A Little Audience Participation?

Hello everybody! So, I have a little post-it note going with a handful of blog topic ideas. Some ideas get deleted, some more get added and some I actually write. Sometimes I see something or hear something that inspires me. Sometimes I have to sit on an idea for months and mull it over and over until I feel I have a good grasp on what I really want to say. It is a process. This one will be short and sweet.

I've been doing this for a while now. It has been an interesting journey. When I started out I had three kids and a brand new laptop from my birthday that I really wanted to start using. I had seen the movie Julie & Julia and agreed with Julie that I too have thoughts. I could blog. Why not? A few months after I began this adventure I found out I was preggers with twins and my whole world turned upside down. All is as back to normal as it could possibly be and life is good. I've hooked a few more readers and am fiending to write more and more.

My question for you, the audience, is: What do you want to know? Do you have any questions for me? Hypothetical or otherwise? Do you want advice you think I could give? Have you been curious about anything in particular or maybe wondering how I would handle a certain situation? I am wide open to suggestions and would love to hear from you. I mean it. It could be anything from cooking to parenting, relationships to what ifs, the past, present or future. You ask it, I'm game. The possibilities are endless. Hit me with your best shot.

At the bottom of this post there is a place where you can leave comments, anonymously or not. Please feel free to use this feature. I look forward to it.

My So Called Life

Image from: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/04/07/my-so-called-life-to-air-sundance-channel_n_846240.html

I am probably not the only one who broke out the old High School yearbooks lately. As cliche as it sounds, those truly were the "good ol' days." I remember them so very clearly; every feeling, every smell, the great times had and the not so great times conquered. It was an experience. "We had a time." As for Elementary School, I admittedly kind of hated it. Those days were hard, what with bullying, name-calling and the general prepubescent torture from many of the other students aimed at myself and closest friends. We made it through together but it was not easy. Junior High was a little bit better. We felt a little more at home and started to realize that it didn't matter what the other kids thought about us. We gained some confidence together and grew by leaps and bounds and I am not just talking about our physical size. By the time we walked into the front door of the High School on that first day, we were ready to own that s#!t. And we did. Now, as I sit here in my living room, six and a half month old twins in their swings, three year old daughter down for a nap, one son at the Middle School and the other one at the High School, I wonder, how the hell did I get here? Where oh where have the years gone? I sure do not feel thirty five...not even close.

I recently started watching an old show again called My So Called Life starring Claire Danes. (I love her.) It originally aired in August of 1994, just weeks before my junior year began. I remember loving the show and that it only ran for one season, which was disappointing at the time. Everything was represented spot-on in my eyes. I related to Claire's character, Angela Chase, easily. The soundtrack was great, the clothes consisted of flannel shirts, leggings and torn jeans, her red hair dye, the heart-encompassing feeling of a new crush, the old friends vs. new friends drama, personally and mentally evolving rapidly while trying to find out who I was, with and without my parents, in ways they did and did not understand. Keeping fairly harmless secrets from my parents, not because I was doing anything bad, just because I figured they wouldn't understand. Never straight up lying to them but periodically answering in half-truths in order to spare a lecture or detailed conversation that I felt wouldn't accomplish anything. Loving my younger siblings one moment, then finding them annoying and pestersome the next. There were definitely some differences between the character and myself but the parallels were much more significant. The writer had a really good grasp on what it was like to be a teen aged girl in the early 90's. Bravo, Winnie Holzman, wherever you are.

One night, a couple of months ago, I was lazily trolling through the Netflix menu and came across My So Called Life. I found nothing better to watch so I decided to take a stroll down memory lane. The show impacted me in a completely different way this time around. I had to sit back after the first episode and contemplate. I still remembered all of the feelings from my youth, I still understand Angela very well. She feels so real to me. And now, at the exact same time, I also relate to her mother, Patty Chase, played by Bess Armstrong. I didn't give her character a second thought as a teen, but now...what the hell? I was just looking for a little junk food to feed my brain and now all I can think about is how completely ridiculous it seems that I am thirty five years old already, that I have travelled so far ahead into the future that I have five kids and a husband and a mortgage and all the other baskets of goodies that go along with responsibility. An unexpected large dose of reality. I had to watch another episode. And another.

The matriarchal character, Patty, has a moment where she vocalizes that she feels like Angela loves her father more than herself and that she feels bad because she is the parent that always has to be the "bad guy." There is another scene where she is lying awake in bed while starring up at the ceiling, worrying about her kids while politely avoiding sexual advances from her loving husband, too exhausted mentally and physically to give anything back. And there is yet another scene where Patty is asking Angela an arsenal of questions regarding the logistics of a sleepover at a new girlfriends house, not really appreciating the answers or the attitude she receives in return, all the while her younger daughter is jabbering on and on about who knows what, trying to get the mother's attention in the background. What an insanely typical day. What a great, and barely dramatized, representation of what it is like to be a mom. Constant worry, constant noise. Responsibility getting in the way of intimacy and trying to find the balance. Wow.

There are also a few moments where Patty completely overreacts or comes across as quite negative over silly little things, like hair color or a wardrobe disagreement. I hope I do not do this; I try not to. I'm also sure I fail miserably sometimes. Isn't that the struggle, though? Remembering all of those things your parents did that you loved or that you hated, promising yourself you'll do things the same way or differently when you have your own children and then being constantly at war within yourself to remain true, slipping up periodically and then getting back on track. It can be like a battlefield in my brain.

In the show, Patty comes across as if she does not really remember what it is like to be a teenager, unless it just seems that way because she only remembers what it is like to be a specific teenager: prom-queen-valedictorian-cheerleader-girl. Not that there is anything wrong with that girl, but she is just not the "average" girl. I was an average girl. I remember what it was like to be one. If I remember, than maybe my parents did too and I didn't need to be so secretive at times. Maybe I could have told my Mom about my first real kiss the same night that it happened...then again, maybe I would have been grounded for hanging out with a boy she did not know. This was one of those times where I would have told a half-truth. My girlfriends and I were all hanging out after school and walking around the Palmer Lake Trails, as usual, be home by dark, blah blah blah. I just happened to leave out the part about my boyfriend tagging along. Again, not because I was planning on doing anything bad, I just thought they would not understand, say no, or worry for no good reason. I was thirteen years old then and I still feel like that was a normal age to go kiss a boy for the first time. I will never know how my parents would have reacted.

Now, I am the mom and I have the teenager. I know that if one of my sons came home and told me that he had his first kiss, I would not be upset. I would be happy for him. I am 99% sure that my two oldest children understand this of me because we are very open and have had many age appropriate talks over the years. This is one place in my parenting style that I have made an effort to do things a little differently. My parents and I did not talk much about the "sex" stuff. It is possible that I could have brought it up to them myself, but that just wasn't me. I do not want my kids to wonder someday so I have made it a point to raise them knowing that they can. I do not fault my parents at all for my wondering. These talks can be hard and weird and awkward. I turned out just fine without the talks; I have just chosen to do it differently for myself and my children. My own long term experiment that I really hope works out.

In my mind I am still only twenty five years old or so, the teen aged me not yet slumbering. My body is trying to prove my age otherwise with what I am certain to be the early stages of arthritis, not to mention a pretty nice skunk stripe of gray hair. These things do not bother me. I am not ashamed of my age; I know that I have earned it, proudly. If someone asks, I will tell them. I am glad I still remember my youth so well because I feel it makes me a more conscientious mother. I hope I never loose this because I still have a very long way to go when it comes to parenting. Thanks to the television show, I had a few things put into perspective for me and the memories that I had were brought to the front of my mind at a very opportune time. I hope I never loose my connection with the character Angela and I also hope I remain aware of my words and actions enough to choose how similar I am to her mother, Patty. All I can do is try.

Image from: http://startledthewitch.com/2012/05/my-so-called-life/

Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack 
You may find yourself in another part of the world 
You may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile 
You may find yourself in a beautiful house with a beautiful wife 
You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

You may ask yourself, how do I work this? 
You may ask yourself, where is that large automobile? 
You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house 
You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was  

Water dissolving and water removing 
There is water at the bottom of the ocean 
Remove the water, carry the water 
Remove the water from the bottom of the ocean

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, into silent water 
Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground 
Letting the days go by, into silent water 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground

You may ask yourself, what is that beautiful house? 
You may ask yourself, where does that highway lead to? 
You may ask yourself, am I right, am I wrong? 
You may say to yourself, my god, what have I done?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down 
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, after the money's gone 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Into the blue again, into silent water 
Under the rocks and stones, there is water underground 
Letting the days go by, into silent water 
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground 
Same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was 

Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us 
Time isn't holding us, time doesn't hold you back 
Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us 
Time isn't holding us... 
Letting the days go by, letting the days go by, letting the days go by, once in a lifetime 

An Overwhelming Response

When I created this blog over a year ago, I knew it was going to be all about me, my life and my family. An online diary in order to be creative and share my thoughts, ideas and experiences from my own life so others can relate to and understand me a little bit better; what is it like to be a mother, wife, daughter, friend and so much more. Learning from life as I go, making mistakes, trying new things, always with the intention of evolving and continuing to strive to be a better mother and so on. We all wear many different hats in our lifetimes and I feel I have good examples to share in relation to that. Mostly, my readers have just been close family and friends, maybe a handful of strangers. I don't expect people to read my posts but I will admit, I am tickled pink when they do. My most recent post, earlier this week, has brought on an unintended and overwhelming response. In the last 48 hours I have received over 1700 hits, that's nearly as many as I have had during the previous 15 months combined. I also discovered I was mentioned by name and part of my post was cited on the Minnesota Public Radio website. I am quite emotional about this. I am feeling both flattered and somber.

I have grown to love writing. At first I did not think I would be very good at it but have enjoyed the challenge. It has given me a much needed release and can be quite therapeutic. I don't get much me time, down time or quiet time nowadays, as a mother of five children. Writing is my "me time." The other day I was feeling saddened and pensive. I decided to write about how I was feeling and what I was thinking; my way of coping with and trying to understand a troubling event that was on my mind. I felt that I could relate in my own way while possibly giving my small group of readers another point of view, as the public and the media seemed very one sided and judgmental on the issue. Apparently, I struck a nerve. My handful of readers felt the need to share my thoughts and it spread like wild fire from there. I am flattered that my readers felt that my written words were worthy of sharing with others but I also have a tinge of guilt that it had to come on the heels of such a tragedy. The comments have been mostly positive and I have been moved to tears more than once this week. I have received many thank yous from complete strangers. They say I am brave and honest, eloquent and compassionate. Someone asked me if I realized that I gave the subjects of my writing a voice. Until they asked me that, I had not. I guess that's what writers do, give someone or something a voice. Live and learn.

Now, I have been contacted by the media. They want to know if I would be willing to do an on camera interview. After reading my blog, they are supposedly interested in my perspective as a mother and a blogger. They say that my point of view has not been fairly represented by the media in the past and that my recent blog post was a refreshing change from the norm. I am feeling very hesitant. I know how words can get twisted and sentences can be cut short in order to manipulate a story. I do not want to be their puppet. I also know that I am angered by all of the snap judgements circulating out there, the speculations and the hatred. I have tentatively agreed to meet with the reporter tomorrow, Friday, but on my own terms. I would only speak of myself and my own experiences. I do not wish to show my face; I am not looking to acquire fame or notoriety at the expense of anyone else's pain. I will not disrespect the many families over the years who have chosen to remain silent on their own issues. I will respect their choice. Were I to be in their shoes, I would want to be left alone, in order to grieve, to heal and to move on. They deserve peace.

If the reporter does call me tomorrow and I feel like allowing him into my home, my intention is to make sure the interview remains about me, my experiences with depression, my ups and downs as a mother and why I blog, how I process. I am fairly confident I can keep on point and not be coerced into saying things I do not want to or do not mean. They have promised to only show my hands typing at my computer with just my voice. I would love some feed back from my readers on this, preferably before 9:00 AM, roughly 12 hours from now. Ultimately, I will decide for myself but I am opening myself up to comments, thoughts and suggestions from all of you. How do you feel about me being interviewed? Do you trust me? Do you care? Things like that.

Going forward, I will continue to write from my heart. I will continue to write for myself. I will continue to share my writings with others, it's up to them if they want to read it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to those of you that do.

Desperations of a Wounded Mother

Image from: http://lovejays.com/2013/10/08/struggling-with-depression/

I have been compelled to write this post. I will be as respectful as possible and am not looking to be a martyr. I just have feelings, thoughts and insights that I would like to share, based on a recent local news event. Specifically, an old high school class mate that has allegedly committed murder-suicide on herself and two young children, ages six and seven. The medical examiners are still wrapping things up, so there is still the tiniest bit of hope that the toxicology reports could refute these preliminary findings, but I will admit, my hopes are not high. This is quite tragic and has sent my mind spinning. I am saddened.

Let me begin by admitting I was not close with Stephanie Miskowiec Shields, or as I knew her, Steph. We were only acquaintances in high school and graduated together in the Class of '96. Our graduating class was nearly 600 and knowing everyone was rather impossible. I do remember her though, but have not seen her since. What I do remember is that she was a sweet girl, kind of quiet and petite. She had beautiful eyes that twinkled when she smiled and when she wore her hair up and pulled back from her face she was quite beautiful. She was friendly to me, although we just had the kind of relationship where you say "Hi, how are you?" in the hall at passing time and move on with your day. We had very few classes together, as our interests were very different: she loved Cross-Country anything and my world revolved around music and theatre. At 35 years old, looking back, this whole situation blows my mind. How could life have become so sad for Steph that this was the only way she felt she could cope? I am not expecting to ever be able to answer this question definitively.

There have been many murder-suicides at the hand of the mother over the last many years; Lashanda Armstrong, Susan Smith, Andrea Yates, Melanie Reyes and Mayra Perez, just to name a few. Most of us can not fathom what could possibly bring a mother to the edge so severely. In my mind I say that there is no way in the spectrum of the world that anything would ever make me take the lives of my children, no matter what. Now that Steph is gone and I can sort of say I knew someone who did this horrific thing, is it really fair of me to conclude my thoughts so absolute? Now, I can not bring myself to judge Steph as harshly as I have knee-jerk judged the other mothers in history who have done the same terrible thing. My mind had just been opened, not necessarily for the better.

In the last 35 years I have had my fair share of trials and tribulations. I have had my private desperate moments where I contemplated if it would just be better for everyone involved and easier on myself to give up, doubting my abilities, strengths and will, both before I had children and after. I have rarely spoken of these moments to anyone before because it is embarrassing and a little shameful when I admit weakness, but after watching the tornado of comments flying around on facebook, and the like, I feel strong enough to admit it, this is my way of respecting the memory of Stephanie. I am sure many of you out there have had a mental slip up or two and considered the possibilities. All alone, crying for hours, mind spinning out of control, maybe sitting curled up on the bathroom floor, afraid to move, just in case. Then again, maybe not. I will say that the thought of taking my childrens' lives has truly never once crossed my mind. Never. They are my world, my reason to live and walk upon this Earth. I believe I was put here for them, I was made to be their mother.

That being said, I know we are all made differently. I was able to push through my moments of despair. I have a very strong and supportive family. If anything were to ever happen to me, either self inflicted or not, my children would be taken care of. I also know that there are many factors to consider, when you are thinking about the possibility of not being around for your children anymore: who could afford to raise them properly, who would be willing to bear that burden for me, who would be able to show them unconditional love forever, would the children be able to mentally handle me not being here anymore and/or get the counseling and support they would desperately need to move on and grow into healthy and fulfilled individuals, the list of questions goes on and on. My only conclusion is that Steph possibly had no answers for these questions and made a sad decision. She must have truly felt, in that specific moment of turmoil, that she had absolutely no other choice. Right or wrong, feelings are real and can be poisonous and painful and sometimes, unbearable.

I can sit here and say that I would never ever do the same thing until I am blue in the face and I am fairly certain that this is truthful, but I also know that I never exactly walked a day in her shoes, I may have never felt as down and out as she must have felt. I have a different family and different friends. Our mental genetics are not the same. I can say from experience that I know full well what it is like to keep deep dark secrets. Last night while I was sad and thinking of Steph I peeked at her facebook profile. The pictures are numerous and they all appear so cheerful. Many photos of her and her two gorgeous children, all smiles on bright sunny days, doing family things together out on the boat and in a marathon of some sort. The appearance of fun and as if nothing could possibly be wrong. I have been there. I have presented myself as a happy and content person to the world in my past in order to hide what was truly going on at home and in my life, behind closed doors. I felt I was strong enough to get past it, I was woman enough to remain stoic and keep getting up everyday for my childrens' sake, I would stay in my situation forever just for their happiness. I did not last forever and ten years ago I had to make some serious life changes. This was by no means easy and I had one of my dark periods where I spent most nights after the children were asleep, sobbing uncontrollably, contemplating solutions...some darker than others. Somehow, someway, I made it through; Stephanie, and many many others did/do not.

I am sorry. Sorry for Steph and all the other mothers who caved in to their darkness, sorry for the families who will never know why, sorry for the public and all of their speculations, sorry for the husbands, estranged or not, this would/will be terribly difficult to get past. But, mostly, today, I am sorry for those two sweet ginger babies that have been taken so abruptly from their community, with no say whatsoever. My heart bleeds for them. The mothers probably couldn't think ahead to the mess they would leave, their brains being so distraught and overflowing with sadness. As mothers, they wouldn't have wanted for their children to be remembered this way. An irreversible mistake. I feel extreme empathy and my heart hurts. I will hug my children a little bit harder this evening. Hug yours for me, too.