mommy me « artistmotherteacher.com

July 12th, 2010

Next thing you know we’ll be hanging up the black light poster I found in the hope chest

Remember those glow in the dark stars that you could hang on the ceiling in your bedroom?

Not the sticker kind but the plastic ones that came with a tiny supply of white removable adhesive. The kind you could only use one time because you were never given enough adhesive to reuse them once you pried them off the ceiling. Or, if you had leftover adhesive it would be completely dried out or covered in dust by the time you actually needed it.

Remember those?

They were awesome.

I always wanted a set of them growing up. Somehow that never happened when I was a kid. No, it wasn’t until I was an adult and living on my own before I actually had my own set of glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. What can I say? I was a late bloomer. Now, I don’t exactly remember which apartment I had them in, but they came with me when I moved. And for the last five years we have had that set of stars sitting in a small pink plastic bin in our basement waiting to see the light of day and glow again.

But that weird white gummy adhesive has a tendency to dry out over the years. So I never really had a way—or a need—to put them back up.

Until now.

IMG_9746 copy

A few weeks ago Glue Dots and TwitterMoms sent me a big envelope FULL of Glue Dots products. Included in that envelope were removable adhesive dots. Which instantly reminded me of those stars.

G-tot could not have been more enthusiastic about using them when I told him what we were going to do with the Glue Dots and that little basket of stars.

We washed the years of dust and dirt off of them. Then we picked off all that old white dry adhesive that still stuck to the back of the stars—but would no longer stick to anything else.

Next came the glue dots.

We ended up using 3 different packs of Glue Dots for the job. It didn’t need that many but we were experimenting with the different options to see what worked best for us. The roller worked well for the quickly covering the larger stars and the individual dots were great for the smaller stars.

G-tot and I were both too short to reach the ceiling without a ladder. I was also too lazy to drag a ladder in from the garage.

So we stuck them on the walls instead.

They are still super awesome.

Disclaimer: This post was written as a part of the TwitterMoms and Glue Dots blogging contest. For more information on how you can participate, click here.

June 25th, 2010

Facing Depression

March 3, 2010.

That is going to be one of those dates I remember for a very long time. Like December 30, 1999—the day JQ and I shared our first kiss. Or August 17, 2008—the last day I breastfed G-tot. Those are days I hope to never forget.

March 3, 2010 was a Wednesday.

It was also the day that I had a complete emotional breakdown. One that left me nonfunctional and in a puddle of my own self loathing and despair. I was completely and utterly broken.

Something just snapped.

I taught two classes that day without any problem. I felt good. And then around 2:00 it all fell apart. I found myself standing in my office sobbing uncontrollably.

It was really bad.

There was no way I could finish out the day. So I went to let somebody know and when I got to her door I broke down all over again. That’s just not something an emotionally stable person does.

I drove home through more tears.

It was that afternoon that I knew I needed to get help.

I think that I’ve known for awhile now that I could use some help and have been in denial.

I wrote the following back in December in a notebook. Before knowing I was pregnant. Before the miscarriage. It should have been a red flag.

Sometimes this is the letter I want to write to myself.

What the hell is wrong with you? You are living a mediocre life and are settling for far too little. You’re a shitty communicator and relentlessly selfish. That’s why your relationship tends to be so dysfunctional. You know what the problem is yet day after day you refuse to change it. Therapy would probably do you wonders. Don’t be ashamed of it. Nobody has it all figured out and many probably feel just as fucked up as you do. You can’t keep internalizing it. Or one of these days you’ll snap.

You’re 33 and far better than the life you let yourself live. You are on the cusp but if you continue to sit idly by then you will stay right there. You don’t come from money or connections and are going to have to work that much harder to achieve what you really want. You don’t have time for the bullshit laziness.

I always told myself it was something I could overcome on my own.

“It’s not that bad.” I lied.

I way lying to myself about my own mental stability and happiness. Who does that?

So on the morning of March 4, 2010 I dug out the card with the name and number of a therapist on it that my OB-GYN had given me in January. I called her. And much to my dismay she wasn’t in my network. Stupid insurance.

I felt completely lost again. I can’t just pick a therapist out of the phone book. I could end up with some nutjob that way.

That’s when I decided to call my primary care physician. I was hopeful he could recommend someone and at the very least he could do SOMETHING for me.

He decided a 30 day prescription of Zoloft would be the right thing for me.

More precisely 100 mg of Zoloft.

With much hesitation I took that first pill on a Friday night. I knew there would be some adjusting to the medication and I thought taking it in the evening would offset some of the side effects.

I was so wrong.

I felt like some drugged out zombie the entire next day.

I couldn’t function like that. Even if it was just temporary. I wouldn’t have a clear head in an emergency and there is no way I could have gone to work feeling high and still depressed.

And 100 mg to START? What the hell Dr. Overdose?

I still have 29 pills in the medicine cabinet.

I never took a second pill. I’m just not a pill taker. Never have been.

Fortunately, Dr. Overdose also gave me the names of a few therapists that were in my network. I called the one he recommended by name rather than by group.

On March 26, 2010 I went to my first appointment with a psychologist. EVER.

I have had six sessions so far. The first couple I cried pretty much the entire hour. At one session a few weeks ago I didn’t shed a tear.

I think that may be a sign of progress.

I’m really glad I made that call. I deserve it.

May 9th, 2010

To All the Mothers in My Life

To my mom:
For being my MOTHER all the times I needed you to be and my FRIEND when you knew I could handle things on my own—thank you. For teaching me to be POWERFUL. To be CREATIVE. To be KIND. Thank you. And for instilling in me the fact that it is okay to share your LOVE with a hug, a kiss, or an “I love you” when we say goodbye, I just can’t thank you enough. You are an amazing woman and I am proud to be your daughter.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

To my step-mom:
Thank you for showing me what an impact a simple gesture can often have on someone. Thank you for always treating me with respect—especially through some of my lovely teen years. And thank you for never trying to replace my mom. For this and much more, you are loved.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

To my mother-in-law:
I know you don’t have the internet and will most likely never know that this exists but I can’t write a Mother’s Day tribute without including you. My message is simple—thank you for liking me so much. You are a hard woman to impress and you love me. I know you do by the way we talk. And this makes me feel special. Like a beloved member of the family. That makes me happy.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

To my son:
Thank you, thank you, thank you a million times over for making me a mother. It has been the most amazing title I have held and I’m honored to be the mom of a sweet soul like you. Becoming a mother has opened my heart and increased my understanding of love in ways I never knew possible. I owe it all to you.

To all the mothers out there:
A nod to you and all the work you do. Being a mom isn’t always easy but it sure is worth it.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

May 1st, 2010

I Am Not Named After a Bush. Or a Hobby.

I’ve been thinking a lot about transparency lately. Who I am. Who I have been. Who I still want to be. And how much of all of that I want to share. Things have changed so much since I started my blog five years ago. I posted for a completely different reason back then. I was a totally different person. The internet was a different place. I believed I needed the quasi-anonymity I was creating by not using my name.

And so I became *Pixie*.

But like I said, things have changed over the past five years. I have built real relationships and friendships online. Those people know my name. I joined Facebook and connected with friends old, new, and those I haven’t met yet in person. They know my name. I met even more people on Twitter. Many of them are local and many of them I have met in person. Guess what? They all know my name.

So it seems that *Pixie* is not really necessary anymore. And it is a little embarrassing to introduce myself that way. But the name is rooted in me. It marks the beginning of a part of my life that I can’t imagine not having experienced.

Which makes giving it up that much harder. A little part of me will always be *pixie*.

But there is so much more.

I am an artist.

A mother.

A teacher.

I am Holly.

April 12th, 2010

Imagine the sound that came with it

I hate to do back-to-back posts that are just photos but DUDE IT HAS BEEN OVER A WEEK!

Plus, this photo is just too awesome not to share. JQ took this on Easter and G-tot would not just smile so I thought I would join him in the face making. It is my new favorite picture of the two of us.

April 2nd, 2010

Sometimes I Swear My Body Is Mocking Me

“As soon as you have one normal cycle you can try again.”

That’s what the doctor told me right after the miscarriage. I hadn’t asked. “Trying again” was the furthest thing from my mind at that point. I had JUST lost a baby. I was scared that is would happen again. So scared that I wasn’t sure I would EVER be ready to try again.

But Mother Nature is relentless in moving forward with life and just a month after that conversation with my doctor I would indeed have a regular cycle. When it ended I would start to panic. The doctor’s words would constantly run through my head.

Now it was in my hands.

It was up to us.

We didn’t have to use birth control anymore.

We could “try again”.

I really wasn’t sure WHAT to do at that point. Sure, I would like to have another baby. I’m not so sure I could handle losing a baby again. And THAT is always in the back of my mind.

Then again, I can’t let the things that happen in the past hold me back from living my life right now. So we stopped using birth control. We weren’t actually trying, but we also weren’t trying NOT to get pregnant. We were leaving it up to the Fates. To chance. Whatever happened was what was meant to happen.

It has been nearly 40 days since that first “normal” cycle. I haven’t had another. So Monday afternoon I picked up a pregnancy test.

I peed on the stick.

Three minutes later there was just one pink line.

I wasn’t pregnant.

And it made me REALLY sad.

I guess I actually am ready to try again.

March 22nd, 2010

Growing Up—34 and 35 Months

Dear Gideon,

In just a couple of days you will be three years old.

THREE.

Holy crap.

For whatever reason I feel compelled to catch up on your monthly letters before that happens. I know, I know, it is just one more item to add to the list of neurotic things your mother does. Trust me, one day that will be a very long list. I’m okay with that and although it will thoroughly embarrass you as an adolescent, many years from now you may actually find it charming.

Anyway…months 34 and 35.

34 months—February 4, 2010

35 months—March 2, 2010

I imagine one day you will read these letters and notice that I tend to fail when it comes to writing them in a timely fashion. My goal is always to get them written within a couple of days of the 24th of each month. That rarely happens and this is by far the longest I have gone without writing you a letter. It has been a rough couple of months for me and I just haven’t been in the right frame of mind to compose a heartfelt letter to you.

But that hasn’t stopped YOU from being truly amazing and plowing full-speed ahead in terms of growth. And thankfully, you are ALWAYS the highlight of my day (the good and the bad days).

On January 15th, you came up to me, lifted my shirt, kissed my belly and said, “I love you baby.” Sweetly, compassionately, and without any prompting. My heart melted in that moment. The next day I lost the baby and my heart broke. I was confused, angry with the world, and devastated.

I had no idea how I was going to tell you what had happened. How do you explain that to a two and a half year old? I wasn’t sure if you could understand but I couldn’t have you say “I love you baby” to my now empty uterus. So, as I held you in my arms that afternoon before your nap, I told you that the baby was very sick and wasn’t gong to grow in my belly anymore.

And you cried. Which made me weep. There we stood in the darkness of your room that Saturday afternoon sobbing over our loss. I immediately questioned whether or not I had made the right decision by telling you at that moment. Looking back, I’m not sure there is any easy way. I’m still not sure how much you understood in that moment either. But your reaction was completely appropriate and somehow cathartic.

Oddly, that wasn’t the only loss you suffered that day. While you were taking your bath that evening I picked up your much loved binky. Holding it in my hand I noticed four small holes in the nipple from your tiny sharp teeth. Those holes compromised the integrity of the binky and made it a health hazard. You couldn’t have it back after that.

That was the last binky we had in the house and your Dad and I had no intention of buying you a new one. And just like that you were done with the binky. You never really complained or asked for it again. You were ready to let it go, you just needed the push. I had this grand idea of tying it to a balloon and having you let it float away as a final goodbye. We never did that and it is still sitting in the medicine cabinet collecting dust. One of these days it will end up in the trash. Thanks for making it so easy.

Rest assured that the last couple of months have been more than just heartache and loss. Even on the darkest of days you have been a shining example of all that is right in the world. One day while I did a bit of work in the office you came in “driving” your car with your “lunch” in hand. You came in to give me a hug and kiss along with a wave goodbye because you were “going to work”.

So adorable.

On more than one occasion you have looked at me and said, “You’re beautiful.” Wow. What was I saying earlier about your ability to melt my heart? It goes triple for statements like that.

Talking to you continues to be one of my favorite things to do and I am absolutely smitten with some of the phrases that come out of your mouth. One phrase in particular that always makes me giggle and that I would never correct is “piggy-ride back”. What you really want is a piggy-back ride but EVERY time you say “piggy-ride back”. And EVERY time I give you one without hesitation and with a smile on my face.

Because to me, that is just perfect.

Love,
Mommy

February 4th, 2010

No tissues in my pocket at the end of the night

I have cried every day for the last two and a half weeks. Some of those tears came in giant waves, ripping apart my heart as they flowed non-stop from my eyes. Some of them were single tears that spilled over the edge of my eyelids in my failed attempt to keep it all together. And then there were all the other tears. They came too. They have graced me with their presence at least once every day for the past two and a half weeks.

Every day but Saturday.

And let me tell you something, it felt so good to not cry for that one entire day.

It was kind of a big deal for me.

You see, on Saturday JQ had a gig at a funky little bar in Maumee called The Village Idiot. Always fun and always peppered with people I’ve known in my lifetime. Plus they have amazing pizza there. Like the Greek one that has feta, artichoke hearts, olives, banana peppers, and tomatoes on it. Yum.

Anyway.

I’m not sure if it was because the gig was in the town we grew up in or what, but my grandma offered to take G-tot overnight so I could go see JQ play. So I did. And so did approximately 25 of our friends and family members. Most of whom I hadn’t seen since the miscarriage. But all of them already knew and I was actually able to talk briefly about it and accept their condolences without crying.

Without crying.

And since I spent the previous fourteen days in tears and generally avoiding the company of others it was a pretty big deal. Maybe I had enough distractions throughout the day that I didn’t have time to dwell on the loss and the grief. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe it was the music.

Whatever it was it felt really good. I think I’m ready for more of those tear-free days.

February 1st, 2010

If this post was a song it would totally be a ballad but one with a killer drum solo

I’m having one of those days today. The kind that come laden with a heavy heart. The kind of day where you have tons to say but nothing comes out. The kind of day where you want nothing more than to snuggle on the couch and just breathe in the essence of your loved ones. The kind of day where just you can’t have any of that.

That’s the kind of day I’m having.

And since I can’t be with them right now I just look at pictures, let out a little sigh, and think about tomorrow when we can be together. Or at the very least, I think of this morning and those few moments of snuggle time we had then.

Those moments rock. Just like my kid.

January 19th, 2010

Paging Doctor Google

*This is another post with too much information for some. My emotions are incredibly raw still and writing about my experience is therapeutic. If you aren’t comfortable reading about the miscarriage I encourage you to not read on and just come back another day. I won’t always be so depressing.*

I try to avoid the temptation to use Google to diagnose my problems. It just isn’t a good idea. This was especially important for me to remember over the last several days. I knew what was happening and I didn’t need the added stress of the BAD stuff I was guaranteed to find. I was freaking out plenty on my own. But I couldn’t not do it. So I did a couple of searches for first trimester bleeding on Friday when things still had a glimmer of hope around the edges. I tried very carefully to pick the ones that seemed reputable and were not Yahoo! Answers where anybody can answer the question and proceed to put more fear in you than you started with. I looked at a few with URLs that had “med” or something in the title, scanned them for hopeful information and that was it.

But here’s the thing. Sometimes if you don’t Google that crap you may not realize that what some of the BAD might be. Like this scenario. You pass a bunch of tissue all at once. You mourn your loss. You say good-bye. You try to start some sort of grieving and healing process. Then a couple days later you pass another clot the size of a silver dollar and resting within it is a tiny visible baby about the size of a nickel. There is no mistaking it.

And you have to say good-bye all over again.

That was what happened to me on Monday afternoon. And it really sucked.

Next thing you know we’ll be hanging up the black light poster I found in the hope chest

Facing Depression

To All the Mothers in My Life

I Am Not Named After a Bush. Or a Hobby.

Imagine the sound that came with it

Sometimes I Swear My Body Is Mocking Me

Growing Up—34 and 35 Months

No tissues in my pocket at the end of the night

If this post was a song it would totally be a ballad but one with a killer drum solo

Paging Doctor Google

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