I Don't Lean In

Why is it that when life gets busy or crazy or overwhelming or just changes that one of the first things to go is anything I enjoy doing for myself? You'd think that when things are overwhelming or changing that I'd need those interests and hobbies and passions even more. That I would lean into them instead of turning away.

But the thing is, I'm not a leaner-iner. I'm a shutter-downer. When time management changes and there are shifts in our normal, well, the things that get dropped are things that are not necessities. Yes, one could argue that my interests are most definitely necessities for me and my well-being, but unfortunately when it comes down to it, there are other necessities that take much more precedence.

When I'm submerged in trying to juggle and balance change, well, I sort of shut down. Doing something for myself takes time and energy and more energy. And even though I know that I could totally find the time if I really tried, it just requires way too much energy to try. It's too hard. I can't do it. I don't want to do it. There just isn't the internal motivation pushing me toward anything. Well, except for my bed. I always have motivation pushing me in the direction of my bed.

I'm pretty sure I've always been a low energy person. Or at least, ever since I've had kids. But I don't think I can really blame it on them. My body needs more than the average amount of sleep to function well, and any task requires a high volume of energy. If even activities I enjoy are "work" for me, think of how much extra energy I have to muster up if it's something I don't enjoy.

All of this to say, adjusting to part-time work is still in process.

I do realize I am only working twelve hours per week. Trust me, the pitifulness of it does not escape me. But, the truth of the matter is that it still is something that requires a lot out of me, and because of that other areas of my life have been put on the back burner. (Namely, my own personal interests. Sigh.)

As with everything in life, I will adjust. I am adjusting. And even though it feels scary and hard and overwhelming a lot of the time, there is so much that makes me excited and happy and love-filled.

These three joys, most definitely.

I'll get there. I will. I just need to give myself forgiveness and time.

xoxo,
christine

The End

Well, today is the last day. The last day of writing every day this month. And the last day before I officially start work. Starting tomorrow I will no longer be scrambling to find something to write about every day. And I will no longer be a one hundred percent stay-at-home mom.

I'm not too worried about starting work. I don't feel nervous, in fact I think it will go well. But, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed and a bit...well, nervous. Not nervous for the job, but nervous to not be a stay-at-home mom anymore. I know, it's an extremely part-time position, only three mornings a week. I can hardly call myself a "working mother" now. But for me, who has been full time at home with my kids since 2008, this is a huge change.

I am nervous about the change.

I know that everything will be fine. The job will be fine. I will be fine. Nora will be fine. My mom will be fine. But I am still worried about how my mamaheart is going to feel tomorrow when it's time to say goodbye to Nora. Logically, I know that it is no different tomorrow than it is any other time my mom has watched Nora for me, but my heart knows that it's different because it's not just one appointment. It's not just here and there. It's not just once in awhile.

That is why, as I get ready for bed tonight, as I lay out clothes for tomorrow, as I start packing the girls' lunches, my hands feel shaky, my heart feels flip-floppy, and my eyes feel teary.

Everything will be okay. I'm not too worried about Nora. Although she may have a bit of an adjustment ahead of her, she also might not even notice the difference. And this job? It's a good opportunity for me, and a really good fit, for our family right now.

Maybe I just need to pretend that I'm going off to an appointment tomorrow. Maybe that will make me feel less sad, less guilty, less heartbroken about leaving Nora. Maybe I'll just pretend I'm going to an appointment every morning. Until the day that I don't. Because I know that someday (probably sooner than I realize) this will be the Normal, the Regular, the Routine. And everyone will be just fine. Even me.

*****

Thanks for reading my ramblings this past month. I'm really hoping to continue writing more regularly, although not every day.

Happy December!

xoxo, christine

When I'm Not Getting Enough Sleep

I am not getting enough sleep. I can tell because I am on edge (more than usual), irritable (more than usual), and at night everything feels completely overwhelming and impossible.

This last one does happen, in fact, it used to happen a lot, but I have come to realize that the falling apart is due to lack of sleep. There are actually evenings where I can be overwhelmed with everything that needs to get crossed off the To Do List without having a nervous breakdown about it. But if my body isn't getting the rest it needs, night time is a bad time for me.

It's taken me a long time to realize this. Like, years and years. And still sometimes I forget. And then my husband will tell me, Go to bed. You just need to go to bed. And I get all upset and offended because what I am freaking out about is clearly important and urgent and worth freaking out about.

Except really it's not. Yes, it might be important, and it might even be urgent, but it very rarely is worth freaking out about. So, yes, he is right. And I know that. And most of the time I can accept that. Because when I do go to bed and wake up in the morning my mind feels clearer and my perspective is better.

That huge long impossible list is still just as huge and long but I know that I can focus on taking one thing at a time. The 'impossible' part of my mindset is taken out of the equation and amazingly I can figure out how to solve the problem. Or at least take the necessary steps in order to check something off my list.

And that is not happening right now. It's evening and all-of-a-sudden I am convinced that nothing will ever get finished, that any hobbies I have are pointless, and that everything is just.too.hard.

So sleep. I need more of it.

Go to bed, Christine. Just go to bed.

xoxo, christine

And the Thunder Rolls

In the far off distance, I hear a quiet roll of thunder. I can tell that it is gradually making it's way toward me, toward us. I can't tell what kind of storm it will be. If it is the loud window-rattling crashing that causes my senses to heighten because I fear the storm's damage. Or if it is the kind of storm with a few bright splashes of light and quiet rumbles that feels like a much-needed shower, washing away the dirt and old and bringing a reawakening the earth when it is over.

Is it the rain that pelts so hard it stings your skin? Or is the rain that falls gently in big drops - the kind of rain that makes you want to put on your rain boots and dance outside?

There have been signs of an impending storm for months. I have done everything from bury my head and pretend I can't hear it, to pasting on a fake smile and pretending I'm not nervous or worried, to falling apart and anticipating the worst.

Is it always like this with change?

I can hear it coming, but I'm not sure if it's something to fear or to dread. Probably a little of both, to be honest, but change can be scary and overwhelming and does not always bring out the best in me.

I have discovered, as I anticipate my day-to-day routine changes, that I have really enjoyed where I am and what has worked for our family thus far. I am not a an über-stay-at-home mom. It is not my forte, I am not good at juggling the laundry, cleaning, child-rearing, and everything in between. However, as change hovers on the horizon I can tell you with certainty that I am incredibly glad that this is where I've been able to be the past seven and half years. I can confidently say that I like being a stay-at-home mom, even on the days I want to run out of the house screaming as soon as my husband comes home.

Being home with my kids has been a great gift for me. And even though I haven't always felt this way, and it's taken me quite awhile to realize it, I am so thankful that this is what worked for our family.

Maybe that is why the thunder is the distance is giving me so much pause. I am afraid to lose some of what I am so grateful for. Except, I know that there are so many more good things coming with the rain. I'm just hoping it doesn't sting too much.

xoxo, christine

I Want to Understand: Truth Telling Tuesday

I am a feeler. When I hear about something bad that has happened, I don't hear about it, I feel it. My heart is weighted down, aching in sorrow, every beat a vibration of pain in the world. I am a feeler. And that is why I am selective in what television shows I watch, frequently avoiding the news.

I don't want to be ignorant. And because of this, I struggle with my decision to skip the evening news. I want to know what is happening in the world. I want to know what injustices people are suffering. I do not want to turn a blind eye, to maintain that "ignorance is bliss" because I don't want to be afforded the luxury of ignorance. Yet, my media intake is filtered, mostly via my husband because there are days that it hurts too much to see for myself.

Over the weekend I had a conversation that left me feeling a bit rattled. As I ruminated about my contribution to the conversation I was painfully aware of my white privilege, and embarrassed about that privilege especially because a dear friend of mine does not have that luxury. I want desperately to do right by her, but I know that there are times that I won't and times that I don't. My discontented heart led to a late night text to my friend promising her that I am trying.

And I am trying.

The next day, discussing it with my husband, my body still felt agitated and shaky. I know that there are many people out there who disagree with me. I know that there are many different opinions and points of view. I get that, I really do. I can even (try very hard to) respect that. But what I want is to understand. It is important to me to understand everyone and where they are coming from. The problem is, I'm not sure how to understand points of view that I so completely disagree with, and (even more importantly) I don't know how to understand a different point of view without feeling like I am endorsing it.

My husband reminded me how much of this is related to my personality. How important it is to me to understand, how deeply it is that I feel. Which, although painful, is not necessarily a bad thing.

And all of this, the feeling and discomfort, the wanting to be able to respect other opinions, the desire to understand other people, the learning to be okay with the inability to change people's minds, it is hard. It is so incredibly hard.

My feeling heart struggles so much. It is so difficult to understand everyone, but I want to. I really want to. I just don't know how to do that without my heart hurting. But maybe I can't. Maybe the hurting is part of it too.

xoxo, christine

Like a Candle in the Wind: Truth Telling Tuesday

I found out today that someone I (kind of) knew died this week. Actually, I only knew her through my hair, she cut it several times, so clearly I didn't know her much at all, but there's something about the connection a girl can feel with her stylist. I'm not claiming that we had some deep and meaningful bond, just to say that when I sat in her chair and we chatted it felt good and nice and right.

She was only a few years older than I am, a sweet young woman who seemed happy and cheerful. Her smile was warm and dazzling and her eyes full with joy. She was just filled with so much life. Which seems like a ridiculous thing to say because obviously everyone is filled with life when they are alive, but I guess maybe that's what makes it hard to believe she's not anymore.

I am sad and upset and confused. I ache for her young daughter who is around the same age as my older girls. My mind is spinning and there is fear and anger bobbing up and down. I imagine being here for my girls one day and the next day being gone and what that would do to them and who they are and how they grow up. I can not imagine how traumatizing it would feel to be a little girl who's mother is suddenly gone, who's whole world is abruptly pulled out from under her, who will grow up with such limited memories with her mother.

When I lay down for a nap today I kept wondering what my girls would remember about me. Would they remember anything other than my frequent naps?

And yet, even with my fear about what kind of mother memories my girls would have should I die, I spent most of the day wanting to stay in bed and be away from my children. I felt frustrated and irritated and short of patience. I wanted to hug them close and reassure them that I'd never ever leave them, yet I wanted complete and total space. I wanted to be left alone to feel all the confusion without interruption from little mouths.

I don't understand. And I suppose I'm not meant to. But when something like this happens the world feels unstable. I am awkward and uncomfortable, trying to adjust to this dramatic tilt. I question how and why and tremble in fear at the thought of what (if anything) comes after this.

As a human I want to make sense of things, even the things that I am not to understand. I like my world to be clear and concise and easy to categorize. I don't like gray areas and ambiguity. Unfortunately, the world does not conform to me and my desires to be able to put everything into little boxes, but luckily I am slowly learning how to understand that I can't understand the world. I am slowly learning to open my heart to what is real. I am slowly learning that fighting against what I can not control or change hurts me more than letting go. I am slowly learning to accept the world as it is. In all of its pain and beauty. And I can only hope that we all can find a way to do the same.

But death, it is still death. It is still painful. It still hurts beyond belief.

Tonight I will close my eyes and see a bright and beautiful and whole woman. And say an extra long prayer for a hurting family.

xoxo,
christine

Writing and Time and Where Do I Find It

I haven't been writing lately. And I know you might be thinking, No, duh, Christine. But I it's not just that I haven't been writing here. I haven't been writing at all. No blogging, no journaling, no jotting in my notebook.

For awhile I wasn't writing because I had no motivation and felt uninspired, which I was then feeling guilty about. I love writing. Why am I not writing? I should be writing. I should be wanting to write. (I am well-versed in guilt and self-doubt and more guilt.) But then I decided that sometimes one needs to take a break from things, even things that bring satisfaction and joy. And that's okay. If I don't feel like writing, why should I make myself feel guilty that I don't feel like it? (I know, the convoluted thoughts of my mind astound even me.)

Lately though, I've felt like writing again. I've been wanting to sit down and just throw my thoughts and words and feelings onto a page, but I just, I haven't had time. I know, stupidest and lamest excuse in the book. There are always going to be reasons there isn't time to do the things we like to do. We can always find an excuse not to make time for our joys.

But seriously, it is SO hard to make the time.

I have not been getting enough sleep the past several nights. Is it because I am writing, you ask? No. Of course not. However, now that I have stayed up late and not gotten enough sleep, I realize just how impossible it would be for me to stay up late and write. I need my sleep, people! I mean, this is code red emergency exploding loud noises catastrophe need for sleep. I am NOT a pleasant mother (or probably person, for that matter) without adequate sleep. And clearly, getting up early is out of the question. In fact, I shouldn't even have to speak the words, it is such a ludicrous idea.

Of course, I am writing right now, and am I using my time efficiently to put down actual important stuff inside me that is burning to get out? Psh.

But, it's a start. It is later than I was planning on getting to bed, but not my-children-are-doomed-with-a-dragon-mother-in-the-morning time....yet. I am feeling so sleep deprived though I should probably spend the next several days going to bed with my children. Preferably the littlest one because her bedtime is between 7:30 and 8:30.

I digress.

Here I am. Trying. Determined to somehow find, scratch that, make the time to collect myself and my words and my thoughts again. Just have to dust the cobwebs off of my journal and pen and mind...

xoxo,
christine

Mr. Sandman, Bring Her a Dream

Nora is now ten months old. She still sleeps in a pack-n-play in our bedroom, that is, if she sleeps. Because, you see, she still does not sleep through the night. She is ten months old. She is waking up multiple times at night. I am feeding her multiple times at night. Yes, it's pretty bad. I am so exhausted and so done, even though I know it's of my own doing. When there's a fussing baby twelve feet from my ear, it's really hard not to get up and go to her, and go to her right away.

Yet, even in my "doneness" I am so not done.

I still don't feel ready to put her in her own room. I desperately want to keep her with us, a symbol of her babyness I'm not ready to give up. But I want it to look like a bedtime snuggle, laying her down, all of us sleeping soundly, and then waking in the morning to a cooing and happy baby. And that is so far from what our nights look like right now.

I want to keep her in our room, but I'm so tired and at my wits end with the nighttime crying, I want to put her in her own room. And I want to help soothe her when she's have a particularly rough patch, yet it's getting so long and difficult that I just want to let her cry until she ends in exhaustion.

My heart is so wrapped up in her little twenty-one pound body, I am "that" mom, the one who doesn't want her to be too far away from me. She is my baby. I don't want to transition her away from us, even if I'm planning on sleeping on the air mattress on her floor for a few nights for comfort. My own comfort, of course. But she is two months from being a year old (What!?) and she really needs to learn how to soothe herself back to sleep, to be able to sleep through an entire night. And I need her to be able to soothe herself, and let me get an entire night's sleep.

Oh how difficult parenting can be, even the third child around. I've been through night time stressors twice before, yet it all feels as heartbreakingly difficult as if she were my first. In fact, it almost feels more difficult... perhaps because she is my youngest, my baby, my living child after a loss.

A morning snooze. Perhaps because she didn't sleep enough during the night?

I don't feel quite as worried that I'm traumatizing her like I did several months ago (although there's still some questions and guilt), but I just don't feel emotionally ready to be physically farther away from her. Yet I also don't feel emotionally functional to be physically getting so little sleep.

I feel like her being in our room is coming to an end, faster than I am ready for. I want to keep her in our room, but I really really need to be getting more sleep. Really.

It might be time to pull out the air mattress. Or maybe I'll give it one more night.

xoxo, christine

Too Much TV

I am in need of some rejuvenating. It seems like the time of year itself should give me the boost I need, an excitement that propels me toward summer. But I feel a dull dragging. I see photos posted on Instagram of beaches and mountains and quaint cottages in the country. It all looks so refreshing and I find myself longing for the feelings those photos invoke.

(There is that whole voice that reminds me not to compare my every day to other people's highlights. But that's a topic for a whole different post.)

Hope's school is encouraging a screen free week, and I'm wondering if I should (or could) view this as an opportunity for some rejuvenation. It's not like we watch an inordinate amount of television, or play multiple video games per day, but I understand the importance of breaking away from screens and enjoying the many other ways to spend our time. Still, it might be difficult, not necessarily because of the amount of time we spend in front of the television, but because of the routines we've mastered -- like that of the girls watching a show or two before school every morning, which they have been doing for years.

Our whole family has agreed (more or less) to participate, with a few exceptions. Writing here is one of mine. But it will be good for us to attempt a week without the option of a screen to entertain us. And I am hopeful that a break from technology will give me the boost I've started longing for.

It will at least give me some time to sit in the quiet, or as quiet as my kids will let it be, and focus on my thoughts instead of distracting myself at every free moment with Facebook, email, Disney Channel, Facebook again, Huffington Post, Instagram, Facebook, well, you get the idea.

If I can't take a week for a quiet getaway in a rustic cabin or a relaxing beach vacation with sandcastles and three little girls in polka dot swim suits, I suppose I'll take my glass of screen-free liquid and look at it as a half full opportunity to rejuvenate in other ways. Reading, writing, photography and reminding my kids that it's not my job to entertain them if they're feeling "bored" -- which, by the way, was a four letter word in my house growing up, something from my childhood I am definitely passing on to my own family now.

All-of-a-sudden I'm feeling some trepidation about this whole thing. Sheesh. Pathetic how dependent we've become on needing screens to entertain us.

Crossing my fingers (and toes) for no one going crazy this week.

xoxo, christine

Trying to Embrace a Messy Life

I'm trying. I really am.

My logical brain knows that life is messy and disorganized, but sometimes my brain is not ruled logically, and the ordered side of me fights with every cell inside me to accept the mess as necessary fact. I want everything to have a place and everything in its place! But life is not clean and organized.

Life is mess and chaos and unpredictable and disorganized.

I know this, and sometimes I can even accept this, but what I really want to do is embrace it. And I'm trying. Most of the time I completely suck at it, it's true. It's hard to break years of wanting everything to fit nice and neatly into whatever box I put them in. It's hard not to freak out when the dirty clothes are sitting in a heap on the floor right next to the hamper instead of in the hamper. When I've told my darling children about 19498402 times to put their dirty clothes in the hamper.

But I want to know how to embrace the mess. How do I embrace the mess!?

I'm not saying that I want to live without teaching my children how to clean up after themselves, or be okay with them not putting their toys away. I just want to be able to avoid completely losing my shit when the art supplies have exploded all over the dining room floor (again!) and there are abandoned pillow forts in our living room (again!), meanwhile the two big girls are off pulling out every outside toy we own into the backyard.

I like my life. In fact, I love my life. I love my children. I love my husband. I love the things that my children are interested in, and that they enjoy drawing and writing and using their imaginations. I love that they are creative and turn couches into houses. I love that they aren't afraid to play with their entire bodies and whatever they can find pull into their games. I love the way they play together, and even apart. I really love my family and where we are.

But (and I hate to use that word because it makes it sound like I'm not happy with what I just said I am happy with), I do not like that sometimes the chaos gets the better of me. I'm not okay with getting mad when they failed to clean up, again. I am fully supportive of teaching my kids how to clean up their stuff, and even giving consequences when they don't. I just need to work on following through on that, because my current technique of yelling and being annoyed and throwing my hands up and wanting to get away from my family and house when I'm overwhelmed and the house is messy is clearly not working well.

I am working on changing my perspective. Chaos is okay. Messy is okay. Messes do not have to be annoying and overwhelming. And they can be cleaned up. And I can help my children learn to clean them up instead of letting someone else do it for them, or living in complete disorganization.

That's the kicker though. Somewhere there is a balance between embracing the messy life yet not constantly living in a mess. Because life is messy, but that doesn't mean our dining room has be messy all the time. Yes, make a mess while you are playing and creating and doing art projects. But then put the stuff away when you're done. I just want to be able to keep myself from freaking out every time my kids have made a mess that they haven't cleaned up.

Life is crazy and messy and disorganized. That doesn't mean there can't be calm and cleanliness and organization in my home, but I just need to have the perspective that the chaos will prevail. That I can't always keep things neat and tidy without missing out on the joy that is the messiness of life. I don't need to yell at my kids and give up on everything when there are toys out in every room. I just need to find the best strategy to teaching my kids to put their stuff away when they're done.

I am trying. It is so hard though. It is hard. I just don't want to spend all this wasted time and energy on being overwhelmed and stressed out about mess. It's not worth it. Either clean the mess up or don't. But it's not worth stressing out if it doesn't get cleaned up. If the mess sits longer than a few days. Its okay. We're okay. In fact, we've got a pretty good thing going on here. And I don't want to be freaking out about mess and chaos and disorganization and not notice the goodness I already have right here in front of me.

xoxo, christine

When I Want To Be (Like) Someone Else

There is a writer/photographer who I really admire. Her words are like the soft brushstrokes of a masterpiece, creating a painting I immediately want to hang on my wall. And each of her photos tells a story, evoking so much emotion in just a single image. She is such a creative soul, not just with her words and camera but in all areas of her life. She lives with such ferocious love and abandon, I admire her perspective and spirit.

I admire her, and I am little jealous, because I want that. (Let me be clear that I don’t want her to not have it – those double negatives, sorry English teachers – she can have it, but I want it too.) I want creativity to spill out of every pore. I want to view the world and life and parenthood with the awe and beauty it deserves. It’s not that I feel like because she has that, she does that, that I can’t don’t and can’t. I know that’s not how life works. I know that’s not how gifts are passed out. There are enough gifts for everyone. Her gift of telling a story doesn’t mean there is less of that gift for me. There are endless gifts to go around. I admire her and I applaud her. But, I wish that I could tap into my gifts the way that she does. I wish that my personality was more of the rainbow-believing-view-the-world-with-rose-colored-perspective-and-freshness that hers is.

There are days that she inspires me. That all of the writers who I devour inspire me. But then there are also the days that I use their amazingness against myself. I compare my gifts to their gifts and because they have gifts that I want, I feel lacking next to them. Their eloquence and beautiful spirits outshine my own. And I beat myself up and I compare and of course I can’t compare because I’m not them but then I feel like I want to be (like) them.

The thing is, it’s not just her gifts I appreciate. I also really marvel at her personality and perspective. I want to see the world like she does. I want to have open eyes and an open heart and live with so much joy that some people find it exhausting. I want to be silly and crazy and laugh. I want to be creative and adorable and light.

Light. Yes, that’s the perfect word. She is light. She is airy and light and seems to carry no heaviness with her. And she is Light. She’s a person who is an almost constant source of light for those around her. No darkness can linger near her for long. She is light and she is Light. And I want that. I want to be that person. I want to be the sunshine when there is none to find. I want to see the happy and BE the happy.

How do I change that? I’m not saying I’m an unhappy person (I just had déjà vu, have I written about this before?), but I’m not sunshine. I don’t often see the world in color, I see it in grays. I don’t make joy wherever I go, I just, go. The best I can say is that I plod along, sometimes smiling, sometimes not, but I certainly don’t emit anything resembling joy and light into the great wide world. How do I take the weight off my shoulders? The weight I’ve managed to put on myself, but it’s been there for so long I have no clue how to get out from under it? How do I stay real to who I am and what I’m experiencing, but change what I experience to something other than foggy sometimes depression filled mediocrity?

(And of course I feel like qualifying that to say that I don’t always feel like I’m plodding. I occasionally skip. And it’s not that I think my life is mediocre. Quite the contrary actually. My life is wonderful and there is beauty everywhere, it’s just that I seem unable to see the joy as often as I’d like. I see it, but not a lot. And I want to be seeing the joy and beauty more. I want to be FEELING that joy and beauty more. I want the moments to be mostly sunshine with minor amounts of gray. Right now I feel like it’s the opposite. And I’m not sure how to change that.)

Perhaps it is less about personality and more about perspective? Or is perspective a part of personality? I don't know. All I know is there are definitely things about myself that I don't want to change, that I like and am proud of, but then, there are some things that I do want to change. A lot.

How do I do that? How do I see the good over the bad? How do I change myself from a realist (the glass is neither half-full or half-empty, it just is) to an optimist (the glass if half-full, and it is full of a delicious and tasty drink and we will make a party out of it, gosh darn it!)? How do I appreciate what I have and what I am living? And how do I portray that appreciation and joy into the life I am living?

I have no idea. (Yet.)

xoxo, christine

How to Sleep Train Your Baby

I feel like, the third baby around, I should be a complete baby-sleeping expert, with not an ounce of doubt or anxiety within. Of course, there is nothing further from the truth. I am a mess. When the question: How to Sleep Train Your Baby? comes to mind, my answer is: Don't.

It is so difficult at night when she is half awake and fussing. I know that the fastest and easiest way to get her back to sleep is to nurse her, so I do, because it's the fastest way for me to get back to sleep. And then of course, the bad habit is reinforced. So I know that it's my own fault we have a terrible middle-of-the-night routine. And now that she's waking pretty much every two hours and my uninterrupted sleep is becoming a distant memory and my fatigue is affecting my quality of parenting, I know that something needs to change. Unfortunately, it's not going to change on it's own, which means that I have to do something. I have to figure out a way to help Nora sleep without needing to wake up and nurse all night long.

But, oh the emotions! During the day I am full of resolve, confident in the necessity of putting her to bed, letting her scream (because she will) for a few minutes, going in to reassure her that we're still there, and then repeating over and over until she falls asleep. Then doing the same in the middle of the night when she wakes up. But when bedtime rolls around my resolve melts like snow on an unusually warm January day. I am a puddle of despair and uncertainty, convinced that she's still much too little and my heart is much too fragile.

I'm not ready for her to be in her own room in the crib. Having her in our room all night gives me peace and comfort. It feels so far away to have her in her own room. And, even though it makes little sense, I feel like if she's physically in our room I can better protect her. (From what I'm not entirely sure.) Which I realize is pretty irrational, but as my husband pointed out makes a lot of sense considering we lost our last baby.

Having her sleep in her own room would be a logical first step if we're going to be letting her cry (within minor back rubs for reassurance) at night. It's much easier to block out noise when there's a door and a hallway separating us. Plus it makes it easier for only the one "night-time-duty" parent to be disturbed by the commotion and racket. But last night, when it came time to put her down I couldn't. I just could not put her down so far away from me.

My husband lovingly suggested that if I wasn't ready, we could keep her in our room, which is what we ended up doing. Although we still did try to enforce a different sleep habit.

It was terrible, with a lot of crying, and hand wringing and heart breaking. We each took turns trying to soothe her and after two hours I couldn't stand it anymore. I broke down and nursed her (I know. I know!) and once she finally fell asleep she didn't wake again for another six hours.

I am completely surprised by how difficult this whole idea has felt (not to mention now that we're getting down and dirty in the actual process). In so many ways I am a more laid back parent than I ever was, but then something like "sleep training" comes along and knocks the wind right out of me.

My answer of how to sleep train being "don't"? It isn't because I can't. I know that physically I am capable. And she is capable. And we will all survive and sleep better for it. It's just that I don't want to. It's heartbreaking and much too hard. I feel like when she cries she is wondering why I'm neglecting her when all she wants is for me to pick her up, and maybe even a little milk. Why is that too much to ask?

No baby! No! It's not too much to ask. Here I am! I won't leave you! You can have my snuggles and even milk!

And here we are again. Where six hours ago I was ready to take on night-time with determination and confidence (because we all need sleep), now that it is here I am so upset and torn and wishing my baby somehow figured out how to sleep through the night all on her own because I don't have the stomach for all the tears.

(And speaking of stomach, it's possible I'm giving myself an ulcer over all of this. At least, if it's possible to get an ulcer from stress. I mean, c'mon, Christine. It will be okay. Let's get back to this third-time-around-is-a-breeze-laid-back-to-the-nth-degree mama you felt like not too long ago.)

With wishes of tearless nights and sweet non-traumatized dreams,

xoxo, christine

Goodnight Mama Whispering 'Hush'

Is there any method of getting my baby to sleep at night without letting her cry? And that results in both of us sleeping through the night?

We are going through something. I think it's to do with my baby waking at night and instead of being able soothe herself, I nurse her. It's the fastest way I know she'll go back to sleep and then I can go back to sleep. The problem is, I'm up at least twice at night, it's starting to catch up with me, and I know I'm just making the habit that much harder to break later.

I'm not complaining. Not really. I know everything is just a moment. Every moment passes. Sometime soon she'll be sleeping through the night by herself, and I'll miss our nighttime nursing. Which is also why I'm not willing to let her cry it out. Not right now. Even as tired as I am, I just don't have the willpower to listen to her cry.

I keep hoping that something will miraculously cause her to sleep through without me having to do any "training," but so far that hasn't really worked out. Which I guess just means I need to prepare myself for more sleepless nights. At least for now.

Good night. I'll be up again in a few hours.

xoxo, christine

I Could Look Away, But I Won't

I just... I can't.

I am sad for our community, our country, our world.

I know that there is a lot I don't understand. A lot I don't know. I tend to avoid the news because I just can't handle all the sadness, fear, and negativity. But of course, there are some things I can't avoid. Some things I shouldn't avoid.

I am sad for Michael Brown's family. And I am sad that this has led some people to vilify all police officers. I am sad that people don't understand that the protesting is about so much more than this one incident. That there is something incredibly BIG and deeply rooted in the history of our country that is still negatively affecting people. People whose skin just happens to be darker than mine.

I know that I don't know. I don't understand. I can't understand. But I can certainly try. I can certainly open my eyes and heart and try my damnedest to see where all these people are coming from.

I can not explain just how much my heart hurts when I hear about the pain and struggles and misunderstandings due to race. But, I know that I have no idea.

Most of the time I feel like I just can't handle it. But see, the thing is, if I feel like I can't handle it, I can just turn off my computer and look away. I have the luxury of not having to live it. My beautiful friend, even if she wants to look away, she can't. Because she lives it. She raises her son in it.

So I refuse to look away. I refuse to pretend I don't see it.

My heart hurts and I feel angry and I want to cry. I don't want to live in a world like this.

But. BUT. As my husband points out, we are talking about it. And I suppose, that can give me hope. I can hope and pray that people's ears open. That people's hearts open. That somehow, we continue to move in the right direction, further away from the I Have a Dream speech, but closer to the actual Dream.

xoxo, christine


I know that I am not eloquent when it comes to this topic. At all. Here is a wonderful post from Girl's Gone Child, if you feel so inclined. I love how she decides to explain some of Ferguson to her children so that they can understand. Also, this clip from John Stewart is a must. It's pretty long, but oh-my-goodness YES. Just, yes.

What Ails Me

The day is quiet, lazy. The bug that's been circulating through our house has finally landed on me, infecting me with ickiness. I'm not sure yet if it's just joined me for afternoon tea, a six-month sabbatical, or (most likely) something in between.

I'm grateful that Nora has been content to eat and sleep the whole day, still recovering from her doctor appointment yesterday. She seems groggy, napping more frequent and longer than usual, something that today feels particularly like a luxury. We have spent the majority of the day snuggling in the chair, our warm bodies comforting each other in our yuckiness.

Paige has been understanding, playing in hushed tones in the corner with occasional requests for lunch and snacks. She has also been more than happy to watch one or two (or three or four) shows while I baby myself with reading and dozing.

I am worn down and exhausted from both lack of sleep and the achiness that comes with illness. I need a good twenty-four hour of uninterrupted sleep (my self-prescription) to regain some energy. The problem with feeling sick and sitting in the living room most of the day is that I look around and see everything that should be getting crossed off my To Do list. I have a terrible habit of thinking of the cleaning that hasn't been done recently, the clothes piling up in the laundry room, the organizing of everything that I want to happen, the multitudes of To Dos, while I sit around not feeling well. It makes me particularly overwhelmed as I can't actually accomplish much but I have plenty of time to sit around and think of all that I am not accomplishing.

Which is kind of how I feel in general lately. I am looking at my life from the outside, not particularly happy with what I see, yet paralyzed when it comes to making changes. I should probably clarify, it's not that I'm unhappy, I am quite happy with my life in regards to my family and relationships. I love my husband and daughters. I feel wonderful about the life we are building for our family. The discord comes from within. I don't think I'm an unhappy person, but I'm also not particularly happy either. As I've mentioned before, there is a stirring of discontentment, an urging that I am becoming more and more aware of. But it's not yet clear to me what exactly it is all about. I feel like I need to make changes to myself, but I'm not entirely sure who "myself" is so I'm not sure what those changes are, or what they might mean.

It is all getting quite exhausting as I ruminate in circles, feeling disconnected from myself yet wanting (desperately) to feel the deepest connection to the world around me.

I am trying to sit with my feelings. To be okay with whatever it is that is ailing me (figuratively, that is). But I'm not sure if it's working. Mostly I'm just feel tired right now. Which maybe means that when one is sick it's okay to take a break from deep thinking and processing.

Which is what I'm going to do now. Snuggle my sleeping baby, close my eyes, and let my mind still into sleep.

xoxo, christine

Sanctuary! Give me Sanctuary!

I am in the bathroom. Hiding from my baby.

Who does that?

With guilt above and beyond, I am sitting on the side of the tub, listening to my six-year-old and four-year-old successfully entertain their baby sister.

There is little time left for this day to redeem itself, and with the toilet as my current view, it's not looking promising.

I'm not sure what happened, but exhaustion hit me hard this afternoon and Nora decided to make this one of her Cat Nap days. Which maybe wouldn't be so horrible except that she cries bloody murder for about twenty minutes straight before she falls asleep. And then she sleeps for about five minutes before waking up and screaming again.

The emotions of this day came out of nowhere, and I'm feeling the shame and guilt like a big weighted winter coat.

But it's okay. (Right?) I am getting a few moments to myself. And my children are playing happily on the floor together. Maybe Nora needed a break from me as much as I needed one from her.

Perhaps I'll give myself another minute or two. I'm in the bathroom, I might as well pluck my eyebrows or something.

::deep breaths:: xoxo, christine

A Blanket of Yucky

I don't know if there's something in the air, or it's the change of season, or the planets' alignment, but something is going on, because I have talked with and read about several other people who are feeling the same things I am right now.

Basically, there's a lot of "Meh," "Yuck," and "Blech" going around.

I am typically not one to dislike turning a year older, but I was starting to wonder if I was having some weird adverse reaction to my upcoming birthday. I suppose it's reassuring to know that I'm not the only one who's feeling beaten down right now.

Somehow I am off, one step behind the dance that's happening around me. Or even two steps. I am struggling to find the beat and smile and keep up. Actually, it's less of a dance and more of an intense workout that I seem to be involved in. I signed up, yet I am unable to keep up. I am huffing and puffing and wishing it would be time for a water break. Instead of the endorphins kicking in, the sweat and high intensity is kicking my butt.

I wish that my analogy was real. Well, sort of. (I'm no fitness person, after all.) At least then I would be working out and getting the benefit of those good endorphins instead of just hiding in my house and curling up with my big blanket of yuckiness.

I wonder if it is lack of sleep. So I take a nap and feel more groggy than before. I wonder if I need to get outside or connect with a friend. So the girls and I meet friends at the park. And I feel better for those few hours, until I am home and exhausted all over again.

Something feels off, and in my current state, and my worst-case-senerio-itis, I am starting to have a sense of foreboding. Maybe my feeling of not-quite-rightness is a sign that something terrible is lurking around the corner. Even though I have no idea what it is, the universe is telling my body and my body is attempting to communicate with me by feeling yucky and off.

I'm kind of hoping that a few extra baby snuggles will cure whatever's going on, but I suspect that it's a little more complicated than that. It's hard because I don't know if this is some weird phase of the moon that's going to pass, or if there's something shifting in my mind that I need to explore further, or if I just need a little more therapy and to readjust my medications.

Perhaps it's a little of everything.

Perhaps I'm just overthinking.

I suppose one way or another I'll find out.

xoxo, christine


Consider this my Flashback Friday
October 2011
(Might as well include a random photo to bring a smile to my face.)

I'm Not Always Feeling the Rainbows and Unicorns

This has been ruminating on and off for awhile now, but I've been too scared to post it. See, I care a little bit too much about what other people think and I'm afraid people will think I'm a terrible mother and horrible person. But, on the off chance I'm not alone, I've decided to test the waters. Of course, instead of dipping my toe in, I'm gonna just cannon ball into the deep end.

::Splash::


Can I be totally and completely honest here for a moment? Sometimes I just feel done. Not with life or anything, but yeah, kinda with life.

(I realize that given my history of depression this could come across as a very concerning thing and all, but I assure you I have no desire to ::whispering quietly:: die, and I'm fairly certain this has nothing to do with depression. Just, you know, being a responsible grown up.)

Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed with things that are always needing to be done and are never done, and the constant noise and chaos going on around me that the energy needed to avoid Shut Down Mode is almost too much.

It's like those movie scenes where the character is standing still in the middle of a room and they do some sort of fancy camera or editing work where the room and people in it are just spinning around that one character. I am frozen in one spot and everyone's voices turn into Charlie Brown's teacher. "Waw, waw, waw. Waw, waw."

Can I be real here and admit that I am so incredibly tired of repeating myself 71582398 times that dirty clothes go in the hamper and garbage goes in the garbage can and please clear your dishes and pick up your toys and get in bed and no you can not have a snack right before a meal.

I can not stress enough how much I love my daughters, and how my heart explodes and cries and hurts with love for them. I would run in front of a speeding car for them and wrestle an alligator for them. I love them to the moon and back a million times. But arguing about what I've made for dinner for the three-hundredth night in a row kind of makes me feel all crazy.

I am not Suzy Homemaker. I do not find it rewarding scrubbing soap scum out of the bathtub. I do not find it comforting to spend time cooking a meal from scratch. I do not find satisfaction in getting stains out of the laundry.

But I love to be home full-time with my kids.

I just suck at all things house related. Of course, I don't mean "suck" as in I can't do it. Unfortunately I am very capable of swiffering the floors, not burning down the house while cooking dinner, and keeping clothes in decent shape going through the washer and dryer. I just stink at keeping up with any of it. Because it's never done. NEVER.

And some days, it feels like too much.

Am I alone here? Please reassure I'm not alone here. Because it feels like, in today's world, it's not okay to admit that sometimes parenting is not fun. It feels like if there is even a whisper of frustration or unhappiness or doneness, that this somehow means we don't love our children, or we don't deserve them, or we aren't appreciating them enough.

Trust me. I'm perfectly capable of piling on guilt over how I should have unlimited patience and appreciation for all moments and times with my children (especially after losing Calvin -- oh how the guilt when I'm frustrated can pull me under like the ocean's waves).

But having to be a grown-up? It's hard. And sometimes, it's not fun. And sometimes, as rewarding as parenting can be? Sometimes it's just not rewarding.

I don't want to give off the impression that I don't like motherhood, or that I can't handle it. I just... I'm just not an everything-is-sunshine-and-rainbows-and-happy-happy-all-the-time kind of person. Believe me, I wish I was. I feel like life would be so much easier if I could always see it through some rose-colored glasses. (Someone tell me where I can get a pair of those!)

It's not all hard, no it most definitely is not. But sometimes it is hard. And I guess I wanted to get this out of me, and share it, and hope that maybe I'm not alone? It would be nice to know that when I'm having one of those days, nights, moments where I just want to throw my hands up and shout, "I QUIT!" that I'm not the only one, that instead of feeling like an isolated leper, there is a larger community of moms out there who (at least occasionally) feel the same way.

Perhaps then instead of dying to crawl upstairs into bed, I can imagine the solidarity with other moms. I can pour myself a cup of tea, clink with an imaginary glass or two, and know that no matter how many more hours there are until I really can be done for the day, there's another mom out there who's clinking an imaginary glass with me.

xoxo, christine

I Will Keep My Arms Open

I hate that we live in a time and place where Lockdown Drills are a part of my children's realities. But I understand the need, and am glad that my daughter goes to a school that has policies in place to help keep her safe. But that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. That doesn't mean I'm not left with a sick feeling in my stomach when she comes home with a report of a Lockdown Drill at school that day.

(But I digress...)

Last week my first grader's school had one of these drills. Her class was not in their regular room with their classroom teacher, which is kind of unfortunate in itself, but still good to get practice in any situation. There were a few boys who were not staying quiet (a requirement in Lockdown Drills as much as lining up quickly and quietly is for a Fire Drill) and finally, in what I'm assuming was frustration and exasperation on the part of the teacher, the teacher said, "We would be dead by now."

Of course, when I heard about this, I immediately felt outraged and yet I completely understood what (could have) brought her to say this. Perhaps these boys weren't grasping the importance and seriousness of the situation, so they needed a reality check. Unfortunately, for a sensitive someone like my daughter, it is pretty much the worst possible thing to be told.

When Hope came home and shared with me about this particular part of her day (thank goodness she shared with me about her day!), and how she cried and felt afraid, I just wanted to hold her and tell her nothing bad would ever happen to her. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. She will be safe and protected and the world is a wonderful happy place forever, amen.

But of course I can not lie to my six-year-old, not when she already knows that there are bad people in the world, which is why they practice these drills, in case one of these bad people decides to visit their school. So, we talked about it as much as she could handle, but Hope is a child who gets more anxious the more stressful things are discussed, so after awhile she just wanted to stop. And we did.

But I keep thinking about my baby. I can feel her pain and fear so acutely in my heart, and it hurts. It hurts. I can feel her shock as she heard the words spoken about dying. I can picture her face and her posture as she sat at the table unsuccessfully holding back her tears. And with every beat of my heart, I can sense her discomfort and fear for the rest of the day.

I don't know if this is part of being a mama, or if it's just my own personal sensitive heart, but, damn, it hurts to think about and know that my child was hurting. It is SO HARD to know that she worries and stresses about life things, already, at just six-years-old. I want to be able to protect her from feeling anxiety about the horrible possibilities in life, because I have those anxieties so I know how hard and distracting and unhelpful they are. I don't want my daughter to struggle with that, too.

And, the thing is, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I don't know if my words are helping her understand and cope and handle stress, or if they're making her worries worse. I don't know if we should talk and talk and discuss and discuss, or if I should just drop it.

But oh, as I think about my sweet and sensitive little girl, I just want to squeeze her tight and curl up on the sofa under a warm blanket and never let her go. I don't want the world to touch her and hurt her. I just want to homeschool her and keep her home and live in a little bubble.

Except that I don't. Because I know that school is such a wonderful place. She is learning so much and getting so much out of it. And the world is a wonderful place. (Except when it isn't. Ugh.) And she has to experience life and live and feel things and try things and have hard experiences and I have to stick up my shoulders (and overcome my desire to hunker down and stay in bed and cry and cry) and be strong. I have to be the person that she can come to, with arms open and heart open and love overflowing. So that when she does get stressed out or kicked down or terribly worried, she has a safe place to come back to. I want her to know, that she always has us, we are always here. And we will do our hardest to help her and give her the tools she needs to manage whatever feelings she has.

It is okay to be sad. It is okay to be upset. It is okay to feel scared about a Lockdown Drill. We are here for you, Hope. We will talk with you and hug you and wipe away your tears whenever you need us to. And when you need us to not talk about it, and to distract you with happy thoughts, well, we're hear for that too.

xoxo, christine

'Cause I Am Living in an Extrovert's World

I am a shy introvert in an outgoing extrovert's world.

I know there may be a few of you who are surprised to hear this because after having my first child I worked extra hard on my fear and shyness in my desperation to find and make some mom-friends, thus having broken away from some of my shy tendencies. At least occasionally. I think.

But truly, I am shy. I have always been shy. As a child I remember cowering behind my mom's leg, in high school, unless I was with my friends, I felt awkward and uncomfortable and terrified to open my mouth lest I say the wrong thing and embarrass myself, and through college my shyness contributed to a difficultly in finding a close group I felt a part of.

Even today there are days, moments, social situations I struggle with mightily.

Any type of large group setting gets my heart racing and my palms sweaty. When I am in a big enough group that I can remain anonymous, it's not quite so painful, but if the group is small enough to be noticed in, well, I want to stick my head in the ground like an ostrich. But, actually, people could still see the rest of me if only my head was hidden, so really what I want is one of Harry Potter's invisibility cloaks. I want to disappear. I want to be home with my sweats and a piece of cheesecake and good book.

The nice thing about today is that I dread social situations a little bit less than I used to, and I have kids. Yes, kids are the perfect crutch to any shy and/or socially awkward person because 'Oh! I can't make small talk because my children need my undivided attention.' They are the perfect excuse as to why I can not manage a simple "hello" or "how are you" to an acquaintance.

Ugh, it's the worst with acquaintances. Really. It's like in high school when out in public and I'd see someone from school who I sort of knew, but not really, and I'd pretend that I didn't see her and she'd pretend not to see me but really we both knew the other person was there but neither of us acknowledged the other person and instead of feeling like 'whatever' I just felt sick and yucky and like I was acting like a jerk.

It's horrible, I know. And it still happens TO THIS DAY. I am well aware of what type of person I then appear to be to those I am avoiding. And yes, I am pretty much avoiding them. I look like a snob, I know. I hate that anyone would think I was a snob, and you'd think my fear of being judged poorly (because trust me, my fear of how others perceive me has chased me my whole life) would keep me from staying silent, but it doesn't. Instead I behave the same way (but this time with the handy dandy kids as an I'm-so-preoccupied-with-my-kids-that-I-haven't-noticed-anything-around-me excuse) and then kick myself over and over because surly these nice people now think I'm a terrible snob.

Which they do. At least some times. Thanks to several commenters I know that when I am thinking or quiet or just taking in a situation (ie. I am not talking), I look like I am either pissed off, bored, or just not having fun. Apparently my blank face also gives off an air of rudeness. Also? In high school I was told, flat out, that I seemed very standoffish.

Nope. Sorry. I promise I am nice and friendly. I am just also PAINFULLY SHY.

I would like to believe that the "painful" part has diminished as I've gotten older, and, for the most part, I think it has. But there are still certain situations that bring out the worst in my old ways, where the anxiety takes over, my feet are frozen, my voice reserved for people I feel comfortable with, and it feels impossible to interact with any one else. Of course, I leave these times wishing I could act like someone else, be someone else, because surly my husband deserves a wife who is chatty and friendly and makes an effort to say hello.

My sister assures me that change is possible. Which I suppose it must be because after having children I made a minuscule step towards Less Painfully Shy.

It only took twenty-some years for me to be able to speak up in a small group setting without wanting to vomit afterward. So, you know, maybe in another twenty-years I'll be able to say hello to those acquaintances. Maybe.

xoxo, christine