Month: March 2013

Commitment, Control Freak, Life, Love, Parenting

My “Perfect” blog

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The dictionary defines perfect as the following:

 

per·fect

adjective

1.conforming absolutely to the description or definition of an ideal type: a perfect sphere; a perfect gentleman.
2.excellent or complete beyond practical or theoretical improvement: There is no perfect legal code. The proportions of this temple are almost perfect.
3.exactly fitting the need in a certain situation or for a certain purpose: a perfect actor to play Mr.Micawber; a perfect saw for cutting out keyholes.
4.entirely without any flaws, defects, or shortcomings: a perfect apple; the perfect crime.
5.accurate, exact, or correct in every detail: a perfect copy.
When I was nine years old I started taking piano lessons. I took lessons until I graduated high school. I started clarinet lessons in sixth grade and also stopped when I graduated. I loved playing. I loved being challenged and loved pouring my emotions into the music I played. But I hated playing piano pieces in front of people until they were perfect. The same with my clarinet. I think, in many ways, I held myself back by having such an intense fear of what others would think of me in my imperfect state. Because that’s what it was, fear. After so many years of lessons and competitions I would still get so nervous going in front of a judge, no matter how confident I had been 30 seconds before entering the room. My fear and insecurity was so bad, I didn’t even like to let my parents listen and they lived in the house!
In some ways my drive to be perfect, or do things perfectly has helped me to be a decent student along the way. But these days all it does is fester itself creating self-doubt in my abilities to be a “perfect” wife and mother.
My non-depressive brain tells me “silly girl, there’s no such thing as a perfect wife or perfect mother. My depressive brain tells me that while that may be true, I am so far from being even a good wife or mother. And the struggle begins: the fight to point out to myself my golden moments; the struggle to not shrug off genuine compliments from loved ones; to not compare myself to other moms and wives; to be content with being my best, my “perfect” and knowing that my loved ones accept that person.
Back when we lived in Yucca Valley, CA while Dave was stationed at Twentynine Palms Marine Base I started a secret blog. I told one person in the hopes that my brutal, raw honesty about my feelings would help her. It was as open and true as I’ve ever been. But even that I couldn’t keep up with because my guilt of what I was writing became too much. Guilt, bad internet reception, a deployment and two moves but I’d long since deleted the blog before the first move. I think having my imperfections so public was a little more than I could handle, even if I believed I was anonymous.
This time, however, I’m in a different place with my depression and with my acceptance of my flaws; and I truly believe that while writing all this is therapeutic for me, it may also be helpful for just one person out there. This is the same name my old, “secret” blog had, and the reason I named it this still resonates with me so why not use it again?
The phrase comes from Harry Potter and the Half  Blood Prince.
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We are all dreaming of that next Golden Day that we will experience. Maybe it will be a big reunion with a loved one, maybe it will just be 30 minutes out of a day that you give your full attention to your son to play one of his intricate and imaginative games. May your heart lift when your next “golden day of peace” arrives.
Control Freak, Life, Parenting, Uncategorized

Control

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Man, oh man will I ever remember the epiphany I had a couple years back only a couple months into therapy: I have control issues. As in, I freak out when I’m out of control. Uhm, Hello, I’m a parent now – have been for a little hiccup in time now – I.have.no.control.

Well, that’s an exaggeration. Of course I have some control. I’m the adult and he’s still young enough to pretty much have to do what we want – it’s all part of shaping his character for his future…right?

I think some times my control issues get in the way of letting him just be a kid. Case in point – Valentine’s Day cards.

IMG_0392There it is. I’m pretty proud of the little idea I came up with. I used the T-Rex from his 3rd Birthday decor, traced it onto the scrapbook paper and cut out 25 of these Rexes. But, it wouldn’t have been right if I just did it all myself, right? T should help, and he LOVES helping – he is constantly wanting to help us do just about everything these days. But alas, glue – glitter – 3 year old boys? I thought I was going to have a panic attack. I can not even express how much will power it took for me to let him be, let him squirt the glue in whatever shapes he wanted (the picture is actually of a fairly decent squiggle!) You see that one spot by the arms? Drives me mad, but he made that spot and I love it. I hate it, but I love it. I’m a crazy mom.

Washing dishes? He’d have his little hands soapy and wet helping me all day if I let him…but because I hate washing dishes I often just want to get it over with it, therefore his little hands helping would slow me down. Mommy fail moment. I should be encouraging him to help. One day I will be demanding that he help and wishing for the days when he was begging me to! But letting go of the control I can have over the water mess that would be created by his “helping” is proving difficult for me.

So I let him help vacuum, instead. We even got one of those little hand held vacuums for him to use and he does a great job! That even helps teach the “Oh you spilled something? Now you can clean up your mess!” lesson.

Just yesterday he spilled a glass of water on hubby’s nightstand and I was able to calmly tell him to get a towel and clean up the water. Because, well, he’s plenty old enough to pick up that kind of mess. Of course, I went in after him to get the water he missed but the lesson was learned, I think…for both of us.

I’m afraid that my instinct to do certain things myself so that I know they are done the way I want them to be done is, I’m afraid, getting in the way of being a good parent and using really good moments as teachable ones for T. I have a spouse who knows how to clean a house, do his own laundry, cook, etc. My parents taught my brothers and I equally how to do all of those things as well. It would be completely unfair to T to NOT teach him those things.

So I need to let go. I need to work on accepting that in teaching him the important skills he’ll need as he grows, some times we will make more of a mess and that is OKAY.

Glitter is vacuum-upable after all.

Commitment, Forgetful, Life, Scatter Brained

Ha, commitment!

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I have 5 draft posts waiting to be finished, three of which I honestly thought I’d finished and posted soon after the first post. I think maybe I finish the posts in my head when the subject matter becomes relevant again…or it’s just more of a sign of my bat-shit-crazy frazzled brain these days.

Tonight! Tonight, I finish all in draft mode.

Commitment, Life, Love

Commitments: life, love, being a parent…

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I thought this would make an appropriate first blog post for this little space of mine. For the obvious reason: creating this blog means I’m making a commitment to keep up with it; and for a few not so obvious reasons. I’ll elaborate.

A few weeks ago I was listening to NPR and there was a man talking about his stance on abortion. He didn’t believe in abortion but he was pro-choice. His stance is essentially the same as my own. Being NPR of course they had people from both sides on to debate. This man though was offering up some really great ideas on how to meet in the middle of the debate. It was a good discussion, in any case.

This post is not actually about abortion in any way, at least not directly.

It is about commitment.

When I decided to date Dave, I made a commitment to him in my heart and mind to be faithful to only him and see where our friendship could go. Obviously, it developed into love and marriage and now a little family to share our love with. Before God, some family and friends we made a vow to each other for life.

In loving Dave and choosing to be with him I made a commitment to his career. This commitment was not immediately clear to me, but after a couple of moves I realized that while it may have been his dream to be a Marine pilot and not mine, his career had a very direct impact on my life. It hasn’t always been easy to be that selfless.

Every day I make choices that impact my life: will I eat badly, will I exercise, how fast will I drive today, how much will I drink? I’ve made the decision not to smoke, use drugs, etc. These are commitments I make for the betterment of my healthy and well being.

I’m desperately trying to commit myself to becoming a nurse!

But the biggest, MOST selfless commitment I could have ever made was the day I peed on a stick and it showed two lines instead of one. I committed to allowing life to continue. In that split second of chaotic thoughts running through my brain, terminating the little lima bean sized being inside of me was not one of them and therefore, I committed to his future. That commitment didn’t make me a parent though.

That commitment came later when I decided that I would keep him as mine. This may seem an obvious decision given that I was in a pretty solid marriage (3.5 years in by the time T was born), but hear me out. So many girls and women out there decide to give a baby up for adoption for many different reasons. It wouldn’t have been unheard of for a young married couple to decide not to keep a baby. We did, and therefore in that decision, we committed ourselves to being parents.

There were the obvious things I had to do, keep my body healthy so I could ensure his development was the best I could physically and biologically offer. But then there were the other decisions, ones I’m still realizing we are making on a regular basis. Being a parent is HARD. And being a first time parent is really, really hard. Sure, there are books out there to help guide you, but NO child is exactly alike. And therefore, you will take that information and advice from the books, your childhood upbringing, your parents, your other parent friends, etc… and have to STILL figure out what’s best for your individual child.

Every single day I wake up and decide to stay committed to being the best parent I can be for my son.

This morning was rough. Why are you waking up at 6:30 am? Mommy’s alarm doesn’t go off for another hour. No, the sun is not up all the way, you are seeing things. Please, please go back to lay down. Do you want to snuggle? No, you can not have a snack, that isn’t breakfast. No, you can not play Mario…well, maybe you can. Can you play until you hear mommy’s alarm (now only 30 mins away)? Mommy’s alarm hasn’t gone off, buddy, what do you need? Oh, you’re hungry. Go get an apple. No, you can’t have a snack, you can have a banana. I don’t care that you don’t want a banana, snacks aren’t breakfast.

And now I’m up. Because there never really was any point in trying to stay physically in bed. Was I “Awesome Mom” this morning? Well, no, no I wasn’t. I was grumpy Mom. I let my son play a video game before going to preschool. I did not give in and give him a snack but if I’m honest, I may have if it were Saturday. Because things like that always seem more okay on the weekends, don’t they?

I know that I’m not really a bad parent. I can see that from a big picture view. There is no such thing as the perfect parent, I know that too. But I do question decisions I make as soon as I make them. I feel such a responsibility for his life, as I should, and wonder how decisions I make today will affect his tomorrows. He is our “test-baby” – we will learn with him and if he ever gets a sibling, that sibling will probably have an easier go of it at times because Tarleton was our teacher. Sometimes I feel guilty for that.

No matter what decisions I make, we make, as parents one thing is for sure: we are undeniably, unequivocably devoted to loving this little human combination of the two of us. Maybe he is a little spoiled, darn that cute face of his! Gets us almost every time, almost.

Uncategorized

I found a white hair!!! What?!?!?

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IMG_0501

Last Saturday as I was making my hair as fancy as I possibly could for a wedding (read that date night) we were going to, I discovered what I thought was a white hair. WHAT??!?!!??!!! Eyes wide I walk slowly into our bedroom and announce to Dave that I think I found a white hair. He gave me an exasperated look and a “you’ll have to worry about it later” because we were running so late at this point.

And worry about it later I did. And have. It’s definitely there. And the first thing I could think of was, “well crap, now I have to start dying my hair.”

Am I really that vain? Given my current state of fitness, do I have a right to be? Is one white hair that no one else can see really making a difference in my self esteem about me as a whole. Sadly, yes, yes it is. Maybe if I had found it years ago. Maybe if I had found it months from now. But now? Just a little under 3 months from my 30th birthday?? It’s hard for me to handle. It is a sign that life is continuing whether I’d like it to slow down or not. It is also a sign that perhaps I’m allowing stress to catch up with me on a serious hormonal level versus simply eating a bit more than I should when I need comfort.

No, I probably won’t start dying my hair (yet). Despite the hormones making it fall out whenever I get overstressed, I’ve still yet to touch it with harsh chemicals. My hairdresser back home finds that admirable and amazing so I’ll try to, at least, hold off as long as I possibly can.

Who knows…maybe it’ll end up being some kind of classy white strip that gives some character to my, otherwise, straight, some times wavy hair, rarely done up in anything other than a pony-tail, hair.