Battles & Blessings

Battles:

• Short week.  Lots to accomplish.  Zero energy.  Not a fun combination.
• Trying to carve out time to spend with my husband and my son.
• Sleeping troubles.  For me, this time.
• Super-clingy Miles.  Probably because we've all been so busy.
• Super-stressed Maestro.  Nothing new. :)

Blessings:

• Bits of free time.
• Two days off this week, in return for 12 hour work days.
• Spent at least part of every day with Miles.
• Found a few moments to read and blog.
• Great new book.
• Support from family and friends, when even I didn't know I needed it.
• Toddlerhood.  I love it.  It is awesome.  The end.
• Re-connecting with a childhood friend.
• Glorious weather.
• An overall feeling of contentedness. <happy sigh>

Reminders

There are times that I wonder why I bother with the Festival.  Why I spend all the time and energy on it.  Why I don't just give it up and stay home with my baby.*

And then, something happens to remind me.

Sunday, I had a rather intense encounter with someone just before the Festival was set to open.  I am still not entirely certain what I did to upset him, but before I knew it, he was two inches from my face, spraying me with saliva as he cussed me out.  With every fiber of my being struggling to maintain my cool, I asked him to leave.  When he was finally escorted away, I breathed a sigh of relief, and fought back the tears of anger that threatened to burst out of me at any moment.

Until I turned to find myself in the middle of a sea of support.  Many of my performers were there to offer me hugs.  More than a few offered physical violence upon him should he return.  I was surrounded in an instant by the love of so many people that I did not know cared so much for me.

Even now, days later, I fight back tears.  But these are tears of joy and awe at the amazing Festival family I have been blessed with.  And I know that I would do anything for them.

This is why I stay.

*Other than the fact that staying at home all the time would make us both crazy, but whatever. . .

Today

Today, I woke up with the sun.

I got dressed in a silence that has become so unusual as to seem almost eerie.  Patrick was sleeping. Not so much as a peep from Miles' room.  Even the dog merely yawned and rolled over as I snuck out of the room.

Today, I rode with Stacey out to the Festival site, laughing, giggling, and telling stories with my best friend as the sun rose in the grey sky.

Today, as most people were getting out of bed to begin their day, I was huddled in a little blue shack with my pile of paperwork, nursing another cup of coffee.

Today, as you read this, I am walking the Festival site, radio on, dealing with problems as they arise, helping people get the things they need to be good performers.  I will be watching shows, interacting with characters, basking in the sunshine, and reveling in the Festival that I have helped, in some small way, to create.

Today is a good day.

Juggling

I've always been one to balance several activities at once.  In high school, I did Debate, Forensics, Theater, Orchestra, Choir, and Scholar's Bowl.*  All in the same year.  And once I graduated, I continued that lifestyle.  I worked full time, took a full load of college classes, and participated in whatever struck my fancy.  While I was student teaching, I took it easy, and balanced life as a newly-wed with all of the planning, teaching, and homework that goes with student teaching.  Once that was over, I searched until I found the Festival, which immediately consumed every waking hour of my life.  I had always been good at juggling, and Festival was no different.

When I was pregnant, I expected that adding a child to our crazy lives would add another 5-6 balls to the dozen or so I was already juggling - a difficult task, sure, but one that I would master in no time.  I was confident that before long, I would be able to balance Miles with the rest of my life.  To extend the metaphor, I imagined the cheers and applause as I seamlessly continued to juggle, no matter what life threw my way.

And then Miles was born.

Juggling ceased.  I dropped every ball except for Miles, and still, I couldn't keep up.  I could feel the balls pelting me in the head as one by one they came crashing down.  And then PPA decided to toss in a few bowling balls, just for giggles.  I huddled protectively over my baby, tried my best to pick up the pieces, and hid from everything else.

It took over 15 months, and some strong medications, to get rid of the bowling balls.  Since then, I have slowly, slowly, started to pick up the balls, one by one, and begun to juggle yet again.  The balance isn't perfect.  And I drop the ball far more than I once did.  But, I'm juggling.  Slowly, and with much effort and help, but I'm juggling.

And this time, I am cheering myself on.

*Yes, I'm a nerd.

30 by 30

Today is my birthday.  If I've done the math correctly, I am 28.  No longer in my 'mid-twenties', I am realizing that thirty is coming up faster than I thought it would.  And it keeps going faster, so I thought I'd better get on this before I forget.  Again.

I have reached most of my 'ten years after graduation' goals.  I am happily married.  I have a wonderful child.  I have a bachelor's degree, and even taught for awhile.  I've been on vacation to the Caribbean (granted, it was our honeymoon, but it counts).  All in all, I am more or less where I planned to be.  That being said, it's time for some new goals.  So, here goes.  Thirty things I want to accomplish before I turn thirty.

1. Read thirty books off of the list of top 100 banned books.
2. Make thirty crafts I have not tried before.  Bonus points if each serves a practical purpose.
3. Choreograph a dance for my children's group.  All by myself.
4. Take 30,000 pictures. (Considering I've taken well over 3,000 since I got my camera in May, this is not necessarily an impractical goal.)
5. Cook or bake 30 dishes I have never made before.
6. Watch 30 classic movies I've never seen.
7. Learn to knit or crochet.
8. Take a dance lesson, or preferably, a dance class.
9. Take Miles to a new museum/event/activity/experience at least once a month.
10. Simplify my life by getting rid of things I do not need.
11. Organize all of our household paperwork, and keep up on it.
12. Start my own business.  Even if it's just selling a few craft items online from time to time.
13. Finish illustrating the children's book I wrote in college.
14. Open a savings account for Miles.
15. Send birthday cards to everyone in my immediate circle of family/friends for at least one year.
16. Take Dominic through obedience classes.
17. Decide if/when I'm going to go back for my Master's degree, and what I'm going to study.
18. Audition for a musical.
19. Quit my Festival job and become a full-time stay-at-home mom.
20. Compile my music collection into one place.
21. Get a digital copy of every important photograph I have, and store them in a safe place.
22. Finish my digital family tree.
23. Exercise every single day for at least 30 days.
24. Learn at least 30 new signs for use at Special Olympics.
25. Learn to play at least ten new games.
26. Become more involved in the financial planning of our household.
27. Set up our wills, and arrange for custody of Miles, should anything unfortunate happen.
28. Find a church where my family is comfortable, and become an active member.
29. Participate in a flash mob.
30. Contact at least ten of my teachers from elementary, middle, high school, and college, and tell them how they have influenced my life.

What about you?  What things do you want to accomplish in the next two years?

Never. That's When.

Alright, Folks.  Be prepared.  I am about to step up on my soap box.

Never ask someone when they're going to meet someone.  Or get married.  Or have a kid.  Or another kid.  It's just not nice.  I get that you're excited, and that you want them to be happy.  I understand that you can't wait to meet their perfect little bundle of joy.  I get that babies are fun.  And cute.  And precious.  I also get that they are even more fun, and cute, and precious when you can send them home.  I get it.  Really.  But, please don't ask.  Because while you are saying, "When do I get to celebrate Life's next milestone with you?", what you're also saying is, "Because your life is incomplete as it is."

This isn't a response to any one comment, or even any group of comments.  Just an overall perception that we are constantly (subconsciously) telling others how to live their lives.  Some examples that illustrate my point:

Stacey is probably one of the closest female friends I have ever had.  She is smart, funny, silly, compassionate, and generous to a fault.  She is also an integral part of our family.  She is that third person we can call on to watch Miles for a moment when there is a household job that requires two people.  She is the person who supports whatever decision I make, no matter what.  And from what I've seen, she's fairly happy in this life.  Does she want to get married and settle down?  Sure.  But she's also content with what she has right now.  And yet, her own mother continually encourages her to 'lower her standards' and 'just get married already'.  Why?  Why would someone make their own daughter feel like the life she lives isn't good enough?

Example two:
My cousin has two amazing children; an eight-year-old daughter, and a five-year-old son.  Both are well-mannered, cute as buttons, and darn near as close to perfect as any kids I've ever seen.  She is happily married, and they both have good jobs, and a comfortable home.  Yet, at Christmas last year, her mother asked when they are planning to have another.  My cousin began with, "We're not, Mom," but my aunt continued.  Finally, after a particularly long line of questioning, my cousin retorted, "Perhaps when I've grown all of my hair back and paid off my medical bills."  Yes, this mom was pressuring her daughter to have more children, mere months after she had gone into remission from cancer.

And finally, the reason this is a personal pet peeve: Miles is an only child.  He will probably remain so.  Why? Because we do not feel the need, the desire, or even the slightest inclination to have another.  So please, please, stop asking when we're going to have another.

Never.  That's when.

Re-Discovering Me

It's early.  All is quiet.  Everyone is still sleeping soundly.

Except me.

Way back, a million years ago, before Miles was born and my life became a crazy carnival ride, I used to be a morning person.  From a very young age, I remember popping out of bed with the rising of the sun, tiptoeing through the silent hallway, and reveling in the blissful serenity of the morning.  Something about the peace of those hours drew me out of bed, even if I'd had little sleep.

And then Miles was born.  And that pull, that desire to jump out of bed and greet the day, was replaced by an incessant exhaustion.  Life overwhelmed me to the point that all I wanted to do was lay in bed, covers tucked safely under my chin, and sleep.  Given the opportunity, I would have slept for days.  I had lost the desire to get out of bed at all.  When Miles would begin to fuss, I would reluctantly drag my butt out of bed, staring longingly at my pillow, and make myself face the day.

At the time, I didn't even realize what was going on.  I told myself that I was just tired.  That I wasn't getting enough sleep.  I somehow managed to ignore the fact that I could sleep for twelve hours and still not feel refreshed.  I had lost a small part of me, and I didn't even know it.

Yesterday morning - and today, I awoke at 6:30, long before my alarm was set to go off.  I lay there, in the quiet of the morning, and suddenly knew that I could not stay in bed.  I silently got up, and tiptoed down the stairs, to enjoy the solitude of the morning.  I sipped on coffee, and read my book, and felt at peace with the world.

I had forgotten how much I love this.

Mama's Boy

As I type this, Miles is watching his morning cartoons, nibbling on a banana, and pulling on my toes.  He has spent much of the morning on my lap, or leaning against me, or playing with me.  Out of nowhere, Miles has suddenly become a Mama's boy.  And I love it.

For months, my heart would break just a little when Patrick came home from work.  Miles would get all excited and spend all evening ignoring my existence.  Which wouldn't have been much of a problem, except for the fact that he never got excited about spending time with me.  I would sit down on the floor to play with him, only to have him say, "Uh-uh" and turn away from me, or push me away.  It seemed as though I got to deal with all of the tantrums, and dirty diapers, and struggles, and got very little of the happy playtime.  I'm being slightly overdramatic about it,* but that's how I felt.

But, in the past two weeks, I have found myself in the delightful position of Miles' Favorite Person, a title I now happily share with Patrick.  In the mornings, Miles eats his breakfast and watches his cartoons while sitting on my lap or nearby.  At work, he plays at my feet, or sits in my lap for much of the day.  At home, he will pat the ground next to him, inviting me to play with him.  And everywhere we go, there are hugs, and cuddles, and sweet, slobbery toddler kisses.

I couldn't be happier.

*Big surprise, huh?

I won! I won!

So, eons ago, I received a blog award!  My very first!  And I was oh-so-excited!

And then, life happened all over the place, and (I hate to admit this) I forgot about it.

Dana over at Dillightful Musings sent this Lovely Blog Award my way, because she's incredibly sweet that way (no, seriously - go check out her blog and you'll see what I mean).  And to show that appreciation, I am finally going to tell you the seven things about myself and nominate some other blogs for you to enjoy. :)

1. I adore making lists.  Like, really.  It's so very satisfying to have it all so organized.
2. My favorite flowers are daisies.  As Meg Ryan says in You've Got Mail, they're "such happy flowers."
3. I am a huge fan of classic movies.  I think Audrey Hepburn is the classiest lady ever.  And Katharine Hepburn had the most wonderful attitude.  And Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart and Clark Gable are the epitome of gentlemanly chivalry. <sigh>
4. I love crafting.  The discovery of something pretty among a pile of scraps is a truly thrilling experience.
5. I have discovered that I define myself - at least, in part - by my relationships with the people around me.  I define myself as mom, wife, friend, employee.  That makes doing things like this a little difficult.
6. I have really random taste in music.  My favorite playlists include everything from Enya to Garth Brooks to Frank Sinatra to Indigo Girls.
7. When I was five, I decided I wanted to be a teacher.  When I was twelve, I told my Grandmother that I wanted to be a "professional mommy".  When I was sixteen, I decided I wanted a job in theater.  I find it amazingly awesome that I have managed to combine all three of those things in my job.

And now, that you know all about me, it's my turn to pass along this lovely award to some very deserving bloggers.  They are, in no particular accidentally alphabetical order:

Convivial Crafter - Loaded with tons of crafty ideas and tutorials, with a healthy dose of quirky. :)

Craig and Rhianna's Big Adventure - The on-going saga of one couple's journey through the adoption.

Maybe If You Just Relax - The life of one mom who has come through infertility, pregnancy, loss, and an extended term with the NICU, and still manages to find the humor in her world.

Toddler Love

I've mentioned once or twice how much I adore having a toddler.  I have reasons galore, and discover new ones every day.  Here is my discovery from yesterday.

I love that Miles has become so very affectionate.  For eight hours a day, I am his favorite person in the whole wide world, and he makes sure I know it.*  He will run to the opposite end of the office, then realize that I didn't follow, and yell, "Mom-mom?  Mom-mom? Ere go?" [Trans: Mommy?  Where did you go?]  Because my little adventurer likes to know that Mommy has his back.  When he goes on an adventure with Cameron, or one of his other Faire friends, he always returns with a big smile and a hug for me.  When he's playing quietly by himself (so rare, these days), he always takes a moment to come over and hug my knee, or ask for a kiss, or a high five.

And then, there are moments like yesterday.  We had gone to Arby's for lunch, and were sitting side-by-side in a booth.  We were nomming on roast beef, and jamming to the awesome 80's music playing overhead.  Suddenly, a laugh bubbled up at the sheer joy of the moment shared with my son.  "I love you," I told him.

He blew me a kiss.

Then, he came over and gave me a real kiss, right on the lips.

Then, he jumped twice, and threw himself on me, wrapping his arms around me, yelling, "Hug!"

My heart threatened to explode with love for my little boy.  Even now, as I type this, I am blinking back tears of happiness.

This is what motherhood should feel like.

*Once Daddy is home, Mommy ceases to exist.  Not a terrible thing, at all, some days. :)

Bad Mommy Mondays

I am a Bad Mommy.

But you already knew that.  That's why you're here.  Because you love reading this, secure in the knowledge that you are (or will be) better at this whole parenting thing than me. :)

I have given you lots of reasons that I am a Bad Mommy.  Lots of things I've been judged for.  So many insecurities, all tied up nicely into weekly lists.  You may also have noticed that these lists have become shorter, and less frequent.  That's because of: a) modern medicine doing its part to combat anxiety, b) a lack of time to devote to caring what other people think, and c) a realization that all parents make mistakes and choices that other people will judge.

That being said, I am still human (and female), so I still have tons of insecurities.

I am a stay-at-home mom.*  Popular culture has two ways of viewing moms like me, whose primary job is caring for our homes, and our children.  The first paints us as ugly, honorable martyrs, working our days away scrubbing floors, and wiping snotty noses, but always putting on a smile because we know we're 'doing what's best'.  The second depicts us as beautiful, lazy, free-loading wives who spend their days watching soaps and eating bon-bons while our children run wild without supervision.

Let me tell you this right now: neither of those pictures is even close to true.  And yet, both have elements of truth.  We do have the ugly job of scrubbing floors and wiping noses twenty-four hours a day.  Sometimes, we do it with a smile, and other days, we just want to throw all of the good China at the wall rather than wash it one more time.  Some days, we never get out of our pajamas, and spend the day trying to relax, and not getting much accomplished.  But, even on those days, we are rarely just sitting and relaxing, because, let's face it, children don't really allow that for long periods of time, unless they're up to something.

My point, I guess, is that each of us approaches motherhood in a different way, and yet, we are all just struggling to do our best.  I have to keep telling myself that on days when I feel like I'm getting nothing done.  When I feel like Miles hates me.  When I feel like the housework keeps piling up, and I just don't have the energy to even bother with it.  When I feel like a Bad Mommy.

If you've read this far, congratulations.  You have managed to wade through my self-doubt and analysis, hoping to find a point.  Well, here's what brought all of this up.

I'm in the process of enrolling Miles in daycare next year.  It's only one day a week, for five hours a day, but it makes me feel like a terrible mom.  Not because I'm putting him in daycare, but because I don't have to.  I know several working moms who hate dropping their kids off at daycare, and would love the opportunity to stay at home with them.  And here I am, enrolling my son in daycare so I can have a day off once a week.

There it is.  My primary reason for feeling like a Bad Mommy this week.  Lame, no?  Aren't you all disappointed that you bothered skimming that, now?  Well, you shouldn't be, because you're about to be rewarded with cuteness.

Hopefully, tomorrow's post will be better organized and less stream-of-consciousness. :)

*Goodness, how I hate that term, but that's another discussion for another time.

Bad Mommy. Bad Wife. Bad Blogger.

I guess it all goes hand-in-hand. :)

This week has been crazy-busy with work, Festival commitments, temper tantrums, and meltdowns.  Which leaves little time for things like taking Miles to the park.  Or buying a Father's Day gift for Patrick.  Or blogging.  Oops.  At least you have Friday Photos to look forward to.

If I have time to post them . . . :)

Lovin' That Feelin'

I'm getting better.

I can tell when I'd rather take Miles to a park than sit at home with him.

I can tell when he starts screaming, and I feel the urge to run to him, instead of away.

I can tell by the excitement I feel when taking him somewhere new, instead of panic.

Sometime after Boot Camp, everything . . . just clicked.  Panic attacks became less and less frequent.  I began to feel happier, more connected to the world, less afraid of what might happen.  And I feel myself falling in love with my son all over again.  Seeing him in a new light, and enjoying things about him that I'm not sure I would have noticed before.

Last weekend, I finally got up the courage to ask Patrick and Stacey if they had noticed a difference.  I was afraid that this change was all in my imagination - things were supposed to get better, so I was pretending they had.  So, I had to ask.

I was pleasantly surprised when they told me that I seem happier.  More myself than I have been.

When I first posted about my PPA, I received a wonderful letter from a family member who had gone through the same thing after the birth of one of her children.  She wrote to tell me I was not alone.  That others had survived it before me.  That depression and anxiety does not define those that struggle with it.  That it is possible to be happy and productive again.

She was right.  And I love her for sharing.

Ten Years Ago

This was me.

A high school senior, celebrating after the close of my very last high school theater production.*  Only a few weeks before graduation.  A few months before moving into the dorms to take a crack at living all on my own.  Finishing up what my grandfather told me would be the best years of my life.  I look back at myself, and I think:

Wow, I had a ton of hair.

Of course, that thought is quickly followed by: Wow.  Ten whole years.  In some ways, it seems like yesterday.  Mostly, though, it feels like a lifetime ago.  I had different friends.  Different priorities.  Different dreams.

Yesterday was my ten year high school reunion.  I was unable to attend for a variety of reasons, but it still occurred, marking a milestone in my ever-changing life.  Ten years ago, I was an adult, but still so much a child, in so many ways.  I had not yet held a job.  I had never lived all by myself.  I had never had the freedom - the terrifying, exhilarating freedom - to make all of my own decisions.  I had already met many of my closest friends.  I had already been dating Patrick for almost a year and a half.

But many of the things that define my life had yet to happen.  The loss of so many I held dear, particularly my grandmothers, who each helped shape my concept of what it means to be a wife, a mother, and a woman.  The divorce of my parents, and the ensuing loss of my childhood home.  The things I learned both in and out of class in college.  The births of my adopted nephews.  The bliss of finally saying "I Do" to the man I had loved for so long.  Finding the festival, and all of the wonder and heartache it brings.  The birth of my son, whose existence has completely changed every facet of who I am.

I look at that picture of the happy, carefree, long-haired girl and I see the sheer naive joy of the moment.

And yet, I have no desire to go back there.  Because my life now, at this moment, is even better than it was then.

And I realize, those were not the best years of my life.  These are.

*Girl Crazy, for those of you who are interested.

I'm Self-Unaware

When I posted last week about my bad day, I had a couple of people wondering why I don't talk about these things in real life.  Here's why:

I'm bad with words, in real time.  And I'm worse with understanding and putting words to my emotions.

Writing here is not simply a safe place, though that's part of it.  It's also a place where I can take the time to sort through what I feel, and what I have felt, and find the proper words to explain myself.  Writing opens my brain, allows me to analyze myself in ways that are simply impossible when I'm in the moment.  When I am struggling, my instinct is to do whatever I have to in order to get through the day.  It's not until later, when I have a quiet moment, that I am able to work through why I'm struggling.

In other words, I'm just not good at understanding what goes on in my own head.  What you read here on those occasions is the result of self-analysis.  It's not that I don't want to talk about these things out loud, or that I'm afraid to.  I simply can't.

So, there's your annoyingly long explanation.  Here's a cute picture of Miles to make up for it. :)

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.

Can't Keep Up!

Too many awesome things have been happening recently, so the updates you have read all week are usually at least a week old by the time you see them.  In an effort to catch up, here is another of my (in)famous lists.  I think I shall title this:

Cool Things That Have Happened This Week:


Saturday: Stacey and I hosted a baby shower for our dear friends Bethany and Shelby (whose mysteriously-named little boy is due in August).  The games were hysterical.

The cake was beautiful and delicious.

And the parents-to-be seemed to enjoy themselves.

All in all, a good day.

Sunday: I slept for an indecent number of hours, then spent hours playing with Miles, before wrapping up with dinner with Paul.  Not a bad day at all, I must say.  Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures worth sharing. :(

Monday: Took the Boy and met Bethany for brunch.  We had a marvelous conversation, and Miles was (for once) perfectly behaved the entire day.  It was glorious.  Even better, he fell asleep when we got home and napped for over three hours.  Then, we went outside to play, and he showed off his belly button:

Tuesday: Playdate at the Children's Farm with several friends and their kiddos.  A beautiful, relaxing trip which was sprinkled with lots of praise for my once again perfectly-behaved son.  I'll admit, I basked in it. 

Yes, that is my very active toddler, waiting quietly and patiently for his friends to arrive. *mommyglow*

Wednesday: After a week of playing around, Miles and I decided it was time to actually do some work.  Miles ran around playing nicely while I worked for almost an hour and a half straight, before he started getting cranky.  When asked what was wrong, he signed, "Food, please," so we ran to Arby's and grabbed some roast beef sandwiches (which he inhaled).  After lunch, he crawled up in my lap, gave me a huge snuggle-hug, and asked for his pacifier.  When I asked if it was naptime, he floored me by responding, "Yesh" and signing 'please'.  I rocked him for two minutes before he passed out.  I once again beamed with the delight of mommy pride. :)

And a bonus list, just for you loyal readers, who love them oh, so much, I'm sure. :)

Good Things I Discovered This Week:

• Something is working.  Whether it's medication, my renewed commitment to taking care of myself, a widening circle of wonderfully supportive friends, or maybe just the onset of an easier stage in Miles' development*, I have actually felt like a good mom a lot this week.  And that feeling has allowed me to remain calm and collected over things that usually throw me into a tailspin.  Hurray for a sense of normalcy.
• I have started to enjoy being around other people's children again.  Since I became pregnant with Miles, this has been a continuing struggle for me.  There are a few kiddos who have managed to endear themselves to me, but for the most part, I have had little interest in any kid except Miles.  This week, I found myself delighting in the antics of strangers' children for the first time in recent memory.
• I can be around babies without having a panic attack.  Even tiny ones.  And I think they're cute.  Which is good, since every freakin' woman I know is having a baby this year.
• Rather than freaking out at the thought of leaving Miles for even a few hours, I have started planning outings without him.  I have a date night with my charming hubby tomorrow, and a girls' night next weekend.  And I'm excited about it.
• And most of all, I've realized that, for the first time in a long time, I am content.  Thanks in no small part to all of you, who have supported me on this journey, and allowed me the room and given me the push I needed to get here.  I am so blessed to have each of you in my life.  Yes, even you, random internet stranger. ;)

*Please, oh please, let this be true!!!

Time Away

As I said on Saturday, I spent the weekend away.

By myself.

Well, more or less.  We had a performance on Saturday afternoon, which took me out of the house at 11:30 in the morning.  Afterward, I had dinner with a friend, then drove the nine million miles to the middle of nowhere to spend time with my Romani family.

For those who don't know, the Romani - or Great Travelers, as I am trying to learn to call them - are the support team for the Festival.  They dance.  They sing.  They woo.  But they also carry ice and water across the Faire site, making sure the rest of us don't get dehydrated.  They fill in when something goes wrong.  They clean. They haul.  They do all of the thankless jobs that need to be done.  And I am forever in awe of them.  I count myself lucky to be welcomed into the very tight family that they have created.

Every year, shortly after casting, all of the Great Travelers go out to a camp on the outskirts of town.  They call it Boot Camp, because it is a grueling four day event involving running, exercising, dancing, drumming, and all sorts of physical labor.  But it also serves as a wonderful time for them to bond and share time as a family.  Each year, I am invited to join them for at least part of the weekend.  This year, I couldn't say no.

No, really, I couldn't.  They needed help, so I went.

Though I worked some, and danced, and otherwise was kept busy the entire weekend, it was the most relaxing time I've had in a very long time.  For once, I did not have someone clinging to me every second, yelling "Mom-mom-mom" when I put him down.  I didn't have to keep my eyes and ears peeled for the slightest hint of his newest mischief.

Instead, I was surrounded by people who were quick to offer me love, support, and help, in whatever way I needed.  I spent the weekend being pampered by my family, and being allowed to just be quiet.  I wandered paths through the trees.  I sang songs and teared up at a story told around the most magnificent campfire.  I attended an outdoor church service that was more fulfilling than any I've been to in a long time.  And while I carried out my duties, I was allowed to just be quiet and contemplate, something I lack in my real life most days.

So yes, after my tirade last year about spending Mother's Day with my child, I spent this year alone in the woods with thirty-some people who are not blood-related.  But, they are my family.  And I needed them more than I knew.

Best.Husband.Ever

Why?

Because he bought me this for Mother's Day:

Within the first two hours after opening it, I took 109 pictures.  Miles was being rather uncooperative, or I'm sure it would have been much more.  So, expect a ton more pictures coming your way. :)

Like these:

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.