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Babies: Some Assembly Required.

I have a new baby nephew!!!! Well, not so new any more….he’s almost 2 months old.

He got off to a bit of a rough start. “Some assembly required,” my brother joked. We can joke about that now. We couldn’t make that joke then – and you know things are bad when there are no jokes, because that’s what my family does in difficult situations. It was over a week before the first one came along – the first picture of the baby in a hat inspired his first nickname: “Master has given Dobby CLOTHES!”

Sometimes it's not that easy: When your baby is Some Assembly Required

So little Dobby had a rough start, but things got better. The word “miraculous” was tossed around, always modified by “almost” because we don’t like to risk overstating the situation. That’s another thing we do. Along with ironic sound-effects when we show physical affection or back into parking spaces and M*A*S*H references.

Oh, and sudden changes of subject, expecting our audience to just keep up. That too.

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Are you Elsa or Anna? What Frozen says about depression.

We received our pre-ordered* copy of Frozen yesterday, and now that my kids have now watched it about 87 times, I fancy myself somewhat of an expert on the movie. Based on personal experience, I also fancy myself somewhat of an expert on depression. This post is whence the twain shall meet.

Frozen DVD

Ben and Molly are overjoyed to receive their Frozen DVD

Since Frozen was released in theatres, it has been receiving quite the buzz – I’ve heard about it being an amazingly feminist movie – Disney finally redeeming itself for decades of Princess culture. I’ve heard that it’s allegory for gay pride and/or propaganda for ‘the homosexual agenda.’ I’ve heard from people who refuse to watch it until they stop hearing that goddamn song 8 times a day. I’ve heard from people who love that goddamn song so much that they sing along to it 8 times a day (*cough* me *cough*). And I’ve heard that it’s a piece of irritating garbage with half-rate singers, cheesy melodies, and the worst Princess-related story-line Disney has ever written.

My take on the movie itself? I’m a fan. I enjoyed the music and Disney’s deliberate send-up of its own patriarchal history of damsels in distress, handsome princes on white steeds, and true love at first sight. There was a cute blink-and-you-missed-it nod to diversity with a presumed 2-dad family and a neat twist on the usual moustache-twirling villain. Like so many children’s books and movies though, even with those giant leaps forward it still barely squeaked past the Bechdel test and there wasn’t a person of colour to be found (but no ethnic caricatures, so baby steps, right?).

Now we get to the part of the post about depression – the part that I start hyperventilating every time I think about writing. In so many ways…more and more each time I think about it…Frozen provides a perfect metaphor for depression. Beyond that, Frozen manages to provide dual perspectives – showing us a view of depression from both inside and out.**

Frozen stickers

Are you an Elsa or an Anna – Or maybe both?

We don’t all get literally shut away in our rooms and directed to not let anyone see how we feel, but the messages are all around us, every day:

Snap out of it. ••• Boys don’t cry. ••• Put on your big girl panties. ••• Man up. •••This too shall pass. ••• It could always be worse, right? ••• Behind the clouds, the sun is shining. ••• Every cloud has a silver lining. ••• Tomorrow is another day. ••• What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. ••• Take it like a man. ••• Don’t air your dirty laundry in public. ••• It’s all in your head. ••• Life’s not fair. ••• Time heals all wounds. ••• Into every life a little rain must fall. ••• Pull yourself together. ••• Try and think about something else. ••• Fake it till you make it. ••• Smile and the world smiles with you, cry and you cry alone.

Like Elsa, many of us with depression are expected to have our ‘moments’ in private, hiding away and telling ourselves over and over, “Don’t let it out. Don’t feel. Don’t let them see,” until we have mastered the knack of acting like regular people, at least when it matters. And when you’re depressed you want to do that anyway – it’s exhausting out there! Like Elsa shut up in her room, I had a mantra in high school – I sang Simon and Garfunkel in my head, over and over – “I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.” I still get knots in my stomach when I hear that song or even think those words. “Don’t let it out. Don’t feel. Don’t let them see. Don’t feel. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.” Out and about, of course, you do your best to fake it – act normal, keep up with your schoolwork, get good marks; “Don’t let them in. Don’t let them see. Be the good girl you always have to be.”

When depressed, many people, myself included, engage in self-destructive behaviour, either because it gives you an outlet – a real reason, a tangible excuse for all those feels in your head that shouldn’t be there because there’s nothing really wrong, or because it can blunt those feelings, if only temporarily. Many people are also carers – If you spend all of your energy looking after the people around you, you just don’t have time or energy to think about yourself. Bonus points if they are dealing with real actual problems that are worse than your imagined ones so you can tell yourself you’re upset because you’re worried about them!

And like Elsa, for many people there comes a point when it’s just too hard to keep up that façade. Something brushes past your desperately clinging fingers, and all those emotions finally burst out. And often that’s followed by a sense of relief and calm – when you hit rock bottom, you finally have the freedom to be yourself. You don’t have to answer to anyone. You don’t have to pretend anymore. And it doesn’t matter what people think – You are perfectly okay the way you are, and they should just leave you alone and let you be. You’re not hurting anyone, right? It doesn’t concern them. You can build your ice castle up around you, shut the world out and be yourself by yourself.

But as we saw with Elsa, depression doesn’t just stop at being sad. Depression is a selfish illness – and before you react to that statement, please hear me out, because I’ve got the damn thing, so I’m pretty comfy owning that statement. When I’m depressed, I’m pretty effing selfish. When you’re depressed you’re irritable, rage-filled, irrational, unable to enjoy ordinary enjoyable things; you can’t sleep; you sleep too much; you’re lazy and unmotivated – and those traits don’t just impact you. They impact everyone around you. Recall Ben’s, “other kids’ parents play with them, but you don’t.” When you’re depressed, you don’t have the motivation to play with your kids, to tidy your house, or to keep your temper at the best of times, let alone when your kids or spouse are getting to you.

JD Bailey, Honest Mom, has written about the scariest part of depression – the rage. This is a fury that bursts out of you, uncontrollable and terrifying in its intensity. You feel it building inside of you – heart pounding, jaw clenching, until it gets to a point where it’s unstoppable and suddenly you’re lashing out, verbally, physically, mentally. Not everyone experiences the rage, but if you do it’s terrifying – for you and for the people around you. This can be the point for a lot of people when you realize that you need help. Up until now, you have held it all in and let yourself believe that it’s not affecting the people around you – but the first time you create that giant snow monster and set it loose on people, screaming, “DON’T COME BACK, (or “JUST EAT YOUR DINNER,” or “WHY WON’T YOU JUST SLEEP?” the impact on those you love becomes undeniable.

There was a meme sweeping Facebook last week starring Eeyore:

eeyore

Image from http://www.strongmindbraveheart.com/10-things-depression/

It urges us to accept people with depression as they are, warts, unhappiness, and all – and I agree, up to a point. It is important to let yourself, and your loved ones, feel. If you need to grieve, grieve. If someone is hurting, don’t tell them “It could be worse,” or “Pull yourself together.” People need space to be upset, to be sad, to be angry – but there is an extremely fine line between supporting and enabling. Poor Eeyore – his friends patted him on the back, helped him find his tail, and rebuilt his house of sticks when it got blown away, and I’m sure he really appreciated it. But he was still sad. And at some point, probably one by one, they said, “Oh, screw it, I guess that’s just Eeyore,” and they still let him tag along, because they didn’t want to be mean, and they let him just be his depressed self. And Eeyore was still sad.

And it might not have helped, but then again it might have, if one of them had said, “Hey Eeyore? I know it’s not really any of my business, and I’m not judging you, but we’ve found your tail and fixed your house and it just seems like you’re hurting a lot and you’re never really happy. I care about you and I really want to help you get the help you need.” And maybe Eeyore would have said piss off, which is fair, and hopefully that friend would have said, “Okay, buddy. I’m here though whenever you’re ready.” But maybe Eeyore would have had a good cry on that friend’s shoulder because finally someone got that he was sad, and he didn’t even know why, and he did want to figure out how to stop it, and then maybe he and that friend might have started Googling some options.

Frozen had a happy ending. The much more difficult ending would have been the one where Anna, out of self-preservation, has to let go herself – letting go of guilt and walking away, understanding that whatever that other person decides to do, it is not up to you to change them. There can come a point, in loving someone who is depressed, when you have to love yourself more. I’ve done it. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t pretty, but it was hands down the best decision I ever made.

Elsa needed Anna, because by herself, she didn’t know that she wasn’t okay, and Anna stepped up and, against all odds, reached out, again and again. People with depression need Annas. It’s hard to do it on your own – first because you don’t always realize that you need help and after that because even when you realize it, that help is not easy to get. Even when Elsa pushed her away, and even when Elsa hurt her, she kept reaching out, until finally Anna was able to break through Elsa’s self-involvement, to show her that isolating herself wasn’t protecting anyone, and that even though her actions were affecting her loved ones, they loved her and wanted her, warts and all – but only the warts she wanted to keep.

Elsa kept her powers – the magic that was integral to her personality – but got the help she needed to be able to control it, not be controlled by it. Her power no longer called the shots. People with depression can be pretty awesome. We often have wicked cool senses of humour – Elsa created Olaf, didn’t she? Scratch the surface of many very funny and talented people (The Bloggess***, and pretty well every other humour blogger in the world) and comedic actors, for example – and you’ll often find depression. We tend to be realists and are pretty comfortable with our own warts…and maybe a little too comfortable pointing out other peoples’.

If, like Elsa and Anna, we find that happy ending, we don’t become different people – we’re generally the same dry, sarcastic, realistic people as before, just a little easier to live with, and finding it a little easier to live with ourselves.

~ karyn

 

 

 

*Pre-ordering? Not actually a thing. You order. You don’t pre-order. Ordering is when you say, “Can I have this when it’s ready?” Pre-ordering would be saying, “Can I have this when it’s ready to be ready?” or something. Like pre-registering – what the heck is that? What do you do when you pre-register? You say, “Sign me up for that thing I want to do! Here’s all my information!” You know what I call that? REGISTERING. Yeesh.

**For another take on Frozen and depression, walk the plank over to Domestic Pirate for a powerful post on how Elsa and Anna represent the two warring voices of depression in her head.

***Seriously – if you haven’t read Let’s Pretend This Never Happened yet, you need to. You will ugly cry and laugh hysterically at the same time. So…uh…like my friend David recommends, try to avoid reading it in public.

Vaguebooking was in Vogue Today

I hate Vaguebooking more than many things in life, and I did it all day today, so my apologies to those of you would saw my day bookended by the twin statii

Dear Driver Who Slowed Down to Look as He/She passed Me Lying In the Snow Trying to Dig Out My Car in My Driveway on a Private Road with Only About 30 Residents and then Continued His/Her Merry Way,

You are a jerk.

No love, Me.

and

Quick PSA: When someone is having a complete breakdown in front of you and just barely holding it together because they’ve had a really shitty day and this is the last straw, the appropriate answer is NEVER, EVER “Oooh…well, it could be worse.” Yes, it could be worse. I could be dying of cancer. I could have a splinter in my foot. I could be having my arm gnawed off by a walrus. Yes, things could be worse. But right now, at this moment, for me, it is bad enough. Don’t minimize that.

To clear up the mystery that I’m sure has been haunting each of you all day – “What the heck happened to Karyn today?” I present to you “The Last 12 Hours of My Life” [as in, the 12 hours immediately preceding the time that is now, not to be confused with the final 12 hours of my life, which I hope will take place far in the future].

Prologue: It’s March Break. Ben, Molly and I are up at my parents’ ski chalet, which is on very small, private (as in, not municipally maintained) crescent. There are 20, maybe 30 chalets in all on this road. Ben and Molly are in a ski day camp. Yesterday the weather was balmy. Today there was a massive snow storm.

9:10 AM Realized we had plenty of time. Let Ben and Molly continue playing before getting ready to go.

9:30 AM Told Ben and Molly it was time to get ready to go. They did not share my sense of urgency.

10:00 AM Actually got out the door and into the car. Realized that my decision to park in the middle of the half-circle driveway facing the steeper exit was not my best ever.

10:02 AM Ben: “We’re stuck, aren’t we?” Car: “whuh-ERRRRRRR” Ben: “Yep. We’re stuck.”

10:02-10:30 AM Tried to dig the car out with bare hands and a snow brush.

10:30 AM Abandoned the idea of getting the kids to ski school and sent them inside. Put on mitts. Searched, unsuccessfully, for a shovel. Continued, unsuccessfully, to try to dig car out with snow brush. Watched Jerk #1 drive by slowly.

10:45 AM Gave up and went inside.

12:00 PM Dressed warmly, armed myself with a broom, and went back out to try again.

12:00-12:30 PM Alternated laying on the ground digging under the car with broom handle and trying to rock the car out in reverse. Watched Jerk #2 drive by, slowing down for a good look at the chick lying under her car.

12:30 PM Knocked on neighbours’ door.

12:30-1:00 PM Lovely older couple with much better tools than my broom and snow brush dug the car out. With me and her pushing, he successfully backed the car out of the snowbank and into the snowbank on the other side of the driveway.

1:00-1:10 PM Dug the car out of that snowbank and pushed it up onto the road.

1:15 PM Loaded the kids into the car and took them up to the hill for their afternoon session.

1:45 PM Molly refused to ski.

2:50 PM Put Molly into the car and tried to pull out of parking space. Stuck. For once someone ACTUALLY STOPPED and pushed me out. Yay!

3:00 PM Picked Ben up and drove back down the hill. Discovered that the entrance to the private road had been blocked by the municipal plow. Tried to dig it out with Ben’s ski. Municipal plow drove by, presumably laughing at me.

3:15 PM Drove back up to the ski hill and explained the situation, and asked to borrow a shovel. Lady at the desk said, “Oh my! You’re about to have a breakdown, aren’t you?” Burst into tears. She had a girl take me out to find the shovel. Girl said comfortingly, “Oh, well…it could be worse though.” I said, “True. I could be facing charges for having kicked in your stupid teeth, you utter moron… Uh-huh.”

3:25-3:40 PM Shoveled out the road, stopping to give thumbs up to Jerks #3-12, who drove by without stopping. Special honourable mention to Giant Jerkwad Supreme in the pick-up truck with the plow attachment who could have done it for me in one pass. Drove home to the chalet. Backed into parking space. Pretty sure I’m stuck again but no longer care.

3:45 PM Phoned Municipal Public Works office and was assured that blocking in the private road was standard practice, as was ignoring motorists stranded by the aforementioned action. “If the plow driver stopped to help ever stranded motorist, we’d never get the roads cleared.” Hung up on him. Got a big cuddle from Ben. Felt marginally better.

4:00 PM My mom called. She agreed that John from Public Works was a dick and all the people who didn’t stop were jerks. Felt somewhat better.

4:15-5:30 PM Chatted with friends and received “likes” on Vaguebook. Felt significantly better.

5:30 PM Built a fire and toasted and ate 1 bag of marshmallows (with the help of the kids). Felt quite a lot better but now slightly ill.

9:10 PM Finally was able to see the humour and wrote this post.

Epilogue: In conclusion

1. Yes, it definitely could be worse. I have a pretty awesome life, and at no point was I or any of my loved ones in danger of losing it. But still, sometimes things suck and you get upset…and whatever has caused it, telling a person who is upset about their particular circumstances, “It could be worse,” is not comforting, it is invalidating and minimizing. So if, “smack upside the head to give perspective,” is what you’re going for, then by all means, say that, but if you’re aiming for “comfort and console,” try a simple, “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

2. People are stupid jerks, but it’s nothing a roaring fire and a bag of toasted icing sugar, artificial vanilla flavouring, and gelatin can’t fix.

~ karyn

breakdown picture

Text reads: “If someone is having a breakdown in front of you because they’ve had a really shitty day and this is the last straw, the appropriate answer is NEVER, EVER “Oooh…well, it could be worse.” Yes, it could be worse. I could be dying of cancer. I could have a splinter in my foot. I could be having my arm gnawed off by a walrus. But right now, at this moment, for me, it is bad enough. Don’t minimize that.”

 

Magic Pennies

I did some really great parenting yesterday.

It was that kind of day, you know? The kind that starts out tough and just gets tougher; the sort of day that has potential to go, as Ian would say in British, “completely pear-shaped.” Not to mention that with a new job and the mindbogglingly stressful and emotionally taxing somewhat time-consuming responsibilities that I’ve taken on at church battling my regular day-to-day tasks for ultimate supremacy, my time is at a premium and sleep a distant memory, so patience-wise, I’m not exactly at my best.

The kids were way overtired from the minute they woke up – as demonstrated by the fact that they were bickering, yelling, and at each other’s throats from the moment they rolled out of the wrong side of their beds.

overtired

This is what ‘overtired’ looks like.

Ben had a PD Day, and our plan was to drop Molly off at her school and then spend a special “Mommy and Ben morning” painting pottery at Crock-A-Doodle, but by 9:30 he was neck-deep in Meltdown #3 (“NO I WILL NOT HAVE MY TALONS NAILS CLIPPED BEFORE WE GO YOU CAN’T MAKE ME NO NO NOOOOOOOOOO I WON’T I WON’T I WON’T!!!!”) and I was thinking, “This just ain’t going to end well.”

But I stayed calm. He yelled…and I stayed calm. He screamed…and I stayed calm. He flailed…and I still stayed calm. Finally he settled down enough to have his nails clipped, requested tickles to cheer him up, and then we left.

And that was Great Parenting Moment #1.

We painted at Crock-A-Doodle for almost two hours – long enough that we lost track of time and had a panicked race to finish so we could pick Molly up on time. We painted AMAZING masterpieces together – I wish I could go back in time and do it over and over again because it was the most incredible, wonderful bonding time I’ve had with Ben ever. (Pictures of the masterpieces will follow in a few days when we pick them up!)

masterpieces

Masterpieces, pre-firing.

There was no anxiety over perfectionism on either of our parts (a trait we both have in spades!) – just a fun, creative time together, sharing ideas, and complimenting each other’s work (“Mommy, I love your under the sea mug. I think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever made. And I love my heart mug for daddy – It’s going to be so amazing.”) Ben has a tendency to be hypercritical of himself, especially when it comes to art, so to hear him so pleased with himself was wonderfully refreshing.

I guess that was Great Parenting Moment #2, though Ben deserves at least half the credit!

find some magic pennies

…and all the credit for his masterpiece! Text reads “Find some magic pennies every day”.

We picked Molly up, ate lunch, and then they went to play MarioKart. Soon the overtiredeness reared its ugly head again as they launched back into bicker-yell-grab-hysterics-yell-bicker mode. As it devolved into screaming with no apparent cause or solution I walked into the room and – again calmly – turned off the TV, took the controllers away, and marched them upstairs.

Usually at this point in a day like this, I would be overcome with frustration and, if not yelling, certainly close to it (you know the tone – gritted teeth and rapid-fire punctuation – “Get. Up. Stairs.”), and Ben and Molly know it. But this time I was still completely Zen. I wasn’t angry, just focused giving them both some space from each other and from me. And were they ever confused – you could tell that they were expecting some sort of lecture and punishment.

I put them in their rooms and spoke to them one at a time – “Are we having nap? Are we in time-out?” “You are having some quiet time. You need to stay in your room. You can look at books and read or play quietly. Don’t leave your room – don’t talk to Molly/Ben – don’t yell down and ask me if it’s done. I’ll come and get you when you’re finished.” And then I went back downstairs, feeling relieved – not because I wasn’t going to have to listen to them screeching, but because they both finally seemed to be having a breather and getting the quiet and space that they needed to settle down.

And that was Great Parenting Moment #3.

Later in the day, Molly wanted to watch Beauty and the Beast, and Ben objected strenuously. Again the tiredness came out (unfortunately the quiet time couldn’t quite solve that issue!) and he started yelling in rapid-fire bursts, “NO!” “I WON’T!” “I DON’T WANT TO!” His tantrum culminated in his approaching me and Molly, saying (seemingly calmly), “Can I tell you something?” and then screaming into my waiting ear, “IT’S TOO SCARY!”

Boy oh boy…on any other day, I would have Hit. The. Roof. He had deliberately set me up; my ears were ringing; and I was furious. How Dare He? But from somewhere deep inside a little voice said, “breathe,” and I did. And I looked my little boy in the eyes – eyes that looked shocked and scared, anticipating my reaction – and I said, “Ben, go and sit on the step, please.” And that was Great Parenting Moment #4.

I set up the movie for Molly, took a few deep breaths, and then went to talk to Ben. First we talked how I was upset because he had made me think he was just going to say something and then screamed, and it hurt both my ear and my feelings. And then we talked about the yelling and screaming in general and why he did it and how he was going to stop doing it. He said, “I do it when I’m FRUSTRATED.” I asked if he screams at school and he said no. I asked if he gets frustrated at school, and he said yes. I asked why, if he still gets frustrated at school, doesn’t he scream there, but he does at home.

He thought for a minute and then answered in that astoundingly astute Ben way

I guess it’s because at home I know you love me and you’ll keep loving me when I scream but at school they don’t have to.

And I hugged him harder than ever, and that was Great Parenting Moment #5.

mommy and Ben

Special ‘Mommy and Ben Day’ at Crock-A-Doodle!

I might not be the greatest parent in the world. But I have my moments. And I think they’re a little like that magic penny – the more of those moments I can make, and the more I recognize them and remember them, the more I can build on them. And the more Ben and Molly will come to expect them and appreciate them and one day have their own.

~ karyn

Do you find it hard to keep your temper when your kids are overtired? What do you do to keep from yelling? Do you remember to give yourself a pat on the back when you get it right?

Let Sleeping Babies Lie (no matter how uncomfortable they look)

When it comes to Team Pickles, babies, and sleep, our luck has been pretty even.

Molly asleep

Molly asleep in her crib (in a manner of speaking). Caption reads: “Let Sleeping Babies Lie no matter how uncomfortable they may look!”

Actually, when it comes to EVERYTHING, our luck is pretty even. My friend Catherine once said of Ian and I that we have the most luck of anyone she’s ever met. The problem is that on any given day we have no idea if it’s going to be GOOD luck or BAD luck. One day we’re winning a top-of-the-line trampoline because of a tongue-in-cheek Facebook post and the next we’re burning down our apartment 6 days after our wedding (true story – I’ll post about that some other time).

But I digress.

Ben was an easy sleeper pretty much from day one. Like any newborn, he woke in the night to eat, but by about 4 months he was easily sleeping through. To make things even simpler, he would sleep anywhere and everywhere – in the car…in the stroller…in his highchair…in the middle of the floor if that was where he happened to be when he got tired, and he slept so soundly that I used to clip his nails while he napped.

Sleeping Ben collage

Case(s) in Point: 3 of the many “Ben sleeping in random positions” pictures

When he was a toddler, his afternoon routine was lunch followed by a bottle in his highchair, after which he would immediately fall asleep and I would recline the highchair, turn off the kitchen light, and go down to the basement to work for a few hours while he napped.

Bedtime was just as easy – if we were the slightest bit late starting his bedtime routine, Ben would bring us a bottle, grab our hands and beg, “Bed? Bed now?”

Molly, on the other hand…Oh, my Molly-Monkey…Baby Molly was the complete polar opposite. Molly woke up frequently to feed, and the frequency increased rather than decreased with age. As a newborn, Molly would only sleep in her swing or in Ian or my arms. For her first three months, I slept on the futon in her room with her swaddled in the swing beside me. Every morning I would carry the swing downstairs to the family room so she could nap in it there, and then Ian would carry it back upstairs for the night. I perfected the art of transferring her seamlessly from my arms into the swing while it was rocking (the trick is to start rocking your arms to match the motion of the swing before you put her down, then slide your arms out from under). She slept fitfully, waking up at the slightest noise or change in atmosphere. The sounds of a sneeze used to send her into orbit.

If at this point you’re thinking something like, “OMG I wonder if she knows that babies aren’t supposed to sleep in swings I’d better comment and tell her that it’s not recommended,” please rest assured that I’ve had that same conversation with many a Public Health nurse and that I’m quite comfortable with the decisions I made.

Around 3 months, Molly (my future Olympic gymnast) discovered that she could, while tightly swaddled, somehow flip herself over onto her stomach and wriggle backwards out of the swing. The first time I heard a “thud” and found her on the floor in front of the empty swing grinning, I thought it was a fluke, but by the third I had to concede that the days of her sleeping safely in the swing were over.

Molly escaping from swing

Photographic evidence of swaddled 3-month-old Molly deliberately wriggling out of the swing

She transitioned (unhappily) to the crib at night, waking about every half-hour to hour, and during the day would nap for a half-hour to an hour at a time, but only in my arms. My work productivity suffered significantly, but on the flip side I got really, really good at online euchre.

Molly asleep 1

One of the very few known photographs of baby Molly asleep

Finally we hit a breaking point around 7 months, which, probably not coincidentally, is also when my PPD starting hitting pretty hard. Molly wouldn’t sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time and had no predictable sleep schedule. I was a zombie and Ian wasn’t much better.

Completely at the end of my rope, I did what I always do in these situations, and I went to Chapters, sat on the floor in the “Parenting” section, and flipped through books until I found one I liked. The book I selected was Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, by Dr. Marc Weissbluth. As with most, if not all parenting books, this one has its supporters and its detractors, so all I can say is that without hyperbole, this book literally saved, if not my life, at least my sanity, marriage, and relationship with my children.

Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child
(cover image from amazon.ca)

What I really like about the book (which we took to calling “The Book” – bolded and capitalized) was that Dr. Weissbluth does not offer a one-size-fits-all solution; instead he describes different infant temperaments and sleep problem and offers suggestions tailored to your needs.

Babies like Molly are described as suffering from extreme fussiness/colic. He notes that it he adds the “extreme fussiness” designation because not all of these babies experience the level of crying that would be deemed “colic”, but instead experience “an unsettled, agitated, wakeful state that would lead to crying if ignored by parents.” (p 142). This certainly described Molly as an infant!

Dr. Weissbluth’s overall theory is that most children are not getting as much sleep as they need, and the more overtired they get, the more difficulty they have falling asleep, compounding the issue by building an ever-increasing sleep debt.

For all infants (and really, all children) he recommends watching for “drowsy signs” (such as decreased activity, slower motions, quieter, calmer, yawning) to determine the optimal time to put them to bed. Actions such as fussing, rubbing eyes, and being irritable or cranky actually indicate overtiredness; if the infant is showing those signs, she is already overtired and will have more difficulty falling asleep.

For sleep-training a fussy/high-needs/colicky infant like Molly, he recommends the admittedly controversial “cry-it-out” method – putting her down in her crib when drowsy and then leaving her alone to fall asleep. “Cry-it-out” is not for everyone, but I was willing to give it a shot, since responding when she cried was clearly not the answer.

Dr. Weissbluth also makes a point that resonates with me given my educational background in psychology and behaviour management: The only thing that graduated crying methods such as Ferber’s (in which leave the infant for longer and longer periods of time before responding) teach the baby is that they have to continue crying for longer each night to get a response. You still eventually reach the point where you have to let your baby cry-it-out indefinitely; all you have done is prolonged the agony for both of you.

So Cry-It-Out it would be: We picked the night, and for the first time in her 7 months, I put Molly down at the first “drowsy signs,” much earlier than usual, still awake but calm, and left the room. She cried, and I cried, but I didn’t go back in, and 17 minutes later she fell asleep and slept through the night for the first time EVER.

The next morning she woke up in a fantastic mood, and bolstered by this initial success I put her down for three Dr. Weissbluth-recommended naps – a morning nap, an afternoon nap, and an early evening nap – the next day, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t fall asleep instantly and sleep for 2 hours each time.

Seventeen minutes, I tell you. Seventeen Dr. Weissbluth-approved minutes, and I had a different baby on my hands.

Molly remains a difficult sleeper, which will probably never change. Our paediatrician points at poor sleepers (*ahem* myself included) on both sides of the family and says we may have lucked out with Ben but we were pretty much guaranteed at least one terrible sleeper.

Any change to the routine derails her sleep habits. Travel is a nightmare – we can basically count on her being awake until after we fall asleep and eventually collapsing out of sheer exhaustion. When we went to Germany last year Ian and I took turns – every night one of us stayed with Molly while the other ate dinner with the grown-ups. If one of us didn’t stay upstairs with her, she would scream for hours, waking up Ben and her cousins.

After that 2 week trip it was another 6 weeks before we could get her to go to sleep without one of us sitting with her and at least another 6 weeks after that until things were completely back to “normal” – please clearly visualize those as mimed air-quotes, because Molly’s “normal” is anything but.

“Normal” sleep for Molly goes in cycles. She will go for a couple of months with no problems, then wake up crying one night, and if we go in to soothe her, she’ll wake up twice the next night…then 3 times…then 5….until we do a night or two of crying-it-out to “reset” her back to…again that funny little air-quoted word “normal.” But at least that normal is a far cry (so to speak) from what we experienced in her first year, and for that I am immeasurably thankful.

Of course, it can’t last, can it?

~ karyn

Sometimes all you need is a cup of coffee and a reality check.

I had the afternoon off on Sunday and it was awesome! At first my plan was to work at home but that never works – even though Ian is on point it’s still “Mommy, can we have snack?” “Ask daddy!” “Mommy, can you fix this?” “Ask daddy!!” “Mommy…” “ASK DADDY!!!”

The other problem of course is that if I’m at home with the rest of my work I feel like I should be doing that. A change of scenery was in order, so I packed up my computer and walked downtown to spend the afternoon at our local coffee shop.

Ian had plans for the afternoon with the kids and my instructions were to do whatever I wanted and come home whenever I wanted, so I did – and for once I didn’t feel guilty about it!

Because that’s the problem with us moms, isn’t it? We have so much expected of us, and expect so much more of ourselves, that even if we ask or if people offer to take some of it off us, we can’t enjoy that freedom because we’re too busy either feeling guilty that we’re not doing it or worrying that they won’t do it right.

When I do have a “break” I spend the time counting down to when I have to go back to “reality”, worrying about how Ian and the kids are doing, feeling that I’m shirking my “duties”, and imagining the disaster I’ll find when I get home. And in the back of my mind there is always the nagging thought that it would have been easier not to go at all.

This time I let go – of guilt, of responsibility, of worry – and I sat and enjoyed my time. I didn’t even order a coffee for an hour because I didn’t want to waste my time off standing in line. I kept thinking, “No worries; I’ll just go up when the crowd dies down.” I sat and worked on my blog – something that is just for me, and I did it because it was what I wanted to do.

I’ve been feeling a bit off lately. I had been assuring myself and Ian and everyone else I talked to about it that I was pretty sure it was not the depression, just physical symptoms – like a tight, sore jaw, difficulty sleeping, and headaches – that were making me tired and irritable. I went to the doctor to ask if it could be side-effects from my medication and if I should decrease my dose. He said no, it sounded like the symptoms were caused by my stress, not the other way around, and that maybe increasing the dose would help. “Huh,” said I, thinking about some wise words written recently by Honest Mom, and I did it and I’ll be damned if it didn’t work.

cup of coffee and reality check

“Keep Calm and Blog” mug and “Sometimes all you need is a cup of coffee and a reality check.”

Between the dose increase, the awesome day off, and some other cool stuff going on that maybe I’ll get into in a later post, things is looking up and I’m feeling more like me old self again. And I’m sleeping better, even with Miss Molly waking up at 3:00 AM crying for crackers.

~ karyn

To My Favourite Ben-Magoo on Your 6th Birthday

Oh, my Ben-Magoo…what can I say? You have been full of surprises literally* since the day you were born! I can’t post a pregnant belly picture of you because I don’t have any. I was so busy with school and daddy with his new job that we hadn’t gotten around to taking an artsy belly picture when you decided to make your surprise appearance at only 33 1/2 weeks.

Tiny Ben

Tiny baby Ben in his isolette. His chest is smaller than my hand.
©PicklesINK 2013

You got it in your teeny head that you were ready to be born and there was no stopping you! I was scared at the time but I should have known you had it all under control. They told us that preemies usually have breathing problems – not you! They told us that preemies usually stay in the hospital until their due date – but you made sure you were home in time for my first Mothers’ Day!

KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA

We could have fit 5 baby Bens in this Moses basket!
©PicklesINK 2013

Have I told you before how smart you are? I know all moms think “My kid is so smart!” but my Magoo, your intellect continues to astound me. I haven’t been able to win an argument with you since…well, since you learned to talk…and ever since you started moving around you’ve been building and creating amazing structures – first “simple” towers and now extensive multi-level train tracks like Brio Peak.

Stacking

Ben, around 18 months, creating a stack of jars taller than him.
©PicklesINK 2013

You have what your Uncle Chris calls “the knack,” and not only that, you have the single-minded drive, when you come up with an idea, to keep working at it until you see it through. You can get frustrated when things don’t go the way you envisioned though, so don’t be afraid to ask for help. Sometimes all it takes is a different perspective or a second pair of hands to finish the job, and asking for help is just a way of effectively problem-solving.

You are so kind and loving, my Magoo. We had a bit of a rough patch there for a while after Molly was born. There were times when I got really frustrated yelled too much, and I know that I hurt your feelings and made you sad sometimes, and you still loved me more than anything. But just like I said, asking for help is a way of problem-solving, and knowing how much you loved me gave me the strength to do that. Do you know what else? Me being able to talk about that hard time has given lots of other people the courage to do the same thing, and that’s all thanks to you!

Mommy and Ben

Mommy and Ben snuggles
©PicklesINK 2013

I bet you didn’t know this, Magoo, but there are some kids who are unhappy or mad when a new baby comes home because they have to share their mommies or daddies. I don’t think that ever even crossed your mind, though, because you have loved Molly more than anything since the moment you first saw her.

Grinning big brother Ben holding his brand-new sister Molly.
©PicklesINK 2013

I don’t know if I’ve seen you so sad as the day I told you you couldn’t marry her because she’s your sister! And boy, does she ever look up to you. She thinks that you are just the coolest person ever, and I think she believes you could do absolutely anything.

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Ben plays a private guitar concert for Molly in her jumperoo.
©PicklesINK 2013

I know that now that’s she’s getting older there are times when she gets on your nerves, but even when you two fight you work it out together and go right back to being best friends. I hope you two keep on appreciating and loving each other as much as you do now, even when you grow up.

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Ben and Molly hugs
©PicklesINK 2013

Ben-Magoo, one of the most wonderful things about you is your integrity. I will never, ever forget when you knocked over a pile of socks that Molly had folded, and I said, “Don’t tell Molly you knocked those over because she’ll be sad.” She overheard me and said, “Did Ben knock over my socks?” and I said, “No, monkey, I put them in the laundry basket.” You leaped up and said, “Oh Molly, I did knock them over! I’m so sorry! It was an accident. I’m really, really sorry,” and Molly said, “That’s okay, Ben.”

Then you looked me in the eye and said, “Mommy, you shouldn’t have told that lie.” You know what, Bud? You were absolutely right. It it always better to take responsibility for your actions and face the consequences then to tell a lie to get out of trouble, and you were right to remind me of that.

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Stern Ben dressed as Santa
©PicklesINK 2013

We had something sad happen in our family this year, didn’t we, Bud? Our Papa, your great-grandfather, died. You were so very special to Papa because you were his very first great-grandchild. The first time he held you in the hospital, he looked at me, his face aglow, and said, “Can you believe that I actually have a great-grandson?

Papa and Ben

Papa holding Ben – can you ever see the resemblance!
©PicklesINK 2013

Papa was very special to you, too. It must have been hard wrapping your head around the fact that you were never going to see him again, but you thought about it asked the questions that you needed to to understand, and sometimes I think that you understand better than us grown-ups – Like when you said, “Chris and Caitie are sad because Papa isn’t going to be at their wedding. But really he is going to be there with us, isn’t he?” and when at Christmas you said, “This Christmas our family just isn’t the same, is it, because Papa died.”

You also have  real gift for creativity, Magoo. You and daddy share a special bond with your love of photography. (I know, I know, you don’t have that camera any more. You figured out pretty quickly that kid cameras just couldn’t capture the shots that you wanted and you took over mommy’s!)

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2 year-old Ben with his obsolete kiddy camera
©PicklesINK 2013

You and daddy definitely share that photographer’s eye. I don’t think there are many people who could guess which of you took which of these pictures!

Ben's sunset pic

Sunset on the St. Lawrence
©PicklesINK 2013

(Your artistic shots are great, of course, but my favourites are your self-portraits!)

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Self-portrait by Ben
©PicklesINK 2013

And your creativity and ambition don’t stop with just photography. How many other just-turned-6-year-olds can say that they are published authors?

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Ben opening up his debut book,
Your Favourite Brio Peak Collection
©PicklesINK 2013

 So, my favourite Ben-Magoo, keep on being your super-cool self, just like you have been from the day you were born, even if people tell you it’s wrong. (Except mommy. If mommy tells you you’re doing something wrong, you’d better listen. Because I’m mommy, that’s why.)

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Ben and Molly at Day Out With Thomas
©PicklesINK 2013

Happy 6th Birthday, our favourite guy!

~ Love, Mommy, Daddy, and Molly

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Team Pickles self-portrait. Can someone explain why 3 of us look goofy while Molly photo-bombs the shot with utter adorableness?
©PicklesINK 2013

*and y’all know I don’t use that word lightly.

Giving myself a pat on the back

This morning was rough. Ben and Molly clearly woke up on the wrong side of their beds and everything I asked of them was met with flailing, screaming hysterics resistance. Now a year ago, thanks to a mild but chronic chemical imbalance in my brain commonly known as “dysthemia” or chronic depression, I would have been all:

Baby Ben in full tantrum mode
©PicklesINK 2013

But this morning, with the aforementioned chemical imbalance under control, a good night’s sleep under my belt, and my Supernanny and 1-2-3 Magic inspired parenting toolkit in hand, I was all:

Grinning baby Ben
©PicklesINK 2013

So when I told Ben that he couldn’t have his usual morning cereal bar because I was ready to give him his actual breakfast and he screamed, yelled, and hit the table with his hand, I led him to the time-out step and calmly explained that he was sitting out because he had yelled and hit and needed to calm down.

And when I told Molly to go to the bathroom before she finished getting dressed and she refused and collapsed to the floor crying, I told her that if she didn’t go pee before I counted to 3, I would NOT take her underpants off Ben’s head and give them back to her.

Thinking back over the morning routine, of the about 40 minutes of actual routine parts — feeding breakfast, doing bathroom stuff, getting kids dressed and out the door — probably 3/4 of it was spent with one or both of Ben and Molly yelling or crying (NB – I think an early night is in order tonight). But amazingly, in that time I didn’t cry or raise my voice, and what’s even more amazing is I didn’t FEEL LIKE crying or raising my voice.

And the end result was that by the time we were ready to go, Ben and Molly were all:

This is actually Ben and Molly last week when they decided to play a funny joke on me and switch outfits!
©PicklesINK 2013

And I call that a WIN for everyone!

~ karyn

How do you handle it when your kids are melting down? How do you keep your cool?

 

Update – Momminus horriblis has returned to hibernation

Last week I posted about having one of those days when you feel like the most horrible mommy ever and everyone around you knows it and thinks it too….

I got so much wonderful support and feedback that I felt comforted and embarrassed all at the same time (I’m not good at being reassured — I’m the reassure-er, not the recipient!!). Anyway, you guys are fabulous and it was greatly appreciated!

I mentioned at the end of the post that my plan was to drop Ben off first for the rest of the week to get him used to the idea. Most of my commenters felt that was a good call, and that preparing him for it in advance would help. My mom dissented, suggesting taking the “path of least resistance” and avoiding a power struggle. Now, my mom has had a lot of experience raising inflexible, headstrong children (Not me, mind you. I was perfectly pliable and obedient. My brothers, on the other hand…well, I’m sure you can imagine… and if they want to dispute that, they’ll have to start their own blogs) so she knows what she’s talking about, but in this case I felt that it was a power struggle worth having.

A note on power struggles – I think sometimes we give “power struggles” a bad name. There are parenting philosophies and experts that espouse responsiveness and equality between parent and child  but these do not sit right with me. I believe that there is (and should be) a power imbalance between parent and child, and like in any relationship in which there is a legitimate power imbalance (employer/employee, teacher/student, therapist/client, etc.) the onus is on the more powerful party to use and not abuse that power.

It is the parent’s job to guide their child’s development, encourage appropriate and discourage inappropriate behaviour, enforce safety rules, etc., just as it is the employer’s job to support their employee’s professional growth and monitor their productivity and the teacher’s job to impart knowledge and test the students’ retention and understanding of that information. Using that power in a way that violates the bounds of these relationships, such as to humiliate a child or force a sexual relationship with a student however is abuse. Finally, within these relationship it is also important for the powerful party to create opportunities for the other to experience autonomy and power over their own decisions.

I have a little bit of an obsession with child development reference books – one that I acquired a while back (long before I had children of my own) was The Explosive Child, by Dr. Ross Greene. This is an excellent book and well worth a read. Dr. Greene gives good advice for parenting and for life (and agrees with my mom) when he posits

inflexibility + inflexibility = meltdown

and outlines a framework for choosing your battles. He suggests figuratively placing your child’s behaviours in 3 baskets: Basket A contains decisions that must be enforced and are worth enduring a meltdown over (power struggles worth having); Basket B contains behaviours and decisions that are important but that you are willing to discuss and problem-solve with your child (opportunities for compromise); and Basket C contains behaviours that you are willing to simply ignore (opportunities for your child to experience complete autonomy).

Dropping Ben off first was a Basket B issue – I had decided that it needed to happen, but was willing to discuss with him how it would happen. When I picked Molly up at lunchtime on momminus horriblis day, I had a quick word with Ben’s teacher to explain the situation, and she agreed to be at the door to help bring him into the classroom if necessary (and I agreed to be on time!).

On the way home that afternoon I explained to Ben (this time calmly!) that sometimes I would have to drop him off first without him getting upset, so we would be doing that for the rest of the week to get him used to it, and once he was not getting upset about it, we would take turns dropping him or Molly off first. Then we talked about why he likes dropping Molly off first  – it makes him feel special to be the one to bring her to her classroom and kiss her goodbye – and what he could do that would be special when he gets dropped off first. He decided that he would give her hugs and kisses for her pocket (I give him hugs and kisses on his hands to put in his pocket before he goes into his classroom so he has them during the day if he needs them).

The next morning I reminded him again in the car what we were doing when we got to school, and it all went perfectly smoothly. Naturally, I assumed it was a fluke, but Thursday went well too, so I think we’re on a roll! Momminus horriblis has returned to her cave to hibernate indefinitely, and this particular issue seems to have been resolved successfully. I will remember in future to examine my Baskets A, B and C regularly, and I have learned that with a situation like that, in the moment it’s probably best to toss it into Basket C and deal with it in advance next time.

~ karyn

Of course, several days of pathetic sickie children has made it all the easier to banish momminus horriblis and welcome back momminus cuddlius protectivus on an indefinite basis!

Sickie Ben

Pathetic sickie Ben
©PicklesINK 2013

Sickie Molly

Pathetic sickie Molly
©PicklesINK 2013

 

 

Confession cam time again – Momminus Horriblis rears her ugly head

Confession cam time again: This morning I feel like the crappiest mommy ever. You know the one – that mommy that all the other mommies stare at thinking, “Boy, at least I’m not that bad!” Worse than that, actually. I’m the mommy that the other mommies stare at thinking, “What a bitch. How can she be that mean to her kid?” Tantrumming kids, I can handle. Sad kids – no problem. Tantrumming kids who LOOK LIKE sad kids? That’s my Kryptonite.

Over the years, there have been a number of things that will lead to Ben throwing what Ian calls a wobbler. As he has matured, most of these things have dwindled off, leaving just one: Ben is very much a creature of habit. One of the most common objections he will make to things is, “But I wasn’t expecting that!” Example: “But Ben, you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” *whined* “I know I do, but I wasn’t expecting it. Why did you give me it??” When it comes to school, we are in the habit of dropping Molly off at her class first, then Ben, and if I try to differ from that routine, he completely loses it.

Which brings us to this morning. At Ben and Molly’s school, in the month of February, they invite parents to observe their children in class. You sign up for a time slot, they set up a video camera in the class, and you watch on a TV in the hallway, then join the class for circle time, and the child being observed doesn’t know that his or her parents are there until then. Other parents are asked to make an effort to get their children to the classroom on time so that they don’t interrupt the observation or spoil the surprise.

Well, we are notoriously late, and this morning was no exception, so when I realized that there was a mommy sitting down to observe, I explained to Ben that today I needed to drop him off quickly and RIGHT NOW so we didn’t interrupt his friend’s mommy or spoil the surprise. And meltdown in 5…4…3…2…

The trouble with Ben’s meltdown in this particular situation is that it’s not a screaming, flailing temper tantrum. That would be way too easy. I could be authoritative, other parents would smile sympathetically, and a teacher would nod understandingly and take him into the classroom. No, the trouble with Ben’s “wobbler” is that his face crumbles, he bursts into heart-breaking tears, he begs, “But mommy…please…I just can’t go in while I’m upset…I just have to get not upset…I’m trying to take deep breaths”, and I hiss, “Ben, this is ridiculous. Just get into your classroom,” and try to grab him and drag him in while he dances away, keeping just out of reach. To the uninformed observer, he looks like a heart-broken little boy who is trying his best to pull himself together while I look like the angriest, most icy-hearted parent ever to walk the earth.

So now instead of quickly zipping him into the classroom so the other mom could continue her observation undisturbed, we have the spectacle of sobbing, begging, deep-breathing Ben, and hissing, muttering, grabbing me, and let me tell you, the TV screen is no longer what’s being observed…*Voiceover in Australian accent* “And if you look to your right, towards the edge of the savannah you will see a prime example of momminus horriblis with her young. Ain’t she terrifying?”

What could I do? I walked away to take Molly to her class. Ben followed and we continued the back-and-forth, “Just go to your class.” “I just need to get not upset.” “Go back downstairs.” “I’m trying to take my deep breaths.” (Again, you have to imagine this conversation with angry me and pitiful Ben. I really, really sound horrible.) And now here we are outside of Molly’s classroom, and guess what? Ben is hugging Molly, saying goodbye, dropping her off first, and suddenly he’s not upset any more. “It’s okay now, mommy, because we dropped Molly off first.” WELL IT’S NOT FRIGGING OKAY WITH ME.

So I took him aside and explained in very, very angry terms, that it was NOT okay. It is NOT okay that he is now fine because he got what he wanted. “But mommy, it is. I’m not upset now because we dropped Molly off first.” “But mommy, it IS okay. I’m happy now.” “I can’t always just give you what you want to make you happy.” “But mommy why not? I am happy now because I got what I wanted. So it’s okay!” “But Ben it’s NOT OKAY with me.” “But mommy, all we have to do is drop Molly off first and then I won’t be upset.” “But Ben *through clenched teeth* that is not how the world works.” And he Just. Doesn’t. Understand. Because. He’s. Five.

And I’m furious because he did get exactly what he wanted, with no consequences whatsoever, and all that he has taken out of this whole interaction is that as long as he stalls long enough, he will get his way. And I am embarrassed and frustrated because I know that to the outside observer, I look like a jerk, and deep down inside I feel like a jerk, because how can you not feel like a jerk when you’re are angry and yelling and lecturing with the actual purpose of MAKING your child upset because IT’S NOT OKAY that they are not upset.

So in my fury I told him that from now on we would drop him off first – “But MOMMY!! Then I would be upset! Why don’t we just always drop Molly off first and then I will be happy?” and he cried. And I was okay with that, because I damn well wanted him to cry, because then he didn’t walk away with knowledge that “Yay! Now that I made a big scene and held out for long enough I got my way and everything is fine!”, but I also feel horribly guilty that I deliberately made my child cry and felt good about it. (“Yes, momminus horriblis has been known on occasion to eat her young, but researcher say that she always feels really badly afterwards…”) And then I told him I loved him and sent him into his class and went out to the car and I cried.

Now I’m calmed down, and I’m typing this out, and I’ve moved into problem-solving mode, and I think that the first think I’m going to do is I am going to make good on my promise to drop him off first from now on. Not, as before, because I want to make him sad, but because I think the answer is breaking that habit. This will mean a) Explaining the situation to his teachers and asking them to help at the classroom door; and b) Actually getting to school on time so his teachers are available when we get there.

And if anyone has dealt with this type of tantrum before and has any ideas of what to do in the moment, please let me know!

~ karyn