Feeling like Me

Something clicked the other day.  I was doing what I usually do, being a mom, trying to get the morning chores done, trying to get dressed, trying to keep the boys from killing each other just for another hour, trying to get the last boy fully dressed, trying to plan an assault on a small country.  You know, the usual.  Then.  Click.  I realized I was me. 

Since I wrote about being depressed, I’ve had good days and bad days.  I’ve tried to get outside more.  (Success)  I’ve tried to exercise more.  (Partial success)  I’ve tried to go to church more, like once a week.  (Fail)  I’ve tracked my days.  But even on the good days, I didn’t feel completely whole.  I still felt like something was missing, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.  I just knew I wasn’t stressed, depressed, ready to pull my hair out or collapse crying in a pool of tears.

Then yesterday Evan was trying to build a Lego horse for his knight.  (Note: When you’ve decided to move your child to small Legos, don’t buy the sets; buy a starter kit with just blocks.  Some friendly advice from your local village idiot.)  He was tackling it in a more complex way than I would have, but he was bound and determined to do it his way.  His way meant more frustration and a whine, which feels like a knitting needle puncturing your ear and going into you brain, whenever something wasn’t working right.  I kept popping into the room to tell him to calm down as I tried to floss.  On the fifth time, I put down the floss, sat down in a chair next to him, and asked him to come over to me.  When he did, I grabbed his hands, looked him in the eye, and told him that sometimes we needed to take a break when something was giving us a hard time.  Then I told him to shake it off, and since he just stood there, looking at me like I was a crazy, old woman (Little dude, you haven’t seen anything yet), I started shaking his arms.  I released him, and he started to whine.  I repeated the process.  When that didn’t work, I got up and made him dance, which made Sean come over and want to dance.  Then Sean wanted a family hug.  After all that silliness, Evan went back and finished his horse.

And I realized that I didn’t send him to his room to throw his temper tantrum.  I didn’t shut the door and wish it all a way.  I didn’t grind my teeth in frustration.  I did what I used to do, take it all in stride.

When we went to the store, I laughed as Evan jumped from color tile to color tile, encouraging Sean to follow so that he didn’t fall in the lava.  And I joined them. 

God, how I missed just flowing with the day.

Third Trimester Beef

I’ve got a few more complaints about this pregnancy thing.  I’m in my third trimester, so I’m getting big, I’m getting smooshed, I’m getting squished.

Which Sean I was so big, that I was only comfortable in our wing-back chair because it made me sit up straight.  Once I was watching a movie with BFF and The Husband, and The Husband kept asking me to come over and sit with him because I would be more comfortable on our saggy leather coaches.  Finally, the BFF told him to look at me, I was fine where I was.  And I was.  It was the only way to breathe easy and allow digestion.

That’s another thing.  Digestion.  Not only does it take For. Ev. Er. I now have a tinier stomach.  Those two things are not good when one is trying to get some sleep.  Not good at all. When I was pregnant with Evan, I learned how not good it was and that you can actually have vomit come out your nose.

If laboring like a hugely, grotesque woman wasn’t bad enough, I do two things during pregnancy that I NEVER do at any other time.  I snore.  And I drool.  The Husband complains bitterly over my snoring.  But he has no room to talk.  His friends think I must be a saint because every one of them can tell stories of sharing a hotel room with The Husband and not being able to sleep, contemplating snuffing him out with a pillow.  My old roommates on the other hand will swear I never snore.  The drooling is plain embarrassing, especially in this pregnancy where I can’t sleep on my side.  The stupid drool pools on the corner of my mouth, drying there, creating a sore. 

Now you can see why I feel so damn sexy.

Yeah, not so much.

Green Thumb Parenting

In my family, I’m the environmentalist.  Which might not being saying too much, since my brother married his wife, who is much more environmentally suave than me, and my family calls her crazy.  (Granted, she a vegetarian, and the family cannot wrap their minds around that lifestyle choice.)  But I try.  It amuses me to this day when I read articles about environmentalist lifestyles and read tips that my grandmother passed down to us. 

So when I came across Growing Up Green by Deirdre Imus, I thought it would be an interesting read and that I would learn a few new tips.  See, I believe everything in moderation.  I love to have a greener lifestyle, but quite frankly, we can’t afford it.  I have learned to pick and choose what I think is the most important things and try not to judge or be to hard on myself.  I always remind myself that hell, grandma and her generation used to break thermometers and play with the mercury.  Though, now that I think about it, that might explain why my grandmothers are slowly going crazy.  Hmmm.

Back to the book.  Imus did have lots of interesting facts, but I found her a little preachy.  Then I read her telling me (and every other reader) to get rid of our microwaves because, not only is microwave food bad (and I think she means the processed junk which I agree with her), but that it is part of the problem of Americans wanting their food to be fast and convenient which paves the way for fast food which is the path to hell.  I love my microwave.  I do.  It allows me to cook frozen vegetables for dinner.  It heats up left-overs.  It takes the chill off frozen meat, saving me an hour of defrost time.  It heats up water for tea and hot chocolate faster and more efficient than the stove.  So I don’t take it too kindly when someone says I should throw it out because it’s unhealthy for my family.  Are there some really horrible microwavable foods that people shouldn’t eat?  Sure.  Are there some really nutritious microwavable foods?  Yes.  After this little segment in the book, I was ready to pitch the whole thing, stupid judgmental b-, telling me what to do, I’ll show her.

Then I stopped myself.  Ok, Ms. Judgy Mcjudgy, what the hell are you doing?  No one is forcing you to read this book.  She’s writing to her choir.  You’re just not in it.  You’re the chick who’s visiting some family and you went along for a lark.

So I cooled off and started to read again. 

Other than her microwave spill, I didn’t like her “because it worked for my child” attitude.  Because of “her green lifestyle,” her child didn’t get sick, wasn’t colicky, and some other perfect child stuff.  I’m going to guess she just had the luck of the draw.

I recommend this book to people who want to raise their children in a green lifestyle.  Though Imus is an all or none kind of gal, which kind of irks me a bit.  The book is loaded with interesting facts and tips.  She did do research to make her points valid.  But as for me, I didn’t find much in it useful as I don’t have the money to follow her tips and I just love meat and fish to much to be vegan.