Mission Accomplished

I went to the doctor, explained myself and got some Lexapro. I start out with half a pill and work up to a whole pill and then let him know in a few weeks how I'm feeling. Hopefully the Linda Blair head-spinning will be gone soon.

I did learn something, though. My being so psychotic the last time I was on antidepressants may not have been entirely me being psychotic. He was explaining to me that since I am young (especially compared to his usual elderly patients...) that I need to tell him if I ever start feeling suicidal to let him know. It's more common for antidepressants to cause that reaction the younger you are.

When I was put on Zoloft in my early 20s, I started out on a fairly low dose. After I had been on Zoloft a few months, I was actually doing worse and was having panic attacks. So they upped my dosage. I started cutting myself - upped my dosage. Became suicidal. Then a friend of mine convinced me to stop taking Zoloft and I actually got better. 10 years ago, I don't think much of a connection had been made. Antidepressants were supposed to STOP suicidal thoughts, not cause them.

But I felt very encouraged that he seemed to agree with me that this should help me. He's not the type of doctor to just whip out a prescription pad whenever you tell him you want something.

I also got the results of the rest of the lab work I had done a few months ago. The nurse had called to tell me about the Hep C being negative, but she never said anything about the other routine lab he did and I wasn't really in a place to discuss it when she called. My blood sugar was good and my cholesterol was good - which is AMAZING! Heart disease is very strong on my dad's side of the family and I expected my cholesterol to be ugly since I haven't been the healthiest eater.

He said I should see a difference in a few days to a few weeks. I hope it's soon or my family is going to be duct taped to the wall if this evening is any indication.

Crying Uncle or something like that

It's something that has been on my mind for a while now and I've been trying to resist. I've been trying to avoid this for 10 years. But last night, after literally standing in the hallway and screaming, scaring the hell out of my child, for nothing that even remotely called for a reaction of such magnitude, I decided it's time to give in. I have to go upstairs today to take a check to my doctor for the copay they forgot to collect last time I was there, and while I'm there I'm making an appointment. He's going to put me on antidepressants or I'll find someone else who will.

I used to take Zoloft, once upon a time. Then I decided not to, that I could and would handle it on my own. And I still believe it's possible for me to do so, just not right now. Not with everything on my plate. I can't get a grip on everything. It's just not working.

I'm not suicidal nor do I want to hurt myself... nothing that dramatic. But I could totally see myself walking away from everything. And that's just not right. I have the attitude of "I don't care" about everything. I can't get motivated to do anything. I try. But when it comes down to it, I'd rather find some way to escape. So I read. I spend way too much time on the computer. I'd love to just go hide under the covers, but there are 3 little people who kind of depend on me to keep them from climbing the curtains and hurting themselves. The sad thing is, I can't really deal with them. My fuse is so short it's nonexistant. My kids will end up traumatized because Mommy just blows up over stupid stuff. I try. God knows I start every day with the intention of being a good mom and having a good day with them but I feel like I get to the point where I have to either shut down and let them run crazy or I'm going to be stomping around spitting fire and screaming.

I just want my husband to leave me alone. Don't talk to me, don't touch me.

I don't want to look at the bank account, even though it's not in bad shape and I need to start working on budgetting so that we can save up for a down payment for a house.

I don't want to clean. I'm even to the point that I don't even care if the house is a disaster when the landlord comes over.

I don't really care about work. Hell, I'm typing this at work. I'd stare at the wall if I had to to try to escape for a few minutes.

I'm in a horrible cycle right now with trying to lose weight. I'm an emotional eater. I tell myself I need to start eating better, I don't see results I get frustrated, I eat, I get pissed off at myself, I eat, I really get frustrated... I used to be able to pump myself while I worked out and now I'm just barely making it through.

Honestly, I don't expect to take something and be running-through-a-meadow-of-wildflowers happy. I just need to care. I just need a little boost so I can pull myself the rest of the way up. My friend once told me that antidepressants are a crutch. Well, I need a crutch. I need something.

Why is it?

Why is it that sending my kid to school for the first time feels like I'm taking a huge test on how good of a parent I am? I never felt like this with daycare. Now I'm worried if I sent the right things for lunch or if she's going to behave or make friends or if we take too long in the pick up lane.

Why is it that all of a sudden all of these people I never talked to in high school are requesting me as a friend on Facebook? Why am I so interesting now? Because I'm still not that interested in them... (yet too nice to deny the request) And why do they talk to me like we were friends to begin with? And why can't I remember half of them.

How is it possible that the geek who lived next door to me in high school that everyone thought I was dating (I was mortified!) can be an even bigger geek now? Like way over the top bizarro.

Why is it that I care what certain people I used to go to school with think about what I do for a living? Well, I know the answer to this - because I really know I could do much better. But it still shouldn't matter what they think.

Now THAT'S a compliment...

Today, after picking Olivia up from school (which was a million times better than the dropping-off part this morning), I needed to go to Walmart to restock on juice boxes and stuff. All went as well as it ever does until we hit the checkout lane. They wanted candy, which I said they could have IF they behaved while we were in line.

They did not.

So no candy.

So commence the wailing.

There was a nice-looking lady ahead of me in line. She turned around and asked me how old the girls where. I answered "almost 5, 3, and 19 months." Normally, the reaction I get with that answer is the person's jaw dropping to the floor and usually the phrase, "you have your hands full!" Not this time. I got a knowing nod. Like she understood somehow. I almost never find someone who understands. Even my own mother thinks I lost my marbles.

She smiled at me and said, "I had 7 kids in 10 years." Wow. First of all, I have to give her kudos for the 7 kids. I stopped at 3 because I didn't think I could handle more. She had 7... seven... 4 more than I have. Secondly, she had a baby on average every 17 months. I don't know the exact spacing of her kids. All I know is that she has 3 sons that are 20, 19, and 18. There could be twins, I don't know. It doesn't matter. 7 kids in 10 years. If the 20 year old is the oldest, the youngest would be 10. She's survived at least 10 years of 7 closely-spaced children.

She had a full head of hair.

She wasn't wearing a straight jacket.

She obviously was not in jail so she must not have killed any of them.

She is my hero.

When she got done paying, before she turned around, she looked at me... me, who was trying to not join in screaming with my kids... and said, "Keep up the good work!"

I'm sure almost everyone else in hearing distance probably thought she was being sarcastic... my kids were literally screaming and being a major nuisance. But she wasn't. I'm sure of it. I was very proud of myself then. If she, someone who was in my shoes times 2 and then add one more, if she says I'm doing a good job, then everyone else who thought I needed to get my screaming demons out of the store needs to bite my big toe. They don't know crap about having 3 kids under the age of 5.

Things I'm learning as Olivia starts school...

She hasn't even started school officially and I'm learning so much.

First of all, let me explain something. Olivia is going to a private school. I can admit to being a bit of an education snob, and since we were used to spending the money on daycare, we could afford it. It's no more expensive (right now... it gets more expensive as you go...). We're hoping to move to a better school district before we're paying tuition on 3 kids.

Now, her school is little. 400 kids from 4K through 12th. I learned during orientation a few weeks ago that the problem with a small school is that it isn't easy to get lost in the crowd. Especially when you have 3 kids acting like they've just finished a Cafe Mocha or something. I'm sure the principal will have her eye on us.

Today was Open House. We got to go drop off the multitude of school supplies and meet the teacher. Let me go off on a tangent for a second about the school supplies. Olivia goes to a private school. I pay tuition for her to go to school. I understand buying the normal supplies like pencils and crayons. But paper towels? Copy paper? They can't afford that off of what we're paying? Hell, tack an extra $5 to the tuition and go buy the stuff in bulk at Sam's for Pete's sake.

Anyway.

So, in addition to meeting the teacher, I got to see a few of the other parents.

I am totally not private school material. Granted, Open House was a drop-in event over a few hours, so I missed more than half of the other parents. But the ones I saw were way out of my league. The moms who stay home and still have the money to shop for boutique clothing for their darling princess. I'm not saying that is bad. I'm saying I can't relate. I work. If I didn't work, we couldn't afford to send Olivia to private school. Hell, we couldn't afford rent. That's the life we've chosen. That's the life they've chosen. We might get along famously and become best friends... but I doubt it.

It is jealousy? Partly. But not entirely. Even if our household income suddenly expanded, I don't think I could ever really relate to the women I saw today. I am not into fashion or hair. I own like 3 or 4 pairs of shoes. I don't accessorize. The only manicure I've ever gotten was for my wedding. It would be really difficult for me to find something in common without digging down deep into their personality and I'm just not that outgoing.

I was a little sad when I looked at all the sign up sheets for Room Mothers and party volunteers. My job is pretty flexible and I could help out for some things, but it's hard to committ to it right this second. And there were 7-10 names on each list before I got there. There are only 14 kids in the class. There was definite jealousy going on inside me there. It's like I want to be involved but my antisocial side makes it a little difficult, especially when it's evident that I'm not needed.

And lastly, I wondered if I'm the only one who hasn't taught their kid how to get in and out of the vehicle by themself. Olivia can unbuckle herself. That's it. She isn't strong enough to operate the van door. She can't buckle herself and doesn't want to. When I pick her up and drop her off, I have to get out and let her out or let her in and buckle her up. A couple other parents were like, "so I don't even have to get out when I drop them off, right?" I guess they're going to have to just hate being behind me in the drop off lane for a while.

I feel like I'm going to be That Mom.

As if I didn't feel bad enough...

Olivia is a tough cookie. She obviously has my level of pain tolerance - very high. She told me Wednesday night that her "butt" hurt. Her butt involves anything covered by her underwear... By the end of the night I was positive that she had a UTI.

BUT, like a dummy, when she woke up Thursday and told me that she didn't hurt anymore, I believed her. Didn't take her to the doctor.

Thursday evening, at almost 5pm, Isabelle and I left to go have some one-on-one time. We were barely 2 miles down the road when Bill called to tell me that I needed to get some cranberry juice for Olivia. OK... Then he informed me that she was crying in the bathroom and there was blood in her urine.

Luckily we were close to a stoplight so I could bang my head on the steering wheel without wrecking us.

So I told him to find the phone book and call the after-hours clinic at Children's Hospital. If she's bleeding I don't want to wait until the next day. She needed to go ASAP.

I'm very proud of Bill. He took care of it like a champ. He better watch out or he might find himself a new job as the family appointment maker.

We made it to the appointment, checked in and sat down to wait. The lady at the desk called me for something and Olivia tugged on my arm. "Mommy, my pants are wet." I was confused... maybe she sat in some water somewhere? No. She had an accident and peed on herself.

I know I had that deer-in-the-headlights look. I know I did. My brain raced trying to find a solution to this. She's been potty trained for almost 2 years, I don't carry around a change of clothes for her anymore. I thought there might be a Pull Up in the van, but I was pretty sure no clothes. Plus, we were next to be called back (they had this neat-o screen that showed who was up next) so I knew we didn't have time to trek out to the van to search.

Sure enough, they were out in a heartbeat to call us back. Olivia was just embarrassed as can be. So I told the nurse what happened. She said that they had some Pull Ups and she might be able to get a pair of pants from the hospital. She gave me a urine sample cup and said that when we were finished to go to room C4 (I swear that's what she said) and she'd have a Pull Up waiting for us.

Now, Olivia just peed on herself. There was no more urine to get a sample. We tried. Didn't happen. It just made her mad to have to pull up her wet clothes when we were done.

I found room C4. The light was off, no chart on the door, no Pull Up inside. I had that "this is going to be a LONG night" feeling and turned on the light and kept a watch for someone to come through.

Which took forever.

Another nurse finally came by. I told her I was pretty sure we were in the wrong room, my child is not happy marinating in her own urine, not to mention that it's almost her bedtime and she's getting bossy and cranky. She was an angel in scrubs. She couldn't find the Pull Ups, but found a huge diaper (Olivia did not care) and got some little kid sized scrub pants for Olivia and led us to B4, where the doctor was waiting on us (and a Pull Up). How often does that happen?

We talked about what was going on, and why there was no urine sample. The doctor left and came back with 3 cups of apple juice, a drinking cup, and a straw. She said "drink until it starts coming out." Yes ma'am. Olivia downed 2 cups in record time and announced she had to go potty. We took our cup and the "hat" (try explaining to a 4 year old that she's going to pee in a hat) and ran to the bathroom. She went (yay!), not much, but I know that they don't need a whole lot. Then it was like slow motion... she wipes... she throws the paper IN THE HAT. I'm diving across the room trying to stop her... NOOOOOOOOO! We managed to still have a little left, but you know I was ready to just beat my head on the bathroom floor by then.

The doc came back, announced that "whatever could be wrong with her urine is wrong with her urine." Blood, protein, all that jazz. She probably has had this for a while and never said a word. I should be used to this... her ear infections as a baby were always horrible by the time she ever let on that she was hurting. But it makes you feel like a horrible mother all the same.

We got our prescription and I left with my poor baby in her big ass diaper and scrub pants. =(

She fell asleep on the way home. Woke up screaming about 10pm. Yes, screaming. We almost went to the ER. I had her in the van, but the Tylenol finally kicked in and she fell back to sleep. I did manage to get the first dose of antibiotics in her. But it was awful. I think I'm pretty tough when it comes to dealing with my kids... I don't fall to peices when they scrape their knees, I can ignore them when they're having a fit, I can handle them crying, no problem... but to see her in real pain, knowing how tough she is... it still makes me want to cry now, after the fact.

I know she'll be back to her normal self today though. I, on the other hand, am exhausted, was late for work, and need some time to recover.

A history of how Jennifer journals

I went digging for a missing photo album today. Still haven't found it, but I got into my old footlocker while searching and discovered Memory Central. Journals dating back to junior high school. Various memorabilia and worthless pack rat type stuff from things I did in high school. I flipped through a journal I had to keep while I was attending Arkansas Governor's School during the summer of 1993 and WOW. I don't remember half of what I wrote about. I barely remembered who I was talking about most of the time. And it was an assignment, so my teacher was reading all this mess. I'm embarrassed now, 16 (holy crap, 16!) years later.

When I was in junior high, we had a gifted and talented program (TAG) and the teacher was awesome. Ms. J is hands down the best teacher I ever had. She required that we keep a journal and we had to turn it in every week or something like that. She'd read it, make comments, give it back. I had never kept a journal or diary before, but I loved it. I have one small and two huge notebooks worth of journals from TAG. I've looked at them in the past few years, and it's embarrassing too. I suppose most adults are pretty embarrassed by their adolescence if they're totally honest about it.

After that, I kept journals off and on for years. When I was about 22 or so, I discovered online journalling. I feel really, really old saying that this was before anyone ever called them blogs. I actually learned a little html making my journal online. I still have access to all of it, but decided a long time ago that all of it is best buried in the deepest corners of the www. Not a pretty time in my life. I did have my first negative journal experience then though. A friend of mine found my journal online, I don't know how, and she read it. She was not really happy about some things I said about her. I was used to paper journals I could hide away and be completely honest in. Being online is a bit different. I've learned to never say something you don't want someone to see. Of course, now it's easier for me to make stuff private online... but I'm still really careful.

I've kept a blog on myspace. I journalled on cafemom a lot. I don't write paper journals anymore because it's easier for me to keep my husband from snooping online. Not that I'm keeping stuff from him, but you know...

I'm usually a lot happier when I can empty my head out. I don't do it much lately and I'm very, well, not happy. I never get on myspace anymore. I feel that I have to be extra careful on cafemom because there are some hateful, ugly women out there and I'm not into all that drama. So I think I'll use this space more. And maybe I'll be more likely to work on my 101 list too. I guess this is the next phase in my journalling life - a real blog.

And in 10 years, I'll look back at this and be embarrassed all over again. =)

Discipline

Discipline. I'm not talking about my children... but they could use a little more than is dished out around here. Trust me. I'm talking about myself. It's something I've been thinking about alot lately. There isn't just ONE area I need to be more disciplined at - it's everything.

On Saturday mornings, my sister and I go walking or bike riding and it's one of my rare opportunities to have a real conversation. We were talking about our individual journies to lose weight. She's been far more successful than I have - she's lost about 30 lbs and looks great. I was talking about how I'm still getting over all the excuses. And I know that's what they are. There hasn't been one that I haven't come up with a solution to at some point or another. I haven't been able to make that true commitment to it just yet. I know in order to do it, I have to be hardcore obsessed with it and I am having trouble not seeing that as a bad thing. But even my doctor told me that if I have to be obsessed about it, then get obsessed with it.

Anyway, she mentioned a book she has been thinking about buying called Die Fat or Get Tough by Steve Siebold. I've been looking at it today and I might have to get it. There is NO sugar-coating to this book. He gives you 100 differences in the way fat people think versus fit people. And he's brutal. He doesn't let you fall back on any of the old excuses. He's a bit of an ass on his website, and he pisses me off a little bit just because he only had to lose 40 lbs and he's all smug like he lost 150 lbs. But then again, he lost 40 lbs and I can't really lay claim to anything close. I've read some reviews where people think he's just a bully and giving out common sense in a hateful way, but most reviews were kind of along my line of thinking - sometimes you need your backside kicked and there's really no nice way to kick someone's ass.

I know the book is about weight loss, but he is a motivational speaker focusing on business and that's where the principles come from. Being tough. No excuses kind of thinking. The principles could probably be applied across the board relating to most of my life right now. Because I have a ton of excuses. I can't do this because of my kids. I can't do that because I work. I put things off until I get other things done, and then find an excuse to keep me from doing that. I have all these plans and I'm sitting here waiting for them to happen. I need to start DOING. I need to stop wasting my time.