Just. . . Breathe. . .

I have to keep saying this to myself this week.  See, we sign the papers on our new duplex tomorrow.  Yep.  Ten days before Christmas, and I'm going to be rushing from signing the lease to get to the office Christmas party on time.  I have laundry that needs folding, a kitchen that feels like a disaster (though I'm certain I've spent most of my week cleaning it), and so very much that still needs to be packed.

I've been unable to sleep all week.  I lay down at night, and my mind begins to race with the list of things I need to accomplish tomorrow, and the longer list of things I failed to accomplish today.  When I finally drift off, I spend the entire night locked in a dream where I am trapped somewhere (it's somewhere different every night) and have to spend my dreaming hours trying to figure out how to escape.  I wake exhausted from the effort, and start my day more sleepy than when I went to bed.

Last night, it all began again.  The racing thoughts.  The feeling of being trapped.  The near-panic of trying to do everything.  The stress of moving.  It all came rushing in the moment I laid my head down.

And that's when I gave in.  I took a deep breath, centered myself, and began talking to God.  See, I have this impossible urge to try and deal with everything myself.  And it never works.  I have to admit that I can't do it alone.  So, laying there, in the dark, breathing deeply, I told God everything.  And I asked for help.

For the first night in a week, I slept like a baby.  A dream began with Miles being taken from me - the catalyst for several of my 'trapped' dreams.  But I wouldn't allow myself to be trapped this time.  Instead, I walked straight up to the man who had taken him, sized him up, and knocked him flat with one blow to the face.  I picked up Miles and cuddled him, and slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

I will get through this week.  Even if I have to punch it in the face.

Bad Day

I talk a lot on here about the progress I've made, and the good days I've had.  Because I am relieved that they keep coming.  And I'm optimistic that they are becoming the norm, instead of the exception.  But sometimes, I still have a bad day.

Yesterday was a bad day.  Our weekend was way busier than I had intended, and Miles' schedule got thrown entirely out of whack.  So, when Monday rolled around and it was time for work, Miles was not his normal cheerful self about it.

In fact, he screamed most of the day.  It was miserable.

Many attempts were made to cheer the child up.  Each was met with more and more screaming.  Eventually, I talked a young man who works there to take Miles for a walk around Faire Site so I could think.  As soon as they left the office, I put my face in my hands, and had a quiet little panic attack.  How the hell am I going to handle him all summer long if he has trouble with a couple of days a week?  How am I going to get anything accomplished with a screaming toddler demanding my attention?  If he and I can't handle a low-key Monday, how are we ever going to manage the stress-storm that is the final Friday before we open?

If I hadn't been at work, I would have cried.*

Instead, I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face.  I breathed.  I tugged on my hair, willing myself to think about something - anything - other than the panic rising in my chest.  I sat on the cold (nasty) bathroom floor with my knees pulled up to my chest, using the calm, quiet, safe place to calm down.

And then I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and exited as though nothing was wrong.  Even now, when everyone knows about my PPA, I still can't admit to people when I'm actually having an attack.  I don't know why.  I just . . . can't.

Hours later, as I sat at the computer at home, in the quiet of the evening, while Patrick and Miles took a walk, I still felt that edge of panic.  All of my triggers, all reasons for panic were gone, and yet, the panic remained, steely and sickening in my chest.

So, when I sat down to write today's post, I wanted to be positive.  I wanted to be the optimistic person you have all seen recently.  But, it's just not in me to lie right now.  I had a bad day.  And that's okay.  As hard as I try, I can never make every day a good one.

Today, I will try again.

*I have this weird thing that I cannot cry in front of people I work with.  I don't know why.  I just physically cannot make myself cry at work.  I wish I could.  It would have been a nice release.

Long Weekend

I hate making weekend trips home.

Let me clarify.  I love going home.  I love visiting everyone, and spending time with family, and being in a place that holds my entire childhood within a thirty-mile radius.

I hate that there never seems to be enough time.  Going home for a weekend means leaving after Patrick gets home from work on Friday night, and arriving after Miles' bedtime.  It means spending a day and a half seeing everyone we know.  My mother.  My father and grandfather.  My sister.  Patrick's parents and sisters.  Patrick's grandmother, who is sweet enough to give us crash space every time we visit.  Needless to say, there's just not enough time to spend quality time with everyone.

And this weekend, we went home for their Renaissance Festival, accompanied by Bethany and Shelby and Stacey.  Which meant that most of Saturday was reserved for that.  I ended up getting to spend time with my mother, but only because I wasn't feeling well, and didn't want to be a downer at the Festival.  But I never got to see my dad, my grandpa, or my sister.  Which stinks.  And I got to see my in-laws, but only very briefly, since they were all busy running the Festival.

Add in the fact that I spent the weekend battling a sinus infection (which was diagnosed yesterday), and that Miles was uber-clingy and whiny for much of the weekend, and it became a less-than-ideal weekend.

I miss everyone so much, and I just wish there was a way to spend as much time as I want with each of them.  But, for now, I have to get as much as possible out of these whirlwind weekends.

<sigh>

Breakthrough

Yesterday was awful.  Completely and utterly awful.  Like Tuesday was biding her time to strike a day late.  Yeah, that kind of awful.

Miles is still working on getting those canines.  At least one of them is almost completely in.  The other three have all broken the surface, at least, but he won't let me look in his mouth long enough to evaluate past that.  Regardless, the poor kid is still a drooling mess of teething.  And he's still going through that growth spurt, though it appears to be winding down.

Now, we've added seasonal allergies to the mix.  The poor kid is forever rubbing his watery eyes, and snuffling his nose - which is leaking like a faucet all.the.time.  And when he sneezes?  I'm not even going to give you that visual.  Just trust that it's entirely disgusting.

To top it all off, Miles woke up at 5:00 am yesterday morning.  And stayed awake.  He had his 18 month well child check at the doctor.  It was an hour of whiny, cranky, clingy toddler in a tiny room, asking repeatedly to go bye-bye.  He was so upset, the doctor had a hard time making all of the checks she needed to make.  And then, as the final insult, he had to get a shot.  He hasn't carried on that much about a vaccine since his first ones at two months old.  It was dreadful.

Miles fell asleep in the car on the way home, so I opted to pick Patrick up for a quick drive-through lunch.  After a twenty-five minute nap, Miles woke up, cranky, and more tired than before.  The afternoon was no better.  He whined and carried on, screaming if I was not touching him for more than a few seconds.  Eventually, he passed out on my lap, and slept for another 45 minutes.  And woke up cranky.

In short, it was the sort of day that usually throws me into multiple panic attacks, and leaves me crying and shaking in a corner by the time Patrick gets home from work.

Not yesterday.  I was frustrated.  I was exasperated.  But I was calm.  At one point, panic crept in, threatening at the edges, waiting for an opportunity to take over.  And I managed to fight it off.  With a lot of effort and a little bit of time and luck, I banished that panic from my body.

The meds are beginning to work.  Yesterday was proof.

Revenge of Tuesday

If you've read this blog for at least the last two weeks, you know all about my arch-nemesis, Tuesday.  It returned this week, with a vengeance.


It all started with a crazy-wild toddler, in a hurry to get out the door.  In such a hurry, in fact, that he couldn't be bothered to get dressed.  Or eat.  Or do any of the other hundred little things you have to do to get out of the door in the morning.  All he wanted to do was go bye-bye.  After a hundred major temper tantrums, and a few minor miracles, I managed to get him out the door, and into the van.

When I turned the key, though, it began knocking like crazy - something it has never done before.  So, I drove by Patrick's office and had him listen to it. He told me to drive it as little as possible, and we dropped it off at the mechanic's during his lunch break.


Three hours later, in the midst of another screaming fit, Patrick called with the diagnosis: the van needs a new engine.

Blargh. Tuesday wins this round, I guess.


[Disclaimer: We are figuring it out.  We will manage, and I will update you on our new vehicle in the near future, hopefully.  I just needed to vent a little.]

Lessons of Mommyhood

Lesson #106: Never take a sick toddler anywhere.  Especially somewhere that requires waiting.  Even if it's just for a minute.

Today was Dominic's first vet visit since coming to live with us.  We wanted to get him checked out, and establish a relationship with a vet, just in case we need one in the future. (We had one for Lilo, but we weren't crazy about him, and his office was 20 minutes away.)

I got there a few minutes early, anticipating the inevitable barrage of paperwork that comes with going anywhere new.*  We arrived, and were immediately taken to an exam room and handed a clipboard and a pen.  I rolled up my sleeves and dove into the paperwork frenzy.

It was a single page.  Front only.  Lots of white space.

Which meant that I now had several minutes to wait in the tiny exam room with a Very Worried Dog and a Very Cranky Toddler.  Not a good mix.  Dominic laid under my feet, whining, probably expecting to be left here or worse.  Miles, meanwhile, ran laps around the room.  In the space of two minutes, he asked for Goldfish and a book, pushed the doctor stool around the room a half-dozen times, threw his Goldfish angrily at the floor and tried to take the dog's leash from me.  And then I wiped his nose.

All hell broke loose.  He threw his head back, arched his spine, and wailed.  He punched and kicked and tossed and turned like a fish flopping around on a dock.  Snot and saliva flew.  Eardrums were pierced.  Bruises were inflicted upon an unsuspecting and helpless Mommy.

Who was still trying to hold on to the dog and keep him calm.

Blargh.

In the end, the vet came in, Miles calmed down, the dog was given a clean bill of health, and we went home.  Where Miles promptly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from his first-class tantrum.  And I fell into a heap in my chair to blog and watch the neighbors call the cops on each other repeatedly.  For an hour.

Ahh, it's so relaxing to be a stay at home mom!

* Seriously, there's a reason I don't go to new restaurants anymore.  By the time I finish the paperwork, I'm famished! :)

It's Thanksgiving, Darnit!

I know this has been said over and over again, but I just have to state for the record that I hate when Christmas comes too early.

When I was a kid, I once told my mother that I wished Christmas was every day. My mother, like most sane people in the world, wisely stated that too much of a good thing is bad for you.

Well, it's gotten to be too much.

Christmas displays go up in the stores as early as September. Now, I love Christmas and all, but not next to the skeleton candy dishes.

September through December - four months of Christmas.

Then, there's the inevitable "after-Christmas" hubbub, which lasts most of January - until Valentine's Day generally appears around the end of the month.

January - one month

Then, for those who just can't wait for December to roll around again, there's this insanity known as Christmas in July.

July - one more month

All told, the stores are shoving Christmas down our throats for six solid months - that's half of every year. And I, for one, am tired.

I want to enjoy Christmas again. I want it to be something I anticipate as Thanksgiving approaches - rather than dread the sight of when I'm shopping for Halloween costumes. I want to close my eyes on Thanksgiving night, excited about the upcoming Christmas season. And awaken the day after to my first Christmas song of the year.

Part of my issue is that we have begun to skate directly from Halloween to Christmas, completely skipping my favorite holiday. I love Thanksgiving. It's the only holiday that really can't be commercialized - it's about food and family and football. There's not much you can do to ruin that combination. And it's one of two days of the year that my family gets together without (much) arguing. We fast until the dinner is ready - usually at least an hour later than planned - and then we gorge ourselves silly. The men retire to the living room to doze off and on throughout the football game, while the women (and any men who dislike sports) move to the kitchen table for cards or board games. It's a very peaceful day, full of warmth and the friendship of family.

I just wish I could enjoy it before the Christmas songs start.

Car Update

So, we drove all the way to Independence today to fix the van. Miles and I tagged along for a variety of reasons, but mostly so there would be someone to call 911, in case it was necessary.

It turned out to be entirely unnecessary. Patrick got in the van and it immediately started up without a problem. Patrick has some theories about what it might have been, but we will be taking it to the mechanic later this week to verify. In the meantime, it doesn't appear to have anything wrong with it. It just decided not to start yesterday and last night.

I will never understand vehicles. Ugh.

Long Week . . .

I tried to write a sunshine and rainbows post. I really did. Because I am blessed in so many ways.

But, even so, this week sucked. A lot.

Start with the fact that Patrick was out of town all week.* Mix in a healthy helping of Festival drama. Add a pinch of hysterics over the Frankie and Johnny show. Plus all of the normal demands of working and keeping up with a very active little boy.

By Friday, I was literally in tears - tears of frustration and pure disappointment at how things were going. As I said to Maestro several times: everything this week just felt harder than it should have been. Meetings that should have taken fifteen or twenty minutes turned into hours-long marathons of arguing points that had already been decided. Frankie and Johnny had to be entirely re-blocked to be performed inside instead of outside, three days before it was to be performed. Helping a friend with living arrangements that should have been easily dealt has taken all week, with nothing entirely decided yet. Even Miles decided that he had to fight sleep at every opportunity.

Meanwhile, Patrick was dealing with his own situation that turned out to be harder than it should have been. Originally, his trip was supposed to last two days. By Wednesday, it was obvious that they wouldn't be finished in time, so their stay was extended to Thursday evening. Then late Thursday night. Then Friday afternoon. Patrick finally returned to town at 6:30 pm on Friday - a half an hour after my dress rehearsal began. I would never have gotten to see him, except for the fact that he's amazing and brought me dinner.**

Today was the exception to the rule. I woke up early and went garage sale-ing with some amazingly beautiful women, had lunch with some wonderful friends, and spent a wonderful evening entertaining a house full of people. I have to say, being a (too) pious church woman can be a lot of fun, if you know how to play with it. :)

I am merely hoping that today is the beginning of a new trend - one in which things do not turn out to be twice as difficult as they should be. And if not, I'm afraid you'll know me when you see me: I'll be the woman who is missing patches of hair, because I pulled it all out. :)

*Yes, again. Third time in a month. Ugh.

**Besides, he needed the van keys - which I had at rehearsal. Oops.