Toward a New Year

Holy cow. It's been a long time since I've had the time and compunction to sit down and write something. I've been spending my writing time on shorter things--e.g. texts, e-mails, posts on Facebook. Here we are, rounding on another flip of the calendar, and I've not written in more than 5 months.

Part of me stopped writing because I was tired of what I had to say. One of the drawbacks of mental illness (at least for me) is that one can get stuck in the same spot for too long. I felt frozen, both with fear and boredom, by the fact that I could only find words to write about my depression.

The monster is still present, I will say that. The holidays are rough not because of loss of person or for sentimental reasons, but because my routine is gone and I flounder. I struggle with this over the summer break, too, but at least then I can send the kids outside for a bit, or sit in the sun, or go running.

I've not been for a run in quite a while. I want to run, don't get me wrong. The trouble has again become an equipment shortage. I have some clothes appropriate for running in cold weather, but not for running in a Chicago winter. I had hoped to join a gym for these long winter months, but that continues to be an elusive dream.

In happier news, I am grateful that Bekah has decided not to have a Pump It Up! party. Phew! I love her and would have made it work, but the thought of sinking $200-300 into a kids' birthday party was tough to consider. She is opting for a small party at home. We recently attended a birthday party at one of her friends' houses. It was a garden party, but not in a My Secret Garden sense. Instead, each attendee painted a terracotta pot and planted a square of grass in it. It was really cute, affordable and simple. The decorations were handmade (something at which I excel), the favors were little watering cans and hair bands with a flower crocheted on them. All manageable, affordable things.

Bekah has also decided she wants to perform in the Nutcracker next December with her dance studio. I am excited for her to perform but overwhelmed at the financial commitment. I am going to be praying that God will provide for her in a tangible, measurable way.

Meanwhile, I take some satisfaction in having accomplished my resolutions for this year. I saved more money than I've ever saved before, I lost weight, I read more. Those will be my goals again for 2015. I have about 45 pounds to go before I am under 200. I feel like I can achieve that. I am going to chat with my trainer and see what her input is, but I feel like that is a manageable goal.

I am also hoping this coming year is the one where I complete the novel I started working on last year. I've not been able to carve out time to write this year--my hope is that I am able to do so in 2015. We shall see what comes of it.

I am grateful for so much this year and wish that would overpower the depression that has crept upon me. I know that once we start school again, the fog in my brain will clear and I will be able to move forward toward achieving my goals.

Time is (not) On My Side

I just stood at my daughter's bedside, tears streaming down my face, begging her to let me be. She was still up as of 9:45 and wanting a lullaby. I have been doing a little better the past couple weeks but this week has been rough. 

I told her, between sobs, that I just didn't have a lullaby in me. Definitely not my proudest parenting moment. It didn't come out of nowhere, though. It was building up for quite a while. It was inevitable that it would happen, though I never thought the request for a lullaby would take me over the edge. 

It all started yesterday, when some plans for a night out fell through. I had been excited to get out but my friends were exhausted. They offered to still hang out and set their exhaustion aside. I considered that noble but unnecessary. 

It did get me thinking, though, about how much time Brian spends away from home everyday. When we first moved in, he worked from home. He was very disciplined about it and it worked out quite well for all of us. Upon Bekah's second birthday, his boss told him he had to start reporting to the office again. 

It impacted our budget a great deal. More than I have realized, though, it has impacted the emotional health of my family. 

I did the math yesterday. Let's say I go to sleep at midnight, which is fairly typical for me. I won't apologize for it and I don't feel ashamed. I love the nighttime because I have some measure of solitude. 

So I fall asleep at midnight. The next time I see my husband is 18 hours later. Yep. His alarm goes off at 5:15 AM. He is gone long before my eyes open. He gets done with work at 4:30 and doesn't walk in the door until 6:00 PM (7:00 PM on Thursdays). 

I am almost always antsy to get out of the house. I've never been able to figure out why. I've honestly felt guilty about it from time to time. I talk to other moms and they are never as eager to get out as I. This baffled me, frankly. 

I realized today why I'm so antsy to get out. I am alone with my kids for 18 hours. Of course, they are not early risers and so it's not a true 18 hours, but ultimately I am responsible for my kids, on my own, for 18 hours. 

I am an extrovert. I love to be around people. If someone asks me 10 times to hang out, I will say yes 9 times. It energizes, centers and calms me to be out among other adults. 

And there's the rub. 

One may point out that I am around people for 18 hours a day. One would be correct. What one doesn't understand is that the people who form my herd are not adults. They don't converse well (mostly we talk at each other, not to each other). Not only that, they are mostly dependent on me. I have to cook for them, dress them, wrangle them and amuse them (or direct them to amuse themselves). 

It's exhausting. 

I don't want my readers to conclude that I don't like my spouse or enjoy spending time with him. I do. We have a great time together. The problem is, at best we get an hour to an hour and a half of time together at night. Usually that time is interrupted by requests from kids up way past their bedtime. Usually I'm either working on housework or feeling guilty that I'm too tired or lazy to work on housework. Usually I'm distracted because I'm trying to finish a book (I'm not joking, I've been reading a book a day for at least two weeks). 

The only way I can actually unwind and relax is to be physically removed from my home. I need to not see the dishes, clothes and clutter that glares at me all day. I need to not be grilled about the coming day's activities. 

It seems logical, then, that I should find ways to get out. And I do. I run, I go to counseling, I go to the library, I go shopping. Those are solitary activities. I joined a moms group in order to have organized activities at night. I used to make it to every activity; now, I'm lucky to make it to one activity a quarter. Finances have started impeding my ability to join the other moms for the activities. 

I know I need to get out and I know other moms need to as well. I couldn't understand why they don't all share the same enthusiasm as I for getting out. A couple of thoughts emerged as I pondered this dilemma. 

First, only some of my friends are extroverts. Those that are extroverts may not be the same kind of "out and about" extrovert that I am. Then there are the introverts, for whom the prospect of going out is exhausting. I hadn't really factored that into the equation. 

Point two is that for some people, their husbands are not gone for quite so long. Some may have their husbands home for the summer. Some might have non-traditional work schedules that allow them long, uninterrupted hours of adult interaction. They are basking in the opportunity to spend time with them, to accomplish projects around the house, to travel, etc. They are also able to get out during the day-sometimes (gasp) all my themselves!! They don't arrive at the end of the day as drained as I. (Or maybe they do but then are trying to stock up on time with their hubbies because they know it's only for a short time. Who knows.)

At the beginning of the summer, I thought husbands being home more would mean I could hang with friends more. That hasn't been the case and as I am prone to insecurity and self-doubt, I was taking this personally. Over the past few days, I've seen how childish that is. There are logical explanations for lack of time spent together that have nothing to do with me. As usual, I am always in trouble when I have unrealistic expectations. It sets me up for resentments every single time. Instead of starting off assuming people are avoiding me, I can start to understand that not everyone's day is like mine. The lack of time spent together is temporary, not permanent. It's a season (sometimes literally, sometimes not). It will pass or it will change and I will grow through it. 

Maybe God has a lesson he wants me to learn and I won't be able to learn it while I'm out all the time. Who knows. 

I am never sure what the solution is to my problems. I am never sure how to approach a solution. I certainly don't want to twist people's arms to spend time with me. I understand people's limitations and I don't want to impose on anyone. 

Over the next week, I do have one night planned with a night out. I'm carpooling with someone, so even though it's in Woodstock it's not going to break the bank. Other than that, it's a week that will be long and mostly unbroken from my responsibility for my kids. I am anxious about a meeting next Wednesday night. It's going to be crazy and I'm dreading it. 

I am committed to running three times next week. Somehow I feel like if I can focus on that for now, a solution might present itself. 

One can hope. 

Sum, Sum, Summertime

Oh, my. This summer is blazing by very quickly. I spent some time today really cleaning the house. Picked up my bedroom, did some laundry, vacuumed, put laundry away, had the kids clean their bedroom. I feel like it was a very productive day.

I have been trying to run at least twice a week (really I aim for three times, but am happy with two). I am moving into the last third of a training program on my phone. It's running punctuated by some sprinting. I like it because it's laid out so specifically. Every segment is announced as I'm running, so I know exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

The other night, though, I had a rough go of things. It was more humid than it's been for most of the summer. I have a water belt but it doesn't fit me yet. It fit me at one time but now it doesn't. I refuse to get rid of it because I'm hopeful that by next summer it will fit me.

Meanwhile, I have been running without water. It's not ideal, even on a cool day. On a humid day where the sun is blazing, it's really quite dangerous.

I tend to run in the evening, around 6, after Brian gets home from work. On Wednesdays I go out at about 7:30. Sometimes, if I'm very ambitious, I go on a Sunday night, usually a bit earlier. I don't like to eat a lot before I go but that gets tricky, too.

I am at a point where I need new shoes. I am planning on making a stop at The Running Depot in downtown Crystal Lake. I have wide feet and typically wear New Balance stability shoes, owing to the orthotics I wear to correct pronation. I haven't changed my brand of shoe in a few years and I think it's time to get reevaluated. The problem is of course the finances. I spend more money on my running shoes than I spend on clothes and shoes combined for a year. And I buy at least 4-5 pairs a year. In fact, I've not bought a pair of shoes (new or otherwise) aside from running shoes for at least 3 years. I'm actually quite proud of that, owing to the fact that I have several pairs of pretty nice shoes in my closet. Maybe they're in style, maybe they're not. It used to be quite an addiction for me and so I'm glad I've been able to quit it.

I see buying high-quality running shoes as a worthy investment. I spend a lot of time on my feet, even when I'm not running. I need the extra support in general, but you add in my burgeoning back problems and I need them even more. I have some things in the pipeline that should enable me to buy a new pair of shoes before mid-August. I'm a little excited about that, honestly.

Meanwhile, Jeremy's birthday is upon us. Last year we weren't able to give him any kind of party. We just didn't have the budget for it. He told us he wanted a party at Monkey Joe's. We were determined to do just that for him this year.

Then a funny thing happened. Monkey Joe's closed and Jeremy decided he wanted a party at our house. That, in my opinion, is a double jackpot. Parties at Monkey Joe's cost $150-200 easy. I can produce a very nice party at our house for a fraction of that cost. Second, I liked Monkey Joe's okay but there were limits to how many kids you could invite. That's always a tricky thing. Now, we can invite everyone he wants (I'm sure some won't be able to make it) and not have to worry about the extra cost.

I've already decided we are getting pizzas from Little Caesar's. I personally can't stand them and think they taste like crap. The kids, though, don't have quite as discerning palates as I. It's really the $5 price that I like the best. Throw in some snacks, a homemade cake, juice boxes and decorations and I'd say we'll spend no more than $75. Phew!!

Jeremy has been a handful at times this summer. It has been tough to manage the emotions I know got managed by his teachers over the school year. The bright spot has been that he's been invited to 3 different birthday parties. It makes me happy because it reminds me that though he drives me nuts, he has some friends. He has kids in his life who are willing to look past the quirks and tics and see that he's a good kid. He had a meltdown the other day at a play date. There were about 10 kids and they were picking teams. He was upset not because he didn't get picked but because he and his sister (his best friend, according to him) weren't put on the same team.

It's hard sometimes to separate the autism from Jeremy. It seems like they are inexorably enmeshed in one another. I have to remember that he doesn't get embarrassed about his behavior the way I do. I won't apologize and I don't feel ashamed about that. It's tough to admit but it's the truth. I get embarrassed when he flings himself down on the ground, screams or in other ways makes a scene.

Oddly enough, he doesn't.

I prayed all summer last year that God would send kids into his life that would be good to him. I have seen a few kids treat Jeremy as inferior. For the most part, though, I have seen kids embrace him and welcome him into their lives. It helps me to remember that God has his hand on Jeremy. I picked his name before we ever got pregnant. I found out later that it means "God will exalt."

And really, He has.

Month in Review

I haven't blogged in a month. I was starting to get tired of seeing myself write about depression so much. I decided to take a break until I didn't feel quite so bad. 

That was actually a few weeks ago, but then life got in the way. I'm not really complaining because we have been very busy in a good way. 

I am in week 4 of an 8 week training program called Running for Weight Loss Pro. I made an attempt to complete it last year but got bronchitis and then the weather got real cold real fast. This made it impossible for me to finish it. 

I decided to start back at the beginning. It had been a while since I had been running and I wanted to ease back into it. I feel like I made the right decision. It is just starting to be mostly running (it started as running/walking). 

I love running, I've mentioned that before. It's always been the thing that winds my clock. I had an epic run last Wednesday night. Over the past couple of years, I've managed to shave close to 4 minutes off my mile pace. 

I wish every run was epic but it's not. There are ones like Monday where I plod through, my legs heavy and uncoordinated. It seemed like every stretch of road was uphill. I finished strong but I didn't hear Chariots of Fire playing at any point during the 45 minutes I was running. 

Luckily, I know not to throw in the towel because of a run like that. My FB fanbase likes to cheer me on and I appreciate it because I draw a lot of strength from the positive words. 

In other news, I have started seeing a counselor. I am going to give a shout-out to EFCCL once again. This is the first time in years that I've found a Christian counselor with hours that fit my schedule and isn't costing a fortune. It's kind of a miracle. 

I have seen her three or four times and I'm enjoying it immensely. She is a counselor with the added benefit of being a Biblical scholar. It is helpful because I've had many questions about my faith lately. I'm not considering another faith, but I am trying to mature and it's tough. I've spent a long time being angry with God. Luckily, He's big enough to take my anger and my questions. My counselor is helping clarify doctrine and I really appreciate having someone willing to do that with me one-on-one. 

Meanwhile, we are still struggling financially. I am encouraged lately because I feel like the job market is starting to loosen a bit. I just confirmed that I would work childcare for an event at The Chapel-Barrington. That will be a nice bump in funds for my semi-annual KidStuff Resale trip. My mom is helping me a bit with school supplies. I am starting to find deals for other things I will need. All in all, while things haven't changed drastically for the better, they've also not changed drastically for the worse. 

Finally, I need to give a shout-out to my FB friends. I had three different people (who know me from three different places) share the Weird Al song Word Crimes with me. It warms my heart! It means I've done a good job communicating my hatred of word and grammar abuse. 

Word. 

(Drops microphone and walks away.)

Summer Vacay Blues

Last week was a pretty crazy week. It was full of cannot-miss appointments and was complicated by a virus that Jeremy fought for four days. The only symptom was a fever. Further complicating it was that he detests taking liquid medication. It's always been a struggle to get him to drink Motrin or Tylenol (Bekah, on the other hand, longs to be able to take these medications). I did discover, partway through the week, that he is able to take a pill form of Junior Motrin. That seemed to work better though he still balked at taking the medication at all.

His illness, coupled with the appointments and the steady rain for a couple of days, meant we were on pretty tight lockdown. I've discovered that's not how I want to spend all of summer vacation. We watched a LOT of TV and I let Jeremy play on his iPad way, way too much. It was just a survival week.

Bekah's recital capped off the week. It was on Saturday and she absolutely killed it. Her best friend, Bella, is in her dance class. They were always distracting one another. Bella's mom and I remarked just a few weeks ago that we weren't sure they were going to put on a cohesive performance. Alas, they were saving it all for the recital! Everyone remembered the routine and they did a great job as an ensemble.

The only bummer was that our babysitter fell through (a scheduling snafu on her part) and though I scrambled to find a replacement, Brian ended up having to stay home. We are going to purchase the DVD and have a big party (really, a party with Bekah, Jeremy, Doug, me and Brian) to watch it. I can't wait for Brian to see it because I know he's really going to enjoy it.

Meanwhile, I spent a lot of time brainstorming a blog entry and then arguing with myself in my head about whether or not to write it. I am still fighting a lot of depression and anxiety. There is a part of me that says, "self, you need to write about that because I'm sure there are other moms struggling and they would love to know they're not alone." Then another part says, "enough already, retard! Stop with all of this, pull it together and just act as if everything is fine. Nobody wants to hear you whine and complain." (As you can see, I have a few really rough neighborhoods in my head.)

The image that stuck with me is from the movie Constantine, starring Keanu Reeves and Rachel Weisz. I have seen it numerous times. There are some pretty awesome scenes. It's based on a graphic novel and it deals (in broad strokes and with a liberal bent) with the war on earth between good and evil. I am not offended by anything said in the movie. I don't think the director intended his movie to be a gospel when it comes to spiritual warfare. It's a work of fiction.

That being said, I loved some of the conversations and imagery in the movie. The one that sticks out comes at the end of the movie. Constantine (played by Reeves) is a supernatural detective/crime fighter. We learn early on that he is dying of lung cancer. He smokes in most frames of the movie.

At the end of the movie, Lucifer (Peter Stormare, who played Steve Buscemi's partner in Fargo) comes to collect Constantine, who has just committed suicide. After having a conversation with Constantine, he tries to drag him to hell only to discover that he no longer has domain over him (I know it sounds convoluted, but I'm telling you it works). In the next scene, we see Constantine's body/spirit floating up to heaven. Lucifer, angry that he's lost that soul, reaches his hands into Constantine's chest. As he pulls them out, we see they are covered with a black, tar-like substance. It drips off of his hands and seems to stain them.

(I'm sorry it took so long to explain but I really do think you should see the movie, it's really well-done.)

Every time I've considered my depression and anxiety over the past week, that's how I've pictured them. Black, sticky, heavy, gross. I picture it spilling out when I talk to friends about it. I realized that the reason depressed people don't have a lot of close friends is because of that tar. I feel like as people listen to me it starts to coat their ears and hands. It makes their shoes stick to the ground, like walking through a swamp would do, making that schlooop sound as they try to pull themselves out of it.

I imagine cleaning all of it off is exhausting, as it's exhausting to live with it coursing through my body. I don't wonder that I've lost friends over the years. I don't blame anyone or harbor ill feelings.

Quite frankly, I don't want to be friends with myself. Though it would seem like I'm just wallowing in self-pity, I can assure you that the way I'm seeing the world these days is as if the color and dimension has been taken out. Everything is flat and gray. Bekah's performance, wonderful as it was, only broke me out of this feeling temporarily before the tar slurped me back in.

I don't feel like I've anything to offer anyone. I do what I can to make sure my kids are fed, have clean clothes and basic care. We went to the library yesterday so I could enroll them in the summer reading program. Though I don't feel like it, I'm reading to them in fits and starts. Jeremy is obsessed with our iPad. Once he started feeling better, we went back to our strict 1-hour limit of playing time. He doesn't like this. He is making my life miserable for enforcing this rule.

Everything in my mind is screaming, don't fight it with him. Let him play on it as much as he wants. When he is on the iPad, I don't have to worry about him or engage with him. It's one less stream of steady questions, whining and demands. It's one less person to worry about throughout the day.

I want to leave Doug in his crib for too long. Granted, it takes him a while to take a nap and then he still takes a 2-hour nap. I have tried cutting out his nap but he's not ready for it. The point is, if he is in his crib, then I don't have to engage with him or worry about him destroying my house.

There is a play date tomorrow with my MOPS friends. I don't want to go. I am afraid that my crazy 6-year-old will trample someone's little person and it will be mortifying and we will have to leave abruptly. When I found out it was going to be inside (possibly, because of the rain) instead of outside, that made me not want to go even more. We had a disastrous experience at a birthday party recently (Jeremy was involved in a bottom-of-the-slide pile-up, where one of the smaller kids ended up on the bottom). I apologized profusely but am positive that my kids will never be invited back to this person's house.

And the real problem with this depression-tar is that it poisons everything I read and hear. Someone tonight made a comment about taping my mouth shut so I don't talk too much. I am about 60% certain it was a joke. The person's demeanor, though, didn't read like she was joking. She didn't say "just kidding" afterwards. Or did she and I didn't hear it because I was feeling so self-conscious about that one defect of mine that I hate the most--I chatter on incessantly.

So I spent the rest of the night trying to be as quiet as possible. I don't want to carry on a reputation as the one who must monopolize a conversation. I don't want to talk about my depression simply because it's exhausting to fight it every day. I don't wake up and hit the floor running. I wake up hoping I can stay in bed for another hour because we have no place to be. I wake up crabby with my kids. I wake up feeling overwhelmed with the clutter in my home that I can't seem to manage well.

I had another friend say she felt like she was responsible for my feelings. I assure you, she's not. The only person responsible for how I'm feeling is me. I don't want anyone thinking they're responsible for helping me because I think I'm at the point where only professional intervention is going to help me. I don't want to burden people who are living happy lives, with happy families. I don't want to worry that if they ask me how I'm doing I'm going to offload some of the tar. I don't want to and trust me, if I had a friend like that, I would slowly stop reaching out to her, too.

I get exhausted just thinking about it.

I don't know what the answer is. I wish I could say this was just related to my cycle, but when it's going on 3 out of the 4 weeks of the month, that's not cycle-related. That's just depression.

This is not to say there aren't brief periods (and I do mean brief) of relief. I can generally "put on a face" for about 1-2 hours. After that, it becomes too much. I can have small periods of respite where I'm able to chase Doug or tickle Bekah or joke with the kids, but even those small periods are exhausting.

So yeah, I haven't blogged because this is what it looks like between my ears 24/7. I would love to shut off my brain for like, a day, so that I could just not be aware of or think about it. (Even when I'm sleeping, I'm having dreams where people are being critical of me. That's a bit neurotic.) I would love to be able to snap myself out of this for a long period of time. Heck, for like 3-4 hours.

I guess I hope that my readers reading this will escape tar-free. Those who are feeling the same way, I hope you know you are not alone. The message in my head is that this too shall pass. There's nothing more definitive or even a general timeline, but I'm hoping it's true. And if it's true for me, then it's true for you, too.

Battle Royale

I wasn't thinking that I would write tonight. I finished a book and started and (just) finished another one. I have discovered YA Fiction and really enjoy it a lot. I wanted to read Divergent for a while but couldn't manage to get to the library. Luckily, I have friends that love to read and one of them leant me the book. 

But what I really want to talk about is the day I had. It was rough. And I'm going to talk about it by going back in time a bit. 

I started working with a personal trainer just before the start of January. It has been one of the best investments I've made in myself. I love my trainer and love working with her. 

The one fly in the ointment was my love affair with sugar. 

As you may recall, it's been mostly an abusive, ugly, co-dependent relationship. There is little that is beneficial and yet I haven't been able to quit it. 

In February, I attended a Wildtree workshop at a friend's house. There were some ladies there from MOPS that I had seen but not gotten to know. I struck up a conversation with one of my tablemates. We'll call her Bre (because that's her name). 

I'm going to go out on a limb and say we hit it off right away. She is a lovely woman and I highly recommend getting to know her if you don't already. She is funny and sharp-witted and kind. 

She sent me a FB request that night. I happened to be on FB at almost that exact moment and accepted her request without hesitation. She sent me a message worrying that it was too soon but then she was relieved to see I accepted the request so quickly. 

Over the next few weeks, I saw that she was doing a sugar fast. This piqued my interest and I started to root for her. A couple of weeks later, when her fast was over, she admitted that while she had success during the fast, she spent the two weeks post-fast having dessert every night. 

I have had many false starts with accountability partners over the past several years. I don't know why, but I thought I would ask Bre if she would like to give it a try. (As an aside, I had a huge anxiety attack just writing the message to her. She and I still can't figure out why.)

We agreed on ground rules. We were going to allow ourselves two desserts a week. She was going to have a piece of dark chocolate every afternoon. I opted out of that because I knew I would lack total self-control. 

In the beginning we checked in almost every day. The dessert nights don't have to be the same every week but for me they usually fall on Sunday and Friday nights. In between, we battled with the enemy-sugar-pretty regularly. 

I tell ya what, we didn't know each other very well before that party but we got to know each other quick. It seems like it's the bonding that would happen with soldiers in a bunker. You become close because you are both fighting a mutual enemy. 

Some things have happened as a result of this relationship. 

First, I am damn choosy about my desserts. I am not going to have a bag of M&Ms mindlessly while leaving Joseph's. I am going to pick something rich and delicious and enjoyable. 

Second, I do not feel guilty about my dessert. Whether or not my dessert night corresponds to a day I've worked out, I do not feel the slightest twinge of guilt. I sit quietly and enjoy my just reward. 

Those are pretty hard and fast rules for me. There's been a lot of freedom in those rules. 

Here are some of the benefits. 

First, I don't obsess about dessert. I know on what night I'm eating it and I know it's going to be good. I don't worry about that my kids are having birthday cake. I can't vouch for the cake and I don't want to squander a dessert night on a sub-par dessert. (It has happened and it's been very frustrating. So I stopped doing it.)

Second, my portions have shrunk. There was a Sunday when Brian and I decided to have Concrete Mixers from Culver's. I got a large, like always. Two thirds of the way through it, I realized I didn't need a large anymore. The next week we got mediums. From the beginning, one of the dessert nights was 2 chocolate-covered cannoli from Joseph's. Just a few weeks ago, I realized I don't need 2. One is enough. 

Third, (and here comes today's battle), I've come to realize that sugar is not the answer to my problems today. 

Last night, Jeremy started running a fever. This hasn't happened in at least two years. This week is one of the most hectic of my life. Lots of non-negotiable meetings and appointments. I do not have time for a fever. 

I didn't want to take him to the doctor. I was afraid as was the case with Bekah in December, that I would take him in before the infection was really showing and would have to take him back. At $20/visit (copay), not an attractive option. 

The problem was that if he needed antibiotics, I wanted to have him start ASAP. So reluctantly we went to the doctor. 

Ugh. Just ugh. 

You know it's a problem when the receptionists recognize your son as the one who (previously) ran away and was discovered in the OB/GYN part of the floor. Doug is a crazy man when it comes to escaping, so I had to wrestle him while trying to pay the copay. Then I had to monitor his movement in the waiting room, exam room, bathroom and elevator. He broke out of the exam room twice and the bathroom once. (I am beyond grateful that all of the doors in our home have doorknobs and he can't work them quite yet.) 

Meanwhile, I found out that Jeremy has a virus. Fluids, Motrin/Tylenol, rest, don't share cups. Sure, because that's the week I have planned. A rest/relax week. 

Double ugh. 

Then we had to go to Jewel. Because even though I was there the day before, I forgot to purchase milk and lettuce for our BLT sandwiches. So I had to take three people through Jewel. 

Needless to say, by the time I hit Jewel's doors, I was ready to pitch it all, buy a dozen donuts and go to town. I would have normally reached out to Bre but was too busy taming the circus. So instead I tried to take a deep breath. I thought about whether or not the dozen donuts would solve anything. I decided they wouldn't. I knew I would awake from my sugar haze in a morass of self-loathing. There's no need for that. 

Months of preparation, of texts being traded with a stranger-turned-ally, of my husband's gentle "did you talk to Bre about that?" helped me walk by the donut case and on home. 

I wish I could say the rest of the day was red-letter, I had a party for myself and rode the feeling until Brian got home. 

No such luck. 

The van dinged at me that it needed gas (a day and a half before I thought it would). I ended up buying a frozen pizza at Jewel (it's the second I've bought in a year a half, but still felt like a fail). Jeremy was so miserable and yet didn't want to take Motrin or Tylenol. Doug got no nap because the appointment was at 1:35 PM. I forgot to change his diaper and he got a bad rash. 

In short, I felt flat and defeated in the face of a victory. The point is, though, it was still a victory. I didn't drown my flat feelings in sugar. I didn't check out by snoozing off a binge. I showed my kids that sugar is not the answer to a bad day. 

I don't feel like it was a major strategic victory, but at least I didn't lose any ground. And that's something. 

Movin' On Up....

I haven't written about this subject because I felt bad. Then I realized I have no reason to feel bad and maybe talking about it will help someone.

About a year and a half ago, I got involved in playgroup through a friend at Bekah's preschool. It was a lot of fun and helped me make some great connections. We were all Christians and so the inevitable "where do you go to church" conversation came up. I found out that most of the ladies had, at one point in time, attended the same church. Many had left and were searching for new congregations to join.

I invited them to visit our church, The Chapel. It's a multi-campus church, similar to but smaller than Willow Creek. We started attending just after we moved out to Crystal Lake about six years ago. The Barrington campus (TCB for short) opened around that time and we dove in.

We have loved attending the church. We participated in a few small groups, have had all of our children dedicated there and most importantly, Brian came to Christ at TCB. It holds a lot of special memories for us.

The problem is that we are in Crystal Lake and Barrington is about 25-30 minutes away. That means that it's quite a hike on a Sunday morning. Jeremy and Bekah have made many friends there, but they all live in the area around the church. This has made it impossible to do play dates, to get to know the friends or their parents better, to do family get-togethers, etc., etc.

So last year, when I recommended my church, I did so half-heartedly. I think it's worth the drive, but it has severely limited our involvement in the church. We can attend on Sunday mornings and that's pretty much it. Brian works in Northbrook and doesn't get home until around 6 PM. That means, if there is a mid-week service or some event on the weekend, it's nearly impossible for us to eat dinner and make it by the time the event starts. Plus, we have to add on the half-hour commute to the back-end of the event. This usually translates to tired kiddos.

I love my church, but one of the ladies said something that planted a seed for me. She talked about wanting to have a church nearby so that her kids could get involved in the youth group. "Well," I said, "that won't be happening for a few years." Her response made me really stop and think. Realistically, you don't want to find a church for your kids with a great youth group as they are entering middle school. By then, people in the youth group have already known each other and formed relationships. The key is to have the kids there almost from the beginning, so they can form the long-term relationships that will only strengthen in the middle school years.

I hadn't thought of that before. I had a rough go of it regarding youth groups. My childhood church dissolved just before I entered high school. It had been a church plant and so a lot of the people went back to the "mother" church. We did not. We started a quest for a new church. It was awkward, trying to insert myself into groups where the kids had grown up knowing each other. They didn't exclude me on purpose but they were just closer by default and so it made it weird.

From that point on, I feel like God started working on me about switching churches. I might have had a conversation about it with Brian, but my memory is a little blank there. Mostly I prayed about it.

I also joined MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) at the Evangelical Free Church of Crystal Lake. I had heard fantastic things about it from a mom and daughter who were involved there. I decided though I knew only 1 person joining, I would give it a try.

It has been an amazing experience!! I fell right into things with both my table-mates and the MOPS group as a whole. I had done a Bible study at the church last summer, so I knew faces but not names and had no real relationship with anyone.

Meanwhile, we had been meeting with a small group but it started to unravel. Jeremy was the main problem. We had not started him on medication yet and so he got very overwhelmed being in our friends basement with all the other kids. He was pushing a lot, scratched one of the kids and tackled another. Usually our nights ended with me in tears and Brian taking him out to our van. Though we loved the other families, it became an exercise in futility for us. We decided, even after changing the night we met, that we would stop attending. It was a tough decision to make but absolutely the right one for our family.

I decided to step up and start serving on the steering committee for MOPS. I had a great conversation with the Director of Women's Ministries at Chick-fil-A one morning. I told her I was feeling led to bring our family over to the E Free church. She got excited and said, "do it," but then corrected herself and said to pray about it and let my husband lead us there. She did say it was okay to have a conversation with him about it and so I did.

I let him know that I was lonely at TCB. I have good friends there but geography makes it tough to get together. The kids aren't seeing anyone at church that they see at school (or anywhere else nearby) on a regular basis. What happens when they get to youth group? Are we going to want to drive them back and forth midweek? It's also an economical issue. Gas is expensive and it's tough to think about driving an hour (round trip) to church every Sunday. It's tough to not know anyone in our neighborhood that goes to our church.

He listened and nodded and agreed with me. We decided that we didn't need to make a quick transition. We serve in the children's ministry once a month. The summer is a tough time to fill spots. We wanted to finish out the season of serving and not leave our leader in a tough spot.

Further, we weren't running from anything--conflict, people, controversy, bad doctrine. There was nothing that happened at the Chapel that made us feel like we needed to make a hasty exit. The teaching is solid, we love our pastors, we enjoy the children's program, we have great friends that we have made there.

It's just not in our neighborhood. It's not really our community because we are so far (physically) removed from it.

I have to say, I was initially excited about this decision. I was glad to be closer to home, I was glad to see familiar faces and have a home church. Now I feel flat about it and I can't figure it out. I know it's the right church for us and I love it, love the pastors, love the teaching, everything.

I have decided not to trust my feelings for right now. I know that feelings are fleeting and not always the truth. I will continue to talk to God about it and see what he has to say about all of it. I am very glad, though, that Brian is comfortable there and the kids are happy. Those are bigger deals than how I am feeling.

So I'm gonna go with that for now.

Saling with Friends

I am sitting here, staring at a blank screen and not sure what to write. I was out all day garage saling. I had a good time with friends (without kids). 

My most major find was a set of six patio chairs with cushions for $20. They are sitting on my patio right now. My kids approve of them and although there are too many to fit on my patio, I enjoy them. 

Other than that, I found a bunch of books on the cheap, for both me and the kids. I didn't manage to locate any workout equipment, but I spent less money than I thought and so now I can continue to be on the lookout for what I need. 

I was only on the verge of tears a couple of times today (a victory, really) and got to eat Jimmy John's for lunch (yay!). 

On my way home I called Brian and talked with Bekah. She wanted to know what we are doing tomorrow. I'd prefer to stay in but I think we'll end up at the splash pad. 

This next week and a half is going to be crazy. We have a birthday party on Saturday, last day of school for Jeremy on Monday, therapy for Doug Monday and Tuesday, evaluation for Bekah on Tuesday, dress rehearsal for Bekah Wednesday, eval for Doug on Thursday, therapy for Jeremy on Thursday, recital for Bekah on Saturday. 

I am not entirely sure I will survive intact. 

Depression and Anxiety, oh How I Loathe Thee (Hymn No. 182)

I don't really feel like blogging. I feel like going to sleep. The problem is, if I try to go to sleep now I'll be wide awake at like 3 AM, which is useful only if I'm taking an early flight to somewhere tropical.

Which I'm not.

I am actually sitting at my PC, which is not normally from where I blog. I have been blogging on my iPhone but I honestly hate typing with my thumbs. It makes me a bit bonkers.

I had plans for tonight but never heard from the friend with whom I had said plans, so I guess that's not working out. I am setting off to Gilberts tomorrow to garage sale with a couple of girlfriends.

I've never been much of a garage saler. Until this December, I never regularly carried cash on me. I would drive by sales and see something interesting but not be able to stop because I had no way to pay.

I have no idea what to expect, honestly. One of the friends whom I am accompanying is a bit of an expert on garage sales. She is looking for toddler clothes. I don't need kid or toddler clothes because I get all of mine at the KidStuff Resale (look us up on Facebook, it's an epic semi-annual sale).

I am mostly looking for equipment that will help me with my weight loss goals--specifically free weights and kettlebells. I am hoping to get more of an accurate workout at home. Up to this point, I've been using empty milk gallons filled with water. As I discovered at a trip to my local Meijer recently, a milk jug full of water doesn't weigh the same as a 10-pound free weight. Having the right weights would help me strength-train more efficiently. I would also love to locate some resistance bands (for the same reason).

I am mostly anxious about this whole endeavor. I have set aside some money with which to shop, but there is so much uncertainty with garage sales. I am worried that I am going to get something early then find it later for a cheaper price. I worry all the time about spending my money incorrectly (meaning, I buy something and then find out I could have gotten it cheaper elsewhere, but by the time I find out, it's too late to return the item).

Also, I have a tough time visualizing things. My friend has tried to explain how this village-wide garage sale works. It seems like a majority of homeowners with things to sell will be selling tomorrow and Friday. I don't even know how Gilberts is laid out, so I'm not sure if we will be wandering random neighborhoods or driving from one cluster of sales to the next.

I am trying to trust my friend, the grizzled garage sale veteran. I know people have raved about the wonderful things they've found at garage sales. I am fairly certain I will walk away with very little. I guess I hope I can maybe find some books for the kids (no toys, not one single toy whatsoever), but other than that I think mostly I'll be along for the ride.

Today has been a tough day. I have been continuing to battle depression but have stopped talking about it with anyone. I have lots of friends, a good number who are in my inner circle. I just haven't felt like chatting about it. Mostly I've been wanting to isolate, which is easy when I have Doug, the Destroyer of Things.

We went on a play date yesterday and from my perspective, it was a disaster. This is a friend whose daughter attends preschool with Bekah (and performed with her in last year's recital). Lovely woman, lovely home, was happy to be invited.

They installed a pool last year and so we were all welcome to swim. I miraculously found a swim diaper that fit Doug (payday is next week and I didn't want to spend $20 if I didn't have to) and a spare swimsuit (couldn't find the one he wore last Friday).

My kids have never really had swim lessons. We can't afford them. I am a former lifeguard and swimmer, so I've been trying to teach them but it's tough when it's your own kids. Doug has never, ever had a lesson. I don't have floaties for the kids because we are infrequently at large bodies of water. I am paranoid about taking Jeremy to pools. The last time I took him, he had a nosebleed that almost caused me to take him to the ER. We drove from Cary to Crystal Lake and it never stopped or slowed down. I've never taken him back to a pool because I'm afraid it will happen again.

Doug, meanwhile, has been averse to playing in the water at the splash pad and averse to being in the lake at Three Oaks. I wasn't sure how he would take to being in the pool.

The answer is not well.

He didn't want to be in the one inflatable raft I found from last year (which sprung a leak and looked pretty pathetic by the time we left my friend's house). He didn't want to be on any of the rafts. He didn't want me to hold him. He didn't want me to not hold him. He wanted to crawl around on the border of the pool. He wanted to "jump" off of the stairs. He wanted, in short, to be at once independent and demanding at the same time.

It was worse when I tried to take him inside at the end of the playdate. He was into everything. He stood on top of the piano bench, knocked down a 3-D puzzle of Big Ben, chased the cat and generally caused mayhem.

Meanwhile, Bekah didn't want to get out of the water at all. That was so pleasant, trying to pry her away at the same time as trying to keep the house safe from Doug.

To top it off, I was exhausted. I don't mean I was a bit tired, yawning from time to time. I mean I was like asleep-on-my-feet wiped out. I had chaperoned a walking field trip to a nearby park in the morning with Jeremy's kindergarten class. I would have loved to leave the pool play date and just head home, but I had pushed Doug's occupational therapy appointment to the afternoon so we could attend the field trip. Even more, the appointment was at the therapist's office instead of at my house.

I know I had at least one microsleep at a stoplight. My eyelids were heavy and I could hardly stay awake talking to Brian on the phone. I tried to interact with Doug at the therapy appointment but it didn't succeed in waking me up any more. An iced coffee from McDs didn't even do the trick. In a rare move I went home after the appointment and laid down for a nap. It was about an hour-long nap but it didn't perk me up, either.

I really was on the verge of cancelling my outing to a friend's house. I didn't think I was going to be able to stay awake. I went and had a nice time, but when I came home I literally fell asleep (in bed) mid-sentence. I do not even remember falling asleep and I certainly didn't set my alarm.

I woke up this morning disoriented but figured because my alarm hadn't rung, it had to be before 7. Nope. When I looked at my phone it said 8:34. Typically, Jeremy is off to school by 8:30. Whoops. He made it-he was late, but he made it.

I had hoped to spend the rest of the day taking it easy, but there was no milk or lunch meat in the house. I had nothing to serve for dinner and there were no pretzels left (a lunchbox staple for both Brian and Jeremy). I also had to buy more wheat berries and yeast, do some banking and then buy tickets for Bekah's upcoming dance recital.

I was not the best version of myself today and made Bekah cry several times (not really a tough thing to do) and even made Doug cry with my tirade against the bluetooth in the van. An offer made to a friend was rejected and then another friend stood me up.

It's enough to make an insecure, depressed girl reach the end of her rope. I mentioned that I've not been talking to anyone about my depression. I don't feel bad about that and though I may be prodded about it as a result of this post, I will not change my stance.

My belief is that no one really wants to hear the ongoing struggles of someone fighting an unseen problem. Further, I don't want to turn into Debbie Downer (search the interwebs for her, it will make you laugh) and become the center of conversations at gatherings. I will continue to try and act like things are fine because I have the strength to do so. I have fought this thing for such a long time and it has yet to kill me. Therefore, I'm pretty sure it's just making me stronger.

There is no self-pity here. This has more to do with some self-reflection. See, I'm not really a fantastic friend. I have a legacy of being she-who-smothers. I have a bad tendency to take hostages, to be overbearing, to make offers randomly without being prompted, to be that person with whom time drags by, to be the insecure friend who constantly has to make sure everything is okay (are you mad at me? have I done/said/been something to upset you? what can I do to fix it?).

My readers may shake their head incredulously because they've never seen her. That's okay, you will. She only has enough strength to hide for a finite amount of time. Once her arms are shaking from having to hold all of that in, it will all explode out like a can of peanuts with a snake stuffed in it.

And so mostly I sit rocking nervously, biting my nails (not really, that's gross, but I'm going more for the image) wondering just when she-who-smothers will make her first appearance. It's kind of like watching a horror movie and knowing the bad guy is waiting in the shadows. There's a heightened feeling of dread but you are powerless from trying to stop the hapless beauty queen from being slaughtered.

So here I am. I vacillate between being convinced that I'm feeling nothing but self-pity and being convinced it is actually clinical. It's really something for the professionals to sort out, but that's not something for which I have the time or money. I try to keep especially the insecurity at bay, which is actually tougher to do. I have to refrain from asking people crazy questions all the time.

I'm fairly certain I'm going to be skipping play dates this summer. Doug is just too much to handle at people's houses or at large bodies of water. I will probably be headed to the splash pad or park most of the time. Again, I'm mostly okay with this. It stinks for Bekah because she has a lot of friends who want to play. I am hopeful that I can send her to friend's houses. Jeremy, on the other hand? Ugh, don't even get me started. I fully trust everyone to take care of my son but I don't trust my son to not be himself. It's a lot of anxiety for me to sit at home and wonder at what point his friend's parent will be on the other end of the phone or text, asking me to come get him.

Yeah, I think the splash pad is going to get a lot of action from the Patronik family. You'll know we're there because you'll see me supervising Doug at the water fountain and drainage ditch--because isn't a drainage ditch more fun than the splash pad?!?!?

I am not looking to garner sympathy or concerned messages or anything from this post. I am just trying to figure out for myself how to be a mom and navigate the morass of depression and anxiety in which I now find myself. I blog because I need the catharsis, not because I'm trying to fish for help or compliments or fixes to problems. I blog because I need an outlet.

I hope other moms who read this can relate, but if you can't please recognize I'm probably not the only mom friend you have who is struggling in this way (either with depression or in trying to manage one or multiple kids with special needs). Please help me and those moms by praying for them. It is not an easy road to walk, even when surrounded by friends and family. It's an isolating thing, to have those two things (or one of the two) going on. You don't have to have pity for these moms, but please be understanding if she says she is lonely and then declines play dates. It's overwhelming to take (what other people see as) rambunctious kids to other people's houses.

The alternative, coming to my house, is not viable either. My house is literally a pit of gross right now. I don't like inviting people to my house because it's in disrepair, dirty and cluttered. I don't want people to judge me, I don't want to stress myself and my family out by cleaning for a week straight and I can't seem to get myself motivated enough to tackle any project.

So like I said, splash pad it is. (Oh, and don't think if you meet up with me at the splash pad that we will be able to chat because I will be chasing Doug over every square inch of the park.)

Anyhow, I don't feel 100% better but at least I've been able to express how I'm feeling. Hopefully sleep will not be elusive and I will be able to "prepare the face to meet the faces that I meet." Until then.

Flip-Flops, Lost & Found

It's been a great week. The weather has been conducive to being outside almost every single day. We have been to the park multiple times, the splash pad twice and today, finally, "wake beach."

I have discovered that I am allergic to the sun. This is news to me, as I typically don't have any issues with being in the sun. As of this week, every time I'm in the sun at all, I break out in hives. It is isolated to my forearms. It itches and burns and makes my skin look awful. I do not want to have to see the doctor but I don't want to have red, splotchy, itchy arms all summer. So that's a bummer. 

I will say, though, that this weather has been amazing for my spirits. I had a downturn mid-week. I didn't tell anyone because I hate telling people. I hate being that friend, the one who has itense bouts of insecurity and darkness. It makes me crazy to be that friend. 

So I kept it to myself. 

In other news, I have been reaping the benefits of not spending money. I found a pair of flip-flops at the bottom of the entryway closet. I don't have any beach shoes for the summer. I mostly have been wearing my sneakers, but it sucks at the splash pad. 

I have been seeing a blue flip-flop, part of a pair I got last summer, floating around the house. I hadn't been able to find it's mate, though, and didn't really have the extra money to get new flip-flops. 

On the morning we were going to the splash pad, I made a last-ditch effort to find Ms Blue's mate. I dug deep in the closet and while I came up empty, I uncovered a pair of black flip-flops. Score!! They are in great shape, hardly worn. Yay for being persistent. 

Then, last night, I was trying to find PJs for Doug. His room, unfortunately, is a catch-all for all storage overflow. There was a box of shoes sitting there that I had forgotten about. I started digging through and lo and behold, I found a pair of sandals just Doug's size. I had completely forgotten about them. 

He just started wearing SMOs, something thankfully covered by early intervention. He wears a special sneaker to accommodate the SMOs, but again, at the splash pad I worry that they're going to get ruined. 

I wanted to get him some sandals and normally I shop resale shops, but my kids have wide feet and it's nearly impossible to find them shoes secondhand. Now he's got a pair of sandals and I didn't have to spend a dime. 

I'm not trying to garner sympathy for my situation. I actually have a pretty decent savings account going right now. I am strapped but it's because I'm trying so hard to live with margins. 

It sucks to not just be able to go out and get things when I want to. At the same time, the answer is not always instant gratification. The answer is sometimes to wait and see. 

And there's the blessing. I could have broken down and spent $15 on new flip flops. An argument could be made that one cannot have too many pairs of flip flops. This may be true. It's a little geeky to wear sneakers and socks to the splash pad. This is pretty true. 

The reality is, I survived wearing sneakers to the splash pad. I could have gone on wearing them, if it meant I could save a few dollars to do something else that's fun for my kids. Really, though, it was fantastic to wear flip flops that I bought years ago and had forgotten about. 

I think sometimes that's the gift of being strapped, that I understand the value of stuff. I try to take better care of the stuff I have. I make things stretch. I ask for help. It's uncomfortable but it's helping me grow. 

Really, that's a gift money can't buy. 

Holiday

I know I said I wasn't going to post today, but I'll be brief. I find myself in the rare position of having a quiet house at 7:50 and being in front of the PC.

As expected, my insomnia threw a bit of a wrench into our plans. No "wake beach" for us. The weather also didn't help. When we woke up, it looked ominous and the weather report indicated a 40% chance of rain. I ate breakfast and stole away for a nap.

Upon waking up, it was sunny and gorgeous but then too late to make a trek to Three Oaks. I also saw on FB that they were pretty busy today. I prefer to go when it's not wall-to-wall people. It makes it easier to keep an eye on the kids and it's just nice to not get jostled so much.

Doug's speech has been exploding lately. On the way to church yesterday, he kept saying "snack" over and over again. It is cute to start to hear him talk. He also told me (with prompting) the other night, "nigh-nigh momma." It was a big deal because he doesn't really call anyone any name except for Brian, whom he calls daddy pretty regularly. The rest of us have no name, really.

Jeremy is a bit bummed to be going back to school tomorrow. Bekah is done with preschool and I think he's feeling the end-of-the-year itch. I have a meeting with the team next week to discuss IEP, which is a bit intimidating but also a relief. I love our school and school district. I am confident that he will get the services he needs.

I hope everyone had a pleasant holiday. I am glad Brian is home one more day and am hoping to continue to get a lot of work done around the house.

Long Weekend Blues

This was going to be a simple FB status griping about insomnia. Then I figured, "hey, you're not sleeping and you haven't posted in more than 24 hours....go for it."

So I am. 

Saturday was a beautiful day. Brian and I had a rare opportunity to be outside the house, without children, together, in the city. Those four things never happen at the same time. I think the last time we did that for more than like 3 hours was....maybe last year? 

So the story is that a co-worker (and friend) gifted Brian a pair of tickets to the White Sox game. They were playing the Yankees. I have never seen the Yankees play. It's Derek Jeter's last season with the Yankees. It's Paul Konerko's last season with the the White Sox. Brian asked who I thought he should take. The cheaper answer would have been one of the kids. The problem was that they would not, in any way, understand the significance of the game. I decided I was the answer to the question. 

It's our anniversary next week and so we decided to treat ourselves. My sister-in-law graciously watched the kids for 3 hours and then our regular babysitter (who lives next door) stayed for the last 3 hours. 

Thinking about the money we were spending hurt my head. At the same time, it was an opportunity we didn't think we could pass up. 

It was a beautiful day for a game and I'll admit that stepping onto the midway inside the park made my throat catch and eyes tear up. I don't know why I have this reaction. I am not a huge fan of sports in general but I love going to sporting events. I have never seen the Bulls or Hawks play because I am not independently wealthy and don't have that kind of free time. Mostly I've been to baseball games and I enjoy being inside a baseball stadium. There's something about the energy, I don't know. 

We had a really nice time together. I still love my husband after 9 years of marriage and we still laugh and enjoy our time together. It was pleasant to not spend most of the day being peppered by a million inane questions (though that resumed immediately upon arriving home). I liked listening to XRT, to having conversations that didn't have repeating themes ("when are we going to go to 'wake beach'?" "Is 'wake beach' open yet?" "Will you make a picnic for us when we go to 'wake beach'?" "Should I bring my goggles to 'wake beach'?"). As an aside, there is a man-made lake near us with a splash pad, Culver's, paddleboats, canoes, fishing, etc. The official name is Three Oaks Recreation Center. My kids call it "lake beach"but Jeremy still mispronounces "l" and so it comes out "wake beach." 

I knew we would be doing stuff with the kids the rest of the weekend and so I didn't feel guilty about being away from them. I checked my phone compulsively, though. I should say that both my SIL and my babysitter are incredibly competent women. My concern is always that my kids have somehow harmed the caretaker and said caretaker is about to lose their mind. I received no texts and therefore was able to enjoy our time away. 

Today was a good day but didn't go as planned. The plan was to go to church (we've been visiting a church on the north side of town), go to a local park (near church) that has a splash pad, go to the store to return a movie and get milk and hoagie rolls, go home. 

We are, however, not used to going to church in our hometown and we got thrown off. To start, I forgot the sunscreen at home. Meanwhile, the day was heating up quite a bit and both Brian and I were wearing pants. We also hadn't eaten breakfast, so we were both ready to start gnawing on the first tree we came across. 

So home we went, but before that I decided to punish myself by going to Jewel. I should explain that I do not shop on the weekend. I loathe being among throngs of people. It stresses me out quite a bit. Dummy that I am, I was at Jewel Saturday night and completely forgot hoagie rolls and milk. 

Into the breach I went and by the end of my trip, I was ready to pull all of my hair out by the roots. 

First, I didn't grab a shopping cart. No need, I thought, since I only need a few things. So I ended up walking around the store in uncomfortable shoes (because I have no comfortable and attractive summer shoes) carrying two gallons of milk, two small bags of Cheetos, a bag containing three donuts and a bag of hoagie rolls. 

Then...checkout. Self-checkout, to be specific. There were lines everywhere and I tried to pick the shortest. I then proceeded to pick the shortest line with the slowest....checkout...ever. It was as if the people had never done self-checkout before. They had a bunch of unique produce items that had no PLU code stickers. Each rack of ribs was in a separate produce bag and they had to peel back the bag each time they tried to scan it. Then the mom went to get a PLU code for the teeny, tiny cucumbers and the scale wasn't working properly. Then the mom said, "I'll pay" and proceeds to regard the electronic payment apparatus as if it were some strange device from outer space. There are only four options for payment and it seemed to take her 5 minutes to read them all. 

Meanwhile, the line is growing behind me and my patience is shrinking. Finally it's my turn to check out. The self-checkout doubts that I've put the gallon of milk on the belt....both gallons. The hoagie rolls won't scan. I hurry and enter the PLU code for the donuts. 

Then it's time to pay. 

If you recall, dear readers, in December I started using cash only for all of my transactions. I will only use the debit card if I have discussed the use of the card with Brian and I have deposited money to cover the charge. I carry around a small accordion coupon organizer that has envelopes with "groceries," "gas," "Kate," etc., written on them. I also have started to accumulate change. In some instances, I have used $3 worth of change to pay my total. (I have never read Dave Ramsay's books or attended his seminars--I heard a lot about it and took a stab at an approximation of what he talks about.)

Of course today, all of the coins were suddenly refusing to come out of my accordion thing. I've transformed into that annoying old lady who uses 85 pennies to pay because she doesn't want any extra change. 

To top it off, the child of the customer in line behind me was creeping on me. Normally I don't think I would mind but I was flustered because a 5-minute trip to the store had taken 15 (even though I confessed to the customer that had been ahead of me I had nowhere to go...I freaking had someplace to go). I was flustered that we were now going to be at the splash pad during Doug's nap instead of before his nap. I was frustrated that the pair of shoes I was wearing was hurting my feet. I was frustrated that 15 freaking cents could not be pried out of my accordion organizer. 

I am proud to report that I didn't snap at him to back the eff up, though I wanted to. The 15 cents and 9 dollars finally found there way to the correct receptacle and out I went. 

I. Hate. Shopping. On. Weekends. 

There's no two ways about it. Not only does grocery shopping stress me out because the cost of everything is skyrocketing, I hate shopping in general. I am not fond of window shopping, I avoid major centers of shopping, I do everything in my power to bypass the task altogether. 

So as I'm walking out to the van, my blood pressure and frustration level are through the roof. I open the van door (after having to bark at my husband that the sliding door won't open if the van is not in park) to a wall of questions from my kids. "Aren't we going to the splash pad?" "Did you get us donuts?" And on and on. 

This frustration isn't even hormonal. Normally the irritability would be a clear sign of an impending visit but today it was just one tiny thing after another. I was just a woman on the brink and that 15 minutes of hell was enough to send me over the edge. Luckily, it didn't include a YouTube worthy video entitled "heavyweight lady freaks out at grocery store," or something close to that. 

I did not have a Jerry Maguire moment. 

Now I can't sleep and have already intercepted Jeremy twice as he's tried to crawl in bed with us. The headache isn't helping the cause, nor is the iced coffee I had a nagging suspicion was consumed too late in the day. Maybe someday I'll learn. 

The splash pad was fun and the kids were out by 8:30. Considering the fact that bargaining and stalling usually means the noise dies down as late as 10:00,  I consider the outing a success. 

Dear God, I am hoping going to "wake beach" has a similar such effect, as I suspect I'll be falling asleep on the way home (it's a 5-minute drive). I also suspect my next post won't be until Tuesday. 

Until then. 

Transformation

What I wanted to do today was nothing. I woke up at 630 AM, feeling overheated and gross. Our bedroom is impossible to cool. As soon as the heat starts outside, it gets nasty hot in our room. I cannot stand being hot when I sleep--I wake up feeling even more exhausted. 

Additionally, those that know me know that 630 AM and I are not compatible. There's really never a good reason to be up at that time. I've tested this theory several times and it always bears out to be true. 

Today is Wednesday. I weigh myself every Wednesday morning. I am pretty disciplined about this. I do *not* weigh myself more than once a week. I have fallen into that trap and it's tough to claw one's way out of it. Even if I am feeling antsy on Monday, I wait until Wednesday. I don't normally follow rules that closely, but this one I have. 

Let me preface what's about to happen by saying I didn't think I did poorly this past week vis a vis food consumption. At the same time, I ate McDonald's for breakfast two mornings (I usually eat at home) and I had a couple of their iced coffees. I adhered to my two-dessert-a-week rule. 

All in all, while I was not perfect I didn't feel like I went too far afield. 

Imagine my surprise and dismay, then, when the animated Wii balance board informed me happily that I had gained 2.5 pounds. Impossible, I thought, and restarted the system. Checking it for the second and third time yielded the same results. 

I would love to report that I took this all in stride, that my year and a half long journey has made me calm and reasonable. I wish I could say what followed was a zen-like state, where I shrugged and said with a flick of my hand, "no biggie, I'll get it next time."

Dear reader, if you are my Facebook friend you know that my reaction was far less calm than that. The status update was a scathing indictment on my abilities to complete a goal and ended with the words "I hate myself."

I cried in the shower and used the "f" word to punctuate an angry prayer to God. I was angry that my family can't seem to catch a break, that my husband can't find a job that's more satisfying and pays better, etc., etc. I locked the door to my bedroom and to the bathroom just to ensure that my kids wouldn't hear it. 

Meanwhile, I was short with my kids (because they were there and easy targets), stomped around the house and was generally grumpy. I didn't want to drop Bekah off at school because I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to have to fake that I was having a good day or that I felt good. 

Luckily, it was my last day of work at my church (I watch the kids while women do Bible study). I had texted my beautiful friend Jen last night to confirm that today was our last day. "Yes!!," she replied, "I'm excited to catch up with you." That was kind of neat because I'm always excited but no one really wants to see a 36-year-old woman jumping around all the time. 

When I walked into the nursery, she could tell right away that everything wasn't okay. I told her about the weight gain and we talked about it. 

Meanwhile, all sorts of kind words, words of encouragement, songs of praise and worship and similar beautiful sentiment were being weaved into the comments section of my ugly status update. One person, an acquaintance from middle and high school, said he'd love to chat on Messenger about some things I could do. A dear friend from college reminded me that I have a beautiful family who loves me. Another friend from MOPS wanted to know if I wanted to meet with her and another friend next week to encourage one another and help each other meet our goals. 

I was blessed by a message from another friend, whom I've known well for 10 plus years, who told me that even though we don't talk all the time, she considers me a very dear friend and would walk through fire for me. 

My BFF (who recently had a beautiful baby boy, her third) sent me a text with a prayer asking God to be with me. I have been trying to give her space but I miss her bunches. I am hoping to take her up on her offer to come and hang out with her and that precious baby. 

I had a chance to play with the parachute at church. Doug (my youngest) and the other two youngest kids were laughing hysterically as I kept letting the parachute fall over them. I tried to let that displace the ugly feelings I had for myself. 

The truth is, I did end up getting lunch from Wendy's. I don't feel guilty about it because it happens so infrequently. I realize it feels disingenuous to complain about weight gain and then eat crappy food, but it was the only toe I put over the line. I'm currently sipping a strawberry-blueberry smoothie that has no additional sweeteners and am planning a sensible dinner of my homemade spaghetti sauce and quinoa meatballs. 

I am exhausted by the emotion I spent this morning. I don't feel bad about dropping the f-bomb with the man upstairs because at least it was honest. I have more work to do on projects tonight that are not entirely enjoyable, but I'm going to force myself to do it. I am running a load of laundry. I am cooking dinner. I went to get Jeremy even though I just wanted him to walk home on his own. It ended up paying off with a great conversation with another mom. 

I wish I could report to my readers that years of recovery and therapy and medication would offset the ugly self-talk. Instead, I'll report to you that even a day that begins with ugly self-talk can be redeemed. Vulnerability can lead to people ministering to you, which is great because school-aged and preschool-aged kids can't (and I wouldn't expect them to). 

Namaste. 

Late at Night

I don't really want to post tonight. I am tired, it's midnight, I've misplaced something important (actually, a more accurate statement is something important has vanished from the spot where I was keeping it and staring at it and cleaning around it for a month), I'm frustrated by my family's continued ability to just barely make ends meet and I'm just fed-up in general.

It's been an eventful month and a half or so. Jeremy was doing really well in school for a long time. That changed a couple of weeks ago. I started getting calls from his Vice Principal. He started getting more frustrated and short-tempered at home and at school. He had dark circles under his eyes.

I had, for the short-term, solved the problem of him and Bekah coming into our bed to sleep--every night. It had been going on for quite a few months. I had tried everything to remedy it. I started playing the ocean again, gave specific rules about bed and waking times, tried to be more purposeful about spending time with the kids every day. This was all to no avail. They were in bed with us every single night and I thought I was going to lose my mind.

It was Ami, Doug's occupational therapist, who helped me see that it was actually just habit. If I had resolved all the other sensory issues, then it boiled down to a habit. Great, I thought, I will make a reward chart for both of them and get this taken care of.

During the time the chart was being filled with stickers, it was bliss. I was going to bed and waking up without feet, arms, hands, butts and/or torsos blocking any and all access to my king-sized bed. The kids were excited about staying in bed all night. They were excited about the prospect of going to the dollar store (a place I loathe) as a reward.

Fantastic.

Except that after the chart was full, my bed started getting invaded again. Cranky mommy reappeared. I tried to help them understand that mommy needed a break from them. I am their mommy 24/7 but I can't be "on" 24/7. I have to be able to recharge my batteries.

Meanwhile, Jeremy told me last Monday morning that his tummy hurt from eating paper the night before. He typically only eats paper when he's anemic. The psychiatrist told us in December that he wasn't anemic, so I hadn't seen him eat paper or heard from his sister that he was eating paper. Pish, posh, I told him. I would not allow him to stay home from school.

I got a call from the Vice Principal again that day. He had an appointment with his occupational therapist that afternoon. I was exasperated because he had scratched a fellow classmate (they had been playing Minecraft and the classmate was "attacking" him and so Jeremy "defended" himself--he was a cougar at the time--by scratching his friend).

It wasn't until the next morning, though, when I dropped him off at school and caught him about to put a piece of paper in his mouth, that I realized what was happening.

A trip to the doctor confirmed that he was, in fact, anemic. And of course, because he hardly eats red meat (or any kind of grain/legume/green leafy veggie) that helps him produce iron, he has to take an iron supplement. Of course this meant I had to have an immediate increase of compassion and understanding for Jeremy.

The problem was and is that I'm tired. There's a good chance that I've got sleep apnea. There is no way that we can afford for me to get tested or get the equipment. I accept this. I do my best to cope with the fact that I am exhausted most of the time. I try to get to bed earlier, not take so many naps, etc., etc. The bottom line is, I'm fairly sleep-deprived and it's tough for me to have compassion for anyone to whom I've given birth.

Meanwhile, the Earth doesn't stand still for a sleep-deprived momma with an anemic son. I still have a bevy of responsibilities (like keeping track of a memory stick that was sitting in the same place for a month and disappeared) and I'm supposed to be keeping on top of them.

Quite frankly, the house is a pit right now. I am literally the worst housekeeper ever. Really. I vacuumed today for Ami and realized afterwards that the canister that's supposed to catch the stuff wasn't attached correctly and was missing a piece. There is a constant layer of dog hair over everything because my dogs are shedding at rates I've not seen since I adopted them. Almost every single toy is out on the floor over the entire first floor of my house. No matter what I say or do, my kids do not respect their belongings enough to clean them up. (Eventually I get pissed off, start screaming, turn green and clean the toys up myself. It lasts for approximately two minutes, which just pisses me off more.)

I am really struggling to be content with things right now. It has been six years of fighting and clawing just to survive. I'm exhausted. I don't know what to do. I spent the better part of today and yesterday feeling depressed, though I can't put my finger on it or explain it in any good way. I am almost in tears as I write this.

And I'm fighting the urge to a) wake my kids up and demand that they tell me where they put the memory stick or b) spend two hours scouring and cleaning downstairs to try to find it myself.

The only thing stopping me is that I'm dog-tired. (I will admit that I'm going to go look one last time, though.)

The Quicksand of Consumption

So I've been reading this book. (FYI, any good blog entry begins with that sentence. Writers need to be readers.) It's called 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, by Jen Hatmaker. I am reading it because we are having book group at MOPS tomorrow morning. I read part of it a few weeks ago, but like any busy mom I read the bulk of it tonight.

This is a much different blog entry than the one I wanted to write last night. It is the week of payday. I usually get very glum the week of payday. It seems like a paradox, I know. Payday, when I was much younger, held much promise and hope. Now it seems to hold a sense of impending dread.

The week of payday is tricky emotionally. I rejoice in the fact that I will be able to tithe. We don't do a full 10% tithe. I know opinions are split on this, but we spoke with our pastor and we agreed that right now we can't do that. We do, however, want to acknowledge God as our provider, so we write a check for $10 every payday. Seems like not a lot but it's an act of obedience. I am hopeful that one day we will place a true 10% tithe in the basket and have a party (probably not in the same week, though, as this would cause a financial burden we probably couldn't bear, lol).

Don't think I'm being disingenuous because I'm not. It feels good to be doing something small to further the kingdom of God. We have already received several blessings, albeit small, that I am directly attributing to this practice. Call me crazy--you wouldn't be the first one in line.

I also get discouraged about payday. We have been living like this, from paycheck to paycheck, for quite some time. There was a time, shortly after we moved into our house, when we were able to buy some new things. The new things are now not-new and need replacing.

I'll give you a for example.

Brian and I lived together before we were married. (Gasp, shock, hand to mouth, faint) We lived in a 2-bedroom condo. After bringing Jeremy back home from the hospital, we were acutely aware of how loud everything was. We decided to start playing the sound of ocean waves on a continuous loop, so that we could watch some TV after depositing Jeremy in bed and not having to instead act like ninjas all the time.

We continued the practice at our house once we moved in. We played the ocean, every day, all day, continuously, for almost 6 years. In that span of time, we trashed several CD players. I don't believe they were meant to be used like that.

Back in December, I switched to using all cash. I felt very spiritually convicted to do so. I was spending irresponsibly and without regard. It was a painful transition and I'm still ironing out the kinks. It has, however, allowed me to save $300. I have not saved that much money for a long time. It's kind of an amazing feat, honestly.

In any case, now every dollar has an envelope. I don't have any "extra" money, per se. Once I have spent the money allotted for eating out, I don't eat out. Simple. Once I've spent the grocery money...well, you get the idea.

I developed a category called "all the things." This is the catch-all for replacing things, for birthday presents, for shoes for the kids, for everything and anything that isn't a consumable item (say, food, diapers, shampoo, etc.). That category gets $30 a pay period. If I want something that is more than $30, I have to save over multiple pay periods. This pay period, that money will be used to buy two $15 Target gift cards. That is my standard birthday party gift. Everyone, regardless of gender or closeness, gets a $15 Target gift card. We have two birthday parties this weekend, hence the 2 gift cards.

It has made me very mindful of the cost of things. I shopped long and hard (online) for new sneakers for the kids. Normally I would take them to Stride Rite during the "Buy One, Get One 1/2 Off" sale. I like buying shoes in person because I never know the kids' shoe size. I have tried buying secondhand but my kids have wide feet. I have yet to find the right-sized shoe for them in a consignment/thrift store. It's frustrating but at least I know I tried.

In any case, I even went so far as to print off a sizing chart I found online. I hoped it would be correct. I ordered the shoes. I used my debit card but made sure I had deposited the correct amount in cash I would need to cover the charge.

I had to push back the purchase of shoes because other purchases kept springing up. I started to get discouraged, looking at how worn-out my kid's old shoes were. Really, they were bought last year around this time. And they have one pair of sneakers. No joke. One pair per kid. That's it. No dress shoes for Jeremy, Bekah's dress shoes are hand-me-downs. So I was hoping and praying that their shoes would hold out until I was able to order new ones.

Guess what, they did!! It was a shoe miracle. I did make a rookie online shopping mistake. I picked shoes with shoelaces rather than velcro. So now I'm stuck in shoe-tying hell. My dad did, however, help me out by purchasing a new pair of velcro shoes for Jeremy. So now he has two pairs of sneakers. Tres fancy.

Meanwhile, sometime back in January our latest version of the CD player gave out. It would play the CD fine but it would skip every few minutes. It didn't drive me crazy until Jeremy pointed it out--then it drove me bonkers. I tried re-burning the CD, cleaning the CD, cleaning the CD player. Nothing.

Needless to say, a new CD player is $20. Now you know my "all the things" budget. You know this is the bulk of that budget. I used last paycheck's "all the things" budget to buy a DVD of Frozen. It was well worth it, as it has provided hundreds of hours of entertainment for both me and my kids. At the same time, we are without a CD player and also without the ocean. It would be okay except that Jeremy, who has sensory issues, is very sensitive to sound. Like dolphin sensitive. I didn't realize that listening to the ocean helped cover a lot of the sounds that bug him, sounds that I've just internalized, like the furnace kicking in or the wind blowing or a car alarm or fireworks.

This has actually translated into stress for Brian and me. We have had to deal with a lot of him coming to us and telling us he's afraid of a loud noise. We have to remind ourselves that they are, to him, loud noises that they do seem scary, that they are disruptive to him. It's tough to remember that after a long day. Buying at $20 CD player would alleviate the stress. I would love to make the purchase, but the list of things eating the "all the things" category seems to never end.

In the period of time I've been desiring a CD player, (and I'm sure some of you will file this in the TMI category), my bras have been failing me, one by one. I last bought new bras two years ago. You read that correctly, two years. In that period of time I stopped breastfeeding and lost 50 pounds. I wore them every single day, almost 24 hours a day, for two years.

The underwires have been snapping and one by one, four went down to three, then two, then none. I have a sports bra left. That's it.

Bras are expensive. I can't buy cheap ones because I'm 100 pounds overweight. The material alone costs more, but then extra stuff is needed to keep things in place. I can go to Target and try to buy one cheaply, but it will not last, it will not be comfortable and it will not work well. I spent about $100 two years ago; I'd say I got my money's worth out of that investment.

Here's the problem. It's going to take me about a month and half to save $100. Meanwhile, I have one bra. I have to pray daily that it holds out, literally (well, literally would be hold "up," but I digress). And, still no CD player, meaning Jeremy still freaking out about the loud noises.

Enter this book by Jen Hatmaker. She is a Christian author based in Austin and decided to take seven months and, in each of these seven months, attack a different area of excess in her life. Her goal was to grow herself and grow closer to God by denying herself things.

It's kind of comical because I feel like the last almost 4 years of our life have been a forced practice of this principle. One by one, we peeled away and tossed aside things that we couldn't afford. First it was our maid, then Oberweis delivery, then our lawn guy (that one we did need because Brian was fighting cancer and I was pregnant and with child, so I couldn't keep up with the lawn), then we got rid of the Odyssey for a Town & Country, etc., etc.

Jen starts with eating, then deals with clothing, spending, waste, possessions, media and stress. I will say, we are pretty nimble on spending, possessions and clothing. I own one pair of jeans that fits me appropriately. One. I bought them at a consignment shop back in December. The previous pair of jeans I bought at the same consignment shop don't fit me to the point that I'm afraid I'll end up with them around my ankles in public. Literally.

However, I'm still holding on to the other pairs of jeans. I think I'm mostly doing so for emergency purposes, but also they are pretty worn out and not even really Savers/Goodwill worthy. That's the thing--I buy clothes secondhand and I wear the crap out of them. I am still wearing t-shirts I bought when I got pregnant with Jeremy. Not joking about that either.

And yet, my closet is full. I have a lot of t-shirts that will fit me shortly, so I refuse to let go of them. I have started to let go of other stuff, shirts I don't like, stuff that is out of style, but I am a t-shirt hoarder, I'll readily admit it.

So Jen's observations are so on point to where I am. I feel like God has done for me what I could not do for myself and that's to strip the noise away. It has been painful and uncomfortable and embarrassing sometimes, but I believe it has definitely drawn me closer to God. Yet I'm still living in excess--I still have too much. Nothing of value, though, all that stuff is gone. Even still, I live in clutter each and every day. It's definitely paradoxical for me to complain about barely making ends meet and then in the same sentence, admit that my house is full of stuff.

And here's where the title to this entry comes in. Yesterday I was in a funk, thinking about all the ways that the money we have is not enough. We have medical bills stacked knee high. I started working part-time at my church and have been picking one off the pile and slowly paying it off. We have medical bills dating back to 2011 (not joking or exaggerating).

Our house needs windows. Not in a our-next-door-neighbors-just-got-windows-so-we-need-windows-way, but in a way where we can feel every breeze blow through certain windows in the house.

Brian is driving a car that is 17-years-old and has over 200k miles on it. He drives it back and forth to Northbrook every day and we pray and cross our fingers that it doesn't die, because we really can't afford a new(er) car.

I started thinking yesterday that our troubles would be solved if there was more money coming in. I have several friends whose pitch to get me to do direct marketing is "wouldn't it be nice to have extra money to pay bills, go on vacation, tithe, etc.?" I have heavily considered starting to work for one of these companies.

Here's the problem. There will never be enough money. Ever. There will always be something clamoring for money to be thrown at it. I have a list on my cabinet of things I'd like to buy. It has little things (storage bins, to store the kids' clothing, about $15), to medium things (an ottoman for in front of our couch) to big things (a new grill). That list could be infinitely long.

One thing I discovered was that when we had money, it wasn't enough. We racked up the credit card bills. Not on extravagant vacations or upgrades to our house but on diapers and food and essentials (really, essentials). Now we have less money and no credit cards and it still doesn't seem like enough, but we aren't as hungry for more.

I am not salivating over the latest Smart TV because, quite frankly, it would take me two years to save up the cash for one. It's impractical and foolish to even consider buying one. I spend little time shopping because all that does is seem to create a craving for more things. The less time I spend in stores, the less I ache for new bedding, or new lamps or that perfect piece of decor for my living room. Having less money has actually quelled the thirst I used to have for new things.

I own one pair of new shoes--my running shoes. Other than that, the most recently purchased pair of shoes I own was purchased for me by my mother in December of the year Jeremy was born (2007). I am not worried about having leather boots because they would look dumb with the one pair of jeans I own that fit me. I don't spend hours pouring over shoe websites because there's no need. The shoes I have are enough for the clothes I have. Don't need more than a few pairs of shoes when don't have more than a few pairs of bottoms to wear.

We have a Wii but the kids don't play it a lot. I am not worried about them having a DS or LeapPad or any other gizmo. We were blessed by a generous gift of a first generation iPad. It is almost 5 years old and holding up just fine. We would love to have a newer one but at $300-400 (used), I need to buy new bras before I buy a new iPad. I have glanced at websites like www.newegg.com, but our one PC works just fine, inconvenient as it may seem.

My point is that not having extra has stopped me from thinking about extra and has helped me focus on how there's really enough. My bedding is getting a bit threadbare but it covers me just fine at night. There are no holes in it, no major stains, etc. It's perfectly adequate. I don't need new bedding, I want it. Okay, so it sucks to have to stare at the same bedspread for nine years but some people have no bedspread. It's still serving it's purpose and therefore it never even occurs to me to search for new bedding.

Brian and I, when we had money, never talked about money. We never had a plan, we never discussed financial decisions. We now talk about it a lot. We know where every penny is going. We agonize over all the things we wish we could do. It has brought us closer. We pray together more. We fight less. I worry less about Brian chastising me for spending too much (that hasn't happened since December, I'm not kidding).

There is an incredible amount of freedom in not having money. I don't have to be anxious that I can't buy the newest toy for my kid. I'm not wasting money on myself versus spending it on them. Instead, it just isn't there. I have money put into categories. Once that category is spent, it's spent. I can buy Frozen, but then that means we can't go to open gym at Elite Kids. I'm not neglecting them by not taking them to Elite Kids. I've given them Frozen and we can enjoy that as a family, but the money can't be spent twice. I'm not going to use grocery money to take them to Elite Kids, that would be foolish. There is no worry that I'm misappropriating the money because I'm not. I am teaching my kids the valuable lesson that money is finite. Planning is not evil or constricting but gives much freedom.

I don't want to work for a direct marketing company because I would have to convince people that their lives would be better if they spent money on the stuff I'm selling. Some of it is better than others, but ultimately it's still stuff, noise as Ms. Hatmaker would categorize it. A lot of these companies offer all-expense paid trips if you hit a sales incentive. Fantastic, except I have three kids and two dogs. I don't have anyone to watch everyone. I'm okay with that. The alternative to the trip? More stuff from the company. No thanks, I have enough of that already.

It's a noble idea to think that I could get into one of these companies, make enough money to say, pay off 2011's medical bills and just walk away. The problem is, I know myself well enough to know it would be agony all the way. I am a type-A personality. I am driven and get obsessed. I would get a taste of "more" and want what? You guessed it, more. I might earn a new car but then I would have to be consumed selling what, yes MORE in order to keep said car. The pitches I have heard never talk about ENOUGH, about when it's okay to just sit back and enjoy what you've earned. Nope, it's all about the next level, the next incentive, the next you name it. I think it works for some people but for me it's a thirst that could never be quenched.

I don't mean to paint all of these companies or people who are representatives of these companies poorly. I know some of them have used it well and been good stewards of the money they've earned. More often than not, though, I hear stories of "oh, I used to sell that and now I have all of this stuff that I want to get rid of." It is not scientific but anecdotal, so I'm sure I will have people telling me I'm wrong. I could be, but I have to follow my heart on this one. I have spent a long time getting to know myself and God has helped me tremendously toward that end.

In the end, the answer for me is not more. Not more stuff, not more money, not more (fill in the blank). It's putting my hands up and saying, "God, you're enough. You are my portion." If I'm looking at him, I'm not so worried about what people think when they see me in the same pair of jeans everyday, or the same tired t-shirt, or the ill-fitting t-shirt, or the ill-fitting maternity clothes. It's not really what I want, but it's okay for right now. If I have to live with less to feel like I am richly blessed, bring it on.

This is not a plea for money or gift cards. This is not a wish list of things. This is my reality. It's not pretty and I'm sure most are tired of me talking about it, but it's where we are. The interesting thing is that Brian and I talk about having a little more, just enough to maybe order out once in a while. I always point out that I think it would be tough to draw the line. How many times a week would be okay? Really, ordering out? We don't tolerate takeout well. We eat so cleanly that eating away from home usually ends poorly. Which brings us back to, we have enough. It's kind of boring to eat at home every day, but we feel better, we both have lost weight, our blood pressure is better, etc., etc. Again, more may help but it's not really the right answer.

I'm of the opinion that the medical bills will be paid off when they are paid off. I don't get anxious about bill collectors calling to harass us because I know we are being honest. We are not walking around living a flashy lifestyle and shirking our bills. We live a meager existence and we are doing what we can to satisfy our outstanding debt.

Brian has a different sense about our financial struggles, but that's because as a man his sense of self-worth is directly tied to his ability to provide heartily for his family. I have no compunction about it because I believe it's God's job to provide heartily for our family and I've seen him do it faithfully, month after month. I don't love my husband less because we struggle; that would be ridiculous.

Finally, living a meager lifestyle has made me pretty creative. I have bartered my homemade bread for veggies from someone's garden and for clothes for Bekah. I sold cinnamon rolls over Thanksgiving and Christmas. I know how to navigate my way through medical debt--I never pay the bill that's sent. I know the tricks--call and ask for a discount, for charity, for whatever. We have had thousands of dollars removed from bills just by making a few phone calls.

I have used Freecycle heavily. Our nightstands are hideous and not my taste but they are functional and were free. We made our headboard using borrowed materials and tools. We have two TVs in the house and we paid for neither--one was a gift from my brother and one was given to us by a high-school acquaintance who lives in the area and was getting rid of it.

I cook from scratch. A lot. I didn't grow up knowing how to cook. I've learned a lot about cooking by reading books and blogs and listening to speakers and asking friends. We have pared down our grocery bill by eliminating processed foods. If we weren't broke, I never would have made that change. Pain is the great motivator, or it has been for me.

We have always had enough, and that's really what God promises us. I haven't been able to keep up with the neighbors and it's such a relaxing thing!!

I don't know, I'm feeling a lot happier today than I was yesterday and the situation really hasn't changed. It's payday tomorrow. Our refrigerator is bare. I don't mean first-world bare, I mean bare. There are one and half slices of lunch meat, just enough to make Jeremy's sandwich tomorrow, two bags of mostly empty shredded cheese, some garlic and peppers, milk, and lots of condiments. My freezer? Same story. No meat to speak of, no soup, nothing. That's how it always is the Wednesday night before payday. There is always just enough to get us by, about which I feel strangely proud. There is not food spoiling in my refrigerator and that's quite a feat.

I crafted a meal yesterday using a pound of ground beef, a can of mushroom soup (that had been sitting in my cabinet for at least a year and a half), a can of green beans (that's at least three years old) and jasmine rice. It's not a meal I would repeat, but it sustained Brian and me. Tonight? Pancakes, made with flour I milled here at home and using the last three eggs we had. I used my savings to buy the milk and I will replenish the money tomorrow when I head to the bank and withdraw the money I'm given by Brian every two weeks.

Not glamorous but joyful, and for that I'm truly grateful.