Imperfect Christmas Wishes

The most wonderful time of the year started with me having an intestinal bug so severe My Beloved stayed home from work to care for Baby Henry because I was too sick to get out of bed. Today, with all the kids home and so full of mischief (as a euphemism for the words I'd like to use) even threats of calling Santa, the naughty list, or No Christmas celebration at all, have fallen on, pardon the pun, deaf ears.
I instituted a mandatory nap time, so everyone is currently taking some time out in their rooms, and I began to clean out the microwave (I suspect my parents notice my sometimes icky microwave, so I clean it before they come). I suddenly had thoughts of the most perfect mother, Mary, the earthly mother of Jesus. How "perfect" was she feeling 9 months pregnant all those years ago? I know that Christmas tests my marriage, can you imagine the position she was in and the strain on their relationship? Remember, God chose for his son to be born to real people, she must have had a little heartburn or a few cravings, and we know Joseph had some doubts about his gal too, it's even in the bible.
So in my imaginings, Mary was a little stressed, and maybe even a little snippy with old Joseph, and I am going to give myself a break. Sweet, flour-covered, apron wearing mothers are rarely just that, and if they are, they are trying to sell me something in 60 seconds, I'm on to you Betty Crocker.
I am going to try to give up worry about the perfect outfit to wear to my in-laws, or if I have some new recipe to dazzle my dad, or the absolute ideal of a gift to present to my mother. I am going to let go of my need to have all the presents wrapped and the glass surfaces of my home fingerprint free before my sisters newest beau comes over. Will he remember me for my clean glass surfaces? Unlikely.
I am going to look to someone else this Christmas season for inspiration, instead of combing through Martha Stewart magazines for a recipe, I'm going to take a minute to be thankful to the ultimate mom and remember, whether it's the cleanest house or a manger made of hay, Christ's birth is coming and people are coming to visit and I should be thankful I have a partner to help with the small talk.

Father of The Year

As much as I sometimes want to devote entire blog posts extolling the virtues of My Beloved, I generally refrain, as my love and adoration for some of his virtues ebbs and flows (Sometimes I love his biting wit, other times, not so much). Today though, in honor of Father's Day I will share a few things that I love about My Beloved and why he's a such a great dad.
When you get married, before you have children you only have an inkling of the commitment required to be a parent. Before the blessing of babies, you have no idea just how consumptive they are of all things, big and small.
Yesterday, after a long day of work and running our garage sale we decided to go out to eat to a family restaurant. We divided up sides of the booth, 3 on one side, 2 on the other. Just as My Beloved began to take a bite of his juicy, much longed for cheeseburger he felt a tug on his arm, and he looked down to see Baby Henry smiling as he happily pulled a scab off of My Beloveds arm (from an earlier landscaping injury). Instead of getting angry, My Beloved looked across the table into my eyes, smiled and said "We've reached a new low, even scabs aren't sacred." Strangely my eyes filled with tears at the love I share with someone who is so deeply entrenched in parenting that even really gross things are some how meaningful.
Did I ever imagine 12+ years ago that the highlight of our days would be a successfully executed bedtime routine, when we operate like a well-oiled machine transforming wild, grubby, noisy children into sleeping angels, incapable of nothing but sweetness (note I said sleeping!) until morning? No, I somehow thought it would be more exciting and glamorous, or at least I would be more fashionably dressed, and significantly thinner in my imaginings.
Nevertheless, My Beloved does not disappoint in the fatherhood area, is he always perfect, NO WAY. Does he sometimes yell? Yes. Does he occasionally swear in front of the kids? Yup. Do they often repeat these swear words? Of course, but only when it's really embarrassing for me. For the big stuff though, the man I married is Father of the Year. He works incredibly hard for our family, both at the office and at home. He tries hard to teach our kids lessons in everything he does. This summer he and the kids designed and planted a garden in the backyard, which was somewhat bigger and more work than he bargained for, I think. So far so good, although I'll be interested to see how some of the more exotic things turn out (planting our own cantaloupe for instance). This endeavor has been enriched by our family foray into composting, and everyone is into that. The kids now beg to see how the food scraps are rotting in the backyard compost bin, can you say EXCITING?
So while this life of rotting compost and scabs was not what I imagined when I met my husband, I would choose it again in a heartbeat, scabs and all.

Man In Motion

This week has been a big week for our family. Little Monica is completing 2nd grade and moving up a group in gymnastics, Norah is graduating from pre-school, and Henry is completing his first full week in a big boy bed. We have been busy!
We have also completed a journey that at times I truly believed would never end. Rory, my Beloved, completed and presented his thesis today. Six years ago when he began this journey we were a happily married couple with one child living in the first home we'd ever purchased, and did we have a lot to learn.
Sometimes I think that movies portray these life journeys in a montage set to a tune (I'm hearing the St. Elmo's Fire theme here). The road is hard, the mountain is steep and the protagonist ultimately makes it to the end of his journey victorious, with a sweat soaked brow and a hot babe waiting at the finish line.
That was not the journey we have been on for the past 6 years. Our road has been mostly gravel, with a lot of stumbling, bruises, skinned knees and hands, and at the end of Rory's journey he did have sweat soaked brow and was victorious, and the hot babe at the end was not a busty blond, but me.
While completing graduate school will give My Beloved 3 new initials after his name (M.P.H.) and a nice diploma, ultimately completing this degree is a sign of the true strength within the man I married. He is certainly not the "dumb jock" I thought he might be the first time we met, but rather he is the smart, sensitive guy who finishes what he started, despite the adversity he may face.
By completing this degree he serves as an example to our children of perseverance and tenacity. With time they should forget the part about MAJOR procrastination and Coca-Cola consumption.

Old Boyfriends

So lately I've been thinking about old boyfriends. As I am a frequent user of Facebook, the idea of getting a look into the lives of those who might have been is just too tempting for this gal! Thus I have become friends with a few (OK, more than a few) old boyfriends.
My definition of boyfriends is pretty loose, pretty much defined as any one I have kissed (and I really just mean kissed) in a non-platonic way more than once in my 31 years. Considering I've only been kissing my Beloved since October 31, 1998, let's just say a few of these former flames have sent me friend requests, and I'll admit, I've searched and friended a few. My curiosity overwhelms me and I just have to know! What do they look like? What kind of jobs do they have? Do they still love the Beastie Boys? Are they bald? Fat? Into NASCAR? Did they marry ugly women? Did their kids inherit their short, stubby fingers and small, squinty eyes?
After having my curiosity quenched I inevitably feel thankful. You read that correctly, thankful. Different qualities from all these previous heartaches (whether mine or theirs) have been thread into the quilt that is who I am. More impressed upon my memories is the likes and dislikes I learned about myself through these relationships. Knowing and unknowing these old boyfriends brought me to the day I met my husband and all the days ever since.
Because of these old boyfriends, I can watch my child play soccer with some expertise, after 2 semesters dating a soccer player, a girl learns a thing or two about the game. I know and love theatre to this day because of some ill-fated forays into dating theatre majors. I would have never learned to Rollerblade or that I really don't like rollerblading had I not fibbed about my rollerblading prowess with a handsome allergy prone fella in high school. The smell of hockey still brings me back to the hot, hairy Italian from my freshman year in college. Sports expertise, theatre knowledge, even some brief kisses from some Ivy Leaguers, don't compare to the first and subsequent kisses from my Beloved.
So yes, I'm thankful for the tears shed, anger felt, cassette tapes recorded in memory of, all the different personality traits I was able to try on throughout the years because the one that fit me best was a hunky football star with a penchant for the country music and I couldn't be happier. Most days.

Drastic Measures

I am about to do something drastic. I'm not sure what, but I have begun making grand statements to my Beloved and contemplating even more impossible things in my own mind. Fortunately for both he and I, I do not have the funding available at this time, nor do I have a very focused idea what drastic measures I am going to take.

Some of my thoughts have been, in no particular order:

- I'm going to take the GRE
- I am going to dye my hair
- I think I should go on a week long retreat at someplace that has a vow of silence
- I might look cute if I got my nose pierced
- I should run for a city office
- It might be fun to be on a game show
- I am going to go to law school, in which case I should take the LSAT, not the GRE
- I am going to take the LSAT
- I've always wanted to learn to knit
- I've always thought being a dental hygienist would be neat, and I bet I could get my teeth all capped at a serious discount


When I have shared some of these with my Beloved he does something so irritating I genuinely want to punch him in the nose. He is supportive, sweet, and understanding. He begins telling me things like, "You should go to grad school honey! The GRE is a great idea." or "You have some definite leadership skills, what kind of city office?" Sometimes he proceeds to talk about costs and ways we could pay for tuition, or really practical things, like "If you went on a retreat I'm sure we could figure out something with the kids, if you want to do it, we'll figure it out!" Who is this guy?

For some reason his support and love regarding my crazy fantasies really takes the wind out of my sails and I get ticked off. At some point, usually after his offer to make a spreadsheet or do a cost/benefit analysis of going back to school I walk away and decide to do nothing.

I choose to stay home, with some serious gray hair sticking out, I don't go on a retreat and take a vow of silence, I don't audition for a game show, I don't get my nose pierced, I don't even make an effort to learn to knit and the worst part is that it's my own lack of inertia that keeps me fantasizing about these things, not doing them. It's certainly not for lack of support.

So I'm not going to do something drastic I guess, at least not today.

Chicken Nuggets

We joined the YMCA. When making the decision to join I expected some transformation, some self-discovery, some sweat, some tears, but I didn't expect so many results so soon.
My primary discovery has been that I am neurotic and paranoid. The idea of exercising in a gym atmosphere with other people around makes me giggle, act immature, and pretty much make a dope of myself...big bonus, we're coughing up almost $100. a month for the aforementioned moronic behavior on my part. Last night Rory and I went together, working out will bring us closer together, and I hoped maybe make Rory so tired he'd go to bed at a normal time (didn't happen).
We got to the Y, dropped off the kids, which is where the tears come in, you'd swear Baby Henry has serious abandonment issues whenever I leave him.
Then we went to our separate locker rooms, everyone in the locker room acts like they know what they are doing. People shower, change, brush their teeth, I even saw a woman blow drying her hair, it was 6:30pm, WHY?
I felt like I needed to do something while I was participating in the locker room portion of our adventure, so I put my stuff away, went to the bathroom, washed my hands for a looooong time, then I checked my Facebook profile on my phone, checked the lock on my locker again, weighed myself, tied my shoes, checked the steps on my pedometer and went to wait for Rory...where was he? What could you possible do in a locker room to get ready for working out? I was in the locker room for almost 5 minutes and I read every sign in there!
Finally I just went to the "Fitness Area." Hopped up on a treadmill and felt totally overwhelmed, all the buttons, should I do a "Fit Test?" While I was debating the merits of the Rolling Hill setting vs. Interval training Rory came up behind me, I was somewhat taken by surprise, and for some reason yelled at the volume of someone who had been approached by a knife-wielding serial killer, and that's just the beginning.
Now that everyone was looking at me, Rory suggested we go lift weights and work on our arms. This is where I should tell you, I've worked out before, I've been to a weight room, just not at my current shape and size. Let me tell you, size matters. We started out at some machine and I put the weight peg thingy in the hole by 50lbs. I can lift that...wrong! I couldn't even move it and I looked in the mirror and my face looked funny trying to move it, so I started laughing and then I started commenting about the lack of mirrors at McDonald's and how much safer I feel there. Still no smile from Rory. I was really making some good comments, I was rolling!
I did the sets required of me by my very serious looking husband and we moved on to the next machine, then I started noticing the people standing around "pretending" to be stretching. I say "pretending" because I know they were really staring at me and mentally commenting on my ineptitude on the machines and general out of shape-ness. I could see the scorn in their faces. OK, really I couldn't but I was feeling really UNCUTE in those mirrors and maybe it was the scorn in my own face, I don't know, I remember in college I really liked those mirrors, seeing how my different muscles flexed. Now I would be happy if I could wear a snowsuit in the gym, or at least a long scarf to cover my mid-section.
We moved on to the bench. At first I thought he was joking. I laughed, too loud, made some comment about it being a breeding ground for bacteria. Still nothing, usually he finds me very funny, what is his problem? So I attempt to lay down, I say attempt because in laying down I misjudged where the actual bar was and hit the back of my head on it, but I totally meant to do that. I think my hair absorbed most of the blood. When I finally was able to lay on the bench I had to scoot my body down because my head was hanging off, then my shirt started creeping up and I couldn't stop laughing. I thought Rory was going to kill me, don't worry though, it got worse. I couldn't lift the bar. The bar with no weights, I couldn't lift it, when I finally did my arms were shaking and I was worried I was going to drop it on my face so I closed my eyes, and Rory took the bar away from me. He then handed me something called the Body Bar, which is a little bar for wienies. So then I started saying stupid things like "Look at me with the wienie bar." Rory was still not amused.
At last I was allowed to go back to the safe treadmill, and the only one available was next to a pretty foxy college girl who had on WAY too much perfume. I got on the treadmill and just pushed a bunch of buttons, because I didn't want her to think I was a total idiot, then the treadmill began going really fast and I had to run, and I couldn't see the stop button. Eventually I was flung off and the college gal took out her ear bud and said "Are you OK?" and I was about to say something like "Someday, you too will have your body ravaged by 3 pregnancies with no time to work out and a McDonald's right by your kids school. So enjoy hot and skinny while it lasts Sister!"
Instead I said "I'm totally OK, I meant to do that." Thus confirming to her that I was a total idiot.

Chicken and Rice

I'm pretty secure in my marriage. Lately we've been having some problems though. Are you ready for some juicy insight into the secret that plagues our marriage? Here goes.
Rory has a habit, a terrible habit that is causing me to lose sleep at night. You see, Rory rarely goes to bed before midnight, sometimes he stays up past one, even until 2am. When we were just married this didn't bother me, I could just as easily stay up and read a book, take a bath, do laundry, many times we stayed awake til the wee hours of the morning just talking. Now, 3 kids later, it's taking it's toll and I don't know how to change course.
When we married we vowed to go to bed together every night if possible. While I was growing up my mom always went to bed early, and alone. So unromantic. My marriage would be different.
The worst part about this habit is that I don't know how to break it, it isn't as though he is forcing me to stay awake, he's more subversive than that. Sometimes it's cleaning the house, or proofreading one of his Master's papers, could be budget committee meetings, or packing the kids lunches...but every night the clock creeps to midnight and beyond and I'm awake in the company of my beloved.
I've tried a lot of different tactics too, promises of "cuddling," offers to let him watch TV in bed, promises he can pick whatever History Channel show he wants. Sometimes he agrees and comes to bed, then we end up talking and planning for our future, or Christmas or summer vacation, I've even stayed up late talking about whether or not Charlie Weis (Notre Dame EX-football coach) should get fired (he did), or if Notre Dame should go to a bowl game or not, and how 'bout them Chicago Bears? We've burned the midnight oil over their poor performance too.
Our kids are in bed and sleeping, regularly by 7:30pm. I could go to bed right then, but never do, every night I am hopeful that that will be the night I am sound asleep by 10:30. Somehow the promise of interesting conversation with a man I adore is too great for me, and I head downstairs for hours of interesting conversation, proofreading papers on health care policy,(BORING!) housecleaning, History Channel or football strategy talk, and he never disappoints, so I guess the hours of beauty sleep I am missing are worth it, if only we could get paid for our late night football analysis.

So dear readers, please answer these questions for me:

1. When do you go to bed at night?
2. Do you go to bed at the same time as your spouse?
3. Do you feel that going to be together is important?

Corn Dogs

Marriage is cyclical. Sometimes I am amazed (as I have been the past few weeks) with the wonderful, intelligent, handsome, thoughtful, sexy man I married. This week, not so much.
This is a belief I have held for many years. There are moments that the pure joy of being married to this wonderful creature brings me to tears, just not today, or yesterday, or the day before. Tonight he is working late, and I sort of wish he would just stay gone for a day or two. It would be nice to have the opportunity to appreciate him a little bit.
I am not angry with him, he has done nothing different this week than in past weeks, he is still his usual hard-working self, and no it's not "that time of the month." For awhile I just attributed it to the barometric pressure, or some other strange phenomena, but today I've come to the conclusion it's about space. Sometimes a person just needs their own space. I don't know if this is just female thing either, I would imagine men feel that way too, I don't know. When I talk to my husband about these feelings of disconnectedness he maintains he always loves me with all his heart (Gag!)
So to my devoted Rory, I love you, but sometimes your constant back-scratching needs, bed hogging, snooze button punching, cologne overdosing self isn't always a turn on, but most of the time it is.

Papa Murphy's Pizza

I tried something new today. I went to a Mom's Club at our new church. I was nervous, I was apprehensive, I was actually about to chicken out and not go. All these thoughts came rushing through my head...I don't know anyone there. I won't like anyone there. Worse, they won't like me. They will all be these put together women with well-behaved put together kids. I shouldn't go, I have a zit on my chin, I need a haircut, Baby Henry has a runny nose.

Really, all that was going through my head. Then my beloved husband called and said "You're going to that Mom's Club thing right? Or are you going to come up with some reason you can't go?" I began to tell him about the copious amounts of snot running from Henry's nose, people would surely think he was infectious and run from us. Silence. Beloved Husband wasn't buying it, moreover I was realizing I sounded a little lame.

The clock was ticking, we couldn't make it in time...more crazy thoughts...I wouldn't want to walk in late my first day. Not to mention our church is connected to a school, so I probably wouldn't be able to get in and they would think I was a kidnapper or something trying to break into the school, then the police would come, and then Beloved Husband would be called at work because I was arrested for breaking into a school and who would pick up my kids at school?

After all of that, I went. Everyone was really nice and welcoming. The speaker there today was from the Salvation Army and talked about all the amazing works they do in the Twin Cities and the United States. I was impressed and educated all at the same time.

Sure, Baby Henry of the Booger Brigade couldn't hack it in the nursery and had to come and sit with me in the Mom's Club meeting, and he proceeded to be booger-nosed and adorable all at the same time.

I was OK, I made it through. I met some really nice women whose names I couldn't remember if my life depended on it. I think I might go back. Baby Henry needs to build up a tolerance to the nursery. I'll do it for him.

Isn't it funny how when you need it most God sends the exact message you need to hear? Sure I'd appreciate it if he emailed me these messages instead of forcing me to live them real world, but today's message from God was about community and gratitude. There are women, just like me, who probably have crazy, italicized thoughts and they are waiting to meet me and I can't wait to get to know them better, maybe next time they can wear name tags! That was the community lesson.

The greater lesson today was that my worries were about whether or not to go to a Mom's Club, I wasn't thinking about how I was going to come up with food or a place to sleep for my children tonight. I wasn't cold or hungry today. After listening to the speaker from the Salvation Army I realized the blessings I have that so many people don't. I realized that my little drama's are nothing when you step back and look at the big picture. Tonight, I go to bed with a grateful heart, and tomorrow I am going to think a little more about what I can do to help out other mothers who don't have the gifts I so take for granted.

So thank you dear readers, for listening. I'm thankful for you too.

Check this out as well for more Salvation Army info: http://www.kare11.com/news/news_article.aspx?storyid=828229&catid=391&GID=/hntWZrWag1UwZQOWQ1Mcm0T2cLN2J4ZWGf8HpgHpu4%3D

Leftovers

Today is our 9th wedding anniversary. While I have spent a large portion of my day thinking about my hard-working honey and our blissful 9+ years together, I have also been thinking about an important person missing from my life.
I was 11 years old when my Grandma Rita had a heart attack and died. She was just 56 years old and heart disease was known about but certainly not as marketed as well as it is these days. Some days I find myself wishing she would have been able to meet my husband, I know in my heart they would have been kindred spirits. I wonder what parenting advice she would have given me, and I think that she would have helped my mom relax a little more, but truly I don't know.
The Grandma Rita I remember is from a child's perspective. I know she was a woman who raised her kids in the tumultuous times of the 60's and 70's, and she certainly didn't have the marriage I do today. She gave birth to 7 children within 9 or so years and as far as I know she never had a nervous breakdown. She had a huge house to keep clean and didn't have McDonald's or Domino's to deliver dinner, and she didn't have the luxury of a dishwasher to clean up all those dishes.
Despite not having the things that I so take for granted, my memories of her and her sunny disposition are amazing. She let me wear lipstick, she never left the house without a little dab or two, and she always had a pie ready to eat on the table and cookies in an ice cream pail on top of the fridge. She was always ready with a hug, and would let me play beauty salon with her for hours, never complaining, I wonder how many times she realized she had a curler stuck in the back of her hair long after I'd gone home.
So 20 years after my Grandma Rita's too soon death, I am thinking of her, imagining how much she would love my children and my hilarious husband. Wondering if she'd be the kind of Grandma that had a cell phone or email. Wondering what advice she would give me about my children, or if she would make them pajamas with nightcaps for Christmas like the girls on Little House on the Prairie (her favorite TV show, after Cheers). I wonder how different my mom would be, if she hadn't lost her mother so near the age I am now.
After all that wondering, here is what I do know, I know that even 20 years after she last hugged me, I feel her arms around me in every move I make. I know that she would be proud of the woman I am today, her legacy lives on in me, a strong woman with a great sense of humor. I also know I need to take better care of my heart and body so I don't take after her with an early death and that I should try to wear more lipstick.

Baked Chicken

I am a stay-at-home mom. Many of you know that, but in case you didn't I wanted to give you some context for what is to come.
I just fed my son lunch, and laid him down for a nap. Contrary to what many of you think I am not going to go sit on the couch to watch soap operas and eat bon-bons. I have allotted some time on the computer this afternoon to price compare Christmas gifts and hopefully get a jump on that. I am also going to finish the laundry I've been working on all day, clean the kitchen. call about a medical bill that is messed up, then go pick up my middle daughter bring her home and wait for the bus to drop off my older daughter. Then it's on to homework, catechism, make some dinner, serve some dinner, take my middle daughter to dance and on and on and on. Somewhere in here my husband will come home which can be both a help and a hindrance.
What bothers me is the lack of respect I sometimes feel from people that assume this job is easy or even a job that I want. Yes, I said it. I am envious most days when my husband showers, and leaves for work. I miss the days when I worked a full-time job and had the luxury of going to the bathroom without company. I sometimes went shopping on my lunch period, sometimes I even ate lunch.
The choice for me to stay home was a financial one, because when we really did the math and looked at our finances, taking into account taxes, childcare, and commute time I was making about $18 a day and we were arguing all the time about the lack of time, or about who had the more important job and would stay home with the kids if they were sick. It was ridiculous.
We aren't rich, and I certainly do not have the temperament of a preschool teacher, but we do love our kids and knew that something had to change. So now I'm a stay at home mom. I don't dress as nicely as I used too. I wear a lot of the sweatshirts I wore in college (free advertising for St. Mary's University's quality sweatshirts!) We don't eat out very much, and my kids don't have the latest toys or clothes I purchased out of guilt. I am learning lessons of patience every day, my husband is having incredible successes at his job, and while I'm not the best mom, I'm working on it.
Please remember though, while you may have a more recent haircut than I, or you think I need a job for my self-esteem, or that I may be too consumed by my kids and their activities, I chose this, and I would choose it again.
Everybody complains about their job, and everybody wants a raise, but not everybody has their employees in the bathroom with them.

Maybe Lasagna??

Friendship is strange when you get older. Now that I am in my 30's making friends is harder, and keeping friends is even more difficult. Old friendships get harder and harder to maintain, especially when common ground starts slipping away. New friendships are like some sort of weird dating, with a lot of stops and starts and second guessing. We've moved a few times in the past years, so I've been thrust into a lot of new situations and I've had some luck making really cool friends, and then I've met some real duds (you're all wondering aren't you?).
Some of the hardest parts of friendship for me have been making anhd then moving away from an amazing soul-mate sort of best friend on the east coast. It's been a struggle to give that friendship the attention it deserves because I get so wrapped up in mothering and living life 1500 miles away, that even with technology surrounding me, reaching out is more than I can do sometimes.
College friendships are a challenge to maintain as well, my dearest college friend and I took very different paths upon leaving college. That alone has has made us into very different people, (she camps and runs marathons, Aughhh!) but despite all of that, when we were staying at the Ronald McDonald house and our middle daughter was in the NICU I didn't hesitate to call my old college roomie while pumping breast milk at 6am. The best part, she answered. Do I talk to her everyday, week, month? Nope, but remembering our brightest moments have gotten me through some of my worst times.
New friends, with our most recent and foreseeably (is that a word?) permanent move, I have met some AMAZING women, some older than me, some younger, but the great equalizer is having school age kids. It staggers me sometimes to think I am going to have these people in my life for the next 18-20 years and I hope they don't age better than me. I sometimes wonder what the next friendship move, do I call them to chat, or does that seem overeager, do I tell them about the baggage I carry? Maybe not, it's still pretty early, and we've got 20 years, I hope.
Through it all I've had the blessing of shared experience with my best friend of all, someone who has seen me at my worst, and I mean absolute worst, and helped me to be my best. If you want to know what the best part about being married is, I would tell you it's when you get to have a permanent sleepover with your best friend. Despite any disagreements, annoying habits, and excessive sports watching, even when I go to the grocery store I get a little flip in my stomach knowing I'll be coming home to him. So despite all the stops and starts and the awkwardness of new friendships, or the bittersweet feelings about old friends, having a husband for a best friend makes it all ok. Especially when you see the hunk I have at home. Hubba, hubba.

Dinner at My Parents

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the day to day. The dog needs a haircut, the laundry is multiplying by the minute, I think the dryer may have something wrong with the heating element, I think the starter is going on the minivan. Halloween is this weekend and not only do I HATE Halloween, I am feeling nearly crushed by the pressure of costuming 3 children, and for an added challenge we are going to be driving 5 hours to spend it at my in-laws in Green Bay. I loathe long car rides. Thus missing 2 gymnastics practices, which my 7 year old is obsessing about, and my husband casually mentioning that we have to be home by noon to watch the Bears game on Sunday, because God forbid we wouldn't be planted in front of the TV for the entire 4 quarters. I'll tell you my opinion on football another day.

Add to all of this my daughter going to the Hannah Montana concert tomorrow, and that we must monitor her dental hygiene extra closely as she recently had her 4 lower front teeth pulled and we need to make sure she doesn't get dry socket.

Believe it or not I went to college, I have a good (read EXPENSIVE) education. I previously worked in a pretty fast paced environment for a very successful MN company, and that was nothing compared to this workload.

Sometimes the thanklessness is shocking. The lack of recognition is depressing, but overall the rewards are amazing. As I write this I began sneezing and my little H, just 20 months old, playing on the floor next to me said his version of "Bless you, Mommy" and tears filled my eyes. Here I am writing a litany of complaints about the stresses of domesticity and God sends me a message through my little man that I am blessed, and he's absolutely right.

Tonight we are going to a wake, a wake for a man who was just 54, and healthy, but got sick from this horrible illness that is all over the news, H1N1. This illness does not discriminate, and for that we all need to be a little more diligent, both in taking care of ourselves and taking care of each other.

So when you see your family tonight, hug them a little bit harder for a little bit longer, ask them if they are taking care of themselves, get a little more sleep yourself and remember you are blessed.

Bless you.

Broccoli Cheese Soup

Sometimes I think I can hear a little cash register ringing in my head. I think my husband can hear it on occasion as well, which may mean we are both insane.
When I first had kids I thought that babies were expensive. Now I know better. Currently our cheapest child his our little H (only 20 mos.). He eats, he poops, occasionally we bathe him. Beyond diapers, the financial output required to keep him at the standard of living he requires is minimal. I would also venture to say he is the best dressed of all of us (thanks to my mom's neighbor lady's garage sales!) So what am I talking about you ask?
Our oldest daughter is blessed with some serious gymnastics skill, she started gymnastics last spring and has quickly moved up to an elite, pre-competitive team. She is so excited about this I can only smile when I think of the small car payment we are going to begin paying for her to keep up her passion.
She will be making her First Communion this year, is Sunday school free? No way!Plus we have to pay 2 sacrament fees. One for First Communion, and one for First Reconciliation. We're talking in the neighborhood of $200 not including the cute First Communion dress and party in the spring.
Our middle daughter, just like her sister HAS to go to Sunday school, also not free. N also takes dance lessons which is no cheap deal either. Lessons, plus costumes, plus tickets to the recital. Not to mention the time suckage when I spend Monday nights, Tuesday and Thursday nights, Saturday AM's all watching my children doing what they love. Not including the monthly Wednesday's for Family Faith at church.
So why do I do it? Because my mom did it, because my mother-in-law did it. To keep my kids off drugs, off the streets, out of trouble, to help them build confidence.
I may not get a thanks tonight when I spend 2-1/2 hours watching gymnastics practice, or tomorrow when I am filling out the forms for book orders (ka-ching). It may be years before I get so much as acknowledgement from them for the time and $$$ spent, but it's worth it. Today I look at my parents and my in-laws and think about what they gave up or the budgeting they did and the volunteer hours they put in so my husband and I were always ready for our meets, be they track (me) or wrestling and football (R).
It was worth it, we are better people for it, and despite the dollar signs I often see in my husbands eyes, or the new winter coat I may not buy this year (no worries, I have several) so we can afford gymnastics and religion classes, and birthday parties.
So today remember to say thanks to your parents and in-laws and try to have a lighter heart when you have to run back in the house for the water bottle your child forgot. It'll pay off in the end, we hope.

Frozen Pizza

I have given birth to 3 wonderful children. I am married to my best friend. I was a collegiate athlete. I have wonderful parents, in-laws, and siblings. I have many friends, new and old that I thank God for everyday.
I also have spent the past several years going on and off anti-depressants, and for portions of the time I have struggled with some pretty severe depression. Depression characterized by extreme exhaustion, lack of interest in activities, sometimes nearing resentment that other people were so happy when I was miserable. I had extreme social anxiety, to the point I would cancel things with others, even haircuts (and I love getting my haircut) because I couldn't face people that were in a good mood, but I took comfort in the fact that I was never suicidal or homicidal, which meant I wasn't depressed, right?
Paxil, Zoloft, and Celexa are some of the more famous names I've tried. I have tried counseling, self-help books, diet changes, spurts of exercise. You name it, all to fight off this undercurrent of malaise I've felt. I've had weight gain, acne, bloating, and most recently joint pain from the latest medication I was taking. I would be prescribed these medications and not see the prescribing doctor for a year or more, or never again sometimes. That is not a safe way to take medication.
Today I went to the doctor. I explained to the doctor, quite truthfully, that I love my life (see 1st paragraph), but every time I try to stop taking these medications I feel so crummy I start back on them again. After talking to the doctor for quite sometime, we decided that I should taper off the current anti-depressants I am taking and see what I am really like without medication. She gave me directions on how to safely taper off of the medication I take and made me promise that if I feel bad, don't feel bad calling her and making an appointment. I also need to come back in 2 months to see how things are going, good or bad. I've never had a doctor plan a follow-up for anti-depressants before.
In this day of health care reform talks, and lack of access to health care providers, I found this refreshing, not only did this doctor try to help me help myself, but she didn't throw a prescription at me, and she did offer me reassurance that she was there for me if I needed help, and that we were a team in charge of my health.
No, I did not go to a small private clinic, which makes this even more incredible, and for the first time since I began taking anti-depressants, when Prozac was really the only one out there, I feel like I can do this.

What I want to communicate to my readers today is this:
1. Anti-depressants are ok. Some people do need them.
2. Don't think that you have be on them forever.
3. If your doctor isn't your care partner, find another doctor.
4. Depression isn't something you have to be embarrassed about.
5. The only shameful part about depression is not doing something about it.

October is Depression Awareness Month, and I didn't even know that when I started this blog post. Depression is a scary thing, I know, I've been there and I think I'm on my way out of it. Don't be afraid to tell someone, help and support are a great part of treatment, but may not be the only treatment for you.
I was a little embarrassed putting this out there, worried I might embarrass my husband or family somehow, but I know that writing this has helped me more than keeping it to myself ever has.
If you or someone you know is suffering from depression. Get help, it's out there now more than ever. http://http://www.webmd.com/depression/guide/depression_support_resources