The Morning After

Bub and Pie recently wrote a post about Bloggers Remorse. And the tendency for bloggers to feel embarrassed after a particularly emotional post. I think I am suffering from a touch of this condition this morning. Your comments on my post were so kind and encouraging and full of prayers and well wishes and I felt, well, foolish. What exactly is wrong with my life? My child has a virus? Being a stay at home mom can be frustrating and tiresome? I am losing the war against my waistline?. None of these seem sufficient to the emotional spewing I did yesterday.

I have always been prone to fits of depression. A condition that peaked after the births of my daughters and subsequently resulted in a prescription for what I fondly call my "happy pills". I am very open about my postpartum depression and my need for medication because I want people to know there is nothing embarrassing about seeking help.

But even beyond that, the all encompassing debilitating darkness that came at those points in my life, I fight a daily battle against a less intense despondency. What I refer to as "the melancholies". They feel a bit like gremlins, hovering in the corners of my consciousness, waiting to pounce on me with the least bit of disappointment, stress, or insecurity. I battle these critters with powerful weapons of prayer, Bible Verses (like the ones I keep on my sidebar), and encouraging friends.

And sometimes chocolate.

And this blog. That's why I named it "Joy in Chaos" because I wanted to document the joy as a constant reminder that it's always there, amid the chaos of my life. I might just have to search for it. But yesterday I succumbed, without much of a fight to the gremlins. I didn't want to feel better, I wanted to wallow. I wanted someone to identify, to sympathize with me, that my life as a stay at home mom of four is hard. And for that, that public self-indulgent whine-fest, I apologize.

So will I now cover up my post with something frantically witty? Or as Bub puts it "off-the-cuff compensatory silliness?" Oh I don't know. I don't do funny well. I wish I did, I am terribly envious of writers that do comedy well because my life provides such great material. But I am not one of them. And I don't think silliness is in me today. I haven't come that far.

So instead I think I will leave you with this. This photo tribute to why I really shouldn't spend so much time blogging and what my little ones find to occupy themselves while I do.

I hope these made you smile. Thanks for being such great friends.

Afterthoughts: If you are wondering why Ben seems to always be in underwear in his pictures lately it's because if the potty-training war we have going on. And Clara is still sick, but slept until 9:30 this morning allowing me time to type this blog. Yay.

One heckuva downer post

Oh it's one of those days. One of those days. Where I just want to crawl into my bed, pull the down comforter over my head and stay there until 2010. Because really I think I would rather subject myself to a gynecological exam than fold another load of laundry. Or wipe down the counters or a pint sized bum one more time. Or referee another fight. Or try again to convince my three year old why it really is better to pee in the potty than in his underwear.

Or on the floor.

And baby girl has hand foot and mouth disease and is miserable. And she just wants to be held. And that would be fine, I would love to stop and hold her and comfort her, if my life, would just stop long enough to let me do so. But instead she crawls along behind me wailing while I try to get her brother ready for his preschool open house. And change his pants. Again. And remind myself to ask his preschool teacher if it's okay that he is a bit "spotty" on the whole potty training thing.

And the little pink pill that I take every night to help me get through the day, just doesn't seem to be doing it's job today. And it wasn't so hot yesterday either. And I can feel my blood pressure rising.

Oh. Which reminds me. Blood Pressure. Do you remember this post? The one where I kissed Gluttony and Sloth a fond farewell and embarked on a journey towards better health and lower blood pressure. Well it's going great.



~sorry I was waiting for the lightning strike~

Because my two old friends...they haven't left. Of course not. They didn't even get to the front door. They are like a freeloading uncle, camping out with promises to leave on Monday, or after this party, or you know...next year. They keep bribing me to stay with gooey dark-chocolate birthday cake and Friday night Mexican. And Wine. And Huge hot cups of coffee with lots of cream and sugar and caffeine. Because I can't freakin live without caffeine. How does one get through a day without coffee?

I still have no idea.

So not only are they still here but now they have brought friends. Oh yes it's true. Gluttony and Sloth, they know how to throw a party. They've brought everyone with them. Procrastination. Guilt. Self-Loathing. and 4 more pounds. FOUR MORE POUNDS!

And depression.

But he's not really my friend. Although I know him well, and the heavy sinking crawl-into-bed for a week feeling he brings with him. Like a fog settling over my consciousness.

But Him. He's not staying. Because I know how far I have come from where I was last year when Clara was born. The days before the medicine when it was only through Jesus carrying me that I made it through each day. And my friends and my husband telling me again and again I wasn't crazy. That I wouldn't always feel this way. That the love for her would come. Reassuring me that it was okay, even for people who love Jesus, even for those who depend on Him, to get help. And because of them. Because of His grace. I know that darkness is behind me and I know this is just a day.

One bad day. Or maybe two. Perfectly normal. And soon I will be back to normal too. Soon.

But maybe not today. Today, I still just want to run away.

A Nod to a New Blog

In blatant disrespect for the Wordless Wednesday code I wanted to share that my dear friend Chrissy, who has known me long enough to be able to provide you with some serious dirt, has started her own blog today. Tales from the Carpool Lane is quite funny. Funny is not something I do well and she has already put me to shame. Not that I am jealous or anything. Really.

Well, maybe a little. So go on. Click the link. You know you want to.

(The wordless Wednesday post is below. And it garnered some criticism from Allie. I wrote about that here.)

Wordless Wednesday (It's a Hard Knock Life)

Morning Musings.

“Those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply” L.M. Montgomery

I am back to quoting L.M. Montgomery today. I suspect most mothers of pubescent girls would find a strong affinity with these words and I am no different. Allison has always reminded me of Anne with her ability to feel things so sharply. It's hard not to love someone who so liberally expresses her joy in the world around her, but it can become wearisome to ride the waves of her emotions.

This morning started fine with sleepy hugs and preparing for school. But a couple wrong turns and I found her sobbing in the garage over her shoes (they had ants on them) as the bus came down the street. I managed to quickly remedy the shoe situation and barked at her to pull herself together quickly before she boarded the bus. I know I sound heartless but she has been ridiculed for her emotions before. Her fits of giddiness, her sensitivity to criticism and propensity for tears have been perceived as immaturity. And I used to agree. But now I believe they are just a part of her. A part she is working hard to suppress because she is finally aware that the world doesn't know what to do with someone who lives perpetually in the emotional moment.

It's moments like this that I appreciate my oldest son, who takes life in stride. His steadfast, easygoing personality does not show emotions easily. We have often wished he would show more excitement. Like on Christmas morning when the long awaited gift elicits no more than a wry grin and a comical comment. But I have come to appreciate the ease of knowing what to expect. Of not having to tread lightly.

There is much to love about them both. Strengths in the differences of their makings. But I suspect, I always have, that he will find the world an easier place to live in.

A summons

Last week I received a summons for Jury Duty in the mail. The Man opened it and has been hounding me ever since to find out if there is a way out of it. I have been darting snarky looks at him in response and mumbling noncommittally. Oh I know what his point is. I am a stay at home mom of four kids. My husband is self-employed and it would be a financial hardship for him to take off work to be with them for a week and there really isn't anyone else that can watch them. In short, I am invaluable. Do you think the State of Georgia will buy it? I have no idea. And no, I haven't even begun to check into it yet. Because here's the thing:

I don't want to be excused.

Because I believe in Jury Duty. The American Government only works if we do our part. You know: vote, pay taxes, serve on a jury when we are called to.

Okay, that's not true.

Well it's sort of true. I do believe in all that stuff. But the real reason I don't want to be excused from jury duty is because of this one sentence in my summons:

"DO NOT BRING CHILDREN TO THE ASSEMBLY ROOM or WHEN REPORTING FOR JURY SERVICE"

I have to leave my kids at home. All of them. It's a bona fide rule.

So for a day, or if I am lucky, an entire week I'll get to wake up in the morning, have a reason to dress myself in something respectable for a change, pack a stack of books and go sit, without kids. Maybe I'll get chosen for a jury and maybe I will just get to sit there and read to my hearts content. And maybe there will be other adults. And I'll get to have a conversation. Or write a letter.

And they give me money for lunch. Lunch that will absolutely NOT be peanut butter and jelly.

So call me crazy but jury duty sounds kind of like a vacation. Except not like a vacation at all because I won't come home exhausted from lack of sleep and settling fights. And counting heads: one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four...327 times on the beach for three days. And there won't be a car full of dirty laundry and sand in my unmentionables.

It sounds like a rest. A break. Peace. A reason to have a party. A "hallelujah I am headed off to jury duty party!"

Because after all, it is my civic duty. My government NEEDS me. And we wouldn't want to let them down, now would we?

Bosom Friends

2007 At Medieval Times for Allie's 11th Birthday

When Shane and I were married, his niece Taylor was at our wedding. She was eighteen months at the time and throughout the ceremony she said my name in a happy sing-song voice that everyone could hear.

"Doy, Doy, Doy...Doy, Doy, Doy" repeated incessantly during our vows.

It's really the only thing I remember about the ceremony and I think she officially captured my heart at that moment. Two weeks later my own daughter, Allison, was born and I had high hopes for them to grow up as friends. I have not been disappointed.

Taylor was Allison's very first friend. Her first sleepover. Her first secret-keeper. Her first girly-spat. She was her first phone, email, and instant message pal. As the years have gone on, Allie has made many other friends. In fact I think she has had a different "best friend" every school year. But when she is giddy, or when her heart is hurting it's Taylor she always calls. And this gives me joy, because with Taylor I know that Allison is her true self. With no pretense or second guessing. And we all should be so lucky as to have such a friend.

This weekend Allie was allowed to chose one friend to go with us to "Medieval Times" for her birthday, and so it seemed only natural to both of us that Taylor be the one to come along. Yesterday I watched them as they walked, looking more like young ladies now than little girls, arm-and-arm through the mall whispering and giggling together. During the show they clung to each other squealed in mock terror that their knight might be vanquished. Then last night they came up in their pajamas and performed songs for me as they have done almost since they could talk.

Finally at midnight, I stood outside the guest room door (just for a moment, I swear) and listened to them whispering secrets. And I felt a burst of giddiness at the hope that no matter where life takes them, this connection, forged in the fires of growing up, will always remain.

"We must join hands--so," said Anne gravely. "It ought to be over running water. We'll just imagine this path is running water. I'll repeat the oath first. I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom friend, Diana Barry, as long as the sun and moon shall endure. Now you say it and put my name in."

Diana repeated the "oath" with a laugh fore and aft. Then she said:

"You're a queer girl, Anne. I heard before that you were queer. But I believe I'm going to like you real well." ~L. M. Montgomery

2006
2002