My Feet Aren't Cold Because of the Snow

I promised myself that my next post on this blog would be positive. I figured it was time for something positive to come along, and I thought I shouldn't write again until I had come across a way to have a positive outlook on things. Unfortunately positivity has not entered my life.

OK, OK, that's not completely true. I manage to laugh and smile, and so there obviously is some positive in my life. But I've stumbled into a bit of a pit. I'm not good at living in the ideal. I like to live in the real world, where there's real emotions, real problems, real heartache and real people getting through it everyday. But upon going to church, and returning to relief society for the first time since the event that changed my life, I find that any mention of ideal, even when mixed with what's real, stabs at me like a short, shallow dagger. I almost couldn't make it through the whole meeting. I just sat there, looking down, tying a piece of string in knots over and over again, all the while tears welling in my eyes.

It's just too hard to take. It's just too hard to listen to testimonies, and stories about how prayer and scriptures are the answers to everything. How God never forgets us. How He is waiting to pour blessings upon us if we just ask. How these are all supposed to be inspirational, and help me to believe and have hope, but they just leave me feeling lonely, sad and scared.

I've talked with my mom about it. She said she knows how I feel. She told me the story about how a lesson on a talk called, "Forget Me Not" by Dieter F. Uchtdorf made her feel the same way. She said, "It just made me cry because you know all these things. You do all these things. You endure to the end. But life is still hard. But you keep enduring, and you keep trying to do those things you know are right. But still life is just so hard, and it never gets easy."

My feelings towards it still feel strange and confusing. I feel like it's hard to put it into words but I'll try. I feel like I believe the church is true. I believe God exists. I cannot deny that. But if I cannot deny that than I have to admit that all those ideal things they say in relief society are true. And if I feel like they aren't a comfort, or aren't answers to my problems, than the problem isn't that it's not true, or that God doesn't exist, the problem is me. And I just don't know what to do to fix the problem that is in me. And then I guess it turns into a vicious cycle because the answers that should be there to help fix me don't feel like the answers I need. Make sense? It's pretty confusing even for me, which is why it's hard to live.

Another example is this:
My last baby was a boy. I don't know why I was sent another boy. I really feel like God answered my prayers, and gave me comfort when it came to me having more kids, by letting me know I had been promised daughters. People mention daughter-in-laws. People mention the fact that it might be in a different life. Perhaps these are my answers, but I really felt He was telling me that I would have a girl if I had more kids. Well I got sent a boy. Not only did I have to once again deal with the trial of having a boy, but it had to be during the most awful, horrible, heartbreaking time of my life. I just threw up my hands and said, "I'm done! If there's some lesson I haven't learned, if there's something I'm not doing right, if this is for my own good, and if I'm supposed to figure out why, well I'm not going to because I'm done. I've obviously missed the point. And I'm tired of trying to figure out why these things happen."
Before I would search and search for a meaning. I would come up with an answer that gave me peace and understanding. But now, I just can't do that anymore. I'm sick of trying to give meaning to my trials-- like I've said before they have hurt me so much that, even if I did learn from them, it's hard to admit they happened for a reason, all while giving it a positive spin. I guess I'm still not explaining it very well. I guess some tragedies, whether the small ones in my life or the huge one's that exist in the world, are just so unnecessary that you can't give them a "reason" for happening because, in some ways, giving them a reason is like giving an excuse. And there just can't be an excuse for making someone feel that kind of pain.

It probably doesn't make much sense. I really don't know if I understand it. All I know is that it's hard to hear, hard to take and sometimes hard to understand. The worst part is that I know there is a fear of allowing myself to fully live and believe all of those lessons and ideal things because I don't know if my heart can take trusting in those so much, and yet it all ending in yet another hardship or trail. I don't know if my faith in the church, or in God, would survive. I guess that's all part of my trust issues as of now. All of it is tied into letting myself be open and vulnerable with faith and love, and watching reality eat that vulnerability alive. I'm sure it's ultimately a test in faith. Even when you feel so alone, like even God has left you, you still need to have faith and keep enduring.

The hardest thing about feeling this way is that because of it I've had a hard time being content and at peace, with my life, in a long time. The last time I remember being totally content and at peace was right before our last baby was born. I had a dream that the baby was a girl. I remember, while in that dream, I was just so content, happy and at peace, and life, once again, made sense.  I thought maybe that feeling would come once my baby arrived, but it never really has.

It's been a year since said ". . .event that changed my life" happened, and I've really struggled, still, to live with it in my life. I read a cute little Romantic story for book club. Reading this story, that wasn't weighted down with reality or tragedies, felt just as painful to read as books that had such tragedies in them. I know life never turns out like a cute romantic comedy. But even so I have felt like love like that can exist. And when I looked at my own love story. . .well. . .those things seem so far from what I have that it's hard to feel like I can even skim over the bumps and say I really feel like I have that "something" special. Part of me wanted a love story like that. Once again, I realize that in reality these love stories are not real, and that nobody's life is going to end up like a perfect little fairytale,-- which I guess is another reason I stick so much to what is real--but I still feel like the feelings are real. And when it comes to love, I've always believed, that even in reality, I can have something that feels as wonderful as a fairytale. I've always been kind of a hopeless romantic. I guess I still wanted a chance to find a man that could love me like that. I was sad that my youth, and beauty, had been used up on this "story" of mine. And, most of all, I  just wanted  a chance to recreate some of those memories that are supposed to be so sweet in life: weddings, anniversaries, childbirth, etc. My memories are so tainted, and sometimes bitter. I wanted to at least be able to look back with my husband at a cute little love story that was all our own without being filled with sadness.

Part of me was angry that I had stayed. Part of me wished that I had left a year ago because here we are a year later and I'm still heartbroken and. . .well. . .just broken. I haven't found a way to look to the future with hope, or to look to the past with understanding. I started to seriously consider that maybe I should just leave now. Sometimes the thought of leaving, and starting over, brings me so much peace and I feel like maybe then I could fully heal. But than I realize that these problems are my problems, and I'll take them with me no matter where I go, or who I leave.

But on the other hand I wondered if it was fair to stay. I mean, my  husband deserved to be loved fully too. What if I was no longer capable of loving him that way? It just didn't seem fair.

For a few days I thought about leaving. I racked my brain for plans that would work. I could move out. I could move in with my parents. I could stay and he could move out, and I could get a roommate. It was one of the  most heartbreaking things I had to think about. Could I really go, and leave all our memories behind? But hadn't those memories already been given away? Leaving just felt so hard. But so does staying. Just because something is right doesn't mean that it's easy. But than which "hard" is the "right" thing to do, leaving or staying? I've always been taught that there are certain guidelines to right. One of them is that, despite certain circumstances, it is always right to try and save your marriage. But what if staying was just so trying on you that you could no longer cope with everyday life like you needed to?

I struggled for a couple days. I distanced myself from my husband. It was hard. I wanted so badly to just let him comfort and take care of me. No matter what has happened he is still my best friend, the man I love, the man I started my life with. And going through this hardship felt impossible to do without him there. I tried to resist just coming home and being comforted by him. Was I just being stubborn, or was this part of the "hard" I'd have to get through? Even though being comforted was what I wanted, and felt so right, I didn't know if I just wanted to do it because it was what was normal and easy. And I was worried that the endless cycle would continue: I go to work, fight back tears all day because of reminders, trying to fight the urge to just want to leave because I don't want what happened to be in my marriage anymore, come home, be comforted, everything feels OK and good, I can stay, until. . . .I go to work. . .

Truth is when it's just me and my husband everything is fine. It's having to exist in a world outside our home that is hard. It's having to exist at church, work, school or even just in the supermarket.

Later that night as I lie in bed crying over the thought of loosing all our memories, traditions, stories, everything we had started as a family I suddenly could see so clearly. Why was I letting my selfish desires threaten my marriage? It could just be me and my husband against the world. Suddenly all the things I wanted seemed so less important when compared to the marriage and friendship I had built with this man. And finally I let it all go. I hugged my husband and just cried, and took comfort in that.

A lot of what we were was given away, over a year ago, when mistakes were made. Even though we stay together what we were is such a hard and painful memory, it really feels like its already lost. So I don't know if a divorce is necessarily the beginning of loosing all that we are. At times I wish I had left him when I was still angry. When I could just be mad at him. But now he's made so many changes, and come so far, that I really don't hate him. Its just that no matter how good our relationship is, what happened will always be a part of it. And I don't know if I can live with it. When I talk with my husband, apologetically, about how I don't know if I can stay he says, in a sad and longing tone, "I knew it would be hard, and I didn't know if you could ever forgive me for it." I don't really feel like it's a lack of being able to forgive. I think I've forgiven him. I think it's more about being able to just move on. I worry, even now, that things will still be hard. That the cycle will still continue.I feel so uncertain, and I hate passing on that uncertainty to my husband and kids. I just keep hoping there will come a day, that I hear a message said in just the right way, or I can see things in just the right light, and because of it I can finally feel peaceful and content once again. 

Since I wanted some positivity here I'll include a few tidbits. I've started school, which I'm proud of myself for doing. I achieved last years New Years Resolution. One of my twins, who loves to dance, is taking his first dance class and it starts tomorrow. I'm so excited he's at an age where I can sign him up for these things. Even though I can't be there because I have class, I look forward to seeing the pictures and hearing the stories. My boys have learned so much from the little amount of time I have spent teaching them. It's just so exciting to watch them retain so much information. My little baby has started sitting up on his own-- it's for like 5 seconds at a time, but I'm still impressed. And the most exciting thing is that I get to spend some nice days off with my family-- thanks to switching to part time!

Les Miserables

Last night, thanks to my husband, I actually got a date. Not only did I get a date, but I got to see a movie in the actual theater. And not only did I get to see a movie, but I got to see a movie based on my all time favorite musical, Les Miserables. As soon as the movie began I was overcome with emotion. Within the first few bars of music, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to handle the movie emotionally. Before the first scene ended I knew that my feelings on the film could not be expressed in a mere facebook status update. So I'm writing them here.

Were there things I didn't like about this film?

Yes. Yes, there were. At times I felt like it was too fast paced. I was not impressed with Russel Crowe's performance. I don't think he quite pinned down the tortured character of Javert. I wasn't a huge fan of the Thenardiers. In the musical they are the comic relief, but in the movie it felt like they didn't know how to stay true to the characters while staying true to the other themes of the story. It was kind of awkward at times. I also didn't like that they sort of down played one of my favorite characters, Eponine. I connected so much with her in the musical, and I hardly felt like I knew her in the movie. I was also not a huge fan of the camera work. The musical is so big and grand, and you have so much more room to be big and grand on screen than on stage. Yet with all the close up shots, and not really getting a sense of the scenery or surroundings, I sort of felt like the musical had a much bigger and grander scheme. I also was torn at times between the acting and the singing. Did I want the good acting, or good singing? Sometimes I got both? Sometimes the acting was so good the singing didn't matter. And sometimes I just really wanted to hear my favorite songs sung by amazing singers.

Does this mean I did not like the film?

Hardly. I loved it? I could have taken all the things that bugged me about this film and walked away totally disappointed. But truthfully it had such an impact on me that, no matter what flaws there were, I couldn't have walked away disliking this film. Plus it's Les Miserables. This is my favorite book, story and musical. How could I not enjoy it?

So here is my Les Miserables experience.

This was the first musical I ever saw. I love, love, love this musical. I have sung every part. I have played the Original Cast album while acting out the roles in my parents living room. I have loved and lived this musical to the fullest extent. I feel like I've truly explored every emotional aspect and theme it has. And yet, when that movie began, I was caught off guard.

The minute the movie started, and I heard those oh so familiar notes, I knew this experience was going to be unlike any other Les Miserables experience I have had. I was watching a story that was oh so familiar to me. I was listening to songs I knew by heart, and yet I was paralyzed by emotion. I couldn't allow myself to absorb it as I had before. It was different. It struck me down. It hit me in a place I had never expected. All that Les Miserables had ever been to me was now completely different because now. . .it was REAL. I didn't think I would survive. I seriously thought I may have to walk out of this movie. Not because I didn't like it, but because it was too close to home. The story switched to Fantine's I thought I was done for. Never have I felt this character's pain as I did last night. Honestly a part of me lived, and died, with her. Even though I knew my story was no where near as tragic there was still something that was way too familiar and way too personal about Fantine's experiences. I was heart broken. She wasn't just a character going through this pain. She was a person, a friend, someone who's pain I would have prevented if only I could. In some ways she was me. And I could hardly stand to watch her have to give up and sacrifice all that she had to.

The stories of those "dropped. . .at the bottom of the heap" have become too real for me. There's a part of me that has experienced a part of that pain. And it's a part of me that isn't strong enough to face that pain again. In fact watching the characters face it, and have to face it again, felt almost suffocating. How could they do it? How could they survive? How could they still believe in God, love and hope? How could they keep on living and not just lay down and die? I believe the need to answer these questions is the reason stories like Les Miserables come about. It's the reason I have always loved this story. And it's the reason that I now love this story even more. It's themes of how horrible and wretched life can be had become more real to me, and now it's themes of salvation and redemption had become all the more necessary in my life.

Even those convicts chained with Val Jean in the first scene still had faith enough to pray to God. Val Jean sang, "My soul belongs to God I know, I made that bargain long ago. He gave me hope when hope was gone. He gave me strength to carry on."And I realized in this story, created ultimately by Victor Hugo, there was a God. And these people, no matter how miserable, never lost their faith in that. And they never stopped believing that no matter how little the good they did seemed to do it didn't change the fact that doing good was the right thing to do.And it was better to do good than do nothing at all.

I believe there will come a time when my faith and hope can make me as strong as the characters in this story. I feel so weak right now. I struggle so much to just carry on with everyday life. But I wake up every morning, and as long as I keep waking up I need to keep trying to figure out how to improve, how to do good and how to do what's right.

Les Miserables is one of my favorite stories. It is also my favorite musical and the themes and meanings in this story have already touched me so much I couldn't walk away not loving this film. But now seeing it through new eyes, and new insight, and knowing that this story now holds so much more personal meaning to me, I truly have to say my love for Les Miserables has been rediscovered and relived.

Highly Recommended

 There seems to be a trend of over sharing lately. I'm afraid I'm high up and that guilty scale. Sometimes I share way too much! Sometimes I spend days feeling guilty, and battling myself over things I've shared. Sometimes it has backfired on me. But truthfully it's who I am. I've tried to change. I've tried to keep things to myself, but it just becomes too much. Maybe my burdens are best left to be borne by me alone. Perhaps I have put unnecessary weight on others shoulders. But truthfully I just cannot function unless I am an open and honest person in the most complete and best way I can be.

As of late I have been returning to the work scene. This time I am trying to change my mind set. Instead of just working to get us back on our feet I have been perusing long term employment, with stable companies that I will enjoy working for and that offer room for advancement. I have attained employment as a housekeeper at a local resort, called Sundance, and I kind of love it! I also have plans to return to school in January. Yay for unbelievable stress and hardship! Oh well, that's my life, and it's for the greater good.

But anyway back to the working thing. I found returning to work to be much harder than expected. It was just so hard to be out in reality again. I found little reminders, in the oddest places, that sometimes just made me want to kneel down and cry. I couldn't believe how hard it was just to be in a work place. I consider myself a hard worker. I may not have always fully applied myself. But I've worked hard to try and break those habits, and I've worked hard to be as professional as possible. I want to be a good employee who shows talent and the willingness to succeed. I soon realized it wasn't working that was hard. It was existing in the work place that was hard.

I've been pretty much a stay at home mom for 3 years now. I haven't really been challenged to exist outside my home. And with recent events in my life I found it even harder to exist in the outside world. I was used to being "Working Girl Tricia, Pre Marriage". I was used to being "Working Girl Tricia, Post Marriage, Pre Babies, Post Babies, Etc.". But I wasn't used to having to be the Tricia I am now, existing in the work field. It made it hard. I didn't know how to be this person. I didn't know what face to show. I felt like I just couldn't be who I am because I was told I needed to keep things to myself. I was told that would be for the better. Well maybe those people have a point, but at the moment that point seemed to be piercing into my chest making it impossible to breath. 

It wasn't long until I began to get to know my co-workers. I began chatting with one girl, and we just both opened up and felt comfortable sharing things with each other. She shared her trials. I shared mine. It's strange how sometimes it's just so easy to be yourself around someone, and how you can just sense it instantly. I thought I'd go home feeling terrible about myself. I thought I'd regret how I acted, or what I said. But I didn't. In fact I felt better. I felt like I was finally free to be Tricia at work. Does that mean I'll share everything with everyone? No. But it just came as such a relief to talk with someone. To not have to keep everything all balled up inside. And it just sort of released me from a prison I had made for myself when it came to returning to work.

Truth be told I'm scared of what lies ahead. I'm scared I won't be able to do this. That I won't be able to attain a career. That I'll fail like I have so many times when it comes to jobs, careers and school. I'm afraid I don't have what it takes. That adds to the pressures already felt in my life. And it makes it even harder to achieve what I need to achieve. I'm afraid people won't take me seriously. And I can really see no reason why they should. But I want to do this. I want to say that I did it. I want to know that my family can afford to pay the bills, and enjoy themselves again. And in order to do that I'm going to have to find a balance between being professional and being myself.

So over sharing may not come highly recommended by some. It may not be highly recommended for some. But for me I highly recommend it. Somehow it just gives me strength.

6 Week Check-up

Today I went in for my six week check up-- technically it was seven weeks. I'm so ready to say goodbye to the doctors office. Vulnerability mixed with bad memories have made the doctors a huge trigger for me. I've always kind of gotten down from doctors visits while pregnant. I guess it's a mix of:

•  people stating my pregnancies must be easy because I don't throw up
•  Having so many contractions, and being pregnant at the most stressful times in my life, and not having proof show up on any test, screen or listening device, 
• People thinking I'm crazy or a wimp because it doesn't show up on any test, screen or listening device.
• And feeling like I know what is going on with my own body and being proven wrong, every time. 

Yes, going to the doctors always feels extremely frustrating, but it's been even worse this time around. I'm ready to turn my back and hopefully not have to see the doc for a while now.

My six week check up didn't do much to totally turn me round about doctors visits. I did enjoy a fun chat with my doctor about his family-- I really like my doctor-- but not being able to muster up the strength to say more than, "I feel OK," led to a chat about anti depressants. It just made me feel like a total and complete failure all around. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I do. 

I'm sorry my posts are all so depressing lately. I find myself extremely frustrated. I'm frustrated with my weight. I'm frustrated with our van. I'm frustrated with my baby and his randomness. I'm frustrated with my kids, and the fact that we just can't do anything without it being miserable. And I'm frustrated with my situation.

Weight-

I know I'm only six weeks postpartum, but my body has taken on a new and totally different shape. OK, it's probably only totally different to me, but my hips are obviously wider then before, and that flabby skin from the twins is still hanging around. Then that little pregnancy pooch still shows it's ugly face, and I get the feeling that it's just going to stick around longer and longer with each kid. My weight gain with this baby has been depressing. I felt like I was tiny, but the scales said otherwise. I had finally gotten down to my ultimate pre-pregnancy weight after my last baby, and now I'm back to where I was after I had the twins. Ugh! It just depresses me. I was feeling so skinny until I stepped on that scale at the doctor's office.

Van-

My husband and I have been van shopping before, and we have come to the conclusion that a Chevy or Pontiac van is in our best interest.

I own a Buick Century see, and one day I had it parked next to my brothers huge Tahoe. We were at an apartment building, with three stories so we hiked to the top and gazed down. We were shocked! My Buick was as long as my brother's Tahoe. The engine compartment was the same and everything.
This meant if you kicked out the back of my Buick, built a roof over the trunk and installed the optional third row seat our Buick would have just about as much cargo room as the Tahoe. It really changed how we started looking at vehicles from then on.

A lot of vans are in the same fashion as the Tahoe, they are just as big as the Buick. The only vans that offer a third seat and still have reasonable cargo room are the Chevy's and the Pontiacs-- and probably the Buicks, we just haven't looked yet. I think the Honda Odyssey's are a little bigger too.

Anyway. . . when we heard about baby 4 we felt we should just get any van we could. This was just in hopes of being able to drive somewhere safely and legally. Well the more I asked around the more certain I became that my good old Buick would probably suit us fine for a while-- it has 3 seats in the front and 3 in the back. I kind of got off the van bandwagon, but my husband still wanted one, and he was probably right. Plus, we figured any van at all would probably be more convenient then the Buick. That was based on the consumer reports of our neighbors and friends.

Well we purchased a cheap van from an auction site. It has manual locks and windows. The radio doesn't work. The interior lights don't work. And it doesn't have two sliding doors. Our thoughts were to buy it because of our thoughts on any van being more convenient and such. Well the trade offs weren't great.

Truth is the Buick, with it's power windows and locks, doors on both sides, some working interior lights, and smoother ride, feels just about as convenient as the van. It's still good to have the two cars, but I feel like a silly goose stating that the van just isn't working for us. I mean really? How can it not be more convenient?

I guess just any van won't do. We need to stick with our original conclusions and get a Chevy or a Pontiac-- though I'm totally voting for the Buick!

Baby-

I love my babies! I love their little toes. I love when they suck on their hands. I love the cooing sounds they make when eating. I love when they smile,  and I love pretending it's not just gas. And I love that my babies are sweet and good.

They are so sweet and good, in fact, that if I ever dare mention otherwise I tend to get kicked in the teeth. "Well I think he's a sweetheart"

Grrr! It drives me crazy. All my newborns, even my colicky one, fell into obvious sleeping patterns. Patterns I could see. Patterns that made life a little predictable. Patterns that led to schedules that made life wonderful. The twins just did it on their own. My colicky one did it when I finally just let him cry. And this one. . .well that's a different story.

My last child was colicky, and had to have attention and be held all the time. Me thinking I had no skills for such a child tried to do things differently then I normally would. I then quit trying to be something else and just did what I normally do-- let him cry it out, fed him at certain times and certain amounts and basically put my motherly foot down. Funny thing is it worked. So I should just do that with my next child right?

Well, I lacked the patience to do so. He didn't really cry it out. He just cried a little and stopped. Then cried a little and stopped. It drove me crazy so I would just hold him. I'd hold him for an hour until I thought he had fallen asleep enough to be put down. He'd then wake up, and I'd have to sit again. Pretty soon I had sat clear through to another feeding, and would now have to sit again and feed him. Tell me how someone does all this while having to care for 3 other kids?

I tried coming up with weird feeding schedules: feed him, burp him, feed him, burp him, change him, wrap him, feed him, burp him and hopefully he'll go to sleep. I had other variations too. With my others we just did feed, burp, change, wrap and then sleep. Simple right? Why didn't I do it with this baby? Because I lacked the patience.

Finally after all this I had enough. I decided he would just have to cry. And I would just have to muster up the patience to let him. I feed him his bottle, burp him, change him, play with him while he's awake and when he gets fussy I just let him cry. It always seems to come down to this, and this always seems to be what works for us. Why I don't just do it I don't know. I guess there's no harm in what path I take as long as we get somewhere good though.

Kids-

It's hard to have 4 kids so close. We try to go anywhere fun and I end up being the one that is misbehaving. Its so hard to accept that we can't go out and enjoy things anymore because I just love to go out and go places. And I want us to go as a family. It just ends up in misery though. And anyone I bring along to help gets stressed by it all too. I get to my wits end, and I feel like I just add to all the misery. Things were starting to get better before we had the baby. It's just so hard to have to care for a newborn in the middle of all this.

Life-

Life over all is hard. I'm trying to get it together and choose a career path. I've made so many mistakes with school and applying myself. I just want stability and security. I want to obtain a career to help support our family. One that, if I had to, I could support the family with on my own. Everything just seems to be a jumbled mess when it comes to choosing and trying though. I tried getting a job in hopes of sticking out the grunt work to get to a better place. That failed miserably. Now I'm in search of other paths, but honestly I just feel so down right now. Can I really not even stick out the grunt work for the greater good of my family? Can I really not even do it for a week? What if I'm really not as successful of an individual as I've told myself I am over the years? I just want to get us to a better place. How come that doesn't motivate me to get my butt in gear?

All this stuff has become all the more frustrating when I try to talk about it with others. I mean if I say the van isn't convenient, then why can't that just be true? After all I'm the one driving the van, do I not have the intelligence to say whether it works for us or not? Why do I have to be treated like an ungrateful monster.

If I say my well behaved newborn drives me crazy, with his random gassy/fussiness, can't that be accepted as a good and honest evaluation?  I'm the one spending 24/7 with this child. Shouldn't that put me high up on the list of noteworthy opinions? Saying, "That's just how newborns are," leaves me feeling like people must question my intelligence and ability to do hard things. I've had 4 newborns I think I can determine whether or not it's different and hard. And even if it's just hard for me, it's still hard. Lets not forget that newborns are simply hard.

I don't know if any of that makes sense. I hit major writers block with those last two paragraphs. I wish I could have described it better. I usually don't write posts until I have come through the mucky ugliness and reached the other side with a clear perspective. This usually means I have found clearer ways of describing how I feel. I obviously should have waited to write this post.  Bottom line, it just makes things all the more frustrating when I don't receive validation. When I don't receive validation I feel trapped. When I feel trapped I get angry. When I get angry I get ugly. Seriously, it could be compared to The Hulk.

I think people try to help me, and when they try to help they are really trying to fix. And when this turns into me still being frustrated or overwhelmed they feel like their efforts are have failed and are unappreciated. I can't blame them for being upset. They put a lot of effort into helping me out. And when they don't see the results they were hoping for I'm sure it's a huge let down. Just like me and the van. It's frustrating on my end. It's frustrating on other ends. It's just frustrating all around.

My life is just hard. There's not much to be done to fix it. Things that can be done to help are things I need to do myself. And they are things that will make life all the more harder for a while. Every little bit helps in it's way, but what helps the most is just having someone there to validate and talk to.

Sorry. Another long depressing post. I need to try and write more happy and inspiring things here. Some of that does exist in motherhood. Though I swear it gets harder to see with each child. Here's to hoping things will start looking up.

Throw Me an Anchor!

As you are aware there has been a struggle with me and having all boys. I wouldn't trade my boys for the world, but it's hard to have four kids and still feel that there is still a gap in my life.

I recently read a book, which I highly recommend, called "Secret Daughter". It was an emotional endeavor to read, but in all the best-- and hard-- ways. The book features perspectives from many different characters, and I found my heart aching for each one of them in each circumstance. I could go on forever about how this book both validated my feelings and taught me how to appreciate, and hold dear to, everything in my life, but I'll just mention one part for now. It was a chapter from the perspective of the Indian Mother-in-Law. She had all boys, and she reminisced about how she had always wanted a daughter. Someone to pass her jewelery on to. Someone to teach about the wonders of being a woman. She had hoped that one day she would have daughter-in-laws to share this with, but the daughter-in-laws turned to their mothers and left her ". . .alone in a house full of men." I can't even describe how much that last sentence impacted me. How simple it is, but how it perfectly described the reason for my longing. This book, and other things of late, have brought about the certain events that led to this blog post.

The weeks have flown by with this child, and though I love him deep down in my core there was something unsatisfying and hard about realizing this was my reality. Four boys and no girls. Was this really it? Of course, I could have more kids physically, but mentally I'm worn out. I just don't think I can do this anymore. But it's hard to accept this as my final answer. I kept waiting for it to feel wonderful. To feel amazing. To feel like they say you will in all those promises you hear of when you first start having kids. Why couldn't it be like when I had the twins? When they brought them to me and I thought, "You're perfect. I don't ever need a girl as long as I can have more of you." I mean really? That was me, thinking that. Who knew each child wouldn't bring the same satisfaction? I certainly didn't.

I wanted to ask others if it was the same for them, but I hate doing that sometimes. People just say, "You must have postpartum depression." I don't know why but I hate that term. I feel like people are labeling me with a problem. A problem that needs to be fixed. I don't want to be fixed. Saying I'm broken is saying it's not normal. That my feelings don't deserve validation. Just because they may be exemplified, and harder to deal with in my current state, doesn't make them less real. And they still need to be addressed.

It takes a certain amount of strength to get through each day. It takes a certain amount of patience as well. Everyday things come up. There are reminders everywhere. Sometimes in the oddest places. I went to put on a long sleeved shirt, and realized I didn't want to wear my winter clothes anymore. They seemed to hold so much pain and sadness in them. Working out in the yard is another hardship. I hate yard work sometimes. And not just in the normal way. Every time I go out there I think I can handle it, but there is always a moment when I just want to fall on my knees and cry. Hard work usually brings about my frustrated and hurt feelings, but yard work harbors it's own bitter memories that the other chores don't. Normally dealing with these things is do-able. But the last week or so it has become crippling.

Things slowly became more crippling. I found the heartache from my marriage to be overwhelming. It usually was hard, but I could stay focused on the real goal. The real reason to stay, and not the facade, or fantasy, that leaving seemed to promise at times. But now that goal was growing dim. I felt myself slipping. I couldn't hang in there anymore. I didn't know if I really could forgive my husband. After all this time maybe I just didn't have the strength. Than it hit me like a flood. I laid in bed crying, telling my husband I just didn't want to do it anymore. It was selfish I knew, but the feeling were overwhelming. The strength to persevere and stay were dwindling. I wanted another chance. I wanted the freedom to be adored by another man. I wanted my youth. The freedom to try out for plays. To flirt with boys. To be a woman again. Being the only girl in this house of men was beginning to get to me. For some reason it was making dealing with the marital problems harder. Maybe if I had had a girl she could give me strength to get through it. Maybe she'd help me remember what it is to be feminine and strong. But maybe it was good that she wasn't here because it wouldn't be right for me to put that pressure on her.

Things gradually got harder. I had done so well with coping with my marriage, and everything, since the birth. But the feelings about my baby didn't seem to disappear. Shouldn't I feel amazed, or be in awe at what a miracle he is? Why doesn't this feel wonderful? It doesn't feel awful, but it doesn't feel like it should. Maybe I do have postpartum. Maybe I've always been depressed. Maybe I do really need to be fixed.
 I started to realize I had lost my anchor. I had lost who I was. I had become an "us" and lost the "me". When I got married I had devoted myself to my family and given everything to them in the name of unselfishness. I wish I had developed myself more as a person before I got married, or at least before I had kids. I kept putting it on hold. Hoping a man would give me my final definition. Tell me I was wonderful. That he was as devoted to me as a Bryan Adams song. Surely his image of me would be what completed my definition.

But now that image has crumbled. We work on building it back up, and even though it is needed, I need to invest more in myself this time. I need to give myself security in case those whom I rely on to complete me aren't always reliable. The reality is out there. I can't control what my children do. I can't control what my husband does. I can only control what I do, and in order to have stability I need to focus on me as a person, not just as an "us". I need an anchor to keep me grounded, and I'm the only sure investment I have.

But the question was: where had that person gone? How had I lost her? I was so passionate before I got married. How did that fizzle out? The answer came the night I finally packed away all the things I had saved to decorate my girls room. I had put the stuff away, but in the hopes that it wouldn't be long until I could pull it out again. But our extra room will now be dedicated to lodging boys, and so I gathered more boxes and bags and went down to the storage room to pack it away for good-- at least for a while. As I opened the boxes a harsh realization came to me. The dolls and girly trinkets that were placed in here because they just didn't fit with the new decorating that was to incorporate us as a couple, or because my husband thought of them as creepy, held far more meaning than I realized. I had packed myself away in that spare room, and now in these boxes. The things that decorated my room when I lived at home. The blanket from my grandma that still served as a comfort to me. The things I had inherited and collected that were too girly to be in the house of a man and a woman had been placed here. My femininity had been placed in these boxes with these dolls and decorations. Discovering this helped me to move on. It helped me to finally enjoy and appreciate my baby in a way that feels more right-- though feelings of being trapped still come about when he cries. Oh, how these objects served to remind me of who I was. I didn't need to long for the days of flirtation. The days of dressing up to the nines and playing with my make-up to see if I was indeed as attractive as I felt. I didn't need that to rediscover my womanhood. I just needed these memories from my past. These were my anchor. And they were yet another explanation for my longing for a little girl.

I had given too much of myself away. And sometimes to the wrong people. But people can't take something from you unless you let them. I had let them, but now how could I get it back? I just need to keep on holding on. The second I let clothes decide whether or not they wear me, or let let the yard work become too emotionally crippling I have lost control. I have given it to the circumstances, and people, that have sought to take it from me. So even though it's hard I know I need to keep at it. I know I can't give in. I slowly need to regain a sense of who I was before, and how it contributes to who I am now. The great thing about it is these battles don't have to be fought alone. I have a husband willing to go through anything with me in order for us to workout. I have children to give me hope. And I have the sweet charity of people who will every so often lift my burden by saying, "I can help you fight this battle." Just as my mother did in her offer to give me some of her clothes so I didn't have to deal with the pain of wearing mine.


I know God has blessed me through my friends and family. Through every acquaintance that has entered my life. It's amazing to look at what I've gone through and know that without it I may have never realized these things. But that these things were problems before problems became bigger problems. Without the trials of this past year I may have never discovered the peace and validation I needed to move on from things of many past years.  My trials have helped me become more aware of who I am and who I need to be. Maybe I can finally admit that I am thankful for them in someway. 

Supermom Speaks on Life With 4

On September 10, 2012 we welcomed our 4th boy into the family. Here is a link for the whole birth story if anyone is interested.

Life with the new little one has been interesting. He's been a pretty good baby. I feel like I can't complain. He really is fairly easy, but about once a day, or once every 2 days, he gets fussy. It gets surprisingly old. He seriously does great and then all of sudden he just will not fall asleep, and I have to sit and rock him for an hour or an hour and a half, and if I try to leave he usually ends up crying again. I really don't understand it, he eats a full bottle. I burp him and change his diaper, like always, and then I wrap him up, grab a binkie and try to lay him in his bed. He'll cry, so I'll stick the binkie back in. He'll cry some more so I'll give him gas drops. He'll cry some more, so I just let him cry. He cries and cries and cries clear till the next feeding. I've tried giving him more to eat as well, but that just leaves me feeding, burping and changing poopy diapers all day-- or all night. At night he seems to do OK if he sleeps with us, but during the day it gets hard because I have 3 other children to attend to and trying to block out the crying baby leaves me very irritable and over stimulated. This means my other kids get snapped at if they do or say anything that snaps me out of my "trying to concentrate on not loosing my mind from the crying baby" routine. It sounds silly that it drives me so crazy because he really doesn't seem that fussy, but it can get under my skin fast.

Things were pretty manageable when the other 3 were staying with my mom. People would ask how it was raising 4 boys, and I'd say I didn't really know because I've just really had the baby and that's it. My mom kept them for two weeks, and it was wonderful, but I was torn because I missed my boys. I'd go to wipe up their chairs or clean up their room and come to the horrific realization that my wish had come true: My house had actually stayed clean. There hadn't been little grubby fingers eating lunch or dumping out toys to make things a chaotic mess around here. It seemed like a dream come true, but it made me kind of sad. Our house felt really empty and lonely because of it. And I realized what I had always known, I like the challenge of raising my kids and without them I'd probably die from complete boredom.

Anyway. . .we've had all 4 boys living under the same roof for a week now, and I'm surprised there is still hair on my head. It isn't how hard it is that's depressing. It's that I can't enjoy my kids when they are here, but I'm too lonely when they are gone.

This leads me to the title of the post. I've heard it uttered many a times, "You're supermom" or "You're such a good mom" or other variations. I'm not angry with, hurt by or upset with anyone when they say this, but it does jab at a little spot in my heart. One reason is because of the matter of my marriage and the issues that came out last December that almost ended everything. I can't really describe it here without divulging too much, but it stings a little. And the other is, I'm really not a supermom, and I just really don't deserve the title.

My mom told me that she would be fine taking one child at a time, but it was too hard to take all three. It was too hard because all she does is yell at them when they all three come over. She apologized and felt bad for saying that. She said she'd never want to to tell a mom that's how she felt, but that it was true. The truth is that it actually made me feel better because that's all I do. I seriously feel like I just yell all the time. The only thing that seems to change is the volume of my voice and the object I want to kick or throw. I just wanted some time to figure out how to enjoy my three. To figure out how to control my temper better, so that I wouldn't feel like all I do is yell. So that maybe when someone called me a good mom I could just graciously accept the compliment instead of wanting to cry in a corner. Now we have a 4th one, and I'm just tired. I'm too tired to try and look forward to things maybe getting better. I'm too tired and worn out to handle a baby right now. And I'm tired of myself, and all my depressed and unhappy thoughts. I'm tired of that part of my brain that jumps straight too, "I don't want this baby. I don't want to raise my kids. I just can't do this anymore. I just want to run away." I don't want to feel that way about a baby. Feeling that way brings on immense guilt, and I know that I really do love my children and wouldn't trade them for the world. Part of me feels a little childish when my emotions betray me like that.

Part of what scares me so much about these feelings is what happened with my last baby. It was just so hard, and I feel so bad. I look at pictures of his first year, and I feel like I cheated him because of how hard of a time we all had. Granted, that bitter relationship has turned into something really sweet. I just love him and miss him so much when he's gone, and he really is a huge momma's boy which boosts my confidence a little. And the issues that I had with him were finally revealed to me through this pregnancy. This baby was born exactly 2 years from my last baby and being pregnant at the exact same time brought up emotions I didn't really know existed. I noticed feelings of loneliness associated with my marriage and what had happened. Sometimes those emotions would be about memories from my last pregnancy. I couldn't figure out why. What had happened in my marriage happened the summer after I had my third baby. Then I realized that the pregnancy must have been when my husband and I started to drift apart. This finally explained why bonding with the baby was so hard. It explained why everything felt so off. It wasn't all postpartum. It wasn't because I had a c-section or didn't breast feed. It was just our lives at that time and the situations we didn't realize existed. It was a relief in someways to find this out. But it also left me terrified of having this next baby. I felt like everything would happen all over again. Like the baby would come and my life would become another marathon and I'd never catch up. Having those emotions come up now just leaves me worried that we haven't progressed or moved on enough to make our lives work.

 

Some people try to sum up my life experiences into lessons that needed to be learned. They try to give a reason for everything. "Maybe this is why you have all boys", "Maybe this is why that happened", "Maybe this is the reason you're having a baby". It used to be something I could do. It was something I desperately searched for, but lately it hurts too much. I just want to scream to the heavens, "I don't know what lesson I need to learn, and I just give up trying to figure it out!" I guess everything is too close and too real, and I'm just to vulnerable right now. I acknowledge that I'm learning and growing, but to say everything I've gone through was simply to learn a lesson just hurts too much.

Those thoughts made me feel a little bit cynical until I heard a talk given at a Church Meeting, that was filmed and put on TV. The man was talking about a guy who had a dilemma about taking a job out of state or accepting a job closer to home. The General Authority who he was talking to said, "It mattereth not." It made me think, "How many times have I tried to give epic meaning to something in my life when really 'it mattereth not'."

 I also had a discussion with friends about how God isn't sitting up in Heaven ripping out his hair, having panic attacks and going insane because his children won't behave. Though I'm sure it gives him great sorrow, what we do doesn't change who God is. This made me think of all the times I've gotten angry or upset because I'd think of God up there sending me trial after trial trying to get some sort of message through. But really maybe he's just up there saying, "You made a choice and I knew what that choice would lead to, but I couldn't keep you from making it because I gave you your agency. And though it's hard to have to watch you suffer because of it, I know that is how it has to be in order for you to really learn what you need to learn."

This post is getting long, so I had better wrap it up. For the most part things are better, but life is still hard. My husband is gone all the time working overtime, so we can pay the bills. My parents have offered all the help they can, but truthfully I think all of us are at our max capacity. It's hard to figure out what can relieve the stress when relieving the stress just brings about other stresses. For the most part I try to just take it one day at a time. I just get through the day and try not to get anxious about tomorrow. Things may get easier when the baby gets older. Things may get better now that we have a van. Things might start to look up when my husband switches to working at home. But everything feels like it will just bring on a new kind of stress, so I just go to bed hoping that when I wake up maybe I'll have a better understanding or a clearer view.

I feel like a fickle friend, loving my kids and wanting to spend more time with them, but also tired of having to solve problems and looking way too forward to nap time. Sometimes I get so angry with God for all the trials in my life, and then the next second I'm begging for forgiveness and trying to be thankful for what I have. When these moments come up I think of what my Dad said to me in the hospital, "If you need to be angry with someone God can take it." I hope that's true because it certainly brought me a lot of peace when he said it.

There's No Need to Make Me Feel Guilty. . .

. . .I do a good enough job of that myself.

Life has been a little crazy around here lately. Full of uncertainties, instabilities, stress, stress, stress and, the need to finally announce our surprise of a pregnancy to all.

Life hasn't been easy. But, as life goes, there is always someone who is worse off right? Don't get me wrong. It's both humbling, and touching, to hear on the news, or read a story, about someone who overcame an impossible situation with strength, faith and traits that are admirable. Knowing that people have survived the most heart wrenching of situations is always a good reminder to me. It reminds me to be thankful for the challenges that are mine. It reminds me that it's possible for someone to make it through a hard, and desperate, situation and not be known for the failures that brought them there, but for the character shown in overcoming their hardships. But sometimes I wonder when my story will be told with that hint of, "Just be grateful you don't have to deal with what she's going through".

I don't want to be babied. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I just don't want people to feel they have to lay on the guilt or teach me a lesson. I personally think its a bad tactic. Stories of the less fortunate should serve as humbling reminders. They should be personal revelations, and each of us should be allowed to interpret them in our own way. When they are used to cake on the guilt I find myself turned off. I get angry and upset. Sure, I understand their point. I know I could have things a lot worse. I try to remind myself of that everyday. But my experiences are my own. I have a right to my feelings, and don't appreciate being told they are wrong. Anyone could find themselves in my situation and discover they feel the exact same way.

I read in a book that God knows us, and knows how we learn. So when he has a lesson he wants us to learn he will teach it to us in a way that will be well received. That is such a comforting thought to me. God will get his message through, and he knows I'll listen if it's presented to me in the right way.

This pregnancy has brought some interesting feelings about. To say it's been a struggle is an understatement. I can't believe the baby lived past the first 12 weeks. Life was so awful then. I felt so torn between emotions. I didn't want to have this child alone, but my marriage lie in uncertainty. I wanted my husband to be with me, but having a child with a man I couldn't trust was heart wrenching. I begged to understand why I was having this baby. Why now? We weren't a family. We needed to learn how to be a husband and wife again. How could we have a child together in the situation we were in? At times I didn't know if the baby had survived. At times I thought it would be better if it didn't. It seemed so unfair to bring another child into our world of uncertainty. The baby did live, and that did make me happy. But it still brought about so many more fears and stresses.

Amongst all of this the "Be Grateful-s" rang through my head, and sometimes out of people's mouths. Be grateful you can have kids. Be grateful that it's healthy. Be grateful that you didn't loose the pregnancy. Be grateful, be grateful, be grateful.

I try hard everyday to be grateful. When they couldn't find the heartbeat I knew there was no good way to give that kind of news to a mother. I had tried to prepare myself because I hadn't been that sick. I even assured the doctors that if they had to deliver that news it was OK. When they did the ultra-sound and showed me the heart beat I was so relieved. They gave me the pictures, and I was just so excited. I wanted to show them to everyone. That was my baby, and it was perfect and wonderful!

But sadly I'm a woman, and I can experience more than one emotion at a time. Along with excitement came the knowledge of the hardships this pregnancy would bring. This is just a really bad time to have a baby. We are poor beyond belief. Our future is still very uncertain at this time. And, even though my husband and I continue to work on our marriage, it is still in a kind of volatile state. I'm so excited for my baby, but I can't just be excited. There are so many things raining down on us right now that the reality of our situation has to be faced.

I've come to be OK with the imperfections of our situation. Though I don't understand how, I know things will be OK. I have realized that I can have this baby with my husband, even if the trust in our marriage is a little unstable right now. I am grateful that I can have children. I'm grateful that I have three beautiful little boys already. And I can't wait to hold this new little bundle of joy. I know I'll be tired. I don't know how I'll survive raising 4 kids under 4. But I'm sure I'll learn that I was capable all along. And I'll come out on the other side having learned something new about myself.

I hear stories all the time of people who have lost children, people who can't have children, people who lost everything in a fire, etc. and I thank God everyday for blessing me with so many wonderful things. I thank him for my beautiful kids, who are happy, healthy and strong. For allowing me to have a decent home to raise them in. That, against all odds, we have managed to still piece together something of a life thanks to friends, family and the church. I always feel so sorry that others must be asked to go through the trials they are given. It seems so unfair. Why them? Why am I allowed to enjoy so many wonderful things when they must be asked to endure so much?



I have a pretty good understanding of what I should be grateful for. I remind myself every night when I put my kids to bed. I feel the guilt every time my little boys bring me a flower after I have yelled at them. I feel it whenever I have spent the whole day trying to clean the house, and telling them to go away, and then realizing I didn't even take a few minutes to enjoy them that day. I'm a mom. I feel guilty and grateful every second of my life. But I also feel a lot of other things and those feelings deserve some validation too.

I love everyday I spend with my family. I love watching my three little boys. Though I didn't always think it felt right to have 3 boys and no girls, I really love it. I love that the twins get to have a little brother. And I love the things they are learning because they have a little brother. It just seems to fit so well into our little family. I have also finally figured out why I so desperately want a girl. And it wasn't the selfish, unappreciative, ungrateful version people tried to tell me it was. It was simply because it was something I had pictured my whole life. Something I had saved all my toys from childhood for. Something I felt was so real, I reserved a room in our house, from the very beginning, for my baby girl. Loosing something like that would be hard for anyone. It didn't mean I didn't want boys. It didn't mean I loved boys less. It just meant I had lost something that had felt incredibly real to me my whole life, and I had to come to terms with that part of it.

As far as this baby goes, we do know the gender. But I have just felt so many uncertainties about the baby, that I almost feel like I don't really know. I've told people what it is, but as time goes on it gets more and more awkward. So I've decided to hold off on announcing it online. The pregnancy has been so different. The way the baby sits and moves seems so strange sometimes. The other night I put my hand my tummy and I could feel it moving. Everything felt so real and defined. I have never felt a baby in my tummy in that much detail before. It's so hard to believe it's just inches from touching my hand. It's right there, responding and moving to my touch. It feels so much more real to me in that way than my other babies, and yet I know so much less about it. I can't decide on a name, colors or clothes. I don't see things in the store that just yell at me that they belong to this baby. It's just so different from my other pregnancies in that way. Anyway. . .tune in around September 16 if you want to find out what we had!