude of instructional methods in order to reach every kid that comes through my program. I teach music of various cultures, I use authentic recordings as examples and I reach out to students to find the music that is relevant to them. But for years, I called slave songs "work songs". It may seem small, but I have to own up to the fact that I did not have the hard discussions that I should have.  

     I want students to leave my room with a love for music that will guide them through the trials that lay before them. They are growing up in a world where they will need something to hold on to. They absolutely need to know about the dark experiences of slavery and racism that led to some of our country's most beautiful music. And I'm going to listen to my students and to their experiences. 

     Today I played Sam Cooke's "A Change is Gonna Come" for a fourth Grade class. Change is coming here for me. I'm not sanitizing the music I share. We are going to have those tough conversations (age appropriate for sure) and they will leave my class knowing that I cared enough to tell them the truth. 

Day 17.2 & 18.2

     On Wednesday night, I dressed myself up and took myself out. I enjoyed fabulous music, amazing company, and social time with adults. I got to see the fruits of my labor (talented and successful former students) and connect with the parents who raised them. I sang along to music and had great conversations. A coworker who saw me that night told me I looked like a model and that she barely recognized me. Clearly she was exaggerating, but it was almost a punch in the gut during our follow up conversation today. What was it about going out by myself that led me to "glow", well aside from a few too many drinks?

Shadowy picture, but you get the idea

   The key part of this evening was that it was adult time where I was an individual. I spend so much time filing other roles, and I have neglected me. This wasn't a fancy night out, but I made getting ready a priority. I didn't focus on setting up dinner and nighttime activities for kids. I didn't do a quick cleaning of the house. I did my hair, put on makeup, and looked through my closet for a outfit that was flattering- not just the first thing I grabbed from the drawer. I listened to music on the drive out (that wasn't of the kid variety), as opposed to my usual NPR. I let my guard down. I'm so hyper-focused on the kids, the house, the job...

A few nights after this invigorating and liberating night out...

Back to reality. 

     A hysterically screaming toddler. Over an hour of crying. Food didn't work, bath didn't work. 

Extended breastfeeding is simultaneously my savior and the bane of my existence. 

     I know there are people who just say "stop it already!" It seems as if we've been weening for months now. Caroline is not over it though, so I keep trudging along. Obviously there is something about the fact that she's the last one. This phase is the end of my "baby years". Of course, it's a connection that I know will be transformed into something new and wonderful, once the nursing ends. But I also know that it's definitely holding me back from regaining more of myself. 

     How can I be a fierce, individualistic female when I'm still finding myself on the bathroom floor at 7 PM, un-showered, in the same clothes I slept in the prior night, covered in snot and tears, while breastfeeding a naked & tantruming toddler? Do I accept that this phase that will end shortly? Do I really believe that breastfeeding is the only thing that holds me back from asserting myself as an independent woman? 

Something for me to think about. 

Day 16.2

     So after my post the other day, I needed to take a step back and ground myself. Conveniently, it also happened to be my oldest son's first reconciliation this weekend. The church has this beautiful tradition where the parents write a letter to their child for them to open after they have made their sacrament.
     Now, truth be told, I forgot all about this letter. In fact, when I wrote it at the retreat, I was half paying attention while I chatted with other parents and tried to mentally plan out the rest of the weekend. Not really appropriate I guess, but it's my truth. When we go the paperwork after the service on Saturday, I realized the letter was in the packet and I shared it with Lucas. I can't quite describe what happened. It's like he saw straight through me and was in my heart. I felt so vulnerable, like for the first time, my son had a glimpse into the love I have for him, and understood what kind of person we want him to become. He climbed into my lap and hugged me.

     I've made mistakes. A lot of them. I'll continue to make more. But if I'm able to forgive my son, I must also be able to forgive myself.

 

  I'm so grateful to be his mother. 

Dear Lucas,
We are filled with joy as we watch you grow and mature into the person you're becoming. You're a caring and thoughtful friend, a playful and kind older brother and a loving and helpful son. There are times when we all make bad choices, or do things we aren't proud of. The important thing is how we respond, learn, and grow from those times. None of us are perfect and we never expect perfection from you, but we do expect truth, kindness and respect for the world you live in and the people around you. I know that you will continue to grow and be your best self and we are so proud to have you as our son. We love you and support you in all of the great, happy moments & in all of the tough ones as well. We hope that you are able to find comfort in God's love, as well as ours. Daddy and I love you more than you'll ever know!

Love,
Mommy & Daddy

Day 15.2

     I've been thinking about this post for years, but have shied away because I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. 

     

I'm so tired of making everyone else comfortable- it's time to talk about this. 

How does Mommy get her groove back?

     Before I had children, I was hot. OK, maybe that's an overstatement, but I at least looked in the mirror and felt attractive. I didn't have a 6-pack going, but there were actual abs. I was running multiple long distance races and working out a ton. I dressed well, did my hair and make-up, and partied with friends and went out on dates with my husband. 

     When we decided to try for children, it was an exciting time. I wanted to get pregnant and therefore, birth control was finally out of the picture. It was great. Until getting pregnant became a nightmare. I think that was the first time the "groove" started to have some issues. Sex became a thing that was precisely timed. Positions were restricted. Spontaneity was eliminated. And then, success led to loss and loss led to depression. Baby making became a job and it sucked. Once we had a successful pregnancy, my paranoia prevented us from being intimate. But, when my body began to have issues with pregnancy, the paranoia turned real and we were medically restricted. I'm sure there are millions of women who can back me up when I say that what I endured over the past nine years left me traumatized. The exams, the vaginal ultrasounds, the cervical checks- I've had more hands up my vagina than I care to recount. Seriously. I lost track. And it was brutal, painful, scary, and aggressive. I gave consent, but I didn't want the penetration. I don't think that any of the medical professionals intended for the exams to feel the way they did, but I cried after every single one.

     Maybe it's because it forced me to confront the time I was digitally penetrated against my will. I was in college. I remember what I was wearing. Bootcut jeans, a green sweater and my favorite doc martins. When he came up to me at the party, he specifically said that the outfit I had worn to class that day was much hotter than the one I had on. I didn't realize where this was going. I was drunk- it was the second time in my life that I had ever encountered alcohol. I trusted him because I was 18 and naive. I remember the weight of his body on top of mine. The scratchy feel of the rug under my body as he pulled down my pants. The absolute panic that I had never been touched this way before. The room was spinning and I was so scared. And I know it wasn't my fault. But when I spoke with counselors the following week, they questioned my experience in a way that made me feel that maybe I was "asking for it". Was I really sure I said no? 

     There was a lot of self hatred and many bad decisions that followed. I chose to numb myself with alcohol and hookups. I didn't have many serious relationships. I didn't see myself as a woman who was desired, instead I was a disposable body that didn't deserve respect. 

     Flash forward 12 years- I'm pregnant, married to a man who knows none of this. And so, I stuffed it down, back where it had been hidden for so long. I tried to remind myself every time that this was OK, because it's all for the health of myself and my children. Still, after I gave birth, I couldn't bear the thought of anyone- doctor or husband- touching my vagina. 

     Clearly this has led to some real difficulties in my marriage. Sex is important. Intimacy is essential. I was shying away from both. 

     My body, which in many ways hasn't felt like "mine" since that September night in 1998, has been sacrificed for my children. I stopped carefully grooming myself after the c-section of my oldest, because I was so mortified by my scars. If I continued to shave, the marks on my body would be visible and I didn't want the daily reminder. My small, yet perky breasts had transformed into leaking porn-star boobs that absolutely terrified me. And the weight gain, loss, gain, loss...

9 years of this. 

     My husband has always maintained that he found me attractive. But how could that be? I would look in the mirror and I see such a transformation that I could hardly believe I was the same person. Yet, when I really think about it, I am changed. I'm not the same. 

     Boundaries don't exist anymore. I was once too prudish in my early 20s to flash a crowd at the Preakness, yet 100s of strangers have seen me breastfeed without a cover. I prefer to be covered in a gym locker room, yet I haven't showered alone in years. How do we reconcile ourselves as sexual beings and the perfect mothers that society expects of us. It's not funny that when I was home with my children, I showered once- maybe twice-a week. How can I possibly find myself attractive when the world views me as a "mom of three". I'm not exaggerating that more times than not, any compliment delivered on my physical appearance is followed by "for a mom of three". Was my husband some sort of special man because he thought my stretch marks were sexy? All of a sudden, am I supposed to be grateful that my husband still wants to have sex with me despite the toll motherhood has taken on my body? And when those feelings settle in, it's a pretty f-ed up situation. 

     I'm still figuring this out. I don't have an answer. It's something I struggle with everyday. How can I be "mom" and a "sexy piece of ass" at the same time. Is it even appropriate for me to want to be a sexy piece of ass? 

This is a conversation we need to have. Feel free to join in. 

Day 14.2

It's been a long road and I'm finally approaching the end of the "maternity leave era".

Our last day before she began full-time daycare

     I remember filling out the paperwork for leave when I was pregnant with Lucas. I thought I would take the standard 16 weeks and return to work with breast-pump in tow. I thought I'd have a sleepy baby who would give me nights of rest and days of smiles. I thought I would love my life as a mother. I never for one minute imagined the hell I would be living in after the birth of my oldest child- and then second and finally the last child. Post-partum depression nearly took everything from me. I can't go down the rabbit hole and imagine what could have been, had my husband not stepped in to get me the help I needed-the amazing lives that would have been shattered, or those never even brought forth at all. The sacrifices that went into the pregnancies, birth and rearing of our children were with out a doubt worth it. But they took a toll on my body, my mind, my career, my friendships, and my family. Living on a single salary for four years, all while racking up some pretty intense medical bills forced us to make life changes that we weren't happy about. It forced my husband and me into many deep discussions, and they often became heated arguments. We navigated many issues over the course of our fourteen years together, but coupling the stress of family, health and money together unlocked a new level.

     It's been almost 8 years since we began the journey to become parents. In that time I've been the happiest I could ever imagine, yet I've also been to the very edge of depression. I've experienced the absolute dependence of a human being who looked to me for their every need and it is the most awesome responsibility I could ever imagine. I've also felt the worthlessness and hopelessness that comes with loss. I'm humbled everyday by the strength of my marriage to survive and thrive throughout the challenges life has hurled our way.

     Next week, our lives take on a new challenge- that of being a home with two working (outside of the home) parents. I'm scared. I'll most likely never have this time with my family again. I will miss the friends I've made while staying home and the community of amazing women I've been welcomed in. The mundane things like grocery shopping trips in the early morning on Mondays when I could chat with the cashiers, or socializing on playground at pickup with the other parents. These are things that made me feel connected. I'm afraid of this change and how it will affect the relationships I've built while staying home. I'm afraid of being able to give the proper amount of energy to my job and my family. I never quite figured out the balancing act while staying home, and now I'm about to take on a whole new challenge.

     I guess I just have to trust that this is going to suck some days, but it's also going to be pretty amazing. There will be highs and lows, like just about everything else in life- but I'm going to try my best because it's really the only thing I can do.

Day 13.2

     I'm too young to feel this old.

Drinks on the patio before we demolish it to make space for bed rooms and bigger family room. 

     Recently as we've been navigating the trials and tribulations of three children, home ownership, and careers, I've begun to feel like this is way too much responsibility. Are we really in charge of three children, all of whom have very different personalities and very specific needs? Are we really adding on to the home we bought as a family of three because we've outgrown it in just 4.5 years? Am I really returning to work outside of the home?
Obviously, the answer to all of these questions is "YES".

     There are more days than I'm comfortable admitting, when I feel like I'm just not supposed to be at this point in my life. Is this the oncoming of a midlife crisis? Maybe just the anxiety over the end of my "childbearing/maternity-leave years"? I'm so far into the role that I've developed for myself over the past decade- and it's not that I want to walk away from it- but it's freaking scary!

     Ten years ago, when I was a newlywed, the future seemed so full of possibilities. Many of them have been realized, but some never will. For example, career goals I felt so strongly about will not happen because the realities of motherhood have changed my priorities- whether I like it or not.

     But we adapt. That's something I love so much about Jim. We don't go out that much anymore (we should have done more when we were younger). But every Saturday he makes us some cocktails, we order take out, and have a date night in. And as we close in on ten years of marriage in our fourteen year relationship, I'm so grateful to have him through the highs and lows of growing up.

Day 12.2

     Facebook reminded me once again that three years ago, I was clueless. I thought I was exhausted- I even used the term "blissfully exhausted". I've since discovered, that's not a real thing. I usually can't stand the parents who tell you "you think this is hard? Just wait!" and then they laugh knowingly that you are in for it. But they are right. Just as I know the more seasoned parents reading this are shaking their own heads as I reflect on my little guy turning 4.

Just a typical kid trying to squirm away from his mom

     Today one of the teachers at daycare told me that Ben reminded her of an elegant old man. I'm completely serious. The emotional, long haired, super hero loving, perpetually loud and messy little boy that our friends lovingly refer to as "Kegger" is also like an elegant old man. And the amazing thing is that she's absolutely right. This child defies stereotypes and could never be placed in a box. He will tell you that he is the fastest person in the world and race you to prove it. He refuses haircuts because he loves his long hair. He can identify every vehicle at a construction site and then build them for you using his older brother's Legos. He can make his sister laugh harder than anyone else can, even though I'm pretty sure she's slightly terrified of him. His dance moves are creative and always stylistically appropriate for the music they accompany. I prefer his version of "Gold on the Ceiling" and I love the Black Keys, so that's saying a lot.
     I don't know if it's the fact that life over these past two years has completely overwhelmed me, but I haven't really been aware of his transformation from a baby into a kid. I turned around, and he was growing up. I don't want him to be the middle child that gets overlooked. But really, no one says that they want to ignore their kid. Things get in the way. An older child starts school, a new baby is born, family roles change. I think I was conscious of his aging, but I wasn't able to appreciate it because of my own issues.
   
     Let's be honest, it's not Ben that was overlooked. It's me. I used to make time for writing and reflection. I used to strive for personal/emotional/spiritual growth. Now I hope for 4 good hours of sleep a night and anything else is a bonus. My kids are front and center. I haven't remotely neglected any of these kids. However, I've neglected me.
     Three years has found a lot of changes in my life. Another child threw things out of whatever balance they had-and it wasn't much. As I prepare to wake up to a four year old tomorrow, I'm not feeling the same optimistic hopefulness as I did three years ago. Of course we will celebrate and enjoy our time together, but I know there will be meltdowns from at least 4 out of 5 family members. Yet, life will go on. Years from now, he will look back on his birthday weekend and remember a few special moments. I will do my best to make sure they are the same kinds of beautiful memories like
I've captured of him over these past four years.