Sick Daze

My friend told me her children had been on holiday break for 17 days – 17 days!!!

I can’t believe we didn’t hear about them on the news.

No, that is not a judgment on my friend’s parenting style. Nor is it a commentary on her children’s behavior. But Good Lord, 17 days – out of routine, out of school, in each others’ faces!

Today is my first day of vacation.

School started back up Monday in these parts, but my eldest decided to vomit all over her bed Sunday night. She looked miserable Monday and Tuesday morning, saying her stomach hurt and she felt like she’d be sick again. Wednesday morning when I threw down the gauntlet of ‘no vomit, no fever – go to school’, she dressed and ate breakfast only to vomit it all over the kitchen floor. Shortly thereafter, my youngest awoke with an earache, glassy eyes, and continued congestion. My middle was not a happy camper as the only one of her trio boarding the bus that morning. She announced that she wanted a sick day. I told her we’d quarantine her as the only one who wasn’t sick.

Think you can come up with a fun word for this phenomenon? Click through for the challenge!

So today, Thursday, fourth supposed day of school – my whole crew returned to routine. I’m as giddy as a school girl myself. Well, maybe one who skipped school. For I was able to return to a quiet house, which even with its piles of detritus left from stretches of sick days (did I mention I’m sick, too?), seems somehow calmer, cleaner, more zen.

I don’t know what I’ll do today. Maybe get started on pulling down those Christmas decorations that have overstayed their welcome. Maybe de-germ all community surfaces. Maybe turn over a New Years’ leaf and write some more pages of my lonely manuscript.

But right now my eye lids feel heavy. I might just take a nap – and wait for the call from the school to come pick up a sick child.

Uncategorized

2015 in review

Thank you so much to all my dear readers. I truly appreciate you taking the time to read my mind 🙂

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 7,500 times in 2015. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 6 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Faith, Identity, Living, Spirituality

The Music of the Morning

The distant beep beep beep of a backing-up garbage truck
Residual rivulets of rain on the roof
Ringing in my ears

A Benedictine monk was told to repeat a Psalm over and over in his head
When it was all he could hear, he asked his superior what then.
Repeat it until you become it.

Without the outside distractions of beeping and running water,
the ringing becomes all consuming.
How can I turn down the dissonance and resonate with the truth?

thegospelcoalition

Children, Humor, motherhood, parenting, pregnancy

Murphy’s Child

There are some sure-fire ways to guarantee the growth of your family. None are medically proven; none are rational – but all fall under the accord of Murphy’s Law.

First and foremost, tell everyone who asks – even those who don’t – that you are done having children. Your family is complete.
Further this point by passing along all your baby paraphernalia, with the caveat that you never want to see it again. They can do with it whatever they like when they’re done with it, but you don’t want it back.
Sweep maternity clothes out of your home with great aplomb. Plunk the rubber tote you’ve been storing them in on your neighbor/co-worker/friend’s front step with great and resounding authority.
Start to enjoy the long-forgotten freedom you and your spouse can reclaim at parties and cook-outs, even when the children are present. You can sit for 2.5 seconds without rushing to pluck them from the jaws of salmonella, see-saws, or swinging bats. Up the ante by enjoying a refreshing adult beverage.
Dream of a day in the not-so-distant future where you may actually be able to take a family vacation. All the kids are potty-trained, done with naps, and significantly less likely to throw a tantrum. The rosy glow on the horizon – and substantial sums of money no longer going toward diapers and pull-ups – even make you consider opening a dedicated savings account.
Send your youngest off to her first full day at school. Look at the seemingly endless hours that stretch before you and marvel at how you’ll fill them. Begin to dream and scheme for something soul-fulfilling, personal, even professional.
Most importantly – and the penultimate step – is to engage in quality intimate time with your spouse. Have actual conversations, canoodle, and connect in ways you haven’t since you conceived your last child – wait, what?
Too late. Murphy strikes again.

shedka.com

Humor, Uncategorized

DJ Khalid Pregnancy Redux

All I do is eat, eat, eat no matter what

Got nausea on my mind,

man, I’ve had enough

When I walk into the bathroom

the toilet lid goes up –

and I stay there

Baby Center blog

and I stay there

Up chuck, up chuck, up chuck

make me say, what the *$@%

These flippin’ hormones

Living, motherhood, Survival, Uncategorized

Joy over Drudgery

The three of us stared at the idling bus like zombies.

We’d managed to get our children onto it in time, but that – and being upright – were about our only accomplishments this morning.

One didn’t feel well. One was loopy from the stress of final exams. I was feeling the effects of a 4:45 wake-up call from my churning stomach.

My husband had already told me to take a nap given my chipper demeanor, but seeing that I wasn’t the only mother not feeling it this morning made me feel a little better.

We all have our reasons, right?

We all walk around on any given day with shit in our eyes, chips on our shoulders, hearts on our sleeves. The stench of puke in our nostrils. The laundry pile that threatens to overtake our youngest. The dirty dishes that make any amount of counter space seem minuscule. The pile of outgoing Thanksgiving decorations next to the tote of incoming Christmas decorations.

Our worries, our fears, our subconscious thoughts that come out in biting words and bouts of disconnectedness.

We’re all too freaking busy.

And why?

Could we do with less stuff? Own less clothing? Schedule less things?

All those must-dos are not things we must have to live – at least not enjoyably.

I think in this season of quiet pinpricks of light amidst a world of darkness, it’s time to take stock of what we really value in our lives – and make time for those people, traditions, ways of being. We must fan the flames of our hearts and exude joy among the drudgery.

flame-candlelight-burn-candles-christmas-advent

pd4pic.com

And if you’ve got any tips on how to do that, let me know 😉

anxiety, Depression, Mental Health, Survival

I’ve Been Had

I had to clear out months of clutter in a matter of weeks.

I had to squeeze in cleaning sessions between naps.

I had to let some things go that seemed absolutely essential.

I had to receive guests into an imperfect house.

I had to admit that the next week was lost due to physical and mental recovery.

I had to hope that it was just the exhaustion of overextension and not the harbinger of a downward slide

into

anger

irritability

the dull padding of apathy.

I have to rally the hopeful spirit of the season and strive to be reborn each day.

Living, prevention, Survival

An Argument for Self-Care

Isn’t it amazing that we only engage in self-care when we have to, when it’s absolutely necessary. When we’ve reached such critical mass we’re about to blow apart.

That’s usually when I get a humdinger of a sinus infection. Agony. Aches and pains. Congestion. Fever, Chills. As horrible as it is, it forces me down for the count. To the couch. To bed early. To forcing fluids and taking it easy. Would I think to dial things down when the first symptoms show up? Heck, no. Push on through.

This morning I happily scrolled through the WordPress Reader, checking in on some of my favorite blogs. Catching up. Touching base. Doing what bloggers do. When the hormones of early pregnancy unleashed a horrible churning in my stomach. I tried to ignore it, but finally had to shove a snack down my gullet before breakfast came up. Self-care had become an interruption, an annoyance.

Arriving home from my brisk walk to the bus stop, I grabbed a glass of water. One would think the neutral taste would be good for someone trying to avoid the aforementioned ‘upping-of-the-gullet’. Un-unh. It just reminded me that hardly anything tastes good anymore – and that my long-overdue to-do of buying lemons or limes to slice up and put in my water may actually help. Why should it take utter disgust to push me to finally make this small treat a reality?

What is it about humans – and women in particular – that makes self-care always an afterthought? Guilt? A Puritan ethic? Not wanting to be self-centered, self-absorbed, selfish? Lack of time? Money?

I’m sure it’s all of the above. But I’d venture a guess that it’s most likely a feeling that we’re not worth it. We don’t deserve a reward – no matter how small. Especially when there are others in the world who have so little; who suffer so much.

That last point makes an especially compelling argument. However, there’s a reason flight attendants tell us to put our oxygen masks on first before assisting those next to us. Mothers, care givers, partners, aid workers, samaritans, humans – none of us are good to those who need us if we’re laid out, dog tired, dead sick. We can enact great waves of tenderness and care in the world if we start in our own little atmosphere.

motherhood, postpartum depression, pregnancy

Not PPMADetermined

Postpartum Mood and Anxiety Disorders (PPMADs) rob mothers of so many things, but perhaps the cruelest thing they take is the joy. The joy – which makes the overwhelming job of motherhood worth it – is replaced by fear.

Fear that you’ve made a terrible choice in having a child
Fear that you don’t deserve this child
Fear that someone may take this child from you
Fear that you may do something to hurt this child
Fear that you won’t survive another day without hurting yourself

The fears of the early days will pass – through time, gentle care, therapy, medical intervention. You will be able to envision a bright future for you and your child

Even still, there are some things PPMADs may steal that can never be replaced. The memory of the pain and anguish, the trauma linger on. There is no peace to ever be associated with that time in a mother’s life. So much so, that she will never, ever attempt it again. Women who dreamed of large families stop at one child, not because they are bad mothers or lack the desire, but because their pospartum experience was so bad.

There are the women who achieve pregnancy fully armed with the warning signs and therapeutic tools available to them, should PPMAD strike again, yet are paralyzed by the anxiety that it could happen again.

There are women who must face the scrutiny of others who deem them crazy for even attempting pregnancy after their previous experience. They second-guess their own intuition and self-knowledge and the fact that they’ve come out the other side beat-up, but stronger – all because of the well-meaning souls who give critical advisories for mothers’ own good. Well-meaning souls who have never inhabited the dark spaces of these mothers’ individual hells, who have not fought the daily internal battles it takes to stay out of them, and who don’t realize that every negative comment saps one more drop of the mothers’ resolve.

PPMADs are an insidious band of thieves. They take without provocation, without discrimination, without consideration. They come under cover of dark; they aren’t cloaked because they’re faceless. But with help and support, mothers can choose to face them. And take back what is rightfully theirs: their own vision of motherhood.

Depression, Weekend Write-Off

Bigger in her Head

“When we first lost our house, I told Reba, ‘I just want things to go back to normal. When is that going to happen?’

‘Soon,’ she promised.

Soon seems awfully far away.

‘Your mom’s on medication that makes her tired,’ Dana Wood explains.

‘What’s wrong with her? She’s never been like this.’ I’m trying to get a breath. I feel sick to my stomach all of a sudden.

‘The early diagnosis is that she had something called a severe depressive incident. That can happen when people are very stressed and then something tough happens and they can’t bounce back.’

I sit down. ‘Like not getting the job she was counting on?’

‘Exactly. It was the last straw, and she shut down.’

‘She made it bigger in her head than it really was.’

‘That happens often, Sugar.’

‘But it’s not normal, right? Normal mothers don’t do this!’

‘What I can tell you is that most people sometime in their lives make something bigger in their heads than it really is.’

‘But they don’t end up in the hospital!’ I’m trying to breathe normally, but it’s hard.

‘Sugar, the doctors and nurses here know how to help.’

That doesn’t tell me anything. ‘How long does she have to be here?’

‘A week, probably.’

‘Then what?’

‘We’re not sure yet, Sugar.’

I’m getting tired of this. ‘I want to talk to somebody’s who’s sure.’

‘I’d feel the same way if I were you, but right now, no one’s sure.’

I have another question, but I’m not going to ask it.

Could this shutting-down thing happen to me?

— from Almost Home by Joan Bauer

Chopping Potatoes

and other metaphors for motherhood

Author Archives: Jennifer Butler Basile