Happy Birthday, G! {Wordless/Wordful Wednesday}

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Back when "Don't Carpe Diem" went viral via Glennon Doyle Melton's blog Momastery and the Huffington Post, I spent the next week staying up late every night, reading the archives of her blog and I'm so glad I did.

She is one hell of a writer who I had the pleasure of meeting randomly last year at our local swim school. After helping my son pull on his goggles and ushering him off to his swim coach, I went to sit down in the parent's viewing room with my 2-yr old daughter and looked to my left as a pretty mom was about to sit down in the empty seat next to us.

In a surprised (and almost giddy) voice I said, "Are you Glennon?" knowing the answer before she even had a chance to reply.

"Why yes, yes I am!" she replied with a warm smile.

"I've read your blog!" I said cautiously, not sure whether or not I should admit to how much of a huge fan I was of her writing. "I love it." Realizing later I could have said, "I've read your life," that is how incredibly honest she is.

We talked for the next twenty-five minutes while our kids swam (hers crying through the lesson mostly.) And she hugged me when we said goodbye.

I called one of my best friends, Stephanie, on the way home because I couldn't contain my shock and excitement.

 

Happy 37th Birthday, G. You are inspiring, uplifting, brave, brutally honest, and hands-down, one of my favorite writers. Carry On, Warrior!

 

+ The Paper MamaLive and Love Out Loud & Baby Baby Lemon

Rest: Five Minute Friday {2}

This week I've been short on it. My mind shifts into high gear as I settle into a sweet little hypomanic state. Don't freak out parents - I know I need to catch up on my rest. I just had so much to get done before kissing the kids goodbye, hugging my mother-in-law, and giving my husband a bear hug and a sensual "thank you" kiss at the airport as he dropped me off. He encourages me more than he knows. He trusts me with his loving smile.

It was a long day of travel yesterday.

Five hours on a plane, twenty minutes on the lightrail, three hours on a bus.

But I am finally here.

Dinner last night was amazing - so fresh and full of vegetables and fruit. Sleep came easy to me once I shed my traveling clothes and slid into cozy jammies.

Rest was refreshing.

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Five Minute Friday

My first guest post as a WTE Word of Mom Blogger

As I'm in the midst of traveling across the country for an incredible weekend of writing and learning the art of memoir, I am excited to share the news that a post I wrote for the What to Expect When You're Expecting Word of Mom blog went live today! Check it out when you have a chance:

http://www.whattoexpect.com/wom/toddler/why-it-s-important-to-take-a-kid-free-vacation.aspx#comments

How appropriate, as I'm on a nice little kid-free vacation right now. What can I say? At least I take my own advice. Literally. :)

Books for a rainy day

One more hour and the kids will be home for the day. I should be working, but yet I find myself drawn to the pen and my notebook. Needing to write. This morning after dropping them off at daycare in the pouring rain, their little raincoats slick with wetness from the sky, I drove over to volunteer at my son's preschool book fair. I love this church school, feel so at home here.

I quickly learn the cash register and ring up several orders of cute kids books, casually chatting with each parent as they pay for their order.

My half-hour shift is over quickly. The rain is coming down in buckets now, and I can't help but notice as I peek into the classrooms, how cozy and safe it feels. I love that this is my son's home here three days a week in the afternoon. His first school experience is so filled with love and smiles.

And books. Lots and lots of books.

As I pack up to head home, I ring up one last sale. I couldn't leave without buying a few new reads for my little ones. My little book lovers.

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Kicking Bipolar's Ass

1-IMG_7346 "She is bipolar."

I cringe every time I hear these words, or see them typed out in print or online somewhere like I did today. You would never hear, "She is cancer." Instead, after someone is cured of cancer you hear, "She BEAT cancer."

That is so wonderful. I cheer along with everyone else when I read of someone's victorious fight with the devil that is cancer. If you think about it, mental illness should be looked at the same way. I don't want to be known as the woman who is bipolar and is married with two kids.

I didn't ask for this condition, this heartbreaking, terrifying, complicated illness, to hit me at the age of twenty-six when I was newly married and at the peak of my recruiting career.

And I am not my illness.

I am so much more than this condition I live with and manage each and every day.

I am a wife. A mother. A daughter. A sister. A granddaughter. A niece. A cousin. An aunt. A friend. An employee. A room mom. A church member.  A Sunday school teacher. A writer. A reader. A bubble bath-taker. A coffee lover. A vegetarian. A chocoholic. A fan of music. A dancer. A car singer.

You know, the type that knows every word to every song and loves to sing no matter how bad of a singer she is. Yeah. That's me.

I am the sum of all these beautiful, wonderful things.

I am NOT Bipolar.

I may have bipolar disorder, but it does not define me. I am defined by the people I surround myself with, the people who I love and who also love me for who I am. The ways I spend my time help to mold me into the person I am becoming.

And I'm pretty happy with her. Most of the time.

Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of growing and learning to do. But I do think that I can be proud of how far I've come.

I turned 34 last month. I recently commented to my best friends how it seems like a third of our lives is gone already. They both reminded me that we'd have to live to 102 for that to be the case. Hey, it's possible. But I guess they're right. More than a third is done. Lived. In the books. {or, on the blog.}

Sometimes I wonder where all that time went.

I'm not sure, but I do know that I want to be able to say, for the rest of whatever time I have left, that I beat bipolar disorder. That I was an inspiration to others still fighting. And that I did my best.

I think I'm doing a decent job so far.

What I need: meds and sleep

My poor husband. Being married to someone who has Bipolar Disorder has got to be a teeny bit nerve-wracking at times. Take last week for instance. I contracted Baby Girl's lovely stomach bug and on Wednesday night (really, the wee hours of Thursday morning) was up puking my guts out from 1am until 4am. It was horrendous. I swore up and down that I don't think I want to have another baby because throwing up is the most awful thing in the world and I know I'd have morning sickness if we decided to go for #3.

The next morning I tried my hardest to get the kids up for Mom's Morning Out but I could barely walk ten feet without my head spinning. My husband had a 9am meeting that he HAD to be at, so I decided that I'd just keep the kids home and would let them watch TV all day until he could come home early in the afternoon.

And then I remembered my wonderful Mother-in-law. She's retired and she loves the kids and they adore her. I called and she said she would of course come over to watch them so that I could catch up on my sleep.

I couldn't even make the kids breakfast. My husband gave Mister Man a bowl of cereal and Baby Girl a sippy cup of milk and he was out the door. They were distracted with the TV until my Mother-in-law arrived and I crawled back in to bed. I didn't even come out until almost 2pm.

By then I only had a few hours until my husband would get home. I hadn't been able to eat anything, but was able to drink apple juice on ice. It tasted like pure heaven but it was bad news for my blood sugar. My husband got home around 4:30pm and I went straight back to bed. He made me a piece of toast and I was able to keep it down, but my body still ached from the heaving the night before and then there were the chills. I couldn't get warm despite two layers of clothes, socks, and a fuzzy bathrobe. Under covers. Eventually I fell asleep again.

I woke up at 9:30pm and picked up my phone next to me in bed to text my husband so he would check on me. He came up and when I was so delirious in the way I was asking him to get my phone charger, he started to get concerned.

Not about the stomach bug I had. He was concerned that I may be manic. I could hear it in his voice.

He tried to force me to take my Lithium, but I refused. I got angry. I called him names for trying to force me.

I realized I had forgotten to call his mom back about the next day and whether she should come help me again, so he offered to call her. He'd stay home with me and the kids.

When he came back up with another piece of toast for me, I took a bite and apologized for my rant. I was just so afraid of the medication making me throw up again like I had the night before. I promised to take it the following night. I know how much I need it.

Just not when my stomach is rejecting anything that goes into it.

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Sleep is my #1 trigger. I know this after years of managing my illness. As much of a night owl that I am, I cannot pull all-nighters like I did in college anymore. I can't even take care of multiple newborn feeding shifts (lucky for me). Because of this, I do everything I can to protect my sleep. If I don't, my health is at risk. Same thing with taking my medication. I may just need a small amount of Lithium every night, but if I go a week without it, I am most-likely going to become manic.

I don't blame my husband for trying to get me to take my medication and for worrying that I could have been becoming manic. He is just doing his job of looking out for my well-being and our family's well-being. I am very thankful that he realized that my irrational behavior was due to my frustration in him not being able to find my cell phone charger and also my haywire blood sugar levels from surviving on nothing but apple juice and a piece of toast all day. He is a wonderful, loving partner and father to our kids who has done a tremendous job of helping me to manage my illness.

Within a few days my sleep was back to normal and my stomach is almost back to normal. I was only off my medication for one night do to this nasty stomach bug (which I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, btw). This week I am preparing for Daylight savings by going to bed a little earlier each night starting tomorrow. The following weekend (St. Patty's weekend!) I am heading to a memoir writer's retreat in Seattle and this will be a bit of a challenge for me, sleep-wise. But I am well-prepared and I have my trusty sleep-aid to use since the time change will definitely disrupt my sleep. When I get home on the 18th I'll have a good week of work to do on my sleep to get back on schedule, but I know I will be okay.

I am a fighter. I monitor my sleep and take my medication because it is my responsibility to my self, my spouse and my family.

And it's getting to be past my bedtime, so I need to wrap this post up so that I can log some quality ZZZZ's.

Ordinary: Five Minute Friday {1}

I step on a Lego man as I wonder around the kitchen trying to get breakfast on the table for my two kids. There are two massive construction vehicles along with a block-built launching pad for my son’s rocketship. Baby girl’s pacifier and lovie blanket have also joined the collection of toys taking up precious floor space in my kitchen. 1-WP_002102

A load of freshly washed laundry is piled on the couch from last night. The dishwasher is full of clean dishes and so the dirty ones from last night that didn’t make it in are sitting in the sink.

Most often, this is what my house looks like. I usually wish I could send my husband and kids out for five hours so that I could clean the house from top to bottom. But then, it wouldn’t be an ordinary day at home, would it?

Five Minute Friday

The artist in him

{I'm a day late, but I still wanted to link-up with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary's Just Write series. Better late than never, right?}

It was day three of Baby Girl's stomach bug. She had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, and because of this, threw three massive tantrums in a row during the course of breakfast. By 9:30, she was wiped. So much so, that she laid down and fell asleep in the middle of the family room.

I asked my Little Man if he wanted to color beside me while I worked so that he wouldn't disturb his little sister's much-needed nap. He nodded enthusiastically, asking for the coloring book that his Grandma had given him the week before. "The one that teaches you how to draw, Mommy."

I set him up in the seat next to me and we both dove into our work. He was studying the lines so carefully as he moved his marker over the white paper. I love how he draws grass on most all the pictures he colors. And the way he draws faces on his stick people is so incredibly cute. Big holes for eyes and a nose, then a huge line of a smile that goes all the way from one ear to the other.

Makes me wonder what my drawings of people looked like from when I was his age.

The only one I remember is a dinner plate that I drew on at preschool for my mom and brought home as a Mother's Day gift. It was a big circle of a head and the arms came right out of the sides of the head.

My son is obviously much more of a gifted artist than I was at that age.

I've always had a fascination with art and it warms my heart to see my son so happy as he colors, draws, or paints. He makes me so proud.

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I looked over at him drawing this picture of a giant man and said, "You're a very good drawler, bud." {I know there's no "L", I just remember how I used to say it that way when I was young. I was speaking his language.}

"Am I like an artist?" he asked, a serious tone to his voice.

"You sure are," I replied.

"I'm your little artist," he declared.

 

My creative heart skipped a beat. And smiled with pride.

What I learned from my Listen To Your Mother audition

You will try your best not to think about it so much, but in reality it's the only thing running through your mind since you sent in your email requesting an audition spot.

It will take weeks to choose a piece to read, then when you read it for your best friend, she chooses a different one for you.

When the Producer and Director say to bring 3 copies of your piece, the third one is for you. Bringing your own copy in large print made you look like an old grandmother who needs bifocals to read 12 pt font.

You'll practice your piece standing up, but when you get there the Producer and Director will be sitting on a couch since the audition is in a hotel room. There will be a chair waiting for you to sit and read. This will throw you off a little.

You'll decide five minutes after meeting them, that there is no doubt in your mind that you want to be a part of their show. It is more apparent to you now than ever.

You think you won't cry when you read. But you do. Just a little.

You'll feel confident going in but more unsure of yourself than ever as you walk out the door and get into your car to drive home. You'll wonder if they really liked you and your writing. Or were they just being polite?

The week after the audition will feel like the slowest week of your life. Especially since there is no school on Monday due to President's Day.

You will try your best to focus on the normal day-to-day tasks and activities of life after the audition, but really all you can think about is whether or not you made the cast.

Five days after the audition, when the email finally arrives in your inbox, you'll read it quickly. Because when it comes time to take the band-aid off, the faster you do it the less it will hurt.

You think you won't cry when you read the rejection email. But you do.

You'll wonder if you could have done something differently. Would it have changed their minds?

You'll long to hear "I'm so sorry, honey. I know how hard you worked on your piece and how badly you wanted this. It's okay." while he wraps his arms around you.

But instead, he'll say "It's not that big of a deal. It's just one audition. There will be other opportunities, honey." which will sting. And more tears will come.

You'll give the kids a bath and tuck them both in, reading more books than you usually do, because it's a distraction from the hurt.

You'll pull out your journal and you'll write until you feel better. Or at least until you stop crying.

You'll want to self-medicate with a big, expensive bar of dark chocolate and a glass or two of really good red wine but instead at that moment you'll realize you're the textbook definition of an emotional eater and so instead you'll choose to take a bubble bath.

In the end, you'll realize that this just may not be your time to "no longer be anonymous" and so you'll decide to keep your identity under wraps a little while longer.

You'll be flattered that both the Producer and Director email you to ask you to audition next year. And to not be a stranger.

And you'll think: maybe 2014 will be your year to share your story on stage.

You really hope so.

Congratulations to the 2013 Cast of Listen To Your Mother DC! I'm looking forward to another incredible show on April 28th. Last year I was inspired, this year I auditioned, and maybe next year will be my year.

LTYMAbout the show:

The mission of each LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER production is to take the audience on a well-crafted journey that celebrates and validates mothering through giving voice to motherhood–in all of its complexity, diversity, and humor.
LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER aims to support motherhood creatively through artistic expression, and also financially–through contributions to non-profit organizations supporting families in need.

Making changes for the sake of my kids

1-IMG_7310 I've read a few blog posts recently about how we, as a society, have become so wrapped up in our handheld technology that we have been neglecting our relationships with our kids. My cousin even went so far as to get rid of her smartphone after realizing she didn't want to miss out on one bit of her daughter's childhood by falling into the habit of "staying connected".

As I read "How to Miss a Childhood," I found myself nodding here and there, but mostly thinking that getting rid of my Windows phone (I am pretty much the only person I know without an iphone) was something I could never do, simply because I mostly use it to take pictures and video clips of the kids, not to play games or surf Facebook while pushing my child on the swings at the playground, as the author described. And yet, as I read a similar post by a different blogger, it started to hit me.

In "Dear Mom On The iPhone," a mother of four wrote about how if we are not careful, our kids will remember us as having been more connected to our smartphones and ipads than we were to them as they grew up.

That is NOT how I want my children to remember their childhood.

She went on to describe in detail how important she feels it is for us as parents to always, and I mean always, give our kids their full attention. Even if that means listening to your 5-year-old daughter tell the same silly joke five times in a row. Because kids remember.

I felt empowered after reading these posts. Not that I was about to toss my smartphone out the window. Please. If I did that I would never be able to drive anywhere other a three-mile radius from our house, I use it's GPS that much, really. But I was ready to make some much needed changes to the way I utilize technology in our household. Yesterday afternoon I tried it, with limited success. You see, I also recently discovered the Vine app and it's slightly addicting, as you'll notice by my Twitter feed. But I guess that is the root of this story now, isn't it? I digress.

On Sunday afternoon, I made sure to look my Little Man in the eyes, each and every time he said, "Mommy! Mommy, I want to tell you something." I snuggled with my Baby Girl and we sung the ABC's at least fifteen times. I played games with them and helped my Sweet Pea work on her color identification. These are simple things that I used to do with my son all the time when he was little, back when we didn't own smartphones, an ipad, and an ipad mini.

I truly listened to my kids and I heard their voices in a way I hadn't in a long time. I noticed how Baby Girl skips the "H" in her ABC's and how she perfectly and emphatically pronounces the "X" the same way her big brother did when he was her age. I felt her smooth, soft baby skin and noticed, when she decided to strip down to her diaper, that she's starting to lose some of her adorable baby rolls. Her pudge is being replaced by a more slender version of herself. And her brother. His imagination is running wild in all sorts of directions and his stories of what his monster trucks and firemen are up to are just fascinating. I never tire from seeing how his eyes light up when he tells a story. His eyelashes practically touch his forehead, they are that long.

I noticed such an impact, such big differences in just one day of slight changes in my behaviors. From now on I'm going to do my best to make even more of these important changes. Slowly, I think. Because I've never really been a cold turkey kind of gal.

I'm not going to turn on my laptop/ipad/phone first thing in the morning. Instead, I'm going to kiss and hug each member of my family before engaging with an electronic device. Because my family deserves that kind of respect. I'm only going to log onto Twitter/Facebook/blogs/email in the evening after the kids are in bed or during nap time. My friends and family know how to reach me in an emergency, and if something is urgent, then a person can call me rather than email me. Email can wait. I will no longer make calls while driving, hands-free earpiece or not, unless it is an emergency. This is precious time that I can spend talking to my kids about their day, having conversations. And I'll do my best to pull out my DSLR to take pictures of my family instead of clicking snapshots of them with my phone.

On Saturday while the kids were at swim lessons, out of annoyance from all the other parents who were on their phones while their kids swam fifteen feet in front of them, I refrained from taking out my phone to take videos of my kids. Instead, I waved excitedly at my two little fish and beamed with pride as my son did his best few freestyle strokes yet, complete with a strong kick. I may have missed that moment had I been checking out my Facebook news feed like so many of the other parents.

I share this with you not because I am planning on becoming a model parent when it comes to limiting technology in the home. Lord knows I still have a great deal of work to do in this arena. I share because my eyes were opened by what two other women had written. And maybe you haven't read their posts, but you are reading mine. And maybe this may help you make some changes that will allow you to capture so many more memories of your kids as they grow.

I know I grabbed a ton this weekend that I'll hold in my heart forever now.

Which is much, much more important than time spent on any so-called smart technological device, don't you think?

{Just in case you are wondering, I wrote this post last night in my journal, after the kids were in bed, hubby snoring happily beside me while I wrote. I edited and am posting it this morning from the guestroom office, while my Mother-in-law is spending time with the kids downstairs.}

On angel's wings

She was gone in a second. My post last week was unintentionally appropriate. My mother-in-law called that evening to tell us that my husband's grandmother had been in the hospital with pneumonia and now she wasn't eating or drinking. Things did not look good. We starting looking at travel plans.

It was decided that my father-in-law would fly out the next day, and my husband and sister-in-law would join him in Wisconsin on Thursday evening and would stay the weekend. My mother-in-law, the kids and I would stay back and wait for an update.

Unfortunately, the update we were hoping for never came. Instead we got the call telling us she had passed away.

My father-in-law missed saying goodbye in person by one hour. A mere sixty minutes. 3600 seconds.

In my heart I know that she peacefully entered into heaven. I am absolutely positive she knew how much every member of her family loved her. I know that my husband's grandfather and cousin who left this Earth before her were there to hold her hand. And I believe that Jesus wrapped his loving arms around her and told her he was so proud of her for a life well lived.

And I was grateful for our last trip out to Wisconsin to see her this past May. I wrote about how I was sad that I forgot to take certain pictures, but that I was so glad to have had the time together to make memories that would last longer than the pictures I would have taken.

I spoke at her funeral service. I spoke about one of those memories we made during our last trip. It's my favorite memory of Grandma. After dinner one night, I suggested we pile all the great grandkids onto the couch around Grandma (6 of the 10 great grandchildren were there) to take some pictures. It was silly and challenging to get all the kids smiling and looking at the camera, but we got some great pictures. The five boys toppled off the couch and resumed their play, while Baby Girl climbed over to sit right next to her Great Grandma.

What happened next was the highlight of my eulogy. Baby Girl stood up and started patting her Great Grandma's beautiful white perfectly curled hair, as if to say, "Pretty, Grandma! So pretty!". Only our little lady wasn't talking quite yet. So it was just an adorable exchange of giggles, smiles, and high-fives. Such a special moment that I did catch on camera. Although I didn't even need the photo to remember the moment. It was that memorable.

Grandma was laid to rest on Saturday. That evening, the ladies of the family went through her (many) jewelry boxes to decide who would keep which pieces. We reminisced on the times we saw her wearing various bracelets, earrings, and necklaces. My little princess sat on my lap the entire time and would open up one of the wooden boxes, and then slip bracelet after bracelet on her tiny wrists. Everyone agreed that she should keep that bracelet box. Her brother later enjoyed "decorating himself" as he referred to donning the baubles on his arms.

In the end I chose one simple necklace that reminds me of how dainty, elegant, and pretty my husband's grandmother was. She was a gentle, loving woman who is now an angel who will always watch over her family from heaven.

Her necklace reminds me of angel's wings.

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Rest in peace, Grandma.

I love you.

Watching time fly

Do you ever think of how fast time actually passes? The first time I really noticed how fast time moved was two months ago when my daughter was in the hospital with pneumonia and Kawasaki disease. We came in through the ER and after her bloodwork and x-rays came back inconclusive, we were admitted overnight to give the doctors more time to figure out why our little girl was so sick.

Once up in our room on the pediatric floor, I distinctly remember the first thing I saw at the top of the wall opposite her bed. It was a gigantic digital clock, the red numbers pulsing out the seconds, minutes, and hours of the night. The nurses got us settled in, giving baby girl a dose of Motrin for her fever which had her asleep within minutes. I pulled the side rails of the bed up to make bumpers and propped up the bed with the remote so that she wouldn't be tempted to roll over and tangle up her IV line. I took the set of sheets and blanket from the nurses and made up the pull-out cot a few feet away from my daughter's hospital bed.

No matter what I was doing while we were in that room, be it night or day, my gaze kept shifting back to the clock.

The seconds were slipping away.

There goes one. Wait. Five more, poof! An entire minute, gone in an instant.

There were times in that hospital room (we were there for eight days, remember) when all I could do was think about how fast life goes by.

It got me thinking about how sometimes I wish with all my heart that I could freeze time.

Like the moment I kissed my husband right after the priest declared us husband and wife. The moment we walked into our first home together. The moment the second line showed up on the pregnancy test.

Or the moment I set eyes on my firstborn. And my second child. Those moments dashed through my life.

Some of the most incredible moments of my life happened in a second of time. A second and they were gone. I don't get to do them over. I will never get those moments back. They are gone from the present, yet frozen permanently in my memory, forever engrained on my heart.

As much as I grew to despise that clock on the wall in my daughter's hospital room, I was grateful to have experienced staring time in the face, 24/7. It gave me a new perspective on the seconds, minutes and hours that make up the days of our lives. It was during that hospital stay that I realized how short life really is and how important it is to make every. single. second. count.

Because they just keep on ticking by.