Well, the honeymoon is over

This morning - I couldn’t be bothered to put on makeup.  I could barely be bothered to get out of bed and get dressed and head toward the return to real life.  I was vehemently fighting letting go of vacation mode. 

People keep telling me how brown I am, which is funny.  I tanned constantly in my early 20’s - before I moved to Texas.  So, I know how prone I am to turning brown pretty quickly when exposed to UV rays. 

I had a cancer scare when I was 25 and realized I’m not immortal and completely stopped doing the tanning bed thing.  I’m pale, pale, pale all of the time.  I use my kids’ SPF 50 when we go to the pool or the lake or whatever.  It is a topic of conversation frequently, actually.  It is all my Texas friends know.

And although I sunblocked like no one’s business in Florida, the Florida sun burned me to a scary shade of red anyway.  That is now turning brown, and it is blowing minds apparently.

So, the trip…

We were eager to start our honeymoon and so left on Sunday with plans to stay the night in New Orleans because neither of us had ever really been there.

We arrived in New Orleans around 8:30 p.m. and Siri took us to an area of the French Quarter where men were wearing thongs and suspenders on the street (I later found out it was apparently Pride week) and the streets were super narrow, and I was worried I was going to run a light or run over a drunken partier.  Finally, I pulled into a gas station and made Jimmy drive.  He wound around and around and around and finally we made our way to Harrah’s where we paid $20 to reserve a parking space for 3 hours.

Maybe it’s just me, but casinos are depressing places. 

We switched from driving to walking in circles once we got inside, and after about 30 minutes found a Fudruckers and had our first honeymoon meal at a dirty table surrounded by casino sights and sounds.  We were done with New Orleans.

Jimmy volunteered to drive and told me to take a nap.  When I woke up, he was pulling into the parking lot of a cheap motel.  We agreed to pay the $60 for a room in order to keep from sleeping in the car.

The room was, um, interesting?  The smoke detector was wearing a paper towel necktie.  We refused to sleep under the covers or use the shower.  Jimmy bought me bottled water the next morning to brush my teeth after using the sink water to brush his own and not wanting to subject me to it.  I told him “we totally have cooties now” as we made our way out the door in the morning.  He gave himself a cootie shot and declared us safe to continue on to Destin.

We arrived a few hours before we were supposed to check in.  So, we made a trip to stock up on essentials (like chips and booze) and then perused the Wharf and landed at a bar called Rum Runners.  We consumed sandwiches, the absolute best French fries, beers, and shots, and then finally made our way to our room. 

It was beautiful.  The first thing I did was shower off the cooties.  Then (as I remember it) there was more drinking, ziplining, another trip to the bar, a trip to the pool, and falling asleep.

The next day we spent a good chunk of time booking a deep sea fishing trip and trying to figure out the tram system that would take us to the beach.  We boarded the tram for the beach late in the day and had a good time after we arrived.  Jimmy wanted to sit at the beach bar and have a drink (despite the 400 pounds of beer in our cooler) because he’d never had the pleasure of sitting at a beach bar before.  The bartender was incredibly sweet, and I got to try a beer that Jimmy has been telling me about from his days living in PA.  We avoided sunburns that day.  We ate dinner at Bubba Gump Shrimp that evening and met a couple of pretty cool locals who worked there.  We got back to the room, and Jimmy asked if I’d like to go walking around.  That translated to going back to Rum Runners and dancing while a guy covered fun songs the crowd requested.  Drinks were had…

Wednesday, after missing our deep sea fishing boat by 10 minutes, I declared a day of rest.  I refused to drink and drove us to the beach where we got heinously sunburned.  We ate dinner at The Crab Trap (omg, the best crab dip!!!) and then I made us go back to the room and stay in for the evening and watch Forrest Gump.  Our server the night before had quizzed us on the movie and made us nostalgic, and so we watched it, and it was still such an incredible movie.  It was different watching it as a mother than it was the first time I watched it as a teenager. 

The next day, I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed.  The plan was another day at the beach and then an evening of partying like 21 year olds.  I was still abstaining from alcohol to prepare my liver for our planned shindig and therefore drove us to the beach.  We had made a trip into town to procure a skim board and a wake board and SPF 4 million.  We rented beach chairs and umbrellas to hide from the sun as much as possible.

We spent quite a bit of time wakeboarding.  Then Jimmy decided it was time to break out the skim board.  He did it a few times.  I tried and fell on my face.  In order to teach me how to do it, he came over and tried to do a run in slow motion…and that is when he broke two toes.  He hobbled to his chair, tried to stand again to walk to the snack stand for ice, and fell back down and turned an eerie shade of white.  Having dealt with exactly what he was enduring when I broke my ankle and when I was in labor, I knew his blood pressure was low.  I called my mom and asked her for advice on what to do.  She gave me advice, and we got Jimmy blood pressure back up.  Jimmy asked me to talk to strangers and ask them for favors, and I sucked it up and did it since he was clearly hurting and I felt it my wifely duty to take care of him.

I managed to get ice, get him a ride to the boardwalk from a lifeguard, and get help from someone getting all of our crap back to the boardwalk.  From there, I said something like, “I love you, but I have to get all of this stuff to the car, so park it here, and I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t listen, so just as I got the 376 pound cooler into the car, he came hobbling up.  I was sunburned, exhausted, worried, and my mind was going 100 miles an hour trying to figure out the next step.  So, I was babbling away when I threw it in reverse and just hit the gas.  I came to an abrupt stop thanks to the bumper of the F150 behind us.

That is when I lost my cool and my poor, injured husband had to talk me off the ledge so that I could track down a pen, leave a note, and get back to taking care of him.

We got him doctored up, and he insisted on returning to the beach.  We did, and we enjoyed ourselves until our chair/umbrella rental expired.

We returned to the room where he took a nap while I embarked on the journey that is getting ready to “go out.”  There are flat irons involved in this, y’all.

He managed to get his boots on, and we walked/hobbled across the property to have dinner at Acme Oyster House.  The server was so great!  She talked me into trying oysters for the first time.  She recommended chargrilled…and I am now recommending chargrilled oysters to you.  YUM!

We explored the rest of the Wharf but ultimately wound up back at….you guessed it…Rum Runners.  This time there was a dueling piano show.  Jimmy paid them $17 in the school fight song contest and asked them to rep the Hogs.  I was the only person in the bar who knew the fight song outside of the pianists.  Don’t worry, Arkansas peeps, I did us proud.  I sang loud and called the hogs!  Unfortunately, they wound up crowning Ole’ Miss the school with the most spirit.  There were more of them, and they had fatter wallets.  (What I’m saying was the contest was RIGGED).

That is one of the most fun evenings I have had in years.  We laughed and sang and danced.  Jimmy had decided early in the evening he was going to tell people he got bit by a shark when they asked why he was limping.  We got a couple of people convinced, and when he got up to dance with me at the end of the evening, one of the women pulled me to the side and said, “Should ‘shark bite’ be dancing?!”  I thought to myself, no, shark bite should probably not be dancing.  He should probably be at home in bed.

Ah, but shark bite was in the spirit of things and imbibing too many cocktails…as 21 year olds do.  Soon, it was time to amble back to the room.  Except shark bite was sleepy and kept trying to pass out in the flower beds, and on the concrete, and on benches.  

Ok now I have to defend my actions here: I tried three separate times to drag, plead, coerce, threaten, bribe him to go upstairs.  Each time I’d get him a few yards closer, and each time he’d go all dead weight and fall out in some random place.

So, I finally gave up and left him on the concrete and went to the room and went to sleep. (I know that is not a new wifey thing to do, but ohmygosh dead weight drunk people are just unreasonable and impossible to carry).

At some point I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was there, so I didn’t have to wrestle with the guilt of leaving him and go search him out again.  Whew!

The next morning I learned that after he had finally made it into the hotel and onto our floor and to the door, he had forgotten the code to our room and so lay in the floor for an hour lightly knocking trying to get me to get up and let him in….I never heard him, but he eventually figured out the code.

Friday was our last full day.  We went and bought our own umbrella and headed once more to the beach.  We played in the water, and I could barely stop thinking about how ready I was to see my kids.  I was homesick basically from the start, and as much fun as we had, I just wanted to see the smiling faces of my littles.

We tried to take up the pictures on our waterproof digital camera and soak in all of the beach we could since we knew it would be the last time we’d see it for at least a year.

That evening we went back to Acme Oyster House and then returned to the room to veg out in our jammies and watch Netflix.  That’s when I got him hooked on Orange is the New Black. (YAY!)

The drive home on Saturday was never ending.  We rolled into our driveway around 9:30 p.m.  When we walked into the house, there was immediate evidence that my mom had gone out of her way to make our welcome home special.  She had created a “Wedding wall” on our blank wall in the living room.  She had cleaned and finished our laundry and bought us new bedding and bathed our dogs.  She took care of all those little odds and ends we hadn’t ever made it to like hanging valances and such.  I cried at how kind and thoughtful she was to not only watch our daughter and our dogs but also spend her time making life nicer for us in our home.  My stepdad fixed our fence and a broken doorknob and I imagine helped with all manner of other projects she had taken on.  We are so lucky to have my mom and stepdad. 

Sunday, we jumped out of bed and got showers.  We ran and picked up Vivian who looked so much older and so much bigger.  She accompanied us to the store for game day fixins, and then we headed to pick up Gavin.  Silas had already declared he was watching football with his dad and would not be coming home.  He did waiver for a while when he actually saw me, and he required multiple rounds of hugs and kisses before I was allowed to leave.  He showed me in his own independent/daddy’s boy way that he really missed me.  It made me happy to know that he still needs my hugs and kisses.

The game was terrible, but we enjoyed our Sunday anyway.  We spent every minute we could with the kids.  After they were in bed, we cooked together and sat on the back porch - which is so ridiculously “us” that it was the perfect way to end our honeymoon.

It was all so imperfectly perfect, and I will cherish the memories always!

Now it’s time to go back to being old and boring…and we will….gladly!

"I definitely do!"

If I had to write a script for how I wanted my wedding weekend to turn out, I could not have made it any better than what it was.

My bridesmaids kicked butt!  They worked constantly to decorate, haul hay, make program fans, do my hair when my hair stylist failed to show up.

They kept me smiling and kept great attitudes even when covered in sweat and dirt and hay and ant bites.

When (most) of the dirty work was done, we took our filthy selves to the nail salon and nearly fell asleep from exhaustion while getting mani/pedis.  

Once we were semi-girlified, we headed to my house for showers and the co-bachelor/bachelorette party.

The girls had a great time but were responsible about alcohol intake and bedtime.  

The boys on the other hand - raided the Jell-O Shots (which were for the reception), passed out naked in the living room, and woke up slightly less than sober the next day.

As I mentioned, my hair stylist failed to show up and ignored my attempts to contact her.  So, we made a rush trip to a beauty supply store so that Randi could do my hair.  Thank goodness she knows what she is doing!

We drank margaritas and listened to music and played dress up and put on matching socks and posed for the photographer.

And soon, my heart was in my throat, and it was time to walk down the aisle to meet my future husband. 

When I stepped outside and saw him, our eyes met, and no one else existed.  His eyes were filled with tears, and we couldn't stop smiling at each other.

The ceremony was everything I could hope for.  Our officiant surprised us by asking everyone to gather around us and give their blessing over our union.  

Jimmy cried and cried to the point of the officiant asking if he was up to saying his vows.  And when asked to say, "I do", Jimmy responded "I definitely do."  

I definitely do as well.

Our photographer hid a go-pro camera and caught the whole ceremony on video, which (of course) made me cry.

The reception was a blast with an impromptu ice bucket challenge and a make shift slip n' slide.  There was a last minute run for pizza when the food ran out.  My babies got filthy and ran around being kids and we all danced.  The toasts were heartfelt and full of love and well-wishes.

My girls had to leave all too soon, and the goodbyes were tearful.  It was so amazing to have so many of my friends together.  I didn't want to let them go.

After everyone was gone, Jimmy and I sat at the reception site by ourselves.  He sang to me, and we talked about all that had happened.  It was my favorite part of the day because it's how we spend so much of our quality time together.  It felt so genuine to be sitting outside listening to music and laughing alone together.

Next week we head off on our honeymoon.  It will be our first vacation together, and we are looking forward to getting away and making new memories as husband and wife.

Thank you to all who made it to the wedding and to all who were there in spirit!  It was the perfect way to start our lives together.

Meet Me at the Altar...

I'M GETTING MARRIED IN NINE DAYS!

Almost all of the things are done for the wedding.  The vast majority of my contributions to it have consisted of 1. online shopping, 2. making phone calls to give people my credit card number, and 3. panicking.

My mother...how do I even begin?  She is incredible.  You give her a notion of what you're thinking, and she just makes it happen.  The flowers, the cake, the centerpieces, clothes for me and the kids, countless other things that I cannot even list because they are so numerous.  The woman is miraculous.

My bridesmaids?  I love them.  You know the movies about the bitchy, stupid, not at all helpful bridesmaids? Whatever the exact opposite of that is, those are my bridesmaids.  Jimmy and I have spent every free moment this week trying to think of the exact right gifts for our attendants because we want them to know just how much we appreciate them for being such great friends and for helping us so very much with this wedding.

I am more than fully aware that this wedding would just not be happening without my mom and my friends and his friends.

The closer it gets, the more ecstatic I am to see everyone. Randi is already here and Victoria will soon be coming in from that horrible, horrible land of friend thievery called Colorado (Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal!!!) 

Candice (and her fiance) have wrangled a photographer and are loaning us their home and land and an insane amount of time and effort.  Candice has been constantly on my back (in the most loving way possible) to make sure all the details are covered.  

I have other friends coming in from all over the Metroplex and from the far flung corners of Texas.  One of my attorneys (who has always looked out for me and given me advice and pushed me to never settle and always strive for my dreams) is going to perform the ceremony.

All of that excitement is bubbling over, and that is just my excitement about seeing my family and friends and getting to play dress up.

But the real driving force behind this entire event is that if anyone was ever meant to make it to the finish line of "until death do us part" with me, it's Jimmy, and if anyone was ever meant to make it there with him, it's me.

I'm not hopeful that this marriage will work.  I'm at peace that this is where I was supposed to end up all along.  I had to make all those wrong turns and wrong choices to arrive at this exact right place at this exact right time with all of the exact right people.

I'm excited about the wedding, but I'm elated to know that I have finally find my real Mr. Right.  I know to my core that this is the direction in which God was leading me when He kept telling me to "be still."  I knew I was just supposed to sit tight and let my life unfold instead of trying to force the puzzle pieces together when they clearly didn't fit.  

And things are right now.  This is the family I was supposed to have.  All blended and mixed up and absolute perfect.

Making this partnership "official" is only nine days away, and I am counting the seconds until I am his "Mrs."

Do you hear the faint ringing of wedding bells in the distance?

You guys know how I just love countdowns?  Well, in 24 days, I'm getting married.

Bizarrely enough, it does not feel like I have already done this twice.

It feels like I'm doing it for the first time.  It's kind of magical, actually.  

Yesterday I put together a ceremony script for our officiant (including the vows) and sent it to Jimmy for his approval.

He texted me, "Well, I can tell by the first paragraph that I'm going to lose it at the wedding.  I'm welling up in McAllister's."

Um, good.  Cause I'm going for sappy and sentimental because that is how being with him makes me feel.

Like, (and this is probably the most telling example of what my life is like that I will ever give), I ate too much, and I was uncomfortable, and then, like, 5 minutes later it was bed time (all of this happens regularly), and I was whining about how uncomfortably full I was on the way up the stairs.

We got into bed and he got all comfortable.  But I kept tossing and turning and adjusting and moving and being totally obnoxious (not on purpose - I could not help it!)  And instead of raising his head and saying "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN, GET IT TOGETHER AND GET STILL!" like most people probably would have done (and rightfully so), he gently placed his hand on my back and said in the kindest, gentlest, most loving voice, "Just try to think about something else, baby."

Which caused me to stop dead in my tracks and smile the biggest smile and just say a little "thank you" prayer for that man and drift off into a blissful, peaceful sleep.

Little things like that probably seem insignificant to the people around us, but it's in those small moments that I feel more loved than anyone has ever made me feel.  

It's in those moments when no one is around and it's not a special occasion, and I've been wearing the same pajama pants for two days, and I'm covered in spit up, and my hair is a rats nest, but he'd still rather hang out with me in the den of chaos that is our home than do pretty much anything else.  

It's in those moments where he is unjustly angry with me, and I can calmly and succinctly state my case and walk into the other room to fold towels or do dishes (because I clean when I'm upset).  He always truly listens and thinks about what I say, and when he comes to the conclusion that his anger is unjust, he is a true man and walks into the room where I am scrubbing squash out of a onesie and begins his apology with a hug and ends with sincere and heartfelt words addressing the situation.

It's in those moments where one of us is in an absolutely foul mood, so the other one has been picking up the slack with the kids and the house and all the little fabulous components of being an adult to the point of breaking, and the one in the foul mood suddenly sees that her/his rock is beginning to crack and that it's time to suck it up and tag in and let that person regroup....and always immediately does.  There is no turning on the other person or taking advantage of their support.  It's leaning on the other but knowing you have to allow them to lean back on you as well in order for everyone to stay upright.

It's in those moments where I see clear evidence of the fact that I live with a friend.  I live with someone who genuinely cares about me and my well being.  I live with someone who is invested in me and who dreams with me.  I live with someone who places importance on many of the same things as me but also allows me to have my differences without making it out like they are my faults.  We have different political views.  We disagree on the right approach to handle the children in some areas.  We disagree about whether or not black olives are delicious and spinach is disgusting.  We disagree about how watching football is the most entertaining thing to do on earth and how watching baseball is like watching paint dry.  

But, like true companions...true friends....we respect each other.  We can see past our differences and recognize that just because he wants to eat thin crust pizza instead of ordering deep dish like God intended, he isn't a bad person.

I'm making a lot of jokes, but the truth is, Jimmy and I are good for each other.  We're our own little quirky family, and it all works so, so well.  Our home is a beautiful place to live, and I am so grateful for every day I get to spend with all the wonderful people who make it a home.  

I sincerely look forward to becoming a wife for what feels like the first time and for what I know in my heart will be the last time.

Learning through my little one

There are certain things that having a daughter is teaching me.

If I were to describe my body, I'd call myself "solid".  My legs are thick and muscular - some might say I have "thunder thighs".

Back when I was a teenager and on into my early twenties, I hated my build.  I wanted to be tall and thin - not short and stocky.  I'd do all kinds of exercises targeted at turning my thick legs into long, willowy limbs - not quite understanding that no matter how many leg lifts I did, my legs were never going to grow six inches in length or shrink six inches in circumference. 

Vivs seems to be headed in the same direction as my mother and me.  Jimmy says aloud constantly that he hopes she is built like me because he thinks it is beautiful.  That says something to me about the fact that he means it.  If you're wishing it on your child, it means you truly mean it.

And I have come to realize that I think it's beautiful too.  

When I was talking to Vivian the other day - as I do so often because she loves to be talked to - I told her, "baby, I think you are going to be built like your momma and your Nana.  And when people tell you that you are beautiful, you believe them because you truly are and always will be."

It's one thing to say this to my daughter, but in order to truly teach her to love herself, I have to live it.  Sure, I can watch what I say and not tear myself down in front of my children.  But it means nothing if I tear myself down to my friends when my kids aren't around.  It means I'm not taking the steps to live the example that I want my children to see.

Recently I bought a swimsuit.  It's a retro style bikini that covers up my scarred tummy but is a two piece swimsuit nonetheless.  When I got it in the mail, I took a picture of myself in it and sent it to my bridesmaids to show them.  I took a good long at myself in the picture and thought, you know what, this is who I am, and it's okay.

I'm trying to learn that it's okay to just be who I am.  I watch people of all shapes and sizes at the pool.  Some far smaller than me and some far larger than me.  Some are younger, older, taller, shorter (well, not many, but some).  There are people there from all walks of life hanging out and having fun with their families in their swimsuits.  Never, not once, have I looked at anyone at that pool and thought anything negative of them because of the way God made them.  I can honestly say that.  I can almost always find the beauty in different shapes and sizes and colors and religions and beliefs.  It's something I pride myself in.

So, if that is the way I want to view the world and the way I want my children to view the world, I have to start with me.  It's not just okay that I am built the way that I am - it's beautiful.  I've realized this because my daughter is quite clearly going to be built like me, and she is perfect, and I will go scary momma bear on anyone who dares to say otherwise.

Having boys taught me a lot about the world that I didn't know because there is no way I could ever have known because, duh, I'm a female.  

Having a daughter is teaching me lessons about being a female who loves herself.  Even though she hasn't waded into her own self image journey just yet, I appreciate her so much for what she is teaching me about how to prepare her for it, and I pray I am able to set a good example and teach her to love herself exactly as she is.

Having a daughter is truly incredible, and I am so thankful for mine.

Bullying

I feel like I should write something.  Right?

I mean, what is going on with us? 

Vivian is ridiculous.  She rolls over.  She sits up.  She squeals with delight.  Once she “talked” to a bush for half an hour at the pool.

Ah, the pool.  It’s where we spend every non-rainy Sunday-Funday.  I don’t know that I can ever spend another summer without a pool again.  We have met some of our neighbors what with it being a community pool.  Most of them I like.  Some of them I wish would imbibe a few less beers and teach their children not to be bullies.

On that note, I’m in this weird space of parenting where I have to figure out how to handle seeing other children bully my children while their parents are both present and drunkish.

Part of me wants to yell at everyone – GET YOUR SCARY, TWICE-THE-SIZE-OF-MY-SON SON AWAY FROM MY SON!  Part of me wants to encourage my boys to handle the situation on their own – STAND UP FOR YOURSELVES!!!  PUNCH THAT KID IN THE MOUTH!!!

It started with the kid taunting Silas.  “You’re four, and you still don’t know how to swim?!” and escalated to the boy physically picking up Silas and throwing him into the pool (Silas was wearing floaties, but he flipped his shiz all the same - and rightfully so).  The boy also continuously shot Gavin in the face with a water gun full of water from the water fountain (i.e. it was cold).  His mom did make sure to half-heartedly slur “make sure everyone else’s gun has cold water too, Kid’s Name.”  Except my kids weren't armed with water guns at all.  (Oh make no mistake, there will be a trip to Target prior to the next Sunday-Funday.  We will not be caught unarmed again!)

I think it wounded Jimmy’s pride more than he wanted to admit.  When it comes right down to it, blood and DNA matter not a lick.  Your people are your people, and those boys are his people. 

Silas is sensitive and bull headed.  Jimmy wanted Silas to just swim and prove to the bully that he could do whatever he put his mind to.  He quietly encouraged Silas to let go of the wall/rail/me and let his floaties support him.  

Silas didn’t care a thing about proving a thing to the bully.  He hung out on the steps with his floaties and would only jump to one of us and then cling to us for dear life when he decided to stray from the steps.  To which I say, “good for you.  Stay true to yourself.”

But that is the logical, “that is probably the right approach” part of my brain.  Because the momma-bear part of my brain wanted to throw the bully and his mother both in the pool and then shoot them repeatedly in the face with water guns full of cold water.

So, probably the best approach to handling bullying with my kids is to hover on the outside of it and let them handle it in their own sweet way unless and until I see absolutely no other choice but to throw folks into pools and shoot them with water guns.

Better

There is just not much time to blog these days.

Since the last thing I talked about was my new meds, I'll update you on that.

To sum it up: my give a damn done got up and went.  Mostly that is a good thing.

For example:
The momfail moments?  Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuch less frequent.  It is amazing how much more I enjoy my children and am able to spend real, quality time with them now that I'm not obsessing about things I can't control or things that I can control but that really aren't that important in the grand scheme of things.  I can just put things on hold that aren't absolutely necessary and sit in the floor and play with them or talk to them or read to them.  I can focus on meeting their needs/demands one at a time when they are all screaming/clammoring/climbing me like a jungle gym (whereas before I would lose it completely in a situation like that, and even if I kept my composure, I'd be internally seething with anger - but no longer).  I can completely overlook the things that used to drive me crazy and just laugh at their silliness and revel in their childlike behavior.

Remember a while back when I told you I had not been able to stop obsessing about money since my first panic attack in college?  Yes, well, I have found the magical cure for that.  For the last almost decade and a half, I have started worrying and obsessing and figuring and planning and crazy-making about my bills far in advance of pay day.  Now?  I don't worry about my bills until we get paid.  Then I immediately pay everything that is due out of that check and move on with my life.  Sometimes we have more money left over than other times.  Sometimes it gets seriously tight between paychecks.  But I am finally able to embrace the fact that everything has been okay financially for my entire life and everything will be okay going forward.  One way or another, we'll keep a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, gas in our tanks, and my kids will have everything they need.

Television does not mess with me as bad.  Certain anxieties creep up on me now and then when I'm watching certain things.  For instance, an episode of Cops where a two year old got hit by a car that I watched while my boys were with their dad almost sent me into a tailspin.  But most of the time, I am far more able to rationalize with myself.  And when that doesn't work I say a prayer for, say, my children's safety - especially while in the care of others - and leave it with God.

One thing I didn't realize I obsessed about until I wasn't obsessing about it anymore was making mistakes at work.  I'm pretty good at my job, but I'm also human.  I make mistakes.  We all make mistakes.  And while it is actually a pretty infrequent occurrence, I used to become paralyzed with fear that even the slightest (very fixable) mistake was going to cost me my job (I'm sure you can imagine the tumble down the rabbit hole that that provoked).  Now, I am better able to put my mistakes in perspective, fix them, and move on with my day.

Most importantly, I can let the trivial things go.  

Child: "Mom, I spilled X/broke Y/lost Z."
Me: "It's okay.  We can clean it up, fix/replace it, look for it together."

That is the kind of parent I have always wanted to be.  I just want to let my kids be kids and know it's totally okay to make mistakes, spill things, break things, lose things - not be perfect.  I don't want to give them anxiety disorders of their own.  I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy much less those who are most beloved to me.  And I was seriously getting concerned about Silas.

So, the best thing about this has been watching my kids relax and enjoy spending time with me more.  It has been setting a good example for them of how to react in the face of adversity or making a mistake.  It has done wonders for my relationships with them.

This medication has not made me a zombie.  I can still cry, but I don't cry at the drop of a hat.  I can still get angry, but I have a good reason or can quickly rationalize the situation if I don't.  I still worry, but it's over normal things and it's worrying, not obsessing.  And I can absolutely still feel love and joy and excitement and pride.  I actually feel like the total opposite of a zombie.  I feel like I'm engaged in life again.

My kids are incredible.  Each of them has qualities and characteristics unique unto themselves.  I'm happy they have a better mom now.  Not a perfect mom by any means but definitely a much better mom.  And I will fight to keep being this person or a better person than this for them.  

I will try to write more about what is going on in our lives.  Just wanted to say that things are really good right now (in the most long-winded way possible).