Valley of the shadow of the stabbity dolls....

Cute, right? Just watch it after dark....



After all the kids are in bed, I usually stumble around (because of the 2 or so- hey, don’t judge! glasses of wine I drink to help calm my nerves after being poked all day) picking up stray toys. One thing that freaks the bejeezus out of me is when I see a doll lying face down, or in some other contorted position, after being thrown down by the kids. I have a *slightly* irrational fear that the doll, angered with being tossed aside, will come to life and seek revenge.

As I’m sitting on the couch, or lying in my bed, enjoying some TV in the peace and quiet, sipping my next glass of liquid Xanax, I feel something touch my ankles. “Not tonight, Shannon, I’m really tired.” In the soft glow of House Hunters, I see a silhouette of what appears to be a small baby crawling towards me. “Wait, Mikey can’t crawl yet- what the hell?” As it gets closer, I see its glowing red stabbity eyes, fixated on my neck. Its teeth are sharp and pointy, and it is missing hair. “What’s that you’re holding little creepy thing? My scissors? AAAHAHAHHAHHA!” And then I’m lying in a congealing puddle of my own blood, all before those pathetic turds on House Hunters decide that the last house sucks because it’s brand new gourmet appliances are black instead of stainless steel.

So, when I pick up toys, I always am sure to gently pick up the doll, straighten its hair and clothes, and gingerly place it in a comfortable position, preferably facing away from me. I don’t wish to anger the doll gods. Remember this the next time you see Baby Alive….

You're Welcome.

Not your "average" mom....

I was dropping my 13 year old girl off at school the other day after an appointment. In front of the school, there is a turnaround for buses, and the school parking lot. Both areas are connected by a huge sidewalk, which is in view of the window-lined lunchroom. I pulled into the bus turnaround, and said goodbye to Jaeli, when I got an idea....after she got out, I 4x4ed across the sidewalk with my window open, cackling like the wicked witch of the west. Did I mention that I was in full view of the lunchroom which was full of kids? Ha! Jaeli was fully embarrassed, but since she knows that I'm an idiot, she just laughed at me.

I'm not exactly your "average" mom. When I was a little girl, I always said I wanted to have 6 kids. I used to play tea party with all of my stuffed animals, pretending they were my kids crowded around me. I used to pretend that my brother and sister were my kids, and I loved to boss them around and play "mom." I wanted a ton of kids, I just really didn't plan on starting as early as I did. I had my first child when I was 17, and brought her home from the hospital in my Chevelle on my 18th birthday. What a gift to celebrate my entering adulthood! Just barely considered a legal adult, and then I was given a child to raise. Did I make mistakes? Uh, DUH! Of course I thought it was perfectly OK to put her down for a nap and then go for a run around town. I let my 12 year old sister watch her overnight, I let her stay up late, I probably fed her junk food too many times; I was more like her best friend than her mother. We dressed alike, sang together in the car, and went everywhere together. We had alot of fun, and even though it was stressful trying to make ends meet, we always had each other. With her sweet patience, cute little brown eyes, and unconditional love, she taught me how to be a mother, and how to fully love someone, and I taught her how to read.

Fast forward through a few failed relationships, a few more kids, a bunch of tears, alot of laughs, a whole lot of moving, and a bunch of job hopping.

A lot happened in a very short time. I remarried to a wonderful and complicated man, I had 4 kids in 5 years, I went to nursing school for my LPN, we started our own business, we remodeled a home, we bought and sold properties and vehicles, and generally life was insane. I was stressed, he was stressed, and as a result, our family was stressed. I started to lose myself. I started to get a very distorted view of what my life was, and what was expected of me as a mother. As a result, my depression worsened, and everyone around me felt my unhappiness. I was bitchy, irritable, crabby, and found it very hard to be happy. While striving to be the perfect mom, I was ultimately killing the very thing I wanted- a happy family. I was trying as hard as I could to make my family and home and myself perfect, but I only succeeded in putting my marriage on the rocks, alienating my family,making my kids unhappy, and making myself even more depressed. No one
likes a constant complainer. Don't get me wrong, I've always had issues with depression and anxiety- even when I was very young. It just magnified more and more with each child and the stresses of life.

A few weeks ago, it came to a head when me and my sister stopped speaking. She told me that I was making her miserable every time we saw each other, and that she hated my husband, (because all I did was complain about him). Naturally, he didn't seem like the perfect husband or father. So alot of it was my fault. Since we were very close, it hurt alot.

I realized that I needed to do some soul-searching. I discovered that over the years, I had lost myself more and more with each child I gave birth to. And my sister was right. I was making everyone else miserable, because I was unhappy with myself. I had been a bitch and a jerk. I needed a good kick in the ass. I said to myself, what the hell?! I used to be so fun and happy and stupid (in a good way). But I had turned into this person who viewed herself as needing to give up everything and be perfect in every way. I used to be someone who didnt' care what anybody thought, and was deliciously weird. But up until a few weeks ago, I was just not fully myself. I was trying to be 2 different people. My inner self was trying to come out, and was conflicting with the image of what I thought I needed to be, and that constant inner turmoil just made me bitchy.

So where does it say that once that baby pops out, you instantly must be a martyr and put yourself last on your list? I don't recall signing anything in the hospital saying, "now that you are a mother, you must give up all of your interests, put your child and husband first, trade in your cute clothes for ratty XL sweatpants and greasy hair, and act like a soccer mom clone. You will parent this child perfectly, and if you make any mistake, you must feel guilty for years." But that was how I acted. And I suspect that it's happened to alot more of us moms. You go so long doing so much for everyone else, and not feeling like you get anything in return. You don't have time to do the things that make you happy, you don't have time for hobbies, and it feels like your days are endless cycles of preparing meals, cleaning, breaking up fights, and wiping boogers. You wear clothes with permanent slobber stains on the shoulders, you don't wear jewelry because your baby tries to pull out your earrings, and you don't go to nice restaurants because you don't want to disturb people. your home decor is easy clean and your favorite things are replaced by mountains of toys. You plan your days around naptimes and feeding times. Absolutely everything starts to revolve around your kids. You fall into bed at the end of the day, and realize you still have to pee, and you forgot to feed the dog, and need to make a lunch for some kid to take on a field trip.

Well, I give you permission to do what YOU want to do. Be a little selfish. Of course, we all love our kids. But no one benefits from a frazzled old nag for a mom and wife. I had things in my head of what I wanted to do once my kids were out of the house. Some of them were as simple as having my tea in a comfy chair looking out at the lake, finally being able to wear jewelry, painting more (I enjoy it, even though I suck), reading more, and wearing my favorite fun outfits. I didn't do these things before because I felt guilty taking time away from the kids. I thought I needed to spend every minute with them. Every mom with small children knows, however, that every waking moment spent trying to please your kids just makes you wacky-pants and eventually leads you to the corner, where you rock back and forth blowing bubbles.

I didn't change overnight. It takes a long time to try to get these societal expectations out of our heads. I still get crabby. But now it's because of normal day to day irritations. Yeesh, with 6 kids in a small house and this long Minnesota winter, even Mother Theresa would have lost her marbles.  It's not just about time for yourself, it's about being true to you, and letting your personality shine through your parenting.

Be yourself, even as a mother, and trust your instincts. I know too many moms who make themselves crazy reading every parenting book out there, and trying every pinterest project they get their hands on. But your kids can smell bullshit a mile away. Go with your gut.  Life is just too short to live it by someone else's rules.

Anti-Depressants and the Modern Mom

In the 60’s it was Valium. A little yellow pill that promised to make a housewife’s daily duties a little easier to bear.  Dubbed “Mother’s Little Helper” in 1966 by the Rolling Stones, Valium rapidly became the most prescribed drug in history. And why not? Women at the time were the quintessential stay at home mom. Responsible for most of the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping and parenting duties. Fathers in 1965 spent an average of 2.5 hours per week with their children, says USA Today. Not to mention the standard at the time was of hosting elaborate dinner parties, having impeccable manners for herself as well as her children, and making sure her family was dressed perfectly at all times. Need I remind you all that there was NO TARGET at that time?! No Pizza Hut delivery. No McDonald's drive thrus. No Pinterest! (GASP!) No online shopping at night to help ease the stress of a day spent getting pecked to death by the chickens who are our children!

It is of little wonder then, that women were raising their white flags, crying out to their doctors for help. Motherhood is absolutely without a doubt the hardest job a woman will ever have. But was Valium just a band-aid?

Yes, and pills are still being used as band-aids, some people say. This is the subject of a heated debate which is currently running through chat rooms, appearing on talk shows (recently on Anderson Cooper), discussed in magazines and being whispered about at playgroups. Parenting.com reports that more than 1 in 5 adults now take some type of medication to treat a behavioral or psychological disorder. But some moms say that all of this medicating is detrimental to our parenting skills. They argue that medication may dull and cloud our judgements, and is not necessary. Some even go so far as to say that mothers need parenting classes and diet and exercise changes and their anxiety and depression problems will all but disappear.

Here’s the deal. These statements piss me off. Makes me want to karate-kick those soap-boxers in the taco. Yeah, yeah, I’m sure there are a few people out there who get a prescription for Xanax just to get their rocks off. But for the hundreds of moms (and dads!) out there who truly need help to cope with day to day life, their medications are just as much a lifesaver as insulin is to a diabetic.

I speak from experience. I’ve taken some form of anti-depressant and/or anti-anxiety for the past 9 years, on and off. Now, for most people, 6 kids alone would be enough to send them over the edge. ;) But back in 2004, I had a 5 year old, and a new baby, and I was going through a very rocky marriage, which ultimately led to divorce. Life was very stressful. At times, I even felt as if I was having an out of body experience, looking down at myself as I sobbed on the floor in the corner, night after night. It was more than just the sadness and pain of an ending relationship. It was as if something in my head had finally snapped. I finally saw my doctor, who, after a very long conversation and many questions, gave me a prescription for an antidepressant. Turns out, mental illness is, in fact, genetic. And it is rampant in my family. Rampant like dirty sweatpants at Wal-Mart. I was prescribed a few different medications, until I found one that worked for me and with me. And I have been on that medication on and off (taking time off during pregnancies) for the past 9 years.

When I have not been taking the medication (during pregnancies or breastfeeding), I feel bad. Really BAD. Small things which would not bother “normal” people, such as a glass of juice tipping over, or finding out the dog dug up my tulips, a spat with the husband, following a slow driver, or burning the dinner, will send me over the edge. I will sob, scream, yell, and since there are a few chips out of our laminate floor, I also have to admit I have thrown things. A few crumbs on the floor will compulse me into sweeping and scrubbing the entire floor. A smudge on a window will force me into cleaning all of the windows in the house. A child’s temper tantrum will make me want to stab myself in the eye repeatedly with a rusty fork. Make that both eyes. This is NOT the version of me I want my kids to see. No amount of exercise or diet change can 100% fix those kinds of psychological issues. And how can exercise help when you are too weighted down by depression to even get off the couch?

When I have been taking my medication, I can absolutely feel the difference. I feel calmer, and I feel like I can slow down and take a deep breath first, before I react. That second in time gives me what I need to be a good mother to my kids. I don’t feel like I am in a daze or fog at all, in fact, I feel more alive and conscious of what is going on around me. I have the energy and motivation to get through my days. Obviously, with 6 children (4 of them 6 and under) some days are still a challenge, and I still get overwhelmed easily. But now it is not EVERY day, ALL the time. I know for a fact that I could not function without medication. I know that there are many more moms like me who need their daily “helper.” I’m not saying everyone need medicating, I’m simply asking that we don’t judge those of us that do. Motherhood is hard enough without dealing with enemy spies in our trenches! Of course, diet and exercise can help with depression and anxiety. Duh. Just eat a few cupcakes- see how jittery and anxious you get! But if exercise and diet aren’t enough to help you, I strongly urge you to consult your family doctor. Between the two of you, you can come up with a plan of action that can best suit your needs. Now I’m off to have a glass of wine. After all, what goes better with wine than a little SSRI?

KIDDING! ;)

Moms go through phases, too!

"Oh, don't mind Timmy, he's just going through a biting phase."
"UGH! She's going through a damn princess phase right now and that Disney shit is driving me nuts!"
"Little Susie is in a naked phase. She refuses to wear clothes and even strips down in public!"

Most mothers have uttered a phrase like this about each their kids at one time or another.
The funny thing is, I don't think we ever grow out of going through phases. I have gone through so many phases even through my adulthood. Here are a few of my more ill-fated phases, not necessarily in the order that I had the pleasure of experiencing them:

The "quiltmaking" phase where I had all good intentions of making a bunch of quilts and raking in the cash selling them on Etsy.  I didn't factor in my lack of patience, or my lack of skill.

The "bad short mom-haircut" phase. How unfortunate.

The "I cut my hair myself, isn't it cute!" phase. Again, how unfortunate. Looking like you stuck your hair in a wood chipper is not what most people go for.

The "I have a whole bunch of high heels that I bought, so I'm really glamorous and sexy (but all I wear are these shitty sneakers)" phase.

The "I want to be taken seriously as a really good mom so I'm going to dress in high waisted front-butt jeans and button down shirts (with my short hair)" phase.

The "I'm going to get really fit so I'm going to run everyday and eat no carbs" phase. This didn't last. I was irritable and bitchy from lack of sugar and artificial ingredients.

The "I want to be a really cool mom so I'm going to wear labels like American Eagle and Hollister plastered across my chest" phase. This just made me look stupid. We all know moms who are in this phase.

The unsuccessful "I want to be artsy and cool so I'm going to buy a ton of brushes and paints" phase. Paint and canvas does not an artist make.

The "punky" phase where I put safety pins and plaid patches on my jeans and shirts in an effort to appear mysterious and tough. I just looked like I couldn't afford clothes.

The "midlife crisis" phase where I tried to bleach my hair to be young and hip and it turned orange. My daughter said I looked like an oompa loompa. Not exactly the look I was going for.

The "shabby chic" phase where I painted everything in my home with crackle paint. Ick. It was like living in Goodwill.

The doomed "red lipstick" phase. It does NOT work for everyone.

The "everyone else is wearing skinny jeans so I should get some too!" phase. I tried on no less than 267 pairs. The combination of light pink skinny jeans, fluorescent lighting, my turkey drumstick thighs and my dimply cottage cheese ass was not pretty horrendous.

The phase where I would say things like, "UGH, GAG me with a spoon!" and "Whatever!" and "Like, oh my god, I totally LOVE your sweater!" I was not, am not, nor ever will be, a valley girl from the 90's.

Sometimes trends and hobbies just aren't meant for you. But the only way you will find out is to try them. Just know that your friends and family may be snickering behind you....

The lightbulb amid the mess

I used to want our family to be all nice to each other, and gentle all the time. And use kind words and be, well, kinda like the family that travels the country in a psychadelic bus, singing about love and happiness and peace, wearing handmade clothes and hugging all the time and parenting our kids perfectly.

This morning, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. (for the second time. Mikey woke me up at 530 and then I brought him down for Shannon to take 2nd shift at 6 while I went back to bed)...I was awoken by screaming kids, and my husband was telling me it was "a TRAINWRECK!" and I needed to get downstairs. There was wet cereal all over the floor, Mikey was crabby, Jaeli was upset because of boy issues and missed the bus, Brennan almost missed the bus and forgot his lunch, Brielle fell down the stairs, and Emily was crying. Who knew where Lilly was. What was my reaction? Of course I started in on the man.

I yelled. I said a few choice words. Basically, I was a B. Capital B. And he yelled back. And said a few choice words. He left with Emily and Jaeli to take J to school. While he was gone, and I was on my hands and knees cleaning up sticky milk and cereal, I realized that I had been mean. And that I have a tendency to blame him when anything goes wrong.

I don't know why I have been having so many "AHA" moments lately, but I am really appreciative of my butt getting kicked. Maybe it's because I'm finally realizing that I am the only one responsible for my happiness- I have a choice in how I react, after all. I used to complain because "My husband is mean, and he never understands me, and he's crabby all the time..." I used to try to pin the blame on other things. My depression and anxiety, lack of sleep, a bad day, the kids. But it’s not them. It’s me. And how I see the situation. It gets all distorted in my head; the more I dwell on it, the more I see it as “woe is me”. The great disservice here, however, is the one I’ve been dealing my husband. I learned about self-fulfilling prophesy in college; what I did not learn was “man-fulfilling-prophesy.” The more I crabbed about him, to myself and to others, the more I felt like he was an idiot. (And I’m sure they thought he was a garden of roses)

So, I sucked up my pride, and apologized. And then he apologized. And then he brought me donuts. And I ate his as well as mine and he just smiled.

When he went back to his office to work, I realized something. (HUGE lightbulb.) I realized that my family will NEVER be that huggy, smiley, “fa la la everything is perfect”, June Cleaver family. We have fights, we have name calling, we have yelling, we have messes. But I know that we also have a lot of fun together, we have a ton of love and hugs, and that, in itself, is plenty good enough.