Unschooling, Formula and Faith: 10 Things I Wish You Knew

It's so much easier to put things up on a blogpost that is available for anyone all over the world to read, and yet I cannot say these things out loud, even to near and dear friends. Here are some slices of truth that I am always too afraid to just tell people, but wish they knew anyway.

1 - I have and may always have, a mental illness, but I genuinely believe that I am still entitled to a full and amazing life, with children and goals and a career and anything I want!

2 - I am a committed Christian who struggles to belong to a Church, because I believe in evolution and because I believe the way the Church treats the LGBT community and other minorities is unethical and un-Christ-like.

3 - I am an advocate of unschooling. If you ask me how 'homeschooling' is going, don't be surprised to see me blush, stammer and try to change the subject. I don't know anyone else who is unschooling, so it is at times lonely and frightening. Please don't arrest me, or take away my children.

4 - I am a staunch feminist, and yet I am sometimes so ashamed of how hairy I am that I struggle to leave the house.

5 - My kids play on the computer or XBox for HOURS at a time, and yes, I permit it and yes, they are learning stuff from it.

6 - I have tattoos and piercings, and I plan to get more. I love them. Deal with it.

7 - I am a hippie and I parent my children gently and I am a homebirth advocate and yet I am also a proud and Fearless Formula Feeder, and were I to have more, I would feed them formula too.

8 - I love blogging, and writing, but I also feel like it's just one more arena in life in which to feel isolated, alone or left out.

9 - I say rude or inappropriate things at times, because I am trying SO hard to hide the fact that I am hurting.

10 - I may love you dearly, but I have zero energy to spend time with you.

Do you find it easier to write things down than to say them? What do you wish I knew about you? Thanks so much for stopping by! Love and hugs

OOTD: Every Body Hurts

I have Fibromyaliga. Google it. It's a pain thing, and it comes and goes, but at the moment, girl, it's coming. I'm showing  you my super-awesome outfit in case you too have Fibromyalgia; did you know that every single little bit of pressure from waistbands and elastic can make things 100 times worse?

Today, for example, I was wearing a jacket to begin with. It looked smokin'. I mean, it was great. But a little bit too small... and the pressure around my upper arms and across my back made everything more bad. So I'm just showing you this, because there are no waistbands. This is the loosest combination I could come up with. Unfortunately, society dictates that I wear a bra to hide the fact that my boobs are gloriously flappy.... which means I always a knot of pain in that part of my spine - I can feel it with my fingers - and always will.

The only other stuff that happened today involved me being short-tempered, grumpy, angry and irrational with my 3 sweet children. Sorry babies.... 

Tomorrow I will take lots and lots of supermarket painkillers and try and be nicer, I promise!

Fibromyalgia: Fibromyalgia (FM or FMS) is characterised by chronic widespread pain and allodynia (a heightened and painful response to pressure).^[1]Its exact cause is unknown but is believed to involve psychological, genetic, neurobiological and environmental factors.^[2][3] Fibromyalgia symptoms are not restricted to pain, leading to the use of the alternative term fibromyalgia syndrome for the condition. Other symptoms include debilitating fatigue, sleep disturbance, and joint stiffness.

Just a quickie....

Recent developments:

- An abandoned compost bin sits on our front lawn. It was dropped off on the weekend, still smeary with someone else's scraps. When it stops raining, we'll move it away from its Dalek-like sentry position to a more suitable spot. Our rubbish bags remain bulging at the seam, so there's lots more work to be done...

- We have used just under 1 disposable nappy per day in the last month. For the first couple of weeks those were the night nappies, but I've bit the bullet and now the bub's bum is in cloth at night too. Only a couple of leaks so far. The other disposables used have been when she was being looked after by family, while I was away. But I'm SURE I can work on them too... I bet my parents would just LOVE for me to teach them how to use a MCN.

- I want to be a writer. I want to write books and stuff. There, I said it.

- I'm thinking about joining in with the amaaaazing Miriam at Create, Hope, Inspire for 'Me-Made-May', which involves wearing something handmade every day, and making something to wear once a week... I think... the details are still sketchy, but I'm keen!

- Lastly, I was wondering if anyone would be keen for a post on how to make your own cloth nappies? I can link y'all to the websites I use for fabric and patterns, and add all my own tips and know-how(a rather short paragraph) as well as my tips for using cloth nappies effectively - NO LEAKS! (Hint: it's not them, it's you..)

That is all.

Last-Minute-Lucy

There are SO many things I have to do before tomorrow that I am sitting completely still.... Ever get that feeling? So overwhelmed by the to-do list that you cannot even get off the couch? Complete avoidance is usually my coping mechanism, but the hours are slowly drifting by.... so I thought I'd write a list. Lists help. Hopefully writing this list will inspire me to actually do something. Here goes nothing!
Things to do:
- get off the couch
- do some washing
              - grown-up clothes(including winter pjs)
              - kids clothes
              - nappies
- hang up all that washing
- try on my maternity jeans(because surely, of all my pants, I hopefully can still squeeze into my maternity pants??)
- make a name badge for my swap partner Holly(check out her blog)
- wrap her present
- sort out what crafty/sewing stuff I am going to take
- find my old country road bag
- collect all the stuff I need to pack
            - toiletries/make-up
            - craft stuff
            - clothes
            - what have I forgotten???
- put it all together and weigh it
- throw half of the stuff out and weigh it again
- sort out what stuff I am going to just take to the airport with me to stick in other people's suitcases
- write out a routine of things FR does, for my poor darling husband
- get my upper lip waxed(my 'stache is NOT coming to Christchurch with me, no matter how warm it keeps me)
- get some cash out for the bus
- get in all the washing and fold it
- tidy the house
- make dinner
- have a shower, wash my hair, take a sleeping pill

Ok that probably isn't even HALF the things buzzing round my head. Oh wait
- passport??? Or will my drivers licence do...

Right. That's my list. I think.
Getting butterflies now...

I am actually really anxious about meeting lots of people, living with people I've never met, and the little girl inside me keeps worrying that no one will talk to me, and I'll be left out, and I'll be a loser. sniffle sniffle. Time to put my big girl pants on, I'm a grown-up after all... aren't I?

Thoughts on Winter(an Over-The-Top Essay)

It is too cold this morning. I shuffle through an eerily quiet house, wearing my husbands socks and two cardigans, a scarf round my neck.  I feel  old.  The combination of my painful joints, hobbling gait and mismatched layers of clothing do nothing to ease that feeling. I cannot shake the odd sensation of dejavu.  I watch my stinging fingers fumble at the coffee machine as if from a distance. I have been cold before. This is that same coldness, played over again in a mirthless merry-go-round of seasons.

Winter means darkness. The faltering bitter light outside is not bright enough to reach inside me, and my heart, that darkest innermost, feels the icy fingers curling around, clutching.

We have not had good winters, my heart and I. Blame my childhood of sunshine on a tropical island, but I don’t know if I will ever really get used to that chill of wind, the dark short days, the biting pain.  Or maybe it is only since I had children, the crying red-cheeked children with their endless ear infections and sore throats, and the depression which plagued me throughout.  Maybe I should blame That One Winter in particular. You know the one. The black black winter. When I open the boxes of carefully folded coats, jackets and scarves, the smell of cold floats off them, the invisible ghosts of winters past floating across the cold wooden floor towards me.

Perhaps you think I’m being melodramatic, and you would be right. But for me, winter really is melodramatic. All of my memories surge forward, rushing over any rational part of my brain, pushing into my consciousness. All of the ghosts of past depression clamour, rattling and shaking their chains like any decent Marley brother. I can feel it all again, all of those feelings, all of the pain. It is in the cold air that catches at my throat, and in the cold water that stings my swollen red knuckles. I wish I had the strength  and energy to fight it. I wish I had the willpower. I wish that I wanted to fight it… but then that’s the problem with mental illness isn’t it? The very thing that can save you from yourself is the part that’s broken.

Today I caught myself staring at Frida Rose, wondering who she was. She became, just for a second, that child of no one, child of my depression. She refused her bottle, refused to be comforted or cuddled, her sobbing cries breaking the eerie stillness. And I held her loosely on my lap, and watched, detached, as she flailed and squawked.  For just that second she became Maddy-as-a-baby, Lewis-as-a-baby, any baby from the past – my moorings to the present were loose and I floated, in the room, and wondered who she was. I wondered idly what to do with her, as if she was a friend’s child that I was babysitting for a couple of hours. I wondered how many hours it would be until her father came home and relieved me of my duties.  My dispassionate gaze faltered and then flicked off, and I was left trembling and clutching my baby, wishing the evil spirits away.

Later I stare out the kitchen window, my unseeing eyes staring out of a thousand cold kitchen windows, every house that we have ever lived in, all distinctions blurring… Everything I love about this house, so much better than any other home we have made, fades and flickers at the edge of my gaze. It is simply Everyhouse. The cold tiles on the floor the same, the ragged cobwebs in the corners identical… I have lived in this house forever, I have been caught in this winter forever… Although it is mere days since the glorious seemingly endless summer, I cannot remember what that sunshine was like. My mind tries to recall it, but lazily the memory slips away, like warm water through my fingers. The empty space within slowly chills.

I try to finish what I am typing on this keyboard, to come up with some pithy ending but my fingers keep hovering, my mind wandering. Nothing comes out, the trickle of thought and passion dries up.  Nothing left, but cold.

The Wellness Issue

    So I'm in a conundrum at the moment. I'm not very 'well', but I'm not very sick. Do I just ride it out? I've been to the doctor a few times. I've had some conflicting advice. I've had another doctor say one thing and then change his mind. He's not sure whether I'm sick enough to take action or not. I started come down with it a month ago -ish- but it's hard to tell, you know sometimes what is just a little ache starts aching a bit more, and then that headache that was coming or going... well, you THINK you've had it more each day but you can't be sure. It's like that. I definitely have days when I say, yes I'm sick. All the signs are there. I try and lie low, drink lots of fluids, try and squeeze in a nap, but it's hard to take time off to get better when you're a mum. The problem with my flu? It's mental. That's right, it's the invisible kind. I don't have a temperature, or a sore throat. My head doesn't hurt, although my bones do ache, deep inside, in a kind of timeless crunching way. Is it just a virus? Don't know.
    The number of times I take my kids to the doctor with all the Symptoms of Something: sore throat, runny nose, rash, temp, poor appetite, and get sent home to just ride it out. It's just a virus. Of course, they say, bring them back in if it gets Worse. You know, like a More runny nose, or a Higher temperature. But what's the line before you treat the virus? At least with physiological illness, there are numbers, statistics. If their little bodies get above a certain Number on the thermometer. If their little snot trickles turn a Specific Shade, like a pantone colour. If they've thrown up a certain Number of times in the last so many hours. It's science.              Mental health, now that's not science. Yeah, they have some pop quizzes that they can loosely get a score from. They'll ask you how you feel, from one to ten: 'pick a number'. But it's hard to know what shows that I'm sick, and what's just a personality trait. And when all the various authorities decide that yes you're sick, but they're not going to change any medication or try something new, it's left to me to ride it out. To ask myself each day, what number am I feeling, from one to ten?
    Yes there are signs, but the signs of wellness and sickness can overlap. For example, one sign might be that I'm not making anything, creating anything, not feeling inspired. However, one day this last week I was on crafty fire, I made and created, I was inspired. But it didn't feel super-healthy. It felt like a coping mechanism, a way to ignore my children perhaps, or a vain effort to validate my reasons for staying home, or a way to avoid thinking anything deep. It was a Good day, but I was still sick. I know that other people can't usually tell the difference(my husband definitely can, but hey, the man cooks my meals for me and sleeps in the same bed as me)(oh crap, I haven't changed the sheets for ages! Bad housewife!), but you'd think that I'd be able to tell the difference, right? Wrongo.
Example:
                  In which of these photos am I sick?
Photo one:

maybe it's this one... I'm smiling, but not with my eyes, and my head is kinda pointing down and to the left... hmmm...

Photo two:

Or maybe it's this one. I appear to be genuinely smiling, but slightly distant, distracted... tricky, tricky...

Answer? BOTH OF THEM, but on a good day. See? Sneaky ay!
    So the question is, do I try to get better, or do I just wait and see. Maybe this is as good as it gets right now. At what point does one decide that I'm genuinely sick enough to 'need help'? At what point do I cross the line from struggling-but-coping to struggling-and-not-coping?
    And is it ok to actually kinda enjoy the ride that I'm on, to embrace this feeling of rawness, of the kind of low-level-ire that comes from being really honest with myself; whether that ire is directed at my own failings, or what I see happening in my community, in society's failings. Maybe it's good that there are people like me, feeling like this, because we want something to change. We're not content with the State of Things. We want to push, to annoy, to question, to rant, to cry a bit. We want to change your mind about things.
    So maybe hold off the 'Get Well Soon' cards, because I have to confess, in a twisted sort of inverse way, I kinda like things like this.

Bloggers Unite!

    So one thing I have been VERY remiss in writing about is the fact that I'm going away to a Bloggers weekend... kind of a meet and greet, a few workshops etc... in Christchurch(where I've only been once I think). There are a few reasons I've put off the writing of this. One reason is that I am so embarrassed that I am so bloggy illiterate. I'm a total novice, and don't even know how to put the 'buttons' on my page without step-by-step instructions. I am blushing as I write this, and because I'm tired and because I hate to be embarrassed(brings back lots of memories of being a loner and/or loser at school) I actually feel some sneaky tears welling up. I am SO out of my depth here. I don't know how to 'Link-In' jackshit. I am very bad at keeping up with other bloggy friends latest posts, which is very rude in blog-land. And I feel rather terrified about going away for the weekend with people that I've never met(ok I've met one or two, who actually read my blog, holla!), on a plane, where I'll then be hoping to be picked up by another person I've never met, and then I'll meet a bunch more people who Know How to Blog.
    I've been writing on a blog for at least five years now, yet I still don't know how to properly do it. I just started it to showcase the jewellery that I made, and then as a personal diary. Somewhere along the way I started reading everyone elses blogs, and realised that I wasn't quite on to it. I didn't know there were buttons! My husband made the page for me! I didn't know about sharing stuff and linking to other people's blogs! And now I'm going to a conference for bloggers! I'm not a blogger. I'm just a mum who writes a lot.
    I guess I am hoping that I'll actually learn some great tools for blogging, but the problem is, I suspect I don't even know enough of the basics to understand what people are going to talk about. Tears welling again. I'm such a baby. I really am excited about going to this weekend. But I also have no idea what I am doing. And I care about that, because I care about this blog, and I love writing, and I would love for it to turn into a proper blog.
    Stay tuned, I'll let you know if I suddenly figure out this stuff. In the meantime, I know how to send you to the Bloggers Connected site to have a look see. See what I did there? I linked to it. I know how to do that at least...

When the going gets tough...

Sometimes, depression just happens. It actually just turns up when your back is turned, when you're looking out the window, when you're distracted. You might not realize it's there at first, it kinda sneaks up on you... there may have been a trigger, or several that quickly built up. All of a sudden you're writing bitchy comments on facebook and struggling to accomplish simple physical tasks like getting dressed.  You start cancelling pre-arranged dates and appointments out of fear that you will be a bitch to someone you love.  Sure, you need social contact but you somehow know deep down that you're not in the right head space for it. You ain't got the social skills. You know what you do have though? Depression.
Anyhoo, these are some things I do to save myself when I'm in the stew, as it were.
- drink humongous amounts of coffee. Sure, I know I'm addicted to the stuff and I should look into why, but now is NOT the time to go cold turkey on something which, for whatever reason, makes you feel happy and safe. And as far as vices go, its pretty much the tamest.
- all dietary plans are off. I don't mean health just goes out the window... but any restrictions placed on me have to go. They make me depressed. I was trying to go dairy free in case that helped FR's bowel issues, but even that made me sad and bad. Sorry baby, right now mama needs all the dairy she can get!
- I scrap the cloth nappies and go disposable. It may only be for a day, it may be for a week, but heck those things make life easier! I know I'll always go back to cloth, but today I need a break, and I don't feel too awful about it.
- I do fast food. Not always drive through, but if josh ain't cooking, no one's cooking. Not today.
- I accept that I am in pain. I look after myself. Whenever I get depressed,  my fibromyalgia gets bad. And whenever I have a lot of fibro, my depression gets bad. They go together like a less tasty version of peaches and cream. And so I listen to my doctor, and I take the pain-killers. It's not rocket science.

I don't think I'm ever going to really kick my depression to the curb, but neither do I think all the therapy has gone to waste. I'm so much better at being depressed now. I used to have depression and then have depressed guilt on top of that. Guilt about how I had to sleep in every day and buy take-always and eat chocolate and let the kids watch movie after movie. Well, that guilt is mostly gone now. I just do what I need to do to get me through this. Please be patient, in a few weeks I'll be better. See you then!

Black or White

     It can sometimes be difficult to tell if things are ok or not. Just as you can not judge a book by it's cover(although I often do), you can't judge how other people are faring by how they appear. This can be frustrating. What can be even more frustrating is not knowing how you yourself are doing. Despite intimate knowledge of one's own self, what may seem blindingly obvious can lead you astray... Confused yet? I know I am! I'm having trouble even making my mind up on what I want to say!
     I suppose what I'm attempting to put into prose is that troubling feeling where you wake up every morning and lie still for a few minutes, mentally poking around your head to see if everything is as it should be.... that uncomfortable 5 minutes after your shower when you stare at your own face in the mirror, and try to observe it as an onlooker... How do I look to other people? Do I look ok? Am I going crazy? If I saw myself walking down the street, would I be worried?

      I mean... does she look worried?

     A few nights ago, I had myself pretty convinced that I was Depressed. That was it, I decided, I'd hit the wall. I started to make an internal list, a list of things that showed that I was unwell. And yet, the next day I was fine. I woke up without the crying-bender-hangover, and I wasn't worried about how I would get through the day. I looked at the email I'd composed to a couple of friends the night before, alerting them to my Depressed-ness. And I didn't feel that way any more. And I realised that this in itself showed that I was not, in fact, Depressed. Stressed, maybe, Overwhelmed? Quite likely. But if I was Depressed, that morning-after would have been cloaked in cloud, a headache already forming on my temple, and a knot of panic in my stomach as I contemplated the oncoming hours. And it wasn't. So I started to make another internal list, of things that showed that I was OK.  And in the days that have followed, I've looked from list to list, with my mouth open, like a clown at the fair, and I've wavered.

     I really don't know if I'm ok. But I really don't know that I'm not ok. I talked to one friend, in the midst of my crying jag, who of course heard the worst of my stress and anger, and whose phone receiver must have felt wet with my howling tears, and she said to me: You're depressed Rachel! get help! Call your doctor tomorrow, get referred to Maternal Mental Health. Tell other friends, so that they know! And she was so right to say all those things right then. She was making sure, with her oodles of wisdom and life-experience and instinct, that I was not disappearing. She wanted to know that I would take action. I promised I would.
       But I haven't. Because I felt fine the next day, and I looked back at the day I'd been through, and I knew it had been shite. As in, a shite day for anyone, let alone someone who is prone to mental fragility. And my husband, who had held me the night before and wiped my tears and ignored my sniffing, said that yes, it had been an awful day, and I was actually doing great. I wasn't a wreck after all! And my grandmother, with whom I spent all of yesterday with, listened to me vent about everything that was going on, and said to me that I was doing extraordinarily well with all the things going on, and that I was a wonderful mother, and that I was so different to how I'd been last time. Different. Josh said the same to me. He said, it's not like last time, not even close. Do you even REMEMBER last time? He asked.
    Remember? Yes, I remember. And it's not like that... not yet. But how do I prevent it from becoming like that? I need to build my dam now, before there's a chance of flooding. I need to ask for help, and I need to keep mentally poking myself each morning, checking all my bits, making sure nothing faded in the night, making sure there aren't shadows and dust in the corners... And I need to ask for help. Which is hard, because I then have to choose who to ask carefully(no matter how much someone loves you, the way that they want to help may not be appropriate), and I have to ask them in person. It's all very well blogging about things, but no one reads a friend's blog, and thinks, Gracious! I need to ring Bob!

    But part of me just wants to hunker down and sit tight, to curl up like a cat against the weather, and just.... be safe. Not risk human interaction, nor circumstances beyond my control, that might punch holes in my wall. Part of my almost-Depressed-ness is a vulnerability to imagined insults, which means that I currently feel left-out and hurt by any number of good friends who did nothing wrong except continuing on with their lives while I stopped and checked the sky for the gathering storm clouds.
That's enough metaphors and poetry for one day.
If you don't hear from me, don't take it personally... I'm all hunkered down, trying to avoid the storm. Stay safe out there my peeps, it's cold...

The Hundred-Dollar Week

I don't know why talking openly about money seems to be more scary, more personal, more impertinent than some other things. But it does, to me. To me, one's money, or lack of, is something you hide. Something you don't talk about. And you never, never ask for help, or let on that you're struggling. At least, that's the way I was raised. Over the past 10 years I have gradually let some of those 'rules' slip, as I have realised, and keep on realising, that you just can't do life on your own two feet. So we've had bank loans, we've had personal loans with family members, we've received financial help from our church, and I've had friends, as recently as last week, slip me a twenty-dollar bill to help pay for something. It's been humbling.
But I thought that maybe we're not the only ones struggling. I mean, I know, genuinely know, how well off we are compared to many many families in our own country, let alone globally - I think we're still in the top 10% in fact! But I don't compare myself, my lifestyle or my struggles to those people - maybe I should! Instead I compare our situation to our friends and acquaintances, our fellow church-goers, the other school parents.. and we come up short. And I let myself get angry, bitter, jealous, and I regret the decisions we have made that have led us to this point in our life. Getting married young. Not finishing degrees. Not earning two incomes for a few years. Not travelling overseas. Having babies young. So I feel angry at everyone for being 'rich', and I get angry at myself for choosing the 'poor' road.
But I know of at least TWO other whole families in my church that are in a similar position to us, and maybe there's some more friends, who I see regularly but don't realise how close we sit on the money-bus. Maybe this will encourage them, that they are not alone. Maybe they were thinking, as I do, that they were the poorest people they know. Hopefully this will make you feel less alone.
And because I've been trained to fear appearing-to-be-asking-for-money, I have to say loud and clear, I'm not. I'm just trying to record, for my own sake, and for those other invisible people's sake, our week, and look at creative ways of making things work.
So, for whatever reason, we've ended up with $100 to last a week. This often happens. Ok, this always happens. And what it inevitably results in is either Josh or I transferring another 50 or 100 from savings to make  it through the week. We hate it, but we do it. But our savings account is looking mighty small right now, in light of the fact that I need TEN FILLINGS in the next month or so. Which will literally halve our savings. And so we are feeling more threatened than usual. It's all very well to have spare money, and view it as such(we haven't viewed it as a house deposit in about 6 months - you can blame the cars for that), but when that's all you have left in the world, it makes you feel a wee bit vulnerable. So anyway, the $100. We decided that this time, we could do it. We would make it work. We would just buy the bare necessities and some petrol, and make it work.
So far, $50 of petrol, and $21 at the supermarket(night-time nappies*, cat food* and rolled oats), plus $6.50 for two bottles of milk at the fruit and vege shop takes us up to.... $77.50. We were totally going to make it! Josh gets paid fortnightly, on a Tuesday, and all I needed to get through the week till next Tuesday was a few more bits of veg, which would come to about $10/$15. Only 6 days to go - not that I'm counting!
I had to go to the dentist this morning, but was pretty sure it would be free this time, as my tooth that was terribly sore was a 3week old filling from the same dentist. Sure enough, she just reassured me that the nerve  was settling down, and to wait it out. She also asked if I was sleeping well and looking after myself. How I laughed! Anyway, no charge. Till the first big lot of fillings next week. Whoo!
But Josh is sick again. That's right, after a gap of only a few weeks, maybe a month, the terrible cough, the sleepless nights, the struggle to breathe. If it is bronchitis again, it will make it FOUR times in a year. That's with THREE gaps of a few weeks of good health in between each time. It makes me so MAD!!!! So, I resigned myself to the fact that we would have to transfer money from savings for him to go to the doctor. To me, that's ok. That's important.
The thing that screws one's resolve, I'm pretty sure, is sleeplessness. Exhaustion makes it difficult to deal with the normal things in life, let alone new challenges and crises. And my darling little boy Lewis has been awake and 'fractious', as they say, four nights in a row. The night before last he was awake(and me with him) from 12.30 till about 5.30. I coped really well, considering. Last night he slept till 3, but I could not sleep, for the life of me. I just wasn't sleepy. And then he was awake, with me, til 5-ish.
Today I'm not coping so well. I have a sore, hot throat, and a sniffy nose. I'm so tired that when I was driving home from the dentist this morning I almost fell asleep. I came home and slept all day, and woke up, and felt very sorry for myself. And I thought, maybe we should just get take-aways tonight. I mean, there's some meat in the freezer, but I wasn't able to make it to the fruit & vege shop, and I can't see myself doing it in the next couple of hours... and I can't face making the kids dinner. Maybe, seeing as we have to transfer money for Josh to go to the doctor anyway, maybe we should transfer a little extra? It wouldn't hurt, would it?
I went and checked our accounts, and lo and behold, a miracle. I thought we only had about $23 left, but we had $38!!! How? Where did that extra $15 come from? And then I saw that my personal account(from when I was selling Tupperware), had a whopping $41 in it! That's right, $41!!!! What this means, is that instead of $23, we actually have(brain hamsters stumbling on their wheels, bear with me), SEVENTY NINE DOLLARS! Which means(creak, creak), Josh can go to the doctor, and I can go get fruit and veg without transferring anything. And maybe, maybe tonight or maybe on the weekend, we could get a little bit of fast food???
All of this means that it really wasn't a $100 dollar week. Far from it. It was actually a $156 week. So really, we were always going to be ok. I wonder if we could have made it work though?

* - a note on the groceries - I am still annoyed that I have to buy night-time nappies. I mean, if Lewis was still in nappies, like Maddy was at this age, it would be cloth nappies. Yay environment. Yay cheap. But this night-time business? No way would a cloth nappy hold the quantity of liquid, and no way would that be good for his delicious bottomly skin. Sigh. So yes, on special at $11.99 for a packet, they're a pain in the proverbial. Also, cat food. If only I could make my own. But I really really can't. And I don't want her to starve, or worse, eat my children in the night. Bloody cats. End of note.

taking the easy way out

Confessions of moi:

I do things the easy way; often against my better judgement and against the principles and morals that guide me.

Things that I believe in, that I hold dear, that I judge others by, I let go. I guess this is a natural sequel to my post about stuff that is too hard.

Here is an example: I believe in hanging your washing out on the line. I believe that for the environments sake, I should always use the 'cold' wash, eco-friendly washing products, and then hang my washing out on the line.

We have a beautiful washing line at our new house. A little concrete path leads the way through the slightly overgrown grass(as a budgetary cut I have asked the lawnmower guy to come once a month rather than once a fortnight), to a magnificent sturdy old-fashioned washing line. It comes complete with the obligatory spiderwebs - not too many, not too few, just the right amount. When you hang washing in the optimal way, it can fit three or even four loads of washing. It is a thing of beauty indeed.

And I used it joyfully, for about 6 weeks, until my first trimester exhaustion struck. And then I didn't do any washing at all, for a couple of weeks even, because the mere thought of hanging all that washing out made me feel weary. Yes, for two weeks we scrabbled amongst the various dirty-washing-piles, for shirts that were not stained. At the end of the fortnight, I contemplated simply buying more multi-packs of underpants.

And then a thought occurred to me, a small, malignant thought that buried deep into my consciousness...

I could just use the dryer....

And I did, and oh it was wonderful!!!! You simply pull the washing out of the machine and shove into the dryer, swirl the dial and leave it! And it comes out dry! And soft! And wrinkle-free!

It was the ultimate Fall.

And now, at 13 weeks, with my energy pretty much as good as its going to be for the next year, I'm still using that dryer. I use it several times a week. Sometimes, I use it twice a day.

The guilt is there, yes, it is not without an inward cringe that I swirl that little dial. But I manage the guilt with positive self-talk. I tell myself that I'm looking after myself. That I deserve to have some things easy. And the little voice fades. It's quieter.

Are there things that you do the same? Things that your ethics would deny?

Weighty Issues

Gosh, it has been soooo long since I lasted posted. Gee whiz. I've been busy. Lots.

We moved house, twice. Moving house was awful, but it's all over and we're now in a lovely house with a yard and wooden floors. It's all ok now.

I lost a baby last year. Gradually, my heart got better.

I'm pregnant again. And my heart feels a little better again. I'm pregnant against the advice of psychologists("you'll be too crazy the next time"), and gynae-oncologists("it'll come back as a tumour"), and well meaning acquaintances("you'll have another child as bad as your first two"). And I'm happy! The other night I wept about something rather small, and then I freaked out about weeping.

But I'm just a bit tired, and I'm trusting my body. EVERYWOMAN gets weepy around 12/13 weeks. I'm allowed to have a little tantrum now and then, without self-diagnosing an onset of prenatal depression!

I've been reading fat blogs. Have you read fat blogs? They are really really great. They are slowly changing my attitude towards others, and more importantly, towards my own body. I am replacing the negative and harmful images of what 'beautiful' looked like with more healthy, encouraging and downright inspiring images. Some of my faves are:

- www.nearsightedowl.com

(that one I stumbled across and it freaked me out a little bit, because she looks just like me! But happier!)

- kateharding.net

- Fat-Aus.com

- Dances with Fat

And heaps heaps more, I'll put more up when I find them again!

The long and short of it is thus. I was on a diet, one of the few I have actually done 'properly'(as opposed to just being paranoid about everything I put into my body, then binge-eating, then feeling guilty, etc. You know the drill girl!), and I was miserable. I was depressed. And I thought to myself, the last time I felt like this, I was on a proper diet. A different kind, but still, official. Tracking every kilojoule that passed my lips, keeping a food diary, etc. And a good friend pointed out that although I was losing weight, I was depriving my body of all the healthy fats that keep one's brain from, well, getting depressed. Things like avocados, bananas, nuts, all dairy products. Carbohydrates. And it started me thinking. Little things started to fall into place, slowly but surely. A trickle which turned into a downpour. I NEVER enjoyed food because of the constant checking, assessing, guilt and resentfulness.

Food is our fuel. It cannot be labelled as good or bad. I realized that in every area of life we label food with moral qualities. Food is advertised as wicked or divine. As decadent, indulgent, or sinful. Basically food is either promoted or attacked on the basis of it's ethics. It doesn't have ethics. Food does not equal sin. A healthy appetite does not equal gluttony. Fat does not equal ill health. Full stop.

You may not agree with me, but I don't really care anymore. I'm not aiming to change your mind. I'm aiming to change mine. Even amidst all the positive messages I am soaking myself in, I still in my heart of hearts see skinny as beautiful.

*please please dear darling reader, note that I am not saying skinny equals ugly. Everywoman has a different shape and size, and we should be aiming for what we feel about ourselves inside to be positive and bright. Some people are naturally slender, bony even. All power to you. I just need to hear about the larger people at the moment!*

I still pick up a girly mag and think that the pictures I see are the ideal, indeed the only way to look.

I'll give that one a rest for now though. It's all very well to preach, but I need to practice first!

Another big thing: we got a dog.

I've been whinging at Josh for aaaages about how his hatred of dogs was killing me inside, and how it wasn't fair of him to crush this dream of mine, and how 9 years ago when we are engaged, I thought he thought a dog would be a normal part of life.

So we hummed and haahed about it for ages, and went backwards and forwards, and I scoured the net for cuteness galore. And then it all went quiet, mostly because we don't have any money and all the dogs in the world cost upwards of $200... And then about 2 weeks ago, my mother-in-law called and asked if we wanted a dog. Friends of theirs, whose fox terriers have a litter every year, had a 7 month old puppy, free to a good home. He'd been with an elderly couple, who couldn't cope with his energy and good spirits. He was spayed and microchipped, and little, and cute.

Josh and I talked about it for a few days, and then we said yes. So last Friday we went up to meet him, and ended up bringing him home.

Ahem. Confession: an important part of this story has been omitted. So here it is. I asked all my friends. I asked my family. I asked everyone I knew:

"What do you think about me getting a dog?"

And about 99% of those polled said No. No way. Nope. Don't do it. It's TOO HARD for you.

And when people say not to do something because of the TOO HARD factor, something inside me snaps. The rebellious child stamps her foot. The ringlets that I never had are shaken furiously from side to side. How dare you? I shout inside. Why is it TOO HARD for ME, but ok for everyone else? Why do you think I can't do it? Is it because of my MENTAL HEALTH??!?!?! Is it because of my AUTISTIC CHILDREN??!?!?!?! WHY?

And so it obviously and logically makes me desperate to prove that I, Rachel, the depressed mum of two high needs children, can do it. I can do anything.

It is probably very clear to you that I feel like I have something to prove. To the world, and to myself.

It's usually not very clear to me until hindsight kicks in.

So anyways, we got this dog.

He's cute and sweet and loves people. And I love taking him for walks, seriously, as a person who HATES exercise, walking a dog is minty fresh. It instantly lifts the spirits.

But.

He's a pain in the proverbial. He's wild, untrained, nippy, unpredictable, has an oral fixation with plastic toys and basically everything else, and is generally all-round psycho.

I'm going to blame it on his upbringing. I mean, poor pooch was shut in the bathroom by his old owners. A lot. The leash that he came with was chewed into tatters. They didn't have the energy to walk him. They obviously didn't train or socialise him. And while 7 months is still just a puppy, it's 7 months of bad habits.

And I have been very very stressed. Even when I delight in the sight of my 6 yr old playing with him in the yard, or my 4 yr olds uncontrollable giggles at his antics, I'm still stressing inside. I yell at him all the time, because ALL THE TIME he is chewing something he shouldn't be, or chasing a perfectly lovely cat, or, and this is the worst bit, terrorising the kids. He constantly leaps up at my sons face, with his jaws open. In just a week we have been able to successfully teach my son to stand still, to walk not run, to use a firm voice not squeal. And the dog still jumps at him, all the time. And Lewis is rather stressed about it. And even Maddy, who has been the doggy's best friend from day one, is stressed and frustrated.

He bit her toe this evening.

So I am considering giving him back. I feel like a fraud and a failure, and I feel like I am proving everybody in the world right. They were all right. I couldn't do it. It is TOO HARD for me.

But it will be alright.

I'll make a decision in the next 24 hours, because I know I can't keep this up. Something must give.

So, after that very lengthy disposition, I'm going to sleep. And surely, things will be clearer in the morning.

Love xx

nothing new

There is nothing new under the sun. Apparently. Well sometimes there is new stuff, but then it turns out it's actually been before. Like crafting.

I used to hate hate hate creating things that came into my mind, making them into reality, and then someone else straight away copying them. Badly. And selling them for cheaply. But the irony is that even though I thought I was being original, I wasn't. My ideas came from my collective memory of pictures, ideas, things seen once and then seemingly forgotten. I would forget, and then sketching on paper, when the creative juices were flowing, I would create something original and yet entirely based on other people's ideas. Ok, not as bad as copying though, right? That's just cheating.

So I'm good and depressed again, which is depressing in itself, and makes me confused about what I'm doing. And it's just the same as every other period of depression. I feel like it's different, it's new, that I've never thought these things before, but really they all come back to thoughts, fears, memories, negative mindsets that I've had before. Totally unoriginal.

And what I hate about this mirey clay that is weighing down my feet, is that it means I am wrong, I really can't actually cope with life's little trials, and I cannot expect to cope with anything more.

And it makes itself into a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'm the man in the story who's drowning, and turns down a helicopter, a lifeboat, everything that comes, because he's sure God will save him.

I know the tools to save myself, I know the people who are trustworthy, that I can call or email, there are so many of them I am spoilt for choice. And I have learnt, been trained, to call them when it gets like this. And yet. And yet. I cannot, or I will not.

The reason? Or at least what I think of as a reason? Because they have all helped me so much in the past. They have all been there for me. And not ages ago, but only a few weeks ago. They helped me get to appointments, they brought me food, they looked after my children, they called or emailed or messaged me to let me know they were thinking of me. And so, I feel unable to call on them again.

One of my biggest fears, and I don't know if it's just me, or if it's a general depressed-person thingy(that's the technical term), is that I' m scared of being a burden. I have been a burden to many people, and I have been a charity case for some, some because they were genuinely charitable, others because having charity served them well. I've been used, and I've used. And I just want to be people's friend.

And what I find, is that of all the people who love me, who are there for me when times get tough, I start to wonder of them... do they really like me? For me? For the Well me? Do they really think I'm funny or kind or nice? Or, do they care for me like for an old pet, because they worry about me, and they are good people.

I know I've gone on about this before, and I'm sure to go on about it again. I know, I know how insecure it sounds, how insecure it is. But I can't call them, because they are getting tired of it. I know the signs. Or at least, the paranoid version of me that is currently occupying my space thinks she knows the signs! Messages and emails unreturned. Busyness, busyness everywhere. And yes, when I'm well, I'm ok with the fact that everyone is busy, I sympathise, I seem to be busy myself. But when the murkiness falls and my mental and emotional vision blurs, I am lonely and bored, and if I do not have a plan that involves other people, I am more than likely to drop the kids at school and kindy, and go back to bed.

And I really really need people to seek me out for a coffee or a movie or a playdate, but they don't, because they are really busy, and a bit tired of looking after me(Again, I must reiterate, I have no idea how much of this is true. I am completely aware of my skewed perspective on reality, but I have no way of knowing what is real any more and what is just imagined).

So I am huffing about, staying in bed all weekend and whenever possible on weekdays, and of course, because I am all messed up in the head right now. I actually push people away, the very people who could help me if I asked! Instead of bowling up to them and saying Heeeeeelp, I scowl and turn away, and if they meet my eyes I look away.

For example(this is just how F#@$d up my brain works) there is a certain group of people at the moment, who I think should be more friendly, more generous with themselves to everyone. It frustrates me that, despite their leadership positions that seem(in my mind anyway) to implicitly equal kindness, charity, basically pastoral care, they are all shy, retiring, never hang around at any time for social chit chat, and although they should be the kind of people one runs up to to greet in the street, would probably look away or maybe at most smile awkwardly and shuffle away. And the ironic thing is I'm passionate about them becoming friendly, and I'm aware that they're all shy or not exactly people-persons, and I KNOW that that starts with each individual, with ME bowling up to them and saying Hi! I'm Rachel! I've known you for X amount of years! How are you doing?, instead of all of that I scowl, and I feel hurt that they've known me for X amount of years and still have trouble making eye contact, and so if they do look at me I look away, or I feel dreadfully sad, even teary, that they care so little for everyone including myself, or I sulk.

And in my dreadful screwed up mind, it's because I'm testing them, just like I test everyone like this. Will they push through my barrier? Will they see through my perverse test? Will they recognise that I need help? And of course, they can't win, no one can win that game! How can anyone know that if I brush past them or meet their eyes and then look away sadly, that any of that means HEEEELPP! I"M SAD AND I WANT YOU TO RECOGNISE ME!

And so I push people away, I push my friends away, and I get lonelier and lonelier, and angrier and angrier that despite my rudeness no one is rescuing me.

Oh it's so screwed up it does my head in! No wonder I'm terrible at relationships! I get to about a 2 or 3 year line and then STALL!

If you're a person who's never been really truly depressed, you will wonder that the motherfather I am going on about. You will think I am crazy, mad, dangerous, in desperate need of psychiatric help. You may wonder about my children's safety *, my own safety, whether you should step in, or just run away. On behalf of depressed people everywhere, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry we seem rude at times, I'm sorry that we push you away even though you love us. I'm sorry that there doesn't seem to be anything you can do right.

If you know someone who is like this, who is driving you mad with rudeness and self-pity, with their inability to shower daily or return your phone calls, please please, keep trying. Don't give up on us.

I was talking a while back with a friend(who is a SUPER DUPER friend), who was describing another friend of hers, someone I also know, who is high maintenance. Who is hard to be friends with, and emotionally draining to talk to, who sucks the joy out of life. And I was sympathising, like yeah I totally know what you're talking about, those friends are HIGH maintenance, man they're such hard work, and then I realised !FLASH! she was talking about ME! She wasn't really talking about me, Rachel, she was describing her friend, but I realised, my good golly, I am She. I am the high maintenance, desperate, clingy, needy, emotionally draining girlfriend that everyone has. You've all got a Me in your life.

I'm so sorry.

Please, if you know a Me, just keep on going. I know we are hard to live with, but there are freaking lots of us, and all we really want to know, us depressed psycho crazy chicks(and dudes: let's not stereotype here!), is that we are really loved by someone for who we really are. None of us are original. All of our issues, our grief, our heartbreak, it's not new. There have been depressed people all throughout history, so don't be surprised. Just be tough.



*re the children: they're FINE! they're great in fact! Actually I'm totally loving hanging out with both of them right now, they are both going through such great stages, and unlike my normal 'bouts' I am not feeling crabby or impatient, so they're in good hands. :)

Slow Boat to Monday

It's Monday here. All around the world people are trying to make themselves feel better about that very fact. I generally have hated Monday, most of my life. School? Yuck. I was the classic "my tummy hurts" schoolkid, and actually spent most of Sunday dreading Monday. In fact I often spent Saturday in a stressed state of relaxation, desperately trying to have a nice day because inevitably it was followed by Sunday, which meant Monday was already practically here. On the good side though, this constant state of dread and anxiety meant that my high school years seemed to pass very quickly!
At Uni, there was less dread, more lethargy; I genuinely looked forward to BEING at university but it was the WAKING that was the hard part.
And then working. Blecch. For a while I had a good job where I enjoyed work, it was interesting and stimulating and the people I worked with were actually nice people. Mondays seemed to be a non event, part of the fabric of life. But when I changed jobs to a place where my boss made every working moment miserable, Mondays quickly returned to their high-school status. I know that on this blog I have the tendency to harp on about definitions of depression, but surely that constant dread of a thing is a type or sign of depression. Anyway, I left when I was pregnant with my daughter, but actually still feel my stomach twisting when I drive past my old work, 6 years later!
As a mum I have definitely struggled with Mondays, especially during depressive episodes, and used to actually cling to my husbands arm as he was leaving, begging him not to go - poor Josh!!! But when everything is a-ok, Mondays have been pretty awesome for the last couple of years.
Is it terrible to admit it is a relief that everyone is going away on Monday morning? Surely other mums feel this too. I love my children dearly and my husband even more(the 'more' probably being because he doesn't headbutt me as much), but with Monday comes routine and calm and a breather, a wee break. And yes, it actually is a relief to send Josh back to work, because it means the house is mine again, I am running the show and my schedule is everybody's schedule. Terrible I know! Again - poor Josh! And Maddy trots off to school, and Lewis swaggers off to kindy, and I get a bit of ME time. It is MY choice whether I do the dishes or tidy, or turn on the telly, or even dive back into bed and pull the covers over my head. For a few hours, I am the boss of Me.
And the other great thing about Mondays is the mums group I attend, Space. As in, Space for us to be ourselves, Space for us to have a cup of coffee and chat to each other, Space to share with and to listen to each other. It is a magical thing. I go to church each Sunday, but somehow in the hubbub and madness and children, there is not much 'fellowship' that happens, and so, each weekend, no matter how rough things get, no matter how lonely or grumpy I feel, I know that, come Monday, there will be Space for me. Usually, not always but usually, we start off by going around in a circle, sharing things that have been happening, things we are struggling with or that we are celebrating... and although this may seem a waste of time, for me I treasure the chance to hear everybody's story, to know that some people have had a good time and others a difficult time, it makes us human and accessible to each other. We have a connection. Some of us crave connection. And selfishly I look forward to being able to share what's going on with me, because I need to know that someone has heard me, that I am not invisible, drifting through the crowds like a ghost but that my story matters, just like everyone else's.
I guess what I'm rabbitting on about, is that we all have(or should have) something good on Monday, something gentle and easy and kind and sociable that we can look forward to.
Today is not a great Monday. I had a particularly horrible few days at home, and am worried about some issues with the kids. Josh has been(still is) really sick, and we went to church without him yesterday. I didn't feel like I managed to grab a connection with anyone. I didn't get to enjoy the singing(which is my fave) because Lewis was desperate to run around and be wild(note to self: sit somewhere different next time) and I knew he would be too loud and rambunctious, so I held him, against his will. Which meant that I spent the time sitting, holding onto a very strong and angry boy, getting kicked and punched, whilst trying to keep my daughter happy and quiet, whilst trying to prepare myself for helping out with one of the kids rooms. And after church, I felt lonely and sad, and as I walked back to the carpark with a now-sweet child's hand in each of mine, I did not want to go home to a dark quiet house with Josh snoring and coughing... we had lunch together, us three, and it was nice. It was easy and yes, I spent money I didn't need to spend, but it restored a little bit of sanity into my life.
And all through this weekend, while Josh has been coughing and Maddy has been having huuuuge destructive meltdowns and Lewis has been hitting and kicking me and my mother has been difficult and hurtful, I kept thinking... 'it's alright, it'll be Monday soon, soon everyone will have gone back to their things and I will have space...'
But Monday is half over and I haven't found the space I needed. We had Space, and it was good - different format but incredibly inspiring story - but I didn't get to say to anyone
- I've had a really crap few days and I feel like crap.
That's all I need to say, and I just wanted to say it to someone, somehow. Thanks Blog, for being that person. Thanks for letting me dump on you. Tuesday will be here soon!

Rebuttal

I thought I'd write a response to the questions. Not the questions I get asked, but the questions I don't get asked. The ones you ask silently(and some of you, yes, out loud!!!) in your head, when you see me feeding my children gingerbread men for lunch, when you see my 3 yr old in nappies or my 5 yr old being rushed to the bathroom after an accident, when you see my self-pitying/self-loathing depression manifest, when you hear me say "I can't cope" whilst taking on more and more. The questions about autism, and the future, and our family, and our choices. The ones about our seeming lack of options, and our seeming ignorance of this.
In response:
First, to those of you who ask these questions in your head, but NOT out loud, thank you for your discretion. I appreciate your attempt to keep your doubts about me to yourself. It must be hard sometimes to sit silently by when you see me seemingly ruin my life, especially when you care, so yes, I applaud you.
To those of you less discrete, who out of a genuine concern for me have questioned me loudly and at length; how dare you. By questioning me out loud you have revealed what you truly think about me, my mothering, and my children. At least I know now who amonst you think my children are mentally retarded, and burdens upon me and upon society. And least I know who amonst you think I'm not coping because I say so, and who thinks that I can't handle this.
So, because I don't really want to answer these questions again at such length, with such heartache, I am writing it down for you.
Myth One: I'm not coping.
Truth: I am coping. Even when I say I'm not coping, I am. Even on my hardest days, even when I give in to the dark cloud inside my head and put my children in front of DVD after DVD while I lie sleeplessly in my bedroom and stare at the ceiling contemplating the worst, I am still coping. I may not be doing my best that day, as a mother, wife, citizen of earth, but I am coping. My children are clothed and fed, they are warm and dry, they are clean and they know that they are loved. That is coping. Not Coping is something you see on the news, and it's very very tragic. When I tell you that I am not coping, whether in person, on the phone, in a group or on facebook, it is because I need you to know that I am struggling to find joy in my life, that I am not cleansing, toning and moisturising twice a day and I'm not really eating right, and I want you to help me. You can help me by turning up to watch the kids so that I can actually sleep without worrying about them, or by meeting up with me for coffee so that I have to get dressed and leave the house. You can help by texting to let me know you're thinking of me, or calling on the phone once the kids are in bed to see how my day was. This will all help me to realise that I am actually doing fine.
Myth Two: Because of my depression, I should not embark on anything brave or challenging.
Truth: I have a future, and a hope, and I am not fated to repeat the past. The past has no hold over me. Do you believe this for me? I hope you do, because sometimes I forget, and this may make you doubt my capabilities even more, but I know in my heart that I am a child of the God of the Impossible. And I believe in my heart that my future is not written, that it is a journey, and that even if I make a mistake or choose wrongly, my God will not desert me, and He will still have the power to transform my situation. I can't make you believe in God and I'm not going to try, but if you do believe in Him, I wish you would believe He can work as powerfully in me as He has for others.
Myth Three: My children are defined by their deficiencies.
Truth: Both my children show characteristics of Autism Spectrum Disorder, and this can make some things more difficult for us, but both my children are incredibly intelligent, funny, beautiful and fully capable of amazing lives. Their future, like mine, has not been prescribed already. Their destinies are unknown, but they are not retarded or deficient, and I am so excited to see them grow and develop. They may be developing at a different rate than your children or what your books say, but they ARE growing and developing and blossoming, and so full of potential that it takes my breath away. They are not a burden, or a scourge or a mistake. And yes, I do genuinely believe that there should be more children in the world like them. There is no excuse in today's world for thinking that autistic children are disabled, retarded or idiots. These terms belong to the past, and they have no place in our vocabulary.
I think that's enough for now, and I know that the third myth has a whole raft of preconcieved ideas and myths about autism under it, but I'm not going to even bother answering those. Google it. Read some blogs. Try to imagine why I am doing something before you judge me. If you are shocked at the food I feed my kids, imagine my joy that they are eating a biscuit and not french fries. Try to remember that my daughter eats only 3 different savoury foods, and that anything that is a fruit or a vegetable rarely gets past her lips. And I am trying my best not to worry about it, because at least she is eating, and eating happily. She is growing steadily, she is not deficient in vitamins or minerals(I don't know how) and she is doing just fine.
Thanks for reading this all the way to the end, I appreciate you taking the time to understand my world a bit better.
No more questions please.

Same Same But Different

Two posts in a couple of days! I can barely believe it myself! But I thought it would be good to remind y'all about reminders. Reminders are good. Reminders are sometimes called Reality Checks, which sounds slightly more 'ouchy', but are good in the long term. But even when you know the long term benefits, in the short term, in the now, reality checks can be pretty sucky.
But actually, before the reality check, I was doing really well today. Lewis was a bit poorly, so he skipped kindy and came with me to my monday morning mums group at church. He huddled on my lap in a blanket and I revelled in the luxury of his hair, his skin, his stillness and smoochiness. He probably should have been at home, but I figured that at home I would have popped him on the couch in front of one, or two, or three dvds, while I tried to make countless phonecalls, and 'achieve' stuff. I figured we were actually both better off coming out, and sitting still with each other, snuggling. I gazed down at his face and remembered gazing at the same sleeping face, a couple of years earlier, as I first sat at 'Space', when I was afraid, and feeling alone, and in the darkness still.

Same face, but different.

Then we went home, and I was achievory and industrious. I made about 5 important phone calls, coloured in hundreds of pictures for the little matchy-matchy Speech-Language-Therapy resources, played games with the kids, did puzzles, made nutritious snacks, we decided collectively on a few things we were going to focus on, and made charts; for 'Helping Tidy Up' and 'Eating Some Fruit'. All in all, I was feeling pretty good. I had even read my bible(unheard of!) and found a couple of verses that seemed to 'pop'. Josh came home, we talked intelligently and made dinner together. Housework, TV, chocolate. Etc Etc.
Then I checked on Facebook. I mean, come on, 9 times out of 10, FB will not ruin your day. But if you are feeling a wee bit vulnerable, or the moons are aligned thusly, or perhaps you have been having a great day, sometimes FB can make you feel like Crap. I looked at some cool photos, read some stuff, and then BOOM, there it was. I was left out, I was a loner, a loser, all the cool kids had done something, and I wasn't there. Reality CHECK.
And i felt afraid again.
Same fear, but different.
The negative voice. I am unlikeable, unloveable, forgettable, the last person you would want at a cool-kids-thingy, a loner, a misery-guts, a weirdo.
STOP IT! I shout back. I AM NICE!!! People DO like me back, look, I can count at least FOUR people off the top of my head who genuinely like me - oh wait three, but anyway THREE people. That's enough, isn't it?
Yeah well, they just like you because they have to, or because they feel sorry for you, it's just charity friendship.
NO I shout back, there's no such THING as charity friendship.
Yes there is, the quiet voice, insistent. You do the same thing. Being nice to someone because you feel sorry for them, putting yourself out for them but feeling the strain because underneath you don't really like them. See, you do it to other people, this is the least you deserve! You are a hyprocrite, and a fraud, and all you get is what you deserve.
Slither, creep, a flick of a forked tongue. The poison is inside. I cannot stop its spread.
Same poison, but always different.
Desperately I try to cling onto words, phrases, barriers put into places for times such as these. The verses I just read before, surely, surely they are meaningful... what were they again? The words of truth, they fall through my hands like sand, trickle through my fingers, I cannot grasp onto them.
I try to tell myself that this is the work of the devil, that it is because I had a GOOD day, a GOD day, a day where I felt useful and loved and fruitful and held and promised to. I felt hope.
Because somehow if it is the devil who is doing this, it's almost better. Because I know he speaks in lies, to trick and trip and stifle.... Because if it is not him, then it really is me. It really is me who actually has no friends, and doesn't get invited, no matter how hard I try to be a friend, to be helpful and positive and kind, and to love others.... it's all for nothing, right?
And here is the Reality Check. The reality is, if that is the case, I should still be ok with that...
The reality is, I should be content, I should be grateful for what I have, for my husband who absolutely adores me, and for my children who are exquisite and who adore me, for my one or two close friends who still want to just hang out sometimes, to go to the movies, or make time for coffee, or just bum around. I should be able to rest in God's grace, in his love, and be still.
That is my reality check. I should be enough, with God. And I'm not, i'm constantly wanting, grasping, coveting more more more.... more friendship, more fellowship, more relationship, more community.... and I shouldn't need that stuff. Because we cannot rely on our fellow men. We are all human, and we all let each other down, and that should be ok, because we should be enough, with Him.
I don't write this for charity or pity, for people to suddenly ring up and invite me places or ask me round or make sure I'm ok. I am ok. I AM OK. I just had a reality check. Don't call me now, because that would just be charity. Call me if you really like me, if you want to have a relationship of value with me, if you think that I have something to offer a friendship. Don't call me because you feel bad, or sorry for me, if you think it's your christian duty. I don't want duty either. I want, crave, Friendship, Companionship. And I need to seek that, in the right place. Reality Check.

E is for Ennui...

In Georgette Heyer's novels, 'Ennui' is a fashionable curse, a middle-class problem, of those who have too much time, too much money, and no life force to get up and do anything. It is positively not done, to show too much enthusiasm, to appear eager or passionate or energetic more than perhaps a raised eyebrow, or the lifting of a snuffbox. So 'ennui' means boredom, a horrid lethargy of life, and boredom, according to Wikipedia, can be a symptom of clinical depression, amongst other things. Wiki goes on to say that boredom often sets in when we are faced with something we do not understand, or a challenge that we do not possess the skills to take on.
Blaise Pascal says "we seek rest in a struggle against some obstacles. And when we have overcome these, rest proves unbearable because of the boredom it produces"
I have been so so busy, and now I am bored. I 'have' boredom. Or, if you like, boredom 'has' me. We applied for ten different rental properties, and were accepted on one. I then chose a kindy for Lewis in the area, and found a school for Maddy. These were seemingly unsurmountable tasks a few weeks ago. And now, with so much still to do, I am bored. I can not be bothered. My motivation is below zero, and my passion for packing is nil.
Now, I don't think I am depressed. I have been watching for it, feeling it looming just beyond the horizon, every morning waking up and carefully, gingerly prodding myself to see if there are any cracks. And today is the closest I have got, but not yet, not yet. BUT - in saying that - I spent almost the ENTIRE day in bed. Yes that's right, I stayed in bed til midday, whereupon my husband brought me coffee and muesli and my meds(yes, he's amazing, so kind, blah blah whoop di whoo). I got up, after checking my email and facebook, and staggered into the lounge. I hung out with the kids for about 2 hours. Then i staggered back to bed. And stayed there until about quarter past 4 in the afternoon. And then got up again, wandered out to the lounge, and sat with the kids on the couch and watched whatever they were watching. Then I made them dinner, and we put them to bed.
And then I sat on the couch and ate the dinner that josh made me, and we watched two movies in a row. And then I forced myself to have a shower(i really really didn't want to go to all that trouble to clean myself) and now here I am.
Ennui.
It definitely has the potential to turn bad. Well, worse. I can't be bothered, and I feel guilty that I can't be bothered, and yet I feel frozen, paralysed by what I do not know. Fear? Am I simply overwhelmed? Just the thought of the four different phonecalls I have to make on Monday morning makes me want to crawl back into bed and shut my eyes and pretend I'm not a grown-up.
I want someone else to take charge and tell me what to do. I want someone to appear on my doorstep, and kick my butt for being lazy, and then force me(at lazer-gun point)(cos lets not forget that the only external stimulation i've had all day has been Galaxy-Quest and Stargate) to call WINZ and chase up the missing payments, and call Taikura Trust and chase up the missing in-home support, and call The School and explain our situation and arrange a meeting, and call the Other School and explain that we're too far away to go there and withdraw our enrolment, and call The Specialist to re-arrange an appointment, and, and, and.... oh and to start packing everything in the house and sort out how much we have to get rid of.
Well, at least writing that down has pulled me out of the boredom into the sheer panic.
And lets not even mention the fact that it's my boy's 3rd birthday this week, and we're not having a party, and we haven't got him a present yet.
Strangely, the panic feels slightly better than the boredom. At least I'm feeling something now.... I think i'll go back to bed.

When the sun's shining..

A good friend of mine recently blogged about the seasons, both meteorological and personal, and how topsy turvy they are, how you can have sun in the winter and darkness in summer(find it here), and after my funny-kind-of day I have to say, it's been summer here in Auckland, boiling hot, but we've been under the cloud cover... and yet in the middle of our dark summer we had a day of lenient weather... as it were - oh silly metaphors. So: if you haven't been reading along, life has been pretty rough here but today it wasn't so. And I thought I should write about it, seeing as how I only write on the bad days, and everyone assumes that my life is shite, and my children are monsters and that I am in the depths of the doldrums.
I thought this week would be reeeeally hard - my loyal sidekick Josh has been away from Sunday and won't come back til Friday, and it's not yet Wednesday - and I prepared mentally for the crapstorm. Funny thing is, in hindsight, I wasn't that worried, you know, in my Core, about it. And that's where I usually feel the worries. But I expected a lot of tears and tantrums, on both the kids and my sides. I expected sleepless nights and rushing around madly in the mornings, snapping like a fox terrier. Instead, here I am in a serene household, with two sleeping children, feeling almost, well, smug! So what am I doing right? What's going on, that's working? What the heck?
I think it comes down to a few things, and I think I should write them down so that I remember on the next Day of Poop, which may be tomorrow even.
- My village.
I feel grandly supported at the moment. I have had phonecalls from people who care(I hardly ever get a call normally(except from my mother which is another whole story)), who have talked and listened. I have had emails and I have had people praying for me. I'll talk about the Prayer with a capital P in a second, but for the moment let's all just acknowledge, whomever or whatever your personal god is, that a bunch of people who love you, gathered around you with their arms around you speaking lovely words of encouragement and hope for you is quite lovely, yes? Not only that but I have had friends turn up with meals, who have driven for 25 minutes and stayed for a coffee and bitched about the world in general(that's Jaimee), and have been invited to someones place for dinner WITH the kids in a couple of days. I mean, who does that? Really? Jenny does. I have had my toughest advocate, her name is Anya, turn up on my doorstep with a sheet of paper covered in notes from all the people she has called on my behalf and demanded things from. She is an incredibly busy woman with a lot on her own plate and she lives far far away, and yet she did that. Village. I have not felt lonely, or worried, or sorry-for-myself for TWO WHOLE DAYS because people have popped up out of their own lives into mine. VILLAGE I tells you, get one now.
- prayer.
For a person of faith I lack lots of it. But, as was pointed out to me by a good friend recently, when I pray for people, I have faith that my prayers will get answered, that they are heard, that they are even quite reasonable requests, and yet in my own life, in my own head, I don't even consider praying for what I want or even need. Why? Partly good old missionary's-child guilt. If I'm not talking to God when life is good, if I'm not thanking him for the great stuff or 'walking' with him on a daily basis, how can I just turn up when times are bad and demand help? But if I think too deeply about that for too long I realise that deep down I'm thinking(quite wrongly, I know in my head) that I have to earn my requests, my relationship, that it first takes a bunch of work on my part to deserve a moment of the masters time. Way wrong I know. But I think it's also my incredibly twisted self-loathing misery-guts inner self, who also whispers(ok, maybe screeches a bit) that good things won't happen to me, that God loves quite a lot of other people, but not me, well maybe a little, but not that much, not enough to listen to, heed and respond in a positive manner to all my little quibbles and grumps. So while the former reason can be knocked on the head by my knowledge of theology, the latter is still quite hard to budge. And yet, and yet, I feel like this week has been an answer to prayer. I know that lots of people pray for me, for us, anyway, but I don't usually hear them praying, and I did... and I have been seeing amazing results! Strings pulled, lists dramatically shortened, new paths opened, 'coincidences' of timing all over the place. I feel like something is happening, that there is some tread in my shoes now, some grip on the hill. And maybe, just maybe, it's God pushing from behind a bit, and probably dragging up from the top a little, and apparently urging from beside me. Who knows? We can't rule it out.

Soo. I haven't yelled at the kids. Much. I mean, come on, relatively speaking, yes I may have yelled at them about three times today properly, but thats wayyyy down - and not only because they've been good, but also because when they haven't been, I've been quite patient. Because I don't feel alone.
A small voice, the slithery one in the back there, says that of course when everything is good again, the people will disappear again, the village will fade back into the trees, and the prayers will be left like unopened letters, gathering dust on the hall table.
I wish I could get rid of that small voice, but I don't know how. Maybe I'll see if someone can come out from the village and give it a tweak. Or maybe, maybe I'll pray about it. Maybe.

Be Merry

so my husband Josh(who is a brilliant sharer of funny/useful/useless/crude ‘stuff’ he has found on the internet each day) brought this little clip to my attention; it’s Louis C. K.(have you heard of him? funny, offensive-but-likeable stand-up comedian who deplores and ridicules his fellow man and himself) appearing on the Connor O’Brien show to talk about how amazing life is these days. If you have 4 minutes to spare, or even if you don’t, go here to watch it:

Strangely, despite its comedic content, it got me thinking. Hanging washing on our little drying rack, in a room full of boxes both full and empty, I had been contemplating my usual ‘worry-list’(it’s like a Christmas wish list but not quite as fun). My Numero Uno worry now, as always, is financial stuff… I won’t bore you with the details, needless to say there are presents still to be bought, there are presents to be posted overseas, there are still bills to pay and cats to spay; and this year I feel the strain a little bit harder with house ‘renovations’(euphemistic term meaning here a couple of coats of patchy paint and some landscaping) and with Maddy having caught the Santa bug.
So I stood again at the same drying rack after watching that little amusing clip of truthiness, and almost miraculously, my eyes were opened. I am standing in a room that is sturdy, in a house that is luxurious by 90% of the world’s standards. The walls are all painted and dry, the roof and windows are weather tight, and not only that but a cool breeze blows from the ceiling fan which hangs in front of the 5 yr old heat pump.
The floor is cluttered, but not with rubbish or food scraps: it is covered with toys and books; discarded clothing lies in little heaps where it has been peeled off little bodies; piles of magazines line up against the wall; music plays from a tiny machine in the corner of the room; my husband stands in view, up to his wrists in floury dough, creating christmas mince pies; candles flicker sensually, their light reflecting off their cut-glass walls….. my two healthy beautiful children lie in separate beds, in separate rooms, without fear of disease or poverty or hunger. When they wake they will do so with anticipation of the childish life they lead, without the aged haunted look of children who wake to a day of adults labour, with hunger in their swollen bellies, and a house without walls.
As a long-time ‘customer’ of depression, I often have a poor outlook on life, and am told(usually in a kindly tone) to pull my socks up, to remember those less fortunate, to be thankful for all that I have; this is a nigh-on impossible thing to do when actually in the grips of a depressive episode, but on a ‘clear’ day like today when I am rested and reasonable, I can see a bit of what everyone is talking about. I’m not wanting to view the world through rose-tinted glasses, nor to deny the hard reality of everyday life, and I am not trying to discount my miserable feelings – they are valid feelings. But it strikes me how truly amazing my life is. I am young and healthy, I have had two children without fearing their death from minor ailments or my own death from their birth. I may be in pain a lot of the time, but I live in both a time and a place where we can actually mask pain with amazing medication! My husband is a fair and loyal man, who is dedicated to his children and to me, and who loves to bake, and to read books.
Not only that, but it is Christmas, the time of year that we celebrate the first and best gift: the boychild, laid in the manger. My usual Christmas-disillusionment has not yet come upon me, with its discontent and regret and longing. There are terrible things going on, both in the lives of people we know and love and in the wider world around us. There are people who face every Christmas with a sense of dread, of remembering and terribly missing loved ones. There are people who are waiting for potentially terrible news, trying to carry on with their normal lives and yet each breath brings dread to their heart. I have none of these things, but I ache for these people. But my life is good, and that should not be over-looked. I should not discount the happiness of my household, or feel guilty that we have such happiness.
Life is Good. Be Merry.