Hey guess what?! I'm still breathing!

I think one of the worst parts about days like Monday is that it comes out of nowhere. It isn't caused by something or someone. It isn't because I don't like to stay at home with my kids, or because I have too many kids and can't manage them, or because of a lack of coping skills, or impatience, and it isn't because I don't believe enough in God, or other things that plague every day life. It isn't mind over matter, although I do my best to understand my body and work with it, to move in a healthier direction when the chemicals in my body go more haywire than what is usually regulated by medication. How's that for a run-on sentence?

Is it irrational? Ridiculous? Of course. There's no reason for the grip of anxiety and the plummet to depths to sweep over me like a giant wave in the middle of a morning that is otherwise pleasant, sunny, and filled with the hugs and love of three really great kids. It's incredibly difficult to understand or explain. It's horrible to experience. It's utterly debilitating.

But anyway.

Today is a much better day than yesterday. Yesterday was more tolerable than Monday.

Moving right along.

Thanks for listening. Thanks for caring. Thanks for understanding. Every encouraging word, every prayer, every Twinkie offered is incredibly helpful. Just to know that I'm not alone . . .

Probably Too Real.

It actually began as a really nice day. I woke up an hour before the kids did and drank coffee, uploaded photos from the camera, and enjoyed the morning breeze. Everyone woke up feeling pretty good.

And then the day took a dive. Those big, burly fingers of anxiety gripped my chest. My skin began to crawl, my veins felt like an electric current was running through them, I couldn't catch my breath. My hands were shaking.

I tried to slow myself down and focus on one small task at a time. But then the neighbor boys came over. There was shouting, doors slamming, Jack screaming because he couldn't go skateboard on the driveway, Spicey whining at me. The house was a mess. Breakfast wasn't cleaned up and it was already lunch time. The new neighbor kid that I don't like having around argued with me, that defiant look in his eye.

I was crumbling. I knew that all the things I needed to do today weren't going to happen, that I was going to do well just to get everyone fed and Jack safely to naptime without losing it entirely. I sent the neighbors home. I fed the kids lunch. I ignored the breakfast and lunch dishes. I mentally canceled our errands. I crowned myself Meanest Mom Ever and told Cool that he couldn't play outside when all the boys returned 30 minutes later. I ate four cookies for lunch. I put Jack down for a nap. I begged Cool and Spicey to play quietly while I took a nap. I took a nap. The kids played quietly. I woke up feeling a little more shatterproof. A little less shaky. I'm breathing.

But I'm hollow. I'm grief stricken for things that I don't even know. I could stare at the wall all evening and not notice time passing except to feel thankful that the sun is finally going down and I no longer feel that I must perform because of it. I will look at the next Lego creation and stare blankly at it while Cool explains it to me. I won't hear any of what he is saying but I will nod and pretend that I am. One of the kids will touch me, grab for me, and my skin will jerk with electricity. I will try not to scream, "don't touch me!" I will brace myself, paint on the warmest smile I can muster, hug them and breathe deeply the scent of their skin that grounds me again. It's not their fault. I will not let the Angry, Depressed Mommy hurt them.

I hate her. This angry, depressed, horrible woman who hides inside of me. She makes me want to run away. She makes me angry at the people around me. She points out all the ways that I am a crappy mother. She makes me desperate to escape. Because of her I find myself imagining all kinds of methods of relief from this skin tingling, breath stealing, heart gripping, living torture. The more mild methods include sleep punctuated with a lot of sleeping. The most bizarre method is an imaginary zipper down the front of me that I can quietly unzip, step out of this buzzing body of anxiousness and walk away from it. The more extreme includes a big bottle of something that will numb it all, that will make me feel like it's not as bad as I think. I run from it like it's death chasing me in one of those dreams where you run and you can't move very fast and you can't open your eyes to see where you're going but you just. have to. run. And I do. I run. I run like my life depends on it, because it pretty much does.

So there it is. My crappy day and my deepest weakness and failure splattered on the internet for all to read. And I feel pretty naked. But this is real. So sickeningly real that I have to purge it.


Nobody call 911. Don't feel sorry for me. Don't think less of me. I am not completely unstable. It's going to be okay. It is. I've been through worse. I'll move past this day, too.

Dumpster Diva

After three years of doing nothing but shoving things over and stacking stuff higher and leaving only enough room for the cars to park inside, we decided it was time to clean out the garage. We knew it would be massive and it was. Good thing we rented one of these. We filled it. I'm serious. Not one thing in that dumpster was worth keeping, giving away, or selling. And also? The broken down aluminum swingset was hacked to pieces and is stuffed in there as well. We are certifiable white trash. Tomorrow will mark a full week that the dumpster has sat at our curb. We're placing bets on how long before the HOA sends us hate mail.


All the stuff that didn't fit in the dumpster is going in a yard sale this weekend. Ugh. I H A T E doing yard sales. So much work, so much sitting in the hot sun, and so much dickering over prices that are ridiculously low to begin with. Seriously? You really can't pay $1.00 for that nearly new Baby Gap sweater? You're really going to put that cut-glass vase down because I won't take a quarter for it instead of 50 cents? *sigh* The only reason I put up with it is because the extra moola is needed. So if you want some kid clothes, a used computer chair, the best, most comfortable, full size couch ever created but doesn't fit in my house anymore, please come over on Saturday between 8 and 3.

Sand, Glorious Sand!

I switched off the blow dryer this morning, bracing myself for the typical dull roar that is my house when the kids know that I am temporarily hearing impaired by the noise of the blowdryer. But the house eerily quiet. No squeals, arguing, or yelling previously masked by the blissful whir of my blow dryer. I peeked out the window and saw all three of them blissfully, companionably playing outside together in the cool morning shade.

Glory hallelujah.

Awhile back I had clipped a photo out of a magazine and gave it to my dad. The man can build anything and look at the price attached to that particular model. Ouch! Now that the real estate market is in the crapper and we're saddled with this house until we die, why not add a more permanent-ish fixture to the backyard?

On Saturday morning my parents showed up with a little surprise. My dad had returned from a trip with the itch to head into his shop to create something (sounds like a girl I know with sewing machine). Two days later he arrived with the perfect sandbox, a genius cover, and a truck bed full of the softest sand ever.

We staked out a location that stays shady for most of the day.

We lined the ground with landscape covering to keep out the grass, and began to fill it with sand.
But not until many rides around the yard had been given. Seriously? My parents rock.
Move over California Screamin'.
But the rides didn't stop there . . .

Cool came home from his friend's house in time to help with a few loads of sand.

Hours of fun. H O U R S. I need to get a picture of how snug and perfect the cover straps down over it. Perfect for keeping out excess moisture and the cats. So much fun that not even Daddy can complain about the sand sifting around in the carpet and sticking to the kitchen floor.

Thanks, Dad. You're a hero. As usual.

Baking and Sewing. A good little homemaker am I.

By tomorrow Hubs will have been out of town for six days. It's been a looong six days, if six days could possibly be any longer than they already are. Thankfully he returns tomorrow and we are beyond excited.

We've managed to have a little fun since he left, though. For example, last week we baked. Want to see? We made "5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake". I found the recipe here. It's ridiculously simple and easy to make with kids. Even Jack.

I assembled the ingredients before we started. I even took a picture like a good blogger does, you know . . . making really boring ordinary things all artsy fartsy. If I was a really high profile, four-star blogger I would have taken the time to put my ingredients in Martha-ish containers and stuff. Tch. Whatev.

Then I assembled my chefs.

We had to abandon the colorful mugs early on in our project because they were too small. These little mug cakes require super sized mugs. Luckily I still had the odd shaped gigantor mugs that came with my dishes.

And also? I don't typically allow small sticky feet on the counter tops, particularly while handling food. But hey, daddy's gone. All bets (and housekeeping) are off.

After adding the liquid ingredients we stirred carefully and nuked them one by one in the microwave for just a little more than five minutes. I think my microwave wattage is a little off. Here is a mug o' cake before and after.I highly recommend consuming with vanilla ice cream. It's a very rich, dense cake. My kids weren't overly thrilled with it, but we're talking about my kids here. They take "picky" to a whole new level. Personally, I loved it. It was quick, easy, and perfect for times when you need a little chocolate fix.

And a helpful tip? As soon as you're done with the mug SOAK IT IN WATER to loosen the baked on cake. SOAK IT, I SAY!

***

Additionally, Jack has decided that diapers are no longer cool and neither is going to the potty BEFORE letting loose a tsunami of pee. An hour or so after I tucked him in bed I went in to check on him. He had removed his diaper and then tried to put his jammie shorts back on. Both of his legs were jammed in one leg of his upside down shorts, small buns shining like the moon at me. Nice.

***

I've been Netflix'ing my way through "Christy: The Complete Series" . Have you ever read "Christy" by Catherine Marshall? It's a great book. The problem with the movie series, which was filmed in the mid-90s, is that it leaves the reader completely hanging. Does she choose Rev. Grantland or Dr. MacNeill? I am in complete and utter withdrawal. Now I'm going to have to check the book out from the library and read it again. For the life of me I can't remember how it ends. And I miss my friends from Cutter Gap.

***

Today I whipped out a gift for a birthday party Spicey was attending. I've never done a shirt embellishment like this one before so it was fun to try something new. The skirt is from the free Lazy Days Skirt tutorial. The skirt is more full than in the photo, I have it folded in half. There is also a matching headband there, too.

The flower petals should gently fray on the edges over time. Each petal is tacked down, but not sewn completely on. It sort of gives it a corsage effect. Kinda fun.

The end.