Depression?

I’ve been feeling the same for so long, its difficult to know if its just how I am because of kids, or something else.  Depression? Anxiety?  I don’t feel energetic.  I don’t want to do anything, I make myself do it.  Exercise?  You’re kidding, right?  I keep saying I’m going to walk the dog, then it gets freezing cold, and the last thing I want to do is go for a walk.  I try to eat right, especially with the diabetes, but I can cheat with my insulin pump, so I do.  Whats this do to me?  More things than I care to realize.  I gain weight.  I feel like hell.  I look like hell.  My A1C is higher than it should be. 

Kevin suggested we join the Y.  Its not really in the budget, but I think if I know I’m paying to belong to this place, I’ll actually go.  The kids could do swimming during the winter, since Sam keeps asking me to go to the pool.  I could get into some class, probably get a personal trainer for a bit to help me out.  Its a good idea.  Would this be the fire under my butt I’ve been looking for?   I don’t want to be fat anymore.  If I lose some weight, I can get the tummy tuck I’ve been wanting since Sam’s birth. 

I need to do something.  This is not the real me.  I used to be an energetic person who was always moving.  I fake it most of the time, since I feel guilty about not doing stuff with my kids, not having the energy to run around (not that my knees can take it), not wanting to even do it.  I don’t like feeling this way.  I don’t want to keep telling myself only so many hours until I get to go back to bed. 

So I made the call.  I’m waiting for a return call to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.  I said it, a head doc.  I’m a head case.  I know there is nothing wrong with admitting you’re depressed.  I’m under stress.  We’re all under stress.  Having 3 kids under the age of 10 at home, type 1 diabetes, a husband who is now back at school working on his MBA and all the volunteering I do.  Stop volunteering some people would say.  I can’t.  That’s probably the one thing which keeps me moving.  I have the obligation I signed up to do, I must do it.  Most of it is for my kids, scouts, room mom.  I want to do the work, even though they may not realize nor appreciate what I’m doing. 

Come on doctor’s office, call me back so I can get this appointment on my calendar and look forward to being well again.  I don’t want to spend my 40s feeling like utter crap 24/7.

Girl Scout Cookie time

Its that time of year again, my 2 girls selling cookies.  They went up in price, as expected.  Not much of a problem. 

My issue is what our local council wants each girl to sell, 125 boxes.  Say what?!  Are you guys living in some kind of sealed environment and are not aware of the economic issues in our country currently?  This request was quickly followed up by “this is a recommendation”.   I’ll recommend something for you.  Being a girl scout leader is difficult enough with parents who don’t want to help out, although they’re quick on the criticism, much less telling a bunch of 2nd graders you need to sell 125 boxes of cookies. 

Then the rewards.  For the past couple of years, the rewards have been lousy.  Then they don’t arrive from China.  This last summer the girls were able to vote on some new ones.  But the  only way you can redeem one of these  rewards is to sell a load of cookies.  Caroline, my 2nd grader, wants the IPOD.  1000 boxes of cookies required for this.  Sweetie, I love you, but lets be a bit more realistic. 

At least the selling period is short.  Its over this week.  2 weeks of selling is enough.  But why, oh why, do they do this in the middle of winter?  The kids don’t seem to feel the cold, but I’m freezing outside waiting for them as they go door to door to some of our neighbors. 

I swear the girl scouts is like The Firm, once you’re in, you’re stuck for life.

Would you care for some cheese with that whine?

I decided today would be clean up day.  Not to museum quality, but get the house looking like humans inhabit this place, not animals.  Boy the whining and gnashing of teeth started immediately.  Caroline can’t keep her clothes off the floor if her life depended upon it.  I helped her clean up her room before Christmas, and it stayed clean for maybe 72 hours.  I don’t get it.  We labeled her dresser drawers so she could easily put things in their proper place.  Her clothes rod is lowered for quick access.  She has a tall hamper to put in dirty clothes.  Did it help?  Unfortunately, no.  It looks like a department store exploded in her room.  She’s so flustered by the amount of work, she shuts down.  I can understand this process, yet she seems unable or unwilling to help herself.  This is not how I planned to raise my children.  I want them to be self sufficient in many ways.  I want them to be able to figure out how to get things done on their own, not depend upon me to always help out.  I get angered when she can’t even start with a simple instruction, pick up your books and put them back on the shelf.  She melts.

I wish someone had a quick solution for this issue as its making me start to whine too.  I am by no means a fastidious house cleaner.   Its not a sty, you can tell someone with children lives here.   I like it picked up, and looking nice, but dust doesn’t bother me.  Caroline seems pleased to live in a total mess.  Then the whining starts when asked to clean up. 

Time to prod the children into action.  I hear Spongebob on the TV, not a good sign.

Congrats Mr. O!

The historian in me was excited beyond belief today.  I never thought I’d see the day when we’d finally get someone other than a white male in the White House.    I have great expectations of our new President and his administration.  After a historic campaign with a black man and a woman both running for the highest office of our nation, history has been made.  I’m still not sure why anyone in their right mind would want to be President, but I’m happy to let them have the job.

The only person in my house right now unhappy is the dog.  She saw me in my sweats and thought WALK!  Unfortunately the whole inaguration took longer than I expected, so her 45 minute dance between me and the door was all the exercise she received this morning.  I do feel badly for her, but I couldn’t pass up the inauguration.

Dick Cheney looked like Dr. Strangelove, without the cigarette and solitary glove.  I got a good laugh.

Congrats again Mr. Obama and good luck to you.  The job before you is massive.

Dr. Cheney Strangelove I presume

This needs no further comment

 

   

New Years Resolution, I hope!

I’ve been quite lax about writing.  Most days I don’t feel I have much to say, but in reality, I do.  I always have something to say.  After getting hassled by Hasselbot.com for months, typically 2-3 times daily, I decided today, 19 days into the new year, I’d be better about writing.  So here goes!

I love my 3 children, don’t get me wrong.  But my 4 year old son will either drive me to drink more heavily, cause me a headful of silver hair, or potentially give me a stroke, all before I’m 42.   I am fortunate he was #3, as my daughters would never have existed had he been born first.  He does it all.  He’s fearless.  He’s without sympathy.  I’m not sure he even understands why I’m angry at him for coating the leather couch in ketchup.  Why I’m pissed he poured a gallon of veggie oil down the bathroom sink.  Sam, why did you think it was alright to pour oil down the sink?  “I don’t know”.  Its his standard answer.  It also makes me want to reach around his neck and hurt him.  But he’s lucky I’m not violent, and I’m also able to control myself.  “Remove yourself” I tell him after he’s cleaned up his mess.  Cleaning up his messes makes him tired, apparently.  Although he’s not tired enough to sleep.  He’s not too tired to go onto his next project, finding a small bottle of puffy paint from somewhere and smearing it on the wood floor.

Do something with the child, I can hear some of you say.  I do!  We play games, we bike, we ride scooters, we take walks, we play on the play set, sandbox, go to classes at the Early Childhood Center.  Apparently I can not wear him out.  I could spend hours on the floor building train tracks with him, and when I go into the bathroom for a break, he’s already into something.  He’s stealthy.  He’s quiet.  He’s quick.  Sam would make a great professional assassin one day.  He’d never be caught.  I don’t know how he does it.

But after he’s made me so angry I’m ready to pull out my 2 inch long hair, he smiles at me, that charming smile he’s been so fortunate to be born with, puts his arms around me and says, I need a kiss.  Charmer.  I’m still angry with him, angry he can’t “get” it.  But I’ll take the hug and kiss.  No one can imagine this child is such a mischievous little devil.   Live with him for a day.  You’ll see. 

Santa brought Sam a dust buster for Christmas.  He wasn’t very happy about it at first, but now his house cleaner is his and only his.  No one else is able to touch it much less use it.  This is alright by me.  He’s cleaned up more of his messes in the past month than ever before, and proudly with his noisy house cleaner.  He can put it back on the recharger by himself.  He needs help emptying the collection area.  I don’t mind helping with this project, but the flour he poured on the floor is still in there for some reason, even after being vacuumed out several times.  Go figure.

I’m at home today, no car, 3 kids.  Should be an adventure.  I think I need to find a better uniform to wear for such days.  Maybe something along the lines of a Viking helmet, shield and sword.  I’m a warrior today.  I’m sure the kids will have me tied up somewhere around lunch.

Caroline and the four leaf clover

We’re at an early soccer game for Lily this morning.  The soccer field is on the outfield part of a baseball diamond.  The infield  area is actually about 1/4 of the field, by one of the goals.  We’ve had significant rainfall this spring, so its a total mud pit, wet and deep.  So the refs decide to shorten the field so the girls aren’t getting stuck in the mire.

 On the other side of the infield is a little playground, and Caroline asks if she can play there. Sure, not a problem. She has on this white hat from her girl scout troop so I can see her clearly.  I’m only about 250 feet away, and its 9 am, no one else is around the area except us.  And its fenced in.

 

So……  I look over to check on her and here she comes across the mucky infield area.  She’s having a slow go of it, and I yell at her to get out of it.  She looks over at me and obviously only heard my voice, not what I actually said.  So she keeps moving.  I yelled again.  Then she falls.  She yells for me she’s stuck, and falls again.  At this point, all the parents from Lily’s soccer team are watching this and looking at me, to see my reaction.  I can’t stop laughing.  I actually have tears running down my face I’m laughing so hard.  I yell at her to take a left to get out of the infield, as its only about 15 feet to the grass.  She is just standing there.  So me and a friend of mine go over to help her.  Missy has an old blanket to get for Caroline so she can be wrapped up on it. 

 

I attempted to venture into the infield to help her, but I took 2 steps and started to sink.  I quickly got out.  I told Caroline to come over to me.  She tells me she’s completely stuck and can’t get her shoes out.  I’m still laughing at this point.  So I asked her to get out of her shoes and then pull them out.  She gets out of her shoes, but she can’t get the shoes out, they have so much suction under them with the mud, its like concrete.  So I told her to put her fingers under them and pry them out.  They pop out and mud flies.  I’m about to wet myself at this point and I’m kicking myself for not bringing the video camera because its priceless.  So she slowly walks out towards me and she looks like she’s pooed all over herself, she’s that much of a mess.  But is she upset?  Hell no.  Happy as can be, as usual.

 

So I wrapped her in the blanket, put the shoes on the bleachers and we walked back to the sidelines of the soccer game.  I asked her why she was coming thru the infield instead of around on the grass.  “I found a 4 leaf clover and I wanted to show you.”

“So where is the clover now?”

“I lost it in the mud.”

“It wasn’t a very lucky clover then, was it?”

 

Poor kid.  We were just howling with laughter after this.  So after Lily’s game, Caroline had a field trip to the ASPCA, but with no shoes, pooed in looking pants, I stopped at Target to get her some pants and shoes.  Then Lily asks me if I brought her another pair of shoes.  Um, no, that was what I asked YOU TO DO!  So I had to buy her some too.  So $55 later, we’re on our way. Get to the ASPCA 30 minutes late.  Fortunately after all this, we’re all in a good mood.  As Monty Python once sang, always look on the bright side of life.

 

 

Tooth Fairy

Caroline lost her 2 front teeth this month, and she looks very amusing.  It doesn’t seem so long ago she was totally toothless and then those teeth started erupting, making her look funny.  Now those teeth are leaving, and it doesn’t seem possible she’s old enough.

Being my inquisitive one, she leaves notes for the Tooth Fairy, asking such questions as “Whats your name?” and “When is your birthday?”  My favorite one from last night is, “Can I have some fairy dust?”  Oh great, what is her plan for fairy dust?!

She gets a note from her tooth fairy, written in tiny script with purple ink, and rolled scroll style.  The note thrills her more than her $1.   She ran into my room this morning before 7 a.m. quivering with excitement over her tooth fairy note.  The Tooth Fairy asked a very important question, “do you plan to use the fairy dust for good?”  Tooth Fairy, you must know this child!

 I just pray Caroline won’t be crushed one day when she finds out about her tooth fairy.

Voice mail and The Scooter Store

For a couple of months now, a $14.95 charge has appeared on our phone bill.  Of course, it was up to me to investigate, so I finally had some time today.  I dug out an old bill from November and compared it to the February bill.  There is the $14.95 charge along with an 888 number to call for questions.  After dialing, I was able to talk to someone with a lousy, static filled connection, which is amusing for the phone company.  I’m not sure this woman’s third language was English, but we managed to more or less communicate.

“Cheryl” asked what my problem was and I asked her what is this $14.95 charge on my bill?  It took her a couple of minutes to actually find my account, that’s 2.  She proceeds to tell me its for voice mail on the internet.  Pardon? I’m pretty sure I didn’t order it, and I can guarantee you my husband didn’t order this.   She asks me “Do you know a Caroline?”  *^&#@$!!  Oh yes, I know a Caroline, she’s my 6 year old.   “Caroline isn’t authorized to make decisions on the phone service, by the way.”  No laugh on the other end.  Great, no sense of humor.  My luck.

“Cheryl” doesn’t believe me when I tell her this information.  “What is the birthdate of this Caroline, please.”  I tell her Caroline’s birthdate, and add, “She might be lucky to celebrate her 7th birthday at this point.” 

At this point, the culprit skips into the kitchen, where I’m speaking to “Cheryl.”  Caroline’s asking me a million questions at one.  I ask her to stay right next to me, I have something to talk with her about.  She’s clueless.  I do get “Cheryl” to refund the charges and cancel the subscription.  At least I’m pretty sure I was able to do this.  I guess I’ll find out next month when my bill arrives.

Caroline denies all of this, of course.  She also denied contacting The Scooter Store back in November.  I only found out about The Scooter Store because they called to ask Caroline for her scooter preferences.  I asked them if they were aware they were calling for a 6 year old, who I’m pretty sure will be unable to pay for the scooter, although she might be in need of one shortly. Fortunately, they were very good natured about it, and said they had a few kids do  this every month.

Fortunately, I have a good sense of humor, and I was able to laugh about it.  I wonder whats next.  Scratch that.  I don’t wonder. My imagination will run wild.

Whats for dinner?!

Caroline, my inquisitive 6 year old, skips through the kitchen last night, staring at the oven.

“Whats for dinner, Mom?”

“Ribs.”

“Where are they?”

“In the oven for now, why?”

“Well…..” Caroline begins to reply as she turns on the oven light, “I can’t see them past the tinsel.”

I had to laugh, as its rather well known I don’t like tinsel.  Much like Frank Costanza, I find it distracting.  Mom, on the other hand, loves the stuff.  The Christmas trees I had while growing up dripped in tinsel.   My 2 brothers and I refuse to use the stuff.  When I was 2 or 3, I’d stand behind the tree and pick it off, and pile it in the corner.  Mom still reminds me of this to this day.