Loss and Grief

My friend died. It still feels surreal. In February, before I moved out of Oregon, I had my hair done by her and she seemed fine. I say seemed because of course the cancer was already there, eating away at her health. No one knew. But in eight months she went from fine to dead. That's how fast things can change. And nothing could be done.

I think the feeling of powerlessness is a big part of the difficulty. It's like when our daughter Jeanna died. There was no indication, no predictor of what was happening. It just happened, and in all the looking back, trying to see where we could have done something different, we couldn't realistically find anything. You can always find something that you can see in hindsight, but if we all had that ability how many things would be different.

That's the whole point, so much of life is out of our control, but we don't truly feel it until something like a loss like this occurs. We go along feeling like we have power, like we have some say in what's going to happen to us, but time happens, unforeseen occurrences materialize.

And when these things befall us, we're paralyzed. Sometimes with fear, but usually with something more. We're paralyzed by our own inadequacies, and suddenly all our confidence evaporates. All our decisions are questioned, all our options are reanalyzed. Our failures are magnified, our strengths shrink.

If you believe in God, as I do, you may turn to Him for reassurance. Because if you're out there feeling lost, the first thing you want is a compass to help point you in the right direction. You want to feel like you're not alone, that someone does have control. And that the time and unforeseen occurrences can be coped with and survived.

I don't think God controlled Glenda's or Jeanna's death. I think both of them were due to our human frailties and imperfections. But I do think God has the power to help us cope with the loss without spinning out of control. And I believe with my whole heart that both of them, along with many other millions of dead, have a promise of a better future where we won't suffer these shocking losses and the pain that follows.

So speaking of the pain that follows, I lost two days because of my grief. Literally. Today is Friday, and I thought it was Wednesday. I've taken this loss very hard. And part of it is what I wrote above, and part of it is my personal ability to deal with and process grief because of my illness. I don't know how to explain it, except how Erik explained it to me last night.

What he said, which made perfect sense from him and hopefully I'll pass it on clearly, is that it's like having a weak immune system. You may not be sick all the time, but you're more likely to catch anything that comes along, and get it worse than other people, because your immune system is already compromised. My brain is already compromised because I don't have enough of something and too much of something else in my receptors (we'll pause here so you can get all the brain jokes out). So I'm more sensitive to stressors that already are causing anxiety to the normal population.

Anyway, it sounded good when he was explaining it. And the one thing he said that really hit home to me is to start accepting myself today as normal. The New Normal. Today I'm not the high-powered executive type I used to be, I'm not the A++ student I was, I'm not a lot of things I used to be. And I can fight against it and be mentally shaking the bars that lock me into my illness, or I can accept that a major loss may cause me to lose two days; then I move on with some sense of control and normalcy. Either way, I'm powerless against my illness, it's going to affect me regardless of how I respond to it.

I have the sweetest daughters and cutest little boys in the world. I have a wonderful husband who takes such good care of me, to the point of choosing to marry me knowing that I have bipolar disorder and this is me forever. I have good friends who accept me for who I am, even when I don't accept myself. I have family that loves me after everything I put them through before I knew I had bipolar disorder and just seemed crazy and unpredictable.

Control is an illusion. Power is a concept that we hold as long as we are allowed to hold it, but it can be taken away at any time. Time is not our friend, it waits for no one, it bends for nothing. Our faith can give us hope and comfort, but at this time we live in enemy territory and every step could be the one that sets off a landmine. So kiss your children, hug your loved ones, make sure everyone around you knows how important they are to you. Because you don't know where you'll be eight months from now.

Scrapbook Expo

I had such a great time at the Scrapbook Expo. It turned out so much better than last year, I definitely think I'll do it again. For one thing, I drove myself, which sounds like a dumb thing but gave me a sense of independence from the beginning, like "I can do this." I need to have that feeling more often, which having a car gives me, but my overprotective husband is going to have to realize that I need it as well.

Anyway, I arrived early enough that I got close parking, didn't have to stand in a long will-call line, and was ready for the expo to open about 30 minutes before it actually opened. I think a first for the usually running late me. It was nice because it wasn't overly crowded when I first got it, so I had a chance to walk through all the vendors' displays without feeling pressured or pushed. I knew from last year who I definitely wanted to see, so I went to those vendors first. Then I just walked around looking at what everyone was displaying and what was new. It was a nice, non-pressured way to start the day. Since so much of my stuff is in storage still, I have no idea what I need or have, so I didn't feel the need to buy a ton of stuff. I mainly wanted to see the new stuff, and to take the classes I had signed up for.

So my first class was at 10:30 and it was six two-page layouts. I didn't take pictures because we didn't finish them, but they were mainly to give us ideas of different ways to layout our 4x6 pictures, which is what the majority of us use most of the time. Honestly, I love the beautiful layouts that display a single photo, but a rarely do them. I loved getting ideas on how to use different patterned papers mixed together and still have a cohesive, pretty layout (that is, not overwhelmed by the patterns).

My next class was a Prima class, which is known for their flowers but also makes beautiful paper and chipboard cutouts. That's the class I was excited about and I wasn't let down. I love using flowers in my layouts, and we learned how to use flowers. These pictures are the layouts we did. 

 These are so three-dimensional that you almost couldn't put them in a book, you'd want to put them in a display case. But they are so beautiful that you'd want them on display. It's hard to see where the pictures would be, but I'll try to explain.

 Well, this one is the type of layout I normally don't do: the big layout for one picture. But I guess if you have one picture you really want to showcase it would make sense. I just normally don't think that way. You can see where the picture would go, though, and it would be a little covered by the leaves and flower at the top of you chose to do it that way. Otherwise you'd just use a 4x6 and let the page be as much of the display as the picture itself.

This one is made for three pictures, one at the top and two at the bottom. Or two 4x6s if that's what you want to do, I don't think three of that size would fit. Again, the layout is so beautiful and I just love it, the pictures just don't do justice to how pretty the papers and flowers really are.

The last class was "From Overwhelmed to Organized," and I got some fantastic tips in that class that I am really going to put into practice. Especially living in a small area that leaves little space for my scrapbooking items, I need to have everything well organized, and the way she explained it was so simple and logical that I think with a little effort I can have all my stuff in one place and still not feel cluttered and overwhelmed. The biggest challenge will be finding the space to actually get my stuff out and organize it.

Overall it was a great day, and I'm really glad I didn't let my fears intimidate me so I didn't go.

Oh, and I think I found a crop retreat I want to go to, so if anyone is interested let me know, it would be a blast to have someone I know go, too.

Tomorrow is the Scrapbook Expo!

So tomorrow is the local Scrapbook Expo in Sacramento. I'm going for the second time; last year was my first time attending. Last year was also the year I'd rather not remember. I was doing okay by the time of the Expo last year, but it was really hard being in crowds of people, and taking the classes was difficult because I had a hard time staying focused.

So this year will be different. I'm different. I'm doing so much better. I'm on different meds. I tolerate crowds much better than I did. I have a much easier time staying focused. So why am I so scared and nervous? I think I'm afraid of a repeat of last year's angst-filled day.

It makes sense, we all have memories of certain events, and emotions tied to those events. And reliving the events makes us relive the emotions. But I want this to be different. I want it to be more like my second wedding.

My first wedding was a stressful day. In the back of my mind all day I knew something was off, something wasn't right. Yeah, the whole thing was wrong. It's easy to see in hindsight but the day of, I just thought it was pre-wedding jitters. Turns out it was my inner warning system going off full-tilt. I didn't know enough then to recognize it, but I learned pretty quick to listen to it when it spoke to me.

So when it came to my second wedding I was terrified. I did have pre-wedding jitters. More like pre-wedding panic. Up until the moment I saw my husband standing at the alter waiting for me. Then a flood of calm came over me, and I knew all was right with my world. And twelve years later, my world is still all right.

Okay, so maybe that's a stretch for the scrapbook thing. I mean, there's no long-term commitment here. But you get the idea. I want to go and relax and have fun and have it be enjoyable. I don't want to be stressed out and unable to focus on the three classes I paid good money to attend. I want to come home and be ready to go get my scrap stuff from Klamath Falls and start working again.

I know it's been a while

It's like a line from a song I like, "If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to." (Anna Nalick "Breathe (2 a.m.)"). I keep wanting to write and I keep putting it off like it will go away if I ignore the feeling. But I can't ignore it anymore, so here goes.

It's been a crazy summer. And I do mean crazy. Meds changing crazy. Almost hospital time crazy. But I managed to keep the balance tipped in my favor and I came out on top--I think. At least I didn't go to the hospital and that's a win for me. Yay me.

Sometimes for me the world seems so big and frightening that going to the hospital seems like a safe place. I'm enclosed, I'm closed off, I have no choices to make, all the decisions are made for me. A normal person--a sane person--would view that as horrible, which is how I know that I'm going out of whack. Because really, the hospital sucks. The food is awful. The beds are hard. The rooms are cold. The chairs are hard. And I really hate being there, except when I need to be there.

But like I said, I didn't get to that point this summer, although I came close. I knew I wasn't going back there if I could help it, and I didn't. We moved instead. Yeah, part of what had me crazy was living in a fifth-wheel with four other people, three of them under 10. And I can honestly say that anyone would feel crazy after a few months of that. So we put of getting a house, since that was going to take longer than we anticipated, and we got an apartment. (If I'm repeating here, I'm sorry, I didn't go back and read my last blog post.) We love it, we're happy, we fit comfortably for the most part, and we have everything taken care of--no maintenance for us. Julianne loves her school, so we know where we will be looking for a house when we are ready to move so overall it's been a great decision.

And I got a car finally. A 1997 Buick LeSabre. Big ole beast of a car that holds us all and has a trunk for additional passengers if need be. We paid $500 for it, and it was truly a steal. We are going to put in a new stereo and fix a few things that are minor and one major thing: the air conditioner. Probably when we're done we'll have put $1000 into it, still well below blue-book. And honestly, with no car payment, I'm very content to drive it for as long as it will last. There are so many things we need to save up to get and not having a car payment makes it that much easier.

So my brain is functioning relatively well, my three younger kids are doing well, our living conditions are good, there's not much for me to complain about. That's all the good in my life.

Sadly, I cannot say the same for a good friend of mine. Glenda has done my hair practically the whole time I lived in Klamath Falls, and I just adore her. We became close during a hard time in her life, an when I lost my baby we became closer. So when I found out she had stage 4 cancer I was shocked, to say the least. She was always healthy and took good care of herself, so she is the last person you'd think of getting sick. Then I got word that they downgraded it to stage 3, that she was responding well to treatment, and they gave her two years. I was relieved because I knew I'd be able to see her again, and after hearing stage 4 and thinking weeks, there were a lot of things I wanted to tell her.

Then came the news that she was bad, really bad, that she was taken to the hospital and they didn't expect her to come home. The emotional roller coaster was almost too much to handle. I am heartbroken for her husband and her mother. Her dad died a few years back, so this loss is an even greater blow for them. I am griefstricken for her son, who is barely in his 30s and shouldn't lose his mother this young.

I'm also grieving for the loss of a friend who never heard how much she meant to me. I wanted to thank her for being there for me when my baby died, for being willing to listen to me talk about her after everyone else had forgotten. I wanted to tell her how much it meant to me that she went through all my pregnancies with me, with the mood swings and the discomforts, and didn't once make me feel like I was anything but normal. I wanted her to know that she was the first person in town that I told I had bi-polar disorder, and because of her acceptance and support I was able to open up more with others. I wanted to say that she always made me feel beautiful on the inside as well as the outside, and that I love her for all those things.

One day I'll get to say these things to her, but today they are stuck in my throat and in my heart. Today the tears sit behind my eyes because I still can't believe that when I get back to Klamath Falls I won't be able to stop in at the salon and see her at her station working on someone. Today I face the reality that cancer kills people, you can't always beat it, and pinning on a ribbon or running in a race or writing your bra color on your Facebook wall doesn't change that. Today I'm reminded again that there is no guarantee of tomorrow, so do your best with your today.

Barely in control: It's been a while

Barely in control: It's been a while: "I've been kind of busy, which is no excuse not to blog. I mean, if I'm that busy that means I should have a lot to say. Unfortunately, it's ..."

We're Moving!!

I've been kind of busy, which is no excuse not to blog. I mean, if I'm that busy that means I should have a lot to say. Unfortunately, it's been the boring, everyday, slog-through-the-mundane busy that I've been. I figure, everyone else is that kind of busy, why would they want to read about it from me?

But it's been long enough, so I may as well update the blog. We're moving into an apartment on the third. Yes, an apartment. And it's a two-bedroom apartment, too. That means all three kids will be sharing a bedroom. It's hard to imagine us scaling that far back. We're simplifying in a big way, I guess. Really learning what we need and don't need, and how much we can truly live without. I mean, how many toys do kids really need? We have a ton here at the trailer, and when we went to the storage unit to grab some stuff, there was at least as much as much as we have here, if not more. And we don't even notice that we don't have all those toys.

It's amazing how much you can accumulate if you aren't careful. I'm not a packrat, as my husband will sadly attest. He knows I'm more likely to toss stuff too soon than hold on to it too long. I would rather need it and not have it than have it hoping one day it will come in handy. Clutter makes me crazy, and we all know where that leads. So I go through every so often and thin out our things and share with the world, either through hand-me-downs or charitable donations. Despite my best efforts, however, it seems that we still have things secretly multiplying when I'm not looking.

So now we have stuff in a storage unit that we have to fit into an apartment, and it won't all fit. And we have to decide if we are going to keep the storage unit and expect to move into a house within the year and have room, or figure what we have it what we need and whatever doesn't fit, goes. I'm tempted to open the storage unit to friends and say "come look and take what you want" and see what's left. Maybe that's a good way to figure out what we really need to keep: the stuff others can't use.

My cousin just got married and they combined two households. I can't imagine all the stuff they had to go through. I bet they had a huge yard sale just to get a handle on it, it makes my head spin to even think about it all!

To stop the spinning, though, we'll think about the move itself. We'll be moving in the middle of a heat wave of over 100 degree days this week, won't that be fun! I'm going to have to think of something good to have to convince helpers that it's worth it to show up in the heat and help us. At least it won't be over 100 on Sunday, just hitting 100. July 4 and 5 and supposed to be the hottest days, so at least we won't be asking for help on one of those days. Can you imagine? I totally forgot about these heat waves in California. It did this for maybe a week in Oregon, nothing like this though, and I really don't like these super hot days. When it's cold you can always add clothes, but there's only so much you can take off in the heat (at least decently!).

Otherwise, California is working out to be a pretty good move for us overall. Erik's schedule is a lot better, he's home way more often, since he doesn't have to travel out of town. And there's more to do, especially once we move and have a pool right outside our front door. Julianne and I even went to tea with Sanna (aka Erik's mom, Sharon) last week. That was really nice, we have yummy little tea sandwiches and tea and little tea cakes. If I ever figure out how to get pictures into my blogs I would put some pictures from the tea, Julianne wore a lovely dress and everything. It was very elegant.

So that's the busy that I've been. Now it's all boxes and packing and keeping kids occupied so they don't unpack or get too bored while I'm busy. I'll try to update this a little more often than this, although it's not an exciting life I lead ;).

1, 2, 3, 4.....

First, let me say thank you to everyone who posted in response to Erik's comment about my hospital visit. I truly appreciate the thoughts, especially because I'm sure some of you are thinking "seriously, now, is she ever going to get it together??" That's okay, I wonder it myself many times a day.

This was a meds issue, though, which was in a way a good thing. It means my brain is responding well to the medications, I just need to be sure to keep the right amounts of medications in my brain. Transitioning to a new med can be difficult, as you just witnessed.

As a side note for Melinda (and anyone else who follows me through my day on Yelp) I didn't have my phone, so I couldn't Yelp my stay. Not that it was the first thing I worried about, but just wanted you to understand why the lack of Yelpage.

Second, Carter finally started walking. He's so cute, he does the wide stance walk and waddles like a little duck. I was a bit worried and really wanted him to start walking because of his age. Now that he's finally walking I'm sad because my last baby is walking. It's another milestone I won't see again and I want to pick him up and cuddle him and baby him. But of all my kids he's my most independent of that kind of thing, more likely to push away and want down to play. When I was released from the hospital he came over to me and when I picked him up he put his head down on my shoulder, so I get some cuddling from him. I guess it's a more on his terms kind of thing.

Anyway, all is well here. So far. Until tomorrow. Because there are no guarantees, especially with two boys in the house.

Standing on the Edge

Most of the time I don't just wake up depressed. I know it's coming. Like a big black hole waiting to devour me.  Waiting, just sitting there patiently as I'm pulled uncontrollably closer and closer. And while I'm pulled I get to see all the things I'm going to miss while I'm in that hole: Time with my family. Time with my friends. Doing things I enjoy. Just enjoying the normal daily things.

That hole doesn't care, it just waits. I fight the only way I know how: By grabbing onto to the people closest to me. Unfortunately for me, it looks to them like I'm attacking them. That's because I'm just flailing myself around, trying desperately to find a way to stop the march. I strike out, reaching for a hand to grab onto, hoping to stop the fall. I yell, I scream, hoping to draw attention somehow to my fear of the hole and get help that way. Maybe if someone else sees the hole, it will disappear, like a monster under the bed.

But it doesn't stop, and no one recognizes my cries for help. I only hurt others as I get dragged down into the hole, scraped raw myself and bleeding from the heart and soul. Now I have to live here, in the darkness. I don't know how long the hole will keep me. Sometimes it's a few days, sometimes it's longer. It's lonely, dark, and scary. No one on the outside knows I'm in the hole because I look like I'm still there, just more difficult to talk to, more withdrawn, less able to function. That's because the real part of me is trapped, and I can't get out until I'm released. No begging, pleading, bribing, or threatening will do it. It's just when the hole decides to open.

And when it opens I can come out, like a person coming from a dark room into bright sunlight, unsure of their surroundings, sensitive to the light, to touch, to sound, to even smells. It's actually painful to come out of the hole at first, because everything in my body feels on high alert. Gradually, though, my brain feels the safety of solid ground, loving family and friends, even a regular routine.

And then the all clear sounds, and I realize my heart and soul have stopped bleeding and don't hurt to the touch. I can take a deep breath without pain. I can hear words without wincing. I can see the sunlight without squinting.

I can't see the hole anywhere. So for now I'm safe.

H.A.L.T.: What are you doing to my brain?

H.A.L.T. is an acronym used to help those with illnesses remember to take care of the basics: You don't want to get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. I think it's more for mental illnesses, I don't know since I don't have any other kind. What happens is, by not allowing yourself to get too hungry, angry, lonely, or tired, you help keep symptoms from flaring. Mainly, for me anyway, depression.

But I'm thinking about it today because I think there needs to be another letter for staying in your routine. Because when I'm out of my routine for more than a day or two, my depression starts to get bad. That's where I am now, because after going to the gym on Thursday I haven't left the trailer, except to go get allergy medicine. And while the wind has finally died down and I was able to sit outside yesterday, today someone is mowing grass so I'm back inside where I can breathe.

So I'm sitting back in the trailer, breathing but a little depressed because I can't do anything I want to do and I'm out of my routine. For me, and people like me, routine is really important. It keeps me focused on now, so I don't get overly anxious. It helps me recognize my symptoms becoming noticeable while they are still controllable. A routine is a safety net, and not having it can sometimes make things seem very scary. I try to stay as close to my plan as possible, to feel as safe as possible, so my brain doesn't trick me into thinking something bad is about to happen. So I'm trying to think of how I can do something that feels routine to get myself feeling back on track.

I could go to the gym today, but Erik is going to work tonight, so he has to sleep and there isn't anyone to watch the kids. No childcare at the gym on Sunday, for some odd reason. Honestly, do you think Sunday is so different from Wednesday for most people? I don't, I would totally bring my kids on days that I worked out. It would definitely make my life easier.

Oh, but I did decide to join Weight Watchers (I know, random transition there, wasn't it!). I figure if nothing else, I can pay someone to help me gain weight and then I'll have someone else to blame. But maybe it will help, and I will start losing weight. Somewhere I read that it's possible to not eat enough and therefore not lose. I don't know if it would cause you to gain, but I'll cover all the bases, just to be sure. And I like Weight Watchers. I get to eat the foods I choose, so I don't have to make a ton of changes in my diet. I'm really lazy, so the easier the better for me. I'd do Jenny Craig if I could afford it, simply because they hand you the food and tell you what to eat when. But because you have to pay extra for that service, I'll go the next best route and count points. Oh, and I get extra points for working out, which I've been doing, so I get extra food. So that means that when I want my chocolate I get it, no guilt attached.

Hmmm, except for the weight thing. Dang it. Well, I'm almost completely off the one medication that causes weight gain, and the lithium is next. I feel confident I'll lose when I get off that, because my ankles are swollen (lithium is a salt, hence the water retention). And if that doesn't work, then I go back to my doctor and just cry. Maybe that will help.

Oh, wait. Carter fell asleep! Yay, I can go to the gym! I'm beginning to feel more normal already.

This entry is going to be a lot about nothing. Remember Seinfeld's show, which was about nothing? That's what this is. Because that's my life, a series of events that are nothing major but all add up to my life. And if I wait until something exciting happens, I may never have another blog entry again.

So I've been going to the gym pretty faithfully, first in Klamath Falls and now in Tracy and, imagine this: I'm gaining weight. Yeah, I'm thrilled. And before you say "muscle weighs more than fat," no. I'm pretty sure I'm getting fatter. I had to buy new clothes at one point. Now, I will say that one of my medications was switched and it causes weight gain, so that could be the reason. So I'm going back off that medication and going onto one that doesn't have that side effect. However, there is nothing worse than suffering through gym sessions, working with a trainer, being pushed hard past your comfort zone, only to step on the scale and have it laugh. Okay, maybe the laughter was in my head, but I still heard it. And it wasn't nice.

Also not nice is allergy season. Apparently, we moved down here at the beginning of the worst time of year for allergy sufferers. And suffering we are. Baby C the most, although the other day the wind kicked up something and I thought I was going to die. I felt like someone with a giant hand pushed my whole face in about an inch and the pressure was going to make my eyes pop out (sorry if I'm being too graphic for you non-allergy sufferers). My head ached and I couldn't breathe. Baby C had to have three albuterol treatments in one night, which is a lot, but he couldn't breathe and had that croup-y cough. Thankfully, the other two kids did fine with just allergy medicine. I finally remembered Emergen-C and took some, which made some of my worst symptoms clear up so I could at least function. Yay for Emergen-C. I took more this morning so at least I feel human. And hopefully the wind will die down today or tomorrow and whatever is in the air will go away, too. Supposedly, sometime in May allergy season will end and we will all live happily ever after, at least til next spring. Let's hope that's true.

What's not making me happy is trying to buy a car. Apparently no one else in this country has to be able to fit four adults and a child (or two adults, two car seats and a child) into a vehicle and still be able to afford to pay for gas. My options are a car that wedges my children in like sardines and gets decent gas mileage, or a van or SUV that fits everyone, drinks gas like it's free and makes me eat rice and beans for dinner to afford the payment. I know what you're thinking: We chose to have that third child. No, if you recall that third child chose us. We had made the decision to be happy with two, were done with babies, had given away the baby clothes and TA-DA, here comes Baby C, happily splashing into our lives and making a big disruption of everything, including the kind of car we can now buy.  It's a good thing we like him, because you don't know how often I think "if we had two kids we could......" and that sentence ends all sorts of ways, from cheaper vacations to smaller cars to smaller houses.

But we do like him, we like all three of our kids. They are adjusting to the move very well, overall. We are living in a fifth-wheel trailer right now, if you can imagine. They get along for the most part, which is a good thing in a small space. Big sister J is very helpful with the little boys, and when she's not around B takes over as big brother. He's very good as he has an excellent example to follow. Poor Baby C will be bossed his whole life. I imagine him marrying a bossy woman because he won't know there's any other kind. J likes her school, and I like that the class sizes are small..... I mean SMALL, like 16 students in her class. So she's doing well there. The weather has been sunny most of the time, so we can be outside, so we aren't trapped inside the trailer (which of course helps us not feel trapped in the trailer). There is a nice play area at my gym so the boys really like going there, and J too when she's not in school. And in another month school will be out and the outdoor pool at the gym will open, so we'll have that to do.

Which brings me back to the whole losing weight thing. Because the pool is going to open in another month and I really don't want to look like the only mom not even trying to lose weight. Seriously, after all that sweating, I want something to show for it! I'm not asking to be a size six (yet) or to have no cellulite (yet), just some tone and definition somewhere so I can look in the mirror and say to myself "look at those ankles, wow is the hard work paying off!"

Cha-cha-cha-changes

So I'm finally starting to adjust to a life totally different than the one I had in Klamath Falls. In some ways I don't think I'll ever adjust. For example, if I had to describe most central Californians in one word, it would be: Late. Apparently, everyone here has lost at least five minutes somewhere and they are all trying to catch up. The traffic light changes to green and immediately someone honks because he's not driving. But you can't go immediately when the light changes to green because at least three cars have to get through the red the opposite direction. Maybe there's also a lot of color-blindness around here, I'm not sure.

There is a lot of impatience, though, and for someone not known for patience to see it, that is saying a lot. The other day I went through the McDonald's drive-thru, where the person in front of me was from somewhere slower than molasses, maybe Mississippi, I don't know. Anyway, it was annoying for me, but the woman two cars behind me was apparently on break from open heart surgery, because she flew around me and the car behind me as soon as she had her stuff, scraped her car (some metal part, not the plastic bumper) on the curb, and blasted in front of oncoming traffic to race to the red light.

I waved at her when I pulled up behind her. I'm sure she didn't notice because she was talking on her phone.

What I do think I'm adjusting to is the shopping. It's great to have so many choices. Although it's funny, I'm still drawn to the same stores we have in Klamath because I know what they have. I needed a gym bag and my first stop was Big 5. Shoes? Payless. Anything else? Walmart.

Oh, my, the Walmart here is a maze compared to the one in Klamath Falls, and it's not a superstore or anything. For some reason I cannot get this store down. I needed dog food and wandered what felt like hours before finally finding it, by the people food. I guess it makes sense. In a kind of weird way.

But there is a real mall (as in, you walk inside and all the stores are there!). And I'm already thinking about how I can get different things at different stores, without having to worry about an hour-and-a-half drive. And I don't have to feel obligated to spend a ton of money every time I go, because "we came all this way, better make the trip worth it."

So the next purchase to think about for us is a vehicle for me. Do I go back to another van? A full-size car? I'm torn, so I'm open to any input. In the meantime I drive Erik's truck, which I park terribly, and probably don't love like my husband does. He wants it back, I want to give it back to him, so hopefully it won't be too long before we can make a decision.

Welcome to California

So I've been a Californian for a week and so far, it's not that great. California Dreamin', wishing all the girls could be California Girls; no, so far for me, it's been Hotel California.

Okay, it's not that bad, we've had some sun, in between all the raindrops that have fallen on my head and almost knocked me out cold. (Okay, I'll stop with the song titles). But really, it's Klamath Falls about 10 degrees warmer. So instead of any snow, it's all rain. Except there's no one to talk to because my friends are actually in Klamath Falls. As is my husband. For at least two more weeks.

And now Baby C is sick. Fever of 102. Coughing and crying between hours-long naps. So I can't even go outside, dodge the killer raindrops, and go do something fun. Like go to my cool new gym. Oh, wow, you should see this gym. It's a real sports club. It has tennis courts, and racketball courts, and basketball courts. It has a huge area for the kids, with Wii Fit, and a rock-climbing wall, and a foosball table. The younger kids can climb in a climbing thing like they have at the McDonald's, but with no bigger kids to run them over because they are all separated.

The workout area consists of about 1000 cardio machines--treadmills, stairmasters, bikes--in various places around the gym. Then they have a huge, and I mean HUGE, free weight area and two weight machine areas. Then there's a pilates room, a spin room, an aerobics room, steamroom, sauna, hot tub, and both indoor and outdoor pools. To top it off, the outdoor pool has two slides: One for big kids and one for little kids, and it starts at six inches, so even bitty kids like Baby C can take advantage of the pool this summer.

Yeah, and all that cool stuff has to wait for me, cause my poor baby was exposed to some idiot who had the nerve to go out in public and spread his germs around.

Oh, well. I guess I can watch Netflix for now.

Yes, We're Moving

I'm officially giving notice, we are leaving our house and our town and heading south to California. Right now we are on Plan B, which I think is pretty good, all things considered.

Plan A was to go down to California in a month, after we'd given notice on our house, and after we planned and packed in an organized fashion. So Erik got boxes, some friends got me newspapers, I got up Saturday morning and starting packing, and promptly had a panic attack.

Plan A didn't include any mention of my bipolar attributes, including my almost complete inability to cope with changes, and my total need for things to be organized and in control at all times. Have you ever moved? So you know how close to that definition moving is not.

Having bipolar disorder has changed so much for me. So many of the things I used to be good at, and enjoy, I now find frustrating and overwhelming. I was an organized person who was assistant to vice-presidents at various insurance companies. I was in sales for a while. Now there are times I feel myself pushing my brain to work.

I used to really enjoy moving, in fact I moved a lot. Now it is a nightmare. I have my binder and my colored pens and everything else needed to have the move organized, but I can't seem to get my brain to actually move in that direction. It's so frustrating, because I know someone is going to have to actually do the work, and that someone ends up being my husband.

So my wonderful husband, knowing he's going to be doing the work anyway, and wanting to make my life and his easier, offered up Plan B. Plan B is now in effect: I simply pack the stuff we'll need in California, pack up the kids, and he'll drive me down there next weekend after our daughter gets out of school. Win/win. He'll get to pick up his parents' truck and horse trailer to aid in the move, and get rid of the biggest move stressor in his life, namely me.

This is actually really good for me, even though it sounds like it would be more stress, not less. I have to organize my week, which I can do, I'm good at that. I only have a small part of the move to worry about, so I have complete control. I have a limited amount of time, so I have to get everything done and after that, it's not my problem.

The hardest thing is that I'm still really stressed. I have no control over it, and I can do all the stress tricks I know, and I can take my Ativan, and I can get enough sleep, and I still have this amazing brain that tricks me into thinking things that aren't true, or twists the truth, or whatever it does. I panic over things that aren't there, or that aren't that big, or that aren't worth the effort.

So what I will do this week is make a schedule to live by. I will plan each day so I have to focus on the here and now. I will try to leave as little time as possible for me to actually think, because when I think I start to panic. And then we will get to the end of the week with sanity intact and all things ready to go. And it will be a fun week, not a stressful one.

Plus, I hate to imagine what Erik has as Plan C.

It's time to organize

I have a binder. I have a binder, and I'm getting organized. Yep, you can all now be in awe of me, because me and my binder are going to organize my house and my life like nobody's business.

Of course, first I have to find the binder. It's in my bedroom on my shelf, I'm pretty sure. I saw it the other day when I was looking for the stamps. Which were in my jewerly box. Which is why I felt the need to get organized. So I will put my hands on the binder within minutes of finishing this post, if not days.

Then, I will go to Staples and buy stuff to fill the binder. You can't get organized without stuff. I'm going to need pens, preferably gel pens in different colors. And I will need a highlighter, in yellow. I will also need paper clips and push pins. Because if I can't hang it up where I can see it, it will be lost. And then I will be back at square one.

Once I have all that, I will come home and make checklists on spreadsheets. Checklists make it much easier to be organized, you know, because you can check off what you have done. And you can use different colored gel pens for different rooms, or different tasks, or different people; there are so many options here. Then you can highlight the tasks that still need to be done, so you can see what hasn't been checked off in red, green, purple, blue, or pink.

Oh, and I'll need binder dividers so I can make a section for each room. That way I'll know that Julianne's purse hanger still hasn't been hung up by her dad (BIG yellow slash through that one), and I'll be able to keep reminding him about it. And I can easily flip to the kitchen and see that the one cabinet has a broken child-proof lock, which also needs to be fixed by dad.

Hmmm, maybe I should have a divider called "Dad to fix."

Anyway, this is because I am noticing that my stamps are getting lost and winding up in my jewelry box, and my furniture isn't getting dusted except when the sun shines a certain way and makes me realize that it's got fingerprints. In the dust, not on the wood. Things are slipping through the cracks and I don't like it. I'm normally very organized.

Which is why I even have an empty binder laying around in my house. Because there is always the chance of a binder emergency, for which I will be prepared. Such as now. So I will go to Staples, satisfy my need to organize, and hopefully in the next week or so I'll feel like an executive SAHM (stay-at-home-mom), and not just a mailroom SAHM.

Oh, and a clipboard. Now that says professional.

Girly-Girl

I am a girly-girl. I admit it, I am proud of it. My husband loves it. I've always been this way. I hear people say they can't wait to get home and get out of dress clothes and I wonder why. They don't bother me a bit. Nylons: Never been a hassle. Slips: Never had a slip-up. I love wearing make-up, I love having my nails done, I love painting my toenails. And don't even get me started on the high heels!

Turns out, according to an informal poll done by me (and thanks to girlfriends Stephanie and Nova), only one-third of women are girly-girls. That means that, if handed $100 to spend as you pleased, two of you would think about what to do with the money, while I would be at the salon, already in a chair with someone doing something for me.

I know this, because I love salons. If they had make-up counters in salons, I would be in heaven. I would probably spend much of my free time there. My boys would grow up to be stylists and make-up artists, thinking that's all there is to life. I'm actually having a hard time writing, because I'm trying to figure out why no one has thought of this idea before now. I really think this could be a huge money-making venture for someone.

Back to salons, though. Did you know there are people who, if handed $50, would not have a mani/pedi?? If you don't know what a mani/pedi is, you're part of the two-thirds, and I'll explain, it's a manicure and pedicure. And you probably are thinking, WASTE $50 on your feet and hands??? Well, I'm here to tell you, it's not a waste. It's a glorious pleasure that kids' shoes can't match. Seriously, my younger daughter J has three pair of school shoes. Plus boots. How many does she wear? One. Plus boots. The cost of those other two pair? A mani/pedi. The boys? They could care less how many shoes. Baby C doesn't even wear shoes except when we leave the  house, and if he can figure it out, he's going to leave them somewhere so even that doesn't happen. Cost of the extra shoes? That's right, a mani/pedi.

But I'm not going to convince you, and that's not my point. My point of this is that being a girly-girl is hereditary. My younger daughter is definitely showing signs. She wants to wear her princess dress to school on Friday, which is Career Day. Actually, the conversation went like this: J: "Can I wear my princess dress on Friday? It's dress-up day." Me (looking at calendar): "It's career day." J: "Whatever. Can I?"  If she considers a career as a chance to dress up, then so be it. Heck, whatever she does, she'll be wearing a princess dress, so I say go for it. Let the school tell her it's not appropriate. At least she dressed up for a job, right?

My older daughter, though, is the shock: You'd never guess her for a girly-girl, all the tattoos and attitude. But sure enough, guess who takes after her mother. Manicures, pedicures, high heels, hair coloring, expensive make-up and perfume. She even has a little drama queen in her, although she'll never admit to it. She doesn't do dresses or anything like that, but trust me, it's a day or so away. She needs something to go with the heels.

Trying on Someone Else for Size (and Other Things)

So in one of the magazines I read recently, it said to give yourself motivation, imagine someone you admire doing something they are known for. It gave the example of using Jennifer Aniston to motivate yourself for working out, since she's a devout exercise enthusiast. Supposedly, you don't have to picture the person doing what you want to do, just using their motivation for their own passion is enough. I think. The blurb was longer than my attention span so I only got part of what it was saying.

But I figured I'd put it to use today, and I would tell you the results so you don't have to waste your time if it doesn't work. How's that for a great deal: I'll do the work, and you don't have to buy a bunch of magazines trying to find the paragraph I'm talking about.

So first thing this morning, I decided I would do more than my usual "mom" routine of shower, blow-dry, and dress. I woke up early enough (and the kids are still drugged up on Tylenol) to actually do something with my hair AND put on makeup. So to motivate myself, I imagined Angelina Jolie, and all her kids, and how great she always looks. We'll ignore the fact that she probably has at least three nannies (I'd say a minimum of six, but that's just because that is what I'd have) and her hair is long enough to pull into a pony tail and look fantastic in about 30 seconds.

So about 45 minutes later, I look nothing like Angelina Jolie, but I have make-up on and only two burns from the curling iron. And for myself, I look pretty good. Let's just say that if I had six nannies, Angie would be keeping a close eye on Brad.

Now for the clothes. My usual sweats aren't going to look good now, so I have to find jeans that fit and a cute top. Who can I imagine that I admire style-wise? I decide to be inspired by my girlfriend Sarah, who always looks great. I use her because she's also curvy and has lots of great ideas. So I go through my closet imagining Sarah by my side, throwing away the majority of my clothes. She's right: I need new clothes. Clothes that say "I embrace my curves" instead of "I refuse to admit I'm fat." Maybe someday my personal style maven will taking me shopping with her and help me. If I promise not to sit at her feet and fawn.

Anyway, I finally find something to wear. I look okay. I should probably say I look great, but after Sarah was here my self esteem took a bit of a hit. So it's time for breakfast. What I want is the rest of the box of powdered donuts my husband left. What I should have is something healthy. Hmmmm, honestly, I'm going back to Angie on this one. Because I see her as the type of mom who feeds her kids normal food, which means there are temptations in her house. She probably works out in the morning, right, so she'd have something workout friendly. I guess I'll have a smoothie. Of course, that means I have to go work out soon, or I'll lose all those benefits. Darn you, Angelina, why do you make my life so complicated?!

Complicated or not, I had my smoothie, then went in search of my workout clothes and shoes (so far the budget doesn't support the staff I desire nor deserve). Finding everything, I finally made it out the door and to the gym. YAY! This picturing someone I admire may work!

So I workout, come home, have sick kids, and do everything else boring that happens in a mom's life. About mid-afternoon I'm getting tired (I was up at 5:30 and worked out, after all!!) and, lo and behold, there is a box of ding dongs calling for me. Okay, I confess that before I could use my new trick, I ate one. What can I tell you? I was holding two sick boys and I was tired. Angie NEVER had this problem, I guarantee it! Anyway, I ate one. Only one. Because I did catch myself and think of my girlfriend Stephanie. She is one I admire for willpower. She can pass around a plate of brownies and not eat a crumb.  Not one little piece.  I live in awe of her. So I pictured Stephanie and put those chocolate pucks out of sight and out of mind. Thank you, Steph, I now know to think of you sooner.

Stephanie is also my go-to imagine person for grace under pressure and class in any situation, but that's another blog.

So there you go, a mini demonstration of using a person you admire for a boost of willpower. It appears to work if you can really see the person as a person, not just an icon. Like, in my mind I see Angelina's build and I think, she works for that body. She isn't just handed a skinny frame. I think I could like her, although her lips would be a bit distracting.

She may be a bit unnerved about the Brad comment, though.

The Great Mom Debate: When to Go to The Doctor

My two boys are sick. Baby C has only been sick a few days, but four-year-old B is going on about seven days. I think. I can't remember, exactly. Here's where the guilt starts, because that's a question the doctor's office asks, and a good mom should know, right? I just know he's been sick for a while and the fever has been about 101-102 the whole time.

Yes, he's been coughing like that since the beginning, I think before the fever started. Let me check my notes. Oh, wait. I didn't think to take notes because I have three kids and don't think every cough means something. Sometimes it's just a cough, right? Especially at my house, with allergies running rampant and animals running wild (see previous post). Plus, if it clears up in a few days, I did all that extra work for nothing!

So now my husband wants to know if I--as a mom--think he's sick enough to see the doctor. And I start to panic a little inside. Because there's that fine line between the Overprotective Mom, who runs to the doctor the second her prince (or princess) sniffles, and the Oblivious Mom, who has no clue her child has chicken pox until the scabs are falling off.

At least that's how it feels when I'm at the doctor's office. You get the usual questions: How long has he been coughing? How long has he been running the fever? How many wet diapers (or whatever they ask for potty trained boys, we haven't been sick since potty training finally took hold)? How much has he eaten? Did his coughing get bad enough during the night to wake him?

I don't know the answer to these questions. Why can't they ask the questions that are easy? Like, how many tv shows have you erased from your DVR? Were they 1/2 hour or full-hour shows? How high was the volume to hear over the coughing? How many nights did your husband bring home Chinese, pizza, or other take-out? Were you able to sleep in your bed, or did you sleep with your child in the recliner/toddler bed/rocking chair? How many days since you shaved your legs (now that, I think I could estimate!)?

Those are questions I could probably answer, and it would give the doctor the same approximations. I guess I should just re-write the questions in my head as we're going along, and I'll be okay. If I could remember, since I'm so tired.

But the problem is, if I go in too soon, I get the "Overprotective Mom" treatment. You know, where they treat you like your child is ill, but you know behind your back they are rolling their collective eyes. "Your child has a virus, it will run its course and be gone, possibly before you get home," is what they want to say. I feel it,  I've done it, I hate it.

Wait too long, though, and you not only endure the above questions, you also get treated like "Oblivious Mom," the one who probably would miss a broken arm. I know I wouldn't, at least for very long. At least if it looked funny, or if he was crying.

But that isn't the point; the point is, it's been several days that my little boy has been sick, and my husband wants to know my professional mom opinion of going to the doctor. Which is to pray the fever breaks tonight and makes the decision for me.

Okay, I'm Done With *This* Roller Coaster Ride

Wow, it's been a crazy the last few weeks: Literally and figuratively. My oldest came home on leave and was here for almost the whole month of January. It was good and bad. She has bi-polar, too, and she had a manic episode that pretty much rocked our little world. We all survived, fortunately, and she's working hard on getting the help she needs. The Navy seems to make it hard to get help, but once she's back in the states I think she'll be okay. She's a good girl, and she's determined to do what needs to be done. I'm very proud of her for that.

Oh, and in the midst of all this, while her boyfriend Mike was here too, they took a drive to Redding and got a pitbull puppy that will live with us until they get permanent housing in San Diego. After Suzannah gets back from Japan and Mike finishes school in Missouri. Yeah, in other words, we got a pitbull puppy. I'm counting the days til March 1, when the first day of puppy obedience school starts at the local dog training place.

So we have that going on, and then our van gets repossessed. Yes, that's right folks: We can't pay all our bills. We struggled and scraped and really worked to keep it all together, but we finally just couldn't do it anymore. It's a fact a lot of people have faced, so after the initial shock, I thought I had it all together.

But between my increasingly hostile daughter and the stress of money, my depression just got worse and worse until I was suicidal. And so I was hospitalized.

A lot of people can't really understand the dynamic of mental illness. One girl I was in with had a husband who told her to pull herself out of it, to just think positive, that if she wanted to be better she would be better. Until she slit her wrist. Now I think he sees it a little differently.

Trust me, if we could think positive thoughts and be better, we would be thinking hearts and flowers all day long. Not one of all the people I was in with wanted to be there, but we all wanted to be better. We all wanted our pain to go away. Unfortunately, too many times we get bogged down with the negatives thoughts and feelings and we can't reach the solutions by ourselves. We need help getting that solution. Sometimes it's as simple as a trusted friend listening to us; sometimes it's the hospital. But all of us are fighting a very real brain problem, like MS is a real brain problem, or rheumatoid arthritis is a real joint problem. You can't pull, wish, or think yourself out of it.

Time does help, though, and I had the time at the hospital and then with a trusted friend, for whom I am eternally grateful. So back home and back to my routine, and first thing is my younger daughter, J, gets sick, then the older boy, B, gets sick, and now baby C is sick. Yay, I have three sick kids! This I know I can handle, though. Easy, cause everyone sleeps a lot so it's quiet. And I can write.

And the pitbull is actually doing pretty good. She's very smart, which is good for her, cause I think at this point I'd feel no guilt letting her live in the garage (I have no car to go in there, anyway).

What bipolar might look like to the kids

When a mom has bipolar disorder, the whole family has the ups and downs. When she's up, she does such cool things: You get to run around going to the park, sliding at McDonald's, signing up for gymnastics and ballet and music lessons and everything else equally fun. Life is exciting and thrilling.

Then she crashes. She is in bed, or on the couch, or just staying in the house, in her robe, while you get to watch tv. Lots of tv. Maybe you get to play a lot of video games (which is fun, too). You may get dragged to a lot of doctors, which is really boring. You eat a lot of fast food, or maybe you eat things you find in the refrigerator and cabinets, whatever you or your dad can find or make because Mom is too tired to cook.

Gradully, things improve. Mom gets out of bed and starts acting more like herself. She moves a little slower, she may seem distracted and not interested, which is really the medication. Sometimes she sleeps more and you get to watch tv or play video games, although not as much as you did before, because she doesn't sleep as much as she did before.

Then everything smooths out and mom finally comes out of the down time. It's not a high, but it's not the low. You go to the park, or to McDonald's, you may sign up for gymnastics or ballet or music, but not all at once. She's finally acting like the mom you had before she got sick, had her breakdown, whatever you call it.

There are still some ups and downs, but they aren't really noticiable to you. She may take a nap during the day, or stay home for a few days in a row. She may cook and clean and shop a lot for a few days, then go back to her regular self. Nothing that won't register until one day, as an adult, you can look back and see the variations.

So that is a generalization of what life looks like when you have a mom with bipolar disorder. Fortunately, because she's the only mom you have, it will all look normal to you, and you love her regardless, and by the time you realize that all moms don't behave this way, I hope it won't be important that she's different.

In Which Winnie-the-Pooh Discovers that Most Fears Don't Exist Outside Your Head

I have horrible anxiety. The kind that makes me stay home and worry that everything is going to come crashing down around me if I leave me house. The debilitating kind. Needless to say, it's not fun.

I go through cycles, so there are times I am fine and I can live like a relatively normal person. Then one day I wake up and I can't leave my house. It seems random, although it really isn't: There's almost always a trigger somewhere, it's just a matter of locating it. But it's hard to find and I am usually back on my feet and returning to my relatively normal life way before I have time to think about the trigger.

Today I thought of the title of this post, and  how our fears almost always live inside our heads. We are afraid to try something scary, we are afraid to make a move into the unknown, we are afraid to grab for what we want because it means letting go of the safe, boring, drab. While mine is an illness, it is a similar thing: I'm afraid of leaving the safety of the known for the unknown.

My unknowns, though, have brought my amazing husband, my fantastic friends, my wonderful volunteer work with my church, my life. Imagine staying home and having none of the things you have. Nothing is scarier than that, is it?

So let the fear motivate you, let them give you the energy to move beyond your comfort zone and into the scary area where the greater rewards are. Think about the worst that could happen, and remember that your couch will be there for you. Trust me, mine has never once let me down.

Oh, and I'll tell you my scary place: the gym. So that's my goal and that's where I'll be headed.

The First Post

This will be short since it's my first post and it's getting late. I just went looking for a blog I, as a mom with bipolar disorder, could relate to. Well, I couldn't find one. There are a few out there, but nothing that that felt "fit" me.

So here I am: I have a 20-year-old daughter is is about to get out of the Navy. I have an 8-year-old daughter and a daughter who was stillborn in 2005. You can imagine how that kicked me in the butt, even without the mental illness. I can write about that another time, because I think it will be good to have it out there for other moms who suffer a similar loss.

Anyway, I also have two boys, four and 18 months. My 18-month-old still isn't walking, so I'm arranging for him to see a physical therapist. My husband thinks I'm being paranoid, but every time I have a gut feeling and ignore it, it turns out bad. So this time, we'll be doing it, even if the therapist says everything is fine.

My husband works for the railroad, fortunately right now he works in town and is home every night. Most of our marriage (which has been 11 years) has required travel, so it's been really nice, even though the money isn't good. Thank you, bad economy. Both for real and sarcastically.

I hope someone reads this, I hope I can keep it up.