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.)