Depressed? Nah.

I’ve had some questions about how I’ve been feeling since Jessica arrived, and I thought it warranted a blog post.  The long story short is that I’ve suffered from bouts of major depression and anxiety since I was in high school, was diagnosed in college, and had a major episode during our stint overseas.  However, when we moved home from England last April and I found out I was pregnant, I quit my medication cold turkey (which, for the record, I don’t recommend…ever).

So here we are now, almost a year later.

I won’t lie and say it was always pretty.  Once I made it through the withdrawal, I suffered from a condition known as “first trimester.”  It wasn’t pretty.  But I don’t know if it was uglier for me than it was for any other women with two active children and a husband still overseas for seven more weeks.

Then, I suffered from a terrible bout of “it’s getting dark earlier.”  It did have me craving a Celexa, but I survived thanks to my fabulous husband and family.

Towards the end of my pregnancy I ran into “the end of pregnancy blues” that are often accompanied by a lack of sleep and severe exhaustion because you’re the size of a house.  But I actually think I managed to handle them pretty well.

Of course, after Jessica was born I was visited by “the baby blues.”  Been there, done that, wrote the book.

So that brings us to where we are today.  And I won’t lie and say that being a mother to three children (five and under) is easy.  There are days I starting counting down to bedtime (usually on my fingers, because my kids have sucked all the intelligence right out of me) shortly after we get up in the morning.  But overall, I’m feeling pretty good about life.

I’m loving every second of Jessica, and I know that’s helping.  The thought that she *might* be our last (my husband is feeling pretty “done” after three girls…I’m not convinced) gives me plenty of cause to cherish every second.  And I’m not sure if it’s because this is my third and Marcus and I have this parenting thing down, or if it’s because Jessica is such a good baby…but I feel pretty on top of things.

For the first time in a long time (ever?) I feel like I’ve got things under control.  I’m a good mom.  Not perfect, but good.  Some days I’m great.

So depressed?   Nah.

It hibernates.  Will it rear its ugly head again?  Perhaps.  Probably.  Maybe. One day.

And I’ll be ready.


The Stories Writers Tell

Writers tell stories. Whether the pages are filled with hundreds or thousands of words, it’s likely that you’ll find some facts mixed with some fiction, some truth mixed with some lies, and some happiness mixed with some tears.

Sometimes the stories I tell are my own. Whether they’re my experiences or my inventions, they’re shared by me and made real when you read them.

And sometimes the stories aren’t mine to tell, either because someone else can tell them better, or because someone else should tell them first.

However you dice it, today, I’m an aunt.


You Can’t Go Home Again

I suppose you can. I mean, here we are. Home again.

But though I’m happy to be here, glad to be with family, and excited about our new house, coming home again entails so much more than I ever expected.

Part of the situation is, of course, that we are in a state of flux. Marcus isn’t home yet, we aren’t living in our house yet, and our things aren’t here yet. But all that aside, it’s amazing how hard it can be to move, even moving home, after three years somewhere.

I miss my friends in England, our house, our schedule and routine, everything. I miss my knitting group, grabbing the girls from school and heading to Anne’s for tea, and even knowing where to shop for the things I want and where they’ll be in the store.

Some of this is going to take time. And I know I can’t even really expect that clock to start ticking until Marcus is home and we’re moved in.

It’s so funny, because you get so much support when you move overseas–sponsors, meetings, support groups, newsletters…and even then it wasn’t always enough.

But when you move home, you’re coming home, and the support isn’t there. But it’s just as hard as the first move.

I know it will all fall into place, and that this was the right decision for me and for my family. But it’s still an adjustment. It’s still hard. And we’re still working at it…


Finding Time to Blog

I have often had people ask me how I make time to blog, to knit, to write, and all of the other things that fill up my stay-at-home-mom days.  Thankfully, my girls go to nursery 2 1/2 days a week, so that gives me time to keep the house in (some) order and to do the web writing and editing of my novel.

But the other stuff…well, I make time.  I knit while we’re watching a television show, while the girls are eating lunch, and while we’re sitting in the car between activities.  I find the time, because I love it.  Most of my knitting happens after the girls are in bed at night, because I find it so easy to do while watching a movie with Marcus or while he plays video games.  But I make time for it during my day because it keeps me sane.

As for blogging, I make time for that too.  I usually like to blog while the girls are at school (like now) or when we just wake up in the morning.  The girls wake up, eat breakfast, and watch a show or two, and I’ll catch up on emails, the news, and blog if I have something blog-worthy to say (and sometimes, even if I don’t).

I might get interrupted, and have to leave the blog alone and return, but typically, I can whip one out fairly quickly if I’m so inclined.

Yesterday morning, however, I laughed out loud and knew you’d appreciate what truly goes on in my house while I’m blogging.

I heard Kicka go into the kitchen.  I heard her riffling in the bread bag and getting a piece.

And then…nothing.

I finished writing, ears poised to hear and intervene in whatever trouble she might get herself into, but heard nothing.

And then, in she walked.

Proud Kicka, after buttering her own bread!

Proud Kicka, after buttering her own bread!

Yes, that’s bread in her hand.  And those globs all over it?  Butter.  That little stinker got the butter and butter knife (which I’d left on the counter…bad mommy!) and buttered herself a slice of bread.  Bless her, she was so darned proud of herself!

I make time for blogging, knitting, writing, and all the other things that make me who I am.  But my girls…they just are.


Children of the Pumpkin Patch

I’ve never actually seen Children of the Corn, but I think it’s a scary movie.  So, put that out of your head, realize that I was aiming for a cute segue,  and think about how cute my children were at the Pumpkin Day that our organic vegbox company (River Swale) hosted on Sunday.

There was apple bobbing,

Samantha bobs for apples

Samantha bobs for apples

face painting,

Erica getting her face painted

Erica getting her face painted

Grr...Im a tiger!

Grr...I'm a tiger!

pumpkin carving,

The girls and our happy/scary pumpkin

The girls and our happy/scary pumpkin

Sam and the best pumpkin ever

Sam and the best pumpkin ever

and the resulting tubby time.

Who wants to knit when there is cuteness like this already in the world?


The Eighties Make a Comeback

My girls go to sleep hugging Care Bears.  They got Cabbage Patch mini-dolls in their Burger King kids’ meals the other night.  I recently caught an episode of old school Scooby Doo on the television.  Both of the girls own (and love) their legwarmers (and get compliments on them everywhere we go).

My girls aside, I saw a girl wearing a mini-skirt and leggings the other day.  Not a dorky girl, either…someone fashionable and cute.  And of course, her boyfriend had a mohawk and some tight jeans with pointy shoes.

Yep, the eighties are back with a vengeance.

I had to participate, knitting up some Strawberry Shortcake socks that brought back memories of my own youth.

And, now that I’ve convinced the girls that Old School Sesame Street is the way to go, I’m blessed to get to watch some of my favorite Sesame Street videos, as well as Sesame Street Old School.  I can really flash back to my childhood.

I suppose there’s a lot from the eighties that I miss.

But you still won’t catch me in a mini-skirt and leggings unless we’re at a theme party.