True Confessions of "that" mom

It's Wednesday. Somehow the week has escaped me. I worked all day Saturday in Charlottesville. Pooks was sick on Monday and stayed home from school. The house work still needs to be done and I am barely keeping my head above the pile of laundry that keeps growing. My week is all kinds of out of wack.
I am not sure many people know this or really understand this, but I work a full time job. I admit that there are times when it might appear I don't. Times when I am home at strange times, times when I am in my car more than I am anywhere else. It comes with a price. It may not be conventional hours, but with that comes the stress of not knowing where I am going to be from week to week, or timing, or brain power. There comes the part where your work brain never completely shuts down. Your phone is your office and it's with you all the time. Some weeks, like last week, are slower than others. Some weeks are like this one, where it feels like you are playing catch up all week.
Last week, I was cool, calm and collected. Last week I could do it all, foot in boot and all. Last week, I volunteered to bring snacks for the first day of SOL's. But that was last week. That was before I looked at my calendar for THIS week. Last week I had thoughts of super cute tags and punny snacks that would delight the children before their test and make them get out their sharpened no. 2 pencil with a light chuckle. "Oh, that Pook's mom, she's funny..." they would think to themselves. And I would hold the thought of their laughter in my heart all day while I wished them well on their very first standardized test. But like I said...that was last week. (I should have known, since in reality, there are no more no. 2 pencils, it's all on the computer...I know, right!?!?)

This week includes the panic that my travel check still hasn't arrived and once again my "budgeting" has been off. This week means that I am running from city to city to do my job, my car left as evidence of a paperwork tornado. This week, I am hobbling on my boot, totally over it, scrambling to make sure that I have all my bases covered for Pooks duty. This week, I would never even dream of volunteering to bring snacks, unasked, for the first day (and a day where I need to be in fairfax bright and early) of SOL testings. This week, we are lucky if our socks match, if I can find a shoe (they are sadly separated due to my boot situation), and if we remember everything we need the first time we walk out the door.
But I already committed to snacks. And I knew that all week. And in my head, I really still had very lofty dreams of cute little snacks...
But sometimes when you're "that" mom, it's not because of societal pressure. It's not because your kid expects anything extraordinary from you. I volunteered for bananas and cereal bars. I am pretty sure no one would ever be like, "Oh my gosh, Pooks mom brought bananas and cereal bars...and they are straight from the store! ICK!"
I know that's not real. I know it's all in my head. I know I set myself up for the stress and anxiety and, on weeks like this, the let down. But when you're born with "that" brain...expectations are HIGH.
So today. I go to my morning appointment, I run home to eat lunch on the way to the office and realize that the roomba, Rosie, is MIA. CRAP. I listen, thinking maybe she is still going strong, but hear no motor purring down the hall. CRAP. So I walk slowly down the hall, realizing that all the doors to the bedrooms are open, including Pooks. We don't let Rosie in Pooks room. CRAP. I creep around the corner, and see Rosie, laying on a pile of...CRAP. No, not real crap, but Pooks random stuff and jewelry from the depths of the corners of her room crap. And Rosie is all tangled up and looks pretty rough. Sigh. So here I am, middle of the day, what was supposed to be a quick dash, performing surgery on the stinkin Roomba. (Don't worry- she pulled through without too much trauma. Me on the other hand...all in a days work, right?). So I get Rosie settled, and I go to eat my lunch and I look at the clock and realize how late it already is. So instead of traveling to the office, I open up my traveling office and start writing reports...and I get lost in them. Which is good because I hate writing reports, but bad because now I have really lost all track of time and reality and have the sudden realization that it is WEDNESDAY, and I am supposed to have bananas and cereal bars at school by 9AM on THURSDAY and that BR will have school duty in the morning and I need to be on the road to Fairfax well before the doors to the grand ol' FFES ever open. CRAP, CRAP, DOUBLE CRAP. So I fly to Giant. But before I leave, I quickly find a good banana pun, create a quick little label, print them out on paper, and then cut them into strips. This did NOT happen as gracefully as it sounds. I think I clunked up and down the three floors of our house about four times before I made it out the door, satisfied and toting scotch tape and cute cut out notes, and then flew to Giant. I buy 24 bananas. I buy granola bars and nutrigrain bars. And I am disappointed in myself for not having anything cute to offer with the bars. Really, LM? Really? I get out of Giant as fast as physically possible (remember, I am in a boot- and thank you to the woman outside Giant who offered to help me carry my three bags of groceries. It was a very nice gesture but I had to laugh. She offered me help but the not the old woman next to her. I must have looked FRAZZLED) and I climb in the car where I furiously start taping notes around the bananas. They're too big and look ridiculous, but they're on there. I. can't. even. Now we are in serious panic mode. It is 15 minutes before busses let out. I have to get these bananas cutie-fied and to the school before I get stuck behind the car riders and busses so that I can make it home to catch Pooks get off the bus. I am sweating. I am panicking. I am looking at the old gentleman in the truck next to me and my eyes are begging him not to judge my ridiculous front seat full of bananas and tape. So I tape and I tape and then I realize...CRAP. I have about 10 bananas left and I am out of notes. How is this possible? I printed 8 sheets of three. I have 24 bananas. I do the math in my head about 20 times. This is right. This is right, right?!...so how?! And crap. Do I bag the idea of the notes, untape ALL the notes I already did and then just give them plain, old bananas and nutrigrain bars?! I can't. I just can't. I can't because I am "that" mom in my head. So I don't. And instead of being okay with floating on the breeze, going with the flow, and realizing that no one will be disappointed because no one actually cares but me, I choose to make my life 20x more complicated. I fly home and realize that the printer had run out of paper and I didn't realize it because I was in such a hurry to get out the door. Can I print them and get them on the bananas and still get to the school and back? Maybe the neighbors can get pooks off the bus so I can deliver these? Maybe BR will just have to be super papa bear and drop them off in the morning even though I am already asking him to be later than normal....SIGH. After the computer/printer finally decide to cooperate, I package all the bananas, now all properly labeled, and nutrigrain bars in a bag. Is there any way for her to get these on the bus? Do I really want to stress her out about getting 24 bananas to school without squishing them right before this test? Nope. So I email her teacher. And her teacher confirms that I can bring them after Pooks right gets off the bus, that she will still be there at 4:!5. Perfect. So I am feeling better. This is going to work out. I am going to get my not just plain bananas and nutrigrain bars to the school today and they will be there for tomorrow. All is well...and then the bus is late. We hop in the van, I am taking off while the door is still closing, Pooks is whining that she is hungry and I really just want to say, "Well you won't be hungry tomorrow because you will be getting a not plain banana and cereal bar so tough it out!" but I don't. I pull into the school, misjudge and scrape the bottom of my van on the curb. Who you looking at lady!? This is an emergency not plain banana delivery, coming in hot!

So they are there. And they have labels that say, "Don't 'Peel' nervous, you're going to to do great!" And the nutrigrain bars say nothing. And it's eating me inside. Because even after all of that, even after this week, of all the sweat and stress, cute bananas are not enough.
I don't do it to one up. I don't do it to stand out. It stresses me out and makes my life hell and generally no one notices my extra efforts. I torture myself because my brain says I have to. Because I have to live up to the idea and expectations I have for myself in my own head. And that is a ridiculous, stressful place to be. So while we are all sitting here looking at each other, wondering how they do it- we all have our thing. We are all "that" mom about something. But no matter what that thing is, we are all just doggy paddling our way through this world, hoping no one notices that we are barely keeping afloat. It may be pintrest, it may be organic food, it may be marathons, it may be wearing real clothes or losing weight. It may be putting food on the table, keeping the house clean or just getting out of bed in the morning. We all have our battles. Mine is not only all of the above, but also living up to my own expectations. And I can say that and laugh about it. Because at the end of the day, I have a happy, healthy little girl who loves me whether I give her fancy bananas or not. And that's what matters.

You've got to stand for something

Today I am proud of you. I am proud of you every single day but today is one of those days when I feel like maybe, just maybe, I am doing okay by you.
Our evening didn't end as planned. I got frustrated and yelled and you got upset and cried and instead of being the bigger, more mature adult, I just kept picking. And I pray that these nights are not the ones that go in your core memories. I hope the next part- the part where you were in the bathtub and I was helping you wash your hair and you were unloading the injustices of the day on me and I sat there and took them off your soapy shoulders...I hope those are parts you keep close.

There is a friend at school who you have trouble with. A love hate relationship. Love when it's just the two of you, and a power struggle when it comes to the two of you and the rest of your friends. You are both strong creative, and when you're on the same page, anything is possible- but when you both hold different opinions, you have a tough time finding common ground. You have already expressed that you have trouble with how this friend acts towards you and her other friends at times. So I wasn't completely shocked (or completely listening, I admit) when you started to bring up that you had a "bad day" because "friend" dot dot dot.
I was only half listening when you said, "remember last year when Jack did that not nice thing on the bus?" (Oh crap. Quickly trying to retrieve this memory...um, no. Was it THAT bad?! should I remember!?) While I was shuffling through last year's vault of conversations you continued to tell me, "He was holding his face like this and saying he was chinese to be funny. Well, today, they were all pretending to be blind. And it's not nice. I mean, if I was blind, I wouldn't want people doing that...so I said, "let's play something else"...and no one wanted to. And then *friend* took everyone. She took them all and I had no one to play with!" Pooks started sobbing. I said, "Well, sometimes it's okay to play by yourself. You were just standing up for what is right. You did the right thing"
And then you said this, and my heart stopped for just a minute.
"Yeah, I know, Mommy but sometimes standing up for the right thing is really lonely!"

And just like that, you were so wise beyond your years. There were so many things I wanted to say. You are right Pooks. You are so right. Sometimes, doing the right thing and standing up for what you believe in feels incredibly lonely. But sometimes being alone is better than being with a million people who don't do the right thing and aren't strong enough to stand up for what they know is right. And sometimes even though your head knows you're right, it still hurts your heart to stand alone. I wanted to tell you that I hoped you never let that sway you. But I know better. You are my advocate, my strong, opinionated, ready to fight the good fight girl. And I pray that nothing jades you into thinking that is not the right way to be. There are so many things left to tell you. But sweet, soapy, 9 year old you in the bathtub wasn't looking for a deep conversation. You were just looking for your mama to understand. And I do. So I said, "I know. But you did good." and kept washing your hair.

At the end of the day, when you're exhausted from school and play and I am exhausted from work and life, our exhaustion explodes and we both end up in tears. Today was one of those days. But those teary nights, the ones that run the entire range of emotions...those are the ones I hold close. They remind me that we do real life...we feel, we love, we yell, we hug, we think, we laugh, we sigh...out loud. And that it's okay that we do, because we do it together and at the end of the day, that's how we grow stronger in love.

You are not stuck.

Pooks and I have been having some very emotional conversations lately. They span a variety of topics, but if Pooks has ever felt anything, she has felt it wholly and deeply. It is just who she is. She is passionate and intuitive and she feels things- ALL things, good, bad, uncomfortable, sad, empathetic- with every fiber of her body.
Tonight's topic was friends and friendships. She is having a bit of a crisis with not feeling like people understand the way she plays or how seriously she takes her play. At one point she said, "What would you call me?" and I said, "You are you." and she got huffy and said, "No, I mean, like, sometimes I think I am too diverse..." (Really, Pooks? Diverse? Oh, the drama)

She was describing the typical playground drama, the cliques and friendships, and I finally just said, "There is something I am going to tell you now that I wish I had understood at your age. You are not stuck. You are NOT STUCK. You are in control of you. You hold all of the power of who you play with, what you play, and who you want to be friends with. That doesn't mean that you aren't nice to everyone and that you don't give everyone a chance. And then even after they have had a chance, you should probably try again, because people change. But you, are by no means, stuck where you are. If you want to play alone, play alone. If you want to try to hang out in other groups, do it. Not everyone has to be on board, and not everyone needs to understand. Sometimes it's better to be "diverse". I just want you to remember, in any situation where you feel unhappy, you have the power to do something to change how you feel about it- even if it's just your perspective. We are never stuck being unhappy. We have the power to change the way we feel about it. We can find the good."

I wrote it on her mirror in dry erase marker. "You are not stuck." She got annoyed, and said, "I don't like mushy things on my mirror!", but I heard her repeat it to herself a couple of times..."I am not stuck".

The world is at your fingertips, my love. You have a million moments in front of you. Life is too precious to be unhappy. You are not stuck. Your life is the very best choose your own adventure book you will ever write. Take control of the pen. I promise, there will be someone out there (besides your mother of course) who can't wait to read your story.

The happiest place on Earth.

BR is awesome and has been working hard and diligently saving up some of his incentives at work. They are able to earn "spotlights" and they translate into gift cards. They can choose from a variety of restaurants, activities, stores. Instead of splurging on himself, he has unselfishly decided to share them with us.
We received 6 of these in the mail in the past 24 hours...



As BR says, "That's a lot of Mickey Money"!

And because of this Mickey Money, we were SUPER excited to let Pooks in on our secret.


Notice how she glances over at my hand to see if there is anything new and shiny on it? Ahem, BR. I am not the only one, haha.

We told her on Friday, which happened to be April Fool's day. About an hour after dinner, she panicked- "Wait!! This isn't an April Fool's Joke, is it!?" Jeez, Pooks. Give me some credit. I am not THAT mean!

We are all SUPER excited about this vacation. And we are SUPER grateful to BR for being such a hard working guy and for loving us enough to take us on this dream vacation!! Never in a million years did I think we would ever be able to pull this type of cruise off. :)

We are still in the planning stages, but definitely all have tropical paradise and Mickey on the brain!





On a side note...feel free to stop reading, these are more for my memory and reference. ;)
Things I want to remember about this week:
Pooks skipped recess and lunch to spend time with Ms. Kutch and finish her independent study. I am so proud of her. And me. ha. I didn't help AT ALL with this. She managed to keep herself organized, keep herself somewhat on her timeline with little prompting, and wrote her paper with little input. She wrote a two page research paper, a snowboard and a google slide presentation. She is 9. I am pretty sure at that age I was hanging out on the playground singing NKOTB songs with my friends. She has matured so much this year. It is so bittersweet.

This week was really windy. And rainy. And there were a million birds in our yard. One of them got stuck in our garage. Pooks tried so hard to lure it out by giving it verbal directions. I didn't have the heart to tell her it couldn't understand. :)

We signed her up for the Great Train Race! Pooks as a runner!? I never thought I would see the day. She is doing running club after school. We have been talking a lot about how awesome having a strong body is. This comes after some comments she has made about the way her body looks. She wore a bra to school today for the first time...I am beside myself. We are now entering the thick of body image. I am sad to hear her make comments while holding on to her skin on her back and thinking it's fat, and I am hoping that it is a reflection of something she has overheard and NOT her true feelings. Either way, we will continue to promote a strong, healthy body and do our best to love herself no matter what.

Floating on a Breeze...

I'm not a fan of being outside of my comfort zone. I like schedules and routine, I like being in the house by 4 and not having anywhere to go. I like to know what's going to happen, how, and when. I'm not crazy OCD, but I tend to gravitate to a certain net of safety.
I look at Pooks and I want so much more for her. I don't want her to be restricted by time. I don't want worries to interfere with opportunities. I want her to be comfortable enough to say, "sure, why not!" instead of, "no, thanks anyway". I love every part of her cautious soul but I know there's a spark in there- and I want her to know its okay to light it. I'm trying so hard to lead this one by example- trying to learn to be more flexible, to be more spontaneous- to laugh more and worry less. To teach both of us it's okay when things don't go as planned- and it's OK to not have a plan. Rob calls it "floating on a breeze". Learning how to go where it takes you. I am learning to leave the house and not know what we're going to eat in 4 hours for dinner. She's learning it's ok to spend time with your soul and breathe without a million toys and an iPad as a backup.
Today after work, the breeze took us only places that make our hearts smile. We roamed the library, strolled our favorite town for a few, and I said, "should we go home, or should we adventure?" And with careful thought, she replied- "let's adventure!" We were both a little scared of our decision, especially knowing it was nearly dinner time and wondering if the journey would be worth it, but she found comfort in a book as we drove, and I found comfort in familiar songs. The car guided us exactly where both our souls needed to be...breathing deeply, listening to the water hit the beach and feeling our feet in the sand. She is so much my child in so many ways. She said, "I NEEDED this." Me, too, Pooks, Me, too. It didn't matter that we didn't have much time. To our hearts, that time stood still. We frolicked in water, we hiked up hills, she read her book on the rocks. We felt the sun kiss our faces and the wind hug our hearts. For an hour, we were free. It took us an hour to get there and an hour to get back, but I am so glad we didn't hesitate. We are now home, feeling full and fulfilled and grateful we rode the breeze today.

Roots

There is so much sadness in my community this weekend. The sadness doesn't touch my life directly, but it ripples through my community. The community we live in and are surrounded by. The community we contribute to and rely on. Our village. Our branches may not directly touch, but if you dig a little deeper, you find the roots grown deep and are strongly intertwined. The roots that hold us upright and keep us nourished, the roots that keep us steady when the winds blow too hard.

This weekend our community has lost another child to cancer. A police officer died trying to keep our community safe. Neighbors and friends watched as their life's work literally went up in flames. Communities surrounding us were leveled by tornadoes. It's hard not to have a heavy heart. My soul feels for each and every one of them. My heart physically hurts.

When there is so much sadness around, sometimes we are forced to reflect on our own lives. We are reminded to find gratitude. That in any moments time, the world we know as ours could change. There is no way to know what tomorrow brings, only to trust in God's plan.

As I reflect on my community, I see so much goodness. I can't help but be reminded to be thankful for the small moments, to be grateful for the people around me who teach me so much about life, love, and faith, and the ability to give and receive love. Through the tragedy, I know there will grow hope and kindness. I know that each tear will sprout love in someone else's heart. I am grateful to feel safe in the faith that despite heartache, sadness and tragedy, there is the opportunity for humanity and goodness to grow.

I am so grateful for my roots. I am grateful they are planted right here, and I am grateful that BR and I share that in common. I am grateful those roots sprouted lifelong friendships. I spent time with friends this weekend that I have been blessed to call my friends for over 20 years. Friends that I know will have my back, friends I know help keep me growing towards the sun despite the clouds. And I am not just grateful for my roots. I am grateful that I can see Pooks's roots starting to dig deeper. I am grateful that the roots I have spent time cultivating have sprouted new meanings for her. That those life long friendships of mine have returned in lifelong friendships between our children. That they already have the ability, at age 9, to get right back into sync as if no time has passed. Their branches extend in different directions, but we all belong to the same tree. The same system. We all stand tall and strong together. I am so happy my child gets to grow roots here.

I find gratitude in moments. That in every single one the 20,000 moments a day, that my heart is full. Thanks For safety and health, for perspective and growth. I am grateful for moments of reflection, for the ability to know that whatever comes our way, we can endure. I am thankful to those who bravely blaze the trail ahead, sharing their stories and opening their hearts to allow me to learn from their paths.

My heart is heavy. But only a heart that is full can be so heavy. I hurt for my community. I am praying for peace on so many levels. And I am saying thanks for the ability to be loved, be filled with love, love them and feel pain for them. Ready to dig my roots in deeper, and extend my branches to embrace those limbs who have withstood the wind of the storms, but are still hanging on.

Tonight, I am loving on my family. Praying to my God. Embracing my community. Strengthening my roots. Ready to help hold steady while the wind blows.

Closets

Closets. We don't think about them much, but interestingly enough, they have been a frequent topic of conversation around here lately. It started at a super bowl party, where the lovely hostess' pantry looked like a clip of a magazine. I started reflecting on my home. Sure, I can keep up appearances. As long as you don't come to our house on a Thursday or Friday, I will generally let you in the door without much hesitation. It's not the cleanest. It's lived in. You may find crumbs and handprints, you may find toothpaste in a sink or spots on a mirror. There are coats and toys and shoes about. But generally, if you are showing up on my doorstep, I will let you in.
My closets and cabinets on the other hand, now those are another story. There is generally a loud sigh that is released anytime I open a closet or cabinet. Because most weeks, the only way I can keep up appearances on the outside, is to close some of my clutter behind closed doors.
I am not proud of it. And it's not like I find it acceptable or want to spend an extra 10 minutes looking for Pook's other shoe. But it's a survival technique. Sometimes the way life works is that we stuff the things we can't handle dealing with into a closet. About every couple months I will manage to weed through a closet enough to make it functional and acceptable again. I get rid of things, I sort through things, and put them back neatly where they belong. But they never stay that way. They never stay neat and organized. It's just really hard work.
Pooks came home from her dad's last week really upset about her closet. She has always loved closets- they are small, cozy spaces where she keeps all of her treasures and imagination. She has been known to sleep in her closet, to play in her closet, and to hide in any closet she can. It is a safe place for her. She was upset that her closet had been disrupted. That someone made her watch and help to move stuff from what is no longer her closet. "Smad" that her closet had to be relocated at all. At first I didn't get it. But as the week progressed, it really made me think about the things I hold in my closets. In my cabinets. That when BR and Pooks start rooting around in the cabinet, I start getting really nervous. Not only will they not be able to find what they are looking for, but they will be touching all the stuff I may be covering up in my closet. They may uncover things I forgot about. They will be moving it and it may not go back the way it was before. They may touch something and everything may fall out at them. Because that's the thing about closets. What they hold can be so personal. And I realized that just like everyone else, Pooks buries things for safe keeping in her closet.
The closets in my house are a great example of someone living with depression. And while yes, I am one of those people, I mean this is the most generic of senses.
People with depression are often able to put on a show. They can hold it together when they need to. They can make it seem like everything on the surface is perfect and put together. Their houses may be neat and clean and they might invite people in. You may set foot inside their lives everyday and never think that there could be anything different about them. But further inside...inside of their closets are piles. Piles of feelings, of events, of questions, of fears. There are piles on top of piles, piles hiding things, and piles that no matter how hard you sort, will never have a place. In those piles are memories, keepsakes, things so precious you wonder how they ended up lost in a pile. There is also a lot of trash, a lot of grime, grime that sticks and clouds and camouflages all of those treasures.
Sometimes, your closet gets cleaned and there is this HUGE sense of relief. And for a few weeks, you live with the doors of your closet wide open and you do everything in your power to enjoy all of your thoughts being put together and in the right place. You feel proud that your piles are small and that you know where to find things and life is efficient. But you know it won't last. You know one day, you will put one item that one piece that doesn't fit in your life, and continue to shove in emotions until the closet can't hold anymore. You know that there will come a time when you can no longer find the words you're looking for. When it takes you longer to retrieve that treasured feeling. When the pile grows until it bursts the door open, and you just can't shove it all back in the way it was. When the door won't shut and you just can't hide it anymore. And you're stuck either looking at it, walking around it, or dealing with it. If you have the energy, support and coping skills, the cycle starts over. If you don't, the piles start to grow on the outside. Until you no longer feel like you can even let people in. Until no one tries to knock on your door anymore. Until you're spending a lot of time, alone, overwhelmed by all of your stuff that can no longer be hidden in a closet.
Don't be fooled by appearances. Closets have doors for a reason.
On most days, I will let you into my house without reservation. And if I trust you, I will even let you see my closet. But don't expect me to let you rummage through it or for me to keep it clean. The clutter of my mind is deep. It's jumbled. It's complicated. Sometimes all I have the energy to do is close the door and pretend it's not full of stuff.

Happy Pills

I have been thinking a lot about my depression lately. The weather, the anniversaries, the gloom all bring me to a place of reflection. Right now, I am so blessed to be in a good place. I am medicated, functioning, and feel good. I have daily struggles that I know I will deal with for the rest of my life, but I am happy to say that I have found a certain amount of peace. I get up in the morning with little struggle. I function all day without a nap. I trust people, I see a future, I see hope, and I am able to build a plan to work to get us there. I get overwhelmed and anxious, I get sad and down, but we make it through without much incident. It isn't lasting. I am a functioning parent and adult, I am in a healthy relationship, and I have a career and true friends. Life is good.
I have never been shy about talking about my disease. Maybe that is because I have had a lot of years to deal with it. Maybe it is because unlike some people, I can say without a doubt that mine is a chemical imbalance. Maybe, because of this, it makes it less personal and more physiological. I don't know. But other than some whispers around school in 10th grade, my depression has pretty much been out loud, present and acknowledged, and open for conversation. Pretty Much.

I was getting my medicine out of the cabinet and must have muttered, "Need to take my medicine..."
Pooks was standing there. It's not that I have ever hidden my medicine from her, but I don't know that I have ever mentioned having to take medicine every day. She asked, "Do you have a headache?"
I paused. Her and I have been having a lot of grown up conversations lately. Things in her life are changing, things in her body are changing, and we have a lot of talks about life. I want to be the one thing that remains constant. But even though we have been having these big girl talks, when She asked me why I needed to take medicine if I didn't feel sick or have a headache, I hesitated. It's not that I am ashamed that I take medication to control my condition. I got over that a long time ago. And more than anything, I want her to know that it's okay that I do. But how do you explain depression to a 9 year old?
I am grateful, so grateful, that I have to explain it, and it's not something that I am a living example of every day. And I am grateful beyond that, that even though she is highly sensitive and emotional, depression isn't a part of her own identity. But how do you put into words to your 9 year old something that other adults don't even understand?

I had never considered the fact that one day I would have to explain this to her. And I never considered the fact that I would feel like a bad mom for having to do so. Or be at a loss for words. But I did. And I was. So...I told her that sometimes mommy's brain had a hard time remembering to see the good around her and had a hard time seeing the bright side of things. That there were chemicals in my brain that didn't work the right way, and the medicine helped them work. That the medicine ultimately kept me from being sad a lot of the time. She responded by climbing in my lap, hugging me tightly, and kissing my face gently. It was horrifying and liberating all at the same time.

Was that the right thing to say? I don't know. But you can't tell your child that you used to lay in bed and cry and not be able to function. You can't tell her that you still have trouble organizing your thoughts and dealing with your feelings. You can't tell her that if you don't take this pill, that you are so overwhelmed with life that you shut down completely because don't have your own coping skills. You don't want her to know that some days it takes every ounce of energy you have to get up out of the bed to brush your teeth. You don't ever, ever, ever want her to think that tucking her in feels like work, or that she is one of the only reasons you are able to keep it together. You don't ever want to burden her with your disease.

I have had a few weeks to think about my explanation. The other day on Facebook, there was a survey to ask your child their opinions about you, and one of the questions was, "What makes me (mommy) happy?". I was relieved when Pook's first response was, "Me!"...and my heart dropped when her second response was, "And your medicine".
Ouch. Wasn't expecting that one to sting. I tried to explain that wasn't entirely true. The medicine didn't make me happy. The people in my life do. The medicine just helps my brain be able to make sense of it. But did she get it? I don't know.

I hope that sometime in these next few months, years, that I can articulate to her what I know is somewhere in my heart. That depression, is a malfunction of the body, just as much as high blood pressure and high cholesterol. I hope I can help her to understand that there is no shame in needing medicine to help your body operate properly. That a pill doesn't magically make you happy. I hope that I can find a way to let her know that depression doesn't make you weak- it makes you stronger. It makes you have to fight harder. It makes life more complicated, but no less beautiful. I pray she is an advocate- that she continues to use her natural empathy and compassion to help the little people. I pray more than anything, that I have to explain it better one day, because she doesn't know how it feels.

Breaking the stigma of mental health issues starts at home. It starts early. It starts with love and openness. It means hard conversations, it means unconditional love, it means speaking up. It means telling my 9 year old that sometimes people- even mommies- need help. And that is ok. It doesn't mean you're any less of a friend, of a person, of a mom. It means allowing myself to admit that to her. It means admitting it to myself over and over again every day.

Halfway Point

Happy Birthday Pooks!
You woke up this morning excited, jumped into my arms, and when I said, "happy birthday, I love you so much!", you responded, "Well, I couldn't have a birthday without you!"
It is true. We have done this all together, side by side.
The day you were born I had no idea how you were going to change my life. And I wasn't really thinking about it in the scheme of "The next 18 years". Right then, in that moment, 18 years seemed like a lifetime. Right then, 18 was far away, overwhelming and scary. If you had asked me then what I expected for this journey, I could have never imagined what we have been through together. And when all those people told me, oh, the time just flies by, it all goes by in blink...and I couldn't wrap my head around that. But now...Here we are at the halfway mark of the time I get to help you grow.

This first half of this journey was definitely a learning curve. You were learning the basics of life and I was learning my role. There were times you were holding onto me for safety, and there were times I was holding onto you. There were times we had to stop, re-evaluate the map, and find a new path. There were days when we had time to stop to breath in the air and take in the scenery, and there were times we had to rush to our next destination. There were times we just laid down, cried, and woke up to a fresh new day. I think I have learned just as much about myself as I have attempted to teach you. Life is funny like that. The more we give, the more we receive. To people, to the earth, to our own souls. This adventure upward has proved our teamwork, has strengthened our bond, and has taught us how to communicate. As we sit here at the peak, I can look at you and see all the beauty this world has to offer. A clearing. A true sweet spot in the path. A reminder that we can't go back, no matter how much we enjoyed the journey, but we can see all that lies ahead.

The second half of this journey will most likely go even quicker than the first. Instead of teaching you basics about life, and me taking your hand and leading, you will be guiding the way. And I will be here, beside you, helping you. You will be learning where you fit in, testing the capacity of your heart, and pushing your own limits. We will be holding each other in new ways, and discovering new paths. And some of these you will be taking on your own. But know that no matter the path, the road, the adventure...my light is always on. Your heart is your compass and it will always lead you back to me. I will ALWAYS be here to guide you.

Even when you turn 18, my light will always be on. But as we stand here at the half way point, where I can look both back and forward, my heart is so full. I know the paths we have traveled have strengthened you, enlightened you and inspired you. And I know the paths that lie ahead hold great, great adventures. Put your boots on, tuck giraffey under your arm, and grab my hand. Cause here we go.

Happy 9th Birthday my sweet, sweet girl.

Things I want to remember about 8.

Wow. It's been a long time since I have been sitting in front of a blank blog post. I think it's probably time to stop annoying people on Facebook with my long winded posts and put them back where they started. So, here goes nothing! Here we sit on the eve of Pook's 9th birthday. I am not entirely sure how 9 years could have possibly passed since the day she entered my life, but the calendar says it's true. She is the most amazing, beautiful thing I have ever created. And as the years seem to go faster and faster, I have realized so many little things that I have taken for granted. So many moments I assumed I would remember, so many times I looked up to see her smiling at me that I didn't snapshot into my mind, so many conversations that I didn't seal away and preserve. But 8. I want so badly to remember 8. I want so badly for you to be able to remember 8. Because 8 was amazing. I know we don't have any choice but to wave goodbye to 8 tomorrow. 9 comes right on in and takes over, and there's no room for 8. We have seen this happen many times before...and by the grace of God, will see it many times again. But I just am not ready to let go of 8 Year Old Pooks. Oh, 8. You were so funny. You love making up parodies to popular songs. There were days you sang most of what you said. Loud and Proud. Dancing on the other hand...You love to dance. But only in your own space. There is a shyness when you dance, like you're just figuring out how to be comfortable in your own skin, and it's so sweet. I love watching you try out your moves. At home, you feel like a rockstar. As you should. This audience wouldn't trade tickets to these concerts for anyone else. You love lip gloss and writing on your mirror in expo marker. You claim your catch phrase is "Bri-Fri" instead of "Bro". Your laugh is contagious and you spent a lot of time making your mom laugh. (And a lot of other people, too). You spend hours in the basement, playing barbies, and working on your businesses. And they are no joke. I can see the wheels turning in your head and know things HAVE to go as planned. That focus and that passion. I hope they find 9. and 10. And 11... You are so serious about your play- it is so intense. And I love seeing that. It's when I know you're at your calmest, at your purest. You are completely and totally invested in everything you do on your own and every single person you love. You still didn't really care for organized sports, but having a friend go with you was worth gold. You made a huge transition to a new school and you handled it like a champion. You love purple, teal and pink. They are "your colors". You screech for American Girl and snow days. You giggle for silly puns and you are so wise beyond your years. You moan anytime I ask you to do a chore- but you are getting better. You are a fish in the water and could spend hours with a friend in the pool. You got a million more freckles. You conquered the big slide, and said you would never do it again. You're addicted to blind bags and you tube kids. And Shopkins. Oh, the shopkins. You rode a bike, had nerf gun wars, got filthy and stayed outside until every last bit of sunlight was gone. You started chewing gum regularly, not sure how that one happened. You decided you want swoopy bangs, started learning life lessons like wearing deodorant, and freaked out about getting zits. You don't want to wear anything but "Comfy pants". You want your hair down, and don't care if it's in your face. It drives me crazy and we fight about it constantly. Your heart has had to make tough decisions, have faced tough moments with friends and teachers, but you have done so with wisdom and rationality on your side. When you don't know something, you ask. Or you google. But mostly ask. You feel deeply. And I love that about you. You really don't like Math, but you LOVE to read. You were so excited to learn you were reading into a 9th grade level. That meant you could choose books from Z, "The END of the alphabet!" but the look on your face when you found out books in Z were "SO boring" was priceless. You love the Land of Stories books, and the Secret Series and I have loved watching you become a passionate reader and get lost in the stories- so much so that when the book was done you threw it down in disgust and yelled, "It's a CLIFFHANGER!!!UGH!!!" You know more about history than your mom. And you still love biographies and learning about famous people's lives. You got third place in the spelling bee. And you didn't cry. Not beforehand being anxious, and not after being relieved. You were nervous, but composed. So, so mature. You love a good tradition. And you love any occasion to create one. You ran the mile this year. You got off the bus and so proudly announced, "I ran the mile! It only took me 13 minutes!". You are not a fan of physical activity. You are much more comfortable huddled up with a book, or playing and giggling with a friend. You grew about a million inches. You liked to take "comfy baths" with Dr. Teals and stretch all the way out in the bathtub, because you were the perfect size to reach both ends with your head out of the water. You're quick with the wit. We are still working on looking at the bright side. You helped the homeless this year. You helped the foodless. You use the term, "When I am president..." all the time. I told you that someone offered to give you a tour of the White house and you said, "Well, I am going to live there one day!" Giraffey was still your best friend, you were loyal to him as ever, and his voice made you laugh even when you were mad. You still talk with your hands. You still get ridiculously silly when you're tired. You seem to think you're a ninja and react to tickles and hugs with karate chops. You can fix your own breakfast and pack your own backpack, and pick out your own clothes. You have entered a stage of independence, but you still want me to give you a bath, and brush your hair, and put you to bed. And all those years before, when I couldn't WAIT for you to do things on your own...I take those back. I cherish our night time routine. I love that you still ask for kisses all over your face. I love that you still want to have snuggle parties. I love that you still want me there, by your side, even though you don't actually NEED my help. Our shows have changed. Your critiques of Say yes to the dress are classics. We went and saw Star Wars and you cried because it was over. We barely watch cartoons, but every now and then I catch you settling in for a good episode of George, or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. You love Chipotle. You like chips as much as you like candy. You're grandma's girl like that. You love pickles, tacos, and spaghetti with nothing on it. You don't like stickers, don't like loud noises, and don't like the unfamiliar. You want to know the plan way before anyone else even knows what the plan might be. But every day, your tolerance grows. We talk about real things. We have serious conversations and talk about serious feelings. And as much as I want to protect you from all the wrongs in the world, I need to help you find the armor to protect yourself. It's been so hard to watch you learn about people and wonder why they do the things they do. My heart breaks when yours hurts. But I see you work through it, and I am so, so proud that kindness is truly what rules your heart. You worry about other people's feelings, including mine. You are generous, concerned, kind, well mannered, smart, passionate, and funny. You are all the best of me and your dad and Mr. Rob wrapped up into the cutest little bundle. You cried less tears at 8. You laughed more laughs at 8. You found a level of peace at 8. 8 was really, really good to us. It's really hard to say goodbye. Truly bittersweet. But 9... The possibilities are endless. I hope you stay comfortable in your skin. I hope you still love selfies and watching yourself sing in the mirror. I hope you stay as dedicated to your cause and as loyal to your friends. So many adventures ahead. I am so blessed to be here to witness them first hand.