the mourning after

It's been a long month since Sean died, I've faced things that I'd always seen off on the horizon, but thought I would have time to prepare for. I miss him terribly every single day, I miss our innocent peace here, and I miss the ease of the familiar.

The dust has settled, we're fully integrated into the banalities of every day life - but I still feel like the world dropped me off and I am scrambling to catch back up. Bills and paperwork are piling up, letters are still unwritten and unmailed, I'm wandering from place to place aimlessly, searching for meaning and understanding.

It is like a vague fog that I can't shake - all I want to do is sleep (but when I get the chance, I don't). I don't blame Sean, not in so many words. I do resent his leaving, I also resent the turmoil his passing brought to my life, the demons his death awoke. I resent not being ready to deal with death, as a person and as a parent.

I resent that I still feel so much pain.

I know that much of it is my the way my mind works (or doesn't) - I guess I resent that, too. That I have this achy, icky depression. I also know that much of it is the natural process of mourning, a process that I am entirely unfamiliar with. I wish it was just over, that I could open my eyes and have erased August 2008 from memory. That would be easy.

Living is hard.

There is so much to do and see and feel - people whose lives are intertwined with mine, people whose calls and emails I can't quite bring myself to return, whose worry grows in silence. I've kept silent and numb. I understand the draw of reclusion.

But, the hard facts are these:

1. I am alive and will be for the foreseeable future.
2. I have two children to raise.
3. If I stay here, alone and unfulfilled, I will be miserable.
4. I am surrounded by people who care about me.

And:

1. I have a responsibility to clothe, feed, teach and love my kids.
2. I have a responsibility to keep my house clean and safe.
3. I made a commitment to my husband to stand by through thick and thin.
4. I am the matriarch of my family, and as such am responsible for keeping our bills paid, cupboards stocked, and minds and bodies engaged.

Yes, I am floundering. I am facing the decision to go back to work (for a year), stay home and do what I do now or stay home and try to get some of my personal projects off the ground. I am also facing a box full of necessary projects and another full of nice-to-do creative projects.

For better or worse life has changed. I am just having trouble now getting up the courage to move on. I wish I had a map.

PS. Two great books for kids dealing with loss:
Lifetimes - Bryan Mellonie (talks about life and death as natural and expected - uses simple language and has stunning illustrations)
Someone Special Died - Joan Singleton Prestine (follows a young girl as she copes with the death of someone special - there is a parent's companion book)

s'all gone pete tong

I am feeling the weight of the events of past weeks. To summarize without getting too personal, I have had occasion to learn a lot about the state of my marriage, my parenting "style", my early life and family of origin.

There have been moments of great despair, hopelessness, resentment, anger, understanding and enlightenment. Things aren't "fixed" but they are "kinda ok." We'll need to keep going if we want to see where we'll end up. At least we both recognize the need for change.

We have recognized for a while that we were far from the path we'd planed, but complacency is easy. The turmoil of recent weeks has forced us to face some of our most secret demons, our deepest insecurities. And our dedication to each-other and our family is giving us the balls to face up to them. It would be so easy to run off and find a nice, quiet beach hut somewhere and forget I ever had a husband and kids... but I love these freaks.











So... same old song... we're going to use this place as a jumping off point. We've been reminded off where our hearts lay and that our time is precious, too. Taking it easy isn't horrible, but taking the easy way out is pretty dull.

I don't have big pie in the sky goals, I am hanging on to the simple ones like weeding my garden and learning how to make a roast. It might seem mundane to you, but for me these would be huge.

in reference to our earlier discussion

Writing about going crazy while going crazy is difficult, because while a part of me wants to take you all along for the ride, that crazy, anxious part still wants to pretend that I'm actually supermom.

Last month, at my shrink's, we talked about increasing my dosage. By that point I already knew that I was on the path to relapse, but convinced the good doctor to keep me on the same dosage a bit longer so that I could work through some of my issues "on my own." At the time it seemed really important that I learn to cope where I was - part of that still stands. I reasoned then that I did not want to forever be dependant on (more and more) medication to be functional, but now I see that it has instead served to show me that I do need the meds, for now, to keep growing the way I had been. I also have learned how very capable I am. This stretch has been the longest of my recovery, but it has also been the least extreme. It actually feels pretty close to "normal."

I am learning a lot about myself. Some of it very not pretty, some of it really cool - it has been quite the ride. I will increase my meds this month when I see my doctor again, I have already begun to figure out what I need in terms of social and personal time, as well as what I need to do to hold up my end of the family. I think because this spell has been so drawn out and milder, I have had a chance to put the tools I have collected to the test and I have also been humbled.

I have a long, long way to go, and the next time I start to sound like I think I have it all figured out, I want someone to knock me upside the head. Unless I do have it all figured out - in which case you bitches had better take notes.

anatomy of a relapse

In order to stage an effective relapse, there are a few steps that will always help. First, get your whole family sick - seasonal allergies are a good start, but if you can add in a mystery cold you're golden. Next, be sure your youngest is teething, add in some vague parental stress, a milestone birthday, a spazzy laptop, a new and less comfy bed, and a long list of commitments desperately requiring follow-through. Then, slowly and methodically abandon and alienate people until you have no excuse to leave the house, make sure your therapy sessions have ended (don't go find a new therapist - that would wreck everything). Miss group therapy two weeks in a row. Replace all meals with fast food. Drain bank account.

Yes, to all of those out there who have been wondering and worrying, things have been a wee bit fucked up lately. The good news? I've been doing what my friend Sean called "taking pictures along the way" - I have been conscious and present throughout this fiasco and I am learning a lot through trial and error. I just wish making mistakes didn't sting so much. And I wish I could go off the sanity wagon without collateral damage. But I am optimistic that each time this happens I will be more resilient and less reckless.

I am making no promises right now - it is time for me to do some more work on me and my life. And before getting started there are a few things I really need to get off my plate, I am dedicating my free time this week to the things that need doing.

hump day

Recently, I told somebody close to me to "grow up." They'd been behaving in a way that I thought was pretty assy and after brewing a bit of resentment, I confronted them lovingly. Things since then have improved, with this person making a concentrated effort to be more responsible and accountable. I appreciate the effort even more than I show, so how come I don't feel any better??

Could it be possible I've been projecting a weensy bit? My sense is that yes, I have been. Turns out my disappointment is actually with myself. Big sigh. This sucks.

There is so much I am slacking on (huge) and instead of doing something about it, I am trying in tiny ways to run away. My version of running away involves whining, retreating and acting very selfishly. In other words, I run back to being a child. That technique was all fine and good when I was younger and could bask in the misery that is a week in bed feeling sorry for myself, but now it just doesn't jive with my role as mother bear. It has been frustrating, but in the end I suspect it is a good thing.

Time for pulling up the old bootstraps (once I find them) and get some of the things causing me the greatest amount of anxiety and guilt taken care of. I started by dumping my ever-growing to-do box (yes, it had grown to such proportions that it took up 1/2 a banker's box) and making some piles and lists. I filed some things, chucked some things (like fliers for rallies that I missed back in March and April) and even made a call to find out that the reason we don't get any of those sweet government benefits for Rigby is because to them, she doesn't exist. Oops. The instructions for getting her information to them are complex, but not overly so. With luck, next month we'll get a fat cheque (which we will very responsibly use to finally pay off a credit card).

That last bit is what really gets me, in the past few months, we have received and then spent, enough money to pay off most of our credit card debt. How's that for irresponsible?







(see? food!)

upturn

So, things are looking up. I talked to my doctor yesterday and managed to convince her to let me try to fight my way through my impending relapse. She said to me, "Okay so, you want to do it the hard way?"

Yes, I do. I need to know I have it in me to function when shit gets a little intense. I bought myself six weeks with the promise to really work at the CBT stuff and that I would call her or my therapist if I felt like I just couldn't cope. It is absolutely reasonable and I am happy that I have professionals around me who will allow me to do what I need to do in order to get through this and get the big growth payoff I am hoping for.

From the start I've been reframing how I look at my PPD, having been "pretty fucked up" most of my life it is a bit of a blessing to get the resources and the opportunity to turn it around.

That said, I've really been feeling pretty fucked up lately. Not the incapacitating, suicidal bad thoughts, just the garden variety "man I suck," kind.

Eep, Rigby is getting loud enough to get us some mighty unfriendly stares here at the library. I need to get out of here before she figures out how to get the lid off the Sharpie I just handed her.

I'm feeling on the cusp of something again, and I am excited. Michelle, if you're reading this - your swap is coming, I promise!!!!

an open letter to myself

Hey me,

Look, things suck right now and it is up to me to do something about it. I am sick of this, this thing I can't quite name - apathy, laziness, boredom, overwhelm, malaise, anxiety... whatever "it" is, I am sick of it. Being irrational and flaky 90% of the time flat out sucks, I don't have heaps of friends (remember the great friend purge of 2007?) and I like the ones I have and would love to keep them around awhile. At least long enough to get to know them a bit better - maybe long enough to swap babysitting? A three-martini playdate?

This whole smoking thing sucks too. Anything I can do about that? Quit perhaps?? Oh, and stop letting my mind wander so much - too many useful details are being lost through attrition.

So what do I need from myself? Well, a little self-control would be a good start, occasionally resist the urge to act on my impulses and I'd be grateful. Also - if I could simply get my gear together enough to negotiate my days with ease, nothing overly ambitious - a bag packed, lunch planned and an activity in mind - that would be a step in the right direction.

I've been doing a lot of good work lately, the differences are quite evident and I say with confidence that the flakiness of spring will pass. There is much happening and I've kept my wits about me for as long as I think I possibly could have. Good job, Kate!

So give me a break, everything is still in there, make it through this one short week and, with luck, by my birthday (Sunday), I'll feel completely differently about things.

- me

who has time for hope?

Trapped in the mundane, I ask myself how I can possibly hope for things to change dramatically enough. Today I attempted to explain to my three-year-old why polycarbonate bottles are bad. It did not go as well as I may have hoped, but I think that's okay.

It made me think, though, about being a parent. The awesome responsibility of it all - our necessary dedication to the well-being of these strange little people. And all the work that entails. I've been researching alternatives to public school (much to my mother's dismay - I do see her point, but wonder if a system so broken is worth getting behind). I know I have sometime, I also know that time behaves differently once you have kids. Over coffee the other evening, my friend Diane said of life with a family: "The days are long, but the years are short."

She's right. In the blink of an eye I went from young, carefree member of a young, carefree couple to one of a family of four, with a responsibility to three other humans. Striking some kind of balance when tending to the needs of four people is tough, I am making a go of it, though.

In four years I have learned so much about myself. I have truly amazed myself with my range of capabilities and I've discovered some surprising aptitudes. I am also beginning to see that the balance I seek may be an illusion. Not that balance is an illusion, but balance without sacrifice and compromise is. There are only so many hours in one day, only so many things any one of us can do.

But that's not all it is, is it? We repeat that mantra all the time, the one about there not being enough, but then we sit in front of our screens and zone out. We spend hours dreaming and dreading, we spend scarce minutes actually working. Well, some of us do. Others of us work and work and work in order to avoid thinking and dreaming (and dreading). And then even more of us swing between both patterns. Some people, rare people, just do. Yeah, weird, eh?

Actually, I want to be a doer. I do. I think I do. But it is so easy to write off the things I want to do and try as being too difficult, "especially given [my] current situation." i.e. Having two kids under the age of four. And I don't discount the idea that my days are very full of the mundane, leaving little time for other pursuits, especially if there's much planning needed. And sometimes I even appreciate having a pretty valid reason for being a flake, but then at times it becomes an excuse for me to get my lazy on.

Once it's an excuse the guilt starts pouring in. I pride myself on being a person who doesn't usually succumb to unnecessary guilt, but sometimes it is a good indicator. It tells me that maybe I'm not trying. At least, I think that's what it is trying to tell me. Recently it has taken to yelling at me and I have lost a bit of it's message.

I have lists (of course I do) and I am in that place where just consolidating my lists and getting a feel for where I am seems too daunting. I've made some headway, nibbled at a few edges, given myself enough peace to get a little sleep, but if I am to be completely honest with myself, I've been wandering around, doing a half-assed job of looking busy.

Part of me just wants to sleep, but I have been sleeping and I have not been feeling much better for it. I'm getting exercise, eating pretty well, taking my meds... and still... not feeling much better. I think I need an overhaul, but this time not of my stuff but of my back burner. Get it all out, sorted and re-filed. And scratching a few choice items off my list.

Today I did get some of the cleaning bits off my list. My friend Deanna came over and lent a hand - for which she was well-fed - it was a really lovely day filled with laughter and productivity. Most weekends I send Andrew and Sebastian off so I can clean up, after which I feel resentment because they had fun and I worked my ass off. Today I feel none of it - plus I have a clean car, food in the freezer, clean dishes, clean laundry, and delicious fruit crumble.

Tomorrow, I think I will send the boys off - let them have some fun (after washing diapers at the laundromat) while I do my little de-clutter. Not that I know where to start... I just know that there are bits of me that aren't being realised. There are things I know I could be doing more efficiently, and I KNOW we need to sort out some kind of routine. So perhaps we start there and see what happens.

Oh and hope - well, I just hope that the world holds itself together long enough for us to get a few details figured out. We've been talking more about places we might like to live that aren't the city. I like that talk, talk of a future that is bigger than we are now.

the good and the bad

My life's been running me through the ringer again. These weeks suck, especially in retrospect. Every mistake magnified, pushing aside all the great bits. At times like these I like to make two lists, a list of those things I am most grateful for and one of those things I wish to leave behind.

the good
my tummy is full of yummy, nutritous food
my home is warm and dry
my family is safe
I've been embroidering
I have access to great resources
my kids are patient and cute
rubber boots
finally saw the business of being born (for free! online!!)
my begonia is still alive
my veggies are sprouting
in fact, my yarn is kickin' ass
I like the new Chatelaine
the very awesome and daring Natasha Kogan
the folks that are fighting for insite
cooking at home isn't so tough
I have an appointment with my therapist today (but it is our next to last)
my camera is repaired, and at no cost to us!

the not-so-good
I have too many projects on the go
I feel like my period is never coming and I will just be PMS'd to death
I blew my first one week challenge pretty dramatically
we're broke, like the kind of broke that leaves me wondering if we get coffee or TP this week
my son is in full three-year-old destructo-child mode

guests, invited and uninvited.

It has been a wacky day. We've had a string of these, some leaving us reeling, some leaving us exhausted, some leaving us completely satisfied and some accomplishing all three. These are the days we'll cherish. Today, more than most, strikes me as the type of day we'll look back on when we're wrinkly.

This morning began slowly. My happy daughter and I stayed in bed for hours, sleeping and snuggling, singing and laughing. Around 9:30, I slid out of bed. Rigby played happily in her seat, enjoying the warm steam from my long, hot shower. She then watched me clean the house in preparation for the evening's guests. Finally falling asleep to the hum of the vacuum.

I didn't get as much work done as I think I should have, but I certainly did more than I would on any other day. Besides, I had just done my monthly cupboard clean *and* the budget. So I did some "internetting", essentially, I sat at my computer checking websites to see if anything new and interesting was up. I added a few more pages to del.icio.us, I talked on the phone, I did my hair (though sadly, not my makeup), I cleaned the void normally filled with Sebastian's car seat, I got bags ready for Sebastian's karate class and my therapy appointment, I sorted out what needed to be done before dinner time and I got us into the car to run errands before it was time to get Sebastian from his sleep-over.

As I slid the keys into the ignition, I saw the dog. A small-breed dog, with no human and no tags, sniffing the grass. I almost drove off, but instead I got out of the car and walked up to the little guy. He was frightened, but friendly and came to me with a little coaxing. The only identification he carried was a tag confirming he'd had a rabies shot. I called the vet's office and the woman on the phone took my number to call the owner they had on file, but the owner did not pick up nor did they have an answering machine, I left my number with the vet and got back in the car, this time with a second passenger.

Now running late, I got the (very well-behaved) dog into the car and drove across town to pick up Sebastian. On the way I picked up a gas-station coffee and a chocolate bar. The dog was a hit with Sebastian, a few concerns about the pointy teeth ("Mom, maybe he was sharp teeth?") and his general distrust of most things furry, but the dog's friendly and calm demeanor quickly won him over. The four of us raced back to town, Sebastian asking a battery of dog-related questions, me eating a fast-food meal (which incidentally, was pretty yummy), and Rigby growing more and more agitated over not being fed immediately. We were supposed to be home close to 2:00 to meet Andrew and head to therapy.

hunger, having tuned out her When we pulled up, Andrew came out and climbed in the car. I'd actually forgotten Rigby'sscreaming 15 minutes before. We made it down the whole block before I realised what we'd done. I dropped Andrew off to check out another house that he knew to own a small dog. Back at our house, Sebastian declared that he did not want to go inside with me, then requested that I also stay outside. It was a nice day so I agreed and nursed Rigby in the front seat. We chatted more about the lost dog and then about his upcoming karate class. Child was so pumped.

Back on the road, Sebastian sat with the puppy in his lap (temporary name: Arthur - Sebastian wanted to name it Sebastian-Dog, but I managed to sell him on something less confusing). Arthur was happy to be pet, he strikes me as a very easygoing dog, used to the love of small children.

My therapy session went well, though I found out it would be my second to last and that fills me with some sadness. Andrew and Sebastian were not as lucky. Seems I miscalculated and the class doesn't start until next week. Making the most of a break in the rain, Andrew, Arthur and Sebastian played in a feild before picking me up from the hospital.

On the way home we stopped for some simultaneous errands. Rigby and I hit the grocery store for dinner fixings while the boys got wine and checked out a family eyeglass place. The optician pimped out Sebastian's specs with rubber ear "hooks" and silicone nose pads, and Andrew found the funky eye patches I'd been on about. Sebastian can now choose between camo print, cars and planes, stars and rockets, or sports balls - making this long-assed process a wee bit more fun*. We've not been as diligent as we ought to be as the responsible parents of a kid with eye problems, but from what I hear, slip-ups can be common.

Our dinner was lovely and we all marveled at our adorable and uninvited guest. The kids were rough around the edges, hungry and tired long before dinner hit the table. But we managed to make it all the way to ice cream without major incident. Dinner was simple and delicious, noodles with pesto, goat feta, grape tomatoes and olives, and a grain-filled, soft baguette with fresh hummus. Dessert, which did not make it out of the oven until Sebastian was in bed, was a delicious apple crisp Aly put together - served with vanilla ice cream (soy for me) and a raspberry and strawberry sauce.

I'm feeling pretty fat and happy. The dishes will keep until morning, as much as it pains me to leave them. Tomorrow will be another full day, something I am beginning to accept as my new normal.

*Just now I came across these fabric patches and I think I may try to make one for Sebastian.

i'm back?

Quiet time. An hour or so, every afternoon, where I can clean, cook, bake, read, shower and relax. This window is something I fought so hard for, my son and I pitting our massive wills against one another. He, fighting for his right to decide whether or not he still needs a nap; me, fighting for my very necessary right to a break. It literally "just clicked" one day. We were engaged in our usual naptime routine, I had gotten him into bed and closed the door, only to have it open 30 seconds later. I braced myself for the confrontation I didn't want to have happen, and then something strange happened. My son went poop, wiped, flushed, washed up, and went back to his room.

He didn't even look my way. Surely if he can act that responsibly, I can let him decide what he wants to do about napping. I decided that on a trial basis we would have quiet time. The first three days were tough, he screamed in his room, he threw toys around, he tried escaping. My mantra was this: "ignore him as long as he is in his room*" followed by "stay calm, don't make eye contact," when he did leave his room. It has been one week, today, since I introduced this idea and we're both catching on.

Heck, it won't work every day and some days I do hope that he gets some extra sleep during that time, but for now this is working for us. In general, life around here is nice. My husband is hot and sweet, my kids are adorable and sweet, the sun is shining, my house is dirty, but because I am anal, no one could really tell but me. I am beginning to come to terms with those "negative" aspects of my personality and use them as best I can.

For the first time in too long, I have real hope.

be the change

This mothering thing is hard. One minutes you think you've got it and then something happens and the rules of the game change.

I, for my part, have been hard at work on myself. I have learned so much in this past short while, my son and daughter are excellent teachers.

I apologise for my recent internet absence, I don't know when or if I will return to "blogging" nor do I know what it will look like when/if I do. I do know that right now is a really amazing and changing time for me, full of glorious highs and difficult lows.

This has been a really incredible month - an incredibly challenging and rewarding month. It is with great sadness that I say farewell to my therapy group. I have been blessed to share a special connection with five other amazing women. It is with great joy that I begin to reconnect with my friends and my life outside of the house. Even the friends who think (erroneously) that time spent with them is nothing more than a drain because of the challenges they're facing.

I am learning so much right now, I get the sense that I am shedding my skin and becoming something more. All my past, all my mistakes and trials have led me to this spot - I am beginning to forgive and understand, not just in my mind, but in my soul. I am also beginning to see more clearly what my role as parent really is (guide), as opposed to what I think it is supposed to be (trainer).

There is still so much to learn, but the path is long and I have time. Knowing who I want to be and where I want to be is only a small part of this, I can't believe it took me until now to see that. The larger part is being the person I want to be. Acting with integrity and faith in myself.

Who knew it was so simple? Who knew it could be so hard?

check out what we've been up to lately on flickr

burnout and re-entry

Ugh.

Really.

What a week. So much is going on, my mind has been racing, my actions have not been mindful, I've been operating on adreneline, anxiety and caffiene.

Today I realised I'd burnt out. I called my doctor and left her a message stating in my disconnected way that I think I have fallen backwards. I don't think, I know. I was trying so hard to maintain the high of the last while, where I was handling things well, doing things, working hard... too bad I'd stopped working on ME.

the weight of the world

There is so much I want to write - so many things I want to talk about. My life is still a mess, a pretty mess, but a mess. The world is still falling to peices right before our eyes. I've been cooking some great, healthy, cheap food. Parenting is still tough.

But when I sit down my mind goes blank.

Rather, it becomes a wall of white noise, so many thoughts screaming out at once, picking just one idea out of the din is going to take more energy than this tired woman has been able to muster.

peeling off my mom pants

I've been trying so hard to figure out what to write here. Things are moving so quickly in my life. Rigby is already three months old. She is teething and will put anything she gets her hands on into her mouth. Sebastian will be three in less than two months, we're potty training (having set a deadline for ourselves of three, back when three seemed so far away). It is insane, we have no idea what we're doing. And this kid is super keen to pee on the pot, but not poop.

I hear it is normal, but just because many kids do it doesn't make cleaning various stanky articles of clothing any easier. We've switched back to cloth diapers for both kids. We've been using disposables for a little longer than I am really prepared to admit - but I am letting go of my guilt over our frivolous waste.

I am letting go of a lot of guilt.

Which is really hard and really quite necessary. It is going to take a while before I'm willing to let go of my guilt and anxiety over my home. I am proud of my home when it is clean and organized.

rolling, rolling, rolling

I've been up and down and up and down lately. It sounds like a lot more fun than it actually is.

I am one of those unlucky few breastfeeding mothers who doesn't get a post-partum break from periods, nor did it help me lose any weight last time around. Jury's still out this time around, but it isn't looking great. So last week was punctuated by an intense bout of PMS. Plus our favourite family hang-out was still closed for renos, AND we were in post-holiday recovery mode. I am surprised we made it through the week relatively unscathed. I managed to lose it on both my son and my husband - all the while a voice screaming in my head that "my anxiety is creating exactly the situations I am trying to avoid. Stop it!"

I think that means I'm growing.

I have been having wonderful conversations with people. Wonderful, helpful, engaging, interesting and enlightening. I've been giving myself permission to run off and spend time with friends and family without my kids in tow (or without both kids) - I am fraught with feelings of guilt over abandoning them, but its weight is slowing me down less every time I walk out the door.

Today I left my kids and husband at home and enjoyed a lunch and shopping trip with my friend Shannon. She and I are crazy-similar, so our meetings are always full of drama, soap-boxing, challenges and lots and lots of laughter. We went shopping after lunch and I found a couple more things to send off to my very patient swap partner. I feel so bad about missing the date that I really want this package to rock her socks. Plus I'm hoping to take her up on an offer to stay a night when I go on my journey to Portland.

That's right, this girl (and her little girl) are going on a road-trip in April to see Elizabeth Gilbert in Portland. We're driving straight there, then we have three days to wander home. This is a totally indulgent trip, I hope it will allow me some time to connect with myself and experience something outside of normal. My husband and father are supporting me financially (Dad), physically (Andrew) and emotionally, and without that support this would not happen. I've been sitting on the idea for a few days, letting it sink in, and while some anxiety has creeped up over it, it has only barely dulled the excitement (perhaps to a more realistic point) and I still want to go and I still want to go alone. I've begun telling people about it. Strangers, mostly. The guy at the bookstore who mentioned her coming to Vancouver (it was sold out) and got the ball rolling, the waitress who commented on the book (which I had just gifted to my friend Shannon - purchased used from said bookstore), you...

In other news, I had my first CBT session yesterday. It was great. I like my therapist and the fact that I was able to find a sitter for Sebastian. I came away from our initial meeting with a couple of small goals, a little more insight into my thinking, and a lot of resources. I see her again in two weeks, she thinks she can get me some extra sessions (I'd normally get 5-8) if I agree to be filmed for a provincial training program (she said I'd be "great" for it - I am choosing to take that to mean she thinks I am personable and eloquent (chatty) and not that I am so nuts I'd make a great case study). I'll also start group therapy soon - as long as I can get 8 weeks of mid-day childcare... I do think it is possible.

Hang on - I just remembered I want to put another coat of paint on Sebastian's closet doors while he's out.

We are now once more coat of yellow and two coats of blue and brown away from having his room finished. This has been one long, drawn-out project, which we will likely continue to change and tweak (glowing stars, anyone? little flowers? woodland creatures?) - but it is nearly done. His room is now home to a four-wall mural depicting a nice Dick Bruna-esque outdoor scene. It makes me think of the line from Where the Wild Things Are where "his ceiling hung with vines, and the walls became the world all around." I'll post photos when it is done *and* we have a decently sunny day.

funk-a-dunk-a-dunk

Yesterday was spent cleaning house and catching up, but by this morning there was more to do (as always) and more snow was falling.

I don't like snow - I don't like being cold, I don't ski, I don't like driving on snow, or walking on it and most of all I don't like the way it feels like the whole world is shades of grey and white, where the day only differs from the night by a faint hint of sun. I don't hate it, I love bundling up in soft sweaters and drinking warm drinks, staying inside or visiting friends. But when I wake up after too little sleep to a cold and messy house and glance outside and see nothing but grey it takes a whole lots of will-power not to climb back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

I did get up, but so far have been unable to shake off this faint funk.

All our time with other kids has left the entire family fighting a cold - right now my babes are sleeping it off, thank goodness, but I have work to do and my brain is so full of snot it isn't funny.

I took advantage of my diminished sense of smell and cleaned out the fridge for the first time since Rigby was born. It was seriously gross, I am not a fan of throwing out food but with all that's been going on we were left with a ton of produce that was purchased and then left to rot.

what we're up to

As everyone knows, Christmas is coming - and soon. This will not be the year I get Christmas cards sent - hell, I haven't even registered my daughter's birth yet. Nor will it be the year I craft all my gifts by hand - though if I can crack off a couple for dear friends and family I will be very happy. Luckily I make a mean cookie - so if nothing else, my group of family and family-esque people can count on getting fed.

Here's the awesome bit, none of this bothers me much. Oh it bothers me a wee bit, I wish we were the family who had holiday cards sent out early and a great stash of gifts that had been made over the year. But it isn't killing me... and, while someday I will likely tire of the numbness the medication provides, this vacation from constantly running through my mental list of successes and failures (past, present and future) is exquisite. It is almost as lovely as sipping margaritas on some tropical beach.

Today we met* some friends at a great little coffee shop for some brunch and coffees**. It was fun - a lot of fun. I wonder if I talked too much about myself - and I definitely didn't anticipate how HOT I would be wearing two layers and a baby - but I felt like *myself* again. Yesterday was the same story, we went to a big holiday party hosted by the family centre we attend, and I ran into a lot of people who'd become familiar faces over the past months and was able to just talk to them. I didn't try and run off, I wasn't so focused on my internal dialogue I couldn't follow the conversation and I even handled an uncomfortable situation with something in the same neighbourhood as grace.

enjoying his soy bambinoccino:


so much cute:


me and ms. giggly-pants:

following the trail back to home***:



My relationships inside the house are improving as well, Sebastian feeds off my anxiety and so with me being much less anxious, he is too. Plus, I am not so fatalistic about how every interaction will affect him later in life - which is making life a whole lot easier to handle. He is sleeping better - Andrew and I have been doing a modified Ferber on him and it seems to be working... he still yells and screams, but we've been keeping cool and so, if nothing else, we feel better. And he is just so much fun to be around since we've stopped trying to turn every interaction into some kind of life lesson (something I don't think we'd even realised we were doing until recently - and really, how dull must that be for poor Sebastian?).

I am even finding a mess/clean balance I am able to live with. It isn't perfect - I am currently avoiding the bedroom because if I go in there I will spend the day cleaning it, but it is working for me. And I am starting to think about giving myself a to-do list and see how things go.

*in both senses of the word - we met up with some mama-friends we knew and some new ones

**I had too much of both, downing two lattes and splitting an incredible banana and chocolate bread pudding and a deliciously moist ricotta, apple) and almond muffin

***the petals lead to a flower shop and were such a beautiful surprise

good enough is good enough

Simple, no? So is "done beats perfect every time" - yet these concepts are some of the most difficult I have ever tried to imbibe. In grade school I would often get an incomplete rather than hand in a less-than-flawless project. It happened a LOT.

I am adopting "good enough is good enough" as my new mantra in an attempt to hack through my perfection paralysis. So far so good - well, allowing myself to behave, clean, write, communicate imperfectly has been tough, taking on challenges where the outcome is absolutely unclear or unknown is really tough (so tough that I haven't really done more than dream about the scary things I want to think about planning to do), but it has only been a week and a half since I admitted my imperfection.

Man, this shit is really hard.