the difference a week can make

I can't believe how much better I feel these last few days. For those of you that read my "bittersweet" post and responded with your own stories and encouragement, thank you so much. It's always good to know you're not alone and it does get better. If I had decided to take the Wellbutrin, I would be saying to myself,"WOW! That stuff really works! Now I know what all the fuss is about..."

But actually, I didn't take it. Instead, I've been running, walking and eating better. Just cutting back on sugar has helped like you would not believe.

My husband had his vasectomy last weekend and has recovered already. And I've been relieved that the decision was finally made and there's nothing else to struggle over. I'm even making a killing on eBay right now selling off some girly stuff I'd been saving just in case. And I don't even feel bitter about it! Really!

We had a great Memorial Day with a picnic in our cul-de-sac with all our neighbors. My husband insisted we have water guns and he was right, it was a hit. Here are some shots of our boys.

Our oldest stalking the neighbor boy:



Our youngest chasing down the neighbor who ran off with his lacrosse stick:



Our middle in his camo looking for his next victim:



We all bonded and some of us even drank a lot...hmmm

It seems like the last few weeks were just a really bad dream. I've arrived at the light at the end of the tunnel and things are looking good. And just in time for summer!!

mama says om theme: warm

I boarded the plane and was getting settled in for the trip back home when the flight attendant came over the PA and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, you are all special to us but today we have some extra-special passengers on board! Please welcome the group of soldiers on their way home from Iraq! Thank you all!" Everyone clapped and cheered while the soldiers waved and smiled. A nice, warm welcome.

I wanted to personally shake their hands and thank them, but they were too far from my seat. The plane lifted off and my mind went back to my father's own story of returning home.

My Dad served two tours in Vietnam as a medevac helicopter pilot. His job was to transport the wounded for medical help, and often the bodies that were beyond help. For years after, he would not talk about what happened over there but later he began writing about it. He published a book called Flying Alligators and Silver Spurs a couple of years ago. Here is an excerpt from it describing his trip home after finishing his second tour. Each tour was one year long and afterward, they were sent back with no emotional support and no time to "decompress".

Until I actually got on board the large, chartered civilian airliner, I was in a mood of celebration. Going up the stair entrance to the aircraft shocked me into a mood change. Here was a mini-skirted young stewardess (they still called them that) welcoming us aboard, who looked and smelled like the wonderful American girl that she was. Suddenly the apparently instant transformation hit me. I had been living like an animal, at times; living with fatigue and the constant dread which too often turned into instant fear while flying every day; routinely creating and reviewing horrors; not much caring how I looked or spoke; and had all but forgotten about running water. Now, from appearances, I could just as well be boarding past her smiling face in New York or San Antonio. Didn't this girl realize where she was? Did she know it was possible for a 122 mm rocket to come screaming into us at any second? And I actually had that thought. I wondered, had the NVA ever tried to rocket or mortar an airliner? I can only describe my feeling as culture shock.

...Over the Pacific I was still elated to be leaving, yet a great sadness began to weigh onto me at the same time. I seemed to feel both emotions at once. And underlying these emotions was a great, deep anger, which I did not understand. But I had survived! Then I would be very glad again, then the sadness would well up, and so on. Hardly anyone talked during the long flight. I think I was not the only one with conflicting thoughts. The sadness was very, very deep. I now believe it was because I had never allowed myself to grieve for lost comrades. There had been no time, and I had to use denial as a defense. The anger stayed with me for years, and I have read this is common. My wife says that I was never the same man after that second tour.

After receiving only 'blank stares and no smiles from silent civilians' on his stops in Alaska and California, on his final stretch home to Texas the stewardesses broke out some champagne for him and his buddies and they had a 'makeshift little party'.

According to his book, that was the only welcome home he ever received, other than from family members. No parades. No cheering crowds. Thankfully, no one spat in his face as some did to other returning American soldiers.

On this Memorial Day, I want to thank my father and those who have served our country in the past and present. Whether we agree with our government or not, the people risking their lives, limbs, and sanity in places far from their home and loved ones deserve our undying gratitude and respect.

They are fathers, mothers, husbands, wives.
Sisters and brothers.
Sons and daughters.
Not just casualty counts we hear on the news every day.

The next time you see someone in uniform please remember my father and shake their hand. Look them in the eye and tell them 'thank you.' They have been through hell and back. Not one of them should have to come home, as my father did, to a bunch of ungrateful, self-centered, spoiled fellow Americans who don't have the decency to give them a smile.

As we sit here in our comfortable homes, reading blogs and shopping on eBay, there are American soldiers and Marines on the other side of the world in a desert. Let's not forget it.



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time marches on

Our oldest son finished kindergarten last Thursday and they actually had a "graduation ceremony" with hats and everything. At first, I was a little annoyed. I mean, it's kindergarten, not Harvard. It seemed like another example of our society's trend toward celebrating mediocrity.

But I have to admit, it was pretty cute and they sang some great songs. One included the line: "I have something in my pocket, I'll take it out and put it on...it's a great big first grade smile!!" They even closed it by linking arms and doing high kicks while singing "da da da da da" to the 'New York, New York' melody.

Pretty funny.

They asked each kid as they were handed their "diploma" what they want to be when they grow up and ours said, "a motorcycle man and a pilot." Big dreams from a little man. Other kids had aspirations of being rock stars or soldiers. And many of the little girls said they wanted to be moms. "Aaawwww," the crowd said. But I noticed that not one single little boy said he wanted to be a dad. Not one. single. boy. Hmmmmmm....

Anyway, here's our guy getting his first "degree", hopefully the first of many.



And here he is with his proud brother posing for a picture. Why so serious little man? Maybe you're getting the feeling that this kindergarten thing wasn't a one time gig? Maybe you can feel the algebra and cafeteria lunches right around the corner?



Oh you couldn't pay me enough to do what he's about to do for the next 12 to 18 years. But thankfully he's still young, naive and dreaming of motorcycles...

bittersweet

So there I sat on the table in the doctor's office last Friday morning. The nurse came in to check my blood-pressure and asked,

"So you're here for depression? Have you been talking to the doctor already?"

"No," I replied. "My husband has and he thought it might be a good idea for me to come in."

"Oh," she said. "You're lucky your husband is so understanding. Mine would have just said,'Get a grip!'"

Thanks, I thought. As if I'm not mortified enough to be here. Make me feel like I should just get a grip.

She handed me a questionnaire to fill out while I waited. I had to chuckle through my tears as I completed it. Did I feel constantly guilty? Disappointed in myself?
Hopeless? Check. Check. Check. It was as if they had been a fly on my wall. Watching me in my kitchen as I cried over nothing and everything. Seen me as I almost ran a red light last week from my current inability to concentrate. Watched me as I had to load the kids back in the car in the church parking lot and skip the service on Mother's Day because I could not stop sobbing after the traffic director shook his fist at me for failing to follow his directions. I just hadn't noticed him.

I got it together in time for the doctor to come in but lost it as soon as she asked how I was felt. The tears started flowing again and I could only blubber, "Embarrassed," to answer her question. She assured me it was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was good that I had come in.

The sympathy and perceived pity I was getting made me squirm. But I knew something was off. I was angry, sad. I had no reason to be, did I? I'm married to my dream husband, but he does travel a lot. I have three healthy, beautiful boys, but they are a challenge. I love my new home and state and feel like I'm assimilating nicely into it, but there is no family here.

She discussed my options. She offered medication but did not push it. She said counseling is a good idea and gave me references. She tested my thyroid and it was fine.

I went home with a prescription for Wellbutrin on the seat next to me but I passed the pharmacy. That night, I went running for the first time in years. It felt great. And I hate running. But it was like my mind and body were saying, "See, this is what you need. A little fresh air. Quiet time. Sweat to cleanse the impurities out." I recalled how the last time I had deliberately exercised was to get my labor going since I hadn't wanted to be induced. I thought, maybe I don't want my happiness to be induced, either. I know that medication can work wonders and has helped many people I know. I don't think it's a bad thing and I haven't ruled it out. I just don't want that to be my first reaction to this. I feel like there are reasons I became depressed and I need to sort them out and deal with them.

Just talking to my husband about it all has helped immensely. He could not be more concerned or willing to help. But it has been a bittersweet week for me. My baby turned two, my oldest graduated from kindergarten. Also, after today there will be no more question of if we will have another baby. My husband is getting "snipped" in four hours.

In my mind, I think it is the best thing for us. I can almost taste the freedom that will come in the fall when my oldest is in first-grade, my middle son is in pre-school and it will be just me and my youngest. I may be able to make it to the gym. I may be able to paint with no interruptions. I may get to go on a date with my husband. It's been over six months. That would only get worse if we had another.

In my heart, I am mourning the fact that there will never be another new baby in our house. And there for sure will never be a baby girl. I'll never get to buy those cute little smocked dresses I pass on my way to buy boy's camouflaged shorts and Spiderman tees. I'll never get to share advice on boys or make-up or teach her my cool dance moves from being on the high-school dance team. No shopping for prom dresses, wedding dresses. I'll be the "mother-in-law" that is typically loathed. My husband will never experience having a "daddy's little girl" to adore him. And my boys will be in for a big shock when they get married some day, having never shared a home with a sister.

But also, there will be no more labor pains, no sore breasts from nursing. No more sleepless nights (can I hear a Halleluia!). We have the perfect amount of bedrooms for our current clan and our vehicles can just barely fit us all now. As my husband says, we have to draw the line somewhere.

I will be going to a counselor very soon to work out all my feelings about my life and family. I should have done it years ago but it's hard to find the time when you have babies at home. I am exhausted from the last few weeks and will be spending the weekend bringing my husband ice packs and ibuprofen. Wish me luck.

birthday boy

Here he is, the birthday boy! My two year-old baby celebrating his big day. And it's true what Crazy MomCat says about the 2nd birthday being the best. He was quivering with anticipation over his cake and presents. He ate his cake with his big brother hovering over his shoulder (the one with the sweet tooth).









Then, it was time for opening gifts and wrangling little boys.





He got some awesome gifts from a bug vacuum (something for sucking up unwanted spiders and other insects...pure genius) to a bubble light and some cool blocks in a wagon. The final gift was from my husband and me. A shiny, red tricycle. As I wheeled it out he saw it and yelled, "BIKE!" and jumped right on. His joy was only slightly interrupted by one of the other two year-olds trying to tackle him trike-jack it.



But of course, a two year-old's birthday party would not be complete without the complementary fit induced by too much sugar and missing a nap.



I just can't believe he's two. And neither can he because he keeps telling everyone he's six.

the birth of my baby boy

Today is my baby boy's 2nd birthday (sniff sniff). I've decided to share the story of his birth and later will post pictures of the birthday boy from his party...

So how does a 10 lb, 6 oz, 23" long baby come into the world? I actually know from first hand experience and I can tell you I do not recommend it.

I had been feeling labor pains for two weeks before hand but nothing else was happening. The doctor said we would have to induce soon and scheduled it for the following Sunday. That Thursday I started walking laps around our neighborhood. I had been induced before and did not want to be induced again. It worked because Friday morning I was sure I was in labor. I went to the doctor to get checked but they said no, still nothing happening. So my husband and I went to lunch together, during which I couldn't sit still. I went out and walked laps around the parking lot while he finished up. We went back home and then I said, it's time to go to the hospital, I don't care if the doctor said nothing is happening. It is.

So we headed out on the thirty minute drive to the hospital. We checked in and the nurse said I was maybe 1 cm. HA. I said, with the way I was feeling it should be more like 10. I had had my second son with no drugs and I remembered what it felt like at the end, the worst part. That is what it already felt like. 1 cm? No Way. "Give me an epidural," I said. They paged the doctor who did the epidurals himself, but he said he couldn't be there for 40 more minutes. I remember looking at the clock. 5:40. I tried to calm down and brace myself. He showed up sooner than he had said and checked me. He said I was now at 8 cm. No way, I said. The nurse told me 20 minutes ago I was at 1 cm. Once I realized I was nearing the end and not looking at 9 hours of excruciating pain, I got a grip. It was too late for an epidural anyway. I still remember it was all in slow motion from there.

The doctor barely had time to get into his scrubs. He pulled out the cart with the tools on it and lifted the cover off very dramatically, or so it seemed. Then it was already time to push. The nurse yelled at me to push as if I wasn't trying. I remember saying, "I AM pushing!" and she actually said, "No you aren't! You're breathing!" Well excuuuuse me! I still can't believe I kept from cussing her out.

Then his head was out. Usually, it's a piece of cake from there. But not this time. I remember the doctor spoke for the first time since the beginning. He sounded very serious. "Nicole, you have to push." And my husband sounded so scared, "You have to push harder." I didn't know he was turning blue. I didn't know how big he was. But I could sense the tension in the room. I couldn't speak but I remember my heart was crying out a prayer for my baby. And I remember distinctly, I have never in my life felt the absolute presence of God as strongly as I felt it there in the delivery room.

The nurse started to chatter on about how I would need to give my husband my wedding ring to keep if we went into surgery. I was thinking, "Surgery, what the hell is she talking about?" I kept pushing. I remember hearing the other nurse from somewhere deep inside my head. "Isn't she awesome?" she whispered to my husband. She seemed to know the power of positive re-enforcement in a time like that, unlike the other nurse.

At 6:16 I gave the final push and out he came. He was quiet. The doctor took him over to the table to do something but I couldn't see. Finally, he cried. They handed him to me and he was perfect. And giant. "He's a keeper," the doctor said. My husband went down the hall after they took him to be weighed. He heard them say, "10 pounds, 6 ounces!" He said, "Is that mine you're talking about???" They did not have diapers big enough for him in the nursery.

Since his birth I've learned that often with babies that big the doctor has to break their collar bones to get them out. But he didn't have to do that to our son. There could have been so many complications I don't even want to think about. If I had had the epidural, there would have been no way I could have pushed as hard as I needed to. The timing was perfect. My baby and I were unharmed and healthy. It was a miracle. And today we get to celebrate my enormous baby boy. He's worth his weight in gold and more.

mama says om theme: ache

Even after almost ten years, he sometimes forgets.
"Why is my leg aching so badly?" he wonders.
"It must be about to rain," I remind him.
"Oh yeah! I can't believe I always forget!"

He's only 36 but sometimes seems like an old man with his aches and pains and ability to predict the weather by the feelings in his bones. But he's lucky to even be alive and able to walk.

In the summer of 1996, while working odd construction jobs, he went out to a worksite in Kendalia, Texas on a rainy morning. He was up on the roof of a three story barn when a fellow worker slid some materials to him. He reached for them and lost his footing. The last thing he remembers is going for his hammer to slam the claw side of it into the roof to try to stop his fall. He was too late. He slid over the edge and down 30 feet. His fall was broken by a pole sticking out of the ground below. It broke his femur, the largest bone in the body.

His co-worker came running around the corner and saw him lying there. He threw up. My husband was in shock and was trying to move his contorted leg from it's unnatural position back to where it was supposed to be.

They were so far from a major city that a helicopter was sent out for him. They had to move him to an open area to be picked up and the nearest open area happened to be a cemetery. He was confused as they took him there and thinking they were just going to bury him, said, "I'm not dead yet!"

He made it to the hospital in San Antonio which, sadly for him, was a teaching hospital. They learned a lot from working on him. When he first arrived, they could not give him any more pain meds than the paramedics had already given him until he went into surgery. But in the meantime, they had to prep him for surgery and that included drilling a hole in his leg to keep it in traction. The nurse completed the gory task but when the doctor checked her work, it turned out she had drilled in the wrong spot. So she had to unscrew it and start again. The second time she put the drill on his skin, he told her he could feel it because the pain meds were wearing off. Too bad, it had to be done, and it was.

He made it through the surgery in which they put a titanium rod in his leg. He was actually recovering well from that when a few days later he started feeling weird. He told the hospital staff he could not breath right but they said he needed to get up and move around. He collapsed. Some fatty embolisms had leaked from his broken bone and gone to his lungs. His brother who was living in Australia at the time was called and told to return home. His big brother was dying.

After much more time in intensive care, he made it through. He was finally sent home to recover. He went from crutches to a cane and then to independent walking within a short amount of time. He was a former Marine afterall!

One of the most interesting things about his story is about the pole that broke his fall. As awful as it was, it could have been so much worse. By breaking his leg, it prevented him from landing on his head or breaking his neck or back. Just a few days before the accident, he had been asked to remove the pole from the ground. He is as strong as they come and he tried everything possible to get it out but it would not budge. Later, after the accident, a young boy was told to remove the pole because no one could bear to look at it and think of what had happened. The boy walked over and plucked it out of the ground with no effort at all.

We joke about how God kicked my husband off of that roof to get him back on the right track in his life. He was headed the wrong way and needed to take that detour. He's a stubborn man and I guess it takes a lot to get his attention. He listens a little better now. And every time his leg aches, you can count on rain within the next day or two.

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to be three again

You may recall from one of my earlier posts how I feel about Wal-Mart. Those feelings of love and appreciation were re-enforced this week when I found my son a "Thing" costume for $1. That's right, $1. He lives to dress up as strong, powerful super heroes. Here he is in his cool new outfit flexing his muscles and demonstrating his super-human strength by lifting the ottoman:




He wore it when we walked to school to pick up his brother and as we passed a group of construction workers, they oohed and ahhhed and said, "Man, you must be working out!" He just stared at the ground and kept plodding along as if it was normal to parade around in a costume in May. He was too into his character to speak. On the way back, we passed a little girl who was wearing a girly costume and dancing down the street with abandon. Each was in their own fantasy land on opposite sides of the street. The Thing and Snow White, living in parallel universes in the same suburb.

Makes me wonder. If I could be anyone who would I be?

show me the money

I heard that they have determined that stay-at-home moms are worth $134,121 a year if they converted all our work into a salary! You can go to salary.com and print up your paycheck, baby! Happy early Mother's Day to everyone!

boy update

The middle child. He'll be 4 in July. Current interests include dressing up as something different every day. His Spiderman outfit has a gaping hole in the rear but he refuses to give it up. He is stubborn, ornery and affectionate at the same time. He loves stuffed animals and his brothers, too. He is built like an athlete and seems to have a natural "coolness" about him. My husband and I were just saying the other day how it's weird how two nerds like us are raising a cool kid!


The baby. He'll be 2 next month. He is scrumptous. His nature is sweet and compliant (so far) but his favorite song is "Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner" by Warren Zevon (don't ask how that happened). He'll melt into a puddle on the floor if you even look at him sternly. He is loving and fun. In the morning he is the first to rise and he'll sit in bed with us and sing songs about "nummy cheesy eggs" until we finally get up and feed him. I am in love.


The eldest boy. He'll be 6 in June. He's artistic and methodical. He looks like me and thinks like me. He's the perfect big brother because of his cautious nature. He tends to worry and will freak out if he's almost late to school (has never even happened yet!) If we had stopped having children after him we would have thought all kids were neat, clean and organized. Our second son gave us a big wake-up call. He is tall and lanky and can run "like an elk". He also likes to joke around and make us laugh.

I love the part from Peter Pan where he says something along the lines of 'you should never put a boy to bed because they'll just wake up a day older.' Where is the time going????

mama says om theme: liquid

The human body contains up to 60% water, or 78% if you're a baby. Water in many forms. Tears, saliva, urine, semen, milk, sweat, bile, blood, acids, mucus. Even before our birth, as we float quietly in our amniotic fluid, developing and waiting, we are organic. Yet we're more than the sum of our parts.

Electricity runs through our nervous system and controls the beat of our heart. Our thoughts have the power to affect the health of our body for better or worse. And our weary spirits can be lifted by using our body to go for a long walk. We can express love and affection with the slightest or most intimate contact with one another's bodies.

As inhabitants of the blue planet, we are drawn to the waters. Oceans, rivers, streams, lakes. On any given summer day, that's where you'll find a mass of humanity. Swimming, boating, fishing, relaxing. Blue water. Green water. Crystal clear water. It soothes the soul.

We are living in a temporary "waterhouse" of sorts. The longest we can hope for any of our bodies to walk this earth is 110 years. In the grand scheme of things, that's a drop in the bucket. But God has placed eternity in our souls.

So be gone with the skin. Gone with the bones. Gone with pain and fatigue and hunger. One day we will rise above this blue planet. Our liquid spirits will flow from their terrestrial vessels and head to a place we long for. And I'm sure that there will be crystal seas, fluffy clouds and waterfalls, forever.

Mama Says Om