bewildered by grace

I Win

4.11.2011 5:29 PM 11 2009 Melanie 4 comments

Just got a call from Urban Beet. I won dinner for two at Urbana Pizza! This is good news in that we went there a couple of weeks ago and really liked it, and bad news in that my sorry butt should consume nothing but salad for the foreseeable future.

It's also good news in that Peter and I could use a date night. Probably every other night for a year. It's one thing to have a baby, but to have a sick baby, followed by a crazy wife (even if it was the medication) plus all the ins and outs that being new parents entail, has been hard on us. We're not doing badly, not at all, but relationally, it feels a little like we've both been hit by a truck. And then backed over. We're discussing marital counseling, maybe once I'm off medication.

It's funny to put all of this out there. I found out yesterday that someone else reads my blog that I didn't know about. If you're reading, "hi Karen!"

Side Note: if you're reading, you should comment! I like to know if you popped by. Also, I cannot type "popped" without typing "pooped". And it always makes me laugh, even though that type of humor usually doesn't do it for me.

Anyway. It's crazy how people change. And how they stay exactly the same and all the pieces in between that will drive you crazy, make you laugh, fall in love, or pull your hair out. Bella is changing. I don't have a baby anymore. She's a little girl. She has opinions on what she wears in the morning, whether she wants to keep her jammies on or wear a dress or jeans or what. She wants to wear my jewelery and make up all the time. The ear-piercing rule used to be, "when they're old enough to ask, and understand it will hurt." I was five when I had mine done, I'm sure she'll ask LONG before then. I predict this summer. She already asks, "Mama, bracelet? I want it?" when we're checking out at some store. She takes her little purse shopping and has opinions on what shoes she likes and the other day decided she didn't like marshmallows because although they tasted amazing, she didn't like being sticky. She is all things girl, and I love it. Love. It. But she doesn't sing to sleep anymore, and she mostly likes to fall asleep on her own, after a very short "snuggle" if I'm lucky.

Peter is different, and so much the same. He feels the same about me. The things we fell in love with in each other have been buried under a lot of "Life" and we are digging though, sorting what's important as though we're beggars in a distant country, searching for something in the mess that we can save, maybe sell, or use to make a life. Some days there's a lot to find. Some days we sing Bella to sleep, Peter with his guitar, which she loves. I hold her in the dim light of her room and life is literally so perfect you could just bust apart in a million pieces with the beauty of it all.

Then I freak out over nothing and ferret through my screwed up brain and try and figure out which thoughts are mine, and which are just the medicine. Sometimes I miss them and I boil over like an unwatched pot and make a mess. Peter gets the lucky job of cleaning me off, and usually himself, and trying not to take me personally. I told him today, that if it wasn't for Bella, I'd leave and come back when it was over. I'd find some place to hide with my pills and my vitamins and my wildly swinging moods and when I lashed out or freaked out or got brain zapped until I was so jumpy that I could kill you for the smallest imagined infraction, the only people who would feel it would be the squirrels I'd scare out of their trees. Sometimes, I'm scared out of my own tree, so it seems fitting.

It occurs to me that this is when people give up. That this is when a lot of people would decide that the means doesn't justify the end, and they'd part ways. Sometimes I want to go just to save Peter the upset of dealing with me. I'm angry and guilty and that seems to be about ninety percent of what I feel. As the medicine drops the angry goes down and the guilty goes up. At least the guilt is just mine. There's not a lot of what we started with some days, but somewhere underneath this nonsense is a foundation we built in better days, and I trust in the foundation. I trust the people who built that. I believe in the methods they used to build it. Although some days you couldn't tell from looking, not even from the inside, this is a construction project, not demo day. They look the same though don't they? For that period right before things get built, you can't tell if a house is being torn down or put back together. We're even doing some remodeling, though it's occurring to me now I'm taking this metaphor a little far.

There's things that we abandoned in the early days, or things that we allowed to be taken from us that we're willing to fight for now. Things that we know we can't live without. Mostly, we want to be a family and we don't want this life we've found ourselves in. I promised Peter a very long time ago that I'd never become the kind of wife who wanted nothing but a house, a white picket fence, and a mortgage. I want a life of adventure, and one of missions. I meant that. I mean it still. We said vows when we got married and nothing has changed. We've made them to Bella when we dedicated her, promised that she'd never come from a broken home and we meant it.

This seems to be our song lately, the one Peter plays to Bella on his guitar quietly at night in her room as she looks back and forth between us and you can actually feel the Earth quiet around us and things go exactly right for just a few minutes. We belong to each other, and nothing changes that, not ever. But we belong to something more than ourselves as well, and the greatest peace lies in that. It's a peace I need so much more of, and one I'm learning to grab onto, trying not to remember a time when I didn't believe it was mine all along.

I Suck At This

4.05.2011 2:38 PM 11 2009 Melanie 0 comments

First, I realized that I skipped a category and now I have to go back and do a song that reminds me of someone, which I will, because this is fun and I'm liking finding all sorts of music. But I got crazy sick this weekend and just stopped caring.

You should know, kidney stones? It's actually true what they say. They hurt worse than labor. It's actually alarming. Except, when you're in labor, they will throw every conceivable drug at you. When you have a kidney stone, they tell you that it could be a muscle spasm (that doesn't allow me to pee?!?! Doctors are morons) or maybe an intestinal thing and can you pee in a cup? Then they stabbed me with a needle and forgot all about me. Oh, but for the pain, they recommended advil. And lots of water and rest.

ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS!?!?!?!?

Worse than labor. Advil. No payoff at the end except finally the bliss of getting to pee. No cute baby girl staring at me with big black eyes, just a toilet full of pee and a little pressure off my bladder, but wait! I took some really old Tylenol 3 that I found and forgot that codeine makes me puke. So then I dealt with that. Aren't you glad you tuned in?

All to say, I will maybe do another song thing tonight. Maybe tomorrow - I have a lot of Good Wife on my PVR.

Day Six (ish): A Song That Reminds You of an Event

3.31.2011 4:31 PM 11 2009 Melanie 1 comments

Could also be under my happy songs. This was the song that Peter and I walked back down the aisle to on our wedding day. As we kissed, it was supposed to come on at that moment, loud, but I think there was some sort of malfunction. On the video though, it's perfect which is how I remember it.

I remember Peter swinging me around up at the alter, after telling his dad politely to "step back" with his hand raised like a traffic cop. I loved that moment best, maybe even more than when he sang to me - I wish I could put that song up during this time. Maybe I'll figure that out here...

Strangely, I'd never seen the video. Now I like the song more.

Day Five: A Song That Reminds You of an Event

Everyday

Dave Matthews Band

Day Five: A Song That Reminds You of Somewhere

3.29.2011 6:51 PM 11 2009 Melanie 2 comments

This is going to be another really weird association, that makes no sense whatsoever. You should go to the bottom, click on the song and listen while you read - it was hard to explain, and I'm drinking wine again, which makes me wordy:

I remember going back to staff DTS in Kona, which was literally the very best time of my life - I wish everyone alive could experience that time. Pure bliss. It was so great that I couldn't even take it for granted. I knew every waking moment that I would always look at that time in my life and long for it back.
Right after I got there I became friends with this girl, who incidentally had a car, though I didn't realize then that on a YWAM base, this is tantamount to celebrity. One thing Hawaii wasn't was beaches. The Big Island has surprisingly few actually, and any that are halfway decent are taken over by very expensive hotels. But, I now had a friend with a car, and we spent the first three weeks before the students arrived (and every weekend after they were there) taking off and sneaking into said hotels. It's amazingly easy if the pool is outdoors, and you're in a place like Hawaii, where everything needs a lanai feel to it so nobody bothers to build walls anywhere. The front desks and common areas of most hotels have no walls, thus, no doors, thus, no keyed entry to get to the pool. Grab a blue and white striped towel from the stack waiting, order a drink at the bar, and lounge. Or drive the half hour to a beach and get sand in your bathing suit. Tough decision.

Anyway, I digress (and miss Hawaii, suddenly). This friend, the one with the car, had just broken up with her boyfriend and was sad about it, and I had just finished a really foul relationship that I'd gotten in with a guy who drank and smoked pot incessantly and who fought with me far more than he was nice to me. Don't ask. The last time I walked out of his apartment though he was crying and I was laughing with relief that I had a plane ticket in my name and didn't have to actually grow a spine and stop a really destructive relationship. All to say, I have been an idiot at many times in my life, none worse than RIGHT before I left for Hawaii, and I got there and ended up nursing my stupidity with the self-righteous feeling that said, "I'd have stopped seeing him. I wouldn't have done anything really regretful, or anything that my family and God and any female with half a brain wouldn't be ashamed to be associated with me for. I WOULD HAVE. Promise. Ahem."

My friend, who had a brain, was sad at the loss of a real relationship and listened endlessly to this CD, which I think might be the best break-up album of all time. So while she was sad and singing "And as for me I'm gonna hear the saddest songs and sit alone and wonder how you're making out" I was falling in love with Hawaii and the grace of God that plucked me from I am certain would have been a life-destroying relationship and plunked me straight into the best two years of my life. And for that reason alone, I will always love Dashboard Confessional. Their melancholy whiney emo garbage always takes me to Hawaii. Killer Taco's with the girls before we head to the beach or to sneak into the Hilton. Crushed into a backseat that was never meant to hold more than one bag of groceries, no AC in the heat, bathing suit under my shorts and tank top, and a bag with a good book and some tanning oil, and a piece of fruit that I'd stolen from the lunch line. It's a sad song, and yet, will always make me incredibly happy.

Day Five: A Song That Reminds You Of Somewhere

Dashboard Confessional: "Screaming Infidelities"

Day Four: A Song That Makes You Sad

3.27.2011 6:21 PM 11 2009 Melanie 3 comments

Day Four: A Song That Makes You Sad

How Great Thou Art

Carrie Underwood

I wasn't there when Grandpa died. I miss him all the time. I dreamed about him a couple nights ago, and he was taking some new Parkinson's medication that gave him purple blotches on his skin, and randomly, his nose turned purple and he was laughing with me and making fun of himself. He clenched his shaking fists and said, "Well, I took a good bop to the nose, but you should see the other guy!" and I laughed. I could hear his voice and his laugh, and I grabbed his old bicep and felt how frail he was getting through that brown plaid dress shirt he used to wear. Stupid medicine. Stupid vivid dreams. It was so real. I haven't had that clear a dream about Grandpa since he died.

I think all the time about how at the end of his life he was so grateful for all that God had done for him. He was such a great man. He had great kids, and grandkids, and I don't even see them all as much as I'd like. He married a really wonderful woman who I love with all my heart, and I keep kicking myself for not asking her more about her life before we all came into it. What do we talk about with her? I don't want those stories to go away. I think I'm going to get a little tape recorder and start taping her talking about them - one day we're all going to want this written down. She told me one day about her and grandpa's first kiss. It's a great story. Like something out of a book, probably by Lori Wick.

This song also makes me sad, because I really don't follow in Grandpa's footsteps the way I wish I did. I want to leave a legacy like that for my daughter too, and to make how he lived mean something....

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to have wine while I did this?

Day Three: A Song That Makes You Happy

3.26.2011 3:30 PM 11 2009 Melanie 1 comments

I'm trying not to be embarrassed right now, I really am. I'm wondering if I should save this one for the "guilty pleasure" song that I see down the list. Whatever. Now that I've seen the video, I know it has to go here.

Day Three: Happy Song

June Afternoon

Roxette

Best part of the song? Listen to them say squirrels. Oh man. The video, not going to lie, you may have to be on acid to enjoy. Except the clown with the lightbulbs on his head. He's creepy as all get out and I think you might die of fright if you looked at him without being in your right mind. And the naked people with the body paint. Oh man. Happy. And a little embarrassed, but mostly, just happy happy.

I remember this one summer before everything went squirrely with my dad and all that (sorry - couldn't help it) and we'd just bought that house with the pool and everything was great. Our friends were over that summer ALL the time and Shawn and I bought the Roxette greatest hits album and listened to it while we helped my mom paint. Maybe the paint fumes contributed. It was just a fantastic summer. Why is summer music better than any other music? Anyone?

Anyway, if that's my happy song, I'm sure you can't wait to see what my guilty pleasure song is. I'm a wild and strange mix in music taste, as evidenced.

Day Two: My Least Favorite Song

3.25.2011 6:50 PM 11 2009 Melanie 2 comments

It's so hard to pick just one! But I would have to say - this is it:

Day Two: Least Favorite Song

How Bizzare - OMC

It's hard to explain why I hate it so much. It makes me want to slap someone. Did they have more songs than this? I don't know. I do know that if I am shopping, and this song comes on, I will put down my purchase, walk out of the store and come back later, if I'm feeling generous. It might literally be the most annoying thing I've ever heard. Yep. Just makes me want to slap someone across the back of the head. Maybe when they're not expecting it, and it makes them trip and do that running thing where your arms kind of windmill while you're trying to catch yourself.

That being said, I have hated Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen since the third grade. Someone's mom worked in the school and let us in at night for a birthday party in the library, at Valley Manor. The movie chosen was Wayne's World. Third grade party. I know. There's something that is crazy creepy anyway about being in a school late at night with all the lights off, but since that night, I had a recurring nightmare that had Bohemian Rhapsody playing in the background. For YEARS. I never could make myself like Wayne's World, even once I watched it when it was age appropriate - maybe that's where my intense hatred of that type of comedy comes from as well? Goodness sakes I have issues, not that that's news to anyone at all. There you go.

Ooh! Blog Challenge! Day One.

3.24.2011 1:54 PM 11 2009 Melanie 4 comments

I will have to thank Auntie Chris for this one, since I haven't been on Facebook, and wouldn't have known otherwise. I like the idea and lets face it, my blog has been a little on the serious/ranting side, so I'm going to take part. And I missed NaBloPoMo last year, so I'm in. Carrie!! You should do this! It would be a great way for me to get new music. And Trav. Why doesn't everyone blog anymore. I loved it so much more than Facebook. Ah well. Here we go:

Day One: Favorite Song

Falling Slowly

From the Motion Picture Soundtrack 'Once'

Glen Hansard / Marketa Irglova

Oh, I love it so very much. I could never pick an all-time favorite, but this is my favorite lately. I wish I could find you the video where they performed it at the Oscars but I think they keep a pretty close watch on those videos, since they're copyrighted. I'd never heard it before then and it was one of those songs that I just knew I'd love forever. I recently re-found it and it just warms my heart. For whatever reason it speaks to me right now, and often makes me cry a little when I hear it. Peter just learned how to play it on the guitar for me, and it's nice to hear his voice singing it too.

Weak

3.23.2011 1:24 PM 11 2009 Melanie 4 comments

I have another appointment today. For a whole half hour, which is a lifetime in Doctor Land. It's like Candy Land, only the candies are different. Sorry - my sarcasm with the medical world knows no bounds. None. I have to pass a mental health assessment today. This raises the question again,

"If I am on drugs that can alter your personality, WHY are my answers regarding my mental health all you need to treat me?"

I'm sure this will involve another lovely paper quiz probably one that I've done before. I don't know how far to "comply" with the standard operating procedure here, and how much to challenge it. Not much today. I only have five days of medication left. I can't tell you how much I hate sounding like an addict. He has to write a prescription, so I have to be nice. And mentally stable.

I'm making friends from all over the world, in rehab, as one friend affectionately calls it. An online forum community where anyone on anything can just chat about what they're dealing with. It's alarming how many of these people are Christians. A majority, I'd say. Scriptures are a part of their profile, things they're clinging to.

"He shall give sleep to His beloved - Psalm 127:2" one woman chants to herself desperately as she roams her house at night, wanting nothing more than to take a sleeping pill and escape into a blissful unawareness that most of us take for granted when our heads hit the pillow every night. She just wants to sleep.

During withdrawal, my counselor was awake for 17 days. She quit cold turkey, in a rehab facility, and never closed her eyes for more than five minutes without waking up to pace again. She watched THREE cycles of heroin addicts suffer through withdrawal and leave rehab before her withdrawals ended. The staff said they'd never seen such torture and after that didn't allow anyone to detox cold turkey at their facility. They had to do it at a hospital, they were so sure she would die from it.

I think my question today is, "Why am I finding more Christians in 'rehab' than anyone else?"

Is it that they are who are strong enough to decide to kick the medicine bottles as opposed to just resigning themselves to a lifetime of pill bottles? I really doubt it. It's a nice answer, but probably not the true one.

In processing this all, I think the worst betrayal comes in WHEN this happened. It was incredibly difficult for me to tell Dr.X that I wasn't feeling okay. It was hard to call work and say that I was too worried about Bella to both work and worry. I needed time. That's not acceptable in our culture anymore. We of the Braun genetic line could teach courses on not being weak. We are tough. We can do it ourselves, or figure it out if we can't.

I wasn't tough enough to do both. That wasn't a sickness, it was a fact. Life came at me and I took it a little bit harder than even I expected. I took it harder than some people would have - but that's not a sickness either. That's me. I'm emotional. I'm learning not to care that other people thought I took it "too" hard. Walk in my shoes and then give me your opinion on that. Until you have heard the words "Something is wrong with your child" you don't know what that will do to you. No clue whatsoever. This has been HARD on us, and I'm okay with that. Peter said after the one day we went to the psychiatrist together, "It was therapy enough to hear someone say it mattered, and that it matters still." I couldn't agree more.

Instead of believing that, I believed that it made me sick. I believed that being so worried for my daughter was an actual chemical imbalance in my brain. This is astounding to me. How did I get there? I believe with all my heart that pharmaceutical companies are out to manipulate healthy people into believing they are not. If that sounds like a conspiracy theory, then I suppose it is, until you see the following quote to Forbes Magazine by former head of Merck (HUGE Pharmaceutical Company):

"It has long been my dream to make drugs for healthy people, so that my company can sell to everyone"

Thirty years later, a staggering number of us have responded to the ads we see on television and bought into the lies. There are a huge number of grief disorders now being put forward as actual sickness. I can't tell you how many people I chat with daily in 'rehab' say that they were put on antidepressants after someone they loved died. Why can't we just be sad? I have a friends who have lost babies, and the common thread is that they are expected to "get over it" so quickly. It wasn't even a baby yet, it wasn't meant to be. Maybe it was disabled and so God was really just being nice to you. Becky wrote recently that it never stops hurting to think about her dad. It still feels like someone should come in and re-write her story. One day, Someone will. Until then, we are allowing people to label our weaknesses as sicknesses.

20% of children under five are being treated with some sort of behavioral drug. They have a host of illnesses. ADHD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Oppositional Defiance Disorder. They're being medicated for it. With medications that NOBODY knows the long term side effects for.

My counselor took her Masters degree while under the influence of anti-depressants, pain meds, and sleeping pills. She completed everything except her final exam, which she planned to take in a different city after she moved. Randomly, or maybe not, she went to rehab before she took the tests. Once she was medication free, she went to take her tests and literally did not remember one single thing. Courses she had aced were gone from her memory. Her brain did not care that her drugs said Rx on them and were peddled by the television and a doctor instead of by a slimeball behind a dumpster with a baggie in his hand. Her brain lost the ability to store information while on "medication".

I wonder if 20% of kids one day will be sitting in high-rise offices, have great lives, kick their 'behavioral aids', and forget how to read? It's not a silly thing to worry about. Nor is the very likely decrease we will see in about 10-20 years in all forms of art. Artistic kids are more likely to be put on medication when they're young, but the same medications make them unable to create. It suppresses that exact part of their brain.

Now we're not just letting people tell us we're sick when we're sad, we're letting them tell us we're sick when we don't happen to be the kind of four year olds that can sit in a classroom for 6 straight hours, five days a week. I can take one look at Bella and tell you that she is going to be that kid. She wasn't made for stillness. I'm sure we'll teach her to be still sometimes, but she's a creature of action, and I love that about her. But she isn't sick, and I will NEVER give her a behavior altering drug on the basis of a sickness that no doctor can prove exists.

But I did let them do it to Bella's mommy. Worry for Bella became Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD - I even get my own acronym). When all we did was give her medicine and Peter's schedule didn't allow him to do it on a regular basis, I needed to give it to her myself. I spent SO MUCH TIME thinking about her medication, because I had to. Because it had to be taken at a specific time, and it had to be kept cold and on and on and on. It was easier to cope if I just did it. I could remember. But that meant that I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and a medication to go with it.

My little girl is up. Tomorrow night I will give her her last dose of medication. Friday, I will not put a syringe in her mouth. Not one time. I just sterilized about fifteen syringes, and just realized I can put them all away. I only need three more. Oh the healing that floods every corner of my body and mind when I think of that. When I look at her beautiful little face. I am not weak. I'm a mom. I am more blessed than I have any right not be, and am happier than I've been in about 18 months, and that's what I'll be telling my doctor in a half hour.

Tomorrow

3.15.2011 12:50 PM 11 2009 Melanie 11 comments

I'm meeting Dr Bodenstab who I am praying with all my heart will be my new family doctor. Today I begin dropping my medication dose from 300mg to 262.5. We do that for a week, then we drop it again.

If everything goes the way it's supposed to, and I wean off okay with no setbacks then May 10th will be my first medicine free day. I'm excited for that day.

I'm spending inordinate amounts of time on the computer, and reading. I don't want to make all this public for any sort of pity party. Honestly, I wish nobody knew. It's embarrassing more than anything. I'm hoping that someone, somewhere will read this and start asking questions regarding what they're taking. I hope they'll take a little time to look into it, to question why their one medication has led to another and possibly another yet.

I don't do very many things half-way. Except clean my house, but that's a different story. I figure if my diet and exercise can change this, then what else are we as a family unknowingly loading our bodies with? I'm not supposed to have MSG among other things while tapering my medication. Going through my cupboards, do you have any idea how many things I eat (things I think are HEALTHY!) have MSG in them? I don't know what MSG is. I know what it stands for, and what it's for, but what is it exactly? A zucchini looks like a cucumber, it is yummy in stir fry, blended it will keep muffins and breads incredibly moist. It's a vegetable, in the squash family. It grows on a vine on the ground. I don't know what MSG is. I don't know what Splenda is, except that it's a sweetener that is supposedly better for you than aspartame. I know that my spell check doesn't recognize it. Unbleached flour is all I'm allowed to have, preferably whole wheat. But it's brown. Eww. But if I think for a second, why am I okay with bleached flour. I lock up my bleach to keep it away from Bella. But I feed it to her, or bath her with it?

When I punched in the ingredients in Bella's shampoo the other day, I did not know one of them except water. And the list was LONG. I typed every last ingredient into a dermatology index website and was horrified by what came up. This ingredient caused three rats to die. This other ingredient attacks the central nervous system (that's why it's labeled 'calming'). Someone working in the plant making Bella's shampoo died because of accidental exposure. Some of the ingredients do not have to be listed because they are not things that are being intentionally put into the shampoo. They're a chemical result of mixing two other chemicals, and thus, the FDA has passed a law saying that manufacturors don't have to list it as an ingredient. Even if that chemical reaction is toxic to my baby. Even if it gives her cancer in ten years. Why are babies getting cancer at all?

I have now found a website and ordered Bella an all natural baby shampoo. It came yesterday, and I was skeptical. I bought Bella's shampoo because I loved the way it smelled and I'd heard never to use Johnson and Johnsons. Except that they own Aveeno. Oops. Way to check the fine print, Mellie. Last night we gave her a bath and I washed her down being careful to avoid her eyes. You should with every shampoo, because if it says tear free, then there is a problem. It's no better for their eyes, it just deadens the nerves it touches to feel the pain of the chemical in their eyes. Promise. Go look it up - I didn't believe it either. I thought my  mom was full of hooey. Anyway, the soap worked great. Her skin was CRAZY soft and her hair was detangled and felt like silk. And she smelled like lavendar. Not like lavender scent, but like a handful of fresh lavender. I LOVE it. And it's no more expensive than what I was buying before. And I can read each of the four ingredients on the back.

This weekend we're going farmer's marketing. I'm excited. I love that BC affords us that all year round. We are going to start buying meat from a farm. With animals. That eat grass and grain, of all things. I made organic spaghetti the other night, it was awesome. It did not require me to make the sauce from scratch. Mario Batali makes a jarred tomato sauce, you can buy it at Costco for $2.50 a jar. It's incredibly good. Add some ground sirloin and some fresh basil and even some real parmesan cheese, and it's delicious. We all ate it, and Peter isn't a spaghetti fan at all.

I'm eating farm eggs. Have you ever eaten a farm egg next to a grocery store egg? You would be shocked at the difference. One has a flavor. 

 We are giving up white flour. I know. Pasta!! But I'm finding some whole wheat brands that don't taste like cardboard. I'm also going to attempt to make it on my own. CHEAP, and delicious. We had grain fed chicken thighs  the other night and first of all, they were yummy, but they were also a third of the price of chicken breasts - non-organic. When did we decide that we only eat the breasts? I love dark meat, I think it has a flavor. I'm still working on sauces. Other than the tomato sauce, they're the hardest to find. Maybe the market will have some.

Anyway, we're making huge lifestyle changes over here, and I'm feeling pretty good about it so far. I've cut my caffeine intake to one cup in the morning and I'm getting fewer brain zaps (none so far today, and only a few yesterday) and I haven't killed anyone! I'm sleeping better, though the dreams you have when you go through withdrawal are just insane. No words. They're just nuts. And VIVID. I wake up every morning certain they've happened. Be gone from me you devil drug!!

I may start a blog just about the whole food and lifestyle thing. The goal is to find it for a comparable price (lets face it, I don't need something to spend more money on) or cheaper, and have it be better for us, and still maintain the quality or taste that I'm looking for. So far, the soap and the tomato sauce have been my major accomplisments.

If you could pray for our doctors appointment tomorrow, we'd sure appreciate it. I so need it to go well. I'm already earning a name for myself in the BC medical system, and it's 'non-compliant'. Doesn't look good. Neither does doctor hopping. Here's hoping this is my last hop, it's all I have energy for.

Love you guys. Lots.

Broken

3.09.2011 3:28 PM 11 2009 Melanie 6 comments

I'm so angry and hurt and surprised that I almost don't know where to leave myself. Um, brain zaps anyone? I've got more than my fair share today. I feel like I'm being electrocuted from the inside out. Being this upset doesn't help. I'd kill for a glass of wine if I knew it would make me feel better.

Today we had to meet with our doctor (the one who put me on 300mg Effexor and 100mg Sertraline). We told him we wanted to approach my health through more natural means, and that although at the time I didn't realize it my husband and family had noticed FAR more negative side effects to the medications than they've seen benefits. We said it as nicely as possible, that we'd made the decision as a couple and that we would like to start weaning off the medication. He asked for a scenario in which since being on medication I have acted totally uncharacteristic to myself.

Shortly after going on meds, I had to leave my husband for a week on a trip he was unable get time off for. I know it's sappy but we hate being apart. Even overnight. We usually laugh at each other about it. Just before leaving I told him that I wasn't sad to not see him, didn't think I'd miss him, and if that was how I was going to feel, we may as well get divorced.

When we told the doctor this today he said that it's not normal to not want to be alone and that I had separation anxiety and that it was just further proof that I was on the correct road - the hell of addiction. Nice.

I said, "but that's who I am! I always miss him. He's my husband, I love him, I don't like to be away from him."

"That's not your personality!" was his emphatic reply. His first act as my doctor was to put me on medication, and now he knows my personality? Enough to tell my husband who I am?! I'm furious.

The appointment digressed from there. We said that I was never depressed (true) and didn't understand the high dose. He said the dose wasn't high, it was therapeutic. Lie. We asked about the negative side effects that can be caused by mixing Sertraline and Effexor. He said they were monitoring me. Lie. I saw him last on Jan 5th. Before that, every month. He's never so much as taken my blood pressure. I was also never made aware of the risk. I was told nothing about Sertraline but that it would help me sleep. In the end, he wrote me a tapering prescription for now so I don't have to worry about my meds drying up and going cold turkey in six days. He thinks I'm chemically messed up but he can't make me take the meds.

How do you deal with this? Other than getting a new doctor of course. Thank God my rational husband was there. He was angry but held it in until the car. If I'd been alone, I'd have slapped him. He'd have deserved it. I need to interview doctors. I need an ally over here, but I have NO idea where to start. Thoughts??

This is what the medical community believes, isn't it? They're so used to having answers that they have no idea how to be wrong. I'm broken and thank God they are there to fix me. Thank God for the pharmaceutical companies that have exactly the right medication to fix who I am.

I just found Point of Return last week. Just found out I was addicted last week. Just found out everything I was taking and what it does. I don't know a lot. I've never been to medical school in my life, I failed biology. But I AM the expert on who I am. And I am not broken.

withdrawing

3.07.2011 8:03 PM 11 2009 Melanie 0 comments

I had the unspeakable joy of experiencing my first brain zap today. I remember my reaction upon reading those words for the first time. I believe my exact question was, "what in hell is a brain zap?!"
It's more or less exactly what it sounds like. As I grew up on a farm, all I could say is that it felt like someone places a piece of electric fence right at the base of my skull. Zap. My vision blurred for a second and then cleared. I don't know if I could say that it hurt per se. I've had a pretty persistent headache for days now so it aggravated that. Then I proceeded to have about 15 more in the space of about thirty minutes. Zap. Zap. Zap. I can imagine how people would be unable to go to work. I could barely concentrate on pushing my stroller around WalMart. I kept bumping into things. I was suddenly terrified to drive, wondering if one of them lasted longer than a second, if I'd black out. I'm sorry to say I was too embarrassed to call my parents, I'd been crying on my mother's already burdened shoulders enough that day. I got in the car, the cold air in my face helped, and drove to get Peter. Stopped for a red light. Zap.

By the time he got into the car I was crying and so incredibly tired I thought I could sleep for a month. I was so hoping that those last 50mg of Sertraline wouldn't make a difference either way. But because they negatively affect my Effexor, I'm being cautioned that this may be the hardest part of the weaning process but also the most important. Taking them together greatly increases my chances of getting Serotonin Syndrome.I just couldn't keep taking a risk like that. It's not just me. I belong to a lot of people, who I'm learning now feel like I've already been gone a LOT during these last seven months. I took my last dose on Friday, so we've now hit about 72 hours. They say most withdrawal symptoms are gone or greatly lessened in about a week. Four more days.

I've also found a new doctor, and have an appointment two days from now. Part of me wants to yell at my doctor but I know that's really misdirected anger as well. It's pharmaceutical companies. They are who tell the doctors how safe it is, how wonderfully helpful. Here is what I have learned as fact through some pretty solid research lately. I'm living on my laptop right now.

-Adverse reactions to prescription medication is the number four killer in the USA. Not overdoses. Reactions.

-It is impossible as a doctor, especially a GP to know the ins and outs of every medication. Mine never showed me a sheet of paper regarding the ones he prescribed. He had no idea that it raises blood pressure, and thus never monitored mine. He didn't know that doses need to be tapered upward just as slowly as downward. He didn't know that prescribing the Sertraline could actually poison my brain. How could he? Who can learn that much off the top of his head? Eight years of school is not enough. However, both he and I had a responsibility to check. He also had a responsibility to realize that the drugs are mood altering, so following my progress based on how I say I'm feeling, is a pretty poor way to gauge the situation.

-Doctors define addictions primary symptom as being the intense, overwhelming desire to have more. If the drug doesn't cause that the way, say, heroin does, then you are not addicted. The excruciating and sometimes fatal physical withdrawal symptoms are called simply that. You have withdrawal syndrome. Not addiction. As I am not emotionally addicted to my medication, quite the opposite, I am therefore not addictive, and the medicine is classified as non-addictive. When you take something you need to be SO clear on asking if there are withdrawal symptoms and what they are.

I've spent days crying already. I have heard stories of things I have said to Peter that I do not remember. I have been told that I blatantly lied to my mother, and was hideously rude to her on a number of occasions. My memory of these occasions is blurry at best, mostly not there at all, sometimes totally inaccurate, though clear to me. Peter is devastated that he didn't check closer. We blindly trusted, and won't ever make the same mistake again.

Let me tell you something though. When both Bella and I are medicine free, we are throwing one heck of a party. Peter will be getting a trophy. Bella will get presents, and I will get to see their smiling faces and have a clear, perfect memory of a perfect day. That day wasn't today, but tomorrow's coming.

Betrayed

3.04.2011 12:29 PM 11 2009 Melanie 3 comments

That's at the forefront of what I'm feeling. I don't know how this happened, or how I got here. I remember needing a doctors advice not to go back to work this August. I was still pretty stressed out about Bella's medical state and I had a health nurse say that I should talk to a doctor and go on short term disability in order to be home with her. She was needing medications three times a day - no daycare would have touched her, and I needed to be with her anyway. I was anxious about her. I was anxious about her relapsing. When I went to the doctor I told him I was struggling with anxiety but that I knew it was situational. I didn't think I had any kind of disorder, I just knew that I was pretty tense about her health and that I could see the effects of that in my day to day life and knew I would be a mess at work. I know this doctor. I go to church with him. I totally trusted his judgment on the topic at hand. He suggested medication. I balked. I didn't want to take pills. I didn't want to become addicted to something. He informed me that we would stay on a low dose, and that it was non-addictive. He mentioned that stopping it suddenly would produce undesirable side effects, as would missing a dose, but that it was not addictive. Semantics, I later found out. I noticed a change very quickly on a very low dose. I was happy with the results, and I felt like myself. The goal was to get me to 75mg and stay there for a few months, give myself time to relax, for things with Bella to go better. I was on half that and feeling pretty good. The trouble began when we got to 75 and I thought I would feel better than I did. I felt the same. Not worse but the same. He talked me into 150. The same. He talked me up to 300, which I now know is the highest dose I am able to be on without being hospitalized. I did not know that then.

I'm not clinically depressed. I haven't thought of suicide, or of drowning Bella in the tub. Never. After we hit 300 I said I still felt the same, still not sleeping well. The nightmares that I'd been experiencing before medication were still a problem. He told me it was possible I wasn't tolerant to the current drug, and perhaps we could try another. I was supposed to start the other drug and then wean off this one. That never happened. Until about a month ago, I found myself on the max dose of a pretty serious anti-depressant, and a high dose of another, which was sold to me as little more than a sleeping pill, also non-addictive.

I began to worry the first time I forgot to take a pill. I became so suddenly and so violently ill that I couldn't move. I couldn't turn my head without getting such dizziness that I thought I would pass out. I was home alone with Bella. I stumbled to the kitchen, ate a piece of bread that I kept down through sheer force of will and took my pills. I felt better within a couple hours, and luckily Bella went to bed.

Two months ago I told my doctor I wanted to go off the medication, and was more or less told no. It was said nicely, in good medical (and even biblical) jargon. If you don't stay on for at least nine months your risk of relapse is super high. I don't know why it didn't occur to me to ask, "relapse of what?" Bella is fine. She's doing great. The situation that was causing me anxiety has been lessened greatly. She's weaning off her medication beautifully so far. Why am I stuck on mine? He told me to come back in two months.

I'm starting to feel claustrophobic about these pills. I'm afraid to not take them because I get so sick. A month ago, when I refilled my prescription, the pharmacist gave me smaller pills. I knew I should take two, that it was the same amount of medication, but that other pill was staring me in the face and it upset me somehow. I didn't take it. Peter said I was nuts for doing it without a doctors consent. I couldn't have cared less. I cut my dose in half and found that I slept poorly and was unbelievably tense for a few days. I say "tense". Peter would say "furious". I still sleep worse, but don't feel as though I'm on a trigger switch to bite someone's head off. I haven't taken my original dose again.

Knowing that I was going to the doctor very soon to talk about coming off (nine months be damned) I started to research withdrawal symptoms online. I figured if missing a dose made me so sick, what on earth would not taking it do? I was nervous. Then I spent two days online, and I'm horrified.

What kind of poison am I pouring into my system? For what? I feel like I was put of chemotherapy for a paper cut. Chemo is necessary, it's good - if you have cancer. The possible benefit outweighs what the disease will do untreated. But I wasn't depressed. I was anxious about a situation and I wanted some extra time off work. I wish I'd left well enough alone. I should have stuck Bella with my mom and gone back to work. I should have made a visit with a psychologist. The few drop in visits I had helped me FAR more than this medicine has. We've never noticed a difference beyond the initial. I'd have been fine on 37mg. And now I'm on almost ten times that. The stories of people coming off this drug are horrific. People literally live on it for years because the withdrawals are so bad. And when they withdraw their doctors tell them it's their original depression returning, and so they go back on, and because the drug doesn't work as effectively after you've tried to come off, they go one more. Or add another.

I'm terrified. I look at those stupid bottles by my bed and they make me feel sick. They make me afraid. I see my doctor on Monday morning and I'm telling him that I am coming off. I'm done. I don't care what they say, or what happens, I'm not becoming more dependent on this than I already am. I'm so angry that I didn't research more when he handed me that first bottle. I'm astonished at how this has snowballed. I'm taking the medication of a severely clinically depressed person, just a few steps away from a psych ward. Unreal.

In the doctors defense, I approached him with a problem that he only had one answer to. They give out medication. I should have seen a psychologist. He never even recommended that I should. It's like I took my car to a plumber and expected a fix. I'm angry at myself for that.

There are so many stories like mine online. Stressful job, trouble sleeping: ten years later, still on meds and addicted to a host of them that have been taken to try and get off previous. I get that online is where I'm going to find the worst case scenario. I get that. I know it's not proportional, but there's SO MUCH of it. So many people who said they were told it wasn't addictive and believed it until they tried to quit. So many people who have asked how to come off to be told that they shouldn't.

In good news, I found a non-profit organization that combats withdrawals with natural supplements. They are INCREDIBLY well reviewed. They are founded by people who have been in much worse shape than I've ever been and by doctors who believe that antidepressants are being prescribed at a catastrophic rate, and often to people who do not need them. I'm calling them for a consultation later today. Then I'm going to the health food store. I'm considering stopping the one medication that I'm on a low dose for tonight. It's the weekend. Peter is home and starts day shifts now. We'll see what happens. I'm going to pray, eat well, and be really nice to myself. Peter's going to give me a wide berth (which I need, since one of the other side effects has been weight gain.) I'm going to try to sleep a lot and play with Bella and get outside. I'm going to get off this crap if it's the last thing I do.

Please, oh please, if you are reading this and are taking something for depression, I think that's great. If you have a doctor you trust and you've been through something horrible or you actually have a chemical imbalance in your brain, I think that these medications are good. I can testify that they work. I know people who have needed them and there is NO shame in that. I'm not one of those Christians that believes that every form of depression is spiritual and that doctors are evil and God will heal you if you're supposed to be healed. I don't believe that at all.

I just don't know how I got here. How anxiety over Bella turned into this. A couple of stupid panic attacks forever ago and I'm being treated like I'm practically psychotic. I'm angry. I feel bad for my doctor when I see him. I'm going to make Peter or my mom come with me. That'll keep me calm. I don't mistrust him per se, just don't understand why I'm here or how this happened and why he won't let me come off. He's going to give me a plan to come off on Monday or I'm going to find another doctor, and that's all there is to it. If I had read online what I know now, I would have never popped one pill. Never. And now it's been seven months. I guess we will see how it goes. Stupid. Stupid. I suppose, all this is to say, if you're considering going on medication of any kind, do a little research. See what you come up with, and under no circumstances be afraid to ask your doctor anything. Get a second or third opinion and don't be ashamed of that. At the end of the day, you still have to go home with you. And your myriad of pills. Blast and wretch.

End of the Tunnel

2.28.2011 10:19 PM 11 2009 Melanie 2 comments

Dear Bella,

Oh little girl. What a ride we've been on, you and your daddy and me. We have all cried so many tears together, haven't we? Today, our wonderful doctor said that you are doing just amazingly and we are going to try and quit your medicine. I know right now you like it, you think it's fun to shake the bottle, and you love to play with your syringes. You even give your stuffed toys "meh-essin" sometimes. I wish I could tell you how sad that makes me. Baby girls should never know what those things are. They shouldn't know where medicine is kept, or what a syringe is used for, or how to comfort a toy who has to take medication. It's so cute, and it's still so sad.

You are such a brave and good little girl. I'm so happy that you don't remember the beginning days of this, and I'm praying with all my heart that we don't have to go back there. So I have you ask you a favor. Baby girl, Mama needs your tiny little body to be super tough right now. I need it to remember that we don't want that mark there anymore and that it needs to keep fighting it away even when the medicine is gone. I don't want any more rush trips to the hospital. I don't want to see your beautiful smile go still on one side. I can't. I don't want them to give you the really bad medicine that hurts your poor tummy and makes you a little crazy. Even more crazy than you normally are - can you believe it?!

Mama's going to be a bit funny these next few days. She's prayed for a really long time that we would be all done your medicine. I want to throw those syringes in the garbage. I can't tell you how badly I want to throw them away. I want to stop looking at your mark and wondering if it's looking better or worse. I want to see your body do what it's supposed to do, and that is to keep you healthy and safe. I'm a little bit scared, did you know that? I hate feeling like I'm gambling with you, but that's what we have to do. The only way to know if you don't need the medicine is to just take you off and see, and I don't like that very much.

Here is what I do like: I like that you are the happiest and smartest and prettiest little girl there is. I like that you and Daddy and me are a family. I like how today in the car out of nowhere you said, "I miss you, Tasha!" It's true- we didn't watch any Backyardigans today. I can see how you'd miss her. I like your "cheesy smile" and the way your giggle sounds. I like all your little words, and your dancing and how much you love shoes and make up and books. You're amazing. You're such a good girl, and we're so close to being done, and when we are all done, your Mama is going to throw you a party and invite all your friends. Six weeks baby girl. Six weeks and then we're done.

I love you more than you will ever know, sweetheart. I'm so lucky to have you. So lucky.

Mommy.
xoxox

Gratitude Is The Essence of Trust

2.16.2011 10:21 AM 11 2009 Melanie 1 comments

Brennan Manning said that. I've waffled with thinking it's true or not a bunch of times. Surely the base of trust is rooted in something more than just the ability to be thankful. But the more I think about it and run it over in my mind, and have those words stick with me through some hard times, the more I realize how true they are.

I know that the opposite of love is not hate: it's apathy. The opposite of trust is not independence, as I so often seem to think and act out. The antithesis of trust is fear. I am almost always afraid in one form or another. But how afraid would I be if I simply looked at facts, and was grateful for what I found. It's a very simple truth, that if you just start counting your blessings, all of a sudden you find that you're just not afraid anymore.

Let's say, for the sake of a point, that I become paralyzed with the fear that Peter will cheat on me. He'll find a younger, prettier, easier woman to spend his time with and he'll leave Bella and I. I can take my mind down this road until I'm a total mess. Once I'm already afraid, Peter's words that he loves me and would never do that are useless to me. I'm terrified that he's lying. Telling me he isn't doesn't soothe me. But lets say I take a moment and very clearly list to myself what I know about Peter, what I can take in with my senses.
-Peter tells me he loves me all the time. He spontaneously says it at times when I feel unlovable.
-Peter is a man of integrity. He is a man who has never once broken his word to me in even the smallest thing.
-Peter is a perfectionist. Peter is someone who tries his best at literally everything he does from his job to installing our new DVD player. Peter is driven by a need to do things correctly.
-Peter is a good father. He's more than that, he's completely in love with Bella. If nothing else existed, if I was the most hideous wife of the planet, Peter would stay just to save Bella from having her parents split up. He'd walk through fire for her to have a good day, let alone a good life.

All of a sudden, the fear in me is replaced with how lucky I am to have Peter. How blessed Bella and I are. All of a sudden the suspicion in me that Peter doesn't have my best interests at heart is driven away by the obvious fact that he does. Because I know Peter.

I'm not good at this when it comes to God. Very likely because I don't know him as well as I should. Someone told me once that every time you screw up, every fear and worry you have all boils down to one of two misconceptions about who God is. You either believe he isn't big, or he isn't good. I believe he can't or won't come through for me. Both are pride. One says that I understand the concept of 'good' better than God does, and the other says that God is too small to be able to help, and so therefore I must figure it out myself. Because I'm so much better and keeping my life in control. It's laughable when you boil it down but it takes place on a daily level in some form or another with me, often it's both. God is way up there in Heaven (small) and not concerned with the little goings on of my day to day life (mean). I think God is small and mean. Nice. And here I thought I was such a good Christian.

I am concerned with every little thing Bella does. Today she said "duck" perfectly clearly. It used to sound like "dut" and I knew what she meant. Today it was perfect and I was so proud. Not only am I concerned with every incredible thing she does, I think everyone else should be. I live in a constant state of, "look at her! Isn't she amazing?! Is that not the most beautiful and intelligent little thing you've ever seen?!" I love how much she needs us. I love being everything to her. It makes me feel amazing.

Last night, when it was bedtime, we did our routine. Medicine, "Mama, shake it? Shake, shake, shake!" She loves to shake that bottle. Find a clean cup, fill with milk, start warming. "Bunny?" she asks. I find the bunny half under the couch. Clean diaper "Pants! Bella, don't touch," she warns herself while I clean her up. Then it's into her sleepy sack. "Night night toes? Mmm-wah toes?" she asks sweetly. I let her kiss her toes. Then I must do it. Then it's grab the cup I forgot in the kitchen, and settle into the chair in the dark and rock her. Two seconds later she'd emptied her cup. "More cup Mama? More milk?" She points at her mouth to make sure I got the point. I lay her in her crib and promise to come back with milk. She sits quietly. When I get back though, she says, "Mama, no. Cup, bunny, bed." And my heart falls through the floor. She doesn't want me to rock her. She wants to go to sleep. She's tired and wants to stretch out in her bed. And although I spend all my time teaching her how smart she is, how good at doing every little thing, this hurts me. I know that it's a really great thing, developmentally. I've read enough to know that she feels secure enough to fall asleep by herself. This is progress. This is a step in the right direction, but it hurts me. Because I love her. Because I miss her when she sleeps, even still, and I don't care that it's stupid and makes me one of 'those moms'. I kissed her goodnight on the head, prayed for her, and told her I loved her. "Ove you.." she whispered. This might be the only thing that let me walk out of that room instead of forcing her back to baby-dom. I was crying, but I left. She went straight to sleep and the loneliness here was a little overwhelming. I may have asked Peter to come home early from work. I wanted my baby back. I wanted her to need me, and the funniest part is, when she woke up a few hours later and I was already in bed, I grinned from ear to ear when I heard her little voice say "Mama?" and start to cry.

I wonder how much of our feelings for our children mirror God's feelings for us. He refers to himself as a father so many times in the bible, you'd think he was trying to make a point. I wonder if he does this? Waits for us to cry and then rejoices to himself that the proper order has been restored. We need our Daddy to save us. I wonder if our posturing at independence hurts him? It must. It must hurt him over and over again as we tell him that regardless of what he says, we're still afraid. That no matter how many times he's shown us his love, we still don't totally get it. I wonder how often the distance between Heaven and Earth frustrates him. I know I hate it. I know there's so much I want to say to him face to face. So much I want to ask. I wonder if he feels the same? I wonder why I don't think of it in these terms more often. It makes sense.

There's a story about a little girl and her father crossing a bridge. The father is worried for his little girl, and tells her to hold very tightly to his hand. She looks at him and says, "No Daddy. You hold my hand"
"What's the difference?" he asks.
"Well, if something happens and I get frightened, I might let go of your hand. But if I ask you to hold my hand, I know that no matter what happens, you'll never let go."

Oh to have faith like that. To be able to admit to God and to myself that I get afraid, and when I do, I make choices that could endanger myself. Oh to know my father well enough to not have it need to look like such a lofty spiritual goal as trust. It's just fact. If something happens, I know you'd never drop me. And here I thought that God would be all upset if I said that I was going to let go. Here I thought that real faith was being able to hold his hand when all it is is just knowing that he must hold mine in order to make it. It's just a simple understanding of my own flawed and frustrating behavior, and to choose to not place myself in a situation where I'd need to rely on myself. Huh. Maybe he's not waiting for us to say we'd never let go as much as he's waiting for us to say that we just know that he wont.

Carrie - Your Incoherence Has Nothing On Me

2.14.2011 11:19 PM 11 2009 Melanie 3 comments

Well hello there blogger. I wonder if I have new font options along with my fancy new window here. Lemme see....nope. Same crap, prettier pile. Ah well. 

So it seems as though I have jumped back on the blogging wagon. I re-did Bella's Blog and I like it a lot. It's pretty cute. I'm not going to lie... I don't know why I use that phrase so much "Not gonna lie", it's not like I normally make a habit of it and need to specify, especially here, but I digress. I'm really not sure if I'm going to keep this blog layout. I like it, but after searching through thousands, and not being smart enough to make my own (besides, how much time would that waste?) this is where I ended up. Maybe I'll change it again soon. How simple can I go without it boring me to tears? That CAPS at the top is killing me though. Someone tell me how to fiddle with the HTML and get that CAPS the heck outta here.

This is going to be more than slightly incoherent; it's late and all I'm really thinking about is my new bedding. Peter and I (with some gift money from his family) got it for each other for our anniversary. Six years. Anyway, I'll do pictures when I get my Balinese mosquito net up, and clean up all my laundry. Nobody wants to see pictures of my unmentionables.

So here's our topic, after all of that. I am reading The Wheel of Time books. I hate fantasy. Except Lord of the Rings. And Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel. Oh that was a great book. Anyway, I'm not big into fantasy at all but I love these books! I'm on book six and I only started book one in about September. I'm averaging about a book a month, which for me is pretty lame, but they are nearly a thousand pages each and there has been a lot of stuff in the middle. Moving, Bali, two Thanksgivings, a Christmas, New Years and an anniversary. That should have had me another book ahead at least. I love how long the series is. I don't have to pace myself. I read when I want to and it just seems like there's an endless parade of books waiting to be read. I guess a lot of people who don't like the books quit around book four or five and I just don't get it. They're great. Perfect escapist fiction.....ohhhh bedding. Bath first? Sleepy time tea? It's so pretty in there I can hardly stand it. I can't wait to get in. You see? Who really cares what I'm talking about anyway?

Wheel of Time. Right. Great books, and I like that I like them. I know, it barely makes sense and by now you're sitting here wondering why you're at the computer at all and wishing you were watching adorable cat videos on YouTube. I like that I like them. I hate that I like Facebook. I hate that I love cereal before bed. But I like that I like these books. I surprised myself, and honestly, that doesn't happen all that much. It's a side of me I didn't really know was there. I'm embracing my inner nerd, as it were and finding that she's kind of cool, in her own way.

I think I just needed to put something on here that was recent. Carrie, why don't people love book four and five? What's the deal with that? Anyway, maybe I can shave my legs quickly while sitting on the side of the tub. My hair is still wet from my shower this morning. Seems silly to take a full bath, and waste all that water. Plus I may fall asleep in the tub and accidentally drown myself. And on that note....

Mere Mortals

1.08.2011 8:13 AM 11 2009 Melanie 2 comments

It's silly sometimes how often you have to re-learn the same information. You learn a hard lesson and you tell yourself to watch for certain things so that next time, you'll see it coming and you'll know what to do. Bella is teething terribly right now. It takes a long time for me to figure this out. Granted she only has six teeth right now, so I don't have a lot of experience in noticing the signs but I tell myself after every tooth, "Melanie, the next time you look at her and think, 'Who are you and what have you done with my sweet, happy baby?' - remember. She's probably just teething. Give her some space." Two months later I'm exasperated and can't figure out why she's SO grumpy and poof! A tooth pops through and I feel like a schmuck.

I'm realizing as I type that this may be an unflattering comparison, though I don't mean it to be so, but Peter is exactly like this. I remember after we got married, and he'd get into these moods and he'd just be in a funk for SO LONG. I'd try and make him a nice dinner when we were newlyweds and it wouldn't help. I tried ignoring him completely, a couple of years in. No luck there either. Suffice to say that by four or five years down the road and my tactics in dealing with this no longer involve dinner. I get annoyed. I try and make him tell me what's wrong, and in the classic words of men everywhere, he looks at me in a mixture of confusion and annoyance and says, 'nothing's wrong. I'm fine. What are you talking about? I'm not in a bad mood." It makes me laugh as I sit in the dark now and type, but at the time, it's the most infuriating thing. I know him. Peter is not the kind of guy who gets uptight when his plans get changed at the last minute. So when he does, I immediately try and figure out what the heck is going on. I usually start with myself. I've probably done something, said something, didn't say something, bought something, etc. I don't know how I manage to be that narcissistic and self-deprecating at the same time, but I make it work somehow. Who was is that said that in an unsolvable problem the simplest answer is usually the correct one? (or something to that effect?)

Peter needs to be outside. Don't get me wrong here. Peter doesn't like to hike, or snowboard, or camp. He must. He needs is in exactly the same way he needs to eat. He'd probably say more. He's not merely 'outdoorsy" or "rugged" as Luc puts it. When Peter goes too long without doing something that is as much a part of him and is as unchangeable as his eye color, or his faith, or his music, something in Peter slowly starts to die. And the pain of that part dying, makes him grouchy. He laughed the other day and said, "like a soul-less grump". It's truly like a bear with a sore paw. And like with the teething, I look at him and think, "Who are you? Where is the man I married? Stop being so ornery!" It should be noted that saying these things doesn't work. At. All.

So yesterday, I was fed up. I was sick of him being tired, being sick, being grumpy and I wasn't going to put up with it any more. I was going to get this dealt with. I put on my dominating wife hat (which I usually try to keep stuffed in a box somewhere - it looks terrible on me) and took matters into my own hands. And bought him a lift ticket to Mt. Washington. This morning I got up at the unholy hour of six to pack him a lunch. He protested when I told him he was going, just a little. "We can't afford it" was the argument of choice. Maybe he's right. But we can't afford not to. Because it's not about snowboarding. I told Reagan that he needed to go with him. I can't snowboard. And even if I could, Peter doesn't want me around today. He wouldn't want to say it, but it's very true. He needs to get up into the mountains and do something a little risky, something adventurous, something with another man. He needs to forget about being a husband and a father for a few hours and if I'm smart that won't offend me. Tonight, he'll come home and I'll have my husband back. No arguments, no fuss, no annoyances at each other. I'm learning after six years (can that be right?!) that when Peter becomes impossible to deal with, make him go outside. He's shouldering a lot of responsibility, and he'll never put himself first without a little nudging. I miss him, I've missed him for a couple of weeks, and I'll be happy to have him back.

Aren't we all like this? Peter's learned about me that every once in a while, I need to 'get away". Sometimes that means that I just need a morning in bed with a coffee and a book and to be alone. Every once in a while I need to be taken out to dinner. Not because of the dinner, but because I need to hear someone else say, "Good evening. What can I get for you?" and know that whatever mess I make, someone else will clean up. I am hardwired to travel. Sometimes that's a night away three minutes from the house, sometimes it's moving, sometimes it's just dinner or a book that takes me somewhere else. Everyone needs a few minutes sometimes to just be exactly who they are, with no restrictions, no rules, no roles that they've taken on. I'm not a wife, not a mommy, not anyone. I'm just me right now. I just want a coffee and a book and a few moments with no demands on my time. It lasts me a LONG while.

I love that God knows this about us. Doesn't he? Don't you ever notice how all of a sudden in the middle of a foul mood, you'll see the most beautiful sunset. You'll stop to grab a coffee while you're rushing around and discover the best latte in town. Here it's Mon Petite Choux. Your little girl will spontaneously kiss your face and say, "Ah ove oooh". Two seconds of total bliss in what can often be a nightmare world. I wonder how much of our stress and frustration is simply a result of not taking a moment in our lives to just do what is truly us. I think God built into Peter the part of him that comes alive in the outdoors. When my mom gets on the back of a horse you can literally watch her change - her face, her eyes, the set of her shoulders. Everything about her suddenly looks different and you know that you are seeing her the way God made her, doing something that God has built in her. This is a person living out their own private destiny, right in front of you. It's incredibly beautiful.

CS Lewis said it so much better, and SO MUCH more succinctly than I,

"It is a serious thing, to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no 'ordinary' people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations -- these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit -- immortal horrors or everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously -- no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption."