6 reasons my kids WON'T be having a free-range summer

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Right after we pulled into the garage on the last day of school, twelve-year-old Slim ran across the street toward some girls who were playing outside. A few minutes later he came back into the house.

“Why are you back inside, Slim?” I asked.

“Oh, those girls saw me coming and ran into their house,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly. “I guess they couldn’t handle my awesomeness.”

Slim has high-functioning autism. Whether he really thought that or realized the girls were trying to get away from him because they think he’s weird remains to be seen. But this is one of the many reasons that, despite what kind of a childhood I had, my sons will not be having a free-range summer.

Alphabet letters. In addition to the ASD, my son also has ADHD. He has one brother who has ADD. These boys need structure this summer. Honestly, all kids need structure. The first two weeks before lessons and camps and activities got started, Slim tried to plan out our entire day minute-by-minute. It was maddening, but I understand his need for order and schedules. Sure, sometimes we’ll wake up and just fly by the seats of our pants; but most days we will have a routine of chores, summer school work, screen time, active time, lessons, camps, etc . . .

Screens. When I was my sons' ages, cable television was a new thing and Atari was just a fuzzy game my brother played that I didn't have any interest in. Once "Fraggle Rock" was over and HBO was showing Nine to Five for the fifty-gazillionth time, I turned off the t.v. Now our kids have so many channels and options and personal devices and gaming systems. If I didn’t set limits, my sons would only emerge from their boy cave long enough to pee and grab more bags of Veggie Straws (Seriously, have you tried them? They’re surprisingly good.).

Competition. Gone are the lazy, explorative days of our childhood. My sons cannot possibly take the summer off from school work, learning how to code, or perfecting their three-pointers. Nowadays, there is a camp, a class, or lesson for everything. If there's not, there is a private tutor or coach waiting to teach your child to be the best. I'd like my kids to at least have a chance. (It's a lot, isn't it? Have you read this article about why most kids quit sports before high school?)  

Nosy neighbors and CPS. When they were in Junior High, my brother and his friend built an elaborate tree fort whose size rivaled a small NYC apartment or one of those trendy tiny houses. No one gave a thought to two twelve-year-olds with tools and nails and boards and anything else they could scavenge. All four of their parents were working; in fact, I was only ten and staying home by myself. Now, the "village" is all up in everyone else's business. I feel like if I don't check on my boys every ten minutes, I'm going to get judged as a bad mother. 

Mean kids. I'll admit that I hover around my kids. The primary reason I do is to make sure they are behaving and being nice to other children. "Catching them in the act" is the perfect time for reteaching and role playing. But I will admit, too, that I watch Slim like a hawk to see how other children are treating him and reacting to him. I've had to stand up for him in the past, but I'm really trying hard to get him to understand what is appropriate in social situations and what is not. While he really wants to be social, he's not always the best at it. 

Fear of loss. I woke up one day seven years ago and my whole life changed. There wasn't a thing I could do about that. But if something happened to one of my boys now and I could have prevented it, I would never be able to live with myself. One day last summer, I wasn't checking on Lil' C every ten minutes outside, and he rode off on his bicycle. We couldn't find him for about twenty minutes, and I was panicking, thinking of every kidnapping scenario and desperately trying to remember exactly what he had been wearing. Just as I had pulled out my phone to call 911, he came riding back, happy as a clam at his adventure. We used to ride our bikes EVERYWHERE, but somehow, I feel like this is a different time. 

I asked my mother once about all this, if she worried about these things, too. There were no cell phones growing up, so she had to trust that we were where we said we'd be. Also, there were no online predators to worry about, though there were actual predators. She said childhood cancer wasn't as prevalent as it is now, but occasionally you did hear of a child who'd died from it. She worried about mean kids and drugs and car accidents and freak accidents and everything we moms today worry about. 

But I still think it was a different time. I think with every generation comes a loss of innocence that we cannot get back. The more we move forward, we the more we lose. 

I guess this makes me a helicopter parent; and you know what? I'm okay with that. They are only little for a short time, and I am going to control things as much as I can. The older they get, the more opportunities for independence they will have. I'm okay with that, too. But right now, at 12, 10, 8, and 4 years old, I think I still have a few things to teach them. 

By the time they are old enough to apply those lessons, maybe I'll be ready to let go, too. 

Do you consider yourself a "free-range" parent? What aspects of their childhood do you control? 

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Moms tell how they feel about their child's diagnosis in 3 words

I felt many emotions the day we found out about Joey's brain tumor. My mind, heart, and gut would continue to cycle through so many emotions over the nearly 14 months before his death.

The day the doctor said to me, "Bad news, it's a tumor," I felt like everything dropped out from under me. I felt confusion and disbelief, anger and sadness.

And denial. I definitely felt denial. I kept hoping the scans were wrong. I kept hoping that there really WAS something the doctors and surgeons could do to save his life.

And after his death, I felt devastation, heartbreak, and relief.

It may seem unbelievable to say that I was relieved that my son died, but his life could not go on the way it was. His suffering was truly over.

When Joey's brother Slim was diagnosed with autism two years ago, I felt relief once more. Not that my son was going to have a lifetime of social challenges and difficulties, but relief that he could finally get the services and treatments that we knew could help him achieve and put his wonderful mind to work.

When we hear the words "diagnosis" or "diagnosed" they often put a sick feeling into our stomachs - even as moms of "typical healthy" kids (are any of them without challenge though?) - because we can imagine how we would feel if that were our child. What would we do? How would we feel? In what ways we would deal with the changing hand we'd been dealt?

People say that attitude is everything. Some people, myself included, are naturally more negative thinkers, assuming the worst right away. Some are sunny sunshiners from the get know and just know everything will be just fine.

Both people's kids get cancer. Both have children born with Down syndrome or autism. A person's attitude doesn't change the circumstances, but it can color how you deal with the hand you've been dealt.

I was curious how other moms reacted to a diagnosis their children received. Not asking what it was, I took to Facebook to ask them to describe their reactions and emotions in three words or less.

Overwhelmingly, there was almost a 50/50 split between the top two responses: worried/terrified/scared and relieved. 

I think that says a lot. I think it says that a mother's sixth sense is there, and it's strong. We know our children, and we know when something is not right.

I knew something wasn't right with Joey in the months leading up to his cancer diagnosis. He was tired and not as energetic as usual. He had grown apathetic about many of the things he loved. I suppose in some ways, I was relieved to know; though I was hoping it was allergies or migraines, not a huge tumor.

Here are some of the other emotions that moms had when they found out about their child's diagnosis:

• freaked

• nervous, anxious

• protective and mama bear

"I hate this."

• glad 

• stunned, blind-sided, shocked, sucker-punched

• frustrated, overwhelmed

"My heart dropped."

• pissed, angry

• confused

• helpless

"Scared, but blessed."

• motivated, determined, resolute, focused

• validated

• devastated, sad

"Shit, now what?"

• hopeless, powerless

• acceptance

• hopeful

"Let it be me."

• prayerful

• lonely, alone

• love

I can guarantee you that anything you're feeling once you've heard your child's diagnosis is completely normal and within the range of emotions you're "supposed to" have.

And also? They will change day by day, hour by hour, and yes, even minute by minute.

There is nothing fair or right about your child not being anything other than how you dreamed him to be. It's okay to feel angry and sad and hopeless and helpless about it.

But it's also okay to feel relief and gratitude and the resolve that makes you want to kick ass like a mama bear for your child.

My favorite response I kept for last, and it's my three-word pep talk for you:

"We got this!"

#thisischildhoodcancer

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Do you know someone whose child was just diagnosed with cancer? Here are nine things you can do to help.

The One Thing Grieving Moms Fear

Our summer has been a series of hot days spent poolside, outings with the sole purpose of knocking items off our summer bucket list, and lazy days spent at home punctuated by too much screen time, overzealous brotherly "love," and a cycle of mess, clean, repeat.

Bedtimes have been loosely observed, ignored in favor of another chapter of Harry Potter or popcorn and a classic movie like The Sandlot. Despite the late nights, the boys still get up with the sun. At least now they've learned to keep the volume on the t.v. low so Mom can sleep a little longer. They put in their own toaster waffles, and big brothers help little with glasses of cold morning milk.

Last week, after many late nights spent reading and laughing at movies and riding bikes as the sun set, miracle of miracles - the boys actually slept in past 7:00 am. Three of the four were up by 8:00 am, and we busied ourselves in the kitchen making eggs and pancakes and sharing responsibility for emptying the dishwasher of its clean dishes.

As the clock moved around the hour, breakfast was eaten and dirty dishes were filling the dishwasher again. I kept looking at the clock and looking at the stairs. Lil' C wasn't awake yet. There was no noise coming from upstairs: he wasn't simply watching television or playing a video game.

I contemplated checking on him, but I didn't want to wake him if he really needed the sleep.

A few minutes before 9:00 I heard footsteps upstairs, footsteps that made the path to the bathroom and back to the bedroom. That's when panic set in.

Six years ago, I had a similar morning - television on softly, toaster waffles toasting slowly. Three little boys awake and one not. One who slept late, who went to the bathroom and returned to bed.

And when I checked on him, he was having a grand mal seizure.

Then there was an ambulance.

And a doctor.

And a tumor.

I live in fear of this happening again. 

I think as moms we have certain fears ingrained in us: illness, freak accidents, kidnapping. Worry is just a part of the mom job.

But when you are a grieving mom, when you have been through something very tragic and perhaps held your own child in your arms as he died, you fear history repeating itself with one of your other children.

After all, if it could happen once, it could happen again . . . right?

I remember a time shortly after Joey died when Knox started complaining of headaches every day.

Oh God, no, please no, I thought each time he brought me his concern.

A trip to the radiologist revealed he just had congested sinuses.

This time.

But who's to say that something else won't sneak up on us when we least expect it?

Every headache, every stomachache, fever, illness, bump on the head, I wonder, Is it cancer? Or add here what other grieving moms fear - another miscarriage, another heart condition or genetic defect. Whatever it was that took their child away.

I guess it's a bit of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I didn't realize that until I was at a blog conference, and someone fell to the floor having a seizure. I started hyperventilating and crying: the same reaction I experienced in the ER after the doctor told me about Joey's tumor.

And the same reason why I can't be around kids who are bloated from steroids and who have lost their hair from chemo. I think I can be strong, but I realize there are unresolved feelings there.

No matter how much we blog about our experiences, no matter how much we encourage other mamas to talk and share - and we embrace them for doing so - we are still scared. We still hold those memories so close to the surface, right over our hearts, and right in the forefront of our minds. Even if the same thing can never happen again, there is a fear of something big affecting our mama hearts and hitting us out of the blue.

I don't know how to make that feeling go away. Like I said, I think it's just part of motherhood - the beauty, the fullness, and the astounding happiness and joy mixed with the fear and uncertainty, anxiety and sadness that simply come inherent in the job.

*        *         *

At nine o'clock that morning last week when I didn't hear my fourth set of little feet coming down the stairs, I took a deep breath and went up to Lil' C's room. He was half lying on and half standing by his bed, face on his blanket, thumb in his mouth. When I came in the room, he yawned and smiled.

"Hey Buddy, good morning," I said as I wrapped him in a huge hug. "I have pancakes and bacon downstairs. Are you coming down?"

"Pancakes and bacon?! Yeah, I'm on my way! Just let me get dressed." He scurried off leaving his blanket on the bed.

As I turned to go back to the kitchen, I felt the tension leave my body with a sigh.

Not today, I thought. We're all safe today. 

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We Can't Look Back, Only Ahead

I will never forget sitting at my desk in my office at the University staring at the ultrasound pictures of my first two babies. Baby A had such a perfect profile, but there was something off about Baby B's slightly sideways profile.

We would later learn that Baby B would be born with a cleft lip and palate, something that we much later learned was caused by a deletion in one of his chromosomes. I beat myself up for a while for not pointing out my suspicions to either my husband, an oral surgeon, or my OB/GYN.

But what would it have changed? Nothing.

Our beautiful little Baby B would still have been born with a complete bilateral cleft lip and cleft palate. Looking back would have done no good. Only looking ahead would help him . . . and us.

Sometimes I feel that way about Slim's autism diagnosis.

By the time he was four years old, we noticed some strange behavior. He would begin every day by running in circles around the house. Or he would be watching television, get excited about something, and would have to run laps around the house.

There were the plastic play spoons he would always have to carry and his obsession about sharks. There was the way he would walk the perimeter of a room at a party or a new Gymboree class.

There was the way that he would memorize and parrot back commercials, television shows, and books. The way that he didn't really interact with other children his age.

And there was the way that he didn't really hug you; he just "leaned in."

He was enrolled in an Early Childhood Special Education Preschool program with other children who had speech issues for various reasons. Some had autism. I didn't want to believe that he had autism. After all, he talked to us and other adults all the time, he looked us in the eyes most of the time, and he didn't have some of the other severe behaviors that autistic children had.

But I asked anyway. I asked the preschool teacher and the pediatrician and the speech teacher. Then I asked the kindergarten teacher and the first grade teacher. Everyone said no, he's not autistic.

Though it was the answer I wanted to hear, something kept nagging me. Every time he said something that we didn't know how to answer or had a meltdown about something that we didn't have a strategy to handle or every time my heart broke watching other kids faces as they looked at his strange behavior, I thought: This isn't fair to any of us. 

They all said no until one day we accepted yes and they agreed. And we were relieved.

Only now I am mad and sad and upset. I am mad that no one saw it sooner. I am sad about all the time that has been wasted on the wrong kinds of therapy and treatment plans and all the times his Dad and I have yelled at him for being HIM. I am upset at myself for not demanding it sooner, for not "Google-educating" myself on how to better handle some of his quirks a long time ago.

Looking back, I wish we had started autism therapy so much sooner. Maybe things would be different. Maybe they would be better.

Slim knows that he has autism, and he has been reading up on it. He probably knows more about it than his dad and me combined. In fact, he said something very profound the other day about it and let me share it on Facebook.

He's eleven, and he talks of acceptance - something his fortyish-year-old mother cannot do. In the struggle to accept what is,  I must place myself firmly in the present with my eyes to the future because those are the only things that I can change. I can work on those, make those better.

April is Autism Awareness month; though some people would prefer it to be called "Autism Acceptance Month." That makes sense to me. I believe every parent in America knows what autism is and what the characteristics are. We all trained ourselves to look for those characteristics in our developing children.

We also all know an adult who is a little odd, but we never knew why. According to autismsociety.org, more than 3.5 million Americans live with an autism spectrum disorder, and that it is never too late for an adult to be diagnosed with ASD. We often look at people we think are strange and talk about different things and want to distance ourselves from them.

I want to share a story with you. My sister-in-law works on the campus of a major university in our town. She was walking across campus the other day in a hurry to get to a meeting. As it was a gorgeous afternoon and she is such a friendly person, she saw a young male student on his way across campus as well and commented to him about the lovely day.

And this young man stopped and began to tell her many details about the barometric pressure in the air and the exact weather patterns that aligned to make this a perfect weather day. She contemplated smiling and moving on as he was talking; but then she realized that she was looking at our very own Slim, a mere decade into the future.

So, meeting tardiness be damned,  she stopped, turned to the young man, and really listened to what he was saying. He stopped himself abruptly and said, "Oh, I'm not supposed to go on and on like this. You must have somewhere to be." She smiled and said she'd love to hear more about something he was obviously so passionate about.

And there we had a glimmer of Slim's future. A look ahead, past acceptance and straight on to what things will look like once his therapies get in place.

No use looking back. We can't change that. We can only look ahead and have hope for good things in the future - learning, practicing . . .

. . . and accepting.

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Parents' Top Ten Fears

The other day my five-year-old son had surgery. Even though it was minor, I was still a little worried thinking about everything that could go wrong, as any surgery has inherent risks.

When Slim was just four months old, he had surgery to repair his cleft lip. After the surgery, he struggled to breathe on his own, and had to be monitored in the PICU. It was a scary situation that left an impression on me.

As I waited for my five-year-old to return from the operating room on Friday, I reflected on the fact that surgery worries aren’t even a blip on most parents’ radars. It’s more of a situational fear.

An informal poll of some of my friends and acquaintances on Facebook revealed what parents worry most about concerning their children. According to Allison of Motherhood WTF, it's "basically any bad thing that can befall a person." But here are the top ten responses:

 

10. Dating. Parents are already looking ahead to their children’s dating years and worrying about the choices they will make regarding sexual activity, especially parents of girls. Frugie from Frugalista Blog says, ". . . at some point [my daughter] will date and I know it's not for a while, but I just keep thinking of her with guys when she's in high school."

9. Drugs. “Just say no” doesn’t seem so easy anymore. Ilana of Mommy Shorts stated that, "Someone mentioned recently that kids today are doing heroin like it's no big deal. That freaked me out. I always thought when I eventually have the drug conversation I'd be talking about pot or something I could wrap my head around."

8. Driving. Many parents expressed fears as their children approach driving age, especially if they have friends in the car with them. Will they avoid texting and driving and drinking and driving? Toulouse of Toulouse and Tonic said, "Every time my husband pulls out of the driveway with both kids and I hear a siren somewhere, I'm afraid they've all been killed."

7. Accidents. Freak or otherwise, parents fear their child getting hurt. Meredith of The Mom of the Year, whose young son broke his femur and had to be in a body cast most of last year, said, "I always have this underlying sick feeling that they will somehow seriously hurt/maim themselves. Scary how quickly their lives/your life can change in the blink of an eye."

6. Bullying. It’s a sad fact that -90% of 4th through 8th graders report being victims of bullying. Steph from I'm Still Learning, mom of two boys, says, "I worry about them being mean to others. I try so damn hard to teach them empathy and thinking of others' feelings, but kids can be so cruel -- especially as they get older."

5. Peer pressure/self-esteem. Many parents remember their own experiences in this area and hope to teach their children. Keesha of Mom's New Stage mentioned she is worried that her daughter will get her "shit body image." 

4. Medical diagnosis. With increasing awareness of many childhood diagnoses such as cancer, autism, and severe allergies, this is heavy on parents’ minds. Anna of My Life and Kids noted, "I used to work at a children's hospital, and I still carry around about 15 horror stories - they will haunt me forever."

3. Molestation. I shudder every time my boys are out of my sight with other people.

2. Kidnapping. When it happens, it’s all over the news; and every parent’s heart skips a beat.

1. Death. Obviously, I have first-hand experience in this area. I never thought it would happen to me. Exclusive of a severe genetic birth defect, what parent does?

My friend Kim from Rubber Chicken Madness, single mom of two teenage boys, summed up the whole parent worry issue perfectly when she said, "While I'd like to keep them both under lock and key in an ivory tower until they're at least 25 and past most of these terrifying things, I cannot. I must do my best to guide and educate and love and nurture and (carefully) build trust and love some more."

Thanks to all my friends who helped with this post. Please go visit them and give them some love.

 

 

 

Did this list include some of your biggest fears? If not, what are they?

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas

It was Christmas Eve. The eleventh hour. And I was still scrambling to get everything done.

Presents wrapped, house cleaned, food made.

We were hosting Christmas this year for my side of the family. Hubby kept reminding me that it was just family. Just 18 people.

Who were family, by the way, so why did it matter what the house looked like? There would be enough food, and everyone would have a wonderful time, he kept assuring me.

I knew this. I knew it. But Christmas always stresses me out, almost to the point that I dread it. With the snowstorm on Thursday and the boys being off school, there were a few things I didn't get done - namely, getting Hubby's special gluten-free cookies. Which makes me feel really awful since he always makes Christmas special for me (he actually did all the shopping for the boys this year!).

And I forgot to get the ingredients to make cinnamon rolls for Christmas morning. I always make cinnamon rolls.

I'd been snapping at the boys. Making demands. Pick this up! Clean this mess! Put this away! Everyone has to help!

I was feeling horrible. Why do I get so stressed? Why do I wait until the last minute to get everything finished? What makes me forget so many of our special things?

What's wrong with me?

The boys were invited over to their cousins' house to play Christmas Eve morning. I think it was to keep all the boys occupied so my sister-in-law and I both could finish Christmas preparations. I planted myself in the basement with my wrapping supplies, and I wrapped like a mad woman.

I was listening to Pandora, and for some reason, there was a heavy volume of children's songs being played. Each time I heard their sweet little voices singing carols, my eyes welled with tears.

It made me think of Joey.

But I pressed on and kept wrapping, thinking to myself how lucky it was that I had told the boys that elves are messy creatures. And how lucky it was that my boys wouldn't care about bows or ribbons.

I was all done by 11:30 that evening, and morning came quickly, before 7:00 a.m.

6:50, actually, and it was all said and done by 7:06 a.m.

The boys tore open each present in a matter of seconds with shouts of, "COOL!" "IT'S JUST WHAT I WANTED!" quickly moving on to the next gift.

And as I sat on the couch, still in a sleepy haze contemplating coffee or tea, I realized that no one had expressed disappointment. No one had simply said, "Oh," and moved on.

In fact, I heard seven-year-old Knox exclaim, "This has been the best Christmas ever!"

We had celebrated with Hubby's side of the family on Sunday. Hubby's huge, chaotic, loud, wonderful family which is now made up of 57 people! All but eight were there.

This isn't even half of his family. There are more somewhere!!

I have always wanted to be a part of a big family. The dynamics among the cousins and in-laws are warm and sweet and sometimes simply hilarious. It's truly a gift that everyone gets along so well. And even though I sit and observe the chaos with no gift in hand (Hubby opts us out of the gift exchange, and I am no one's godmother), I never feel left out. But rather, blessed.

And then there was that moment yesterday, as I was standing in the kitchen. I was still dressed up from Christmas mass - heels and a pencil skirt and a cute peplum top. I had my apron on and Hubby was next to me chopping onions for soup. The boys were playing with their new toys in the family room and someone yelled into the kitchen, "Mom, what's 8 times 8?"

As I answered quickly and kept stirring whatever it was I was stirring, I felt a wave of gratitude and happiness wash over me.

For this.

This is what I had always wanted in my life - this "kiss-your-frog-marry-your-prince-and-live-happily-ever-after" life.

I have it. Standing all dressed up in my kitchen with an apron on making Christmas food for my family while my children play. This.

However, this life may not be perfect because we are grieving the loss of someone.

This Christmas may not be perfect because Mommy kept forgetting to move the elf and she forgot the cookies and the cinnamon rolls and wrapped the presents hastily and snapped at people.

But no one really noticed that except for me. So it didn't really matter after all.

And Slim has made sure that Joey has been with us all Christmas season. He brought Joey's beloved stuffed animal, Stripey Kitten, downstairs to "help" us decorate the tree Thanksgiving weekend. And even though I keep telling him to put her back, he keeps bringing her out every time we do something Christmassy. So I know he's thinking of Joey, too, and giving us a little reminder of his presence.

So in the end, I didn't really screw anything up too badly - not that anyone noticed anyway. My small family all said they had a lovely time celebrating at our house, and there was even food left over.

 Hmm, maybe if I'm still hungry, I can lick
some of the frosting off that adorable face.

It's clear to me as I sit and reflect on how the holiday went for us all, despite my perceived failures and foibles, it was a pretty great Christmas after all. I think it's safe to say that everyone had a simply wonderful Christmas.

I know I did.



My Biggest Parenting Fears~Her View From Home

I recently wrote about a huge fear that I have about my youngest son. But honestly, my worrying doesn't stop there. I worry about a lot of things.

All of the Hurricane Sandy stories I have been hearing make me remember how I felt when Hubby and I lived in Long Beach, New York. I had three babies under the age of two - a newborn and 19-month-old twins, all of whom obviously and completely depended on me for everything. Hubby was frequently gone for days at a time in this borough or that, on call, saving the masses by pulling rotten teeth. I often thought about various scenarios and what on earth I would do should they play out.

One was where the hell I would go if I needed to evacuate our seaside community. Where would this Nebraska girl and her three babies go by themselves to be safe in a place that was unfamiliar to us without Hubby's voice of logic guiding us.

I can't imagine.

I also used to get mini-panic attacks while driving the Meadowbrook Parkway to and from Target and the Mall. It was surrounded by water on both sides for part of the way. I would imagine what would happen if my car should go out of control and plunge into the water. How would I save all three of my children?

I know this sounds extreme, but I heard on the news this morning that this happened to a mom in the throes of Hurricane Sandy. She was driving with her 2 and 4 year old sons and became stuck in rising water. As they tried to escape, her sons were washed away, and still haven't been found.

My heart is devastated for that mom, absolutely broken.

The storm has presented extreme situations, but what about the everyday? What about when we look to the future and wonder if we're doing it all right now, assuring our children's safety and success?

Today, on Her View From Home, I'm sharing some of my biggest parenting fears - read it here. I'm sure there are more; in fact, when I was writing the post, I kept adding more.  Come read and comment and share some of your biggest fears. (Please tell me you have some, too??)

Here's hoping all of you have a fun and safe Halloween with your families, and that those of you affected by Sandy are managing and getting the help you need.

Love and hugs and always prayers, my friends.

Why Can't I Stop Worrying?

When it comes to worrying, I'm definitely the mother of all worriers. Although I have been a bit of a worrier my entire life, I believe that some of my worrying as of late is rather justified given the tragedy that has befallen my family.

I can talk myself out of some of the worry ('That's just ridiculous, Kathy, you're being silly.') and Hubby can logic me out of a lot of it ('Why are you worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet and may never happen?).

But sometimes a worry just grabs hold of me, right in the guts, and won't let go no matter what I think or do.

This particular worry is about Baby E. Today, he is 16 months old. And he is the most darling toddler I currently know.

And more than all the other boys, he reminds me the most of Joey.

Not necessarily in looks - that honor goes to Knox; in fact, sometimes I have to do a double take when I look at him.

I'm talking about his personality. Baby E is so busy and curious and happy. And he loves people. He will go right up to another child and offer him something or he will smile at and reach for adults.

He is a complete Mama's boy who also adores his Daddy and wants to do everything he does.

Just like someone else I used to know.

And the hugs he gives! It is well known in our family that the best hug to ever have received was a Joey hug. That kid gave The. Best. Hugs. Sincere, genuine and tight.

Baby E's are identical.

He's 16 months old, People, and he gives tight, sincere, purposeful hugs. And when he does that, I melt into those hugs, and I stand still no matter what needs to be done next or how soon it needs to be done.

And I think how like Joey that is. My heart and stomach fill with a comfortable warmth, but only momentarily. Then the worry douses that warmth with an icy sickness that says, 'So what will happen to Baby E?' That question is left nagging in my head, and I hold on out of sadness and panic.

I can't help it. It happens all the time. Every time I make a connection between Joey and Baby E, I feel it. I feel a fear that something will happen to him just because I love him too much.

I worry about the three other boys, too - believe me! Every time they complain of a tummy ache, a toe ache, especially a headache, I worry until that ache goes away.

But Baby E has come after Joey, a surprise gift sent to help heal me. And that he has. My heart is less bitter and my mind is starting to acknowledge God again, even if some days it is to curse Him.

Sometimes, when I am alone with Baby E and he does something Joeyish or gives me a certain familiar look, I will stare into his eyes and whisper, "Joey?" I know that sounds like I am off my rocker. Maybe it is wishful thinking that God sent him back to me. That He gave me a second chance to be a better mom (at which I'm still failing miserably some days).

I always joke that Joey's and E's souls met in Heaven, and that Joey gave him the scoop about us. Some days, I really believe it's true.

Last night, Hubby sweetly offered to clean up the kitchen after dinner so I could play outside with the boys. Baby E was climbing up and down the slide like a pro, kicking the soccer ball, having a blast. I remember when Joey was exactly this age he started climbing on the swing set. I was terrified he would fall, but Hubby just let him go.

When Baby E does cute and funny things, like putting a bucket on his head and talking to himself to hear the echo and then giggles hysterically, we look at each other - Hubby and me - and say, "You know who else used to do that? Joey." We'll answer in unison.

It was dusk last night, and we were ready to go inside. I had Pandora on a kids' station and our favorite song from the Madagascar movies came on.

We all broke out into a dance party - Joey style (forget Gangnam Style - Joey had it going on). And do you know what? That little turkey Baby E was busting a move right along with us. He was dancing and giggling and probably looking forward to the next dance party.

And as I laughed and danced, I felt that panic rise in my stomach again. I wanted to go over and scoop him up and put a shield of armour all around him, that psychic's prediction ringing in my head.

But I can't. I couldn't with Joey, and I can't with my other boys, my Hubby, my parents, or with anyone else I love.

And I also can't spend my time worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet . . .or might not ever.

Right?


Do you have reoccurring worries about your family? Or am I just crazy?

It's Time for a Change in Direction

 

We were sitting in the pharmacy drive-thru. My head was half hanging out the window of the van, my eyes closed. I could hear the soft bing bongs and bleep bloops of the boys' video games.

 

I was tired. I felt myself drifting off, and then, "Can I help you?"

 

----------

 

Driving off with prescription in hand my fog continued. We were stopped at a red light when it dawned on me: I can't remember what clothes Joey was buried in.

 

I know they must have been green - his favorite color was green - but I can't remember exactly which ones. I know we didn't put shoes on him. The only shoes that fit his swollen feet were his tennis shoes, and I didn't think it was appropriate to bury him in tennis shoes. Besides, no one would see his feet anyway.

 

I searched my brain for the visual of Joey, but all I could remember was touching him in his coffin and feeling his cold, waxy face. I couldn't see what the shirt looked like, but I remember hearing crinkling when I touched it, like Joey had been wrapped in Press 'n Seal before he was dressed.

 

----------

 

I'm so tired I can't remember what I buried my son in.

 

I'm so tired I can't complete a task without getting distracted.

 

I'm so tired that my brain is having trouble thinking of the words my mouth wants to say.

 

I'm so tired I can't even be patient with my children.

 

I'm so tired I don't want to spend time with my husband.

 

I'm snapping and negative and yelling. And then I wonder why they talk to each other that way. I'm not too tired to realize they are learning it from me.

 

----------

 

I'm tired because my house is a mess. Papers are everywhere. Toys and clothes and junk we don't use anymore have piled up and a house that once seemed big is shrinking from too much stuff.

 

I had a baby a year ago. A year's worth of no time to organize, clean out, start fresh.

 

Now, I have made lists and planned my time and I know what I want to accomplish.

 

But it's not happening and I feel like I am chasing my tail.

 

Chasing it into the wee hours of the night.

 

Falling asleep in a chair.

 

School lunches unmade.

 

Dishes in the sink.

 

The pile of photographs from summer 2011 still sitting unlabeled on the dining room table.

 

-------------

 

I'm heavier than I have ever been in my life. There is a least fifteen pounds of extra weight around my middle that has no business being there.

 

But I'm too tired to do anything about it.

 

And my treadmill broke and my gym membership expired.

 

My husband asked me if we were still married.

 

I need a girls' night out.

 

He wants a date.

 

--------------

 

It's all swirling in my head along with the fact that I am doing nothing that I should be doing.

 

Sleeping.

 

Cardio.

 

Yoga.

 

Nourishing my body with healthy food.

 

Starting my novel.

 

Seeking out paid opportunities to write.

 

Spending time with my family before they are all grown up and gone.

 

What I am doing is getting lost. I'm getting lost along a path that I thought I knew. A path I didn't need a map for. A path that came out in a clearing.

 

But somewhere along the way I got distracted by the scenery, led off course to somewhere I thought I should be going.

 

I'm stumbling. I'm drained. I'm flailing. I'm failing.

 

I'm losing myself.

 

And now I need to find my way back.

 

 

 

 

 



It Can Happen Anywhere

I usually don't jump on current events.  I think the news media over plays every major story to death, to the point where Americans are either paranoid or apathetic.  However today I want to talk about the horrible movie theater shooting that happened in Aurora, Colorado. 

Just like everyone else, I am stuck between a mixture of "What-the-hell" disbelief and anger that it happened again.  Because it has happened before.  Maybe not this exact thing - in a movie theater - but terrible things like this.

More than the disbelief, I am feeling anger.  Anger that we can't even go about our own lives, take our children to a movie, without the fear of some psycho happening upon us.

And for me, it brings back some scary memories.

On December 5, 2007, I was setting out for the afternoon to finish my Christmas shopping.  Lil' C was eight weeks old, and I had a new babysitter, so he was coming with me.  I had been gone all morning for some reason, and Joey, who was just shy of his fourth birthday, insisted on coming with me.  I reluctantly relented, telling him in no uncertain terms that we weren't going to dilly-dally.  I was going to "get stuff done."

We went to Westroads Mall here in Omaha, and as I had a quick purchase to make at the Clinique counter, we entered through Von Maur, an upscale department store.

Joey asked if we could go to the third floor, where the children's department was located, because he knew a Thomas the Train play set resided there.  I thought about it for a split second, but said no, reminding him that I was going to get all my errands done.

We had just walked out to the mall, when we heard three distinct bangs.  They registered in my mind, but when Joey asked what it was, I dismissed it as construction in the mall.  We stepped into a shoe store directly outside Von Maur and began looking at shoes.

Suddenly, two women ran in, saying in panicked voices that someone was shooting a gun.

I have to admit, I rolled my eyes, and thought, this is Nebraska.  That doesn't happen here.

Just then, I heard about six or seven louder and more distinct bangs, and more people began running into the shoe store.  The young girl working the counter quickly closed the gate to the entrance of the store and ordered people into the stock room.

I can't believe it is happening here, I thought.  I pushed Joey toward the stream of people heading to the back room, "You go, Joey, you just go!  You follow those people!"  And I struggled to get the stroller turned around, almost tipping it over.

A group of terrified moms and children were crammed into a corner behind some boxes, and I tried to squeeze Joey and Lil' C back there, but there was no room.  I instructed Joey to stand behind a sock rack and stay put, feeling almost certain one of the gunmen (I feared there were multiple shooters) would burst through the door.

I loudly prayed several Hail Mary's and made phone calls to Hubby, my dad, and the babysitter, none of whom knew anything about what was going on and were confused by my calls.

We hid in the back room for what seemed like an eternity, not having any clue what was going on - I didn't even know at that point where the shooting had originated.

What we didn't know was that the shooter, a teenage boy, already lay dead by his own hand.

A member of the SWAT team finally retrieved us from the back room and told us they were relocating us to the JC Penney at the end of the mall.  I stayed glued to my spot, terrified to move.  Even though he said it was okay, how did they know there weren't more shooters waiting to pick us off as we walked like ducks down the mall corridor?

A woman who had been separated from her family offered to carry Joey for me, but I refused.  I cradled him tightly and wrapped my coat around him, as if it would render him invisible from attack.  The officer walked with the four of us, holding his rifle and scanning the hall.  Tears streamed down my face the whole walk.  I was shaking and I could barely breathe.

Thankfully, Lil' C slept the entire three hours of our ordeal.

Once inside Penney's, we were all lined up to be interview by a member of the Omaha Police Department.  Joey had to go potty, and the only person we could ask was a huge hulking SWAT team member with ammo strapped to his chest in an X like something out of a Rambo movie.  It was just too real, too scary, until he opened his mouth, and the sweetest teddy bear voice came out of it.

"I'll show you where the bathroom is, Buddy," and it put me at ease.  My reflection in the bathroom mirror revealed just what I had been through.  My face was pale with mascara streaks, and I was sweaty because I had left my winter coat on the whole time.

When it was my turn to be interviewed, the officer asked for my name, age, address and phone number and my location in the mall at the time of the shooting.  The he asked me if I had heard or seen anything other than people running and yelling.  I said no, and they let me go.

I later learned that anyone who said they heard gunshots was asked to stay and answer more questions.  I hadn't said I'd heard gunshots because I thought that was pretty obvious.

As I walked back to our car pushing the stroller and leading Joey by the hand, a reporter tried to take my picture.  "Please don't, " I said, and thankfully, he backed off.

That night at home, all I wanted to do was watch mindless t.v. (remember that short-lived show Dirty, Sexy Money?), but our local news stations kept playing the story over and over.

As details of that afternoon emerged, the timeline, the fact that the shooting occurred on the third floor, I thought how close we had come to being in the middle of it.  The time that Hawkins had entered Von Maur the first time was just two minutes ahead of when we had arrived.  What if he never left the building and had started shooting sooner?  What if I had said yes to Joey and gone to the third floor?  What if we were in the elevator with him at the same time?

And a chilling image haunts me to this day.  An image of a young man wearing military-style clothing who walked past us as we entered the store.  I believe it was Hawkins going back outside before re-entering the second time.  I think we walked right by him.

Almost five years later, I still get panic attacks every now and then.  I remember once having to leave the gym because my hair was standing on end, and I began to panic as I saw only one way out of the room that I was in.  When I walk by a kid at the mall wearing a long coat with his hands in his pockets, I get chills.  And even now, recalling this as I'm writing at the coffee house, I'm looking up every time someone walks in the door.

I've only been back to Von Maur maybe three times since that fateful day.  And each time I've stopped in front of the plaque that bears the names of the eight victims of that day.

Here in Omaha, when something bad happens - a shooting, carjacking, violent robbery - most people are not surprised when these events occur in "certain" neighborhoods.  But when they occur in other neighborhoods, people are shocked.

The truth is it can happen anywhere.  And it does.  Horrible, unspeakable violence can and does happen everywhere - in all neighborhoods, in every country, in any situation.

Inevitably, terrorism occurs in this world, cars crash, people get shot, cancer is incurable, and freak accidents happen.  But we can't be afraid to live our lives, and we certainly can't teach our children to live in fear.  That would be letting the psychos win. People flew on planes as soon as they could after 9/11 and shoppers finished their Christmas lists at Von Maur as soon as the store re-opened.

After the shooting, people decorated the doors of Von Maur with
handmade snowflakes bearing messages of love, support,
and hope.

I wish we lived in a world where everyone was happy and stable and understanding and loving.  But that's not ever to be.  All we can do is our best to spread love and happiness and hope, not only to our loved ones, but to strangers and those who need it the most.

My heart goes out to anyone who has ever been directly involved in a horrific tragedy, as my story pales in comparison to those.  And to those who have lost someone to violence or freak circumstance, my mama heart just breaks.  One of the things I feel thankful for about Joey's death is that at least I knew it was coming, and I knew how it would come.

I know I can't keep the ones I love from leaving me someday, but I pray with all I have, that this senseless violence will stop.



Have you ever experienced anything like this?  Do you ever fear freak accidents or violence?

Summer Camp: Hard on Mom

My boys had summer camp this week.  They have all gone to half-day camps in the past, but this one was an all-day camp.  And this week, I learned one thing: camp is hard.

For me.  Camp is hard for me.

This particular camp was sponsored by the YMCA and held at our "country club."

(Now the reason that I put "country club" in quotes is because it's not that kind of country club.  When Hubby first suggested joining, I immediately thought of lots of snobby people high standards and exclusivity.  But ours isn't really like that at all.  In fact, it's terribly relaxed, a bit more so than Hubby would prefer.  For me?  Eh, it's a place to swim, chat with moms from school, have brunch on Sundays and work out.  It's all good.)

The week before camp, we received a letter outlining all of the items our children would need to bring to camp:

•  A swimsuit and towel. I figured. 
• Sunscreen.  I'd just put it on in the morning. 
• Bug spray.  Not in the hands of my spastic boys!
• A morning and afternoon snack. (Can't the YMCA or the "country club" go to Costco and buy some bags of Cheez-its?)
• Water bottle and extra water.  Wait.  Aren't there drinking fountains there?
• A sack lunch.  For as much as I paid for this camp, I'd think they could spring for some box lunches.  But, I can see where that would be iffy, what with all the food allergies kids have these days.  So, I'll give them this one.

Come Monday morning, as I'm scrambling to get all of these items ready, Knox pulled the same crap he does every time we are about to go someplace new, "I don't wanna go!" 

And as always, I said, "Tough. You're signed up.  You're going."  And I thought, Wahoo, I'm getting rid of 75% of my kids for most of the day!

As we walked in, the one camp counselor who was there with the sixteen or so children was passing out Skittles to them.  Lovely strategy on the first day of camp.   I guess it gives new meaning to the term "happy campers."

As Baby E and I walked out, I worried about the other boys.  Would they make any new friends? How would they behave?  Would they know which items in their lunch boxes were for snack and which would be for lunch?  How would Slim get along?  More importantly, would the camp counselors be patient with him and include him?

I had a sick feeling in my stomach that this camp would be like something out of the movie Meatballs.


I didn't have time to think about all of it that much because I had a hella busy day.  Part of it included taking Lil' C to the doctor.  When I asked him how camp was, he said it was fun.

"Slim got in trouble, though.  He was trying to take candy without asking."

My blood boiled a bit at this news, both at Slim's lack of social skills and at the counselors for having provided the candy temptation in the first place.

There was no mention of this when I picked up the other boys, just lots of "camp was awesome" comments.  And while that made me feel a little better about camp, the next morning as I was again scrambling to make lunches and pack waters and snacks and sunscreen because apparently the counselors made Knox put on more and he had to borrow someone else's so couldn't I just put some in his backpack, I was stressed all over again - this time about Slim.

We are trying a new ADHD medication with him this summer.  It is a stimulant, and typically he has not done well with stimulants.  He doesn't sleep or eat well, and his tummy hurts and his anxiety over bees and bugs and other things is heightened.  He didn't swim Monday afternoon; rather, he ran around the pool as the counselors tried to urge him in it.

So, Tuesday morning, I hung around a bit after drop-off and observed Slim.  While all the other campers were playing "hot potato," he was running around the circle excitedly.

And none of the counselors was trying to get him to join in. 

And as always, I felt the need to "explain him" to the nearest counselor.

Since I knew he wasn't going to swim in the afternoon, I picked him up at noon when I picked up Lil' C (his camp was only half-day).

The next day, Knox was complaining of a tummy ache and asking if he could come home at noon like Lil' C and Slim had the day before.  My head hurt from all the chaos and whining, and Hubby had the day off, so I let him deal with it.

He picked them all up at noon and took them to the driving range.  I seriously wish I could just not think that much about things.

Thursday was the big field trip to a local indoor waterpark.  The date loomed like a black mark on the calendar.  All week I kept replaying in my mind every accidental waterpark drowning I have ever heard about.

When the day arrived, it turned out that Lil' C's group didn't get to go and Slim didn't feel well as he slept barely a wink the night before.  Since Knox would be going without his brothers, I drilled reminders into his head: Swim with a buddy.  Stay in shallow water.  Don't dive in.  Don't go anywhere with any adults other than the counselors.

Needless to say, he looked a bit nervous as I dropped him off.

After camp, I asked if he had fun at the waterpark.

"Not really. I didn't have anyone to play with since Slim and Lil' C didn't go and my friend Jack wasn't there today."

My mama heart broke a little bit.

But later at dinner, he was excitedly telling Daddy and Slim and Lil' C all about the waterpark.

Today is the last day. I will pick all the boys up early because we have a family wedding this weekend.  And they will end camp as they started it - together.

And I will end my week less organized and more stressed, but a little wiser about all-day summer camp.


Next week Slim has afternoon camp at our Children's Museum downtown, which is about a 20-30 minute drive from our house.  My plan, so I don't have to drive back and forth, is to stay downtown and sit at a coffee house and write.  Fifteen delicious hours to write brilliant essays that will make me rich and famous.

Yeah, I don't think that'll happen.  But stay tuned.  Maybe there will be at least one free  little known brilliant essay here next week.

Control

One Sunday after mass, my family was headed out to brunch. We had to stop home to grab something, but were soon on our way again.

Hubby had left his seat belt undone. I fear freak accidents, so as we approached the one busy intersection on our two minute drive to our favorite cafe, I reminded him to buckle up.

"We'll be there in, like, one minute," he protested.

I looked at him and calmly replied, "We both know that there are so many things in this life we can't control. Why not control the things we can?"

"Good point," he said as he buckled up.

Yes, control is good.

My Way Back from Depression


 


Last week, I was out of my little white happy pill.  The pharmacist had to call my doctor, and I knew they would play phone tag all week.  I've been out of my Lexapro before, and I knew what was going to happen...

One morning, I wake up feeling sad for no apparent reason.  A sadness that has nothing to do with any tragedy I've experienced.  I'm never sure why I am feeling sad, but I sink into it.  It lays over the top of me for a day or so, until it worms its way deep into my heart and mind, festering, slowly turning into anger and despair over every. little. thing.

Anger at all the things I can't seem to control.

And then it resides there, refusing to leave, affecting my every thought, every action.

My patience with my sons quickly wears thin.  I snap at the smallest mistake, yell over the tiniest indiscretions.  I take out my anger and feelings of worthlessness on them, innocent victims incapable of fighting back.  I scream and yell and say regrettable things that I know I will never be able to reverse.  

I yell at my four year old to 'Hurry up!!' We are late for preschool again.  We are always late.  Why can't I ever be on time for anything?

The baby is getting into everything, and I yank him away making him cry.

With every angry reaction I think,  'I'm a horrible mother.  This is how they will remember me.' This plunges me further into my pit of self-pity and negativity.  I can't believe how quickly I have descended this time.

When Hubby asks me about my day, I don't even want to talk or even let him look at me and see the sadness and anger in my eyes.  I am ashamed of myself.

My head is jumbled.  I can't think.  I can't remember anything.  I can't organize my thoughts.

I haven't written my weekly post for Her View From Home, and I can't think what to write.  I write sentences that make no sense and then delete them in a frustrated and angry tirade.  I know I should write a new blog post, too.  But why should I?  No one reads it anyway.  Every e-mail I get from other blogs I subscribe to makes me angry and depressed.  Why does this blog have so many followers?  Why did everyone comment on this post when no one comments on mine?  It defeats me.  I think, 'I am stupid to think that I can write, that I have talent, that I have anything to say that anyone wants to hear.'  I resign to just give up writing altogether, thinking only of the pieces that have been rejected.

'I am a miserable failure at everything.'

I don't return phone calls, I ignore e-mails and texts and messages on Facebook.  I don't feel like subjecting anyone to my negativity.  At my son's soccer game, I set up my chair far away from all the other parents.  I can't be social.  My friend Katie walks by and asks how my day is going.  Near tears, I tell her, 'Not good,'  and when she gives me a tight hug, I bristle.  I'm angry with myself for letting people see me like this.  Seeing me weak and ungraceful.

At the next soccer game of the day, my friend Heather sets up camp next to me and babbles happily in her enviable way.   I wonder if she can tell; does she know how I am feeling?  She has said that she needs to run every day.  It is her sanity.  What is my sanity?  Why is my sanity a pill?

At baseball games later that day, I get a rush of joy seeing my six year old make a good hit and run to first base.  My heart warms watching my four year old play for the first time, seeing his short legs run the bases and follow directions and laugh happily.

On Sunday, Hubby asks me to help plant annuals in the flower garden.  The hard work satisfies me for an afternoon.  I'm unsure whether it is because I am learning more about something I've always wanted to know or that Hubby and I are working side-by-side on a project, but it brings me temporary reprieve.

But later, I want to be alone with my thoughts, away from everyone.  I know this is dangerous.  I've been alone with my thoughts too many times in my life.  Alone with the thoughts that tell me I am worthless, I'm a bad mother and a terrible wife.  I can't cook or write or take care of my house or maintain friendships.  I'll never be able to run a race or write a book or complete a goal.  These were the same thoughts that plunged me into a scary darkness three times in my life.

Once in high school when I was so paralyzed by feelings of inadequacy that I stayed in my room wallowing in misery, sure that I was so far beneath everyone else that perhaps I shouldn't even exist.

Next, after I graduated from college and couldn't find a job.  I hated substitute teaching, so I stopped answering the phone at all.  I stopped getting dressed in the morning and stayed on the couch all day.

And when I desperately wanted a baby after I was married, and everyone but me seemed to be getting pregnant.  I stopped talking to my friends and avoided social situations.  I remember crying to Hubby, begging him to let me stay home from his high school fund raiser because we would be seated at the same table as someone who was pregnant, and I didn't want to stare at her swollen belly all night.

Hubby would often come home from work, and finding me in tears and on the couch would say to me, "You sat home and thought all day, didn't you?"

It feels like the cartoon image of the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other. It's the classic battle between light and dark, which both reside in all of us.  But in someone who suffers from depression, the dark mostly wins.  That little devil tells me awful things about myself, and I believe him.

In my twenties, my doctor suggested I see a therapist.  I carried around the name and number for about a year before I threw it away.  It was just another thing that made me feel inadequate, that proved I was a failure.  I always thought it was something I had to live with.  It wasn't that bad, was it?

But as I look back, it was.  It did paralyze me, it does keep me from doing the things I want to do - mainly loving my family and friends and pursuing my dreams.

Monday, I picked up the pills, and took two right away.  Slowly my head cleared, but I was still screaming at my sons and deleting every blog update from my e-mail.  I got back on my pattern of taking five milligrams every other day.  Any more makes me feel like a fuzzy-headed zombie; any less isn't quite enough.

I have found time to use my treadmill a bit each day this week, and when I am tired, I have gone to bed before exhaustion hits.

This morning, I gave gentle reminders about backpacks and glasses and dressing for preschool and laughed when Baby E took the dirty clothes out of the washing machine.  I feel like my sanity is slowly returning and lightness and calm are winning once again over darkness and anger.  I feel like I am returning to the person I want to be, that I know I am in my heart and in my beautiful mind.

I have three, maybe four posts I want to write, and I am reading all my favorite blogs again for inspiration.  The words are forming themselves in my head, and I can't type quickly enough.

I do hate that this sanity and clarity comes from a pill, but I thank God I can recognize this.  I thank God that I can recognize when my mind is jumbled and crazy and the darkness is winning.  I thank God for giving me a situation that forced the introduction of the medication.  I thank God that I will never be the type of mom who does the unthinkable to her children because she didn't realize that she needed help or refused to seek it.

I vow to never let my prescription lapse again.  I vow to not care if society thinks I am weak or lazy for taking antidepressants.  I vow to never think that they are the only answer for these dark feelings.  I vow to take them for as long as I need them, for myself and for my family. 

Most importantly, I vow to be honest about my use of them for other women who might think as I used to - that they just have to deal with that devil character on their shoulder telling them awful things about themselves and believing it.  I vow to talk about it because if I had known anyone else felt this same way long ago, things might have been different.  Different as they are now.  Better.

All I have ever wanted was to be happy; but I have to fight for it, and I always will.  The more I fight, the more I learn.  The more I learn, the better I get.  If that means I need some medicinal assistance, then so be it. That little white pill and I will just keep knocking that devil right off my shoulder.