What Your Pill Problem Has Done To Me.

This post was originally written and posted on May 30, 2011.  I would like to add that while my relationship with my mom still feels strained at times, we are on much better ground with life than we were at the point when I wrote this, and she is in a much healthier place.

Dear Mom,

First, let me say that the apologies don't really count when they're covered with enabling excuses. I know you were in a car accident. That happened 30 years ago. I know you had breast cancer. That happened 13 years ago.

Maybe I don't understand.

But let me tell you what you don't understand.

I remember lying in my bed in the middle of the night, and listening to you upstairs, getting up every half hour (oh how I wish this were an exaggeration) and going to the pill cabinet. Until I finally crept up the stairs and took the bottle I knew you were going after. I took it and hid it in my bedroom. And then I got to listen to you get up every half hour and dig with more frantic sounds through the pills, dropping bottles everywhere as you couldn't find it. I don't even know what the pills were.

I remember my high school boyfriend finding your pills in my jacket pocket and looking at me angrily. Until I had to explain to him that the only reason they were there in my pocket, was simply so you couldn't find them.

I remember coming home after a date to popcorn spilled all over the floor, and knowing that you had just stumbled from the couch to your bed, not caring or perhaps not comprehending the mess you were creating.

I remember you trying to talk to my friends in slurs and fragmented sentences. And the drift that was created between my brother and me because I stopped bringing my friends home, and thus stopped being home.  He's blamed me for not being there for the family ever since.

I remember coming home after a date and telling you I was home. You were in bed but asked me about my night and we would stumble through a 15 minute conversation. Only to have you scold me the next morning for not checking in when I got home. You didn't remember anything about our conversation.

I remember the letter you tried to write me... that was nothing but scribbles and illegible words. Until it finally just dropped off.

As an adult I remember taking my brand new baby to visit you. And as you held her you weaved and stumbled, and then got angry and threw a fit when we took her away from you.

And how you faked the seizures in the kitchen until we hauled you off to the hospital. What you don't know is that Dad and I took the E.R. doctor aside and told him of your medication problem. He said he wouldn't give you anything that would "affect" you. But once you knew you had your medicine, you started acting "loopy". Being flippant with the nurses and calling loudly across the hall at the doctor. When my 8 month pregnant body screamed for bed after hours in the ER I decided it was time for me to leave.  I don't remember the degrading remarks you made to me for leaving, but I remember they were made. And I remember how embarrassed Dad was by them.  And how empty it made me after all that I had done for you that night.

Every conversation was slurred. And full of chronic diseases. And I finally stopped answering your calls.

And now you need a place to live. With a pending neck surgery and a bag full of pills. And I don't think I can do it.

I can't have my Circus watching it. I can't have them living it. I can't listen to your excuses as to why we should all put up with it. I can't listen to the apologies that are nothing but "feel bad for me's". I can't feel bad for you. I'm too hurt for myself.

I'm too hurt that the pills take precedent to your family.

 I'm too hurt that I raised myself, with Dad being at the fire station and you...

I'm too hurt that I can't handle a conversation with you that goes deeper than the latest mod podge project.

And I'm too hurt to bring it into my home now.

 I'm sorry, but there are some things that medicine can't fix.

And no one can fix this but you.

I Am Not Alone.

Is it too late to decide that taking math and Spanish in the same semester might be a little too much?

Yeah?

I thought so.

As it is, only 35 days until graduation so even though I feel I'm barely hanging on to life by my fingernails there is light at the end of the tunnel and I'm beginning to feel it.

I just want to say that I know my Heavenly Father has helped me through this semester.

Probably in the usual ways with understanding on the subjects I'm studying, but in other ways too.

Sometimes the ways He helps us are subtle and we don't even realize what's happening if we don't take the time to notice it.

Exhaustion has been my constant companion this semester.  I just can't get enough sleep.  I'm waking up at 4:45 in the morning and running strong and hard with classes, homework, work, occasional manuscript deadlines, church duties, and family.  

By the time I'm ushering The Circus off to bed at 9:00 I feel I have just enough movement left in my limbs to fall into bed myself.  

And then I wake up and do it all over again.

There's a few things I feel I'm being helped with.

1. I can get up and do it all over again.  Somehow, even with the exhaustion, I'm still going.  

2. Even with a 24 hour stomach bug and several colds circulating our home this winter, I've been solid in my own health.

3.  A husband who hasn't complained about my load and how it affects what I can and can't get done around the house one bit.  Not once.  Even when he's eating ramen for the third night in a row.

4.  Kids who have never complained about my load and how it affects what I can and can't get done around the house one bit.  Not once.  Even when they can't go to a friend's house "today" because Mom has class and can't come pick them up.

5. Friends who have never complained about my load and how it affects what I can and can't get done at church.  Not once.  Even if they have to fill in for me on Wednesday nights because I have Spanish class for a few months.

6.  Somehow I'm not behind on anything.  Due dates are met.  Deadlines are met.  Meetings are attended (mostly).  40 hours is put in at work.  Projects are finished.  Errands are run.  Appointments are made. A bedroom was repainted.  I attend soccer games.  I attend orchestra concerts.  I teach lessons.  And I still have time to talk with my children every day and fit a date night in with The Man on the weekend.

Though blog posts have become scarce.  I guess something had to give.

If I stop to notice it, I'm being held up.  I'm being buoyed.  

I feel the term "count your blessings" is thrown around flippantly.  We're used to it, we hear and say it in such an off handed way.  But in all honesty, if life is feeling hard, or heavy, or exhausting, take a step back and look at how blessed you are in all of it.  

We get busy.  We get tired.  And sometimes there isn't anything we can do about it but push forward.  But we are not alone.

"And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."  Doctrine and Covenants 84:88.

Elaine Dalton taught us: "In the strength of the Lord, I can do all things." (Alma 20:4).

Sheri Dew taught us: "But the Lord in His mercy has made it so that we need never deal with the challenges of mortality alone."

"President Hinckley has often said that the only way he knows to get anything done is to get on his knees and plead for help and then get on his feet and go to work. (Here)"  I feel that to be true, especially in this phase of my life.  But I know, despite how big it seems, and how exhausting it feels, and how much guilt I sometimes carry at all that I'm not doing, He is pulling me through.  

I am not alone.  

And neither are you.

{pic source}

Show Me Then.

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In the hustle and bustle of life I've had specific goals and plans that I've been trying to reach towards.  Steps that I'm trying to take to get me in the right direction.

And none of them were coming together the way I was hoping they would.

Which led me to struggle with doubt of what I was trying to do with my life.

Which led me feel like I had no idea what I was doing.

Which made me kind of grumpy all around.

The domino effect can be staggering.

I hit a bottom of sorts where I threw my hands up, in the recesses of my mind, and determined in a half prayer, "show me then.  Because everything I've been trying to do is falling flat and I just don't know anymore."

It wasn't a challenge.

It was absolutely sincere.

And that's where I left it.

Monday dawned, as Monday's tend to do, and I felt I was wearing a blanket of blah around me.  I was a bit sad, and completely frustrated with myself, and I was absolutely full of doubt over my life. We were questioning if The Man would get his full check from a company he frames for (they like to keep some of it sometimes for various reasons), I had my math final that day, and I was lost as to other steps I had reached out to and felt they had fallen flat.

And I prayed, as I tend to do.

As the day progressed a few things happened that drastically changed my mood from feeling like I was curled up on the fetal position on the ground, to soaring on cloud nine.

The Man did indeed get his full check.
I aced my math final.
A website picked up some shirts we were trying to sell from our boutique.
I got an answer to an email that I had given up hope on, giving me the opportunity to take a proofreading test to be a freelance proofreader for a publishing company (I'm turning it in today! Eek!).
And as a cherry on top, I got an unsolicited email from a company asking to meet me with me to partner up with my blog.  ( I have big hopes for this!  Stay tuned, we meet today!).

And that right there, my friends, is what I know to be the tender mercies of a loving Father in Heaven.  I badly, desperately needed an indication that He was aware of me in this moment, and that I was either going in the right direction for my life or an idea of where else to go.

And it came.  In a rush of different responses, it came.

He loves me.  He is aware of me.  He is rooting for me.  He wants me to succeed.

And He's doing the same for you.

"In all the important decisions in our lives, what is most important is to do the right thing. Second, and only slightly behind the first, is to do the right thing at the right time. People who do the right thing at the wrong time can be frustrated and ineffective. They can even be confused about whether they made the right choice when what was wrong was not their choice but their timing." -Dallin H. Oaks (read it, watch it).

Happy weekend ya'll.

My plans?  Paint a bunk bed.
Finish Christmas shopping.
Date night with The Man, which may or may not include dinner and a movie, which may or may not be my favorite thing to do in the winter.

My Car Got Broken Into. And the Reassurance of Kindness I'm Taking From It.

Last night I took my three older girls up to our church for our weekly Young Women's activity.  We made care packages for the missionaries who are out serving from our ward.

One of those missionaries has a form of autism and is living at home while serving locally in the Bishop's storehouse, so while we packaged the others in boxes for mailing, we put his in a gift bag to deliver on our way home from the church.

As we walked out of the church into the dark, cold evening, the girls were running and screaming in every which direction, as only young teenage girls can do, and we leaders were trying to shepherd them into cars to make sure we didn't leave anyone behind.

As a rush of girls ran to my car I clicked the unlock button on my key ring and they piled in before I even got there.  As I climbed into my seat I noticed that my middle consul was wide open and with a little irritation I closed it remarked, "quit playing with things, guys."

As I pulled out of my parking spot I noticed the car next to me had the back hatch wide open and I absently wondered what activity they were doing to have the back of a car open.

We drove a few streets over and delivered our package.

  And played a few rounds of hands up stands up in a light rain, and I then we began taking girls home.

I dropped off two extras and took my three home with me.

When we pulled into the driveway I went to grab my backpack off the floor of the passenger seat and noticed it wasn't there.

And I got grumpy.  "How could you guys not notice that it fell out?  It's big and heavy, I don't understand.  You guys really need to pay attention, I need that stuff."

So we retraced our steps, looking at the places we had stopped to see if my backpack was on the ground.

We made it all the way back to the church with no luck, but a group of people were standing around the car with the open hatch in the parking lot.  One being my friend and fellow Young Women leader.  She walked over to my car and my first thought was maybe one of them picked it up and she's coming over to tell me.

Instead, "Did your car get broken into too?"

"My backpack is just missing.  I wondered if it fell out."

"Your car probably got broken into, ours did."  I learned that the car with the open hatch had thousands of dollars of tools stolen from it. It began to sink in.

My middle consul had been wide open.  I opened it.  All of our gadgets (two GPS's) and CD's and movies were gone.

I began to look around the car.

Cali's scriptures, gone.

And my over full backpack.

I'm sorry I got upset with you, girls.

Who would do this?

And of all the things that were taken from my car, I wanted my backpack back.  There was nothing of worth to anyone else in that bag.  Except maybe the $200 textbook.  But the notes, the flashcards, the cheap calculator.  What frustrates me the most is my final is in three weeks.  They took an entire semester of math notes.  And I know they're just going to throw it all away while I now have to work double time to recover the information to study.

Luckily I know a guy in my class and he let me borrow his notes to copy over the weekend.

I posted on yard sale sites on Facebook that I was searching for a textbook and why.  A stranger offered me his old textbook free of charge.  The lesson I'm taking from this is this: yes, there are bad people around who want to make life miserable.  But there are also very good people around who will do what they can to help someone out, even if they don't know that person.

Today I'm very thankful for a kind stranger.

The rest is just whatever.

Cups.

Have you heard the radio version of "the cup song" from "Pitch Perfect" yet?

I'm so on this band wagon.


Even if it does sound like she says, "you're going to miss me by my taco" a few times.

One Day At A Time

Sometimes I hit a moment where I feel like my head is spinning and I just want to hyper-ventilate.
Somewhere along the path of paperwork and deadlines at work,
dishes, vacuuming, and laundry,
schoolwork for The Circus,
making sure they brushed their hair and teeth before school,
only to realize they didn't and they've been walking around looking like that all day.
The peed beds,
dinner,
the kids coming to me one after another, Mom I need...
again and again,
lessons for church,
and the expectations I have on myself to do it all perfectly all the time.

Going over my English and biology syllabi yesterday did me in.

Each claiming to be a very difficult, yet fulfilling class.

If you put the extra effort into this class you'll do just fine.

Times two.

And I thought, where do I have the extra to give?

I might be slightly OCD and I might be okay with that.  It's in these frantic moments of "what have I turned my life into?" when something in me disengages and says, "hold up there girl, let's just map this all out."

And I sit down and start writing due dates in my planner.

Deadlines and meetings for work,
homework and activity dates for the kids,
holidays and birthdays,
homework due dates for me,
and appointments.

I color code it.

Pink for birthdays.
Green for my school.
Yellow for my work.
Orange for The Circus stuff.
Purple for church.

And then I take one week at a time and I look at what I have happening, and what's coming up due.

And then I break it down day by day, giving each item it's place in my time.

Homework will get done in advance because I scheduled it to be so.
Meetings and deadlines will be remembered at work because they have their slot.
Lessons for church will be prepared because time was set aside to do it.
Kids will be taken care of.
Cleaning will happen.
Date night sits there smiling at me.

And when I see that I really can fit it in, and that it really all can happen I start to feel a little better.

I stop looking at the semester.
I stop looking at the month.
I stop even looking at the week at this point.
I look at one day.
One item.

And then I do it.

And move on to the next item.

One day at a time.

Frozen Through and Through

Sometimes when you drive to pick up your kids you realize that the 10 degress (F) that you left at home my not be so bad after all...

Sometimes when you have to drive through places that are -20 degrees, ice forms on the inside of your car windows.

And your hand burns with cold when you try to use the touch screen on the Redbox.

This winter storm was so big they even gave it a name:

Gandalf.

Well played, Gandalf, well played.

We have been frozen through indeed.

Classes start for me again today.

I've spent the morning going through the syllabus for each class and marking due dates in my planner.

It's going to be busy for the next few months.

Good thing I know how to use a crockpot.

Also, you should try this crockpot ravioli recipe.  (pinterest here).

It's my new favorite meal.  With garlic bread.

For reals.

Also, I'm drinking probiotics like it's going out of style.

I will not get sick.  I will not get sick.

Although these sinuses of mine are trying to tell me otherwise.

Oh, and I can't end this post without a funny story about The Man.

We spent Friday afternoon making a four hour round trip in the lovely Winter Storm that was big enough to be named Gandalf, driving through canyons that had been closed except for "chains or four wheel drive," to take my girls to their dad. We, luckily, had four wheel drive.

It was quite the ordeal and not one that you would think you would forget.

The next morning we could hear Tayler and Cali's alarm clock going off in their room.

I sluggishly pulled myself out of bed to turn it off when West mumbles from the covers, "let the girls turn it off themselves.  They know how."

I stumbled on towards the hallway, a little aghast by his comment.  "They're not even here!"

"Oh yeah."

We'll blame it on morning brain.

Rainy days and... Wednesdays. Road Rash and Crazy Hair. Today I Need Coke.

Lately, when Casidee gets home from school she can be found on her skateboard with a handful of boys.

Skating down the big hill in front of our house.

This type of activity usually results in something that looks like this:

Which I suppose it's only fair that she scraped up this elbow.

Now it can match her other one (that's almost healed).

I think it's time to wrap her in bubble wrap.

Just for the record, Cas thinks she is now old enough to tell me which pictures of her I'm allowed to post on the blog.

Apparently she's right, because I listened to her.

So also for the record, these pictures have been Casidee approved.

Yesterday was rainy, which I love. 

I love a good rainy day, and better yet, throw in some thunder and lightning.

The only thing about rainy days is that The Man works out in the wide open great outdoors and rain and snow can greatly affect his work day.  Sometimes he can work through the snow, but rain... rain is a different story.

You just can't do much with the wet and the mud.

But sometimes, if I'm a lucky wife, rainy days mean lunch with my man.

Even if he does show up at Red Robin covered in mud.  The hostess gave him a good look up and down, and then chose to ignore it, smiled, and seated us.

He's handsome, even covered in mud.

The Man tried to kiss me good bye while I was still curled up in bed this morning, only to catch my elbow square on his lip.  That's what happens when it's dark and you can't see each others movements.

Good morning baby. How about I give you a fat lip instead of a kiss?  He kissed me anyway, because he's forgiving like that, but I guess I better make it up to him tonight.

Today is crazy hair day at school.

Brynn chose the bun mohawk, Tayler went with Cindy Lou Who (tutorial on that here),

And cali chose what she likes to call "the palm tree braid."

The trick to pulling off crazy hair, is that it still needs to look good. 

Otherwise it doesn't look crazy, it just looks ridiculous.

I struggled this morning.  Even aside from giving The Man a fat lip, I over slept by an hour because I just couldn't get my brain to kick it into gear.  Which would have been okay except for the fact that I had to take the time to do crazy hair.  And Cas also overslept which left her frantic and ornery when her friends showed up and she couldn't find her glasses and didn't have her shoes on. I didn't get dinner into the crockpot this morning and have no idea what I'm going to make tonight now.  Also, the fact that I woke up to two peed beds this morning sent me into a tailspin.  I loathe peed beds.  Abhor them.  It makes me want to slam my forehead against the wall repeatedly, I'm so sick and tired of the smell of pee permeating throughout the house.  It seriously stresses me out.

And this is the mood that I'm left with today. 

I've been trying to be conscious of what I've been eating, but I think today calls for a McDonald's coke.  Not for the caffeine, but for the simple fact that I love it and I want something soothing today.

Also, I wouldn't complain if someone sent me chocolate covered strawberries.

i was trying to make a new enchilada recipe last night

I was trying to make a new enchilada recipe last night.  I get tired of the same ol' stuff, probably too quickly.  If I could be content to eat the same things over and over for the rest of my life my evenings would probably be a lot easier.

 I was trying to make a new enchilada recipe last night so dinner was taking a little more concentration than it usually does for me.  I can't cook without a recipe to follow.  I have no culinary imagination whatsoever.  I really like food, but you have to tell me what to do with it.  I can't pull tasty dinners out of thin air, someone else has to do that part for me.
 
I had my nose in a cookbook while I measured and combined, sizzled and stirred.
All the while Cali was bouncing around me, her 7 year old thoughts spilling out of her mouth in a constant stream of chatter.  I supplied her with appropriate responses in between reading lines from the page of the cookbook.
"Um hum."
Where's my 1/2 tsp at?
"That's great."
Did I buy another jar of salsa or is this all I really have left?
"Okay."
West hates cilantro.  I better just leave that out.
Cali asks me what time it is.  She had just received a Justin Bieber watch from her dad and she was peering at it on her wrist.
"You tell me.  What does your watch say?"
How much bulk taco seasoning do I measure out when it calls for one packet?
She peers at it more closely.  "I'm not sure it has the right time."
I look at the clock on the stove.  "It's 6:12.  Cali, do you know how to tell time on your watch?"
"No." And she giggled.  But she doesn't ever take it off.

I was trying to make a new enchilada recipe last night, when Brynn needed help making the new printer print pictures for her book report project.
"Can you help me Mom?"
It says to cut the chicken but I think I'd rather just shred it.
"What's wrong?"
"The printer won't print."
"You'll have to ask Dad to help you."
"He says he needs to put the new printer on the computer still.  Can I use your laptop to do it?"
No, I'm pretty sure I did buy more salsa.  Maybe it's in the pantry.
"Sure."
"How do I do it?"
I wonder if West will like that this has ricotta cheese in it.  Where is the ricotta cheese?
"You have to find the Print Master icon on the desktop."
"Okay."
"West? Did you throw a container of ricotta cheese out?"
There it is.  He hid it in the fridge door.
Grocery shopping had happened last weekend, which meant that the fridge got cleaned out and rearranged to make room for new food.  (And the fact that something smelled a little off was a good push to clean things out as well).  Usually I take care of it, but since we didn't have kids, or much of anything else going on, The Man helped me.  Now I wasn't sure where certain things were any more.

I was trying to make a new enchilada recipe last night, when Cas asked me if I was going to go running.
Did I buy Monterey Jack cheese or was I just planning on using the Colby Jack we already have.  Is there even a difference?  They both have Jack in them, I'm sure it's close enough to the same thing.
"Yes, I need to get started on running."
"Can I go with you?"
"Sure, I'm only going to run a mile tonight, I bet you can do it."
An egg? Weird.
Cali, who is still bouncing around me pipes in with, "I want to go too! I'll ride my bike while you run."
They did that with me last year, riding their bikes with me while I ran.  It's kind of nice knowing that they're there with me.  And I don't feel guilty leaving them after I haven't seen them all day with work and school.
Cas and Cali did go with me on the run last night, and that Casidee was a head of me the entire time.  that girl can run.  She has plans of being on the track team in Middle School, I think she's going to rock it.

I was trying to make a new enchilada recipe last night.  I was hoping, as I added the ingredients all together that it would taste good.  I hate when I anticipate that a new recipe is going to taste yummy, and then it doesn't so much.  Doesn't that defeat the whole point of making new recipes?  Getting something yummy instead of the same ol' stuff that you've been eating?  With all the digression that was happening while I was trying to make them, I began to worry that it wouldn't be good.

But they were.

And along the way Cali learned how to read her watch.
Brynn learned how to use Printmaster on the laptop.
Cas kicked my butt on a mile run (while it was in the oven).

Take that new enchilada recipe.