To My Fellow Chameleons

Today is the Super Bowl and I for one could care less. I am not a sports person. When I was in undergrad I didn't attend a single football or basketball game, and I attended a Big 10 school. I did not know the fight song and couldn't sing the school song at graduation. How horrible is that? I was also pretty lazy and apathetic at the time (perhaps now still), with a major case of senioritis which didn't help. My husband is (Thank you, Jesus) not a sports fan. He used to play baseball and occasionally when we had cable he would turn it to little league playoffs or some such for a bit. But overall, he could also care less.
I said to my husband today that I would watch sports if he cared about them. He found that quite laughable, and maybe it is just considering how much I care less about sports (and maybe that is being too generous; I dislike watching sports. It's boring. I know no rules. I went to a Cubs/White Sox game with a friend when I was in early college and I was bored to tears. It just went on and on. Sammy Sosa was right in front of us and I just wanted to go to sleep. Also, my friend and her brother took VERY detailed notes on some scorecard, so calling them fans wasn't doing it justice. Also- I was not able to drink legally then.) However, one thing that he isn't aware of too much- how big a chameleon I am.

Chameleon? What do you mean?

Follower. Adapter. Panty-waist spineless jellyfish. (I was looking for a specific word and googled thesaurus for follower and found that "toady" is one synonym. That just blows my mind in relation to the band- right? Anyone?) MILQUETOAST! Just came to me. Knew that sitting here mindlessly not doing cleaning would serve me adequately.

Anyway, I never thought I was such a follower. I was strong in my beliefs that I was a pretty good person, smart, a good Christian, when I was in high school. I was kind of a geek, boys generally avoided me, which was mostly to my benefit, as I'm sure that whole good-Christian-girl thing would've gone quickly had an actual living boy been interested in charming my panties off. I felt I was my own person and lived by my own rules, but in retrospect I'm sure most teenagers think they are their own person. I lived under very controlling parents and didn't do very much in the outside world, except walk around the mall with my equally sheltered friends.

Maybe to a degree I am my own person, but when it comes to love, I am such a follower.

Two of my exes were musicians. So I attended quite a few open mic nights, listened to indie music, read the appropriate periodicals, bought the correct gear for holidays, etc. One would have assumed I was a music fan (hell, I thought I was). And then I met the husband. He is not a musician, not a sports fan, kind of a video game nerd. I took up video games for a brief time, but I'm sooo less a video game nerd than I am a musician nerd. Living in a small northern town means relatively few bands travel this far north, husband with no musical interest means no desire to accompany me to concerts that involve a road trip, and children mean little to no free time or spending money to travel to aforementioned concerts that I would attend alone. Because the convenience factor is nil, I am not into music anymore. Granted I could listen to podcasts and download concerts and buy cds etc etc but I have no time. I have no money. I also have a weird apprehension (if you can call it that) to new music. I hate listening to music that I have never heard. Even was I was a crazy Incubus diehard fan, when they put out a new CD it would take me getting ready to go to their concert and wanting to know all the songs to get me to crack the case. I hate not knowing lyrics, not knowing if I like it or not, and wasting time listening to it several times if I don't like it. How weird is that? I might be the only weirdo with that disorder. But to get back to the point- he doesn't like it so I don't like it.

If he liked sports, I'm sure I would be hosting Super Bowl parties and making cupcakes in the team colors. If he was a golfer, I'm sure I would take up golf.

Maybe our problem as a couple is pure apathy in either direction. He wants to sit and do nothing. I want to do whatever he wants to do. When he wants to do nothing, I'm upset that he wants to do nothing. It's a vicious cycle.

I'm getting to be too existential in my old age. I over think everything. I think about everything. I also worry about the things that I think. I worry that I'm wasting my life. I think about all the things I could be doing- I could be like Taylor Swift and have a million friends and be involved and do everything and have a fantastic life. But hell that is a lie. I cannot motivate. I can't get myself to exercise on a daily basis. I can't bake fantastic creations for my family. I don't decorate our house. I don't have hobbies. I don't think this is normal. I'm convinced that if I only got enough sleep that I could do more but I'm starting to think that "more sleep" doesn't actually exist. I know I just have to go and do it, whatever the thing is that I want to do.

But what do I want to do? I need to meditate and find my inner purpose or something. How do you even go about doing that in your thirties? I can't Eat Pray Love myself to another continent or even to a day trip. I ask for signs from God but maybe He wants to point people in the right direction who are actively walking with Him. And I'm doing many things but actively walking is not one of them.

This is an incredibly rambly blog post. Mostly, it's like my thoughts. I have a lot, they are often disconnected or loosely connected, and they are usually a little depressing.

Did I mention my husband has been pushing me to join the military as an officer? Sure, I would love to serve my country and make a difference, but I have absolutely no desire to kill, to get yelled at, or to be deployed. I like to think go myself as an intelligent person, but who knows how smart the military would see me. I'd love to be in intelligence, but I might only qualify to work in the HR department or something menial. And to top it all off- having to run? Ugh. Really? Plus, 9 weeks away from my boys. Although to be honest, the thought of time to read by myself, write by myself, BE by myself sounds pretty fantastic. However, to be realistic I'm sure there aren't hours to myself every day to pursue the whole Hemingway thing. I could be wrong. But the husband is pressing this because I have applied to so many (so very very many) jobs and haven't gotten called, emailed, interviewed, nada. I wonder if there is some virus in my resume that deletes the ability to email me. I've considered this as a possibility. He feels disheartened that no one is out there caring. Ha- guess how I feel about it, buddy. Answer- NOT GREAT. But not sure if giving up my life for 4 years or more is exactly the next logical step. If any of you have answers- let me know.

I'm gonna go clean, since cleaning seems to be my only talent right now.

Creativity is Dead

I fear that perhaps I am best suited to be a stay-at-home mom forever. I'm just too thoughtful. It works well for being a mom of young kids, not so much perhaps for the working world, and definitely not for having "adult relationships".

Last night while laying in bed, I asked my husband what he thinks happens to your soul when it dies. Does it float up (or out) to heaven? Are you instantly transported to heaven? Is it like waking up from a dream when you don't remember what happened but obviously some time has passed? I was thinking these things because who doesn't ponder death before bed, right? Totally normal. I was thinking about the number of people I knew who have died, and the number of people I was around right before death (I was thinking about the horrible "death rattle" which if you are unfamiliar with, thank God). I was in the room when my grandfather died, and I wondered if I had been paying more attention would I have noticed his spirit leaving his body? I was with my mother-in-law just hours before she passed, and definitely into the alive but not alive stage.
But regardless of my weird pre-sleep ponderings, my husband took awhile to answer and finally guessed that they just go into waiting because we are all waiting for the return of Christ. "So Heaven in empty, or just filled with pre-Jesus people?" and he eventually got annoyed with my questions. He replied that he certainly doesn't think about things that have no answer.
And that's where being a stay-at-home mom for life comes in. All I do is think. I think about this and I think about that. I think about them and I think about me. I wonder what if and why and where and how come. If I had done one thing differently, or made a different choice. I'll spend hours on wikipedia looking up bubonic plague and side effects of common drugs (like ibuprofen) and birth defects and celebrities. I have so many questions. I'm curious.
It seems that most of the world despises curiosity. Mind your own business.
My son just spent the last 20 minutes telling me about ghosts. You need to walk quietly or you pop their dreams, he tells me. And they definitely are "mean ones" who steal your toys when you are asleep.
This is the kind of world I can get behind. Not ghosts, but make believe. Questioning things. And even if its silly, then why not? Silly is better than sad. Make believe is better than anxiety.

Here's to the silly ones.

Sleep Debt

When you are a college student, it's totally normal to stay up for 24 hours or more to cram for a final or write a few term papers, and then, in a heap of exhaustion, sleep for a day or two.

Parenting, my friends, is nothing like that.

Oh except for the staying up long hours part. Not the whole sleeping for a long time after part.

When #1 was a baby, he was a fuss. I remember reading about the "witching hour" that babies had before bed, but #1 fussed from 4- 11pm every night. Every. Night. It would be walking, patting, nursing, patting, walking, bouncing, rocking, nursing, patting, all the while, his mouth is open and just fuss crying. Never ending fuss crying.
And don't think I tried everything to make it stop. I gave up dairy. I gave up soy, corn, cruciferous vegetables, anything I read online that could possibly cause gas. Pretty soon I was eating next to nothing that resembled delicious or edible food, and he was still crying.
Your mind slips into an unhealthy place. You finally get him down after a certain rock-step combo in the hall, so the next night you keep trying it, thinking that was the sleepy time magic. Foolish you. The sleepy time magic was you wasting 5 or more hours and crying a half dozen times before the screaming midget decides to give up the ghost.
And then the topper- he refused to sleep for longer than 3 hour stretches. For 18 months.
That's impossible, you say.
No friend, that is very possible and exactly what happened.
At 8 every night I would be tucked in to bed next to the cosleeper, waiting for the next time #1 would pop his eyes open and demand to be fed. Do it quickly, and he might go right back to sleep. He slept right next to me so I could easily be awoken 6 times a night. The thought of having to roll out of bed and go to a separate room was enough to end me.
Luckily, I didn't have many friends during this period. There's something about being in the depths of misery- a self-created misery, mind you- that is very isolating.
Sort of like right now, but that's a different story.
I was so awash in sleep deprivation that I decided a second baby was a grand idea.  I think I had a few months of longer than 3 hour stretches of sleep, but luckily I didn't enjoy them as I was enormously pregnant. And also nursing up until 2 months before I gave birth (nursing while pregnant: it's very possible). And then you repeat the cycle with a second baby (although to be fair, #2 was so much sweeter temperament-wise- still had a witching hour though- no baby is perfect).
I took a job and worked evenings, and it only took a few weeks before my husband had them sleeping in their own rooms. Definitely a miracle. Granted, once again I didn't necessarily appreciate it, as I was working 60-80 hour weeks, getting home at 1 or 2 in the morning, and those sweet boys still woke up at 6-7 every morning.
The sleep doesn't happen now as much as it should. Some nights the boys aren't asleep until 9 or longer, depending how long #1 calls for me or plays around in his room. I NEED at least an hour to myself to unwind- dare I say I DESERVE it. So maybe 10 is the earliest I get to bed. I'm plagued by the "who is going to wake up in the middle of the night" fear, as it strikes when you least expect it. Some cries. Someone had a bad dream. A few weeks ago #1 had horrible leg cramps that had be sleeping next to him and googling furiously, worried that these were indicative of something beyond growing pains. As he writhed in pain, I definitely was not sleeping. The night before he asked to sleep with me as he was snuffy, and it turns out infected with hand foot mouth (again), so two nights in a row with minimal sleep. And we can all guess what happens after that- sickness. Oh it's not a hard pattern to predict. I'm still nursing a horrible night cough some 3 weeks later, and for 2 weeks me and the boys did nothing all day. We stayed home while it poured rain, and we played iPad and watched movies. It was very unproductive but man do viruses take it out of you. I only guessed at hand foot mouth by the sores in the back of my throat (and my husband's coworker's family caught it about 2 weeks later at the germ tree in the mall, and then my husband caught it last Friday).
You should go to bed earlier, you tell me. Yes, yes I should. There are a lot of things I should do.
I am so lazy.
Well maybe not in the traditional sense, since my house is crazy clean.
But I am so lazy. I want to sit and do nothing. I'm so sleep deprived and it doesn't appear to be getting better. I am getting SO much more sleep now than I did when #1 was a baby. It's fantastic. But it still isn't a full 9 hours. Man wouldn't 9 hours be great. I've convinced myself that if only I could get an hour or more of sleep I would be motivated. I would be super mom. I'd bake and do crafts. I'd write while the boys napped instead of laying down and fussing around on my phone. I'd write thank you notes and letters to my friends. I could research. I could read my Bible. But instead I see the end of lunch coming and I just say a silent prayer that they will nap and let me just be still.

I'm in serious sleep debt. There is no 18 hours of sleeping to try to recoup.
I guess there is only mental fortitude.
And today is a Wednesday folks. That Saturday looks mighty far away. And for you other stay at home parents, every day is a work day, so Saturday is a myth we tell ourselves.
Isn't parenting fun?

What are tips that motivate you? How do you get through sleepy days?

Living with someone with issues

This is most likely too personal of a post. Oh well.
A blogger I follow writes about her dramatic childhood in a cult, and how she suffers PTSD and other issues, like depression and anxiety. She talks about having bad days or even weeks, withdrawing, needing to sleep or retreat.
She makes it feel all very compelling and horrible. Which it is. This isn't to minimize that at all.
But there is another side of the story- her husband.
He is married to someone that retreats, that needs to curl up in her shell, so to speak. She withdraws, sleeps, does whatever she needs to make it. Her husband is left to deal with everything else. The house. The kids. That is a lot of pressure.

I'm writing this because I am living with a person with issues.
As long as I've known my husband, he has had issues. That's sorta what drew me to him- I liked complicated. I liked wounded. I had a significantly misplaced Florence Nightingale syndrome. When I first met him he had blown out his knee and could barely walk, if that tells ya how big my issues are (and perhaps he feels he is living with a person with issues, but I'll explain the difference later).

Other issues?
Hmm-
father abandoning the family after cheating on his wife
verbal and emotional abuse of his mother by his father during his formative years
strict religious upbringing
death of his mother from cancer which she chose to treat naturally
no communication from any of his father's side during or after her death
father a raging alcoholic
just to name a few.

And he withdraws. He retreats. He sleeps. Excessively. Granted, it has improved in the past 5 years. But that's like saying the cancer has improved. It's still cancer. The sleep drags on from morning into afternoon. It starts and nap time and stretches into dinner. It takes up days of work, family time. And the drinking to deal with issues. The constant "I'm going to quit" and never quitting. The "you could have it so much worse" explanations. How he isn't mean since he isn't calling me a c*nt like his dad called his mom. That he doesn't drink near as much as his dad did. And then I start feeling guilty. Maybe I am a princess. Maybe I do expect too much.
And I deal with it. I take the boys to the park, go to playdates, do what I can. They say "where's papa" and I tell them "sleeping" if I just can't figure out something better to say. I worry incessantly that they will develop his sleeping problems, his drinking problems, his compartmentalizing of emotions, like how my eldest's eyes changed from blue to green when he was 2. The genetics will be too strong and win out.
I worry.
I clean to help with the worry.

I get yelled at for saying anything because dammit he is working on it or dammit he wants to change or dammit he isn't even sleeping that much or he needed to drink because it was a long day or his back hurts.
And I'm alone.
By myself.
While the person I'm living with who has issues is trying to deal with their issues.
I guess I wait around hoping that someday it will be different.

Maybe he does too.

Baby Steps

How to have achievable goals

Every New Year’s Eve, it’s almost customary to sit around with friends or family and discuss What We Are Going To Do. Because we have to Do things. It’s not enough that we continue with everyday life and normal functioning, but now we must pledge to Do something. We can’t be one of Those People that let’s the opportunity pass to Do something. We aren’t lazy, undisciplined, presuming ourselves perfect.

We must Do. We don’t make resolutions to think more, to dream more; our goals are lofty and often very nebulous: I vow to lose 50 pounds; I’m going to stop eating unhealthy foods; I’ll write a book. Often that one resolution is lumped together with other resolutions, and if you’re like me, they are written down in a long list. One page has the future of the entire next year mapped out. No one sets themselves up for failure, so they chase that dream. We put our money where our mouth is, buying gym memberships and workout clothes, self-help books, journals and pens. We tell our friends in hopes that saying the words aloud will make us more committed. We spend much of our focus on that one task. The first month after our resolution, we work out fanatically, we make high goals of writing thousands of words a day and maintaining multiple blogs, and we throw away all of the unhealthy foods cluttering our cabinets.

Then Something happens. Somethings always do. We have a bad day. We get in a fight, have a stressful day at work, take a weekend off. And all that momentum just blows away. If I’ve set myself up for a big week and by Tuesday I’ve blown it, I think- I’ll start again next week. I give myself a week to do absolutely nothing. And then when the next week rolls around, I think- why bother? I’ve already ruined the diet, missed too many days at the gym, ignored my blog for too long. For me, the guilt of inaction leads to more inaction. It’s much like a friendship that you put on the backburner for too long; you worry that if you contact them, they will be mad at you for not having spoken in such a long time.

Maybe you pick up again after a few weeks, but the voice lingers- it’s too late for you. Why bother? Look at everyone else achieving their goals- you have put it off for too long.

I’m tired of that voice, and moreover I’m tired of the menacing Do. I Do a lot, thank you very much. Everyday is so crammed with Doing that by the time the kids are asleep, the only Do I want to do is consume a pint of ice cream while zoning out in front of the tv for half an hour before I go to bed before I have to get up and do it again. I’ve seen these blogs and books full of “hustling”. I need to get up at 5 a.m. to hustle my dreams. I often get woken up by my sweet dears of children by that time, and I have to hold them, feed them, comfort them. There’s laundry to do, dishes to do, food to make, groceries to buy. As a Christian I am also told I need to get up early to read my Bible and talk with God. So if I’m getting up to “hustle” my dream, then I’m guilty of not “hustling” for God.

Oh I’m a pro at this. I can think of reasons why I shouldn’t Do anything nearly all of the time.

I know that once I set up a big Do, I will unravel like a ball of yarn. Maybe I will obsess about that Do for maybe a month or two, and then I will hit a roadblock and it’ll be gone. Sure, I’ll think frequently of what I should Do and what I want to Do, but I’ll make sure I don’t.

So this year I have set little teeny tiny baby goals. Sure I want to have a 6-pack stomach and write a super long awesome novel, but instead I’m working on maintainable goals. It’s not realistic for me to say I will work out an hour everyday. Or even 3 times a week. “Everyone has at least 3 hours they can give to their health a week” you say, and that’s just not realistic for me right now. I do 10 squats a day. What? That’s ridiculous, you say. But it’s an achievable goal. Ten squats is such a little amount that duh I can do that many in a day. I can do more if I feel like it. And it is noticeable. Even my husband has noticed the firming up of my backside. And that says a lot because he is oblivious. And somedays whoops I forget. But it doesn’t throw me off because once again, it is such a little goal. I’m trying to read more (a practice that disappeared when I was in grad school and reading 100 pages of the most dense subject matter known to mankind a day). I’m trying to read more of the Bible. I make sure my Kindle is charged up and next to the bed, and that I have a few reading plans going on my phone (YouVersion has a great app for daily reading plans/devotionals- keeps it interesting and focused on basically any subject). That way when I fall into bed and I’m not too tired, I can read a little of my book, read some of the Bible, problem solved. And I want the family to eat healthier, so I’m working of these sneaky smoothies.

Smoothie Recipe (all amounts are eye-balled in the blender- make them and see what you like)

Whatever amount of liquid I use, I do about ½ apple juice, ¼ carrot juice, and ¼ water. I do more if making them for all of us for dinner, or less if it’s just the boys and I for lunch

Handful of raw almonds (we have also used raw cashews- you could do walnuts too)

Small spoonful of coconut oil (this oil has so many health benefits)

Couple spoons full of plain Greek yogurt

Squirt of honey (make sure it’s a good honey, or even raw honey)

At this point, cover it up and blend. The nuts need to be blended before you add much more or the blender has some struggles. Unless you have a great blender, in which case you do you.

Then I get sneaky. I have either kale or spinach (fresh, mind you) that I wash off and then add to the blender. Just a bit. I have tried not adding a bit and end up drinking all the smoothie myself. I take off stems because those are bitter, also all the leaf-webbing or whatever it’s called for kale because it’s stringy and bitter. For kale I add about 2.5 leaves (usually 2 big ones and a baby one), and for spinach about 6-8 leaves. If you’re like me, you need to shove it down under the liquid line so your children can’t see it and comment how much they dislike vegetables and then once again you’ll be stuck drinking it all.

Toss in your fruit. I like to do some fresh and some frozen, but whatever. It’s all good. I like frozen pineapple, frozen mango, definitely frozen blueberries. My husband likes us to add fiber so he will cut the ends off a kiwi and throw the whole thing in. You could toss in a few baby carrots. We’ve tossed in peeled cuties (those little mandarin oranges that are easy peel), berries, etc.

I blend and pour some for my husband and I, and then add 2/3 scoop of this powder we got for our kids- Vibrant Health Green Vibrance Junior for Kids. It adds a slight apple flavor, but is supposed to add protein, fruits, vegetables and probiotics.

I mix one more time and then pour the boys their drinks. And they are pretty good about drinking it. Blend really well if you use sippy cups so it’ll actually go through the straw and not get stuck. That’s personally why I add water, to thin it out a bit. I feel good about at least getting the boys some green in their lives, and the fruit and other ingredients help too. Like I said, you may need to play around with ingredients to get your kids (or yourself) to drink it. My husband likes to add other sundry things, like an entire avocado, which makes it a bit gelatinous in my opinion, but to each his own.

Remember, maintainable small steps.