Listen, I want to let you in on a little secret. Effexor has made me less productive but I don't care. Before my anxiety was HIGH and my house was clean. I had a hard time falling asleep for all the worries in my head and I NEVER slept straight through the night. This was normal life. I was cranky and tearful and tired. Having babies saved me in some ways.
With the first, I suffered through. I kept all my fears and anxiety inside... breast feeding failed miserably and I was always looking for reasons why i was not measuring up to my own expectations. With the second child I broke down at the six week follow up with my OB/GYN. As she was leaving the room after the exam she stopped and said... "oh and by the way how are you doing." (Really I don't remember what she asked me but it had something to do with my handling of two kids.) I basically told her I didn't think I was cut out for it and got tearful. She told me that this had nothing to do with whether I was a capable mother but rather had to do with my hormones. She recommended a low dose of an antidepressant. I grabbed it up. And within a few weeks was feeling better. I changed medications to one that better suited me. Eventually, my dosage tripled to the average dose but that increase took over 3 years.
Miracles... I sleep through the night. I do not lay in bed worried and anxious about my kids mental health or my relationship with my Doc. Both these things are important to me but I can put them aside when my head hits the pillow. I have not slept through the night since I was in high school. This is kinda cool. I wake up refreshed. I am not grumpy, for the most part. I do not require extra sleep to make up for the disruptions that happen through the night. I am not grumbling about Doc's heavy breathing at night that kept me awake... or the heat of his body... or his sharp, sharp toe nails. Its all good.
But I will tell you what I have had to trade off. The anxious energy that kept my house clean is gone. Now I have to dig deep to find the motivation to keep it that way. And, let me say that it is dirtier than ever with 4 other people tossing their belongings to and fro without a thought. And my sexual impulses have dampened. This too needs effort to be sparked. All I can say is that I am a nicer person to be intimate with... haha. When Doc turns aside and falls asleep, guess what? So do I! Will wonders never cease.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
In honor of Ming Ming
We received our new Siamese cat, Ming Ming, last Tuesday. The house was newly invaded by the flu virus and still I had to travel to the airport to meet her plane. She traveled from Boston and my mother' arms to Mississippi. She is a very sweet cat. She has recently been released from the laundry room for longer periods of time and is continually heard crying if she loses sight of me or finds herself in a new part of the house.
Doc has tried to terrorize her by pouncing upon the bed where she lay. But Ming Ming is not timid and came right back into the room after her dash down the hall. Doc apologized and said he could not help it. He sees a cat and feels the need to take them down a peg or two. I opened my email this morning and found the Diary of a Cat from Doc. I am sure that this "diary" only confirms Doc's suspicions about the feline species.
Doc has tried to terrorize her by pouncing upon the bed where she lay. But Ming Ming is not timid and came right back into the room after her dash down the hall. Doc apologized and said he could not help it. He sees a cat and feels the need to take them down a peg or two. I opened my email this morning and found the Diary of a Cat from Doc. I am sure that this "diary" only confirms Doc's suspicions about the feline species.
CAT DIARY
Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a 'good little hunter' I am. Bastards!
They continue to pick me up and handle me, an obvious attempt to subvert me.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of 'allergies.' I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released -- and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
Tonight I will again lay on their heads while they sleep and hope to smother them.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
How we don't celebrate Valentine's Day
This is a crazy time of year for us. There are so many celebrations that we become numb to what they mean. Here, let me make a list. I love lists.
Every year Doc want to confirm that we are still doing it this way. He does not want to be caught off guard. I seems to always slip in something on the actual day. It never ceases to catch him by surprise because he has taken me at my word. (This year no worries hon, I did not do this.)
Every year I wait until after Valentine's Day and take advantage of the sales. Chocolates, cards, heart underwear, you know all the classic Valentine's Day treats get stashed away til mid summer.
Doc and I only dated a year before we were married. In fact, we were married on the anniversary of our first date. So we only celebrated one Valentine's Day in February. Our first date and our wedding anniversary are January 15th. One month later, Doc actually delivered a dozen roses to my work dressed as a florist deliveryman. He tried to get the florist to lend his clothes to this romantic endeavor but the florist cited some liability issues. So he found or bought a cap and put it low over his head as a disguise. I was not quite cooperative though because I had left work early so he ended up having to deliver the roses to my apartment. But it was one of the sweetest thing he has ever done. (The night he proposed was a very elaborate scavenger hunt with poems he had written as clue to where to find him. Eventually I ended up at the location of our first date, a cafe in a book store where we had talked for hours. But that is another story.)
So today is like any other day. There is no love in the air here. Just candy treat for kid's Valentine's day parties and Valentine's day cards that have to be addressed to every kid in the class. Nope there is no love going on here... just alot of work. Off to Avery's Valentine's Day party now then she comes home early. Oh joy! oh hearts! oh, flowers! NOT.
- Thanksgiving
- Christmas
- New Years
- Sister's Birthday - Jan 8th
- Wedding Anniversary - Jan 15th
- Brother's Birthday - Jan 25th
- Stephanie's Birthday - Feb 8th
- Valentine's Day
- Doc's Birthday - Feb 18th
Every year Doc want to confirm that we are still doing it this way. He does not want to be caught off guard. I seems to always slip in something on the actual day. It never ceases to catch him by surprise because he has taken me at my word. (This year no worries hon, I did not do this.)
Every year I wait until after Valentine's Day and take advantage of the sales. Chocolates, cards, heart underwear, you know all the classic Valentine's Day treats get stashed away til mid summer.
Doc and I only dated a year before we were married. In fact, we were married on the anniversary of our first date. So we only celebrated one Valentine's Day in February. Our first date and our wedding anniversary are January 15th. One month later, Doc actually delivered a dozen roses to my work dressed as a florist deliveryman. He tried to get the florist to lend his clothes to this romantic endeavor but the florist cited some liability issues. So he found or bought a cap and put it low over his head as a disguise. I was not quite cooperative though because I had left work early so he ended up having to deliver the roses to my apartment. But it was one of the sweetest thing he has ever done. (The night he proposed was a very elaborate scavenger hunt with poems he had written as clue to where to find him. Eventually I ended up at the location of our first date, a cafe in a book store where we had talked for hours. But that is another story.)
So today is like any other day. There is no love in the air here. Just candy treat for kid's Valentine's day parties and Valentine's day cards that have to be addressed to every kid in the class. Nope there is no love going on here... just alot of work. Off to Avery's Valentine's Day party now then she comes home early. Oh joy! oh hearts! oh, flowers! NOT.
Friday, February 8, 2008
It's my party and I'll cry if I want too...
you would cry too if there was so much "poo".
Side note: The "poo" reference is for KellyJean. You rock girlfriend!
Yes, it is once again my birthday. I would have to do the math to know for sure how old I am. I am sure Doc could come up with the number though. He loves being younger. Let's just say that I am in my lower 40s and probably over 42. I think I remember that birthday.
My sister and I are 11 months apart. I just got an email from her wishing me a happy birthday and celebrating the fact that I am again older than her. For one month out of the year we are the same number age. In our childhood, she loved it. She would say... "Now I can beat you up." But in our latter years she finds it a detriment. I am not sure why... I look way younger than her. (*waves at Bridget*)
Moms get the short end of the stick when it comes to birthdays. At least that is my experience. Things have a tendency to get in the way and sacrifices have to be made. And since we moms tend to sacrifice things much of the time... its not too surprising when it happens on the one real day that should be for you. This year its stomach viruses, on call schedules and the most exciting... dinner at McDonalds with Grandmommy.
And really its fine. I have no energy for it all. I wanted a nice quiet dinner alone with my husband. But he is on call AND has a stomach virus. If he is feeling better, he will most likely be in the hospital emergency room. If he is not feeling better, I would rather not sit over a nice dinner with his stomach cramping mockingly across the table from me. So we have moved my birthday celebration to next weekend which is also Doc's birthday.
The stomach virus is happy. The administration at the VA are happy, as are the psychiatrically unstable individuals that need a hospital bed somewhere in the country since none are available here on the coast. And the kids are happy since McDonalds playground is mostly likely a sure thing in their immediate future.
So I really don't want to cry. I am happily ignorant of my true age. The kids are back in school for the first time in over a week. My mother, who did not mention my birthday this morning, is preparing to send me Ming Ming, the Siamese cat. Yes, I am getting my cat.
Happy Birthday to me.
Side note: The "poo" reference is for KellyJean. You rock girlfriend!
Yes, it is once again my birthday. I would have to do the math to know for sure how old I am. I am sure Doc could come up with the number though. He loves being younger. Let's just say that I am in my lower 40s and probably over 42. I think I remember that birthday.
My sister and I are 11 months apart. I just got an email from her wishing me a happy birthday and celebrating the fact that I am again older than her. For one month out of the year we are the same number age. In our childhood, she loved it. She would say... "Now I can beat you up." But in our latter years she finds it a detriment. I am not sure why... I look way younger than her. (*waves at Bridget*)
Moms get the short end of the stick when it comes to birthdays. At least that is my experience. Things have a tendency to get in the way and sacrifices have to be made. And since we moms tend to sacrifice things much of the time... its not too surprising when it happens on the one real day that should be for you. This year its stomach viruses, on call schedules and the most exciting... dinner at McDonalds with Grandmommy.
And really its fine. I have no energy for it all. I wanted a nice quiet dinner alone with my husband. But he is on call AND has a stomach virus. If he is feeling better, he will most likely be in the hospital emergency room. If he is not feeling better, I would rather not sit over a nice dinner with his stomach cramping mockingly across the table from me. So we have moved my birthday celebration to next weekend which is also Doc's birthday.
The stomach virus is happy. The administration at the VA are happy, as are the psychiatrically unstable individuals that need a hospital bed somewhere in the country since none are available here on the coast. And the kids are happy since McDonalds playground is mostly likely a sure thing in their immediate future.
So I really don't want to cry. I am happily ignorant of my true age. The kids are back in school for the first time in over a week. My mother, who did not mention my birthday this morning, is preparing to send me Ming Ming, the Siamese cat. Yes, I am getting my cat.
Happy Birthday to me.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Mardis Gras and Lent
Mardi Gras is a big deal down here in the South. As a Northerner I don't get it. It is only one of the many things in the South I do not get. I ponder these things a bit, shrug my shoulders, roll my eyes or chuckle... it all depends on the specific oddity. But Mardi Gras is something I do not chuckle about.
Mardis Gras has origins dating back to the ancient Greece and Rome. But the Mardi Gras that is celebrated in modern day is basically a Catholic holiday which gives people the opportunity to go "wild" before the season of Lent. Fat Tuesday is the last day that wild over indulgence can be overlooked. With Ash Wednesday comes sobriety and sacrifice.
Okay, that is all fine and good, even if you think moderation in all things is a good practice. But this over indulgence allows a three day holiday for not only all schools but many businesses and anything associated with school. So my daughter has no ballet and Taekwondo is cancelled as well. My kids are out of school for three days. Why? Forget the fact that I like my quiet time. My kids are missing three days of school so they can attend a parade or two on Tuesday. Why is Monday cancelled? Why is Wednesday cancelled? You got me. Maybe for recooping after the overindulgence.
But beside all that, here is how we celebrated Mardi Gras. It started with stomach cramp, then a poopy diaper, and another and another and the stink that came along. Not the regular poopy diaper stink but horrendously appalling stink that you just can not believe comes from an innocent 2 year old. Then comes more crying and raw bottoms and denial of poopy diapers to avoid the cleaning up process that hurts the raw bottom. And this is just one kid.
It moved to mommy who has a hard time not cuddling and kissing her kids. And who maybe regretted those cuddles and kisses momentarily while hunched over moaning from vicious stomach cramps. And then it moved to the older boy who came down with a very high temperature and would not let mommy leave his vicinity. He even reproached his mommy for leaving the bedroom when he was sleeping.
And now its Ash Wednesday. Stomachs are still rumbling and rushing to the bathroom not yet a thing of the past. B ut the viciousness of yesterday have past. Lent has begun. We think about things to give up. I'd like to give up the following:
Mardis Gras has origins dating back to the ancient Greece and Rome. But the Mardi Gras that is celebrated in modern day is basically a Catholic holiday which gives people the opportunity to go "wild" before the season of Lent. Fat Tuesday is the last day that wild over indulgence can be overlooked. With Ash Wednesday comes sobriety and sacrifice.
Okay, that is all fine and good, even if you think moderation in all things is a good practice. But this over indulgence allows a three day holiday for not only all schools but many businesses and anything associated with school. So my daughter has no ballet and Taekwondo is cancelled as well. My kids are out of school for three days. Why? Forget the fact that I like my quiet time. My kids are missing three days of school so they can attend a parade or two on Tuesday. Why is Monday cancelled? Why is Wednesday cancelled? You got me. Maybe for recooping after the overindulgence.
But beside all that, here is how we celebrated Mardi Gras. It started with stomach cramp, then a poopy diaper, and another and another and the stink that came along. Not the regular poopy diaper stink but horrendously appalling stink that you just can not believe comes from an innocent 2 year old. Then comes more crying and raw bottoms and denial of poopy diapers to avoid the cleaning up process that hurts the raw bottom. And this is just one kid.
It moved to mommy who has a hard time not cuddling and kissing her kids. And who maybe regretted those cuddles and kisses momentarily while hunched over moaning from vicious stomach cramps. And then it moved to the older boy who came down with a very high temperature and would not let mommy leave his vicinity. He even reproached his mommy for leaving the bedroom when he was sleeping.
And now its Ash Wednesday. Stomachs are still rumbling and rushing to the bathroom not yet a thing of the past. B ut the viciousness of yesterday have past. Lent has begun. We think about things to give up. I'd like to give up the following:
- days off from school
- stomach viruses
- stinky smells of all kinds
- dirty diapers
- excessive time in the bathroom
- reading on the commode
- children sleeping on the floor in my bedroom
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