Archives for June 2011

Hello, Inspiration – Living the Life You’re Meant to, Part 2

I read Eat, Pray, Love when I was pregnant with Connor and wasn’t a huge fan. I liked the book well enough – interesting story – but I thought Liz Gilbert was a narcissistic drama queen who just needed to get it together already.

That descent into judgmental karma-land certainly came back to bite me, didn’t it?

I didn’t get it then. I didn’t understand what depression was like, what it does to people. I didn’t cut her any slack for feeling as though she was screaming on the inside and no one could hear. I didn’t get it when she admitted to feeling like she was living the wrong life.

A while back my husband casually mentioned that the movie was available through our on-demand service but, since I didn’t particularly like the book – and really didn’t want to see Julia Roberts playing Julia Roberts, er, Liz Gilbert – I didn’t watch it. Then Connor got sick and I spent a lot of time on the couch. When I got sick of Big Bang Theory re-runs, I decided to give the movie a shot.

The movie as a whole was better than I expected, but it wasn’t until the end – the very, very end when Gilbert describes her philosophy about truth seeking – that I got it.

“If you are brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting (which can be anything from your house to your bitter old resentments) and set out on a truth-seeking journey (either externally or internally), and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue, and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher, and if you are prepared – most of all – to face (and forgive) some very difficult realities about yourself….then truth will not be withheld from you. Or so I’ve come to believe.”

I had read these words when I read the book, but in that moment I heard them for the first time.

My philosophy – though never this eloquently stated – is the same. I’ve never been good at trusting my instincts for the small stuff. But the big stuff, no sweat.

Truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue? Absolutely. Except I call them signs. And they’ve been coming at me for a while, some of which I wrote about in an earlier inspiration post.

I haven’t watch Oprah for years, but I did watch her final show and there it was again.

“We all are called. Everybody has a calling. And your real job in life is to figure out what that is and get about the business of doing it.”

I have a career that I love and that I feel is important. But I’ve realized it’s not the same thing as my calling.

“That is what a calling is: it lights you up and it lets you know that you are exactly where you’re supposed to be doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.”

That’s what sharing my story has done for me. And what hearing others’ stories has done. Something that I refused to acknowledge for a long time has become what lights me up.

“Every day in every way you are showing people exactly who you are. You’re letting your life speak for you.”

That’s what this blog has become for me. From the first day, I’ve written what I’m feeling, no matter how raw or honest or scary. This is who I am.

“Wherever you are, that is your platform. And that is where your power lies… Connect, embrace, liberate, love somebody. Just one person. And then spread that to two and as many as you can. You’ll see the difference it makes.”

This is my platform. For now. And maybe it will stay that way. But it’s already done what I didn’t know it could do. Liberate someone. What a powerful way to express what helping to free someone from their own struggle can feel like.

Oprah talked about your life speaking to you as a whisper that, if you don’t listen, will start to throw bricks. And if you don’t listen, she said, the whole brick wall will fall down.

Well, my brick wall fell down. So I’m listening. Every day I’m piecing together more and more about what I want to do with this opportunity. I don’t know where it will take me. I don’t know if it will be something I do an hour a day after work or if it will be more than that.

“You have the power to change somebody’s life,” Oprah said.

I’ve already seen the difference it makes, so I intend to keep shining my light.

light in darkness

Remedial Mom 101

When Connor was born I, like every other new mom, did Mom 101 – figuring out all the newborn stuff that no one can really teach you. You just have to do it and learn as you go.

When postpartum depression struck I had some sick days and missed some classes. The ones where you learn how to deal with the difficult stuff. I didn’t master diversions, deep breathing, taking time for yourself or how to play with your child and actually be engaged in it. Since I’m feeling a little better I’m doing Remedial Mom 101 and taking those classes now.

I’m doing pretty well. In fact, I’m top of my class (of one).

After almost two months of complete and utter misery I finally, in the last few weeks, feel like I know what being a mom is supposed to feel like.

My gold stars in the hard courses are racking up as I manage to cope with stuff that’s normally a huge trigger for me. Case in point: yesterday I planned activities for us while my husband was at a meeting. We’d visit the nature sanctuary followed by the library, then make a stop on the way home for groceries.

It didn’t go well.

He fell and skinned his knee right as we entered the path towards the lake, and it was apparently just the wrong thing for a kid who, for some reason, was tired and not coping very well. He put on a sad face and wanted to be carried, then turned on the toddler-terror button and ran stomping down a bridge covered in dragonflies as I was trying to take a picture.

Then he peed himself.

That doesn’t happen often – ever, really (knock wood) – but we just dealt with it. After getting clean clothes from the car I told him we were going to head to the library. Apparently this was the worst suggestion ever.

The kid who had just said he wanted to go to the library had decided he needed to go back down the trail. Except he’d peed in his boots, and we had no other shoes. So off we went – I stopped at home to get him some shoes and he cried about the unacceptable change in plans.

When we got to the library, he was fine. At first anyway. We chose some books to check out. And then he had a meltdown. In a quiet library. Over something that I don’t really understand. But I got an A+ for diversions by getting him to help me use the self-checkout, though our success was temporary. The meltdown continued when I tried to ask the librarian a question and it ended up in one of those situations where I was carrying a bag, a stack of books and a 40 pound toddler out the door as fast as I could.

And then – oh yes, I did it – I braved the grocery store. I knew he was tired. But we needed something for lunch and, frankly, I didn’t want to have to go out again.

It was mostly okay, if you discount the constant whining as we went through the store. His attempt at throwing a carton of blueberries was prevented by my lightning-fast reflexes and I managed to sigh instead of wanting to smack something.

Good thing our list was small.

We checked out, I got him in the car and, boom, he was asleep.

I knew it. Had called it. Had texted my husband: “This is going to be a nap day.” I got home and handed him off. It had been a rough morning but I considered it a success.

That doesn’t mean I’ve graduated – it’s still early in the semester – but this is a huge sign that I’m feeling better.

I never had to take remedial anything, but this is one class I’m not ashamed of taking and am determined to pass. I think a SuperMom t-shirt is in my future.

Uncool

You know what I love about blogging? It’s making me rich. Not in money – the currency is love, friendship, and community.

Some of you have already rolled your eyes and closed this tab. The rest of you know what I’m talking about.

My life has been enriched since I started blogging. Here, it doesn’t matter who I am. It doesn’t matter what I do, or what kind of a car I drive or how pretty I am. What matters is what I share.

Everyone feels uncool sometimes. Yes, everyone. Think of the most popular girl in high school (was that you?) and I guarantee she was insecure about something. Or maybe a lot of things. Perhaps even a lot of the time.

Ironically, blogging can sometimes make us feel especially uncool. We succumb, at times, and measure our worth in visits, clicks, comments and re-tweets. We follow our Google Friend Connect numbers like they’re our bank accounts – waiting, begging, praying for them to go up. We want people to “like” us, on Facebook, but in general as well.

It’s the curse of the blogger and I’ve seen many post about their blogging insecurities, only to be assured that, yes, their blogs are great. Their writing is great. They are great. Which is great. Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded of these things by someone other than your mother.

Coincidentally, three of the leaders in my PPD community have recently posted about popularity in blogging. Lauren from My Postpartum Voice wrote about her Klout score. Katherine from Postpartum Progress and Yael from PPD to Joy both wrote about popularity as a result of the Circle of Moms contest for the top 25 mental health blogs. (If you read Yael’s post, you’ll see where the inspiration for this post came from.)

I think Klout is probably bunk, but when people award me Klout points I appreciate it, not because it affects my score, which I care nothing about, but because I take it as a compliment.

I was nominated in that Circle of Moms contest – another compliment – and ended up at number 10. I’m grateful for what it will do to raise awareness about postpartum depression, but I have no illusions about what it means for me – it was a contest that allowed a vote a day, which is hardly a valid measure of the top anything. Some of the ones that came in below me are more established, more authoritative, more lots-of-things blogs.

So no, those things don’t mean I’m cool. I’m not cool. In high school I wasn’t popular but I wasn’t an outcast either. I was just me, and I’m glad of that now.

Now I don’t worry (very much) about being cool. I don’t fuss about what I wear around my more fashionable friends. I don’t look at the moms who seem put together and totally with it and feel inadequate, because I know they have bad days just like the rest of us. My taste in music probably resembles a 16-year-old girl’s more than a 36-year-old mom’s, but I don’t care. It makes me happy.

Instead of worrying about whether I’m cool, I try to relish the relationships I have. What matters to me is that people like you show me that what I share with others matters.

“The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you’re uncool.” – Lester Bangs in Almost Famous

Code: Meltdown

We’re good at meltdowns in this house. I can pull off a spectacular one, though have had less need lately. Connor, on the other hand, has an ongoing, intrinsic need to completely lose his cool on a fairly regular basis.

This is normal for toddlers, I know. Occasionally – very occasionally – I find it funny. This is huge progress, mind you, because I used to absolutely lose it when he lost it, and that was all kinds of not pretty. One of the reasons I know I’m getting better at tolerating his meltdowns is that I’ve developed my own little rating system. The Code: Meltdown System has three levels.

The characteristics of a Code One Meltdown include:

  • Dropping to the floor in a puddle because he didn’t get what he wanted (see also: Things the Books Don’t Tell You, item #2).
  • Refusing to brush his teeth.
  • Flopping around on his bed like a chubby, soft little fish in cute jammies because he doesn’t want to go to sleep. Usually accompanied by on-and-off tears and the wail of “I don’t want to go to sleep!” which means he’s tired.
  • Throwing something, but gently because he doesn’t really want to invoke the Wrath of Mama.
  • A brief bout of tears that subside when the appropriate response is given to the arms-raised, sad-face “up” gesture.

With a Code Two Meltdown you get:

  • Ongoing tears that don’t respond to normal efforts to provide comfort and a resounding “NO!” to anything offered as a possible diversion.
  • Any of the following: running away, pushing, hitting, biting, smearing toothpaste on the sink/counter/mother, throwing things with aim and intention, hiding with face buried in couch cushions, adopting rag doll pose, or mimicking octopus limbs while dressing is being attempted.
  • One of the following outbursts, always included for the purposes of attention seeking or release of frustrated energy: loud banging, a trademarked “RAWR” (that I really must get on camera one day because it’s a perfect combination of dinosaur/pissed off toddler), or, more recently, a scrunched-up, spitting sort of face that I don’t understand but certainly don’t appreciate.

The Code Three Meltdown is where things get really interesting:

  • Screaming. My god, this kid can scream.
  • Did I mention screaming?
  • Very physical responses – usually aimed at parental head and face regions – designed to provoke a specific response.
  • Throwing himself on the floor and writhing around in a way that makes it almost impossible to pick him up (but not quite, ha ha).
  • More screaming, which, as the defining characteristic of the Code Three Meltdown, tends to go on for quite some time.

As I’ve previously admitted, he gets a lot of this from me, so I get it (though it’s also – hopefully? – because the toddler switch has been flicked to “ON”).

This system is more observation than criticism, and besides, when tolerating a meltdown, analyzing the level and assigning a code to it gives me something to do other than stabbing myself in the eardrums so I don’t have to listen to it. That’s good parenting, right?

This previously published photo is an example of a Code One Meltdown (liked his outfit, didn't want his picture taken). Funnily enough, I don't have a photo of a Code Three. Must get on that.

 

Life List #7: Photography Course

Early this year I wrote my life list and taking a photography course was #7. Item checked off! On Monday I took a course for beginners and learned a ton – basics of settings, more about composition, etc. and now I feel like I understand enough to keep playing with photography.

These are some of the photos I took – though I’m having colour management issues so I don’t love how they appear here – but I’ve included a few captions indicating what I was aiming for with the shot.

(Incidentally, this same company offers photo tours to places like Africa. Since a safari was on my list already I’ve updated it to be a photo tour, because how cool would that be? A safari with photography help – sign me up! When I win the lottery maybe…)

Playing with leading lines

More lines with focus on foreground

The effect of the rule of thirds

Roy. Focus on statue details.

Just because I like pictures of paths.

Didn't quite get the detail in the flowers I wanted, but aren't these cool?

Love these spikes.

Lines of the fence with flowers in the foreground.

White in a sea of green.

This poor bear, lying there waiting to be played with again.
Stark white. I wonder if he had grass stains?
Blue smile conveys no concern, knowing his playmates are nearby.
He knows they’ll come back when hide and seek is done.

(Tormenting you with a wee bit of poetry while I play along with Mama Kat.)

Also linked up with:

Crazy Days of Summer