Letting It Out

Yesterday was one of my bad days--the kind when I'm silently moving around the house and the tears just don't stop. This wasn't that uncommon when I was pregnant. I did struggle a lot with post-partum depression, but I don't think that's what this was. I think this was genuine grief.

Before you read on, I want to warn you that you might think I'm ridiculous or maybe I'm a brat. However, I'm being honest and these are the things that matter to me.

From the time I entered kindergarten, I always wanted to be a teacher. I knew somewhere deep within that I was supposed to teach. And then sometime in high school I thought I should be a missionary or join the Peace Corps. I could picture myself in a sharp business suit, the head CEO of some fancy company, nailing deals. Then I thought I'd be a truck driver, cruising the interstates with a dog named Wingo, exploring our beautiful country. At one point, I even thought I'd like to be a minister, but I also knew I wasn't called to lead a church. I don't know why, but I really had it in my head that someday I was going to be off on some great adventure. I might get married. That was a big maybe. I'd never thought seriously about having children. It was one of those "someday" things that I thought I'd do in my 30s.

I was a wild child in high school. I was the untameable, ungettable girl. If a guy dated me for a month, he was lucky. I just got bored easily. I desired a boyfriend, some sort of companionship, but I just wasn't a committer. Maybe it was my great ambition that was holding me back, maybe it was my eating disorder or my major trust issues, but whatever it was I just didn't see myself dating, getting engaged, and settling down into a home with a husband.

Within a month of my freshman year at college, I met a young man who captured my interest and my heart. We liked the same things, he had a great sense of humor, and we really hit it off. I fell hard for this guy. Within six months, we were dreaming about our wedding and what we would name our children. We had these fabulously fun camping trips, would take long drives and sing in the car, and would just spend all day and night together. We were truly happy.

We went on like this for about two years. Then I'm not exactly sure what happened, but he changed. His friends started teasing him that he was whipped, and suddenly he was ditching me when we made plans. Things were pretty rocky and we were arguing a lot, but we moved in together anyway.

Then things really got weird. He started acting differently, he was angry all the time, accusing me of cheating on him and lying to him. I wasn't, and I couldn't convince him of my love or loyalty. Shortly after, we had an argument and he hit me across the face. It had been the first time a man had laid a hand to me as an adult. I said I was done. I wasn't going to stay in a relationship with a man who hit me. That statement just pushed him over the edge, and before I knew it, we were in an all-out fist fight. I ended up grabbing my keys and running out of the apartment as fast as I could.

I later went back to the apartment. He was all apologies, but I knew that it was the end. I told him he needed to move out. It took him a month to find another place to live, and that month was filled with more nights like the one described above. I won't go into details, but it was very ugly. I kept extra clothes in my car and spent nights forty-five minutes away at my grandparents' house whenever I needed to. Within a year of our break up, I found out that he had started doing drugs before we moved in together and had then moved on to Meth and Cocaine when we were living together.

I immediately rebounded to another guy. I'm not sure why. I was so heartbroken and so hurt and angry. Looking back, I realize I was looking for comfort, but it wasn't a healthy form of comfort. I should have stayed single and taken some time to heal, be healthy, and find myself again. Instead, I shacked up with a really nice guy who just wasn't the right guy. We stayed together for two years and I thought of breaking up with him, but I just couldn't find a good reason. I didn't feel like I could leave.

At about the two year mark, I got pregnant. We had been taking measures of prevention, but it happened. My son's dad was thrilled; it took me a couple days to warm up to the idea. Then I felt a calling to be my child's mother. I had never felt anything like it before. I wasn't sure if I was going to stay with my boyfriend, but I was going to have that baby and be its mama. I loved my son before he was born and felt so drawn to him, even before I was showing.

My boyfriend and I got engaged and were going to get married when our son was about 15 months, but I got cold feet. I didn't want to marry him, and I felt like if I did, I'd be making a huge mistake. I knew all about mistakes with relationships with men and just couldn't bare to swallow that pill. I called off the wedding, even though the invitations had been mailed and we were getting response cards in the mail.

When my husband and I started dating, the rules were different. I had a child now. I was still in college, finishing my last year to get my degree and teaching certification. I needed someone serious. My husband was serious. He was fun, devoted, loving, loyal--a true family man.

He proposed a little after a year of dating and we set the date for nearly a year after the engagement. Don't get me wrong--there were some bumps. One of the major bumps was whether or not to have children. I had my Little Shaver and was quite content with him. He was beautiful and perfect. I hadn't really wanted to have kids and now I had one. That was enough. Aaron wasn't sure he could give up having children. He wanted to have three, including my son.

So I thought about it. I thought about my husband and how much I loved him. I thought about how well we got along, how great he was with my son, how loving he was. I thought about my son and how much I loved him. I hadn't been thrilled about getting pregnant, and he certainly wasn't planned. But my heart was his. Surely I could make room in my heart for another child. I decided that if I didn't have any more children, I'd be okay. And Aaron might be okay for a little while. But at some point, maybe five or ten years down the road, wouldn't he regret not having his own? Would he leave? After a lot of thinking, I decided that having one child with my husband was a sacrifice I was happy to make. A child would be a special gift for him and would never be a reason for me to leave or be unhappy.

We got pregnant on our honeymoon and I was a very unhappy pregnant woman, but Scout is truly a blessing. She's a good baby, beautiful, healthy. My son is thrilled to have a sister and my husband has completely melted. I love her with as much of my heart as my son.

But yesterday, while I was moving around the house, picking up toys, scrubbing the toilet, washing dishes, folding loads and loads of laundry, and trying to get the house ready for the next week so that our nanny has a clean work environment, it all just hit me. My big adventure dreams, my painting, my poetry, my carefree days, all long gone. Here I am wiping a loogie off the shower wall, which, by the way, I did not put there, my husband is in the living room happily watching baseball, and I've turned into a maid.

Before I know it, I'm sobbing, resentfully remembering my ruined canvases, my forgotten paints and brushes, my camping gear, as my husband sits on his butt. My James Joyce novels haven't been touched in years. I haven't checked out a library book in the last six months and been able to finish it. My writing--that book of short stories I wanted to write?--I don't even know which flash drive it's saved to anymore. Then I start thinking about our marriage. When's the last time we had a night to spend intimately without being disturbed by a nightmare or a hungry baby? Forget that, when's the last time he's done something sweet or thoughtful, just because? On and on it goes in my head. I'm exhausted from caring for the children, working two jobs, six days a week (yeah, I know I wasn't going to bartend anymore but when you can't afford new shoes for your kid, you'll do just about any job), making dinner every night, doing dishes, washing bottles and clothes. Then I'm thinking about how my husband "half-asses" everything. He puts away all the dishes except the silverware. He changes the baby's diaper but leaves the old diaper on the floor. He gives the baby a bottle, but always forgets to rinse out the finished ones and put them by the sink. He makes a pizza and forgets to turn off the oven. Four months before he proposed, we looked at rings and I showed him a very modest band and engagement ring that fit together for about $500. When he proposed, he gave me a sticky note that said he'd fallen for me and a ring he'd skipped his car payment for which was so far from anything I wanted that I literally cried from disappointment. When is it going to end? This is not what I signed up for.

I don't think my meltdown yesterday was just hormones or depression. I was grieving. I was grieving for the relationship my husband and I have lost, for the dreams I've abandoned, for the person I've become. I love my children and wouldn't trade them for anything. My husband is my family. I don't regret marrying him or having my babies. I just want my cake, and I want to eat it, too. The plans I had for my life were wonderful and beautiful, but sometimes that's just not how life works. Marriage and children are a commitment. They are a great source of happiness, but they also come with a hefty price tag.

I know in my heart that the things I wanted are petty. The cleaning is petty. Hobbies need to get put off for the well-being and raising of my children. It's not forever. Someday I'll get time to paint again. And I don't want to nag my husband for the little things he forgets. They all add up and make extra work for me, but it's not like he does it on purpose. He really does try.

I just feel like sometimes I need to let out my grief in a safe place. I can't discuss this with my husband. I've tried. He doesn't understand. So I'm putting it out there for strangers.

Thankful for Friends and Family

I had to do something embarassing.
I had to call and ask my father for money.





I had squirreled away money for my student loans while in preparation for not working while I was recovering from having my baby.
My husband has sole charge of our collective savings.
He'd been spending it without telling me.
Sigh.
Long story short, we had much less money to live on than I had anticipated.
So here we are, sneaking up on October. I'm back at work and we're able to pay all of our bills except my student loans.
I explained the situation to my father--that if I default or defer, I lose the 5% forgiveness of my interest if I make all my payments on time for the first five years.
He agreed I couldn't miss the payment.
He sent me a check.
Then he sent groceries--fresh meats, canned vegetables, boxed non-perishables--with my grandparents.
I could just cry.
It's embarassing.
It really is.

I love my daughter.
I love that my family is willing to help, even when they are facing their own economic hardships.
Other family members have sent help, which has really helped to get us through.
My husband's work buddies have sent fish which they've caught and cleaned.

I am so thankful that we have such loving friends and family who are moved to help.

The End of Summer {pretty, happy, funny, real} edition

It's been a fire storm of drama and bad news around here lately. Lots of family, friend, and financial issues which seem to be coming to a head and ready to blow at any moment. I'm linking up with the ladies at Like Mother, Like Daughter and have been looking for the contextment of contentment in everyday life this past week!



I've been trying to set a new morning routine, what with Little Shaver getting on the bus this year and our new addition Scout. After getting Shaver on the bus in the morning and Scout down for a nap, Madeline Ann and I have been spending our mornings on the front deck enjoying coffee and sunlight. She's so very {pretty}.

A rare picture of myself and in a {happy} and {funny} moment! Aaron and I went fishing without the kids. As a joke, I put on Shaver's life jacket but couldn't quite make it in. Remember the movie Tommy Boy when Chris Farley puts on David Spade's jacket? "Fat guy in a little coat," he sings. Well I'm a big girl in a little vest!

A {happy} and {real} moment in our home--Shaver loves to hold Scout. He's such a proud big brother, and luckily he ADORES his baby sister! Such moments make my heart melt into a puddle and give me moments of such joy that I seem to forget everything else going on in the world.

As a side note, I've been pumping and having Scout feed from a bottle during the day. I'm hoping to go back to work next week. Most of the time, she's quite willing to take any food source available. (My husband has a wet t-shirt from where she tried to nurse from him to prove it!) I struggle between the guilt I feel in beginning her weaning and the relief I feel from being able to share the responsibility of feeding her and more time with Shaver.

This past Sunday, Scout took an amazingly long nap in which I was able to pick up the whole house, vacuum, and sweep and mop, and Aaron was able to accomplish an incredible amount of yard work. Shaver bounced back and forth between us. I looked outside to check on my men and saw this! What a {happy}, {funny}, {real} moment! My son just adores my husband and is eager to help. Of course his bubble mower doesn't do anything to the lawn but this moment is burned into my memory. I laughed, watching Shaver scamper after Aaron, eager to help and please, and so happy to be involved in the upkeep of our home.

Have a great week!

The Relationship Between my Husband and my Son

My husband is not my father's son.
Gasp.
I know.

Some of you may judge me for that. Before you think about stringing me up over a tree, I think it's fair to remind you that such situations are not that uncommon these days. I believe having him was the right choice. Whether his dad and I had stayed together or not, I have never regretted his conception or birth. He is a sweet, beautiful, loving child. I was a silly girl in college and though precautions were taken to prevent pregnancy, they were unsuccessful. I thank God they were.

Little Shaver loves to do what Aaron does. Here he's following Aaron with his bubble mower as Aaron mows the lawn.

Little Shaver's dad and I tried to make it work. We stayed together through my pregnancy, he was there for the birth, and the first 15 months of Shaver's life. Shaver's dad and I were even going to get married, but I called it off six weeks before the day.



This photo was taken over a year and a half ago. Little Shaver loves to spend time with Aaron in the yard. And Aaron likes to teach him.



We were getting rsvp cards back in the mail, and I just couldn't do it. After seeking advice from my campus advisor and pastor, I finally had a good talk with my campus chaplain. She asked if I was nervous about my wedding day or my marriage. I knew then that getting married, even if it was ideal for my son, was not going to work. I called off the wedding and faced the consequences. And believe me, it wasn't pretty.

Aaron and Little Shaver at the local Easter egg hunt

Aaron and I were friends long before Shaver was even conceived. I would be lying if I said I didn't have a crush on him, even when I was dating Shaver's dad, but he was never the reason I left Shaver's dad.

After I left Shaver's dad, Aaron and I started dating. He took on a young woman with a young toddler who was working two jobs and going to school full-time. Can you imagine what he must feel for me--to want to marry a pretty difficult woman with some baggage and self-esteem issues and an autistic toddler?

It's sad that my son's dad and I aren't together--I've grieved for my son.

However, there are some positive points.



This was Little Shaver on the morning of his birthday this year. Aaron insisted on getting him his own cd player and children's cds.

My husband is a great guy. He truly is. He knows how to handle me and all the attitude I can dish out. He has learned to love and care for my son. He's actually the one who gave my son the nickname "Little Shaver". (I think it stems from my son's fascination with Aaron's shaving...) When he talks about Scout and Shaver, he refers to them as "our children". On some level, he does think of Shaver as his son.

Aaron's parents immediately and happily assumed the role of grandparents. (They even introduce him as their grandson--not my son or their step-grandson. He is their grandson!)

There was a lot of luck, or divine intervention, that made what could have been a really crappy situation good for my son. He gained another father figure and another set of grandparents. Shaver's dad and I are still friends and only live about five minutes from each other. We have promised never to bad mouth each other and have really stuck to that.

Two years ago I was the maid-of-honor for my best friend's wedding, and Little Shaver was the ring bearer. (See the bear? Hehe!) Aaron was good enough to chase Shaver around the rehearsal dinner, dress him for the wedding, and chaperone him down the aisle!

Scout's birth has complicated Shaver and Aaron's relationship. There are days my son isn't perfectly behaved and needs a time out. His autism is hard to deal with at times. Aaron and I both get irritable with him. I remind Aaron that if he doesn't take special time with Shaver like he does for Scout, it will destroy Shaver. That really seemed to click for Aaron, and he's been making a special effort ever since.



Last summer, I was a bridesmaid for my step-mom's wedding. While we girls went shopping, had hair and nails done, and enjoyed a night out together, Aaron was caring for Little Shaver in a town he'd never been in so that I could be a good bridesmaid.



I worry about the relationship between Aaron and Shaver now that Scout has joined the family. Aaron has honestly admitted that he feels differently about Scout than he does about Shaver. He says it's hard for him not to be Shaver's biological dad. That's okay. I feel differently about Shaver than I do about Scout. I think it's natural. I think it's important to work on, but I think there's always something special about your first-born. I just pray that Aaron and I both work on our different feelings and are able to develop and keep great relationships with both our children.

Scout is 5 Weeks

Scout is five weeks old and though I know it's unreasonable, I'm starting to get frustrated that she's still up twice a night for feedings.

Next week is my six week appointment. The following week I have opened myself up to be free for substitute teaching. It's the beginning of the school year, so I know they won't need me every day yet, but I'm hoping to get back to work with some consistency.

Funds are running low as of late. I have student loans that I'm working on. We have bills. Groceries are increasing in price. I've been starting to get scared. We're just treading water over here. And though I swore I was not going back to bartending ever again, I've been taking hours that my old boss has offered on the understanding that I will only work as fill-in and will not be coming back to my regular shifts, which were Friday, Saturday and Sunday and a total of 30 hours per week. (She still hasn't quite replaced me yet.) My family has been great and sending help when they can, but it is still hard.

I also need to go back to work for my own sanity. I love my children, but being in a house in the country with no long-distance phone plan has been difficult. The days get lonely. I practically smother my husband when he gets home. I'm constantly checking Facebook and have been starting to watch some of the most ridiculous shows on television.

Next week we will be on a trial run. I'll be going to bed at 7 pm, after putting my son to bed. I'll be getting up at 5 am, practicing getting myself, Little Shaver and Scout ready by 7am and checking for job postings. I need to know that I'll be able to do this--I have to be able to do this. I'm eager to get back in the swing of things. I just hope Scout is ready.

Do You have a Journal?


Do you have a journal? I mean other than your blog?
I do.
Sometimes there are things you just can't blog about. Sometimes I need a private place for my thoughts. And sometimes I just don't have access to a computer and need to put my thoughts down.
This is my journal.

Front cover of my journal. I used scrap wrapping paper and stickers that I found from when I used to scrapbook.

 I buy composition notebooks around the start of the school year.
I started this when I was student teaching a few years ago. My cooperating teacher handed me a notebook and told me to journal every single day. He encouraged me to use it to reflect on my experiences and observations. He encouraged me to participate in the creative writing course he took, write down ideas, or even just journal about what was going on in my life. Some days he gave me specific assignments. I remember him making me journal for 15 minutes one day when I was discouraged and was thinking of just giving up.
Now I buy two a year: one for personal use and one for notes specifically about my substitute teaching experiences.

Back of my journal. I wrote down quotes I found and liked using different pens or permanent markers. The quotes are things I found funny or inspirational.

I decorate the journals to make them my own. As you can see, I use different kinds of paper or post-its. I also put down quotes that I find, religious or secular, to inspire me or amuse me.
Much of the time when I turn to my journal, I need to let out something that I can't let out anywhere else. It's usually a sad or angry reason, and I find that I usually need a laugh or encouragement.

Inside cover of my journal. I used a bunch of different post-its that I found and liked, that I thought would cheer me up. Most of these are inspirational quotes about faith.

I can't really talk about what's been bothering me lately.
I can tell you that I've honestly been struggling with post partum depression. My doctor knows and is involved. There are therapists here throughout the day for my son's autism therapy, so I'm not home alone a lot. I love my daughter, but being home alone with the kids is too socially isolating for me. I look in the mirror and get depressed about my stretch marks. I think about the plans I had for my life that didn't involve having children. I think about the enormous responsibility of having two small children so entirely dependent on me and get overwhelmed. I have to remember that the Lord entrusted this task to me, that I have to follow His plan, that most women struggle with the scars of motherhood.
But some days I just need to be sad and grieve. And I put those thoughts in my journal.

A page from my journal. Sometimes I cut pages from magazines and attach things that I think I need to remember in their entirity and make notes about them.

I don't just put sad or mad thoughts in my journal. I used my journal to keep track of my plans for my baby shower and for Little Shaver's 4th birthday party, from the guest list, favors, to the layout of the party.
Sometimes I write down all the things I am grateful for.
Sometimes I put in my prayers.
Sometimes I just write down what's going on in my life.
Sometimes I use three or four pages to explore my thoughts on a given Bible verse.

Another page from my journal. On the right handside is a list of things that I was grateful for one particular day.

If you don't have a journal, maybe you need one. I know I do. It's helping me get through this difficult time.

Shaver's First Day of 4K - {pretty, happy, funny, real}

{pretty} See the spider web? I marvel at the beauty of the workmanship!

{happy} A sleeping Scout! In her pretty $10 thrifted bassinet!

{funny} Little Shaver didn't want to stop watching PBS long enough to take a picture on his first day of 4K. Can you believe he has to get on the bus between 6:40 and 6:45 every morning!?

{real} I spent an hour folding five loads of laundry last night. *Sigh* Housework has been getting harder to keep up with as Scout won't sleep more than two or three hours at a time yet!