Archive | January, 2012

Smarter than me at almost three

27 Jan

Okay, I’m not saying I don’t know this now, but I sure as hell didn’t know it anywhere near her age.
One of the many benefits of having a mom/grandma that’s a science teacher:

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“The idealist walks on tiptoe, the materialist on his heels”

25 Jan

a Malcolm de Chazal quote

If this is true, then color Emberly the epitome of idealism. For the last few months we have been harping on Emberly to not walk on her tiptoes. The constant reminders were becoming tiresome. If you were to make a drinking game out of our harping, even the most seasoned drinker would be on their lips within an hour upon arriving at our house.

It was cute the first few times she’d respond with, “I’m just being like a ballerina, Mom.” Who am I to quash my child’s dreams of becoming the next Clara in The Nutcracker. I mean, she could be my meal ticket people! But before I was even able to cash the yet to be written checks any stage mom deserves while living vicariously through their own more successful and talented children, my Emberly’s dreams were dashed. Her toes were starting to curl in much like the Wicked Witch of the East’s, thrusting her towards OFF-off-Broadway hobbling troll parts. While she does have a cute impish look to her at times, the way bunions run rampant on both sides of our lineage pushed us to a consult with the orthopedic specialist at Children’s Hospital.

My biggest fear was that the doctor would do what most do best and instruct us to just “wait and see.” It’s not that I wanted something to be wrong with Emberly, we’re no Munchausen family, it’s more that I knew something needed to be done. Her big toes were pushing more and more towards her pointer toe. (what is the nickname for the second toe in? Basing it on finger names, one can assume it’s the pointer toe. Let’s stick with that. How could it be wrong?) I wanted to make sure it was taken care of before it became debilitating.

So off we went, a two hour drive one way to see our new best friend. After moving Emberly’s legs and feet seven ways from Sunday, we were instructed to remove all her clothes, minus her underwear (same rules as at home! Parenting win!) and walk with her down the main hall. The doctor joked that it was a good thing she wasn’t 14. Inside, I was relieved that she wasn’t 14 and as okay with it as she was now. Naturally she walked perfectly flat footed the first lap. The doctor then had her race daddy. While most of us don’t tiptoe through the tulips while frolicking, Emberly stood higher than a kite on the very tips of her toes. Nothing was holding her back from beating her father at a foot race.

Several options were thrown out as far as treatments, from surgery to botox. It was agreed that Emberly’s case was minor and mostly habit. So instead of even more costly treatments (and I’m sorry, but my child is not getting botox before her mother!) we agreed upon these:

If you don’t focus on the creepy circa 1970’s clown inspired boots, I think they’re pretty kickin.

Emberly seems to agree:

She has a shortened regimen since we’re mainly trying to break the habit and stretch her slightly tight tendons. Two weeks in these bad boys. Tomorrow we’re going back for a new set. After two weeks in those, we should be golden. Just no mention of the tiptoes, which is easier said than done. She is currently obsessed with informing everyone that she had to go to the doctor because she walked on her tiptoes. I don’t think she’ll be forgetting that anytime soon.

 

Completely unrelated, and most likely inappropriate considering this was a post about my daughter, the 12 year old boy in me couldn’t resist letting everyone know that this is my 69th blog post. teeheehee. Milestones!

A change of course

23 Jan

Things have been a bit down around these parts lately. I’ve been drowning in my own self-pity, hoarse from screaming for someone to notice I’m unhappy. I’m tired. I’m tired of the negativity feeding off the anxiety. Today it stops. It may not be a forever stop, but nonetheless a stop for today. As Charles Dickens so cleverly noted, “Change begets change. Nothing propagates so fast.” (thank you to my friend Kelley for reminding me how therapeutic quotes can be.) If I want my world, my happiness to change, I must being that chain of events with my own change.
Instead of doing what comes naturally to me by focusing on the negative, I am going to start this week by focusing on the positive.

This positivity post is dedicated to the man whom takes the brunt of my negativity in stride, my husband. So for you, my love (did that hurt you guys to read as much as it hurt me to type? I am not the sappy person this post will play me out to be.) these are 10 things I love about you write now:

1. I love your strength, physically and emotionally.

2. I love your dedication to your family and your friends. Once you let someone in to your heart, you protect them no matter what.

3. I love your new-found need for all things sugar. Sure it may be a substitute for something else at the moment, but for now, we share a common love, besides our daughter.

4. Speaking of Emberly, I love that it is obvious you are her father (even when her fiery side rears its head).

(With another budding Buffalo Wild Wings enthusiast in the house, we should probably buy stock in the company.)

5. I love your ability to know when I just need a hug, and your follow through with making that happen.

6. I love the fact that even your calloused hands can lovingly wipe the tears from my face.

7. I love the joy I see in your eyes when Emberly does something to amaze you. It’s truly breathtaking to know that we created something to sensational, together.

8. I love that you’ll warm up the garage and stir the paint more than it needs to be stirred, just to share that button pushing moment with Emberly.

9. I love that you are the main chef in our house…and you’re not half bad at it either 😉

10. I love that you are helping around the house in an attempt to help minimize my anxiety.

Most of all, I love that you are willing to put up with me and help me through this anxiety riddled darkness while battling your own demons.

XOXO,

Slut Puppy 😉

Something grabs a hold of me tightly

19 Jan

and I don’t like it. I’ve been known to have bouts of depression, hell, look at my header. Hello?! This time, this time is different. My anxiety has been hitting all time highs. Generally it’s focused on my on-call work. I have absolutely no control on if and when I’ll get called to respond, and that’s the worst part. I make myself sick with the anxious anticipation. I try to let it go and just relax, and for a brief minute I’m free. Until I remember what I was stressing about, and then it kicks into higher gear and I feel even more on edge that my five minutes of bliss will cause the universe to punish me with a troublesome call.

It’s sickening and maddening all at the same time. This obsession with having to feel stressed about being on-call in hopes that my agony is enough for the cosmos to keep everyone else just sane enough that an evaluation from me is not warranted. There’s a constant fear of the unknown, that a call will come through and change my plans. A call I’ll respond to that will lead me to fighting with doctors about my decision, dealing with hospitals pleading my case, all leading me to second guess myself and deem my knowledge useless since I have only a Bachelor’s degree and am surrounded by Master’s level and higher. As if to say that my on the job experience is not enough to satisfy the egomaniacs and render my opinion useless. Yet, they will call upon me at 3 am because they have a “crazy” person who is a little depressed.

flow like a harpoon, daily and nightly

This weekend I hit an all-time low. I managed to stress myself out about being on-call Friday night and even more so for the FOLLOWING weekend. The topper to the stress was finding out my husband had made plans, with no regards to me or my plans, to be gone this coming weekend. Mind you, I was originally on-call the first weekend of this month, but kindly rearranged my schedule per my husband’s request upon returning from his 5 days. My anxiety in regards to on-call is at a steady 8 or 9. However, add to the fact that there is the potential of me having to wake my mother across town in the middle of the night to watch Embers so I can respond to a call, we’re moving upwards of 11 on a scale of 1-10. While I’m not upset at why my husband will be out of town, it’s the way he handled the whole situation. That is neither here nor there at this point. Let’s focus on my self-hatred with anxiety.

We had a gorgeous weekend, weather wise, and figured it was time to see how my new golf clubs worked. I had been feeling on the verge of tears all day for no good reason and was hoping a little sunshine and fresh air would chase it away. As we approached the golf course, we noticed there were people on almost every hole. I am not a great golfer, better with alcohol, but seeing as we’re now sober, I was back to being a complete amateur. My self-esteem issues on the front lines, I began to fret about the other golfers catching up to us, realizing I have a horrible swing and am unsure of how my new clubs handle. I freaked myself out on what others would be witnessing, or not because they were most likely enjoying the gorgeous day. But I, I was not. I was stuck in an anxiety riddled freak out that brought every emotion to the top of my very thin skin. Three swings in to our first hole and I declared myself to be over this outing. I was done. I couldn’t suck it up enough to enjoy the beauty of the day, our life, with my family. As I returned from picking up my ball and letting B finish out the hole, Emberly asked me if I was a “crybaby.” “Well, that’s apparently your dad’s impression of me.”

The tension rose and I cried my way home with Emberly joining in in the back seat. My tears from shame, her tears from being pulled away from a fun activity. Arriving home, B & E went upstairs to watch tv, while I pretended the laundry needed rotated. Instead, I bawled. I wept for ruining our afternoon, a perfect set up for great family memories. I wept for the new-found power this anxiety has on me. I wept for knowing that my husband and my daughter were ashamed of me, mad for letting my issues interfere with their good times.

My apologies were met with head nods and questions as to why we had to leave golfing early. My heart shattered into a million more pieces each time “crybaby” was spewed from a mouth that didn’t understand the true weight of its meaning. I spent the rest of the night ashamed that I was not as strong as I once thought I was. I was unable to control the anxiety beast that lives inside. I was weak.

Will it ever stop? Yo, I don’t know

Anxiety and mild mental instability seem to be hereditary in my family. I wish I could control my issues alone, with no medications. And until we either get pregnant and having a baby OR decide to give up on the roller coaster, I will be forced to fight this battle alone, unarmed. I want so badly to be able to switch my mind over to a glass half-full mode, and I think I can. It’s just a long, hard battle that I need to win. I need to conquer this, for myself, for my family, but most of all, for my daughter who deserves nothing but happiness and adventure from her loving mother.

Turn off the lights, and I’ll glow…my heart will fight this. The fire inside will lead the way.

5 days.

2 Jan

In the grand scheme of things, 5 days is but a blink of an eye. Last week, however, after finding out he wanted to do the 5 days, the anxiety and anticipation of today felt like eternity. In the moment, these 5 days feel like the entire world, like each ticking second is lasting an hour. Each hour is lasting a week. On the other side of these 5 days is still a lifetime.
A lifetime that has purpose, meaning. A lifetime that should be better than the lifetime before these 5 days. And yet, my stomach is churning, my eyes constantly watering. What is to come of the after? Where will these 5 days take us?
There’s the hope of a new beginning, a new life together. A life full of happy and family and memories. All my stomach can comprehend is the lifetime of pain.
What if it doesn’t get better? What if this time isn’t it?
Will he still love me after? Will he still want to fight for us?
Will we be able to tolerate each other without the maladjusted coping skill that will be banned from us after these 5 days?
I don’t know. I can’t know. All I can do right now is focus on living through these next 5 days. Holding out hope that our scared, weeping souls will find peace and a new life…together.
5 days.