One Moment in Time

Hubs & I are pretty much homebodies. We are comfortable in our house, the kids love it here. We have a nice sized yard, with great neighbors, beautiful parks and lots to do with in a 5 mile radius. I like my bubble.

My depression has kept me us from truly enjoying family quality time together, and that is the one thing I will never be able to get back. I haven’t given those memories to my family, and it pains me. So when I’m feeling good, I’m really trying to make an effort to get out of bed, get dressed, relax and make the most of our time together. Today, being President’s Day, was the perfect day to take the first step.

Hubs worked early this morning and I had some [much needed] CBT. We met up at my in-laws shortly before noon and told the kids we were going on an adventure. Between the therapist and picking the kids up I sat and did some truly deep mindful meditation to bring me to a place where I could be calm, and believe it or not it worked. As we approached the beach, the kids were beyond thrilled.

We drove out onto the Santa Monica Pier, which is filled with food and fast rides – all set over the beauty of the ocean.

It was a perfect 70 degrees out, so we zipped up and headed out – everyone with smiles.  The four of us played games, went on rides.  There was no stress. Not a tear from the kids, not a twinge of anxiety on my part. I can’t remember the last time something was as natural as that. Is that how “normal” families do things? What an incredible feeling.

Perhaps the best part of my day was when Tallulah asked to sit next to me on the Scrambler. As I held her tight and we launched out over the Pacific Ocean, I watched her throw her head back, close her eyes and laugh. A deep, hearty laugh. I could have stopped time forever.

 

 

They Like Me, They Really Like Me

Last week was a series of guffaws.

I kicked off Superbowl Sunday by waking up with a stabbing pain in my right eye. I tore my contact out and pulled the covers back over my head but the pain wouldn’t stop. I called my go-tos and no one had so much as a Vicodin. I would have gone to the ER if I thought they could do anything with eyes, but finally I had to call my eye doctor to fix it at his office. On a Sunday. During kickoff. Because I am legally blind and could not see out of one eye Hubs had to take me to the doctor who had to bandage my eye, and then check on it every other day for the next week. I’m still unable to wear contacts and even though my orange Gucci glasses are adorable, I despise them.

That Tuesday I had to go for my annual mammogram. True, I’m only 37 but my family has a history of breast cancer and I believe strongly in preventative medicine. So off I went into Beverly Hills with my one good eye. As usual the imagining center took their sweet time, and when in was taken in they squashed me every which way imaginable. On my way out I asked the tech where I should wait for my results, and without missing a beat she told me they’d call me.

She already had one black eye, but I nearly jumped across the table and gave her another. She told me that it was protocol. Nearly in tears I asked her to check my file. I proceeded to explain. That when I had my baseline 3 years ago they found a spot that they check annually, if not more. So because of that they typically check the slides and determine whether or not to do an ultrasound. The tech walked away and came back less than 30 seconds later:

The doctor is too tired to read your slides.

And then I decked her. Well I really wanted to. She proceeded to tell me that the doctor read a lot of film that day and was resting for the day. I did a lot of muttering and left. Fortunately I haven’t heard from them so I’m assuming no news is good news. Oh, and my future mammograms will be done elsewhere, first thing in the morning with doctors with fresh eyes.

Two days later it was Max’s 100th day of school. As the designated class photographer and dedicated mommy, I got to go – despite my newest ailment: laryngitis. As I’m standing in the back of the class, I see a mother I’ve never met, so I pretend to be friendly and introduce myself. And instead of nice to meet youshe says to me:

Your voice is so deep.

For real? Who are you lady? I was floored.

The weekend came and went rather smoothly even though I had 2 shifts at the Snack Shack at the baseball field. One of my bestie’s husbands got to work the second shift with me because she got hit in the head with a flying ball and had a subsequent concussion. It was priceless watching him sweep and serve Coke It’s the little things people, the little things.

Tuesday was another party in Max’s class. The kids are so darn cute at that age – as long as they don’t have runny noses or bugs in their hair (you have NO idea). The kids had the best time, got hopped up on sugar and smiled all day. As for me, I got into with crazy Room Mom who was trying to tell me how to take a class photo. I could have smoked a pipe full of Xanax after my encounter with her.

It’s not me, it’s them, I swear!

Because then, as if on cue, other Bestie sent me an email asking me if we’d sit with them at a table for a charity event. I’m honored to be included at the table and thrilled Hubs was on board. I can feel the love.

Nothing Like Jack & Diane

This is the story of Terrie and Cooper.

Hubs and Cooper worked in Big Financial Institution (BFT) for several years together back in the late 90s. It was just before we got married. They were each other’s biggest competition – and champions. They truly bonded over another guy in their position that was the root of all evil (who was eventually promoted to the corporate level and then fired in a huge scandal proving the well know fact that karma is a bitch). They got along famously.

When we were married, Hubs invited a few people from his office. Some of them were a tight-knit group, working long hours together – back in the day when overtime was a viable luxury. Cooper attended with his then fiance Terrie, it was the first time I met her. She was everything I was not – stick thin, long dark silky hair and Irish. (I’m a short, curvy fat blonde Jew that had to blow-dry my hair every single morning!) We were different from the rest of the BFT wives – we were young, and got along very well. Terrie and I would couple up at the obligitory spouse events and pretend it was just us.

Terrie had moved to So Cal a few months before our wedding with her 9 month old daughter Madison to be with Cooper. The five of us hung out a lot together, as in every weekend. One of my clients at the time was the biggest shopping mall in Southern California and Terrie happened to manage a store there. We often had lunch or had the boys meet us after work for dinner, with Madison. We were beyond close. We didn’t even have to go out – we’d laugh and talk all night. They were the Lucy and Ricky to our Ethel and Fred. They married, she got pregnant right away, and when their newborn Ella was born, everything seemed great.

Hubs and I still had no kids of our own and we were both traveling a lot for our jobs, separately. We had taken a decadent vacation to Cabo San Lucas for a week – this was before smart phones. We had zero contact with the outside wold, it was glorious. When we came back, they picked us up and blindsided us with their announcement.

“We’re moving to DC,” Terrie said.

“Not funny,” Hubs and I growled in unison.

Cooper reluctantly turned around and lowered his eyes, “No really, we are. We leave in two weeks.”

My world began spinning. They proceeded to tell us how a GM position came up in Terrie’s company for a store in Georgetown and there was a position available for Cooper in the same area. They said it was fate. We called BS. Hubs and I still believe that if we had been in town we could have persuaded them to stay. We would have single-handedly changed their fate. They knew how we felt, it was a snap decision, but at the end of the day it was their family, not ours. Sidebar: they had no family here, but did have family in New York state.

Once they moved, Terrie and I talked regularly, as did Hubs and Cooper. We saw one another often enough, Terrie and I seemed to make more of an effort than the boys, I think it was a girl thing. We met up a couple of times a year to shop, spa and catch up and talked every day for the first few years. Terrie traveled out to LA quite often for work, and always her extended stay with us. Hubs and I loved having her, we’d laugh for hours – just like old times. When I became pregnant with Tallulah, she came out for my shower without thinking twice and bought me the designer diaper bag I was coveting. Terrie came to visit a few months later to see our precious girl, we still talked daily. Later on she was there with me, in spirit, every step of the way through my miscarriage and infertility struggles. I could always count on her. When I finally got pregnant with Max, she and my Little One flew out for the shower. Knowing she and my Little One got on well meant the world to me. I laughed so hard that weekend that I threw up!

I sent gifts on every birthday Madison and Ella had. They were both amazing little girls. Madison was the perfect little girl, an amazing athlete and student. She has always been good at following the rules. Ella was more challenging. I remember one visit to their house in DC and Ella had decided to put goldfish in the VCR instead of a video. Cooper went to scold her and she literally spit in his face. I had to leave the room – the kid was/is a spitfire! She’s grown up to be just as amazing as her sister. The girls are now 11 and 14. The entire family came to visit two years ago this month and we all picked up where we left off, our kids got along famously.

In the meantime, Cooper and Hubs had grown apart. Their careers had gone in completely different directions. Hubs was unsure of his career path with BFT and Cooper was in management, so it made for awkward conversations. However at the end of the day, they always knew they’d be there for one another. Terrie, on the other hand, began climbing the ranks at a different retail company than she had initially gone to DC to work for. She became obsessed with the gym and all things designer. It was all she could talk about, we began to grow apart.

And then I got sick the first time – we’re talking nearly 4 years ago. When I returned home from the hospital I reached out to Terrie, but heard nothing. I would never have told her any of this over the phone. Soon enough we made plans to meet for a weekend in San Diego. And as the weekend got closer I called to confirm details and heard nothing. So I emailed. And texted. And then I got the hint, I may be blonde but I’m not stupid.

Then almost out of the blue, two years ago this month, Terrie and Cooper called Hubs and I and wanted to talk to us together. They told us there was a huge possibility they were moving back. I was elated! They planned a trip in February to come visit and look at neighborhoods and schools. Terrie came in a few days earlier and she was just different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. She was cold and distant, Hubs agreed. When the family came, it was the same. I’d never known her like that. I felt like we didn’t measure up to her standards anymore. The rest of us though, we picked up where we left off, our kids loved one another just the same. We laughed heartily for a week straight. There was a snowstorm in DC and we spent our days frolicking in the beach in Malibu.

And Malibu should have been the tipping point. Terrie was more worried about her Jimmy Choo shoes and bag to step foot on the sand. Her sundress was too expensive to get wet. So she stood on the pavement while the rest of us were down at the ocean. I keep replaying that moment in my head over and over again. I should have known.

Terrie and Cooper went back to DC and suddenly decided to stay. She cut off virtually all contact with me. No response to email, Facebook, etc. I was heartbroken. This was the girl I would send a picture of shoes if I wasn’t sure I should purchase them. This was the girl that bought me Max’s layette. But I took it like a man. Hubs didn’t hear from Cooper, but that wasn’t unusual. And then, I got sick – again.

I’m not sure who called who, but Hubs and Cooper must have had mental telepathy. They got in contact as I was in the hospital and Terrie was packing her bags. Unfortunately she wasn’t coming here. Hubs confided in practically no one, so I was relieved he had Cooper to talk to. Cooper, obviously was going through is own drama. Terrie woke up one morning, decided she wanted to take a position in NY and leave her life behind. Over the next few months, she was gone. She sees her children on the weekend, when she can, but Cooper is raising them. He’s always been an amazing dad. He always will be. He’s found G-d and a girlfriend and keeps everything running. Of course it was rough in the beginning, but he is so much stronger than that.

And her? We haven’t so much as heard from her. Shortly after I got out of the hospital Hubs told me he called her. She answered and he simply said, “T, what the FUCK?” She had no answer.

Hubs had a business trip back East last month and took a weekend in DC to visit his old friend. He and Cooper attended one of the girl’s sporting events which Terrie just happened to show up to. She was shocked to see Hubs. Hubs said he sat between them, and at first it was like everything was still the same. They talked, they laughed. But things got ugly quickly. And while at one time, both Hubs and I would have refereed a little bickering, he walked away not wanting any part. He’s Team Cooper, so am I.

It pains me to think she was one of my very close friends. She never knew any of what I went through. I mean she turned her back on her family, on her girls. Her young, young girls. Dropping me was as easy as getting a new pair of sunglasses.

Sadly, I still miss her. A lot.

Demoted

In a leap of faith and on a wing of hope my therapist gave me a thumbs-up at the beginning of the year. We agreed I had made progress, become stronger, that I was stable-ish for the time being and it would be a good test. He didn’t hang me out to dry, he was/is always accessible.

I went in today and as soon as he closed the door, I broke into tears. I hadn’t even made it to my favorite spot on the couch. On cue, he handed me the tissue box. I couldn’t even figure out where to begin. He asked me to pick one word to describe the way I was feeling. I could barely muster the word DEFEATED.

When my Father’s name showed up on my cell phone yesterday, it was as if someone cut the tightrope I’d been walking on all week. Prior to that I had hardly been able to get out of bed. I’d been on edge and weepy. Hubs saw me sliding and as hard as he tried he couldn’t catch me.

Therapy was cleansing today. It clears my head and my therapist helps me sort through all of my feelings to determine what is logical and not. When we got into the nitty gritty today, I began not to feel defeated, but unsafe. I very much feel like I’m possibly putting myself in situations that leave me vulnerable.

Much like telling Mitch over and over again that I won’t discuss my past, yet he keeps pushing. Much like my dad, who doesn’t seem to be hearing thing like he can’t take my kids away overnight though we’ve said it time and time again.

I want to scream from the rooftops,

Can anyone FUCKING hear me?

Which happens to be ironic since I spent years as a publicist and millions of dollars of other people’s money delivering their message clearly, concisely, effectively.

At the end of today’s session I walked out with tools and plans to keep myself safe from a lot of these situations. We went to go confirm my next appointment and my therapist looks at me with wide eyes,

I think we should go back to once a week for the time being.

Oh Dear, What Can the Matter Be?

I’m still flying high on a somewhat reduced level of anxiety. I’ve yet to hear from my father via email or text, however, he has called my cell phone without leaving a message.

You may remember the original parameters that I set forth were very specific regarding types of communication. Phone calls were forbidden. Texts and emails were acceptable. Of course over the months each of my parents have found someway around this.

Thursday and Friday were particularly odd when around 11 a.m. the phone rang with a Private Number on three or four different occasions. I immediately called Hubs at work because I knew, in my heart, who the calls were from. I had no desire to leave my house that day, but I packed my purse quickly and headed out – and stayed there until the kids got home. On Friday, I was thankful that Hubs was scheduled to work from home and when the phone rang with the Private Number he answered. I was standing next to him and no one answered. They called right back and it happened again. I would bet money it was my father. And then today happened and I’ve never been more sure.

In addition a few other things have been on my mind. Tallulah went away without us for the weekend. She attended a weekend at a religious camp with our shul. She’s slept over at temple before, but never gone away. I spent many, many summers away at camp and aside it being the obvious escape, each and every year got better. Tallulah is so tied to her identity that I know she would get so much out of it.  However, Hubs is tentative, and I thought she’d feel that even just leaving on Friday. But we got to the bus and she ran on with her friends and we had coax her off to say goodbye. She’ll be absolutely exhausted tomorrow, but I know she will be so fulfilled.

Max had a little medical scare on a private part of his body. I’m thankful that we have a urologist on speed-dial and digital cameras to catch images for diagnosis. However, if anyone were to ever dig deep into my computer, surely I’d be arrested. Oy.

Finally, when Hubs and I moved into this house, we weren’t quite sure how long we’d be here. Now nearly seven years later we lovingly call it home and are ready for some major work to be done. The first step is redoing our bedroom and bathroom. You see Hubs bought me a bedroom set when I was just out of college, 15 years ago. At the time, it was everything I wanted – chunky pine. Needless to say, my tastes have changed, the tracks have fallen to bits and so on and so forth. Further, since we now have a King Bed we have no headboard. I didn’t feel like an adult without a headboard. So we searched and we searched and I finally found exactly what I wanted. But the color and dimensions were all wrong. Hubs surprised me and ordered them to my liking. When I found out, I was floored. It’s going to be the bedroom I’ve always dreamed about. The first few pieces came yesterday and last night I had the best sleep I’ve had in a while. It’s like the mystery of the princess and the pea has finally been solved.

Old Dog, New Tricks

The anxiety I’ve had in the last 10 hours is unspeakable. I tossed and turned last night. I took a sleeping pill and drank tea. Mindful meditation didn’t work. I crawled in bed with each of my kids to hold them, my heart is still racing. I think there are a variety of silly reasons it might be rearing its ugly head. But mostly I think I can attribute it to the fact that I responded to an email my father sent me the other day.

Oh, you thought that he had vanished into the abyss and my life would go seamlessly on its merry way? If only dreams came true. In the past month, my father has texted Tallulah a handful of times. Because it’s completely inappropriate for a 9 year old to be walking around with an unmonitored cell phone, Hubs and I receive most – if not all – of those texts before she does. Typically the texts are very sweet, “Hi Tallulah. We love and miss you.” But the last one, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back:

“Hi Tallulah. Call us so we can make plans for you to come visit us so we can take you to Knott’s Berry Farm.”

Um, no. That goes against everything I have set forth as part of my Cognitive Behavioral Therapy “rules”, everything that I have worked so hard to build to protect myself. It’s manipulative. And by the way, you can’t attack me in a letter – or otherwise – telling me my past is in my head, that my husband is abusive to me and that we are abusive parents and then expect to have free reign with my children. Hubs and I were always trepidatious (is that a word?), at best, when you had our children in your charge on a good day. Now we’re playing an entirely differently ball game.

Truth be told, and I laid this out for my father in the confrontation letter, this isn’t a game. This is my life. And communication with my children would be on my terms, in our arena, until trust was earned back.

Nevertheless, since we’ve received the text about Knott’s Berry Farm I’ve been reluctant to get back to he and my mother. Partially because it’s easy for me to revert back to being passive aggressive (at least I can admit it!) and partially because it’s out of sight, out of mind. So two days ago I get another very dramatic email from my father. It didn’t really phase me. I didn’t find the urgency in getting back to him because to put a vested interest into a response and sending back it is of no interest to me. Much like with Mitch, I’ve said what I need to say. Whether or not he has chosen to hear me has nothing to do with me.

This letter from my father has a vastly different feel. He’s taken a completely different approach. I find it nothing short of manipulative. But I knew I had to take control back. And Hubs kept reminding me of that. So much so that he helped me draft a response, which is weird because I’m the writer in the family. And then I sent it, and I’ve been a wreck ever since. Even with the help of my beloved therapist there is no way to anticipate what my father’s reaction is. I’m not sure why I care.

The “rebuttal” is as follows, with my input in italics:

Mummy Dearest,

This letter is going to be the distillation of my thoughts and feelings. I think you are old enough and wise enough to hear them, think about them, and share them with whomever you choose.

First a story: Your great grandfather Sam used to tell me a story that seems to fit our current state of affairs perfectly. He said that when he was a child he had a horse. He loved the horse and spent a lot of time with it. He decided that the horse needed to be trained. The trick he decided to choose was to teach his horse NOT to eat. His strategy was to give the horse a little bit less food each day. This was working really well but just before he got the horse trained, it died.
Mummy Dearest, we have listened to you tell us that this is your time to heal and that you need time to heal and that to heal you need us to contact you ONLY through email or text. Reluctantly, we have accepted this and are trusting that you and you advisors are correct and this will lead to a path that gives you the health and peace you need. We assumed that when you drew the line in the sand and asked us not to call you that you would acknowledge our emails/texts. This has not been the case.Yes I have (mostly), I’m on my own schedule, perhaps not as promptly as you’d like.

We know nothing of your health, treatment, counseling, happiness, feelings or, for that matter, anything else. If that’s what’s necessary and appropriate for you, so be it. That said, and really the crux of this note, we have been systematically and obviously been removed from the kids life. Holidays (You were asked to stay for Hanukkah and chose not to.), vacations (the Disney Cruise), regular phone calls, visits, sleepovers, school events, etc. have been removed one by one until, now, we are becoming a faint memory to our grandchildren. I feel like you have created the relationship you have with the kids. There have been times when the kids have asked to sleep over, they were told that you had plans. I understand that you have plans a lot of the time, but kids do not. Being flexible is crucial. Some people are and others are not. We all make choices. We were “granted” 3 hours with the kids weeks ago (and even that short time was broken up by a phone call and a text message. Frankly, honey, we want more. The horse/relationship with the kids is on life support – I am afraid the horse will die.
So now we come to reasons: Is Mummy Dearest punishing us? Is the ultimate control and deepest cut the removal of the kids from our lives? Is it a trust issue? Is the lynchpin of your healing removing the kids from our lives? I don’t know, I can only guess and let my imagination run wild.
Mom has sent you emails that have talked about the kids visiting and I know the last one was not answered. I asked Hubs about the kids visiting and he said, “I don’t think that is going to happen but I’ll check with Mummy Dearest.” Not a word since.

Honey, I know you have issues with me. As I have told you, from the bottom of my heart I apologize for being much less than a perfect parent. When I confronted you with the issues at hand you took the posture of blaming me for imagining things (as if someone would create the horror), accused me of being in an abusive relationship, abusing my children and saying so many more things with a clear attempt at being hurtful. This made it so clear to me that we cannot agree to disagree. I thought I made it clear that the kids will not be coming down to spend the night or have extended stays. There is no trust. And then, you send text messages to Tallulah asking her to come down and visit. You attempt to entice her with places you will take her like Knott’s, etc. This is incredibly manipulative because/and it is against our wishes. I really don’t know what else to do. I have offered to visit with any counselor or professional you choose with or without you and on my dime. I cannot walk this road alone, I need your input. I’ve given you my input, you appealed it and that’s that. I can’t keep beating a dead horse.
To summarize, I know you have issues with me, mom, your sister and perhaps others. All I can do is reach out. The removal of the kids is a side issue. I have NO understanding as to who benefits from this. Is it your idea that the kids will be healthier and happier now and in the future with one set of grandparents? Is this your decision alone? Who is benefiting?
I await your words, I love you with all my heart.

This horse cannot live without food much longer (emotionally – not, please G=d, figuratively.

____________________

I could have written more. I could have droned on and on and become emotional and pointed fingers. But to show any inclining of emotion to them still leaves me feeling vulnerable. For some reason this has been a hard enough month as it is. I can’t add insult to injury to PMDD. We’ve seen how that can blow up in my face.

So Much To Say, So Many Emotions

For some reason January has been flying by. I feel like the kid’s school is moving at warp speed and their sports and social calendars are jammed packed. Hubs and I typically reserve Saturday nights for adult nights, but lately we’ve either been too exhausted or enjoying family time. In looking at the calendar, I feel like we won’t have a second to move between now and the end of March. Insane.

I may or may not have forgotten to take one of my medications for a brief period of time this month. It took more of a toll on me than I initially thought and it was all I could do to pull myself out of bed last week. Thank G-d for friends that keep calling until I pick up the phone and others that hold me accountable in exercising and eating healthy. (I even caught Hubs texting one of my girlfriends, “Thanks for getting G out of the house the other day.” Nice.) I’m [easing] back in action, but the climb up has been nothing short of draining.

I’m dealing with two rather stressful issues right now.

The first, and most important, is my lovely daughter’s temperament. We’ve come so far this year in terms of gaining back the self-esteem that was ripped away from her in second grade. She’s a different child. And bless her heart, she’s taken after her mom and dad and is stubborn as all get out. She’s also become a bit of a yenta and knows everything. Now wrap those up and tie them up with a pretty little bow and you get a 9-year-old that thinks she is 16, and knows everything.  The yelling, the screaming, the “it’s not fair” – OMG it’s been hell.  We’ve gone through spurts of this before, but Hubs is seeing it now too – and for him to intervene, well then you know it’s big. Give me us strength.

The second issue is long and convoluted and involves a college friend of ours who was very close with us when we met and were married. There was a silly miscommunication just after Tallulah was born and said friend, we’ll call him Mitch (Man Bitch), literally stopped talking to us. Cut us out of his life. He made his point when he didn’t show up at Tallulah’s first birthday party. I was devastated. It was a blatant slap in the face, but it was clear what his decision was – and I never looked back.

He and Hubs have reconnected and Mitch is now married with children. Mentally, though, he is still a child.  As is his wife. We’ve been in touch with them for about 6 months and we all have another set of mutual friends. Hubs and I cannot see our mutual friends with out some concocted detailed explanation of why we are spending time with the other couple. Um, because we are.

My biggest issue with Mitch is that he is friends on Facebook with my sister who, if you will recall, I have not spoken to in about a year. I have no relationship with her. We have little to no common Facebook friends. I am uncomfortable with the idea of her seeing anything to do with me or my kids for fear of her, yet again, passing judgement. So, like anyone who is a mutual friend with my sister, I’ve only given Mitch restricted access to my Facebook. Why? Because he talks to my sister. I don’t want him to tell her – oh, we are going over to the Crazytowns for Shukbat with 40 other people. Or the Crazytowns went to Las Vegas with said friends in December. Or did you see those pictures of Tallulah and Max. I don’t want any of it, no ties that bind.

So both Hubs and I have explained it countless times. And Mitch called again to beat a dead horse last night. He tells us if we just tell him why we aren’t talking to my sister that he will delete her as his friend. We kindly, for the 10th time, told him it was a private issue. He said there is nothing private between friends. He dropped out of our lives for 7 years. He came back. Yes, let me tell you that I have been hospitalized twice for suicide attempts and am medicated currently. That my sister outed all of my issues on Facebook to my entire friends list including Hubs’ clients. Would your wife like to hold Hubs’ penis while he urinates as well? Really?

There are people in my daily life that will never know. It’s not their business and it’s not relevent. I’m working on healing. I’m working on taking the drama out of my life, not bringing it back. Can’t a friend understand somethings are private? (I say as I write this on the internet.) On a daily basis, I can deal with curves that are thrown at me, this continued beating of the dead horse becomes more and more upsetting.

Hubs and I have agreed to cut Mitch off at the pass. If it comes up again to not indulge in conversation. At this point whether or not he remains friends and/or acquaintances with my sister – who, by the way, he never had any relationship with anyway – the damage is done.

Unfortunately, between the medication, the ups and downs with Tallulah and the drama with Mitch…it has been a roller coaster.

 

No You Didn’t

In suffering with my depression I’ve had a very hard time enjoying the simple things in life. Like watching my kids laugh. Or Hubs reaching over to hold my hand in the car.

This weekend was very much a family weekend and while the kids tried our patience, we tried to cherish every moment. We had the great fortune of seeing a dear friend’s son become a Bar Mitzvah, and we have known him since birth so our connection is deep. Max and I had a birthday party for a former preschool friend on Saturday night. It was so wonderful, for both of us, to be with old friends. Sunday night the four of us attended the Bar Mitzvah party and danced all night. It was wonderful.

Per our instruction, the kids did not wake us up this morning. When Hubs and I rolled out of bed we decided to head out shopping for bedding, as we’ve recently ordered a fabulous bedroom set. Now my kids aren’t great shoppers, but they’re cute. And funny.

So there we were in Ralph Lauren buying new pillows. [Hubs is obsessed with their pillows.] we were checking out and the kids were behind us. As I turned around I saw Max sitting on a stanchion. I quickly scolded him, but not before he accidentlly kicked lightly the woman next to him. Without missing a beat, before I could gently ask him to apologize to her she got very nasty with him and berated him for being “terribly rude” and kicking her twice. Then she shot him the stink eye.

He’s 5. I was standing two feet away. There was no reason for her to scold my child. None whatsoever. She could have:

1. Moved
2. Said something to the parents

She was completely out of line.

Now I may or may jot have run out have run out of one of my medications two days ago but the LBC in me just kicked in. I asked her if she had kids, she said no. I was terribly rude and whispered loudly to her that she’d end up a bitter old maid if she kept up with her antics.

I partially regret saying what I said, but even Max knows there was a better way for all of us to handle it and keep ourselves in check.

Oh, and next time you talk down – well this is your warning.

Highly Sensitive Human Being

I’ve had the misfortune over the years of having some terrible adverse reactions to some rather common medications.

When I was 18, I had minor breakouts and the dermatologist gave me Tetracycline, a fairly routine antibiotic that people take to control breakouts. I took it for about three weeks and became very ill. Fevers, headaches – which I would later find out where migraines, weakness. I was a mess. I figured it out on my own, and my doctor agreed with me. I never looked back.

When I was 19, I had a terrible stomach flu just before finals. My parents sent me to the family doctor, who prescribed an anti-nausea medication called Compazine, so I could curb the nausea and get through finals. The first day I took it, I remember feeling extremely agitated.  I had a study group over at my house that night to study for my Statistics exam. I was speaking to my friend Melanie, looking straight ahead and all of a sudden, my head would twitch to the right. I had to physically move it back. And then it twitched again, and this went on for 10 minutes. I went to tell my mom, who blew my complaining off. Another 20 minutes went by and I started to lose control of my left arm. It began flailing on its own, no exaggeration.  I went to my dad, who promptly put me in the back of the car and took me to the Emergency Room. Sure enough, I was allergic to Compazine.

Years later, one of the first antidepressants the doctors put me on was Wellbutrin.  It was shortly after Max was born, I was a mess, and it worked like a charm. In addition to keeping me together, I dropped all sorts of weight – it was magic.  Fast forward three weeks into the medication and I noticed some bumps on my legs. And then my torso, and then my entire body. Chicken pox gone bad. The doctor immediately pulled me off of the medication. But the itching and the bumps wouldn’t go away, so the doctor prescribed Prednisone, which OMG is the most horrible drug on the face of this Earth.

I’m not technically allergic to Prednisone, BUT…I gained an enormous amount of weight in the two and a half weeks I was on it, I became rageful and ravenous, and I couldn’t sleep. It was horrendous.  So needless to say, I’m very particular and cautious about taking new medications.  I prefer to have my doctors work as a team so each knows what the other hand is doing and there are no complications. I’m terrified of another reaction.

But since my last episode, my skin had progressively gotten worse. I had these little red bumps everywhere.  They weren’t zits, but there were zit-like, just gross.  My skin is sensitive as-is, so I did what I could, but when the dermatologist finally had to give me a medication, I took it willingly.  And once I received it, I looked at it more carefully. Sure enough, it is in the same class as Tetracycline.  I called the doctor immediately, he said it was perfectly safe.  The pharmacist said the same thing. So I’ve been taking it for over a month, and my skin happens to be glowing.

But my head, it’s been throbbing on and off.  And now for three days fairly consistently.  Today I came home with a fever and the chills and could not lift my head up off of the pillow. These were the exact same symptoms I had with the Tetracycline. So as of today, I’m stopping the new medication and calling the dermatologist in hope there is something else we can do.  If you have ever had a migraine – and I’ve only had a few, the pain is unbearable. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night not even able to move my neck.

Hubs is concerned that I’m, perhaps, taking a few steps backwards. Therapy was emotional this week, especially after not being there for three weeks. The kids, bless their hearts have been challenging this week. And I’m just off from not feeling great. I’m so off that on Tuesday, I thought it was Wednesday. So, I had Tallulah cram for her Language Arts test a day early (we are now extremely prepared) and almost missed Hebrew School. I also burned dinner that night, frozen pizza at that. Today I forgot it was Bank Day, and got to the bus three minutes late – thank goodness for reliable friends (I don’t think I’ve ever done that before).

Now I’ve got to go rest my weary head, aka take Tallulah to her Hebrew tutor and Max to basketball practice. Boom, boom, pow goes my head.

 

My Way or the Highway: On How to Study

 

The jump from second to third grade for me  Tallulah has been intense. I’ve written before about the nightmare of a teacher we had last year and how difficult it was at the time.  Since Tallulah’s accommodations, things have come along much smoother.

We have the top and toughest teacher in our grade and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even when I feel overwhelmed by the amount of work and studying Tallulah has to accomplish, I know it is setting her up for future successes. As much as her teacher demands, she is incredible all around and celebrates each success. I’ve seen the [lack of] work in the other classes and know that the war boards in our living room for the Social Studies tests and math drills are all for the greater good. When Tallulah sees those good marks, she is so proud to bring them home. On the off-chance she’s had a bad day and drops the ball, she figures out how to fix it for next time.

Because no one is perfect all of the time.

That was never a message I was taught. Ever. I didn’t have much of a choice in bringing home As and Bs. Severe punishment and verbal lashings were at stake. I was less than when I brought home anything less. I was required to study more than 4 hours a day, beginning in about 4th grade.  Every single day of the week. In addition to my extra curricular activities.

Hubs had to give me a reality check when I started coming down so hard on Tallulah at the beginning of this year when her grades were so poor. We knew exactly what the reasons were, we were [not so patiently] waiting for the results of the IEP and accompanying accommodations, but it was so hard for me to watch. I knew she knew better. I knew she had it in her. She reverted back to where she was at the end of second grade, a frightened little girl with little self-esteem. I couldn’t let that happen.

With her accommodations we’ve watched her flourish. She’s doing so much better both academically and psychologically. She gets it and I love watching the light go on as she learns. But getting there can sometimes be frustrating.

I taught myself how to study all those hours that I spent up in my room trying to make myself look busy. [This was in the days of 'ole. Before texting/cellphones/internet - the horror.] I would take notes in class. Re-write them at home. And study them, and sometimes re-write them again. It was monotonous, but it worked. I learned my materials. I studied that way in college too, even with the onset of the word processor.  I would take my notes in class, re-write them legibly in the library between classes and type them at home. By then I pretty much knew my information.

Of course, this means my way is perfect. So for Tallulah’s vocabulary words for instance, I think having her come home and write the word and definition daily is an acceptable way of learning them.  Same with the spelling words – I give her a test, the ones she misses I have her write a certain amount of times – depending how many days we are away from the test.  The weeks that she has these, I make her do them every day and I have since first grade. It’s tedious and she gets a little nutso when it’s later, but it is what it is.

So tonight, we are studying for a major school-wide spelling test. The words are much harder than we are accustomed to. It’s especially rough with it being the first week back from vacation.  So Tallulah asked if she could have an oral test tonight , instead of the tried and true written test. The same written test I’ve been giving for three years.  So I let her, and I saw her looking into her brain and pulling the words out. She was, in fact, visualizing it.

I was stumped. Tallulah was on to something, she went with her gut and did something that felt right. And overall, the verbal test went smoothly. We’ve agreed it’s something we can incorporate into the way we study spelling and vocabulary and that it’s good to change things up. We talked about how Hubs, myself and her teacher are all trying to give her tools to help her learn how to study and it’s her own job to pull out what works best and fine tune it.

There isn’t just one way to get there.

I think I’m most proud because there is not a chance in hell I would have ever even approached my father and told that I thought that I wanted to tailor his way of doing this. I can only imagine the obscenities. I want Tallulah to have a voice, to do what feels right, to ask questions and act upon her instinct.