Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm having a depressive episode. That's the thing. About 90% of the time I'm fine. All it takes is one good trigger and I fall into the hole, and climbing out again is a process.

Gee, what could have set me off? Could it be the interpersonal psychodrama that managed to tweak several of my issues such as weak bounderies? Shifting hormones? Anne Lamott wrote about the difficulties of having an adolescent son with a menopausal mother. Little did she know that the combination of TWO adolescent daughters and a perimenopausal mother is positively NUCLEAR.

I was trying to imagine how to describe this feeling. The best image I could come up with was that it's like living underwater. Every action and movement feels like it's up against extra resistance. For the most part I feel like I manage OK, and you'd probably have to know me pretty well (like my kids, for instance) to spot that something's wrong. I may look functional on the outside, but it saps all my energy.

On the inside it's a much uglier story. Critical Voice appears to tell me how unaccomplished and messed-up I am, which, of course, I'm probably transmitting to my kids.  The inner child starts howling for love and attention.  The filter in my brain malfunctions and seems to screen out the positive, giving a negative spin to whatever is happening. It ain't pretty in there.

Oh yeah.  I also do things like start new blog postings A MONTH AGO and then leave them to sit.  Unpublished.  After all, what do I have to say of any interest to anybody?

I'm working hard to bounce back.  Softball season just ended and vacation has begun.  A change of scenery may do the trick.  I think the boo-boo has scabbed over, just waiting for the new skin to itch.

Looking Up to Reach Down

When I was in 4th grade, I think, a kid named Peder Lindh (I think that was his name. Definitely was his name, less sure of the spelling) punched me in the stomach after school. We were standing by the coat hooks. No real reason for hitting me, except that I was a kinda snotty kid. Wonder why I've never returned for my school reunions? I also swear that schools are not as brutish as they used to be. I don't remember Peder getting in any particular trouble for punching me. It might have been worth a suspension today.

ANYWAY -- I remember this particular punch because his little fist went up and under my solar plexis leaving me kneeling on the ground, gasping for breath, head spinning.

Recently I got myself into one of those messed-up, relationship-issue situations that I have a real talent for getting myself involved in. I tried to figure out what was going on and then, because I just can't help myself sometimes, I tried to fix it. As a result one of the people involved, whom I really like and has enough on her plate, wound up feeling very angry and betrayed, and I think I made a bad situation somewhat worse, or at least no better. Not to mention the fact that I seemed to have killed a budding friendship.

Her anger was another punch to the gut, and I fell apart in a way I haven't for a long time. I sobbed and literally had to go to bed. At 7pm.

One of my daughters had recently commented that she didn't see why depression is considered a mental illness when her mom seems so OK. I think she got a crash course.

I know I'm way ahead of where I was years ago. I know my issues pretty well, I knew I was having an episode, and I knew I had to lay low and take it easy for awhile. I'm back up and around, and breathing, but still feel echoes of awful.

The worst part? I want to reach-out with an apologetic gesture, let her know I wasn't in it for personal gain, but only to help. But re-visiting the issue may only muddy the water yet again. But I'm having trouble walking away and leaving the situation alone.

While it was all going on I tried so hard to do the right thing. The Quakers have a concept called "leadings." If you're very quiet and allow the Spirit to move you, it will be your guide. (Thus one of my favorite little signs ever that I used to have in my office: I am a Quaker. In case of emergency, please be quiet.) I really tried to do that, but it back-fired. Is the Spirit leading me to reach out? Or my own craven need for approval? I'm not sure I can tell the difference anymore.

I haven't been to the nursing home for a couple of weeks. I also just found out that Brandon's aunt wants to watch him full-time for the summer, so I don't have that exhausting distraction anymore. It's a good thing, but an adjustment. And, of course, the kids are bored. AAAAAAH!

So how are things with you?

It Beats the Alternative

Another birthday.

I'm starting to feel my age. This is sort of a change for me since my actual age, appearance, and behavior generally have not been congruent. At 12 or 13 I could pass for older since, thanks to my elder siblings, I had an old-for-my years mind-set and tastes. I was a Frank Zappa fan in 6th grade for pity's sake!!

By college the young-for-my-age look started to kick in. I once got my hair cut very short and when my boyfriend at the time bought us movie tickets the seller didn't ask, just charged him for one adult, one child. I had to be mistaken for being under 12! And I couldn't venture into an adult establishment without identification.

I think I began to catch up to myself in my mid-thirties. Now I don't remember the last time I got carded. One of the first times I ventured from my home with my new young ward, Brandon, I was asked A COUPLE OF TIMES if he were my grandson. I mean, sure, it's biologically possible, but still.

I'm turning 44. I mean, it's not like it's a milestone year or anything. But 30 and 40 didn't bother me. I think this is bothering me because I FEEL 44 years old. I'm prone to aches and pains, especially after unexpected exertion. I own a minivan.

What's really been stinging me lately is that (in my perception, at least) age has been catching up with my appearance. Mind you, I like to think that I'm not vain nor overly concerned with my appearance. I don't wear make-up or style my hair, and I certainly can't be accused of having a sense of style. Or if I did, it would be the Frumpy Thrift look. Oversized is my size.

The problem is that I could be that way since I was blessed with naturally decent looks. Not drop dead gorgeous, but I didn't have to work hard to cover flaws. I'd like to think I was the girl about whom people said "She's so pretty, if only she'd...(wear some make-up, dress better, etc.). I could turn it on if I wanted to. I like to think I could turn some heads. Couple that with my rapier wit and my sparkling personality and look out!

I'm not so sure that's the case anymore. Time is not gentle, although, again, genetics have been kind. I'm not to prone wrinkles and lines although I don't think all those sunburns as a kid did me any favors. My hair is enough of a dirty blonde that I can call my gray my "highlights." And gravity certainly pulls things southwards.

To quote Lou Berryman in "Classified Rag" -- "I'm a gal, 44, doesn't have it anymore..." The actual lyric says 34, but that's in my rear-view mirror. I feel like I've lost It. I'm feeling past my prime.

On the up side I'm married to someone who will forever find me beautiful, for which I thank the heavens. So it really shouldn't bother me, right? But it does. Beauty is a sort of power. Without it I find I'm fading further into the background, and I'm a hog-the-spotlight kind of person.

The recent haircut has helped a lot. (No artificial colors or weird cosmetic procedures for me.) And anytime I'm tempted to bemoan the march of time I just remind myself...it beats the alternative.

Tales From the Domestic Front

Whatever I do, I want to do it well. Maybe that's why I never really made it as a stay-at-home mom.

It is a high calling, an art, even. I am in awe when I see an expert. I used to have an across-the-street neighbor who had 4 children of her own and did in-home daycare at her house. Granted her 3 sons were older kids when I came into the picture, but she could still take 4 children under the age of 4 to the mall - CALMLY!! Her house was always presentable and the kitchen always clean, floor mopped. She cooked and baked from scratch, even made her own noodles for pete's sake! She even had pretty, well-kept flowerbeds.

I've thought of her often lately as I've been venturing back into the child-care world with a four month old. It's wearing me out! I use it as my excuse for why my lawn needs mowing, my laundry needs putting away, and my house is an explosion of stuff covering every horizontal surface. But truth be told it was that way before Brandon came along. It's just more so now. Just how do other women (and men) do this?

I think it has a lot to do with how much one values the role of homemaker and thus how much effort one is willing to invest. I'll do my post-feminist commentary on this later. The native (Brandon) is restless and I think I've exhausted my supply of personal time for the day. At least the dishes are caught up and the chocolate chip cookie bars are in the oven.

Ta-ta for now!!

Enter Brandon

I just finished reading my last post and I must question its accuracy since it makes me sound much more purposeful than I really am. Have you ever watched a butterfly or moth fly? They loop and wander but overall move forward towards their goal. They are probably more direct than I am.

Which is to say, Carla, if you happen to read this it's not like I was charging along towards a brighter future and I hit a wall. More like I had a vague concept and then availability coincided with need.

I said last post that it all came down to money. Alas, isn't it always at the root? I've never been entirely comfortable without an income of my own, and that has kept me in a few jobs I really shouldn't have stayed in. I don't even need to earn a lot of money, but something of my own I can spend or have to assist with the next car repair/household need which is always lurking just around the corner. Facing the prospect of no more regular paychecks, I put out the word that I was at a loose end.

That is how Brandon entered the picture. My bowling buddy Carla had a beautiful baby boy, her husband was struggling with the after effects of back surgery, and she had to return to work. She needed a sitter and I needed a purpose.

And I thought doing dishes was hard work! It occurs to me now that I was not home with my own children full-time when they were this age (3 1/2 months when we started, now he's 4 months old). I was the working mom. I feel this may be a bit of a Karmic payback.

I had forgotten how all-consuming they are at this age. At times it feels like an endless cycle of feedings, burpings, and diapers. LOTS of walking and bouncing. He's still learning to use his hands so even playing with a toy by himself is a struggle, although improving every day. It's been difficult to keep up with the ol' blog since babies have radar that tell them when their caregiver is paying attention to something else, even if they've been content up to that point. In the evening I'M JUST TOO DARNED TIRED. I feel old.

Oh yeah. Did I mention that he arrives at 7:30 in the morning and stays till 5:30 at night?

On the plus side, he is really cute. Especially in the morning when he looks up at me with his little round face and big bright eyes and has one of his happiness spasms. He doesn't just smile, he glows. I've had the pleasure of taking his to the nursing home a few times, and discussed with my neighbor how he should be licensed as a therapy baby.

Am I making a u-turn? I don't know. I tell myself I'm still going to pursue the school route - don't lots of single moms with little babies do that?

Talk to you next naptime!

The Best Laid Plans

An update. I probably flatter myself to think that people are wondering why I haven't been writing as much and really miss the fascinating things I have to say.

Well.

I had a transition point where I had come to think of myself as homemaker rather than unemployed. I have a whole lot I could say on that subject, but I'll save it for another post and hopefully soon. I had detached with love from my kitchen job while still maintaining a decent connection with the nursing home. Some Fridays I provide entertainment during happy hour by singing karaoke. Oh, yeah. That'll be another post.

ANYWAY - we hadn't experienced financial armegeddon with the loss of my paycheck and I was gettin' in a groove around the house. Mind you my homemaking skills are somewhat questionable, or at the least uneven. I think I can manage keeping things to a dull roar but am in no danger of being featured in Better Homes and Gardens, ya know? I tend to go for lived-in and functional. OK. Yet another post on that one.

But I was getting some stuff done, getting on Facebook, starting this blog looking forward to what lay ahead. I'd pretty much decided on going back to school and eventually working towards the masters, probably social work with a geriatric specialty (predicated on my conquering my phobia of statistics). Anyway. We all know what happens when we think we have a plan.

I guess it all came down to money.

T.S. Eliot Had it Right

Oh man. Blogging is like exercise. Take a break from it and time gets away from you! I didn't mean to take so much time off. Life just catches up and gets in the way sometimes.

So how is everyone doing? Wanna give a big shout out to all my fans - all two of you - you know who you are.

Here we are. Springtime, which really, if you think about it, is sort of a wretched season. I mean first all the snow melts which is great in a way. But what are you left with? Looking at the brown grass, leafless trees, accumulated litter and dog droppings, and piles of leaves that I never quite got around to raking up last autumn.

Then there's the weather. Oh sure, it gets beautiful and sunny, but it's been staying about 10 degrees too cool to be truly comfortable. Or if it's warm it's probably raining. If it happens to be warm and sunny it's probably too muddy to do anything outside, anyway, or else it snows the next day. April is the cruelest month because it's really all about being teased.

I love the liturgical calendar like I love the seasons, and to me they are well suited to each other. (Whoa! Whiplash! Where did that come from?) Time for a little theology. As you probably know I'm Episco-tarian. The drama queen in me loves all the fancy high church stuff, but I'm really open to the many paths, one journey idea. It was just that at some point I had to be honest and admit that Christianity is my heritage, it's the language I know, so it's the one I use to express my spirituality and I can accept that we are all different. Are we clear on that point? Good.

Lent and Easter are alot like spring. Ash Wednesday is not a lovely day. We are reminded of our mortality, and that we are but dust. We are invited to contemplate our own inner accumulated trash and unraked leaves. It's not pretty. And it's followed by 40 more days of the same.

But just as Lent gives rise to Easter, April melts into May. Easter is like the days in spring when the ground is dry and the lilacs are in bloom. We celebrate life both new and eternal. We bask in the glow of joy like we do in the sun.

As usual, I'm puzzled by how the church calendar can possibly translate to the southern hemisphere. I think it no accident that the major church holidays coincide so well with ancient occurences like the solstice and equinox. It makes perfect sense that Christmas is the arrival of the light in the darkness and Easter is life returning. But that's a very northern hemisphere, temperate climate point of view. How does this work when the seasons are reversed? Do you suppose missionaries considered this?

Happy Easter. Happy Spring. I don't think I have the tolerance for chocolate that I used to.