They other night while giving my daughter a bath she said, “Mom, I bet you wish you were a kid.” I asked her why, anxious to hear what she had to say about the matter. Her response was, “because we get to play and you have to work.”
It got me thinking about several things.
First, when was the last time I played? I mean really played like a kid…not caring what others think, oblivious to everything else around me? The answer…it’s been way too long.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy playing with My Little Pony with my daughter and Little People with my son, but I would be lying if I said my whole heart was in it. I need to think about what I enjoy doing as much as my children enjoy playing with ponies or little people, and then do more of it!
Second, does work have to be a bad thing? The answer is no. For many years I had a job that I tolerated, even liked for awhile, but found towards the end that it was work in the worse send of the word. I had no satisfaction, no mental stimulation, no joy in it. I am happy to say that these days I have a job that I enjoy going to. Gone are the days of dreading Monday morning. I find satisfaction and fulfillment in the actual job and in the relationships I have with my co-workers.
So, yes, I HAVE to work in order to pay for things I need. However, it doesn’t really feel like work in the four-letter sense.
Find your passion in work AND play.
- Malinda Moseley
I never met my mother-in-law. Not in this lifetime, anyway. She died a year before I even met my husband. I have heard about her in stories, seen home movies of her, and looked at her beautiful face in photos. I would have liked to have met her and talked with her. Especially now that I have a son. I would love to ask her advice on raising a boy as well as hear, from a mom’s perspective, what it was like raising my husband.
Last week marked the 15th anniversary of her death. Every year, since 1997, my husband and I have gone together to her grave. It sits on a large grassy hill close to a tree-line. The view is quite breathtaking. It is peaceful there. My 5-year-old daughter has gone with us every year of her short life. She is only now really aware of the fact that her daddy’s mommy is not alive. This brings up all sorts of questions that are directed to me: “Why did she die?…Why did she get sick?…Who will be my mommy when you die?” Hard questions to answer. But, I try.
This year, we continued the tradition and took a bunch of fresh-cut flowers (my mother-in-law did not like the idea of fake flowers) to her grave. Our 11-month-old son accompanied us. I don’t know why, but I felt as if I were introducing him to her for the first time. I stood there with my baby boy in one arm, my other arm around her baby boy, and felt somehow connected to her.
My daughter took the flowers and placed them on the grave, and then stood there in the sun in her sparkly pink shoes and laughed and danced right there on her grave. The lyrics of a Jars of Clay song came to mind…
“Not silhouette of trodden faith
Nor death shall not my steps be guide
I’ll pirouette upon mine grave
For in Your path I’ll run and hide”
As I watched my husband carry my son back towards the car with my daughter laughing and running ahead of him, I whispered to this woman I have never met, yet feel that I know, ”thank you.”
- Malinda Moseley
First, I want to thank Amanda and Joslyne for their posts on postpartum depression. I suffered PPD after my first child was born. In fact, it was such an ordeal for me that the thought of having another child and possibly going through the depression again paralyzed me. I did go on to have another child…four and 1/2 years later. I confess I was scared to death when I found out I was pregnant. I did not have the elated reaction my husband was expecting. It was because I was afraid of how hard postpartum would be. I must thank my OB/GYN and nurse practitioner for helping me come up with a plan on how the entire birth process would go. Because we were proactive, I had hope. My experience the second time around was much better than the first.
The other day I was listening to the radio when I heard a news blurb about Postpartum Depression in men. It’s something I never really thought about before. But, it makes perfect sense. According to Postpartummen.com, every day over 1000 new dads in the United States become depressed. In addition, if the mother is suffering from PPD, there’s a good chance the father is suffering from depression, too. In fact, up to half of men whose partners have postpartum depression are depressed themselves.
If you know of a new dad that is struggling, there is help and there is hope.
Here are a few resources that might help:
Postpartummen.com
Postpartumdads.org
Study Finds Dads Suffer Postpartum Depression
- Malinda Moseley
Last week Amanda Dixon wrote about Postpartum Depression. Thanks Amanda! And because I don’t think enough people talk about it or acknowledge it, I am going to share my story. Technically, what I had was Post-Adoption Depression but depression after a baby is depression after a baby. It sucks. Actually, it’s worse than that: It is suffering. It is shame. It is soul breaking.
I remember feeling like a shadow of myself – thin and stretched and so tired. I couldn’t summon the energy to talk to my husband, to coo at my daughter. At night I would rock my perfect little baby and cry, or just stare out the window at the street lamp, unable to connect with the tiny person in my arms. And then I couldn’t sleep. I was so tired and I couldn’t sleep. I would lay in the guest room so as not to wake my husband and I would cradle a pillow to my chest trying to keep myself together, trying to keep my aching and empty heart in my chest. I would think about what a terrible mother I was, what a failure. I couldn’t tell anyone how much I was hurting – I didn’t have the words, I didn’t have the energy, and I was so ashamed. How could I want a baby so badly – go through all that we did to get her – and then feel like this? How could I be such an awful person?
This went on for months. I thought no one knew. But people did. I know now that my parents and my husband noticed. But they were scared to talk to me about it. Finally my acupuncturist talked to me about it. He told me it was OK, it was normal, he told me I was not alone. And he told me I would be OK. I believed him. His words were a spec of light in the dark pit of depression. I did what he said – I made an appointment with my doctor, I talked to my husband and parents. And the relief was immense. It was huge. It was like the first warm sun of the spring.
I made some decisions. I went on medication. I asked for help. I talked about my feelings and fears a little more. And slowly I found my way back to the light, to myself, and to my daughter.
If you have a new baby, you might be feeling alone. Babies are cute but they are lousy conversationalists. No one tells you that becoming a mom is incredibly isolating. It is. If you have a new baby, you may be feeling sad. You may be feeling mad. You may be feeling worse than you have ever felt before. It’s OK. There are others of us who have been there. We can help you. Tell someone. Email someone. Reach out. There are lots of other moms out there waiting to grab your hand and pull you up into the light.
(Much thanks to Steve, my acupuncturist, and Niki, my first mom friend, who pulled me into the light)
- Joslyne Decker
For decades, books have warned parents-to-be about the “baby blues”, the feelings new moms have a few days to a week after their bundle of joy arrives. It’s hard to settle in and enjoy your adorable little one when you are sleep deprived and sore but most mom’s don’t know that if they stay blue or start feeling sad, irritable, anxious, or have irrational feelings that they may be suffering from postpartum depression. PPD affects 10-20% of new moms and can appear after second or third pregnancies or even later ones. Although healthcare workers are still learning about this disease, there are resources and help available. PPD is not the same as postpartum psychosis, a rare disorder that only affects 1/1,000 women.
Being a mom is the hardest job you’ll ever love but it’s even harder if you feel sad, anxious, or alone. If you think you have PPD, talk to someone you trust and get help.
- Amanda Dixon
My two year-old daughter has many fine qualities. Zoey can sing “Fara Shaka”. She can count to twelve (sometimes skipping over six, sometimes not). She can pretend to read like nobody’s business. She is excellent at hosting tea parties – she will even put sugar and butter in your imaginary tea. She lets her doll babies go through life al fresco. She loves to wash her hands. Zoey believes that my kiss will make any boo-boo better. And Zoey is excellent at finding spiders and sounding the alarm: “Uh-oh! UH-OH! SPYYYYYYYYYYYYYY-RRRRRRRR! SPYYYYYYYYY-RRRRRRR!”
But, alas, my daughter is not a good sleeper. Never has been. It is rare that she sleeps through the night. And she is awake during the night or the very early morning for HOURS on a regular basis. For example, last night. Zoey tossed and turned and called for me about every 30 minutes from 12:30 AM until 3:10 AM. “MOM-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Cover Zoey up!” or “MOM-EEEEEEEEEEEEE cover hippo up!” She has yet to acquire the refined skill of sheet-keeping-on.
But then, at 3:10, there was a full scale melt down. Tears! Screaming! Whining! Kicking! So I climbed into bed with my daughter and sang her every song I know. Literally. My dad reported that he heard me singing “99 Bottles of Beer” to her and “wondered” about my song choice. And, I must say, for some reason it’s rather embarrassing to have your father overhear you singing “99 Bottles of Beer” to your daughter at 3 something in the morning. I did tell him that I was imagining root beer but my dad seemed unimpressed. So after I exhausted my song repertoire, I told Zoey the story of “The Sound of Music”. The ENTIRE story. I sang the songs. I described Maria’s floaty blue dress and the calculating baroness’ oddly yellow hair. I described the green and snow peaked mountains and how the family Von Trapp escaped into happily ever after. And . . . the kid was still awake. At which point she decided it would be amusing to hit me repeatedly in the head. Which I suppose it was. For one of us.
As I am writing this my lovely and many fine quality-ed daughter is supposed to be napping. But what she is actually doing is growling at herself and then cracking up. Also, she is attempting to stand on her head. I’m not sure what to say about this except that her growl is very realistic and she gets points for headstand perseverance. So there’s two more things to add to her list of fine qualities. There are so many things on that list. Because, even through my sleepy haze, my daughter is wondrous, and wonderful, and so many other things I haven’t discovered yet.
- Joslyne Decker
So this past weekend was Mother’s Day. And it wasn’t a great day for me. Nothing terribly horrific happened. It just wasn’t the celebration I imagined. Partly because our two year old woke up at 4 AM. For the day. And partly because my husband had to get back on a plane to Tennessee that evening. But mostly the day was a downer because I had set my expectations so high. I imagined walking around under blue sky hand in hand with my daughter. There we would be in our sundresses, meandering among green grass and flowers, the sun warming our shoulders. Every few minutes my daughter would surely look up at me and tell me what a great mom I am. My husband would sling his arm around my waist and wax poetic about my many fine and motherly qualities. I would feel . . . complete. Competent. And, dare I say, I imagined feeling blissful.
But instead, the morning was spent in a crabby haze where Mother’s Day was forgotten due to tiredness and necessity. I felt exhausted and overextended and underappreciated. I was reminded that while I love my daughter with my whole heart, some days I do not love being a mom. I’ll spare you the detailed caveats about how I wouldn’t give my daughter up for anything, about how she is the most special thing to ever happen to me. Although both those things are true.
Instead, I’ll tell you that on Mother’s Day I learned to accept myself a little more. I got the courage to say (and write) that I do not love every moment of motherhood. Nope, I am not one of those moms. Instead, I believe that those other moms are either a) crazy or b) lying. And yes, part of that comes from being jealous. Because if those moms are telling the whole truth, well, it makes me feel a little smaller and a little less good. But I’m working on it. I’m working on growing into my mom self. I’m working on feeling good about the kind of mom I am. And for me, that starts with being honest. So this is for me and for the other exhausted moms out there: I do not always like being a mom. Sometimes I don’t want to be the mom. Sometimes I resent it. And that’s OK. I am still a good mom. And Mother’s Day was a great day to realize that.
- Joslyne Decker
"It all feels a little like walking towards a cliff I know I have to jump off."
My family is in the middle of moving to Boston. “In the middle of” can loosely be translated as a time of chaos that is marked by abandonment of the regular routine, short tempers, high stress, fights over whether or not to keep the bread maker*, and general wackadoodleness. My daughter, Zoey, and I are in South Carolina spending some quality time with The Grandparents while my husband is back in Tennessee overseeing the taupeifying of our home – new carpet, neutral paint, sparse surfaces, sparkling floors. In general, that is not how we live. We prefer brightly painted rooms, meaningful clutter, and wisps of dog hair in the corner. But hey, we know that’s not for everyone.
So here we are — our small family on the verge of a huge change. Our house no longer feels or looks like ours. Our stuff is in boxes. Our pets have been flown off to temporary residences with family up north. And my little family of 3 is apart. It all feels a little like walking towards a cliff I know I have to jump off. Yes, there’s water not too far below that will catch me and cradle me and gently push me to the sandy bank of our new life. But I would really prefer to jump holding someone’s hand. Or maybe forgo the jumping all together — skip the shock of ocean water. But then, I would miss out on the swim to the shore. I would miss walking out of the water dripping, shining, and changed. Changed for having tried something new. Changed for having done something that scared me a little bit. So every day we all edge closer to that cliff. The sun on our face and our hands outstretched, ready to clasp each other tightly just before we leap into the salt blue air.
*It should be noted that, in fact, we did not keep the bread maker. (I won! I won!)
- Joslyne Decker
Nashville Flood
City officials in Nashville are asking people to cut their water usage by one half. The math seems easy, but the call is too abstract. The intentions are great, but the call isn’t urgent enough – nor is it easy to understand.
After all, who out there can tell me – right now - how many gallons of water you use each day?Anyone? Of course not. It’s not something you normally keep track of. You never needed to. It was never a concern. You could easily tell me what you spent at Starbucks yesterday or how often you fill your gas tank. But no one knows how much water they use. How then can you know if you cut your usage by 50%?
Instead, the city needs to be direct on how to use (or not use) water. Don’t give me vague numbers. Tell me what to do. If they won’t, we will.
- Don’t wash your car. Don’t.
- Cut off your sprinkler system at home and at work (we’re looking at you, Bicentennial Mall).
- Smell your armpits. Do you stink? No? Don’t shower. Your friends will still be your friends.
- Don’t wash your clothes unless you’re out of underwear. Put on jeans and a T shirt and go to work. If your boss gives you crap, let him know there is a flood.
- Let the dirty dishes stack up. No one will judge you.
- Use and reuse the same drinking glass all day.
- If you must shower, get in and out in four minutes. Set a timer. Be diligent.
- Don’t shave. Armpits, legs, face, back, or knuckles.
- Your dog? He can also go without a bath for a few days.
- It’s time to use a bucket. Any time you turn the faucet on, catch the water and use it to wash what needs washing. Don’t toss it out or just let it run down the drain.
- Don’t use a hose to clean off debris and dirt from your sidewalk. Let it dry and use a broom. If you’re unfamiliar with what a broom is, click here.
- You don’t have to flush your toilet every time you use it. We’ll let you be the judge on how often you flush. Just see what happens if you let it mellow for a bit.
Chances are, if you do the above, you’ll cut your usage by more than half. But who’s counting?
- Sam Davidson
Posted in Activities, Attitude of Gratitude, Conservation & the Environment, Education, Family, Food & Beverage, Health & Wellness, Healthcare & Medical Issues, Recycle and Reuse, Safety, Volunteer
Here are some quick ways to make Mother’s Day a bit more green (and to help Mom go green at home or at work). And, we think she’ll like these gifts, too.
- Give a waste-free gift (and create no trash or recycling needs in the process).
- Go practical and give mom some things to save money on her energy bill.
- Give the gift of conversation.
- Give your time to Mom (this may seem obvious, but it’s often overlooked, always under appreciated, and rarely valued correctly – and we all have it).
- Sam Davidson
