stoplight

It was a dark and cold rainy morning as I sat at the stoplight in a rental car that I've had for far too long. The drops hit hard on the windshield as the wipers swished waves of water to the side. We waited as music from the hipster radio station hummed just under the sound of the rain. The red from the stoplight poured into my seat...

I'm waiting. In a holding pattern. Sitting in an infinite idle.

So much of our future is in the air.... waiting. Waiting for God to make his next move, for the stars to align, and for this chapter to end. It's calming and frustrating to know that THIS will end... eventually. But for now I'm waiting.

I remember back to my teen years, driving solo in my beat up old white hatchback across country roads in the deep of night. Waiting to grow up. Waiting for a husband by my side and babes in my belly. Waiting.

I remember late evening studying at a table in the school library, flipping pages of textbooks and spiral bound notebooks, waiting to graduate so I could marry my best friend. Waiting for our lives to come together as one. Waiting for a career.

I remember sitting on a hospital bed and when the doctor's asked if I was ready. After nine months of waiting for my baby to be born. Waiting for the moment to hear both of their first cries. Waiting for my heart to be full, waiting to be a mother.

I'm not so good with uncertainty. Trusting that a path will be forged and that will be the direction we should go. But it has, it has.

And it will.

I have a husband. I have an education. I have a job. I have two beautiful children. I have so much.

Though, right now, while it feels like it's been forever, I'm standing at a crossroads with an infinite number of avenues ahead. Just waiting for that signal, a sign to move ahead. Waiting.


... And just like that my light turns green and we go.

He just knows

He was restless and wimpering because he didn't want to lay down. It was fast approaching 1:30 as we both rubbed our eyes. I had spent the night before chasing after dreams against my pillow and the morning came to soon (like it always seems to do). He wanted to hug on his airplanes and bang aluminum cars against each other and be a kid, but I wanted him still. I wanted him to slow down.

He slid down the bed on his daddy's side and tried to run off before I called to him. His little body stopped in his tracks and he turned that angel face around to me. He came to my side and then sat in my lap. I rubbed his hair gently and he curled into my shoulder. I rocked him back and forth for a second. My eldest child, my first baby.

I told him how proud I am. I told him how grown up he's gotten, barely a baby... but always my baby.

He breathed a long and satisfied sigh. And his eyes slipped closed. I held him there for a moment longer and then laid him between his daddy and me.

I wrapped my arm around his waist and closed me eyes.

And I breathed my own satisfied sigh.

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all that I can.

Thank you. Thank you for the kind words and compassion. Thank you for the heartfelt letters from those fighting this same battle and those who have walked this path before. I talked on the phone at length with some, exchanged quick text messages with others, each moment a validation of my decision to share this experience online and in a very public way.

If anything, it was nice a nice reminder of what an incredible support system I have.

We had a nice weekend. It was busy, which was good. I got time to spend alone with each of my children. We played and saw friends. We spent a balmy Sunday afternoon at the park after an epic family nap time.

I think I'm okay to say that I no longer fear that this won't get better. I am hopeful that clarity will come and that resolution will soon follow. One thing that did come to my attention over the weekend was how intuitive Nolan is. I always knew he had an empathetic heart, but I realize that I need to be careful how we teach him to use that quality. I don't want him to feel pressured to please others. As that is something that has been heavy on my heart all of my life, I don't want him, or any of my children, to feel expected to do that. This is something that I'm embarrassed that I still struggle with.

He knows when I'm sad.

He knows how to make me smile. That boy, makes my heart sing.

Mostly, I hope that my children will remember a happy childhood with a mother who loved them with all of herself.

I sure do love them with all that I can.

Sometimes the truth hurts

There is an ache in my gut, right below my left lung directly behind my heart. I feel it there, boring deeper into my abdomen like a painfully silent shot gun shell.

My eyes burn, all the time, burning from damming up tears that are on the cusp of free flowing down the curves of my face.

I lie awake at night heavy sinking into the deeper darker, unable to crawl out. I watch the minutes click by on the clock slowly. I let my mind wonder to the what ifs, what if I wasn't here? How many hours will I sleep tonight? Two? Three, if I'm lucky.

Depression sucks.

Anxiety blows.

I hate it.

But this has become my reality.

Part of my brain is broken. My very smart (and super witty) brain, it has a problem. I've wrestled with this mess for a while. Circumstances in my life and past experiences have torn at my soul. While I have so much to be happy for, so much to want to live for, I am sad. I thought I was just going through a rough patch. That once things got easier, once I could get a break that I'd be okay again. But then I realize that it's a pattern. This wasn't my first time on this roller coaster.

I realized that I needed help.

Well, before I realized that I tried everything, EVERYTHING, to solve it. I tried to pray it away. I tried to shop it away. I tried to starve it away. I tried to drug it away. I tried to sleep it away.... but it lingers.

Someone told me that I just had PMS. That person also told me I wasn't taking the right vitamins. Some people have told me I was being dramatic.

I have a wonderful, absolutely amazing and supportive husband who knew that his bride couldn't do this alone and he was scared and unequipped to help himself. He saw this when I broke down in sobs in the church parking lot, when I'd lay in bed until the skies became dark again. But he helped me make that call.

I started seeing a psychologist. She's a firecracker from New Jersey with a gentle spirit. She's helping me face my own ingrained demons. I'm working to break down the walls of false truths I built myself upon. I'm working through this.

I'm on a medication. My brain needs healing. At least a respite from the torture it's brought upon itself. Hopefully, I can see things clearer and the fog will be lifted. Hopefully, I can feel more than just sadness but genuine, real genuine joy. And I can be honest when someone asks me how I am doing, and say I am good. I am okay.

Just Write 1/10

I watched her eyes focus up at me as she sat on the cool tile floor. The beautiful pools of deep blue met mine and she smiled. Her fingers flipped at the nipple on her bottle as she moved it softly to the side and she leaned her tiny body towards mine. She crawled over the cushy white bathroom mat and I felt her warm paws on my naked legs. Her arms just barely long enough to reach the top of knees, her precious hands give them a pat as she says ever so sweetly, "mama."

We giggle for a moment and I sit my hairbrush down to scoop up my baby girl into my arms. Her chubby legs wrap around my hip and I balance her there, her whole body falling into me. We play silly games in the large bathroom mirror under the bright white light. When she smiles I can count her teeth and each of her delicate blonde eye lashes. That dimple, to the right in her cheek, begs to be kissed. I whisper a thousand times in my head, I love you. And I hug her into my chest.

I swing her around and we dance wildly as I glance at the clock, 20 minutes until we have to hit the road. If time could stand still, how I wish it were now.

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Okay

Man, I hope my shrink likes me. Is that weird? Like I'm a little self conscious of what this doctor might think about me, when I'm paying them money to think about me.

What do I wear? I mean, I want to be presentable and put together, but then if I look put together will they think I have it too together and therefore think I'm being trivial? Do I dress to express how I feel? Because I might as well not shower or wear make up and should just wear my pajamas.

I want them to laugh at my jokes, and want to be my best friend. I want them to be mesmerized by my stories and rooting for me, this amazing heroine on this incredible journey. I want them to look forward to my appointments each week because I'm their favorite client.

I want to be the best client that psychiatrist has ever seen!

Turns out maybe I have a problem seeking approval. Who would have guessed?

This season of life has been exceptionally challenging. The other day I apologized to a friend I just met, "I'm sorry you are meeting me now, I am just a little weird at the moment." I am not me, well, not fully atleast. I go through the motions, put on a brave face and cover up the missing parts that have fallen or have been taken, and I want it seem okay. I want to feel like it is okay.

I'm not saying that my past was extra difficult, or even that things in my life are any harder than your own. I know deeply how amazed and grateful I should be that I have been given so much. But I do know that right now I'm not okay to deal with it. My brain just isn't allowing me to be okay.

Up until recently I didn't think it was allowed to not be okay. I can think back over my life at the times that I fell into this cycle and I remember being told by those close to me that I was being dramatic. I had no reason to be sad.

"Nobody is dead, Stefanie," they said.

They thought I was being moody and unappreciative.

"So you are sad, well, stop being sad."

They didn't know what to do with me.

But now, now I have too much to lose to not be okay. I have two tiny people who I am living for. I have a husband who I can't leave because God knows, without me he can't be trusted to dress my kids in the morning in clothes that match. Oh, how I heart him hard.

Now I know that it IS okay to ask for help when you need it. Sometimes we can't get there on our own. Sometimes we need to look back in order to keep moving forward. It doesn't matter if you're the best, the prettiest, and even whether everyone likes you. You're going to fight this saddness like hell. You'll be okay.

I'm going to be okay.

Rest

During Christmas break we stayed with my parents in Virginia. We had a great time being with family, soaking in the goodness that surrounded us, playing games, visiting friends, seeing sights, and celebrating the season.

It was nice.

One of my resolutions for the new year is to simplify. Simplify my life in many ways, but mostly from the pursuit of things that are outside of my control. Life gets complicated and I've never been good at being GOOD to myself. It's easy to get weary when you are overextended.

I lie awake at night and think about our future. My heart races (sometimes with excitement and sometimes with fear) at what big plans are on our docket. I make plans, detailed lists encrypted on my brain on what our next step can be. Always calculating that next move. I feel myself sink deeper into the bed sheets with heavy responsibility as I drift off to sleep.

We have vowed to keep one weekend a month for family "base" time at home. I took my work email off of my personal cell phone. We are limiting our errands to one weekend a month. We swore to finish all projects FIRST before starting another. We agreed to evaluate our needs closer, not hinging our happiness on the acceptance of others. Most of all, letting go of the stress. That is the plan, at least.

Life got out of balance last year. We were just busy and moving. Always, always, always stirring. In fact I wasn't sure where we fell on the spectrum until recently after the dust all settled. I think we're on the right track, edging closer inch by inch to the middle.

I sat with my daughter today. Really just sat static. I breathed in her baby smell and stroked her soft warm cheek. She's getting so big! I blinked and she's not a newborn anymore. I thought about how busy she is. Inquisitive, engrossed in her fancy, and genuinely enamored with whatever catches her eye. She's always (seems) to be moving. She rarely stays idle, I thought. But she sat with me. She batted at my hair with her tiny fingers and cooed delicately to me and her body melted into my lap. I squeezed her chubby legs and kissed her gently on the neck and I sigh.

And I realize that maybe I am the one that can't stay still.

"Ain't No Poop In Your Tushhhhh-y"

Photo Credit
Potty training stinks. Literally sometimes.

There is that saying that no one ever goes to college in diapers, which may be true, but the cost of therapy for both you and your child after potty training could very well pay for a year or two of tuition. Geez.

My son is edging closer to 3 1/2 and up until a few weeks ago was still sporting pull ups and had zero interest in, umm,
dumpingdepositing his waste in the porceline pot.

We tried everything from buying him his own miniature plastic thrown, complete with sound effects and bright blue accents, to bribing him with new toys and ice cream. He currently uses the potty as a step stool to reach the sink. Nothing worked.

He peed in the potty like a champ. (Boy's got some good aim) For that I am thankful. He even cleans up after himself. So, yay, no stepping in warm pee for me! In parenting it's often the little things. SIGH. For a while we would have him wear real underwear around the house. Can I just say how adorable tiny skivvys are? OMG. I die. He's mostly good about telling us he needed to go potty, and we've had very few wet accidents.

But THE POOP. Ohmygosh the poop. Without fail he'd ask to go poppy and five minutes later he'd drop a duece in his drawers. Ugh. Thanks, kid. We'd sit on the potty for 20 minute stretches of time while trying desperately to keep him happy and distracted enough to go. But nope, never, not even a little fart. (giggle, sorry, I am, apparently, an eleven year old boy)

Several of his buddies were passing him with this milestone. Other parents assured us that while their kid was maturing at a scholarly pace, that our boy would catch up soon, on his own time. I have to admit how much it made me feel like a failure that my son wasn't potty trained yet. I don't consider myself to be a lazy person or a bad parent, but your self confidence sure can take a hit when the toddlers on Teen Mom are going on their own and your kid isn't. I have a fancy degree and I was on the mothereffing deans list in college but I felt like I let my kid down.

I love my son SO MUCH, and believe in him with every part of my being. I tell him everysingleday that I love him and that I'm proud of him. I am his biggest cheerleader and his first best friend, and I don't ever want him to feel like he's not good enough at something. I want more than anything to protect his heart from hurting and I pray that I am not the cause of his first pain. I ask the Lord every night to help me parent my children and help me guide them in all the right ways.

If there was a picture in the dictionary of an apple and of a tree, then you would see my son and me. He's inherited so many of my own characteristics that it's frightening and awesome at the same time. He's got one dimple when he smiles and he's empathetic and kind, but he's strongwilled and won't move an inch unless it's own his own terms. Last night I gave the kids a bath and Nolan played a little longer after I put Leah to bed. He played in the bubbles and pushed his boats in the ripples of the water and then suddenly it happened!!!!

He looked up at me and said that he needed to go poop! I quickly fastened the potty seat on the toilet and sat his dripping behind down. And then fireworks went off! Okay, not really, but metaphorial fireworks went off because my kid POOPED in the potty. BY HIMSELF. He did it!!!! Of course, when *HE* wanted to go.

We squeeled with excitement and sand an impromptu song, one of my best (I think), it went a little something like this, "Ain't no poop in your tuuuush-y... No, no, no, no thare aiiin't nooo poop in your tuush, Your tush ain't got no poop, your tush ain't got no poop, no, no, no." Funny how that seemed like the most appropriate thing to do at the time. We danced too, A LOT.
Naked.After we promptly got cleaned up, and appropriately dressed. Ahem.

I'm so happy for my little guy. His face lit up when he saw what he had done. While, no, I don't think *this* memory will be one he shares with his future dates, I do hope that he'll remember how proud he felt accomplishing this. I hope he'll remember me cheering him on. I'm sure there will be lots more
craphard stuffchallenges that we'll face in the future, but I hope that no matter what he'll always know that I love him.

Fighting the Good Fight

I shared a little bit here about how dramatic our car buying experience was. What I haven't told you is how SOUL CRUSHING it has been owning that Murano we purchased 5 months ago.

If I had to guess how many days I've actually driven the car versus it's been in shop it's probably somewhere around 30 to 40. During these weeks spans of time that it's been sitting at Texas Nissan and not in my driveway we've only been given a rental car once. This last time marks the fourth major instance that we've had to bring the car in for some kind of repair. FOUR... in FIVE months of owning it. That's four times I've screamed out a stream of explicatives because the check engine light had come on.

Twice the cars catalytic converters had gone bad and needed to be repaired but were (thankfully) covered under warranty. Trying to schedule in a time to take your car in to be seen is as nervewracking as it is when you're taking a child in to see a doctor. Not to brag or toot my own horn, but we're really busy people. Two fulltime jobs, two kids, community service work, social responsibilities, and the general hub-bub of the holidays don't make it easy to slip in and out with the car keys. It requires major rearranging of pick ups and meetings and a very messy desk calendar. I don't think businesses appreciate enough how much work is required of customers to patronize their establishment. Again though, no rental car so we made due with both of our commutes and two car seats as best we could.

SURELY. SURELY. Nothing else could go wrong with the Murano, right? I mean it IS a 2009 from a reputable dealership. Nissans are supposed to be good cars.

The following week (Dec. 3) we took the car to Walmart for an oil change. We had entrusted them many, many, many times because they are quick, efficient, and professionals. It's really nice to be able to bring your car in for that service while you grab diapers and wine I mean, groceries. A few days after this service was done the check engine light comes back on the Murano AGAIN. I'm not going to lie, I think I might have wept right into the steering wheel when that happened. I called Texas Nissan again and spoke with Eli to schedule a time to come in which was just a day or two later. I picked up the kids early from daycare that day and brought the car by to read the codes which indicated that it was something related to the oil chamber. Which they looked at and advised that the oil in the Murano was overfilled and would need to be drained. Eli told us to take the Murano BACK to Walmart ourselves and have them drain off the oil and have the light reset. So my husband took it in the next day and had oil drained at Walmart.

But that dang light wouldn't stay off. The next day it came back again. So I took it back over to Texas Nissan again after cutting my workday short AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN. ( You see how annoying this is getting?)

This time we leave the car and are given a rental, a small Sentra, but I'm not complaining because atleast my Murano is getting fixed (I think, at least at the time). Days are passing and each time I follow up with Eli at Texas Nissan he says that they are still working on the car. Six days pass before it's the 23rd of December and I receive a call from Eli that the part needed is not covered and that we will need to pay over $1,000 for repairs. I am absolutely livid to the point that I have to pull over from driving to stay in control. Our family was leaving for vacation that day and this is dumped in my lap to deal with six hours before we are supposed to leave. Oh, and we can't get our car back from the dealership because the damage done has made it unsafe to drive.

After a brief encounter with Jessie, the service manager at Texas Nissan, he received the documentation and sees that the fault for the repairs actually fell on Walmart and their responsibility to cover the damages. We, however, are given the greenlight to go on our vacation while this is sorted out between the dealership and Walmart. We provided both parties with the information they needed and stayed in contact during our trip to ensure that the communication lines were open.

Everytime it seemed like things were going well they ended up getting worse. Today (Jan. 5th) Walmart's claims department has now said that they will not cover the repairs because there is insufficient proof that the damage was done by Walmart's auto department. The store that the repairs were done in were not equipped to record the work being done, so the burden to prove that they caused the damage falls on us who were not allowed to be in the bay at the time the work was done. Fun, huh? At this point it looks pretty bleak and we'll have to come up with the money to pay for the damages done by Walmart on a car that has had repeated problems that I've owned for a mere five months.

I'm mad at Walmart for causing the damage, but with the burden of proof on the customer there isn't much more we can do pursuing them. I'm angry that Texas Nissan is in the business of selling faulty cars. There's no reason that they should be putting families in vehicles that are unsafe or damaged. You don't make a major purchase like a car and expect to have it break so often in such a short period. It seems like they've built a business by hustling people and haven't put their value on cultivating good relationships with their customers. I'm sad, too, that this hasn't been a good experience. I LOVE my Murano... when it's not broken. I hate that we're tied to this establishment that has such poor service and defective goods.

I'm exhausted from being worried about this and dealing with the stress. My stomach has been in a habitual knot since we started having problems with the Murano. Each month we're paying for a vehicle that we can't trust will be drivable. I feel like at this point our best option might be to just drive it into traffic and start over! Okay, not really... mostly, not really.

Right now all I have is a broken heart, crushed spirit, and a wallet that's about to be empty.