Our Melee with Mental Illness

This was a hard one to write. Most of my posts are about our kiddos or random things floating around in my brain. Generally I prefer to be sarcastic (and presumably funny).But this…this is a much more serious topic. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write about this, but I thought it would be good for me and hopefully helpful to others experiencing a similar situation. And I want others to know there is no shame in getting help for mental illness. The only shame would be not getting the help you need and dealing with what could be dire consequences.

Mental illness is no stranger to Zippercow or myself.  Chronic depression (I’m not really sure what the clinical term is) is prevalent in my family and Zippercow encountered some pretty serious struggles in his teen years. Since then we’ve both managed to keep ourselves put together for the most part. Until recently.

It started with a phone call.  Every Sunday when I’m at work I call and check in with Zippercow and the kids during my morning break. Mostly just to say hi and see if they need me to get anything on the way home. It was different this day. He was REALLY frustrated with the children, not his usual “the kids woke when you left (at 6:10 am) and are being especially “pleasant” as a result” frustrated, this was different. He sounded off. I gave him some ideas for the kids and said “ I don’t care what you do, but find something to occupy them, a movie, candy, whatever works and I will deal with them when I get home”.

When I got home he was sitting in the recliner and his face was void of, well…anything. I was hoping he just really needed a break. I packed up the kids and took them with me grocery shopping. We returned and while he had showered he was back in the recliner and unresponsive. We agreed that a good night’s sleep was needed (since we hadn’t slept well the previous few nights) and we went to bed earlier than usual (at least I think we did?).

The next morning he got up to shower, returned to our room and didn’t come out. As far as I knew he was doing just fine. I was wrong. When I went in he was laying in bed, fully dressed. I asked him if he wasn’t feeling well thinking maybe he had come down with something. “I just can’t do it” he said. “Do what? Go to work?” I asked. “yes” he replied. Now I was really worried. Even on his worst grumpy days (and that is really what his worst days were, just unexplained grumpiness) he still went about his day like normal. This was new, and much more serious. I let him sleep for a little bit but then came in and opened the curtains. I told him “It is fine to take a mental health day, but you will not stay in bed and sleep all day. You can play your game, read your book (which I handed him, Mockingjay if you were curious) or hang out with us but sleeping all day is not an option, it will only make it impossible to sleep at night making your problems worse”. I was calm and kind (but stern) when I said this. I let him be and checked in on him throughout the morning. Around noon he was still in bed but reading. I went in and told him “I think it’s time, today you will call and make an appointment with a someone.” We cried silently together and it was set in motion.

Photo provided by The Gemini Geek

I suppose it would help to know that we’ve always treated our mental illness (or potential for) very matter of factly and have talked about at length that if one or the other of us says it is time to seek professional help we will trust each other and go.

It was time.

I did some research and found someone close to his work and asked him “ Are you going to call or would you like me to?” He opted to have me call and we set it up. Three weeks out, but still, just knowing that relief was on its way seemed to help him.

A little.

Each day since has been a bit of a rollercoaster on the verge of collapse. I would think he was feeling better and without notice his mood would change drastically. It took all of my energy to stay calm and supportive of him and also stay calm for the kids. We joke. He isn’t in the dark of his condition, he is fully aware and just wants to feel better. This at least is promising. Now we need to just get to his appointment in one (if slightly fractured) piece. Unfortunately this happened to be a week of many obligations that required me to be away from home. While I wasn’t concerned that anything would happen to the kids, I certainly didn’t want to leave anything to chance so I worked tirelessly at setting up help and support for Zippercow and arranged a few options in case it was “just too much”.  We made it through the first week mostly. I kind of had a melt down after the first week. In times of trouble or stress I always look to Zippercow for support, this of course is not possible when he is having difficulty dealing with his own stuff, I don’t need to put more on his shoulders, or worse unintentionally make him feel guilty. I have been honest with my feelings with him during the last week but I certainly didn’t unload on him or complain about how tough this has been for me.

But it has been.

I have felt so totally isolated and helpless. And it is has terrified me to see Zippercow this way.Zippercow doesn’t mind if I talk to other adults about it, he is not ashamed of something he has no control over, but he does not want the kids to know, for now. It is about now that I realize I haven’t been all that great of a friend to my friends and feel bad unloading all this on them. How can expect others to be there for me if I haven’t been all that supportive of them?Am I handling this okay? This is just one week, what if this goes on for much longer, if there are problems his treatment? So I start my own spiral. I don’t think my occasional breakdowns are a sign of my own mental illness, but just a release of a weeks worth of keeping things together. It takes so much effort to keep everyone engaged and create some normalcy for the kids.

I’m grateful for my family, for a husband who has the wherewithal to get help when he needs it. A man who loves me and our children and even on the worst days does not lash out at me or the kids. That would cost too much.

Yesterday was a bad day.

And today, well he left work in the middle of the day. Just left.

And came home.

Two weeks left.

Did I mention we also put down a lot of money on a fence Zippercow is supposed to start building next week? And we have a multiple family events to attend during Easter weekend?

I’m trying not to panic. One day at a time. We will take it one day at a time.

**Update** It is a week later and fortunately Zippercow seems to be himself as far as I can tell. I hesitated to post this and wanted his permission and thought it best to wait  until he was feeling more baseline. He still doesn’t trust himself and has asked me to keep him in check but also claims to be feeling much more normal and is currently helping to get our fence in. I’m proud of the steps he’s taken to be healthy and I support his efforts to not only be physically healthy, but mentally healthy for himself and our family.

* I would like to thank our friends and family that have been there for us in many ways. Everyone that helped to dig out the fence line contributed to one of Zippercow’s good days. Also I know posting this may get negative feedback from friends or family who think poorly of those who seek mental health services.

Walk it off

Exciting news in the Herd household, Little Moo just started junior wrestling! It has been an interesting ordeal and I definitely had my misgivings but so far he seems to be enjoying it. Little Moo isn’t the most rough and tumble guy and even if he is sent to play outside he is more likely to sit and dig in the dirt than chase after a ball. We know, accept and love this about him so I’m sure you could see how I would be concerned how wrestling might go for him, but since his uncle is a wrestling coach and has taken Little Moo to a couple practices and got him excited about it we thought “sure, why not?”.  You have to love his spirit because he clearly is lacking in some natural athletic ability but he makes up for it with his exuberance and every week I see him slowly but surely learning the skills (and even applying some of them). These things made me nervous for him, along with realizing that this will be a large learning experience in disappointment and that we aren’t always the best and don’t always win. These are all things we want for him to learn but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still painful to watch.

Even more painful (for me) is the attitude of the adults around him. It all started with the little boy Little Moo  had been partnered with  (multiple practices)  and his whiney attitude, complaining that he knows how to do it and refusing to let LM do the moves on him and telling the coach that it is easy. So then the coach (not his uncle Nustin, but the other coach that splits the practices with uncle Nustin)  tells me and the boys that they will get different partners next week then turns to Little Moo and says “ We gotta get you a little more aggressive out there!” then looks to me and says “you know, get someone to throw him around a little”.

WTF?!

He continues on to tell us how excited LM’s uncle is that he is wrestling and that maybe he (Uncle Nustin ) “will come over and kick you in the ribs a little”. Maybe it was the horrified look on my face, but he slapped at Little  Moo playfully and said “just kidding bud”. 

I have a problem with this on so many levels that I’m not even sure where to begin. My biggest issue is the idea that boys have to be aggressive. Why? Why do we encourage this in young boys and why is it that if a boy isn’t aggressive he isn’t the right kind of boy, a sissy, a pantywaist?Why is being aggressive a trait we value in boys? I know that some boys are  aggressive naturally and as such should be taught how to harness that energy, but if they aren’t why do insist that they learn this trait, force them to be something they aren’t?  I knew this was going to be an issue going into this sport, but since they are five and beginners I was hoping it wouldn’t be quite so competitive. I was wrong. That same practice there was a dad “helping” coach a couple of boys  (since there aren’t enough coaches some of the dads “help”) and they were really going hard and at multiple times one or both of the boys were in tears and both dads of the boys were egging them on, encouraging them to “get ’em”. It was very clear these boys could use a breather but the coach just walked by grinning. Ugh. They are five! They should be enjoying it, not in tears!

Also, who tells a kid that their uncle should come “kick you in your ribs”? So if a boy doesn’t have the aggressive quality you deem necessary you will send an adult in to rough him up? A five year old? Seriously! I know that my issue comes from my years in the social work field, and that you would NEVER say something like that to a kid, especially to one you don’t know because you never know how true this will be or  maybe they already live in fear of men (or adults) and such a comment could illicit fear. I forget that just because someone works with or teaches kids doesn’t mean they are good at relating to children. Fortunately for Little Moo (and me) his Uncle Nustin is an excellent coach. He is supportive in the right ways and encourages the kids to have fun and learn, which is what this beginning wrestling program is supposed to be about.

Just like I can’t stand the pushing of girls as being a “princess”  I also can’t stand the idea that boys are pushed into being rough and aggressive. Why must we break them? Little Moo truly is enjoying himself, has an upbeat attitude and so far has handled being a good sport well. Why fix what isn’t broken?

I know all this from a mom might just sound like I’m being over sensitive, that maybe I’m babying him. That isn’t the case. I let him experience disappointment as well as pride in accomplishment and I’ll be honest, I am competitive. I want him to be the best at what he does and I want him to win. I’d be lying if I said otherwise, but not at the cost of breaking his sweet nature.

Quite honestly I would be fine if he decided to join the marching band. At least that I understand. East Valley does have a strolling strings program….hmm….

* We did not get good photos from his first tournament but I can guarantee that there will be some that make it into a post in the near future!

I Didn’t Lose It, I Threw It Away!

Damn skippy. Losing something  implies it was accidental, unintentional and/or that you want it back.  Let me be clear, it was intentional and I don’t want it back. I have officially THROWN AWAY 7% of my body weight, my first (doctor suggested) goal. And I’m going to keep going. I can’t remember when I felt so good in my entire life. I feel like a light suddenly went on and I can see clearly. It isn’t always easy but it is worth it. I enjoy exercising and I occasionally indulge my cravings. I have more energy and play with my kids more, my back pain is gone and thanks to the exercise I have been sleeping better than I have in years. Worth it.

I have refrained from clogging up Facebook feeds with my every trashed pound (nope, I’ll just clog it up with my other random  musings) but I will certainly will share my larger goals with everyone. This was the first, my next is to be the weight I was when I got married, then the weight I was when I met Zippercow. These aren’t at even intervals, but mark pivotal points in my life and I’d like to celebrate them, with you of course!

As I said, it hasn’t been easy. Much like a broken toy you loved dearly, throwing it away still makes you sad because of what it brought to your life.  It is necessary to do, but still sad. I love food. I think about how I will no longer get to make pans of brownies and finish most of it in one evening, or eat a large bag of M&M’s while scrapbooking. I know, it sounds sick but it is what I used to do, it is a past time of mine. Sometimes I have to remind myself that the sentimental fuzzy feelings are just that. Memories do that sometimes, make us feel like it was great and wonderful. It wasn’t. There was a lot of shame, a sense of no control, fatigue, crankiness, back pain, and impending diabetes. Another struggle I have is I don’t feel like anyone is noticing my hard work. Not that I am doing it for others, but I’ll admit that the recognition ignites my resolve to keep going. I remind myself that it is mostly because everyone has seen me at this weight before. I’ve yo-yoed  for years. I’ve been smaller after both of my pregnancies but then gained again so my current physical appearance isn’t anything new to anyone, so I imagine it won’t be truly apparent what is happening for another 10-15 lbs. It’s okay, I can wait. Like I said, I am not doing this for others.

(This is not my heaviest, but what I had gotten back up to before starting our lifestyle change, I cannot believe I am posting this hideous picture. When I meet my next goal I will post a better one, I apologize to you all!)

I would like to thank my wonderful husband for joining me in this journey, because it certainly isn’t easy to stick with it when someone is eating plates full of delicious stuff in front of you. Oh, and congrats to him for throwing away the unwanted weight as well. I’m sure both he and I will reach the weight we were when we got married around the same time, and it makes me feel even closer to him. And because of the shed weight we can actually be closer.

There was something my doctor said to me at my last appointment when I was expressing my frustration with the 1-2lb a week weight loss suggestion that will forever stick with me. “If it really is a life change, what does it matter if it takes a year or even two to lose the weight? If you are doing what you should be doing, it WILL come off.”  We often think of it as a race or a sprint. But he was right. I will be doing this for the REST of my life. Once I get to my goal weight I am not going to be rewarded with bags of chocolates or pans of brownies. This is something I will be doing for life. I’ve finally decided I’m okay with that…because it’s worth it.

I Am One Lucky Lady

That’s right, lucky. Lucky my husband still finds me attractive and wants to spend time with me. This thought occurred to me after our last date night. The date was REALLY nice (thanks to my SIL and Mom for watching the kids!) but I really need to step it up.

We have limited funds so the only clothing I have is clothing I can wear all the time. No room or money for clothes I wear once and don’t fit into again or only wear on “special” occasions so I have one or two shirts that are classified as “nice” that I wear for any occasion that I don’t have to lug the kids with me. It usually is not a tee shirt, and the only thing that does not have mom stains. My current “nice” shirt is one I’ve had for over a year and can be seen in almost any picture of me since it was purchased. Both because it is photo worthy/”nice” and because I am so infrequently photographed. Go ahead, check out my facebook photos, you’ll figure out what shirt I’m talking about. What do I wear with my “nice” shirt you ask? Why “nice” jeans of course! In order to meet these qualifications they have to be clean and not stained. I know,  I set a pretty high bar. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress. Possibly at the last wedding I went to(so long ago I can’t even remember when it was)  and even that is a dress that made an appearance at any function that required a dress. This has been my go to dress for at least….4 years???? Sheesh.

Then of course there are the jewels. I do “fancy” with costume jewelry. I’ve never done jewelry well. I’m allergic to most of it so I frequently end up with a red mark on my neck/chest and can be seen tugging at it most of the evening only to tear it off in frustration and toss it to the bottom of my purse (which I only have one of so it has to “go with” anything. Oh who am I kidding, it doesn’t match most of my stuff, but still it goes with me) The same goes for earrings and if for some reason I was diluted enough to think I could make it through the night with a bracelet on it goes into the purse too, usually first.

Usually we go to a movie and always the bookstore (yes, we ARE awesome!) so I end up with my glasses on that don’t stay on well so they slide down my nose making me look like I should be working at the bookstore. Then there is the food stain on the front of me because I am genetically destined to drop something on my chest at every meal. It is in my DNA. Oh and by the end of the evening my hair has gone flat and crazy or frizzy and crazy, crazy being the common denominator.

So… freshly stained shirt that you’ve seen a million times, red broken out neck and chest, no jewels, crazy hair with the glasses that make me look ancient…what do you think Sweetie?

You know you want to get with this.

Fencing in the Herd: Part 1

The Herd is getting a fence! And since this is such a big part of our lives right now and will be taking place over the next 4-6 weeks I thought I would start a mini blog series about our fencing adventures!

Part 1: The Takedown

When trying to save every possible penny on the cost of the fence you might find that you have to do a lot of the work yourself. Enter Zippercow

Our rather large fence will require a rather large chunk of money (one that is larger than what we have)  so we will be taking out the nuisance trees and moving rocks (again) out of the way of the fence line so  we can save a little money. I say “we” but as with most of our large undertakings my role (mostly) is to keep children out from under foot (or falling trees). Zippercow is a trooper for sure! This was one of his first tasks. Notice the pile of trees as tall as our son? That’s only part of it.

Just think, in a couple years Little Moo will be old enough to play along and pretend daddy is cutting him down.

It’s just the beginning. Stay tuned for more riveting stores of Fencing In The Herd!

*yes I use riveting pretty loosely

Dumb Dog.

I’m sure this will come as no great shock to those that know me, but I don’t like dogs. And to be even more honest I’m afraid of most of them. Yes, I’m a grown ass woman who is afraid of dogs. It isn’t the running away from them screaming and crying kind of scared, but if I don’t know a dog I give it a pretty wide berth and won’t be the first to say “come here doggy so I can pet you!”.  I am not really sure where it comes from other than once, when I was a teenager, I was walking down the street after dark and the neighbors bull mastiff came at me from down the street  in a full run showing me his teeth snarling. Now mind you this was a dog that I was VERY familiar with as I regularly babysat the children of this neighbor. He was close enough to bite me (all the while I was shrieking his name) before he came to a dead stop and started wagging his tail with his big ol’ tongue lopped out the side of his mouth waiting for a pat. I may have wet myself a little. Maybe I was afraid of dogs before this. Either way, I’m not a fan. I don’t like the drool, the barking, cleaning up the poop. Big ones that are hyper and little yippy ones. Not. A. Fan.

So today when a lost dog wandered up to our back door I silently whispered a sigh of relief that we are putting a fence up this summer. No more wandering dogs coming into our yard and scaring the bejesus out of me or leaving their “presents” on our lawn.

I was less than pleased that the dog decided to set up camp in our front yard, especially since I had to escort the children to the van to get Little Moo from the bus stop. Of course the kids didn’t mind. Niecey-poo was ecstatic and Littlest Moo (who was at that time screaming and flailing about wildly) even stopped, clapped and said “doggy”. They were all even more excited to see that the dog was sleeping on our front porch when we returned from the bus stop.  You would have thought Santa made a mid February encore appearance the way those kids lit up. This dog was clearly nice and didn’t mind the kids so I let them pet the dog and we brought it a bowl of fresh water to drink. It went back to sleeping in the yard.

Damn dog.

From time to time I entertain the thought of having a dog, for the boys you know. Because all little boys should have a canine companion! I think about how it would be nice to take walks with a dog and have it sit at my feet in the evenings. It would have to be a Golden Retriever or generic yellow, lumbering, friendly, low key dog. Guess what our visitor was?

Yep. I brought him the kids’ table scraps and it wagged its tail and then rolled over for me to pet its belly. He stuck around for most of the morning and until just recently was sleeping up against our front door. I hope the dog finds his home (although is seems less likely with him sleeping in our yard) but if he doesn’t…

Can we keep him dear? We’ll have a fence….

 

 

 

***This would be a less than pleased Zippy watching the dog in our front yard.

I Don’t Think Skinny Capri-alls Are in Fashion.

Children. They are the best (and most expensive) entertainment ever!

After a successful workout and trip to Costco we returned home and proceeded to get the children ready for bed.  Littlest Moo has recently discovered naked and let’s just say, he’s a fan. He stops mid run every couple feet to inspect his parts and continues on his way. We happen to find this quite hilarious. So while the little one was pleased as pie to be removing clothes the older one, he was inspecting clothes his Grams brought from when Zippercow was little. That’s right, clothes that are more than 25 years old. Uh…thanks?  Little Moo was quite taken with some  awesome Hawaiian shirts, mostly because they have pockets. Apparently this is a thing with him now, shirts with pockets to carry the oh-so-important  things he needs to carry. He came across a particularly striking pair of overalls with matching flannel shirt . Matching because they have the same flannel on the denim as the shirt. He asked if he could have them. They are a size 2T and I told him as much. His response was a to melt and shriek about how he never has overalls. Um…what? I was going to argue that they were too small again but thought screw it  and told him “ I don’t care, go put them on if you want”. So…

He did.

Little Moo: “Mommy, can I keep these?”

Me: “Um…they look a little small.”

Little Moo: “But I like them!”

Zippercow: “I don’t think skinny capri-alls are in fashion bud.”

Priceless.