I Think I Screwed Up

If you’ve been reading, you know that we changed John’s school after Christmas, halfway through the first of two years of preschool. Here are some of my reasons for making this decision:

1. His old school was a 15- to 20-minute drive. That meant, I spent about 45 minutes in the car two times a week, and next year it would be three times a week. The new school is a five-minute walk.

2. Related to No. 1: The baby would pass out in the car while I drove John to school, no matter what I did. I knew this would always be a problem, because the same thing happened when I drove Ben to this same school and John was a baby.

This messes up The Nap Schedule. A baby that nods off for three minutes in the car will not take her nap, which defeats the whole goal of two boys out at school so mommy can get a break. That is, mommy doesn’t get a break because the baby doesn’t take a nap, yet is still tired so fusses until mommy wants to stick her head in the oven.

3. The new school is four mornings per week instead of two. This counted as a "pro" because John loves school. I mean, he loved school.

4. The new school is the same school that Ben goes to. John would always ask to go to Ben’s school, so we were fulfilling his wish. Turns out, he wanted to go to Ben’s class, and the move has done nothing to satisfy his big-boy fantasies.

Now that we’re about four weeks into this new school routine with John, after three weeks of horrific tantrums, John started talking yesterday about how much he misses his old school. “I want to go to the red room! I miss Mrs. Johnson. You shouldn’t have made that decision (to change his school). That was a bad decision. Let me go to the red room, won’t you?”

In his old school, they did all kinds of crafts. We never knew what he'd bring home. In the mornings, the teachers always had a surprise. What would it be? A sand or water table? Cutting up veggies for a salad or mixing up some cupcakes? Cars, farm animal sets or musical instruments?

At his new school, so far they have sent home what look like simple coloring book pages which John has colored in. Every day the classroom looks the same. Today I noticed the pages of photocopied line art spread out on the table, waiting to be colored in. They even made me yawn.

Here are some things that I’ve noticed in the last four weeks that may not qualify as “red flags” per se, but still. My experience with schools and babysitters is that my gut is probably right:

1. He came out of school one day and said he had a time out, I'm not sure for what. He never had that happen at the other school.

2. He came out of school crying one day. He said his teacher wouldn’t let him put on his hat and mittens before putting on his coat. Now, I know that John will dawdle until there’s no time, and that may have happened. So, who knows.

3. He came home with his snack still in his back pack. When I asked about it, he said he’d complained that his apple juice was in the wrong cup (I know, totally annoying), so his teacher took his apple juice away. Couldn’t they have left the apple juice in the “wrong” cup? Again, John has a way of being annoying, but....

4. The teachers seemed warm at first, but each time I bring him they seem cooler and cooler. The first few times I brought John, the lead teacher came over to the parents and made small talk. Now, she won’t even meet my eyes. I hate that. It gives me the creeps.

5. When I volunteered in Ben’s classroom last week, I got to take a few peeks at John’s class. At 9 am, they were all sitting on the carpet in a group. At 10 am, they were still all sitting on the carpet in a group. Hmmm, looks fun.

6. I asked to observe, and the teacher has been dragging her feet to schedule it. His other school had a sign-up sheet for visitors right outside the door.

All of this doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that John is unhappy there. He loved school, now he’s indifferent at best. I guess my only solution for this semester is to try to do some fun things at home, to make up for the lack of fun at preschool.

I spoke to John's old teacher to make sure there wasn't some behavior issues that I'd missed. There weren't. She kept saying, "All three/four year olds do that." When I told her about the hat/mitten and apple juice episodes, she paused and said, "Every school has different expectations. One can only hope that they're appropriate."

Yes, I asked if his old school still had an opening, and they don't.

Damn.

Foosball! And a Date!

Saturday night I went to a party. An adult party where I didn’t just experience “party” the noun but also “party” the verb. Two small children made an appearance, crawling about the floor pretending to be a kitten (the girl) and a puppy (her little brother). But they were clean, in their jammies and quiet, except for the meows and yips. They didn’t scratch or pee on anything either.

At this party were adults mingling, guitar players strumming, a deck for smoking, colorful liqueurs for imbibing. And center stage: a foosball table!

I never gave foosball much thought. Watching an episode of Friends, I never eyed Joey and Chandler’s foosball table, dreaming of the day I could house one. A pool table, sure. But that takes up so much room, what with the sticks and all. After a few games of foosball, and an early evening decision to focus on honing my defense skills, I am hooked.

This has nothing to do with the fact that my soon to be nephew-in-law congratulated me repeatedly on my foosball defensive skills. Because I know he was just being polite, and I pretty much sucked, especially since by the time I played with him I'd had had four beers, four jello shots and two shots of baily’s and khalua. Which brings us to my next topic, the server of these shots.

I got asked out. By a girl.

We had bonded over our weight loss goal (we both weigh the same and need to lose the same amount). Then, of course, the shots. As I slipped on my coat, she tucked her business card into my palm and said “Call me, we have to get together. I belong to the Y in town, and if I had someone to go with I might actually do it!”

I’ll share a secret bit of synchronicity with you. At my MOPS group, they have a prayer request box. On impulse, I scratched out the anonymous request, “Please help me find some girlfriends. And some peace.”

So, just a week later, and I get picked up at a party! And asked on a date to go exercising!

I plan to start asking for what I want more often.

Preschooler Wins Gold, Scores Perfect 10 in Extreme Tantrum Event

My latest post is up at DotMoms:

Parents of tantrum throwers should unite to share war stories:

“He cried for 6 hours straight!”
“She screamed so loud my glasses cracked!”
“He turned blue and passed out ...”

Please click to read the rest.

Quotable Kid

UPDATED: During a time out yesterday, John bellowed, "You stupid old lady!!" It took four years, but he's finally figured his mother out.

Last summer, I mentioned that I wanted to start going to church again. We've had mixed success with that, but we have started praying before meals. I've also been teaching the boys about prayer, telling them that they can talk to God through prayer whenever they want. Essentially, God is there to help them as are mom and dad.

Last night, after our mealtime prayer, I added, "And please help mom to be patient and to let the boys know how much she loves them."

So John jumped in, too: "And, God, please help me before you help all the other little kids."

Then at bedtime, I heard banging in John's room. I found him hanging off the side of his bed, jumping. When I asked him to stop, he'd wake the baby, he said, "I'm just praying. I asked God to please take my coughing feelings tomorrow and throw them in the trash can, and please take my sore throat feelings and throw them in the trash can."

And thank you God for making John so cute. Otherwise this tantrum-throwing child might have his very own cage in my basement.

On another note, I overheard the best quote by CJ on The West Wing last night. (I don't watch it, Brian does. Real politics is hard enough to stomach, never mind dramatized politics.)

"I hate when I make myself clear, and I’m not received."

You know, that pretty much sums up my most significant frustrations these days. Oh, and then, she said to this guy, who I think is her boyfriend, "I should punch you in the face."

Man, that woman is kick-ass! I may start watching the show just for her!

Mommy Playdate: Fantasy vs. Reality

So, yesterday I mentioned my plans for John. Let's see how that went.

Fantasy: Lots of patience and indulgent attention from me.
Reality: Patience yes, but also about six time outs for hitting his brother and going to his room for refusing to eat lunch. Again. Because he couldn't have apple juice, even though we always have milk or water at lunch, no juice. Some indulgent attention, but the dishes and the meal prep and the baby and the misbehavior threw a wrench in that. Ben came down with a cough, fever and sore throat, and decided he wanted to have all of John's birthday presents. The baby didn't nap and fussed for a few hours in the afternoon. Just the usual melodrama.

Fantasy: Books.
Reality: We didn't read until bedtime, unfortunately.

Fantasy: All the snuggling he allows (he's not a big snuggler).
Reality: We did snuggle a few times, but mostly I had to settle for tickling him to the ground.

Fantasy: Perhaps baking some brownies and breaking out the new Mr. Mouth game he got for his birthday.
Reality: We had some cookies to use up, so we'll bake the brownies today. And Mr. Mouth? We played but John hated it, and started misbehaving when Ben and I tried to finish the game.

John seemed hot on and off through the day, too, and complained about his throat last night, so both boys are home today. It's nearly 10 here and they are both still sleeping. They NEVER sleep in like this, but I think they both need it.

And today, mom will probably lighten up and serve apple juice with lunch. Since they're sick. See, I'm not a complete meanie!

Our Own Private Snow Day

We have falling snow, and both boys are home, but they didn't call school off. Brian and I decided last night to keep John home today. This new four-morning schedule is kicking John's butt, and mine. Getting three kids up and out the door by 8:15 am every morning rivals cleaning toilets in the meat room of the local grocery store for my Worst Job Ever. If John didn't have a tantrum every other minute, it wouldn't be so bad. But he tantrums. Every. Other. Minute.

I drifted off last night fantasizing about the kids sleeping in, but alas, 'twas not to be. Ava woke at 5:45 to nurse. She fell back asleep, but I couldn't. Ben came plodding into our room at 6:45. John slept just a half hour late, until 7:30. I considered getting him out the door, but we've got 3+ fresh inches of snow and it's still falling, so that idea didn't live long.

Yesterday before school John said, "I don't want to go to school." He's never said that before. He used to love school. Then he said, "So, I'm never going to go to the green room, is that what's happening?" Yes, the green room's his old school, which we pulled him out of because it's a 20-minute drive from here. His new school? A five minute walk.

So, I called John's new teacher, to check in. Apparently he's having some trouble "learning the routine," and likes to "lay down during circle time." He also likes to bonk the kid next to him on the head with a book. Gently, though.

Phew! Thank God he bonked him gently!

The thing is, John's old school was the Funnest Preschool in America. His old teachers would NEVER mention to me that he laid down during circle time. I mean, he's four. His new school, well, it's a bit reserved. Long on structure, short on fun. I plan to visit the class on Tuesday, and you know what? If he doesn't laugh at least once an hour, I'm pulling him out. Preschool should involve laughing, no?

John's prescription for today: lots of patience and indulgent attention from me, books, all the snuggling he allows (he's not a big snuggler), and perhaps baking some brownies and breaking out the new Mr. Mouth game he got for his birthday. Airborne choking hazards -- woot!

Resurfacing

I've got 16 pounds to lose. Nothing fits.

By nothing, I mean one pair of jeans that I'm destroying by squeezing my fat ass into them, and a pair of sweats that also will never be the same. But I refuse to buy myself some jeans that fit. That's like admitting this is my new size. THIS IS NOT MY NEW SIZE.

Last week, I reread the rhino post, and my first instinct was to delete it. When I wrote it, I wanted to hold the thoughts in my hand, look them over, let the sunlight reveal their cracks and flaws. But revealing depression in such a public way feels like I’m standing here naked, showing off all my floppy, dimpled, blotchy parts.

The good news is that I got my period about a week after that, then started feeling better. The whole incident reveals to me (again) that I have severe PMS, so I should probably tell some doctor about it.

Thinking about all the things I need to do to take care of myself -- the vegetable chopping, the water drinking, the walking -- makes me feel so tired. But I know once I get going I’ll get my energy back. Every time I stop taking care of myself it gets easier to get back on the wagon. Oh, except for those pesky kids running around my house now. And that rhino.

I got some comments on that post saying, “Thanks for writing that, Kris.” At first, I couldn’t figure out why. But now that I want to delete it so bad, I guess I realize why. It’s hard to bare that ugly part of ourselves. But I’m glad I did, because it brings me relief to know that many of you know those feelings and have been there. I feel bad knowing that you know what I mean, but I feel not so alone. Know what I mean?

So here are some things that made me feel better that week:
• Blogging the evil thoughts.

• Eating. Temperary relief, long-lasting side effects.

• Our new tile floor in the kitchen (!).

• Blowing $75 on books, then joining QPB and Writer’s Digest book clubs (no further obligation!)

• Going to the book store (yes, I have a problem) while Brian dealt with the witching hour.

• Decluttering. Man, I love me some decluttering! But it wasn’t such a good idea to pull everything off the shelving units in the office and the pantry right before hosting a birthday party. I still can’t get to my freezer or into our office. On the plus side, I’ve got enough decluttering to do to keep me busy until Ava goes to high school.

• Spending some quality time with the boys. One day John and I broke out the paint set, another day Ben and I took a long walk. I finally finished reading the Wizard of Oz to Ben, and I took them both to Chuck E. Cheese. John and I made popsicles. These sound embarrassingly simple but I get into this “must do chores, must run errands, must make dinner” mode, and the next thing I know, it’s bedtime and I haven’t spent any quality time with the boys. I’m trying out the “must slow down” mode (again).

Yesterday, I went for a walk. A real one, where I’m alone and break a sweat. That was the first time since I had Ava that I’ve done that. I can't believe it's been so long. It's just not like me to not work out. It takes a toll on me, mentally and physically.

I’ve got 16 pounds to lose, did I mention that? But I'm not giving in. I'm resurfacing, clawing my way back to what was my "normal."

THIS IS NOT MY NEW SIZE!

So Much to Say

I feel so guilty sitting here writing because I have so much to do! But, I miss you guys! So, a few random things and then a quasi post.

• Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who delurked, and to any readers as well. All week I have felt all warm and fuzzy about the blogosphere. For the first time ever, I got 30+ comments on a post. And in the same week, I had the most comments I've ever had on a DotMoms post, too. Woot!

• John's in a new school. We moved him after Christmas because I used to drive him 15 to 20 minutes away and it was just a huge pain. Now he's in the same school as Ben (the public preschool) and it's a five-minute walk. This has wreaked havoc on him, the poor guy, because instead of having to get up early two mornings a week he now has to get up four mornings. He's getting less than 12 hours sleep a night and since he just turned 4 the day after Christmas, he becomes a psycho at about 2pm. That's why I haven't been here this week. I'll have to reinstitute some kind of nap. But in the meantime, John pretty much needs a bodyguard, and that would be me.

• John's having his birthday party tomorrow, which I didn't realize until like five minutes ago. You should see my house. I would post pictures, but, since I'm still feeling overexposed after the rhino post, I'm not posting pictures. Because of my poor planning, and because he just changed schools, John will have family and neighbors at his party, no friends from school. I began feeling guilty about this but then I thought, "He's four, get a grip." We all know how well I do planning birthday parties anyway.

Speaking of birthdays ... (yes, this is the segue to the quasi post)

I came to a startling realization today. My mother-in-law's 60th birthday is next month. I thought about this because I knew that if something requiring advance preparations is going to happen for Brian's mother on her 60th, this would have to be initiated by me.

As I thought about this, my brain kept flashing back to when I first met her. I was 18, immature for my age, and Brian's rebound girlfriend of a few weeks. (He was engaged when I first met him.)

That sunny spring afternoon, Brian and I were going to see AC/DC at the Worcester Centrum. Being in my first real relationship at the end of my first year at college, I felt as new as the spring grass. Even as I was failing every class at UMass.

Because of the concert I was dressed weird, trying to look like something I wasn't: tight jeans (tapered, acid washed) and an oversized, long AC/DC t-shirt my roommate lent me. I also had this strange attitude, like some bad-girl wannabe. Brian and I had been seeing each other for just a few weeks. We weren't that serious, I mean, had just ended an engagement and I'd never had a real boyfriend before.

Seventeen years ago, I never imagined this woman would be my mother-in-law. But first impressions aside, I remember her back then, scurrying around the kitchen, folding laundry and sipping Orange Dry. She seemed so old.

She was 43.

This realization has shaken me up quite a bit. I'm only 6 1/2 years away from 43. Judging by how fast the last 17 years went, judging by the fact that my dad died 7 1/2 years ago and it feels like yesterday, I'm guessing age 43 will be here in about five minutes.

Aaaaaahhh!

Three Is Enough. I Think.

My latest post is up at DotMoms:

At some point in my twenties, I decided I wanted four kids. After we bought a house and started trying, I figured out the schedule in my head ... please click to read the rest!

Four-by-Four

So far, delurking week’s been fun, no? It looks like about 20 of you are out there reading. Wait a minute, you’re reading and you haven’t commented? That’s just wrong. What are you, some kind of taker? I mean, do you have a PROBLEM or something?

Oh, relax, I’m just kidding. It’s Wednesday, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Just leave a comment between now and Friday, Mom, and all will be forgiven.

Anyway... Here’s the meme Allison tagged me with:

Four Jobs You’ve Had in Your Life:
1. Meat wrapper
2. Telemarketing superviser
3. Newspaper correspondent (i.e., very low-paid reporter)
4. Butt wiper

Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over:
I don’t really like to watch movies over and over, but if I did...
1. Office space
2. Parenthood
3. The Incredibles (Not only could I, but I have. Not by choice, mind you.)
4. Can’t think of any others, but if I could, I’m sure it would be a comedy.

Four Places You’ve Lived:
1. In a tiny two-bedroom apartment with two parents, one brother and one cat (the teen years)
2. In a tiny two-bedroom apartment with my best friend from childhood (during college)
3. In my new boyfriend’s parents’ 150-year-old house. They let me live with them because my parents moved out of state while I was in college, and they felt bad for me. Although his mom told me I could break up with her son and not feel bad for living there, I felt so indebted that I married him and bore him three children. What can I say, I’m a giver.
4. And finally, in my own imperfect, cluttered, but relatively palatial three-bedroom house.

Four Websites You Visit Daily:
1. Google
2. FOX News
3. Sitemeter
4. Gmail (want an invite?)

Four TV Shows You Love To Watch:
1. Lost
2. The Apprentice (the Donald version)
3. That 70s Show used to be my favorite sitcom, but now I don’t have one. We just started watching Everybody Hates Chris, it's pretty funny. We tried My Name Is Earl, but I guess it’s too highbrow for me.
4. Desperate Housewives (I don't LOVE it, but it's the only other thing I'm watching right now)

Four of Your Favorite Foods:
1. Anything from a good Thai restaurant
2. Chocolate peanut butter cups
3. French Fries
4. Bread

Four Albums You Can’t Live Without (at least for the moment):
I’m years behind in my album listening, and I still can’t pick just four.
1. The Eminem Show
2. Fiona Apple, Tidal
3. Erykah Badu, Baduizm (I don’t know why I bonded so tightly with Baduizm, but I did)
4. My Beck collection (no I can’t choose just one)

I’m also fairly attached to Mama Said (Kravitz), Zeppelin III and The Red Hot Chili Peppers Greatest Hits.

Four Places You’d Rather Be:
Let me preface this by saying “without the kids”:
1. At a spa resort
2. Home, but with “clean, uncluttered, quiet” all around me
3. In a cozy chaise lounge on the beach of a tropical island, sipping an icy, spiked drink and reading a trashy novel.
4. At a fabulous restaurant with a few of my favorite friends

Four People Who Are Now Obligated To Do This to Their Blog:
Do you know why I hate tagging people? Because I'm afraid they'll hate me (Allison, you know what I mean, right?) So if you want to do it, go ahead! Just let me know you did so I can check out your answers and link to you here.

Participants:
Sissyfuss
My Quotidian Life

Delurk, Won't You?

Last year, the lovely Sheryl from PaperNapkin founded DeLurking Day, and it was a rousing success. This year, she has expanded the concept to Delurking Week, so we have time to get around to all the blogs we read and delurk.

Anyone who has a blog knows that a comment, especially a positive one, is pretty much like a hit of heroine. OK, maybe it's just me. But I do know via a sexy little plug-in called Sitemeter that some people do stop by my humble little blog, and I'd love to hear from you.


Let me know who you are! That way I can stop by your blog, too. Tell me why you read, what we have in common, the kinds of posts you enjoy or dislike. Constructive criticism is welcome. (I can take it, I swear!) Or just a plain old "hello," will do.


Even if you know me in real life, or in another Internet life, and feel funny commenting, please comment anyway. If you know about my blog, it's because I wanted you to know, so say hello. Don't make me beg. OK, I'm begging.



And don't forget to go say hello to the woman who started it all. Thanks, Sheryl!

Best Picture From 2005 (last one, I swear)

I created a Flickr set of the rest of my favorites. I know I said last "one," but I didn't say picture, so: Fooled ya!

See? That's another thing that happens when I get depressed, I get all dorky and no one wants to hang with me anymore.

I actually sent an email out that said, "Greetings from Rut-land. Get it? Rut, land, as in, 'I'm in a rut.'" Even through email I could hear the crickets chirping.

That email was to spread the word about the Artist's Way blogging circle that recently started. I want to join but I'm not sure if I can focus on it right now. I have to tell you, though, I haven't made it all the way through the book, yet, just to week 9 or so.

I want to play along with the taw-ers in some form, so I plan to start doing a few things, like artist dates, a bit of reading deprivation. Maybe morning pages. My writing time is so limited though, it's hard for me to give it to stream of consciousness.

Andrew Weil's 8 Weeks to Optimum Health comes to mind for me more so than anything else: Walks, flowers, breathing excercises, stretching, clean drinking water, salmon/flax, green tea. Sounds about my speed right now. Anyone care to join me?

P.S. I just read Kat's week one introduction, and now I'm like, maybe I will do it ...

P.S.S. Dear Allison, I don't hate you. I love getting tagged. It makes me feel loved. I will post the meme today or tomorrow. xo, Kris

Phew! I'm Not a Germ

“Ha! I got you! Now you’re dead,” John tells me. “Actually, you're not dead, you’re just a little germ.”

“A little germ?”

“Yep, you’re a germ.”

“Well, sometimes I feel like a little germ.”

“Actually, you’re not a little germ. Your a mommy and you’re big. Big enough to hug me and give me a kiss and a high five.”

And of course, I oblige.

Depression Is Like a Constipated Rhino Sitting on Your Chest

Last night, I looked up the word "rut," and it has a surprising number of definitions related to heightened sexual activity. I will never look at the word “rut,” the same way again. And I will not say during this post that, “I'm in a rut.”

Then I found this quote:

"Depression is like a constipated rhino sitting on your chest."
-- Rob Anderson, The Black Book.

It overtook me yesterday.

Brian and fought in the morning, and John just fights every damn thing lately. From the moment he wakes in the morning to when he goes to sleep, he asks for things he can’t have, asks you to do something you can’t, or refuses to accept whatever cup, chore, shirt, lunch option, answer you offer. While getting ready for school, Brian lifted the toothbrush to John’s mouth, and John buried his face in his hands and yelled, "No!" Brian lost his temper at him, I lost my temper at Brian for losing his temper, we fought, John cried. It was a parenting low point.

The incident made me so sad, and all day I couldn’t shake it. I started thinking about my severe but untreated depression through high school. How friends became either concerned or annoyed about my inability to smile and lighten up.

I felt pathetic back then. I hated myself so much, it’s scary to remember it now. I remember making mental lists of my flaws, and just disliking every single aspect of my physical self and life circumstance. I was ashamed of the clothes I had, and my lack of taste, and my saddlebags, and my flat chest, and the big space between my front teeth (then junior year, braces.)

Yesterday, I felt that kind of self-hate creeping in. My subconcious just welled up and said, “Not this again. Do NOT go there. You’ve wasted enough of your life in this dark place. You are just lazy, you don’t want to do the work of caring for your kids, the work of your marriage. You're overweight, sedentary, drinking too much, eating McDonald's and chocolate and takeout Chinese. That's why you feel this way. Get off your ass, go for a walk, eat some vegetables, and stop walking around with a long face.”

And then another voice said I’ve blown it by making bad decisions at every turn, that no one's ever liked me or really cared about me, my husband doesn’t love me, and my kids very soon will not like me either.

Ridiculous.

The sadness hurt all day, in my chest and head, my gut. While reading to the boys I teared up. During my few hours alone with the baby this morning, I cried and talked to myself. Ava probably thought to herself, "This lady used to be fun but now she’s just craaaazy!"

By dinnertime I told myself, "You’re sick. Treat yourself like you've got a bad cold. Listen to what Phil told you. Take it easy. Deal with the kids, and yourself, and let the rest go, for today." (See, I told you I was talking to myself.)

The rays of positive thinking began poking through the storm clouds last night. I got a decent night’s sleep. I plan to start walking again. And meditating, even for just five minutes a day.

And then! I found this at Sheryl’s. I've worked through The Artist's Way twice before. Maybe it's time again. I’m feeling the need for some morning pages and at the very God-help-me least, some artist dates.

OK, time to go play with the kids, clean the house, and see if I can keep that bloated rhino off of me for little while.

Best Pictures 2005: Miss Cheeks

Oh my God. Can you see why I bury my face in her cheeks all day?

Those cheeks. Self-heated pillows. Softer than silk. MMmmmm, baby cheeks.

Must. Nuzzle. Them.

Lately, she grabs my head and pulls it to her. She giggles, pasting her open mouth to my face, my chin, tickling me with her tongue.

She’d do it to you, too, if you were here. She hasn’t figured out yet that she could charge money for it.

I have found nirvana.

Best Pictures, 2005

Ava, one day old.

Best Pictures, 2005

Ben and John meet Ava for the first time.

Resolutions

New Year’s resolutions seem to be my thing. I have many. Some people hate them, but for me, New Year’s resolutions are the last bastion of my self-help-junkie former self.

I have three huge bookshelves jammed full of books, most of it nonfiction. How to be a writer, how to be a better parent, how to weigh less, how to cook more. As I think back to where it all began, I remember those first excercise videos with Kathy Smith and Andrew Weil’s Natural Health, Natural Medicine. (I did listen to Codependent No More on the car tape player one time, crying all the way home from work. But then I threw it straight in the trash.)

Today, most of my self-help addiction centers around religion, parenting, writing, eating and exercise, and running the household (FlyLady). But I have to say that most self-help books now cause my eyes to glaze over. I’m just not interested anymore. I no longer believe that 8 weeks can change my life. I have my ideals and goals, the ones I never seem to achieve, and I don’t need any more to add to my list.

All that said, I do love new beginnings, starting again, getting a second (or third) chance to get it right.

I declared some resolutions at Mommybloggers this weekend, and I’m already getting started. See? I’m writing! And this weekend, I read. Actual books!

So great, I know.

Memorable quote:
What Do You Do All Day, by Amy Scheib.
“Let me come right out and say it: I’m not happy. But I don’t know whether this is a new ‘I don’t like staying at home with kids’ kind of not happy or the same old ‘I don’t like being a creature of this planet’ kind of not happy.”

Realization:
I so relate to this line. I've always been a melancholy kind of girl. I’ve known for most of this year that I'm somewhat depressed. But this weekend, it became crystal clear that I'm Depressed. Depression fools my brain into thinking the problem is Someone (like my husband or kids) or Something (like my house or my lack of local girlfriends). But every now and then I get my head above water, breathe some fresh air and realize that, wait a minute, my husband is pretty cool and, shit, I have a 3+ bedroom with a roof and floors. Look at the holiday cards and emails from all these cool women I know. What the hell's my problem? Then I go under again. I’m not sure what to do about it. I'm already in therapy. I've never taken anti-depressants before, plus I'm still breastfeeding. I’m hoping a little New Year’s eating right, going to bed early and getting some excercise will help.

Memorable quote:
The Momstown Guide to Getting It All, by Mary Goulet and Heather Reider.
“We’re all ‘GALs’ at MomsTown – that is, we’re working on Getting A Life. ... A GAL becomes her own person – outside the identity of being a stay-at-home mom.”

Realization
Uh-oh. The MomsTown Guide is a 10-week program. Like I said, I have an aversion to these “programs,” especially one that claims it will give me “a life.” Excuse me, I have “a life.” Is it often pathetic and lonely? Yes. But it’s a life, damnit. MomsTown goddesses, please remember: There’s a fine line between telling me to honor my passions and telling me I’m a loser. It’s a very fine line between “thanks for helping me get off my ass,” and let me knock you on yours.

3. New Year’s email from FlyLady.
“Let's take that perfectionism bat your are beating yourself up with on a daily basis and use it to hit home runs. Each time you see perfectionism throwing you a curve ball; turn it around and hit it back to where it belongs; Out of sight and out of mind!

"Fear is the opposite of love! In fact I believe that it is worse than hate. It is hate disguised as something else. When we uncover our fears and bring them into the light of day; we are acknowledging that we don't have to be perfect and that our fears do not make us less than.”

Realization
"Finally Loving Yourself" is a much better acronym than "Get A Life." When I found FlyLady, I didn't think I would never need another household-type self-help book, and so far, I still believe that. What FlyLady says about perfectionism always hits home with me. But as much as I like to think of myself as a perfectionist in recovery, I have been beating myself with the failure stick quite a lot in recent months. It’s time to move on. But four years after finding FlyLady, I’m depressed, yelling at my kids, not feeling fulfilled. I feel like I’m hitting bottom, or at least I hope it's bottom. I know that I'm not doing the basics to take care of myself, though. So I still think I can pull myself out of it, by eating right, going to bed earlier, exercising. I wonder if that's true.

Well, I have hungry children who have staged a rebellion so I must go. I plan to give the MomsTown 10 week program a shot, so I will keep you posted.

Best Pictures, 2005

Brian and the boys at their favorite park, "the pirate ship park." It's right on the ocean, but really, the river. The air is cooler, though, which is what I like about it.

We visited a week before Ava's birth.

My 12 Must-Have Baby Items

My latest post is up at DotMoms:

I'm a researcher at heart, and a consumer. So when I had my first baby five years ago, I spent hours online and talking to other moms, looking for the "perfect" blanket or toy -– anything that would make my life easier ... please click to read the rest!

Happy New Year!

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