Fish burps, low rise toddler britches, and being okay with not being okay.

I hid most of the weekend. The yard sale was almost a disaster. Then we had unexpected guests. Then we had a cookout with the neighbors which inevitably led to overtired very dirty kids and jovial beer drinking men talking too loud about tools, trucks and fire works.

I woke up Sunday morning and decided that I was going to be okay. I was finding it very liberating to have a doctor tell me that I wasn’t just lazy, or tired, or the mother of a few too many kids. It wasn’t just depression, or stress, or my childhood, or some other disorder that they read off of my family history sheet.

I’m not bad, I’m just wired different. It’s okay. It’s not an excuse to behave badly but it does explain my bad behavior. Now that I know, I can seek out new ways to learn how to cope, how to function.

My options for medicinal assistance are slim because I’m still nursing. So I pulled out my Fish Oil capsules, went to the store for my Sunday coupons before I could forget, and set about intentionally focusing on spending time with my husband. He rarely gets my attention, and it’s never undivided.

It was a great day. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. We laughed. We had dinner at the table. It didn’t taste good, but no one complained. Even our non-eating Bubbagirl sat in her chair and tried a few raisins. He read them a bed time story and tucked them in, spending a few extra minutes since he knew he’d be gone most of the week.

Today, the girls willing helped to tidy things up before our Mommy Helper arrived. I tidied our bedroom, which like my husband rarely sees my attention. I helped tidy their bedroom. I gathered dirty laundry and tidied the living room. I vacuumed and moved the chairs to make room for the sofa bed; the girls reward for helping was getting to take out the sofa bed while Daddy was gone. I sewed. It was another day taking the Fish Oil and I’m starting to really believe the reports that is somehow helps with OCPD and ADHD. Things didn’t go my way, but I stayed calmer than usual. I finished tasks. I worked logically. I still became bummed when I repacked my “for sale” items I had made and set out at the yard sale. It will take more than Fish Oil for me to really think my stuff is worth selling to anyone. I did manage to refrain from shutting down my Artfire store, which was my plan when I started to get down about the whole thing.

Sewing Bubbagirl’s new pants upside down didn’t help any either…talk about feeling like a doofus!  I managed to laugh, focused on what I did successfully sew today and set it all down until tomorrow.

I’ve had my chocolate, the kids are asleep, and I think I’m going curl up on my hubby’s pillow and watch something on tv that he would probably watch. I’ll pretend he’s laying in bed behind me, watching with me and I’ll fall asleep dreaming of the days ahead as we start our journey together to get our family healthy.

Oh, the poor children

*snicker*
So, I just had my doctor’s appointment. The one where I was supposed to go and ask for a referral for a full evaluation to determine why I have such difficulty with… well… life. With a history of Adult ADHD and Recurrent Situational Depression and OCD I have good reason to wonder if maybe I’m not really that much of a slacker after all. May-be-there is is a logical source for my difficulties.
Duh.
That’s pretty much what he said. The doctor.
He said… duh. Sort of.
I think the very fact that I knew my anxiety level would be so high, and my mom knew it would be high, that she took the time to type up some of the “venting” I had shared with her recently so I wouldn’t get all lost in the “oh crap I have to meet a NEW doctor and I hate doctors and he’s a dude and I hate dude doctors but I hate girl ones too” anxiety and forget impressed him. I think it pointed out just how serious my anxiety is, how serious my frustrations are and how much it is effecting various areas of my life. My husband’s note at the bottom read “She expects too much out of everyone INCLUDING herself.” and “If you swap items on her “schedule” for the day  you might as well just go to bed and start over. She shuts down”
He didn’t question my concerns at all. Of course I have engrained short circuits and chemical issues. The wires are wired differently by inherited traits. I have had two recent pregnancies fairly close together and never came back to my “base line” between them so I’m taking an extra long time finding “base” now.
That’s where we need to start he said. Get me back to base. Base isn’t happy. Base is a place where I am capable of using coping skills.
He also said I had a head start because I have GREAT coping skills, when I’m capable of using them.  Right now, my subconscious has started to just blow chemicals left and right trying to compensate and what I’m feeling is utter chaos in my brain.  My cycling up and down, never quite becoming depressed and never quite becoming full on manic, is shallow but fast. The days of OCD behaviors where I sew anything that will fit under my machine are wonderful but quickly followed by days where I do good to sit in my chair and post sewing ideas on Pinterest. Interruptions to either of my swings is met with anger, harsh tones, or tears.
So, I wait. For him to talk to the psychiatrist. Seems the most commonly used medications to help slow the roll of my … roll are either in a family of medications that I have had issues with before or they can’t be taken while nursing. Effexor, one of the more commonly offered options, creates a slew of side effects in me that go beyond the ones in their reference books. My feet turn purple y’all. I can’t go there.
I wait for the call that he has called something in, something to try, somewhere to start. Then I make the call to schedule counseling because I promised him I would.
We get back to base. We slow the roll so I can pull out my basket of coping skills and start again.
Hubby is getting help now too. He has his own laundry list of issues.He saw the same doctor two days ago.
When Dr. M realized that he was with me he just laughed…. “oh your poor kids” and chuckled a little. Then made me promise to believe them when they say “it’s hard momma”, “I can’t, I don’t understand”, and to take the time to teach them my skills, to show them a better way and to see help and guidance from professionals who can help. Because the genetics didn’t stop with me, or with the Mister. We have four beautiful children, who will have beautiful lives, that will be full and functional because when their parents stopped and acknowledged that there was something “not right” they bit the bullet and asked for help. Even when it was hard, and scary, and they had been told before that it was in their imagination.
Getting leveled out will not fix all that is wrong. It will help me to take the time to learn the skills I’ll need to function more productively, and maybe …..maybe… with a softer tone and bigger smile.
 
**Oh, I almost fell out of my chair when he said my OCD would get worse on the meds before things got better. I mean… I don’t have OCD. People with that wash their hands a bajillion times or open and close the doors right? ummm, He was very kind when he chuckled and then pointed out all the examples I had given him in the previous 15 minutes of me exhibiting OCD behavior. It’s not always about repetition. Sometimes it’s about days on end where the only task I can do is to sew, or clean, or cook, or write, or read… just one thing, non stop, as if my life depended on it. Because sometimes it does feel that way. Sew or die. Write or die. Clean or die. Who knew? **

Dear Diary, May 31st 2011

Dear Diary,

Who the heck did I upset to deserve this?

CIMG1124

I mean really.

I’m okay with a bad day. I’m even okay with whiney kids.

The drawer in the bathroom full of sticky bottles where the baby’s gripe water leaked? I was okay with that too.

Until I noticed the gripe water was full of ants. Apparently child proof caps can’t stop a hoard of colicky ants.

I held my cool while hunting the possible black widow spider in the garage (that was never found).

I managed to not throw up as my children drew pictures of the antennaed multi legged stripy big eyed bug they found in their bathroom- that apparently got away as well.

The tears from the emotional nine year old? Swiped, calmed and kissed.

The hour long cryfest from the baby over nothing? Consoled.

Today was sucking but I was making lemonade….and then this happened.

This figurine that I have had and glued and pieced together for at least 25 years was destroyed when the pegboard I so proudly blogged about last night fell.

As I was cuddling my sleeping toddler girl with the baby sleeping on a big pillow at my feet, the velcro strips gave way and it all came crashing down.

The velcro didn’t, but the sticky part did. It just didn’t adhere. The strips are rated to hold the weight but when Mr. gets home that will be the first thing he comments on, how I had so much on there.

But it wasn’t the velcro, it was the sticky part that failed me.

I counted my blessings that none of the sewing machines were damaged, or the wall, or the peg board and then I cried.

I feel things crawling on me constantly even when there is nothing there. Peanut and I are covered in bug bites. I have resorted to fighting off ants with furniture polish. I have wasted a day and a half trying to put out emotional fires from my kids. Now I’m feeling like a slob, and a failure, and I have retreated under my rock.  My ability to filter my thoughts before they come out my mouth was faltering and it seemed best to log out of my favorite hang outs and hide.

Sincerely,

The Tattered Tadey

My Knight on a white horse…

well, ok, so there isn’t a white horse but he is definitely my hero. Again.
Since Peanut was born, we have had more weeks with Daddy out of town for work than we’ve had with him home.  This is not what his job was supposed to be like.  The occasional trip out yes, but weeks on weeks on weeks?!  I was going a little crazy.  Everything has been piling up on me.  The overwhelmed feeling wasn’t waning.  Even when people tried to help it was just too much for me to even start on.
Then we were told “someone” didn’t do “their stuff” correctly, and he would have to go out of town again tomorrow.  I cried.  Then I started crying over every thing. Every sound.  Every request.  Nothing helped. No one could help.
I told him last night that I just didn’t even want to try anymore.  I didn’t want to try and clean, or sew, or organize, or make the call, or write the article.  Every thing required so much planning and effort to get everyone else settled and quiet so that I could have five minutes to try and do dishes or shower or plan school.  It just wasn’t worth the effort anymore.  The spiral of depression was RIGHT THERE.  I was looking at it.  I told him it was there and that I was losing control of it.
I think he became more concerned than usual because he knows I have been eating better, exercising and have actually lost a few pounds and inches.  I “should have” been excited, energized, and motivated.  The fact that I wasn’t meant I was really, REALLY struggling.
There was no time or money to call in my mom for a quick “send the kids to Nanny’s house” rescue mission.  He had 24 hours to pick me up enough to get me through till his return.  He proved today how well he knows me.
**FTR: My husband HATES to change things. If he put the couch on the southern wall it should stay there forEVER and EVER Amen.  I am a rearrange-aholic. Just Sayin**
Today, HE suggested we move my sewing stuff to an area that I can get to it easier.  So I might be able to sneak a stitch in here and there while doing other things.  So into the kitchen my sewing stuff came.  All.Of.It.  Into the stuff upstairs room went all the school stuff, and the music stuff, and the computer desk.  My extra use-once-a-year appliances, they were moved onto a bookcase in the garage.  He even moved his fish tank.  It’s huge.  It’s only been moved once before, when we moved into this house a year and a half ago.  We’ve had it almost six years.

I have tubs and boxes of CRAP to get reorganized now.  Actually, the pack and play is entirely full of stuff that will need to be sorted and put away.   We were in a hurry.  That was a LOT of moving for one day.
Since the kitchen table looked like this:

and the stove/counters aren’t any better, we ordered pizza.  Not in my diet but I didn’t care.  We made a thousand trips up and down the stairs today.  I’m pooped.
BUT, I’m excited about tomorrow.  Tomorrow I can give them there lessons, and start sorting.  Maybe we’ll paint the pumpkins my in laws bought over the weekend.  At least for now I’m not crying.  If I get sad, I can go sit in the kitchen and look at my purty fabric 🙂