Girl Detective

During the hospital program I attended for post-partum depression and anxiety, we had two classes on relaxation with guided imagery. On my last day of the program we listened to a soothing CD whose narrator took us through the stages of relaxation. Toward the end, the narrator instructed us to imagine a beautiful gold box was sitting next to us, tied with a luxurious silk ribbon.

Wow, I thought, that reminds me a lot of the turning point in David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive. My mind started wandering in that direction; I drew it back to the sound of the narrator’s voice.

“Now imagine that you’re opening the box,” she said. “And what’s inside the box is whatever it is that you really, really want and need right now.”

What came to my mind at that instance? World peace? Personal peace? Patience? Health? Happiness?

No. I opened my imaginary box and found a John Hughes DVD box set. I burst out laughing, which I’m sure disturbed some of my more relaxed and meditative compatriots.

So, there we have it, folks. When given the choice of anything in the world, my relaxed meditative self said she wanted to watch 80’s teen dramedies. I’m not sure if this is humorous, pathetic, or both.

There are two(!) John Hughes DVD sets: Too Cool for School, which includes Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful, and Pretty in Pink; and The Brat Pack, with The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, and Sixteen Candles.

Did you think Mothers Day was invented by Hallmark? It’s been around for longer than that. Some research dates it back to Cybele (pronounced with a hard C, short Y and long E at the end: KIH-buh-Lee) worship in ancient Greece. The American version is largely based on a post-Civil War peace manifesto. The English version, Mothering Sunday, was reportedly begun so working class domestics could have at least one Sunday off a year to visit their mums, and so the mums could have off to receive the visits. Whatever the origin, though, there’s little disagreement that mothering is a tough gig, and few begrudge moms the day as tribute to that.

Some very good news for moms: the Mommy War is more a media invention than an accurate portrait of reality:

Most women today have to work: it’s the only way their families are going to be fed, housed and educated. A new college-educated generation takes it for granted that women will both work and care for their families — and that men must be an integral part of their children’s lives. It’s a generation that understands that stay-at-home moms and working mothers aren’t firmly opposing philosophical stances but the same women in different life phases, moving in and out of the part-time and full-time workforce for the few years while their children are young.

In this week leading up to Mothers Day in America, think about the mothers in your life. Not just your mom, or your spouse’s mom, but all the mothers: friends, siblings, co-workers, neighbors. Give a mom a break this week. If you hear a screaming kid and judgment flashes through your brain, offer help instead. And think of pretty, comforting things, big or small, that might make a mom’s day a bit brighter:

Card Papyrus carries, and Marcel Shurman makes, lovely ones.

Flowers I love yellow roses and dislike lilies. Do your loved one a favor. Ask what she likes, and avoid carnations, daisies, baby’s breath, and alstroemeria, unless specifially requested. Gerbera daisies are an exception.

Chocolate Twin Citian’s are fortunate to have both B.T. McElrath (I love the passionfruit and dark chocolate truffles) and Legacy Chocolates (Potion No. 9) readily available.

Accessories Little blue box or big orange box, brand recognition can be a lovely thing. I love the blue/green En Duo ribbon pattern.

Books I recently recommended Jill Murphy’s Five Minutes’ Peace and Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum. Both take wry looks at the mundane reality of mothering small children, though Atkinson’s book is both funny and tragic. For self-examination and spiritual growth, I recommend Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Gift cards for www.amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Border’s, or your local book shop are always good ideas.

Ice Cream Did you know that you can get Graeter’s ice cream shipped? Now you do. The chocolate chip flavors are stunning.

Ice Cream, Again Twin Citians, you’ve got a lot to love.

Fancy Dinner at the best restaurant in your city. Twin Citians, this is ours.

Music Fun and Booty-Shakin’ (Justin Timberlake’s FutureSex/Lovesounds), Local (new Low album!), Singer/Songwriter male (Rufus Wainwright’s Release the Stars), Singer/Songwriter female (Patti Griffin’s Children Running Through), Sophomore effort (Arctic Monkeys’ Favourite Worst Nightmare)

Movies Go out to a theater that serves good popcorn with real butter (Heights, Riverview, or GTI Roseville in the Twin Cities), or stay in and watch the vastly underrated Children of Men, Alfonso Cuaron’s chilling look at a future without mothers.

If you have other ideas, email me and I’ll post them, too.

My unexpected gift, today? That baby Guppy is still napping, which has allowed me the time I needed for this link-a-palooza.

And if you were bothered by my lack of apostrophe in Mothers Day, get over it. Apostrophes are one of the most misused and unnecessary pieces of punctuation. Here’s a long explanation of why I can leave them out. But do you get what I mean when I say Mothers Day? Then you see my point.

When I cared for Drake prior to the arrival of baby Guppy, I did as many household tasks as possible when he was around, e.g., washing dishes. When he napped, I could then do the things only possible in his absence, e.g., writing. With the birth of Guppy early last year, everything changed. I had two people in my care whose needs often conflicted with the other’s, and both of theirs with mine. Naps were never simultaneous. For Drake they soon stopped entirely. Caring for two is harder, and allows for few or no breaks from roughly from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., and tends to deviate more beyond the extremes than to the middle.

My husband G. Grod was out of town last weekend for a last-minute family affair. He and I arranged before he left to have help for me at the toughest time of day, bath and bedtime. While it was a huge relief to have someone there each night to tag in and out with reading, bathing, listening, and more, it was not enough. I was still exhausted at the end of each day. From Friday evening to Monday morning I hardly had time to myself. I called upon the memory of last weekend’s solitary retreat several times.

With two children, help is necessary but it’s not enough. For me to keep going, I need quiet time each day to write, to read, to think. This past weekend, and the contrast with the weekend before, have made that abundantly clear. Now I just have to figure out how to do it, as well as how to provide the opportunity for G. Grod to get short respites as well, and not have to worry if he needs to take a longer one, too.

I have never considered myself a good multitasker. Yet when I went on retreat this weekend and tried to cultivate mindfulness, I often often had to stop doing more than one thing at a time. I usually read when I eat. I usually listen to music while I drive, or walk. For thirty six hours, I tried to do one thing at a time. It’s much harder than it sounds.

When I searched for the quote to illustrate this, which goes, “When you’re eating, eat. When you’re walking, walk.” I could only find it in articles on mindfulness, never attributed to one person.

That’s how long my peace of mind lasted after I returned from my 36-hour retreat. I sent G. Grod out to a movie with a friend, and had to call him at 5 p.m. to urge him home. Guppy and Drake’s needs were so enormous that I eventually wilted. My struggle with depression and anxiety continues, obviously. The good news is that I can be happy, rested, and balanced when I’m apart from my family, though I’ve still got a ways to go before I can do, and be, those things at home.

I woke Friday morning with a severe spike in my already considerable irritability. It was not long before I was angry and cursing aloud in front of the kids, which I’ve learned is a sign of rising anxiety for me. I sent off a quick email to a retreat center to see if they had any space. We have a babysitter helping us with childcare for now, so I left soon after she arrived, and went first to a yoga class, then to my regularly scheduled therapy appointment. I returned home better, though not feeling calm, and had almost forgotten about my inquiry to the retreat center. When I checked email at home, they’d replied and had a last minute cancellation at the hermitage, their private cabin for a solitary retreat. Figuring that the universe seemed to be answering my request, I said yes, then sent off a few emails and made some calls to alert friends that G. Grod would be on his own for the next 36 hours and could use some help with the boys.

My friend Becca recommended the ARC retreat center to me, and I will thank her forever for it. I’ve now gone twice, and it is a haven. The hermitage cabin has just what it needs and no more. Since I tend to anxious overdoing, I took way too much with me, but sorted things out when I got there.

Once I could think clearly, I realized what I did and didn’t need.

Did need: book, journal, fiction notebook.

Didn’t need: laptop, City Pages, two Entertainment Weekly’s, five books to review for the blog.

I also probably didn’t need any toiletries other than sunscreen, toothpaste and toothbrush. (And I would’ve liked to have fluoride-free toothpaste, since the cabin doesn’t have running water.)

The staff at ARC is wonderfully supportive, and the food they make is vegetarian, hearty, sustaining AND delicious. There was fresh bread at almost every meal, some wonderful gingered beets from a recipe in Sundays at Moosewood. I had a restorative 36 hours. During that time, I tried and succeeded at doing only one thing at a time; I didn’t multitask. I didn’t read while I ate (or in the outhouse). I also tried, and mostly succeeded, at not making a to-do list. I did one thing at a time, and allowed myself just one, “and then”. This worked surprisingly well, probably because I was in a tiny cabin in the woods by myself and chose to limit my options to: eating, sleeping, reading, journalling, novelling, and walking.

I have a huge crush on the book I took with me, that I finished this morning in between my first breakfast (yogurt with strawberry rhubarb sauce and granola, bread and butter, coffee with almond biscotti) and second breakfast (egg scramble with cheddar cheese and hummos). It’s Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

READ THIS BOOK. It’s funny, sad, honest and intelligent and it’s got some GREAT stuff on religion and spirituality. Gilbert is instantly accessible and empathetic. My only quibble (oh, I always have one, don’t I?) is Gilbert’s overuse of male pronouns for God. A little equal opportunity time for goddesses would have been lovely.

I came back this morning rested and with some little reserve that helped me to handle the boys screaming and poking and crying that has sporadically filled the day. I really needed to get away, and I’m so thankful and fortunate that I could do so. Thanks, G. Grod. Thanks, friends who helped G. Grod. Thanks again, Becca. Thanks, ARC staff. Thanks, whoever cancelled your hermitage reservation. Thanks, Liz Gilbert for writing an awesome spiritual memoir. Everybody rocks.

I completed an outpatient hospital program last Friday for post-partum depression and anxiety. It was a brief, intense program designed to help those in a recovery rut who don’t need full-time hospitalization. There are two partial programs in the Twin Cities. The more well known is at Abbott, but they didn’t have space, and the one at Fairview did. I had an excellent experience at Fairview. The combination of group therapy, individual checks, and patient education led me to a variety of insights. I had time and space to learn and think, far more than I’d been able to fit into the brief interstices of full-time care for two small children. My last day I felt full of optimism, and brimming with possibility.

The happy mood passed over the weekend as 14M Guppy became sick and clingy, spiked a fever, and then kept us all up between 1:30 and 4:30 am today. Lots of screaming and little sleep wreak havoc with my anxiety-prone nerves. Additionally, one of my coping strategies, ear plugs, backfired and I got an ear infection. So not only can I not use the ear plugs, but I have to take ear drops. Instead of making a peaceful and leisurely entry into the new week, I had to spend time at the doctor’s office and the pharmacy.

On one hand, it feels like I’m being unfairly punished for the time I took to attend the program at Fairview, and curtailed from following up on the aftercare plans I’d begun. On the other, I have enough perspective to know that all things, good and bad, pass. A friend once joked that they may pass like a kidney stone, but they’re gonna pass. I also know, all too well, that I plan and the universe laughs, and that life sometimes is unfair and difficult. So I’m trying hard not to take the recent setbacks personally and to muster what humor and energy I can to have another go tomorrow.

One of the things I enjoyed most about being at Fairview was its proximity to the North Country grocery cooperative. They had a great selection of deli and takeout food and drink. I tried something new nearly every day. Walking to the coop allowed me both fresh air and exercise. I had spinch/feta, lemon/leek, and mushroom/keff boughatsa and baklava from Gardens of Salonica. I tried the Flex, Radiant, Calm, and Focus flavors of the Airforce Nutrisodas. I made a huge mess when I shook my Kombucha too hard. Both the Gingerade and the Trilogy flavors were very good. From Sushi Express, I had a veggie maki combo. I enjoyed the avocado spring roll so much I got it twice. I also got a slice of tater tot pizza from the Seward Cafe, as well as their Goddess Bar and Ranger cookie. I don’t know where the Key Lime and Sweet Potato Pie tartlets came from, but those were also excellent. The good food and friendly staff at the North Country made my time at Fairview go all the more quickly and pleasantly.

A nurse in my outpatient therapy program recommends a prenatal vitamin without iron for almost everyone–male, or female, expecting, nursing, or not.

She also noted that it’s best for a patient to pick up her own meds from the pharmacy, since this is a good opportunity to ask questions of the pharmacist. Since our family often does tag team trips to Target, this was a good reminder.

Shortly after I started this weblog, I decided to focus more on learning, and less on mommy-ing. I am a mom, but I’m also a writer, a reader, a cinephile and an auto-didact, with thanks to Mental Multivitamin both for the term and for the role of that weblog played in clarifying the central role of learning.

With the arrival of Guppy last year, though, life changed. Learning remains a priority, but mommy duties have necessarily increased, and thus I write about them more. I try, however, to keep the stuff on kids and parenting focused on the learning–both mine and the kids.

I’ve written a handful of times about the continuing struggle I’ve had with depression since Guppy was born. I tell almost everyone in my life about it. Perhaps I do this because I’m an over-sharer and a queen of TMI, but I’d like to think I’m doing it for good reasons. I want to be accountable for continuing to get help and get better; I want to let people know that even if my shoes do match my bag that my insides are messy and angry. And I want to add my voice to the many who say, “I have the illness of depression; I need help.”

My post-partum depression isn’t the stuff of romantic books covers. It hasn’t been me sobbing quietly, or hiding out in bed. My depression is ugly–it’s impatient, angry, shouting, and cursing. I often have to mark the distinction between thinking about doing something harmful, and making a plan to do it. It’s a discouraging disinction to have to make; I’m constantly reminded that my mind is not a nice place to be. But it’s also heartening, because I find myself nearly always on the healthier side of the distinction.

I’m lucky I have a doctor who listened when I said “I feel angry all the time at my kid.” She urged me to get help, and followed up with me. I’m in an outpatient hospital program for my depression. It’s discouraging. Part of me feels like I’ve failed because I’m crazy and in the loony bin, even if it’s an outpatient one. I try to quiet that disparaging voice, though, because I’m doing a hard, good thing. I’m sick and it’s affecting all my family. We all need me to be doing better than I have been.

If you come here looking for humor, or edification, or stuff about girl detectives, and instead find posts about depression and mommy stuff, you might be disappointed. But I don’t want to be yet another person who denies the depression, or hides it, or downplays it. The bad news is that it sucks. The good news is that it’s likely to get better, and also that I’m still learning. As always, that’s what I’ll try to keep the focus on. My learning is an ongoing process, though I don’t always get to choose the topics.

Guppy was born over a year ago, but the depression and anxiety that came with him are not diminishing inversely to his growth. In spite of medication and the help of a good team of healthcare professionals, I have continued to struggle. To get me unstuck, my team recommended an outpatient therapy program instead of the sporadic therapy I have been doing, and I started this morning.

A small part of me hoped that someone would wave their hand and tell me I didn’t need to be there, and send me home. And, as has happened at every step of this depression, no one did. So I guess I belong.

What does one wear to a partial hospital program? As I’ve noted here before, I take care with my appearance, perhaps more so when I’m feeling worse, both as compensation and as a way to demonstrate some control when I don’t feel I have any elsewhere, e.g., Drake won’t listen, Guppy’s screaming again, but my accessories match my outfit AND I’m wearing mascara, so things can’t be too bad. I attempted to mesh style and comfort, and found myself wearing an outfit and accessories made up almost entirely of things I got from family and friends:

Black Max Mara sweater and black Tod’s bag, presents from friend N.
Blue, green, and black patterned top and jade drops on white gold hoops, from sister Ruthie
Green spring leather jacket espied years ago in Nordstrom Rack by sister Sydney, later tried on and purchased with sister Ruthie.
Navy Gloria Vanderbilt pants with a bit of Lycra, a bargain from Valu City courtesy of sister Sydney
Nixon Mini GTO watch, picked out with and also from G. Grod
Blue Venetian beaded bracelet made by friend S from my parents’ church, given while I was pregnant with Guppy
And the only thing I bought myself: $9.99 black Chuck Taylor knock-offs from Target

I had layers, and I was comfortable yet still stylish. The therapy program went pretty well, too.

the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can; Emma, Jane Austen

It’s very cold here in MN. We woke and it was -13. It’s a good day to stay at home and keep all under shelter that we can. The boys are sick again, and the nights have been interrupted. I may need to get out to combat cabin fever, but all non-critical errands are postponed until temperatures are more friendly to humans–say, above ten degrees F.

I know, from experience and professional training, that unrealistic and vague goals are destined to fail. In defiance of this, I have decided 2007 will be the year I get my sh1t together.

Deluded? Probably. For purposes of this delusion, I define my sh1t as: disorganized finances; blowing and drifting piles of paper; teetering piles of magazines; unopened boxes from the last x? moves; bookshelves crammed with unread books purchased long ago; random stashes of junk throughout the house (why, yes, I do think I should keep these seven keychains, because I never know when I might need this exact one.)

I have to stop there. I’m just depressing myself.

In preparation for this unrealistic and amorphous goal, I’ve done a little acronyming. The 2007 goal is hereby named CMP. Take your pick what it stands for: Crap Management/Minimizing Program, or Clear the Crap, Manage the Money and Purge the Paper.

See, all those years spent in corporate America weren’t for nought. Now if only I could get a budget for snacks and authorization to conscript a team:

Drake, Guppy, it’s time to clean house. Put your toys away! Pick up those crayons! Get that train out of your mouth! If you do, we’ll have a post-mortem meeting with Cheddar Bunnies, Veggie Booty, and juice.

Her parting look was grateful; and her parting words, ‘Oh!…the comfort of being sometimes alone!’ seemed to burst from an overcharged heart, and to describe somewhat of the continual endurance to be practised by her, even towards some of those who loved her best. Emma, chapter XLII

Drake, Guppy and I spent nearly two weeks out east visiting family. I am quick to correct those who call it vacation. For me, a vacation is time away for R & R (rest and relaxation; reading and writing. Either pair works.) Family visits are enjoyable, and may include some of those Rs, but since they are not exclusively, or even largely, about them, I don’t equate them with vacation.

We returned to a messy house, piles of mail, loads of laundry, and a mostly empty fridge. There was work to be done. By Thursday, I felt completely tapped out, and contacted a local retreat center. They had space, so I got me to a nunnery from Friday night to Sunday morning. I got all the Rs, plus some quiet, solitude, and time for meditation. I shunned my tendency to make a to-do list, and instead tried to go with the flow. I was interested to see that my day unfolded reflecting the life priorities I recently clarified: Rest, break fast, read, work on novel, sup, exercise/fresh air, rest, tea and snack, weblog, dine, read, rest.

It was a tremendous relief to get this 36-hour break. When I again saw Drake and Guppy, they were crying, screaming, not listening, and not changed at all by my time away. I’m not sure I was changed by it, either. But I did get a bit of time and space to replenish my reserves of patience so I could wade back into the fray. I think it’s naive to think that a brief break will magically make us more tranquil. It did make me feel less tapped out. And that’s something.

“It is the greatest absurdity–Actually snowing at this moment!–The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home–and the folly of people’s not staying comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this, by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it;–and here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual, setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man, in every thing given to his view or his feelings, to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can;– here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again to-morrow. Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse;–four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.”

Mister John Knightley, a voice of reason, in Austen’s Emma. I am intrigued by his argument that we should attend to nature’s suggestion, and stay home when it is cold. On one hand, we Minnesotans would be housebound a lot. On the other, getting myself and the kids bundled up and out the door and into a vehicle is considerable work. It makes me long to curl up on the couch with books. And what if we went to bed earlier, and got up later during winter? Modern life doesn’t encourage this kind of adjustment to our environment. But what if it did?

As Drake and Guppy require more attention and nap less, I’ve pared down and prioritized the other basics of my day:

Journal
Read book
Exercise/go outside
Work on novel
Write for weblog
Read and reply to email
Read online feeds
Housework (laundry, cooking, cleaning)

Since I only get short breaks, or none at all, it’s easy to get distracted by the silly stuff. This list helps me focus in the midst of disruptions.

I know parents who have given up on all sorts of things once they had a child. Movies, books, writing, restaurants, even clothing and makeup. All these things matter to me, though, so I make time for them by not doing other things. Clothing and makeup might seem trivial or superficial compared to the others, but I haven’t given up on those, either. Much of my time as a mother is spent on the physical needs of my toddler and baby. Time for my physical needs helps at least a little. I sometimes wonder, when I’m running late, if it’s worth it that I have makeup or accessories on, or that my outfit fits and matches. My preparation is an oasis of autonomy among the negotiations and acrobatics required to get the kids out the door.

The past several years I’ve skipped New Year’s Resolutions. Instead, I’ve jotted down a few wishes for change in my journal, then forget about them. Lo and behold, when I check back at the end of the year, they’re usually under way.

Goal setting was a big part of my last job. I learned that vague goals are almost certain to fail, and that whenever possible it helps to have a quantifiable or concrete goal.

This year, though, I feel the urge to steel my resolve. What’s more, I intend to do it vaguely. In short, this is the year I want to get organized and clear out the junk.

I still have boxes of paper from each of the last three moves. I have two more piles, one for each child. I have magazines that are years old. Over the years, I’ve done a decent job at cleaning out wardrobe, books, comics and CDs. The paper, though, continues to accumulate.

I have some specific strategies to accomplish the great paper purge. I’ve called to cancel one catalog. Each time I receive one, I’ll call to cancel. I will re-register my name on the junk-mail removal list. I’ll try to let magazine subscriptions lapse. I won’t sign up for more. I will only buy magazines when I travel, or on special occasions. I will not borrow them from doctors’ offices anymore. I’m going to try to get all recurring bills and statements sent electronically.

I’m still going to have book, movie and writing goals. Those are important to me, and setting goals reminds me to prioritize them. But this year I’m setting an extra one of reducing the garbage in, after increasing the garbage out. It’s like a paper diet. I just hope this isn’t hubris.

Our little family continues to be laid low by viruses. My husband and I were supposed to go out with friends on Saturday. Guppy had vomited, but then went to sleep peacefully, so we thought the babysitter would be OK. (Or maybe we weren’t sure, but it had been so long since we’d had grown-up company that we were willing to believe it might be.) But when the babysitter called to say that Drake had also vomited, we turned the car around. Clearly, we were not meant to have a night out.

I’m doing all the right things for us: periodic fresh air and sun, vitamins, rest, fluids, healthful and sustaining foods, staying in. Yet the sniffling, barfing, coughing, and excessive pooping continues into its FOURTH MONTH.

Please forgive the lack of posts. And think healthful thoughts in our direction. I’m convinced it’s because we haven’t had a proper freeze, and the weather keeps bouncing up into unseasonably warm. I don’t want warm. I live in MN. Bring on the cold, already.

As my third cold in three months progresses from bad to worse during this jam-packed holiday season, I am mindful of the advice I’m getting from friends as well as those helping me with my post-partum depression:

1. Rest
2. Make and take time for myself
3. Go easier on myself
4. Ask for help

Why is it the simplest stuff is so often the hardest to do?

My doc confirms that I am doing much better with my post-partum depression. It was good to get her perspective, since I’ve seen her every couple weeks. Two visits ago, I had several of the symptoms of PPD. Last visit, I was better, but had trouble concentrating, not least because I had both boys with me. This time, I only took Guppy, but my concentration was much improved. I still feel periodically angry and constantly tired, but those are normal, given that I’m the primary caregiver for a 3yo and a 9mo.