Life Happens

I'm up way too early on a Saturday as usual. And I'm working. As usual. But, my reports pretty much run themselves and I'm not terribly productive or proactive at 6am. I've played all my lives on Candy Crush, read through my newsfeed - more than once. I thought about doing the dishes. No really, I did. Then I realized there was no getting my butt out of this chair except to get more coffee, and that cup is full. I started reading through my old bookmarked blogs. I love The Bloggess, she's really awesome but if you're easily offended skip it. I stop there every morning and part of my routine. There are others too but that's where I started this morning. I started going back through my old Blog Favorites folder and realized that most of them are gone! It's been a while since I've looked at some of them (last post in 2011? Really? Huh.) but I was kind of sad to find them not waiting for my return.
It got me thinking about my own blog here. Honestly I've kind of let it slip. While it was never something I wanted to make a living from, it was a much needed extension of my mental health. Whoa does that explain a lot. For a lot of it I've not shared things that are just too personal. While I admire those bloggers that I read that are sharing their crippling depression and new found love for Xanax (I don't judge. Been there. Amen to modern pharmaceuticals and their ability to return life when it's been sucked through your eyeballs) I'm not there. I have been and so I get it. Sometimes it's just me, and the overwhelming life that comes from having five kids, a gigantic dog, and an ailing father. I don't want to listen to myself whine, why the hell would the other two people that read this thing care?
There is joy, too. The amazing feeling of completeness that my children bring. Because, along with the fact that they make me bat-shit crazy, I love my children like nothing else! I would sacrifice anything for them and their happiness. Sometimes there are just so damn many of them. What falls short is the ability to share and analyze all that they make me feel. The moments are so precious. Even the ones that have me screaming like a crazy person. I am always learning and growing as a parent and as a person. This shit is hard, yo! Maybe I should share more of that. We are not alone in this, even though it often feels that way.
I'm a little scattered, too. I have grand plans and, sometimes, very little follow-through. It's not from a place of malice, or irresponsibility. It's a creative side that has yet to be adequately tapped. It's needing something to call my own in the midst of the chaos that is my life, it's a desire to take on everything and having to let the things with lesser importance drop. It's part of who I am. Love it or hate it, it's something that just has to be dealt with. Honestly I'm a little a LOT self conscious about it and am hesitant to get too excited about any one thing on the highly likely chance that my life will take over my passion. It happens. And often.
My point? Oh hell, who knows? I am ever evolving, and I hope that my blog is showing that. At least to some degree. This is really for my recollection. That is what I need to remember most of all. There will be a time when I will look back and this can be a reminder of how the kids were, how I was, how my family was. That is what I need to remember when deciding to (or not) share something. I need to make the time to keep this up (I know I've said it before) if for no other reason than prosperity's sake.
Oh look, my coffee cup is empty...

Sometimes Being A Mom Means Letting Go

That's something I've been working on lately.  And it's not easy for me.
At 7:30 this morning I was outside, in the cold, letting  Georgie jump on the trampoline. Still in her jammies. At 7:30 in the morning!  After about 20 minutes I was finally able to convince her to go inside. Her fingers and nose were bright red.  She was all snotty. But her eyes were bright and happy and she got out some pent up energy. She had fun. She "jumped" (bending her knees and straightening them again, while yelling JUMP!), she ran, she fell, and she giggled. It was fun for her. Truthfully it was fun for me, too. The kid is just too cute of her own good. Jumping on the trampoline at 7:30 in the morning, in jammies, is not something I would normally do. I don't know brought out this little loosening of control this morning but I'm glad I did it.
I've been letting all of the kids do more lately. They all run around and do things with their friends, and enjoy themselves. It's good for them. It's what kids are supposed to do! But it's hard for me sometimes. Especially at a time where I am struggling with where I am. I prefer to have all the kids home. It makes me feel safe and in control to know they're here and we're all together. But I have to remember they're kids. And I'm crazy. My mom put a lot of her crazy on me and I struggle not to do that with my own kids.
I have a countdown on my computer to when Krysty leaves for boot-camp. Maybe I shouldn't. Bur right now it's something I need. It's a reminder that way too soon she will be out in the world and starting her life on her own. It's a way to remind myself that time is precious. It's not always a pleasant reminder. But it is part of letting go. Your oldest child graduating high school and moving on in the world seems like such an abstract thought. Even to me. But it's not. Here and now I am working on letting go of her. Just a little. Her independence is startling sometimes. Isn't that how I raised her to be? I still catch glimpses of my little girl; I still see the child she hasn't entirely grown out of being. Those are more and more rare. More often I see the woman she is becoming. That's scary for me.
I look at Georgiana and wonder how Krystyne is not that age any more. As I watch all of them in their different stages I wonder how we ever got this far.
I still have so far to go. Thankfully there's five of them and maybe by the time Georgiana is where Krystyne is now I may have gotten this whole Mom thing down.

Happiness is a made bed

For all that is holy this is one of those things that just makes me happy. It's right up there with valet parking and coffee made by someone else. You'd think that I would  be one of those people that makes their bed every day with the great appreciation I hold for this simple part of every day life; I'm not. But I'm working on it.
I've been struggling lately with being happy. There's a restlessness and unease about me that I don't like. I love my husband, my children, and my life. There's just some external factors that weigh heavy on my head and have just made things difficult for me. But, over our Christmas vacation I was able to get some much needed rest and release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.  I've always been one to trot out the phrase "If you're not happy with your life,  change it". I'm a firm believer in this. A life is either moving forward or becoming stagnant. If you are not happy with something change it. If you don't like the results, try something else. Like many people get, I've been caught in my own web of "this sucks". I'm stomping my feet and shouting at the heavens about how much I don't like XYZ and not making any forward momentum.

So I've changed my tactic. There are things I'm not happy with and can not change. There are things that I am working on that are going to take time. Patience is not one of my virtues. (Stop laughing, I have them!) There are things in my life that I can control. I am very affected by my surroundings.  Mess makes me anxious. You couldn't tell that right off based on the normal state of my house but it's true. Right now I am striving to put my physical house back in order so that I might be able to get my mental "house" (yeah, I see it. Shut up) back to something that resembles normal. Well, normal for me.
I've worked my butt off this weekend trying to restore some order in my house and my head. I've cleaned the kitchen repeatedly (the dishwasher is running for the 5th time in 2 days). I've added art and pictures to the walls. I cleaned out the cat box (totally not my yob man), cleaned up the dining room, done laundry, and cleaned my bedroom. Most importantly for me right now is my bed is made. I'm about to turn in for the night and I'm excited by the fact that I get to climb in a made bed. I'd be over-the-moon if the sheets were fresh but I had my limits this weekend. I did more this weekend than I have in a month. But I feel better for it. I want to continue this momentum for as long as I can. My goal is to make my bed every single day. This I can control. This makes me happy. This is what I will concentrate on, and I will not dwell on what I can not change and what I can not control.
What is one thing that you could do every day that makes you happy?

Tonight I Am Grateful

Tonight I am grateful.
I am grateful for the makers of Tylenol and Motrin, for giving my sick little baby girl some relief.
I am grateful for my job, where I am afforded the luxury to work part time, even when that means almost not at all, because I can be here when my babies need me.
I am grateful for my husband's job. Even though I wish he was home to help with the work of two sick toddlers, it is his job that allows us to have insurance for the doctor's office visit we made today.
I am grateful for older children. I am amazed at how they step up and show responsibility when I need them to the most.
I am grateful for the daughter who let her little sister have a "sleep-over" in her room because she understood the healing power for cuddles, a movie, and someone to love.
I am grateful for recliners that let me rock my sick baby to sleep.
I am grateful for the silence that has given me the opportunity to reflect. While today has been a struggle, it is not without it's value. Today I am softer. I am more understanding than I would expect of myself. Today I have been humbled by my life. When I am feeling overwhelmed or exasperated or restless I have been forced to stop and see the things in my life that matter the most to me.
I am grateful for baby-drool on my shoulder. It tells me that my daughter has found enough relief to sleep.
Tonight, I am grateful.

Over-Sensitive Much?

I'm generally pretty easy going. And by that I mean I don't offend easily. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and even if I don't agree that's OK. I'm a big girl and I can deal with it. You're obviously an idiot because you don't see it my way but we don't all have to agree all the time. Let's just agree to disagree (and I'll be Judgy McJudgerson in my head. Mostly.)
There is one point when I am not entirely rational. I call it the Mock-Single-Mom. When a happily married, healthy relationship having (usually a SAHM) woman has husband or other significant other that is for whatever reason not home for more than a few nights. Sometimes it's a week or two. And then the comments start. "So done being a single-mom" or "God I hate doing the single-mom thing".  It sends me into a rage. It's not rational. I get it. I totally understand 100% what is being said and the message that is trying to be conveyed.  I do. Doing shit on your own when you normally have a loving, helpful, understanding partner in your life that is suddenly not there to do the shit that you need them to do for days on end blows. What do you mean I have to take out the garbage? ALL THE WAY TO THE CURB?!?! But that's his job. Insert feet stomping and pouting. Explaining to a toddler why Daddy can't give kisses because he's in Cleavland on business is hard (and almost overwhelmingly heartbreaking). When there's no way to tap-out of the monumental fit that's being thrown or the referee to come in when you're trying to decide if you can lock them in the dog kennel without the neighbors noticing for like 20 minutes, life does kind of suck. It's hard. Parenting is a two person gig. It really is. That's why it takes two people to make babies. You need two people for the whole process. And having that person you've come to depend on suddenly not be there when you really need them to be sucks. Especially on those days when he walks through the door and you yell 1-2-3 NOT IT! And run to grab a glass bottle of wine. They're supposed to be there. D'uh.
But they're not. Shit.
I guess my problem is that I take this comment personally. And I don't usually take shit personally; but this gets me every time. I've been a single mom. Being a single mom sucks rancid monkey balls. Especially in the first year (I wasn't really single much longer than that so that's what I know. I'm pretty sure it goes on no matter how long you're single). There is no one else. Even if you do have awesome family (I didn't) and even more awesome friends (I did) it's still all on you. ALL OF IT. All of the time. And no matter the custody situation, when it's your turn you're on your own. All of that worrying you do late at night, whispering your fears and insecurities to your husband in the dark? That's all on you. There's no one to whisper back that you're really doing OK and you're not fucking up your kids so bad they'll never forgive you. You fall asleep most nights exhausted trying to figure out how to make it all work out. There are good an happy times, because you have to make sure that there are. But for you, these times are peppered with guilt and frustration and regret that you couldn't make it better because it's just you. Every parenting insecurity you ever had is hovering just outside your peripheral. All. The. Time. The times when you think you're going to do it are there; when you're confident and think everything might just be OK after all. And then someone has a meltdown, or throws up at school, or, or, or, or, or... and there's no back up.  You realize just what the "single" part of single-parent means on a visceral level.
I think I take this so personally is because, for me, my divorce and decision to become a single-mom was the biggest failure of my life. I don't for one moment regret my decision. I don't think that there was anything that I could have done that would have saved my first marriage. However, I know in my heart that I did not do everything in my power to try to make it better. I could have fought harder. I could have tried 100 different things, but I didn't. I see it as a personal failure. It was my marriage and it failed. Therefore, I failed.  My ex-husband was an asshole of galactic proportions. He'll admit to that. When we failed, I failed. There is no one on this earth that will ever convince me differently.
This is my personal demon and it's hard to hear someone be flip about something that caused me so much pain. I know there is no malice in the hearts of my friends when they use this. It's a simple turn-of-phrase. These women are my friends! These are the women I turn to when I need to bitch about Doug not taking out the garbage - again. Or the size of my ass, or the gray hair I pulled out of my head, or any of another million little (and big) things I love my friends for.
I said I know this isn't rational. This is my issue. This is my crazy. So ladies, if I bite your head off, or leave a snippy comment, or don't guffaw at something obviously hilarious it's OK. We all have our shit, and this is just some of mine.
When your husband comes home, love him. Hug him. Put a little extra effort into whatever may need it so that you never have to stop bitching about being a single-mom because you're too busy actually being one.
With all my love,

I'm BAAAAACK!

So I've decided to come on back over to blogger. It's easier. For some reason having the website seems like work. And I don't like work. Especially work I don't get paid for. And while it's not really all that hard to post there, there just seems to be something different... something missing there that has kept it from being what I had here. I'll keep the website up and running and probably link the blog posts from here until I just don't anymore. When I think of it - if I think of it. This seems like extended Facebook posts, with the website I feel like if I'm not putting out something well thought out and coherent then I'm doing it wrong. Me, well thought out and coherent? Yeah, not so much.
The last year has been a whirlwind I'd rather not experience again. And while I am working slowly on getting my balance back I find that the soothing act of just writing has lost some of its flow.  Things here are in full swing of chaos-induced-normalcy. I feel like a storm chaser most days; Like I'm trying desperately to make sense of some raging act of God that is more random and harder to predict than the current power-ball numbers.
So here I am again. I can't wait to see what happens next.
Brandy

Thank You Facebook

Dear Facebook,
I wanted to write you and thank you for your recent formatting changes. I understand that you may not be receiving many letters of appreciation for the current changes and I wanted to take a moment to let you know how valuable the changes have been for me.  Thank you for making it harder for me to see the posts of the people I would really like to be able to see.  The new set up is slightly confusing and makes it difficult to see the "real-time" posts that we've all become accustomed to in the last couple of years.  For most people this poses a significant problem.  However, I am finding it more and more difficult to see the number of get-togethers, coffee dates, play groups and other interesting happenings that I am missing out on due to a recent move.  This not only saves my sanity but allows me to get more work done during the day. Because I am not able to spend such significant times refreshing my browser to see what I'm missing out on, I am actually getting the more time consuming parts of my job done in a timely manner.  My husband appreciates that I am not as easily able to lament on the most recent social opportunity that I missed.  Because of your newest changes I am not able to see the most up-to-date happenings of my friends and have found it frustrating (as well as heartbreaking) to find out what everyone is up to.  Thank you for your unintentional help in my irrational adjustment period.
Your Friend,
Brandy

Well, That sucked!

Leaving Washington this time was hard. Really hard. Like oh-my-God-what-the-hell-am –I-doing hard.  I’ve been gearing up for the last few weeks. Saying goodbye to friends has left me exhausted.  The logistics up until the last few days were a nightmare.  Doug’s work schedule meant no down time and (barely more than) no help.  But the day finally came. Getting out of town didn’t go as I had planned.  We were five hours behind “schedule” when I finally locked up the house for the last time.

And that’s when it hit me.

Locking up the house for the last time hit me in a way that I wasn’t expecting.  It hit me harder than anything.  It took me longer than was reasonable to close the door for that final time.  Managing not to put my head down on the steering wheel and bawl for a good long time was one of my better feats of self-control.  Had we gotten married in the back yard or had a home birth there – both of which we thought about – I don’t know how I could’ve pulled myself away.  That house has a lot of history for us. That’s the first place we ever lived together. We had our first fight and came home from our wedding night. We created and lost life, labored and brought home babies. My dog died there for crying out loud!  We truly became a family in that house. I would have happily bought it and lived in it for the rest of my life.

I stood there with my hand on the door knob and I cried.  I let the memories and the tears come.  I looked at my husband, standing in the yard waiting for me and he smiled.  So, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and closed the door for the last time. 

May the next chapter be as wonderful!

Home Birth vs. Hospital Birth

As it gets closer and closer to my due date we are starting to get things in order.  At some point I have to pull out the infant clothes and wash the tiny diapers. It might be a good idea to order some more snappis, too.  I’ve paid the deposit to our doula. At my next appointment my doctor wants to check my cervix for changes. Baby has dropped. Significantly. 

As we are looking how quickly this is all approaching we are at a point where the “where” of the whole thing is looming before us. And honestly I’m torn. The midwife we’ve chosen is wonderful. But she lives an hour and a half away. North of Seattle, without traffic. Which is fine if I have the good sense to go into labor around midnight.  But truthfully it’s not a big deal when it’s someone I trust and have faith in their experience. Not like I have a plethora of options either. I’ve talked to other midwives and while I’m sure that they’re fine, I haven’t quite gotten that “feeling” with them that I have with her. So I’m willing to accept the travel time and even the possibility of an accidental “unassisted” birth. My doula has been with laboring women almost as long as I’ve been alive so I don’t feel like I would be alone.

I have been adamant that I wanted to have this baby at home. I want to crawl into my bed and pull the covers up and snuggle my husband and our new baby and all my girls all at the same time. I want the sights/sounds/smells of my own home and relax in the familiarity of it all. I want my house and my family all together.

Or do I?

I reluctantly took the hospital tour.  St. Elizabeth’s is a wonderful, brand spanking new, hospital. I’m pretty sure they’re still walking around taking that plastic film-y stuff off of the electronics. They are supportive of natural birth and have never had a ban on VBAC. My doctor lives in town. All things considered it’s really rather nice.  When I was there the nurses were very sweet.  I asked what the average stay was and she said “24-48 hours, depending on your doctor. I know if I had four other kids at home I’d enjoy the quiet time!”. It was cute and jovial and with no malice in it.  I kind of laughed her off and thought of this blissful picture I had of us all puppy piled in my bed while my birth team puttered around the house. 

But the last couple weeks have been rough. I keep hearing that nurse in my head. How nice would it be? Just a day. Maybe two. Just me and Georgiana and Doug. Other people to bring me stuff.  Not feeling like I had to get up and do anything. Time to sleep and nurse and just love on my newest daughter.  Let’s face it, this house and this family are my whole world. This is my stress and my joy. My accomplishments and my failures.  I feel guilty for thinking that at some point my husband might have to leave his wife and daughter and come home to sleep in an empty bed. Is it fair for me to think of this as time for myself.  I’m having a baby, not going to a spa. It’s a hospital not a resort.

On one hand I have my belief that I am having a baby, not sick, so I have no need to go to the hospital.  I have had four children already and two VBACs I can look back and be proud of.  I don’t need to go to the hospital. But am I standing on principle only in this decision? I trust my doctor to be understanding of my desires and to follow my birth plan. I don’t anticipate a fight against interventions. I trust my body to do what it is designed to do. It doesn’t matter if I am at home, in a hospital or on the moon – I am having this baby. Am I looking for a home birth to simply be able to say that I have fought the system and have done it? Malpractice and insurance policies and social conformity be damned? I just don’t know. At this point I think I’m just a crazy person and should probably be committed. (Preferably somewhere sunny, sandy and with a pretty Jose to bring me umbrella drinks.) I don’t have the traumatic c-section stories that I hear. I don’t have a panic-inducing distrust of hospitals as a whole. My c-section was 100% necessary and life saving for Allie. I don’t need to heal from that experience, like so many women I have come in contact with.  My VBAC with Jane was handled horribly and dangerously but we both came out just fine.  I can even put a funny spin on it when necessary.  My VBAC with Fiona was awesome and empowering and while there are a couple things that weren’t “perfect” they aren’t things that I hold any real animosity because of. Could it have been easier? Absolutely. Am I scared or afraid because of what happened? No. I pushed that 9lb 7oz baby out of my vagina without drugs and with limited interventions. I did it and I have that to hold dear.  I don’t live in an area where I will have to fight for every natural, intervention-free moment.  I have support and love that will surround me.

Financially we will come out about the same. It’s either in cash up front to the midwife or in payments to the hospital because of our deductible. Either way the money is spent. It’s just a matter of who I write the check to.

Honestly as I write this I feel like I’m leaning more towards the hospital. That day or so break sounds good. I know what I am like and the responsibility of the house and the family weighs on me.   My mom will be here to visit with the girls and help.  I just don’t know. I guess we’ll wait and see. 

Does anyone have any thoughts?

So Far So Good

So far this year has been GREAT!
Easy to say heading into day four but in an attempt to take each day as it comes, So Far, So Good! It is the New Year. A symbolic opportunity to start fresh. Simply changing the calendar can offer a glimmer of what can be. With no pages to look back on it offers at least the appearance of new beginnings. Those osf you with 18 month calendars should be ashamed of yourselves! Screwing it up for us optimistic types.
I've done a bit of reading lately on resolutions. The theory itself intrigues me. Apparently I'm not the only one since there are news articles, stories, blogs, and even Facebook updates (yeah OK guilty) on the subject. There's statistical data on the most made resolutions, the most failed resolutions, those who make the resolution to make no resolutions and even the terribly gag-me sweet gifts-to-myself people (gift of better health through fitness, gift of time through organization, blah, blah, blah). I'm obviously not immune to the whole thing. However, as the last few days have passed I've re focused my thinking and reassessed my own resolutions.
There are things I want to accomplish this year, like getting my child birth educator certification. There are things that need to get done, like the de-cluttering, organization and final unpacking of the house. OK so we've been here for 3 years and still aren't fully unpacked - but who's counting?. Things I'd like to improve on, like finally keeping this damn blog up to date and being more patient. I think making a resolution is the easy part. Having the resolve to make major changes in your life is something else.
I've been productive so far this weekend. Eight boxes have been cleared from the garage. Divided into Trash, Keep and Donate boxes. Only 2 bins will be making back to the garage. The laundry is mostly done. The kitchen is tidy and my bed is made. I think the biggest change that I have made this weekend has not been tangible. It is a change in mindset. Or at least, in all honesty, a resolve to change my mindset. I can't say specifically what it was, but so far it's working.
Part of it, I think, is just a change in wording from "I'd like to at least get my hair brush put away to " I will put my makeup and hairbrush away" and doing it. It's the understanding that sometimes this just ain't gonna happen. Part of it is being conscious of the physical. Yes, absolutely, 100%those moments of quiet and inactivity are vital to your mental well-being. But how much of that time could be better spent productively without detriment? It's asking myself the question "Can I do more before I move on?".
Right now I have made that choice. I could be reading or watching TV, but this is something I want to work on. This is something important. I started this blog as a way to update family and friends about what was going on with my last pregnancy and life in gerneral. But writing is something I enjoy and is an outlet for me. Sometimes emotional and other tims creative, but I find comfort in it either way. I write to an audiance but not always for an audiance. It's just the way my head works.
Hopefully this change in mindset should allow me to not only do more that I enjoy but more effectively keep the house from falling down around us.
My biggest worry is being able to maintain this pace. So often we fall into patterns based on momentum. I envy those whose lives are more conscious than that. I guess that's the broadest definition of what I'm looking for. My resolution, my goal, my gift to myself is a life not based on momentum and one making the conscious, physical decisions that are the best that I can make them. I know some days will be better than others. Some weeks will have more tangible results.
So far, so good.