I had a clever title for this one, but I think I left it in the dishwasher

What I did between 3:00 and 6:30 this evening:

1. Picked up the girls from school, at two different campuses, each complete with its own nightmare of congested traffic.

2. Picked up Big Boy from the sitter.

3. Began preparing an after-school snack for the girls.

4. Called Deputy Dad in a panic when The Drama Queen - acting on a tip from the dogs* - spied a RATTLESNAKE - coiled, rattling, and ready to strike - in the backyard, a few feet from the back door. (Thankfully, she was in the house, and saw it through the sliding glass door.)

5. Called Father-In-Law in a panic about the rattlesnake, because Deputy Dad was 20 miles from town and transporting a prisoner.

6. Stood at the back door and watched the Big Dog do the Dance Of Death with the rattlesnake while waiting for Father-In-Law to ride up on his white horse and slay the dragon rescue the kids and me from the rattlesnake holding us hostage.

7. Consoled Miss Attitude, who was scared to death that one of the dogs would get bitten.

8. Watched (from the safety of the living room) Father-In-Law beat the holy hell out of the rattlesnake with a rake, throw it over the fence to the front yard, retrieve it, and throw it in the back of his pickup.

9. Consoled Miss Attitude, who was scared to death that Poppy would get bitten.

10. Thanked Father-In-Law profusely, and pretended not to hear when he told the neighbor, “You know, when you find one, there’s sure to be more.” (ACK!)

11. Returned to business of preparing after-school snack. Apples had already started to turn.

12. Changed Big Boy’s poopy diaper.

13. Recounted Rattlesnake Tale in phone conversations with Deputy Dad and Mother-In-Law.

14. Supervised homework of two daughters while simultaneously trying to soothe/entertain/pacify Big Boy, who was fussy, cranky, and angry that he didn’t have my full attention.

15. Lost patience with The Drama Queen when she wouldn’t pay attention to the instructions for her Social Studies Six Weeks Project, due in a week and a half. (Today was only the fifth day of school.)

16. Changed Big Boy’s poopy diaper (AGAIN).

17. Regained composure and patience.

18. Consoled The Drama Queen, who was in tears because “Third grade is just too hard!” (Again, FIFTH day of school. God help me.)

19. Decided we had ‘worked on’ the Project enough for today, and sent the girls to take their showers.

20. Wondered what the HELL we would have for supper, since it was already 5:30 by then.

21. Called a sympathetic Deputy Dad, who said he’d pick up some barbecue on the way home for his supper break.

22. Emptied dishwasher, being careful not to let Big Boy slam my hand in the door, as he opened/closed/opened/closed it.

23. Rinsed dirty dishes and put them in dishwasher, loading the stuff on the bottom rack no less than eleventy hundred times, since Big Boy was still “helping.”

24. Moved Big Boy to the living room so he wouldn’t hurt himself on the kitchen floor when he threw a tantrum worthy of a two-year-old (He’s SO advanced) after I shut and latched the dishwasher door, declaring “All done!”

25. Waited for what seemed like an eternity (but was probably closer to 20 minutes) for Deputy Dad to show up with the barbecue.

26. Breathed a heavy sigh of relief as Deputy Dad’s work truck pulled into the driveway.

*The Big Dog was such a good boy this time, alerting us to the danger, while carefully keeping himself from getting bitten. Maybe I was wrong before, when I called the dogs useless, ungrateful mongrels.

* * * * *

UPDATE 8/30/05:

Bucky said:
I’d have been crappin’ my pants and throwin’ a holy fit if my dog was out there with the rattler!

I probably should have included this in my original post, but I did have a couple of reasons for not bringing the dogs in, the main one being that I WANTED the Big Dog to keep barking at the snake. I knew as long as he kept barking at it, the snake would stay coiled, ready to strike, and IN THE SAME SPOT. If I called the dogs away from the snake, it would move on and I WOULD HAVE NO CLUE WHERE THE DAMN THING WAS, which would be SO not good. I wanted to know for sure where it was, right up until it was (a) good and dead, and (b) MILES AWAY from my house.

BUT. I certainly didn’t want either of the dogs to get snakebit.

SO. I stood at the sliding glass door, watching the Big Dog bark at the snake. (The Little Dog stood on the opposite side of the patio, wetting himself and looking appropriately frightened.) The Big Dog was standing at a safe distance (out of strike range), barkingbarkingbarking the strong, protective, snake-scaring bark of a yellow lab. Whenever he moved closer to the snake, I would tap on the door, and he’d move back, out of strike range. Thus, I was able to be a big chicken shit keep the dogs safe, without actually, you know, putting myself or my children in harm’s way, which sounds eversomuch more brave and grandiose than, There was no way in hell I was leaving my kids unattended in the house while I stepped outside and tried to wrangle two hyper, riled-up dogs, with a rattlesnake just a few feet away.

May I have your attention, please?

Happy Birthday to youuuuu
Happy Birthday to youuuuu
Happy Birthday, psumommy
Happy Birthday to youuuuu

How I’m doing

I’ve reinstated the posts I had pulled down. I had just stored them in my ‘drafts’ and not deleted them. To my great surprise and delight, when I re-posted them, the comments on those entries were also restored. I re-read everyone’s kind words and got all emotional and teary again.

I explained to a couple of you, via email, what happened and why I pulled the posts down. Here’s a copied-and-pasted explanation for the rest of the group:

I was feeling SO much better after I talked to my doctor. Then I went to get the prescription filled, and I had my first taste of what an anxiety attack must feel like….I started sweating and shaking, I felt like crying, I felt sick, I just kept thinking, “ohgodohgodohgodohgod we cannot afford this…” How the hell can an antidepressant that costs so much make anyone feel better? I sank so low…lower, I think, than I’ve ever been.

I wrote a frantic, frenzied post [Thursday] night…I just needed to (virtually) scream for a minute…

Y’know, the thing about this “anonymous” blogging thing is…once you’ve made some online friends, you’re really not anonymous at all anymore. Within a couple of hours, a kind soul was offering to set up a Paypal button for me. I felt….well, it just didn’t feel right, the thought of virtual (in both senses of the word) strangers doing that for me, so I asked her not to, and pulled all of the posts down. I just…I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. And I started thinking that I probably shouldn’t have aired my dirty laundry in the first place. I mean, it felt good to get it all out, but…..I don’t know.

So. That’s what went down.

And, as you can see, I’ve decided to air my dirty laundry once again. Because, really, it’s not so much ‘dirty laundry’ as it is just a part of me. And I am allowed to be me, especially here, in my own damn web space.

That Thursday night, I really was in worse shape than I’d ever been in. I felt like I had finally, officially become more of a liability than an asset to my family. (The formula is something like this:

C + EH - E = NW

where C=Mom’s Contributions to the family, EH=Mom’s Emotional Health, E=Mom’s Expenses to the Family (including costs for maintenance of physical/mental health), and NW=Mom’s Net Worth to the family. When NW becomes a negative number, Mom has officially become a liability to the family. (Look, I told you I’m math and logic-oriented. I can’t help it.)) The entire hour’s drive home from the doctor’s office that afternoon, I tried to perfect a plan…

Okay, I can’t swallow a bunch of pills, because the life insurance probably doesn’t cover suicide. So it has to look like an accident. Maybe if I swerve over in front of an eighteen-wheeler….But what if that doesn’t kill me? What if I just end up in the hospital? That’s even MORE expense and frustration for everyone. Good grief, what if I ended up needing medical care for the rest of my life because of it? Then I’d be even MORE of a liability. So…maybe if I can get the Suburban going fast enough, like 95 or 100 mph, then swerve over in front of a semi at the last minute? Surely that would do it…

Yes, it’s scary, I know. I’m sorry, but I’m just being honest here. And I honestly think the only thing that kept me from doing it that day was the fact that I’d already payed for the damn prescription. It was sitting in the passenger seat, right beside me. No sense letting it go to waste, right? (It’s fairly obvious that the “rational” part of my brain has lost all sense of what “rational” actually is.)

I started the meds that Thursday evening (8/11). Deputy Dad had already called the local mental health program; he knows the people there through his job. They saw me on Friday; I still felt so dark and lifeless inside, I couldn’t hardly talk about anything. The woman who interviewed me, D, said if I qualified for their program, I could get my meds at no cost. I went back on Monday for more paperwork, talked to their psychiatrist Wednesday, and found out I had qualified (which is either good or bad, depending on how you look at it: good, because I can get help without the expense of it making me want to do myself in; and bad, because hello? Mental Health program? I thought that was just for the mentally ill? Oh. Depression. Illness. Right.) I found out later that they actually have a waiting list, but D had pulled some strings to get me in right away because she felt like I “really needed help.” (See preceding parenthetical good/bad evaluation.)

The past week or so has been a rollercoaster ride. I’ve had moments when I’ve felt really upbeat and thought, “Hey! The meds must be working. I feel better already!” (They told me it would probably take at least two weeks to notice any difference at all; and a month or so to see a significant difference.)

I’ve had moments of paranoid panic, like last Wednesday night, when I actually heard voices.*

I’ve also had more sinking-to-the-bottom moments, like last Friday (my birthday), when Deputy Dad and I had plans to go out to dinner! together! just the two of us! without the kids! We’d been planning for and looking forward to our ‘date’ for months; I spent all day Friday excited about our plans, thinking, Okay, I’ll leave work at 4:00, get home, Deputy Dad will grab a quick shower and get dressed, we’ll drop off the kids at the in-laws’ and be on our way. Then, when I got home that afternoon, Big Boy had just gotten up from his nap, which he had, apparently, not finished. He was cranky and fussy; he needed a snack; the girls were whining for a snack; the living room was a wreck; the kitchen was a DISASTER. I was immediately upset and in a bad mood, the moment I walked in the door. Deputy Dad sat in the chair while I held Big Boy with one hand and fixed his snack with the other hand; then I got the girls a snack. Deputy Dad was STILL sitting in the chair when I said, “Umm…why don’t you go ahead and jump in the shower?” While he was showering and dressing, I ran around like a wild woman, emptying and filling the dishwasher, cleaning up the kitchen, straightening up the living room, and carrying a cranky, whiny toddler half the time, while I was working. By the time Deputy Dad casually sauntered out of the bedroom, clean, dressed, and ready to go, I was angry, upset, and disappointed, and hot and sweaty from all the running around. I didn’t want to go ANYWHERE. It took a few hours to finally cool off (physically and mentally), and then, of course, it was too late to go; so I spent the rest of the evening crying because I’d ruined our plans.

Saturday was terrible, too, emotionally. I’ll spare you the details on that one; this is already long enough. But yesterday was a little better. Like I said, it’s been a rollercoaster.

Anyway. That’s “How I’ve Been,” an update for the kind souls who’ve been inquiring…and for the kind souls who were afraid to ask.

Once again, I must thank you all for being so loving and supportive through this. It has meant so much to me.

. . .
*I always thought the whole hearing voices thing was…well, I don’t really know what I thought about it, except that it sounded pretty kooky. But…I woke up Wednesday night because I thought I heard** someone call my first and last name. Thinking it must be some kind of crossover dream/waking thing (even though it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before), I went back to sleep, only to wake up a short time later when I heard Miss Attitude whispering, “Mama…..Mama….” Somehow I knew she wasn’t there, but I sat up in the bed to look for her anyway. She wasn’t. I was totally. freaked. out. I was shaking and scared, thinking, Okay, I’m hearing things. What’s next? Seeing things? I even woke up Deputy Dad and told him about it, I was so freaked out and panicked. I called D (mental health lady) the next day; she said hearing voices can be caused by depression, or as a side effect of the meds. She instructed me to keep a journal and let her know if it happened again. Thankfully, it has not. ‘Cause, seriously. Freaked. My. Shit. Out.

**I keep wanting to say, “I thought I heard…”, but there was no mistake that I heard it. It wasn’t like when the TV’s on, and you think you hear someone calling you. It was totally different. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before (and, hopefully, never will again). *shudder*

Facing the music

Yes, it’s true. I am officially over 30 today. (I’m 31.)

I was using my birthday as an excuse to claim one of kalki’s yummy chocolate cupcakes, and that gal decided to throw me a virtual party! Thanks kalki! I blove you!

* SPOILER ALERT* Rockstar: INXS

Just a few footnotes to tonight’s elimination show:

MiG is a class act.

I think Deanna had a seizure during her song. And I kept worrying her skirt would fall down.

It’s about time Jessica went home. (Props to Closet Metro for totally predicting that one.)

Blogging Rockstar: INXS

Some thoughts on tonight’s episode of Rockstar:INXS:

• What the hell was that chain-thing dangling from Brooke Burke’s hand all night?
• Why does Dave Navarro look so much like Satan?
• Jordis totally rocked. Not surprising. She always does.
• Jessica = largely forgettable
• Seriously, WTF was Ty thinking, with those plaid polyester pants?
• I’m not sure I heard any of Suzie’s performance. That sparkly nose ring was too damn distracting.
• Every week I am more and more impressed with Marty. He got stuck with (gack, I can’t even type her name) you-know-who’s (Hit Me)…Baby One More Time. He totally rearranged it, “took out the candy,” as he said, and made it a little dark. Wow. Just…wow.
• Deanna’s performance was just painful to watch. Pack your bags, hon.
• J.D. = cocky bastard.
• MiG…ah, MiG. I love your way, too, Baby.

Anyone else have anything to add? Mrtl?

Big Boy 14-Month Newsletter

Monday, August 15, 2005

Dear Big Boy:

Today you turned 14 months old. The day went by without any fanfare or celebration, just a casual acknowledgment of your 14-month-day, accompanied by a nagging reminder of how quickly the time is passing.

This month has been another busy one, what with your daily discoveries of new and potentially harmful objects to shove into your mouth, along with your insistence upon developing more and more advanced skills, the most recent and significant of which is WALKING. Yes, that’s right; you’ve finally started getting around on two limbs instead of four. This means two things: (1) We can finally say “yes” to all the nosy people who, upon seeing you, immediately ask, “Is he walking yet?”; and (2) We’re spending even more time chasing you, as you do your Frankenbaby walk (legs stiff, arms out in front of you) around the house, swaying to and fro like a drunk and leaning precariously to one side or the other, constantly threatening to topple over and slam your soft skull into the nearest table/chair/wall/door. Congratulations, Son. God help us, you’re officially a Toddler.

As if the constant anxiety over your new mode of transportation (a.k.a. those chubbilicious little legs of yours) was not enough, you seem to have embarked on a quest to find The Perfect Toy. The thousands of age-appropriate toys overfilling your toy box and scattered throughout the house are just not good enough anymore; there must be something better. So off you go to find the elusive Perfect Toy, the one which will satisfy all of your sensory needs and perhaps even retain your attention for more than 5 seconds. Your journey usually ends in the kitchen, where you have discovered the joys of rifling through the kitchen utensil drawer, a veritable treasure trove of rubber spatulas, measuring cups, and wire whisks. You’re not quite tall enough to actually SEE into the drawer, so you pull yourself up by the drawer edge, standing on your tippiest of toes, and reeeeach as far as you can into the drawer, grasping whatever your hands graze. Once you’ve found your treasure, the only logical thing to do is force it out of the drawer and promptly deposit it into your mouth.

I’m not sure if you’ve found that Perfect Toy yet, but you’ve managed to cover every kitchen utensil in the drawer with slobber. Oh, the slobber! We’re sure you’re teething again, since we’re once again mopping up puddles of drool from your chin, your clothes, the floor…wherever you happen to drip. You still just have those front eight teeth you sprouted almost simultaneously a few months ago, but we’re expecting new neighbors for them anytime now.

Even though walking and slobbering are consuming most of your time and energy these days, you still find a few moments here and there for the other activities you enjoy. Several times a day, you bring one of us - Daddy, The Drama Queen, Miss Attitude, or me - books to read to you. You’ve started pointing at the pictures and babbling, and you love to turn the pages as we read, even if we haven’t quite finished the page. And you still love to spend quiet time alone with your books, just sitting, standing, or lying on the floor and “reading.” It always makes me smile to see you enjoying a book.

You also still love to bury your face in my hair; and you’ve decided that, when I’m out of reach, your sisters’ hair makes an acceptable substitute. I don’t know what it is about our long hair that captivates and comforts you. The summer heat has forced me to pull mine into a ponytail a lot lately. When you’re tired, cranky, hurt, or upset, you fuss and grab at my ponytail until I finally oblige you and pull it down. Then you sigh with content and make sweet little happy noises as you rub your face and hands in it.

In a disturbing twist, you discovered my eyelashes and eyebrows this month. And when I say “disturbing,” I mean “Son, please keep your fingers out of my eyeballs.” Rocking you and singing your bedtime lullaby isn’t nearly as peaceful and relaxing when you keep poking me in the eye, threatening to send my contact lens screaming from its rightful home.

It certainly has been a busy month, as they all are, I suppose. There’s just so much growing and playing and growing and discovering and growing and…did I mention the growing? Ah, yes. It’s just happening too fast.

Only moments ago, as I was typing this, you awoke suddenly and cried out - not the gentle whimper of a baby stirring in his sleep, but a startled, fearful cry, the kind of cry that sends mamas flying from their beds (or their computer chairs) to the baby’s crib in a panic. Something had frightened you, or worried you; some bad dream or anxious thought disturbed your slumber and made you cry out. I looked you over for any signs of physical distress (there were none), gave you your pacifier, and held you tightly and whispered in your ear. You settled quickly, your head snuggled under my chin, your breathing slowing to a more comfortable rate. I didn’t want to put you back in your bed, not only because I was still pretty shaken from my panicked sprint to your room, but also because those moments - standing in your room, nuzzling your hair, swaying back and forth, as your little baby body relaxed and became heavy with sleep - are the ones I want to hold on to the most.

I love you, my Big Boy, my Little Man.

Love,
Mama

[Insert random stream of cuss words here]

We can not afford this.

We can NOT afford this.

How is an antidepressant supposed to make a depressed person…antidepressed, when it costs so damn much?!?

Money - well, LACK of money - is my number one source of stress. And now I have MORE stress.

We can not afford this.

I felt so much better this morning.

I felt better after I talked to the doctor today.

Then I went to get the damn prescription filled.

Ninety-seven dollars and seventy-eight cents. For one month’s worth of meds.

WHUMP! went my heart, sinking to my feet. I started sweating and shaking. I felt sick. I felt like crying.

Yes, I know, that’s not a lot of money to some people. But when you have three kids, you work part-time, and your husband is an underpaid law enforcement officer; when your budget is already stretched to its limit…it’s a hell of a lot.

And I’m supposed to get counseling, too?!?

We can not afford this.

How is this supposed to help? The whole point of this “getting better” stuff was so I wouldn’t do something that would have a negative effect on my family.

Well, not eating, that’s pretty negative.

Yes, I know, we’ll eat, blahblahblah. We’ll find a way, he said. But at what expense? Who else in this family will have to suffer because Mom’s screwed up?

I can’t type anymore. I’m shaking. I’m crying. I just needed to get on the computer and (virtually) scream for a minute, because I am SCREAMING inside.

[Insert clever and witty title here]

The talk with Deputy Dad went well.

I was surprised that he didn’t seem surprised. I told him as much, and he said he had wondered if I’d been “having those thoughts.”

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?”

“Well, if you weren’t having those thoughts, I didn’t want to, you know, give you any ideas.”

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

With our crazy schedules - he’s at work when I’m at home, and vice versa - we just don’t sit down and TALK as often as we need to. Last night, we each found out that we’ve had some misconceptions about what the other is thinking and feeling lately.

We ended up talking for almost three hours. Once we’d exhausted the topic of my mental health, we moved on to other things. It was…it was wonderful. It was so nice to just TALK to each other, to spend some unhurried, unbusy time together. Not that there weren’t plenty of things to do around the house, mind you. It’s a wreck. But last night we ignored everything else and just focused on each other.

I’ll see my doctor this afternoon at 1:00. I don’t plan on spending any time on the computer at home this evening, so I’ll try to update tomorrow morning.

Thank you all so much for your continued love and support. It has helped more than you know.

Making a Plan

I updated my last entry. I seriously can’t believe I didn’t even think to mention that ‘episode’ when I was writing about depression in my past. It’s like I’d just blocked it from my memory. Makes me feel like…like I’m not being completely honest with myself, or something.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what factors were different in my life, when I was happier, when I didn’t have this huge, black cloud looming over me. Here are a few:

1. I exercised. I used to get up at 5:00 AM Monday thru Thursday to make the 5:30 AM aerobics class at our church. I am NOT a morning person, and I HATED getting up so early. But, with Deputy Dad’s crazy Deputy schedule, it was the only time I could go and not have to worry about what to do with the kids. And I really enjoyed the class, not just the exercise, but the interaction with the other women there, too. I quit going when I was five months pregnant with Big Boy, and I haven’t been back since.

2. I didn’t watch as much television. And when I did, I was usually doing something constructive while I watched (folding laundry, doing paperwork, etc.). These days, once I get the kids to bed, I usually turn on the TV and sit down in front of the computer. Which brings me to…

3. I didn’t spend time on the computer at home. (eep!) We didn’t even have internet access until about three years ago. Without internet, I was almost never on the computer. These days, I start twitching and convulsing if I go more than a few hours without checking email or checking in with the blogosphere.

. . .

The Plan:

1. First of all, I have GOT to talk to Deputy Dad. I’ve been trying to tell him for months that something’s wrong, and, in typical male fashion, he’s just not getting it. He’s off tonight and tomorrow night. I’m hoping we can sit down for a heart-to-heart.
Possible glitches:
(a) Last night I was thinking tonight would be a good time to talk. Then he ended up working ’til 5:30 this morning, and had to get up at 8:30 this morning and head out of town to pick up some medical records for a case he’s working. (It’s supposed to be his day off.) So I know he’ll be exhausted tonight, even if he manages to get a nap this afternoon.
(b) Today is my mother-in-law’s birthday, which means we’ll be celebrating with them tonight, as we should be. But. Instead of getting the kids to bed early, so Deputy Dad and I can talk, we’ll probably get home late, bathe the kids, and get them to bed late, and it may be too late to start a discussion by then.
(c) I get nervous when I have to talk about something serious and personal….and I have a sort of nervous twitch. I grin. And I get a little giggly. Yeah, I know, it’s stupid. And, do you have any idea how hard it is for anyone to take me seriously when I’m grinning and giggling?
UPDATE: We’ll have that discussion tonight. See update on #3 below.

2. I’ve got to start exercising again. I had already thought about that last night, and when I got to work this morning, I found another kind, thoughtful, and helpful email from Susie, who confirmed my thoughts on exercise and talked dirty to me about endorphins. (ROWR)
Possible glitches: FIVE O’FREAKIN’ CLOCK IN THE MORNING, PEOPLE.

3. I need to call my doctor.
Possible Definite glitches: My ‘regular’ doctor - the one I used to see here in town, the one who treated me for depression after my miscarriage, moved over a year ago. The last doctor I saw was my OB/GYN, at my six-week checkup after I had Big Boy. OB/GYN is in a larger town an hour away.
When my ‘regular’ doctor left, I had my medical records transferred to Deputy Dad’s doctor’s office, but I’ve never seen her. I’m still debating this one, but I think I’ll probably go ahead and call my OB/GYN first, to see what he says.
UPDATE: Moments after posting this, I called my OB/GYN, who was very kind and very concerned, and spent about twenty minutes on the phone with me, just talking to me and asking questions. I have an appointment with him tomorrow at 1:00. He recommended that Deputy Dad come with me, so I pretty much have to have that talk with him tonight.
UPDATED UPDATE: Our sitter will be out of town tomorrow, and taking three kids with us to the doctor’s office would definitely be a Very Bad Idea; so it looks like Deputy Dad will have to stay home with the kids, and I’ll go to the appointment alone. It’s not ideal; I’d much rather he go with me. But at least I’m going.

4. I’ve got to…sigh…(this will hurt me more than it hurts you)…I’ve got to quit spending so much time on the computer at home. I’ve immersed myself so deeply into this blogworld, that I’ve become a virtual (ha!) recluse in my ‘real life.’ I need to reconnect with my 3-D friends.
Possible glitches: *twitch*

5. Though I do need to limit my at-home computer time, I won’t quit blogging or interacting with my online buddies. I need the freedom to bare my soul, and I need the release writing gives me, whether I’m being funny or serious. It just feels good - damn good - to write, and the interaction with my online buddies is….well, it means the world to me.
Possible glitches: None. It’s a winner.

. . .

Thanks again to everyone, for all your comments and emails, for your thoughtful expressions of kindness, for letting me know that you care about me, and that I’m not alone. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. Thank you.