Saturday, June 15, 2013

PSA Have you moved from Google Reader yet?

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

Actually, you don't have to...but if you hadn't noticed Google Reader is closing up in a couple of weeks and I am not a fan of Feedly so someone suggested I try Bloglovin and so far it's working pretty well. So if you're as much of a procrastinator as I am and you haven't figured out what you're going to do on July 1, give Bloglovin a try.

Friday, May 10, 2013


There's a woman sitting with her son in the cafeteria of the Children's Museum.  She looks harried and distracted as she hastily sets out their lunch.  Her tall, dimple-cheeked son with the blond streak in his hair is fighting back an overstimulated, tired and hungry rage.   She's trying to keep herself from losing her shit.  In less than an hour, they will be home and he will drag himself into his bed and rest and she will regroup. The woman glances up and sees our little tribe.  

Little G, Ladybug and I are enjoying our meal.  Little G is busy gulping down orange macaroni and cheese with a carton of chocolate milk.  Ladybug is being her typical, reserved self while I unhurriedly nosh on a bite of my gourmet sandwich and check my email on my phone.  I feel the woman's eyes on me and remember her jealousy.  How could I possible be sitting here on my own with not just one, but TWO small children.  How could those children be just eating and not throwing stuff or trying to bite someone?  How come it is so easy for me?  How could I possibly ever know what she is going through? She doesn't even know me, but she is resentful of me and my ease.

There's a woman at the playground packing up her things.  She's given multiple notices to a tall, dimple-cheeked boy with a blond streak in his hair to finish up what he is doing in preparation for leaving.  The boy has been playing well all afternoon, so the entire playground stops to glance nervously when he starts lunging after his mother, screaming at her and trying to bite her now that the time has come to leave.  The boy's cherub-faced baby sister waits patiently by the gate.  It is hard for the woman to keep back her tears.  She knows she pushed it being at the playground so close to dinner time and after a rigorous day at school.

The woman quickly glances around between swings and jabs at her cheeks as she hefts the overwhelmed boy away.  She is looking for someone.  Another mother, perhaps.  Someone who will be looking back at her knowingly.  She doesn't find her, but she moves forward into the evening faithful that she will meet her someday. 

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

A voice in the gray

Recently an internet friend of mine wrote a small piece on her blog addressing two things about her anti-depressants that truly resonated with me.

Here's a small excerpt:
… so much to say. Except, well, not. So, hey, let’s talk about anti-depressants, since I suspect that’s why I don’t have a whole lot to say. 
I’m still on them. I have no idea at what point I have to cop to this being “depression” without the “post-partum” prefix... 
Honestly, I feel like I could have written that entire statement.

It hasn't escaped me that aside from some bad poetry, there's been a pretty big radio silence here on this blog.  Usually when people 'come back' after an unplanned hiatus, they spend at least a sentence apologizing for said absence and then either resolve to come around more or to dissolve their internet presence

I am not here to do either of those things, so don't quit on me yet.

Anyway, though I seem to be aimlessly floating around in this ambiguous cloud of writer's block, there really IS so much to say about so many things in my life.  Not the least of which are my medication and how it has transformed my life; Little G's SPD diagnosis and how we are struggling with that and learning more about it every day; how much I wish I could talk to my former self about all of this - my medication AND Little G's struggle - so that I wouldn't have felt so lost, defeated and judged (I was actually convinced that I was less of a mother than women who's hard times with their kids seemed easier than mine were) and how my beautiful, little baby girl is no longer a baby.

There's so much to say; but aside from this small snippet, I can't seem to say much about any of it. Almost like the medication has whisked away the need to process things in favor of just not having anxiety or thrill over things in the first place; like my mind, which used to be full of thoughts both hauntingly dark and brilliantly bright with every vivid color in between, is now a vast, murky, gray swirl - like trying to grab a fleck of dust out of a water glass where every time you get closer, the dust flits away.

And I too am starting to realize that the "post-partum" designation of my anxiety and reactivity is set to expire soon if it hasn't done so already.  I'd be more concerned over that, but I'm on medication.

So where does that leave me?  I am unsure.  This space has always been first and foremost a place for my voice because I do have things to say and I have always needed a place to process 'out loud' in a creative way.  But if there's nothing to process, or rather, if there's a LOT to process but I just can't seem to 'get there', than is this space really necessary?

I don't know the answer to this and I have no sense of conviction either way.  But I did at least have the words to process this here, so perhaps there is hope for this voice in the gray.

Thursday, April 04, 2013

Poetic Justice

You didn't yell at me.  

You didn't strike out at me. 

You didn't shoot bullets at me. 

You didn't preach to me.

You didn't shun me.

But you wished I would be silent.

No, love.
No love.
I speak.
I. speak. love.

Wednesday, March 06, 2013

Filling the Bucket

There are all sorts of books and manipulatives and toys in the waiting area of an office I visit weekly with Little G.  One such book is Fill a Bucket: A Guide to Daily Happiness for Young Children.

The inside of the flap says: The concept of a full bucket is an effective metaphor for a child's healthy self-concept and happiness, most often the result of the encouraging words and actions of parents and others who help a child know they are loved, valued, and capable.
The Ladybug and I read the book while waiting for Little G to finish his appointment and he asked me about it as he headed towards us in the waiting area.

I explained to him as best I could what the bucket was all about and what people did to fill our buckets (play with us, read to us, treat us kindly) and what we can do to fill others' buckets (be kind to them, treat them with respect, help them if they need it, etc).

Later in the day as we played in the living room, The Ladybug took a small spill onto the floor.  I encouraged Little G to help comfort her and perhaps fill her bucket.  So Little G promptly walked over to The Ladybug and started pretending to dig with a big shovel and dump it over her head.  I reminded him that filling her bucket could mean helping her to feel better to which he responded, "Ladybug, you can be happy now, I'm filling your bucket with CANDY!"