Archive for February, 2008

At least two. If you’re me anyway.

See, I’ve been hit with a double whammy in life:

1. I am a woman
2. I am a woman who deals with depression, anxiety and OCD.

As if being a woman wasn’t hard enough. Double, nay, triple those emotions and mood swings and that’s what I’ve got to deal with. It’s a miracle I still know my own mind even half the time. The other half of the time is when I get another’s perspective. Like today.

Today Count Dooku is off from school. In the mid-morning, like usual, I tried to get Angel girl to nap. She refused to go to sleep on her own. Cue the boob. As she sucked, Angel girl began falling asleep so I transferred her to her crib. She woke up during the transfer and screamed in her crib for 20 minutes, refusing to go back to sleep. So I brought her out and tried again. This time the transfer was successful. Hurray! I knew that she would nap for precisely two hours if undisturbed, so I explained to her brothers not to go in the hallway and to keep their voices down. From there I planned out my two hours. I would wash dishes for the first half and exercise for the latter half.

The dishes only took 30 minutes to hand wash and just as I was sweeping up the kitchen, thinking of the wonderful waist trimming exercise ahead of me, Count Dooku raced by the kitchen revving his hot wheels monster truck at top speed down the hallway. It made a horribly loud roar. I half shouted at him, trying to keep it quiet, to get out of the hallway. A moment later the dreaded baby wail sounded over the baby monitor.

In an instant I was angry. Very angry. I shouted at Count Dooku to go to his room. I think sometimes sending them away in that moment of intense anger is more for the benefit of the child than the parent. I think I yelled/growled at the top of my lungs in frustration as the babies cries got louder and at that moment a break down became imminent. All the frustrations of the week, some held in for even longer came tumbling out in tears and possibly a throwing of the broom onto the floor.

Luckily, I’ve been through enough break downs to know I needed a different perspective. Or maybe I should say unluckily. In any case, it was my poor husband who had to try to make sense of the garbled words I was sobbing into the phone. He reminded me that even he has forgotten about the sleeping baby before and barged into the room making a racket. So my heart was softened toward our 6 year old when I was reminded that sometimes my expectations for his behavior and memory are a little high. Hubby couldn’t speak long, so then it was off to call the momma.

The momma always has words of wisdom and help. And an uncanny ability to draw out the real why behind the break down. She also the ability to draw out the fact that I photo shopped my double chin out of a picture I recently posted on my family blog. But that made me feel sheepish and brought laughter to the tears.

I won’t go into the why of my breakdown. Just that I figured it out, and that’s a start to making sure it doesn’t happen again. At least for the same reasons. Because who am I kidding saying I’ll never break down in sobs or frustration again. It comes with being a woman. But I’ll always find a resolution when I look outside of the emotions of the moment and the blinding tears to someone with a different perspective, who can help make mine clear again.



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Imagine the setting:

A McDonald’s in the inner city area. This equals a tiny parking lot that is always packed with cars and people. The drive thru line is long and I’m querying the boys for their orders before we reach the speaker. It’s fairly quiet in the car until I hear Count Dooku’s worried voice say, “Mom,when we get home can we change my pants cause I fink I peed a little in dem.”

My head wheels around and I reach into the back seat to feel his pants. If they are indeed wet it must be a very tiny spot. I breathe a small sigh of relief and then ask him the question with the obvious answer, “Do you have to pee?”

“Yes” he says in a small voice.

The car in front of us pulls ahead.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before we left the museum?”

“Cause I didn’t feel like der was pee yet, but all da sudden I feel da pee.”

I snicker a little and drive forward again and then he continues in an urgent voice as he grabs his pants, “I have to pee mom. I fink I’m going to pee in da car.”

“Oh no you won’t!” I say as I drive forward up to the speaker.

“Can I take your order?” says the voice over the speaker.

“Yeah, just a second,” I say loudly and then to Count Dooku in the back, “Unbuckle and climb into the front seat right now.”

He does so, still holding himself. The anxious look in his eyes has increased 10 fold and I’m flying through options in my brain as I blurt out our order.

“I’d like two four piece nuggets, two small fries and a hamburger,” and then to Count Dooku, “Ok, take your pants down a little buddy.”

Now what? Do I have him run across the way to the dumpster and pee behind there? No, that won’t work, I’d have to drive forward and he’d freak out thinking I was leaving him.
Do I open the door slightly and have him pee out onto the pavement? No, the folks in their cars behind us would see.

I pull forward again right as Count Dooku has finished pulling his pants down enough to pee. I realize that we’re driving up to the window and the cashier is going to see his naked nethers so I push him onto his naked bum and pull his coat down.

“Don’t move!” I warn him

“Your total is $6.64,” says the cashier. I hand her my credit card, she swipes it and hands it back. I pull up a little.

“I’m gonna peeeeeeeee!”

Crap! What to do? What to do? I’m ready to throw the door open and let him pee out of it when I see the 3/4 full water bottle on the floor. It’s got a rather narrow opening but it will work. I roll the window down and dump the water out.

We’re between the first and second window with one car in front of us when I tell Count Dooku to start peeing. I’m holding the steering wheel with my left hand, and the water bottle with my right. The car in front of us drives away. It’s my turn to pull up but Count Dooku is still peeing.

“Come on, come on!” I say. The lady at the second window is holding our bag out of the window beckoning me to pull forward. I’m looking right at her shrugging my shoulder and trying to clearly mouth, “One second.”

She shakes her head and closes the window. Count Dooku is still peeing. Finally he finishes up, hurriedly pulls his pants up and I drive forward after rolling the tightly sealed water bottle under the seat. The lady opens the window and thrusts the bag into my hands. Count Dooku is climbing into the back seat and buckling his belt.

“I really fot I was gonna pee in da car mom,” he says, the anxiousness in his voice gone.

“I’m so glad you didn’t son,” I say. “next time, remind me to make you pee before we go on a car ride, whether you think you need to or not.”


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Sometimes, I’m surprised by how much I have changed in just the past few years. I got thinking about this tonight at a recipe exchange.

There, surrounded by good food, good people and good conversation I found myself feeling perfectly comfortable. Why, at book group just last week I was unafraid to voice my opinions or even, heaven forbid, try to be funny. Which I sort of was. This seemed slightly unnatural to me, for I remembered past gatherings of this variety where speaking out and feeling comfortable were not the case.

Just three years ago I would attend similar gatherings where I found myself feeling self-conscious, and quiet. My husband was concerned as I came home from each event feeling depressed. I felt bitter at the conversation going on all around me as I sat quietly listening in the corner chair. I listened to certain women speak up and speak often with ease, bitter that they would draw all the attention to themselves and not give others a chance to say anything.
I felt bitter that there were so many obvious close friendships that I was not a part of. Bitter that I heard of play dates and events to which I was not invited. I felt certain that I was ugly and annoying and that I was only invited to these events because they wouldn’t be able to hide their having occurred, from me. Yet I kept going to them and came back feeling more depressed every time.

So I found myself wondering, what is different now? Is it that those women have moved away? After all, they hated me right? They were the reason I was so sad right?


What was different then, was that I hated me. So I assumed everyone else did too. How can I possibly expect anyone to think better of me than I think of myself?

No one was stifling me. They would have allowed me to speak out had I chosen it.
No one was trying not to include me. But you can’t force friendship.

I went through a lot of hurt before my perception of me and my assumptions about what others must be thinking of me, changed. Sometime I’ll go into more detail. But for now, I’ve realized that being comfortable around others, starts with being comfortable with myself.

I wish I would have learned that sooner. I think I missed out on some really great friendships because I was busy assuming no one wanted to be my friend.


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I’d like to thank Deb for this MAH-velous award.


But how could she resist giving it to a person so beautiful, she even looks good as a fish?!

And now, I would like to pass this on to the following faithful commenters:


If I missed you it’s either because you already have this award or because it’s past midnight and I am beyond zombie-ish.


Warning: Although this was my very first attempt at photo shopping my head onto someone else’s body, I have discovered that the process is highly addicting. If you plan to learn how to do it, proceed with caution and lots of spare time.

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You found me how? Edition 2nd

Welcome to the second edition of the Tri-Yearly post, You found me how? Interesting, funny or bizarre search terms people have used to stumble across my blog. You can find the first edition here. Now, here are some of the best of the last four months (typed as it was when I saw it):

Vacuum cleaner fetish – I don’t want to know. Really.

Miracle underwear – Does it flatten the mom pooch? If it does, I want a pair!

why does my baby spit bubbles – Just to be adorable of course.

pictures of 4th degree tear – No, I did not take any pictures of mine, and I really hope the person who typed this works in the medical field.

giggles from alcohol – I think that’s what usually happens. I have no personal experience here, but I’ve seen it in action. Alcohol can definitely give a person the giggles

lidocaine did not numb my toothTell me about it!

mouse toilet training – It’s hard enough getting a child to use the toilet. Why would you want to go through that with a mouse?

scare the tar out of you? Thanks but no.

Bella Swan breastfeeding – I only know of one Bella Swan and she hasn’t even made love to her vampire beau so I doubt she would be able to breastfeed yet.

dental horror story drilling pain That pretty much sums up every dental visit I’ve ever had.

pizza hut pan confessions – Count me in! When are you meeting? Is the pizza free?

Well! Excuuuuuse me, Princess! – Um, ok

sandy poopy diapers diarrhea allergy – I really don’t know what to say. But congratulations on spelling diarrhea correctly.

Bella Swan is weak and needy AMEN!

what means wub – *snicker*

Dentist drill “my tooth” panic – Am I seeing a trend in how people find my blog lately?

i hate wearing rubber dams at the dentist – I guess so.

“yes, girls poop” – We also fart, belch and lick our fingers noisily after eating ribs.

motherhood and laughter -yes, they go hand in hand

motherhood is too hard, ocd Yes motherhood can be hard and OCD certainly makes it harder.

And lastly, I won’t type all of the suggestive searches I’ve gotten concerning Bella and Edward that have led people here. I had no idea my little review would generate so much traffic from people looking for Twilight fan fictions that turn in a different direction if you know what I mean.

And that concludes this edition of You found me how? Join me again in 4 months for more interesting search terms people have used to find my blog.


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A Reminder

It was 11p.m. She noticed that there wasn’t any milk in the fridge for breakfast in the morning. So she picked up her keys, put on her coat and boots and headed out the door. She hadn’t been out all day, so she stopped by the mailbox in the complex hallway downstairs. As she opened her mail cubby, a single letter fell out. As she picked it up, she saw her name on it and then the name of the sender in the upper left corner.

Her stomach lurched as she saw that name. The name that had almost been the death of her emotional and mental well being. The name that she had successfully forgotten until that moment. The name of someone whose license to practice medicine in her state had been revoked. He was announcing the opening of a new clinic, across the state border, and he would appreciate her business.

She tore the letter into 6 ragged pieces and tossed it into the garbage on the way outside.
She thought of how she felt about him, this human being she knew only as a doctor. A doctor she had trusted implicitly, simply because he carried that title. She had been at fault there. She would never blindly believe in a doctor again.

She now does her own research and make her opinions known. But the physical consequences of some of his treatments still linger and it is hard for her not to think of his face or see his name without feeling anger and fear.

Better not to think of what could have been. Or of what should have been. Better to strive to forget, until she feels she can think on it with less hurt in her heart.


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Right before bedtime…

…when you’ve told your four and six year old sons to go pee. Be sure to specify that they do so in different bathrooms.

Otherwise you might just pass the open bathroom doorway, see two naked boy bottoms facing you and hear laughter from them over the fact that their streams are crossing.



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