Why I keep this blog (intermittently, but still)

After having a baby, I tend to wander around in my life, lost and purposeless. Reading that sentence, I would think it should be the opposite. Which, of course, makes me feel even worse.

My form of the baby blues, occurs about 4-6 months after having the baby, right when I should be pulling it together. Right when I should have the baby figured out, be wearing my old jeans again, sporting a stylish haircut, and be on top of everything. Right when I should be demonstrating my ability to hold it all together, I lose it.

It usually involves feeling like nothing matters. It feels like I have been cast into space and all stars and pricks of light have disappeared. My baby blues are a void. The closest thing I can summon to an emotion is anger, which seems to flash out from me. And while on the outside I mostly hold it together, I am empty---empty from absence, not empty from not being filled.

During my worst times the blackness piles and piles on me--and I wonder if it is possible to be pressed to death by emptiness.  I tend to lose my sense of humor and instead of finding laughter and commonality and a sense of community with others, I mutter bitterly, "That's so typical of my life." I feel expunged by incessant demands and a frittering away of my soul to menial tasks.

And I forget. I forget that I'm not the only one muddling around. I let my trials loom over me. And then I think about how silly my trials are and I feel guilty for even calling them trials and I beat myself up even more.

I think, "I should write. I should write. I should remember." And then I think, "Why bother?" That becomes my motto. "Why bother?"  I feel powerless. I can't even manage to look presentable.

In the past exercising, a refocus on spirituality, service and goal-setting have helped. But in the moment they feel so silly and pointless. I've made it a year with four kids, and I'm on my way out of this pit; I'm grabbing happiness one rough handful at a time as I climb out of my blues, but I need something to help me keep climbing up from the pit. And I'm choosing writing as my stepping stool. Writing will be my hand hold.

It's been almost 9 months since I wrote my "Summer is Over, Good Riddance" post. It felt bitter and hateful and depressing when I wrote it. Oh so depressing. But, I added the part about not really wanting to remember the bad times, and I posted the good time pictures.

Writing is like a stick on a tightrope, it helps me balance. Writing helps me put things in perspective. Its a reticular activator that reminds me there is good and I choose what I see, what I make of this life. Writing is important.

Purpose and Vision for Excited and Confused Blog, Steph's Space: Connect, Laugh, Dare

1.If you want to be good at something you practice it. This blog is to help me practice my writing, to continue putting one word in front of the other. Anne Lamott said you have to do it "Bird by bird."

2. This blog is a connection to the outside world. It is a jumping off point for conversations with real people. It is a way to connect with other writers, mothers, runners/swimmers/exercisers, women. I can remind myself by blogging that I am not alone--that six-year-olds that have major catastrophe fits, which are awful and hard to deal with, are not unique to me. That other people have trials. That I am not the only sane person here in this house.

3. This blog is a way to keep my sense of humor, to remember that laughing at trials can make them smaller, that laughing burns calories.

How I plan to do this:
I want to start small again, blog once a week at first. Highest hits are on Sundays?
1. How about publishing new content every Friday at 7 a.m.?
2. Content areas: Exercising/Running/Health, Motherhood/Parenting, Writing, Getting out with Kids, Life Survival Skills.
3. Write enough posts to keep me going for a couple months, 8 posts ahead.
4. Instead of eating, I will reward myself during quiet time with blogging. (Maybe eating and blogging, because it is so nice to sit down and eat without doing a stand-up every 10 sec. workout to get things for children)

So now that I've alienated all my readers by not writing for months and months, I'm back at it. Stick around, it's going to be good. :)

Lost: Sense of Humor

One of my children is going through a very, ummm, how shall we say? Let's say, 'difficult stage.'  That way I can tell myself that she is going to outgrow it. And difficult implies that it is not impossible, just incredibly hard, and manageable. I can handle it. And it implies that I will not forever and in perpetuity be holding my hands clenched at my sides, because otherwise those hands might be throttling her.

So, I've lost my sense of humor. Maybe in the future I can relate a hilarious account of why and how I locked myself in the bathroom and cried all my mascara off before family pictures. And someday I will be able to tell you of that oh-so-funny time that my lovely child locked my mother out of the house for a half hour because she wanted some ice cream. Hahaha. I can picture it now, how we'll all be laughing.

But right now I've lost my sense of humor and instead of making you laugh I think I am probably depressing you and making you feel uncomfortable. So here's some funny videos that will have to hold you over until I can find my stinking sense of humor again.

Haha. I think Mike has some bromances going on. Jim Gaffigan nails it. My favorite line: "It's like your drowning and somebody hands you a baby." "I'm going to punch your car."

Going to Church

Hypothetically, I enjoy going to church. I love listening to the lessons and talks, I enjoy thinking about the Savior. I look forward to taking the sacrament, and I enjoy seeing my friends and neighbors. This is a hypothetical because these things rarely happen the way I picture them. With four small children in my and my husband's charge, I've ended an hour and ten minutes long Sacrament meeting in tears (and not because I felt the Spirit, but because I felt that cheerios spread all over the pew was possibly the last straw in my life), spent the whole meeting in the foyer cajoling an angry, yelling child, and looked longingly at the clock more than once while holding an exhausted-because-it's-naptime child.

For the past eight years, I've learned the same lesson from church: "Endure to the End." (People around our family are probably learning a different lesson about Loving Your Neighbor Even If Their Kids Kick the Pew and Spit Water on Your Suit.) Since having my first child eight years ago on Tuesday, I have gotten the same message every week in one form or another. Since we are LDS (Mormon) and the speakers are different each week, I'm pretty sure that other messages have been presented, but every week I get the same message--"Endure to the End."

Today was especially harrowing as it was our two hour Stake Conference. The speakers were prepared and entertaining with relevant messages  (At least that's what I thought from the few sentences I managed to catch between constant demands for a sucker punctuated with the two-year-old trying to get a concussion by violently laying backwards on my lap; reverently reminding the eight-year-old to use her quiet voice and not sing opera style during the hymns; Mike and I constantly pushing the chairs forward that had crept into the knees of the people behind us, and taking turns rubbing the five-year-old's back and reassuring her that it would all be over soon in an attempt to keep her from throwing herself on the floor in an all-out fit of hunger and boredom.)

We brought snacks, but apparently you need to bring five times as many snacks as for a regular meeting. Crayons were good for about 20 minutes, and at the end when the two-year-old dumped them all over the floor Mike declared, "You are all allowed one crayon apiece next time." And one sliver of bread and a straightjacket with muzzle attachment.

With five minutes to go, my six-year-old niece who had been quietly coloring in her chair came over to Hannah and whispered sweetly, "Hannah, I have good news! There are only five minutes left!" That good news was almost as good as the Gospel, but not quite. Which is why we keep going back to learn the same lesson, armed with cheerios. In a world that tears families apart and that teaches that the most important thing in life is gratifying your selfish self, the LDS Church is a harbor and a safe haven for our family. Mike and I know that at church is the best place to find answers to how to raise your kids. And even if the only lesson I learn each week happens to be "Endure to the End," that's not a bad lesson to learn.

New Years Goals

I'm about 25 days behind in my life right now. And really, I think my new year will begin March 16, when Norah turns one and the breastfeeding ends. Finito! It makes me happy just to think about it. Because I'm pretty sure all my problems will end with the end of my self-imposed time schedule of breastfeeding.
Knees? They will miraculously heal and I will be running a 19 minute 5K by June.
Writer's Block? I will be running again so that will take care of that.
Bad Mommy-ing? I'm sure that will be solved when breastfeeding ends.
Yelling? I'm sure it's directly correlated to a chemical released while breastfeeding.
Not enough time in the day to get everything done? Not breastfeeding will free up at least 1 hour a day, right? And in that hour I'll do a load of laundry, load the dishwasher, create a small craft, and read my scriptures. Since that is what I do with free hours around here, in reverse order of course. I never just sit and stare at the wall, or watch Downton Abbey, or make myself a cup of hot chocolate and relish the silence-ABSOLUTE SILENCE--when I get a free hour. I am always very productive.

I do have some New Years Goals which are totally measurable and have deadlines:
1. Be More Awesome--Deadline: midnight March 16, 2013
2. Eat less crap (not real crap, but you know sugar and fat and all things that make life worth living, like chocolate. Although I'm sure I've accidentally ingested some sort of crap since I have changed thousands of diapers. Now excuse me while I throw up a little.)-- Deadline for completion: Tomorrow, always tomorrow
3. Get out of bed--Deadline: 6:30 a.m., every morning.
4.  Cut Ellie's bedtime routine down from 1.5 hours to 10 minutes. Seriously, that child can milk a bedtime like no other. Deadline: Jan 28, 2013
5. Beat Mike in the Spudman. Deadline: July 27,.2013 If only I can figure out my knees. Oh, wait. That's going to be solved on March 16, so watch out Mikey-boy! I love you, but your reign will end.

Playing in the Snow

Sometimes raising children is like walking through the desert, half-delusional with thirst. You certainly think that's a shady tree and a nice cool pond of water just over there in the distance, and if you can just keep going, you might reach it. But then you find yourself thirstily shoveling sand into your mouth.

Today we decided to go and play in the snow. No school + tons of snow=fun, right? I was at least smart enough to tuck Norah into her crib for her morning nap before venturing into the land of gloves, snow pants, and other miscellaneous snow items. With her safely dreaming away, I grabbed all the snow stuff from the back of the van (because what better place to store your snow clothes?) and began assigning boots, coats, gloves, hats, scarves, snow pants, and other miscellaneous items.

Kenzie, the seven-year-old-almost-eight, was pretty good at getting her own stuff on. So she went at it, while Hannah (5) was able to put on her snow pants and coat but was waiting (somewhat impatiently) for me to help her find a sock. (Since I have yet to purchase my 270 pairs of socks to make my life easier.) Ellie (2) is still hopeless at dressing herself. So I tried very patiently to stuff her in her snow pants, put on her scarf, push on her hat, pull on her gloves, and maneuver her boots into a walking position. Then, since we got the girls gaiters for Christmas, I had to put on her gaiters. They are quite nice for keeping out the snow, but take some time to put on. Kenzie began bugging me to help her get her gaiters on. I gave Ellie a small lecture about her hands falling off if she took her gloves off and then turned to Kenzie.

I was already sweating, but managed to not speak crossly as I finished stuffing Kenzie's oversized snow pants into her gaiters, wrestled the velcro shut, and then ran upstairs to find a sock for Hannah.

I was trying to preserve my mood because this was going to be FUN! We were going to build snowmen! Walk in our snowshoes! Lay in the snow! Pull each other in the sled! FUN! FUN! FUN!

Next Hannah. Her boots were bugging her, so I pulled them off and readjusted the liner.
Kenzie was ready so she started trying to open the door. With her mittens on, this was impossible.

"Mom. Can I go out now? Can I go out now? Can I go out now?"

"Yes." I said smiling. Fun mom. Fun mom. "You and Ellie can go out if you keep an eye on her. Ellie don't take your gloves off! It will hurt really bad. Badly. Whatever. Don't take them off." I interrupted fixing Hannah's boots to open the door. I glanced at the clock and noticed that it had taken 20 minutes already to get ready for this adventure.

I put Hannah's boot back on. "It's bugging me! It's bugging me!"

Five sock and boot/snow pants adjustments later I began to be cross. Just as I pulled on Hannah's last glove and patted her on the head to send her out the door, Ellie pushed the door open, the door handle hitting into my back as I was trying to pull up my snow pants.

"I'm all done. I come in now."

"Oh no you're not!" I retorted, shutting the door on my sweet two-year-old. "I want to come outside and I'm almost ready."

"I cold! I come in!"

"No!" I said desperately, my vision of fun in the snow evaporating in the face of the reality of the attention span of a toddler. I glanced at the clock. She'd been out for 10 minutes-- half the time it took to get her ready.

I use my prowess at bargaining to try to win at least a few minutes of my child-mommy-snow-love-fest vision: "I'll bring out some fruit snacks!"

I throw on the rest of my snow gear and run upstairs for fruit snacks. I grab a water bottle for good measure and run outside. I am ready for FUN! EXCITEMENT! JOY! GOOD MOM-NESS!

"M-om! My gloves are falling off," claims a frustrated Hannah.

"Will you put these snow shoes on me?" says Kenzie.

"Fruit snack! Fruit snack! I want a fruit snack!" says Ellie.

I snap. "I just want to play in the snow! Just give me a minute! You guys are asking too much of me! Here's your dang fruit snacks! Can we just play in the snow for one minute without anyone asking me for something?"

"But M-om, you said. . ."

"I'm cooooooold. I want to go inside."

"It's bugging me!"

"THAT'S IT! I'M GOING INSIDE!"

Everyone starts crying. Good Mom-ness abounds. 

Eventually I apologize to my children for my little fit, I send Ellie inside to watch Sesame Street, and Hannah and Kenzie and I make tracks with their snowshoes, fall in the snow, and build a small snow fort.
It wasn't exactly the oasis I was dreaming of, but it was better than a mouth full of sand.

Daylight Saving Time--my regular rant, just two months late

Morning at our house the week after Daylight Saving Time:
5:00- I roll my sorry self out of bed to go for a swim because my knee refuses to heal. I am currently trying to convince myself that once I stop nursing Norah all my problems will be solved. Until then though I am trying to get in some sort of workout that won't hurt the dang knee.
6:45- I arrive home and Mike heads off to work. I have showered at the gym but my hair is wet, so I'm hoping to get it done before it's time to wake up the chinchillas until. . .
6:50--Norah starts crying. Ok. I'll feed you Norah. No screeching. I feed Norah. She uses her recently sharpened nails to pinch every part of me that she can reach. Ahh, the joys of breastfeeding.
7:00-- Ellie, who lives in the cupboard under the stairs, begins crying very loudly. She opens her door and stands in the doorway crying and yelling, "I need to go potty. I need to go potty."  I whisper-yell, "Ellie, it's okay. You can come upstairs. Come and go potty." She cries louder. "Ellie!" I yell, "Come and go potty!" Ellie cries louder. I stand up, still feeding Norah and precariously balance her and walk to the top of the stairs, "Ellie come upstairs. Don't cry. It's okay. You can go potty."  Mike and I have tried to tell her it's okay to just come upstairs and use the bathroom, but she still needs visual and audible confirmation that it's okay to come upstairs every morning. I'm not sure why this is, since when she is supposed to be napping or in time out she has no problem escaping from her room (which is not really a cupboard under the stairs. It is a real room with a window even.)
7:05--Ellie comes upstairs still crying. She is even more upset when I tell her to use the potty by herself while I finish feeding Norah. "No!" She cries. "I need help. I can't. I can't." (She can.)  I sit back down and try to armchair parent by using a convincing voice and saying, "Ellie, you can do it! Be a big girl. I'll give you a marshmallow!" Even my best primary voice is not working to convince her that she is a capable and competent potty-user. She comes in the room and hangs on my knees and cries and cries. Norah eats very slowly, turning her head every few swallows to check out the noisy being trying to grab her head.
7:15--I get fed up with Ellie crying and climbing on me and Norah, and set Norah down for a minute. Norah protests loudly, while I help Ellie use the bathroom. I grumpily set her on the toilet. She's already gone in her pull-up (curse you pull-ups. I will never succumb to your use in potty-training again.)
7:25-- I finish breastfeeding Norah, set her in the high chair with a pile of cheerios, and head down to Kenzie and Hannah's room to wake them up to get ready for school. Ellie follows me begging me to hold her and help her. I rub each girls back gently trying to wake them up. Kenzie responds to my, "How did you sleep last night?" With a tired but agreeable, "Good." She gets up and starts getting dressed. Hannah growls at me "UNNNNNGGGHH! UNGH!" and rolls over to face the wall.
"Hannah, let me help you choose your clothes. Let's get going though. Remember how you didn't get any breakfast yesterday because you laid around in bed? I'm making eggs, let hurry so you can have some."  (I usually stick with cold cereal in the mornings, but I've been trying to branch out.) She stays in her bed, peering over while I pull clothes out of her drawer. She poutily okays an outfit, but doesn't move from the bed. I cajole a little more, and then head upstairs to make breakfast and take care of Norah and Ellie. Hannah cries out, "NO MOM! Don't leave! STAY HERE! STAY HERE! STAY HERE!" She has become an accomplished yeller. I keep walking up the stairs. She cries hysterically.
7:35-- Kenzie is up and dressed, combing her hair. Hannah is nowhere in sight. I help Kenzie straighten her hair while Ellie clings to my legs, crying, "Help me get dressed. Help me. I can't find Snow White. Help me." I use all my powers of patience to not lock Ellie in her room. "Ellie," I say, "I can help you after Kenzie and Hannah go to school. Let's go get some breakfast."
"NO! no, no," she wails.  Norah has started fussing. I throw some more cheerios on her tray. A nutritious and well-balanced baby breakfast. Hannah continues to wail for me to come downstairs. I pour Ellie some cereal that she pushes away, "NO I DON'T WANT IT." I make Norah some rice cereal with applesauce.  Kenzie remembers that she is taking her lunch today. The eggs burn.
7:50- I call down the stairs as I try frantically to pick brown spots out of my scrambled eggs, "Hannah! I will send you to school in your pajamas. Please hurry." I am trying hard not to yell. I mostly succeed. Hannah screams up the stairs, "I AM GETTING DRESSED! DON'T TALK TO ME!" I hear her screetching in frustration.
7:55-- She waltzes up the stairs and comes over to the table to eat. "Go comb your hair first Hannah."
"MOM! I AM GOING TO EAT."
"No." I say firmly. "You know the routine. We comb our hair first. Would you like me to help you?" I am boiling at Hannah, but I figure if I erupt now Hannah doesn't get to school and my ultimate goal is to get her into her carpool and off to school.
"UNGGHH." says Hannah attractively.
I follow her into the bathroom anyway. Ellie follows me saying, "My turn. My turn!" She tries to stand on the stool next to Hannah. Hannah elbows her and pushes her off.
"Hannah! Stop."
"Ellie is bugging me!" This erupts into full-time pushing, shoving and crying. Hannah ends up in her room, hair undone (after I drag her there) until her carpool comes, Ellie ends up crying a lot and I end up eating eggs that are not only full of burned spots, but cold as well and my hair is frizzy because I never did get to do it.
That night everyone starts crying that they are too tired to brush their teeth.
Have I told you yet that I hate Daylight Saving Time? And Fall Daylight Saving is the "easy" one. Seriously congress, stop fighting about the dang fiscal cliff and fix this stupid Daylight Saving crap. 

Repurposing your ugly baby bath chair into an ugly Shampoo Carrier

Repurposing is all the rage--you know diaper boxes into cute bins, cereal boxes into chic magazine holders, toilet paper tubes into avant garde Christmas decorations, milk jugs into lingerie (I made that one up).
Pinterest (motto: Deflating your self-esteem one chic repurposing project at a time) has been making me feel guilty about all the stuff I actually throw away when I could really be using it to beautify my house, organize my life, and save the planet. Imagine my delight when I thought of this handy repurposing project: Bath chair to Shampoo Bottle Holder!
It's not very cute, but is it purposeful. Since my dang knee refuses to cooperate and heal, I am swimming 2-3 times a week, and I needed something to put my shampoo, conditioner (I like to call it cream rinse, but Mike makes fun of me when I do that), and soap in. We were getting ready to throw this baby away:



When the ghost of Cheapskate-ness visited me and I came up with this little design:

I am pretty sure I will soon see this picture all over Pinterest. It's super simple, just sew the bottom shut and you have your own little bit of awesomeness whenever you go swimming. The top part that previously supported my wee one's large head now works as a convenient hanger. It also folds over the bottles like a little envelope to keep them in place, not rolling all over my bag and shampooing things that should not be shampooed. And I can feel all sentimental and weepy everytime I wash my hair when I swim. Awwww.
Now if I could just think of something to use the metal frame for (picture hanger if I add some cute clothes pins? Cute wreath with the addition of large amounts of felt and hot glue?), we'd be in business.