Tomorrow is Halloween which means that marching band season is officially over. This was my daughter's second year, and she looked forward to it all winter and spring. She loves marching band - it makes her so happy. I try to be as involved as I can. During marching band season my husband and I volunteer a lot of our time. I volunteer at every game and competition. I figure that if I'm going to be there anyway, I might as well help.
I am always in awe of the other parents and how dedicated they are to the band. We have a TON of amazing parents who are there- week after week- loading and unloading the truck, building props, riding buses, administering first aid, cheering on the kids. We spend a lot of time together during marching season and I have grown close to the other band parents.
We do everything together. We load and unload the truck together, we feed and water the children together, we run onto the field together and we stand together on the sidelines and watch, teary eyed and holding our breaths, as the kids perform their show.
I love the band moms so much. We share the joys and accomplishments of our children, but also our worries and our struggles. We hold each other up. I respect these women so much, more than they'll ever know. I've learned so much from them - especially the mothers of older kids. They have so much knowledge and insight. Their friendship is invaluable to me.
The band community is amazing because I know that even if I'm not there, there are literally dozens of other parents who love my kid and would make sure she was taken care of. Yes, I'm there to support MY kid but I love all the band kids. Every last one of them. I pray for them all and I hope they all grow up to have beautiful lives. They are an amazing group of kids and I am so humbled that my daughter can be part of that.
It has not been an easy month for the band. One of the assistant band directors passed away at the beginning of the month. I loved him, he was truly a beautiful human being. The children adored him. It was a huge loss, one that will be felt for years to come.
Then a week later, one of their fellow band members died tragically. One of OUR kids. It was almost too much to bear. The sorrow, heartbreak, grief and heaviness of it all left a feeling of brokenness that I don't think I'd ever be able to truly put into words.
I attended the funeral, because I love all the band kids. I sat in the back, as band mothers should. Band moms hang around the edges and give enough space but are there at a moments notice when needed. I watched all the band kids file into the church together. It was so different to see them all dressed up in black suits and dresses. They almost looked like little adults. My own daughter walked past me and gave me a nod of acknowledgement before joining the rest of the band who sat together.
There was a lot of tears that day and I was sad to see them like that. Sad that they had to learn so many difficult lessons in such a short period of time. I mourned their innocence as deeply as I mourned our dead.
They practiced hard in those following afternoons and competed in Lower State just 4 days later. It was a long day. The kids went out on the field and played their hearts out. I was so damn proud of them (especially my girl). The band went out on the field for awards afterwards and the parents huddled together behind them. We held our breaths as they called out the bands and our excitement grew as we got closer to the top.
They placed third. Top 3. The parents cried proud tears, jumped up and down and hugged each other. Then I turned and watched the kids: cheering, taking turns hugging one another, celebrating. I smiled because amidst all the pain, grief and loss there was joy and I realized that our children would not be broken. They are strong, they push forward, they hold up one another and they truly deserved the win.
We got home at 1:30 am there was a throng of parents there unloading the truck. At 1:30 AM. Band parents are amazing human beings.
They qualified for state competition the following week. They were aiming for single digits- top 10. They went out and played the show one last time. All those hours of practice, all that work, the blood sweat and tears - came down to this ten minutes.
There was some electronic issues but I thought they did fabulously. I love watching my daughter play the flute. I makes me SO happy. I thought they had a solid performance.
It was time for awards and the kids went onto the field. The parents stood together on a hill. Again, we held our breaths as they called out the bands. They called out 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11 - it wasn't us. Then they called out number 10....it wasn't us. They had done it! Single digits. They placed number 7th in the state. The parents were so happy. Our kids worked so hard for this and it was important to them. They had met their goal and they had made it to the other side.
We watched them hug and celebrate again. They had told their story and they had done it well.
The kids will remember this month for the rest of their lives. I know that I will. I hope they remember that sometimes it is darkest right before the dawn, that there are rainbows after the storm, that even in hard times there is beauty. Most importantly, I hope they know that they ALL are loved.
I've been spending a lot of time with my youngest child. Which can be a challenge sometimes, as you know.
Last year I felt like I barely saw her at all between school and gymnastics but now that she does online school I get her back a little bit. She is pretty self-sufficient. I mostly help her with projects and technical stuff. I oversee her work. She tries to get me to give her answers.
"Mom. What impact did the Imperial Era have on the Chinese?"
"I don't know - look it up," I reply.
She gets mad, "Geez mom! You are supposed to know this! You passed sixth grade!"
She legit expects me to remember everything I learned in 6th grade. That was like, a million years ago. The only thing I have in my brain are dick jokes, lyrics to 80's songs, and recipes. There is no useful information in there.
She is being a lot less combative and nicer lately. We started going to marriage counseling a few months ago. She was constantly being moody, was taking everything I said out of context, we were not communicating well at all. One day, I had enough.
"We're going to marriage counseling," I declared, throwing up my hands.
"But we're not married," she said confused.
"I don't care!" I said.
So we go once a month. It is just like marriage counseling. We play games, we are open with each other. I think it's helped relate to each other better. We get this one chance and I am not going to spend the next 7 years battling each other. At first she hated it, but now it's better. I'm learning to bend on some things.
Food, for instance. I never cooked special food for the kids. You get what you get. I'm not an ala carte chef. In the past year my child has become super picky. She refuses to eat eggs, oatmeal, chicken, pork, turkey. You know, normal things that people eat for dinner. It's making me crazy. I would make dinner and she would refuse to eat it and then I would tell her to make herself food and she would eat crap.
Finally, I raised my white flag. "What will you eat?" She thought about it. "Ham, steak, soup, sushi and spaghetti. That's what I like."
"Ok. I can do that."
"Yeah, mom, but not canned soup. I only like your fresh soup."
"Like what?"
"Potato, mushroom, French onion, tomato, broccoli and cheese...."
This child expects me to make fresh soup.
So, I've been making big batches of soup and freezing them. Also, what 11 year old likes French onion, mushroom and tomato soup? That is the rotation now - ham, steak, soup and spaghetti. The rest of us just eat what I normally cook. It's made dinner times much better although I have broken my rule of not being an ala carte chef. We all have to sacrifice.
She gets sushi once a week for lunch. That is my special treat to her. She loves sushi. Sushi and Ramen noodles. She wants to be Japanese. When she is not doing gymnastics and school she is watching anime and reading manga. She's funny.
A few weeks ago I took her to see Laurie Hernandez. It was kind of a fluke. I was driving her to practice and we heard on the radio that she would be in town the next day at the Southern Women's Show. She LOVES Laurie Hernandez. I went online and the tickets were sold out. I was bummed.
I emailed the head of the Southern Woman's Show in a panic. I really wanted to make this happen for her. The lady emailed me back and said that we may be able to meet her at the event with just general admission tickets even if we didn't get the "VIP package".
The next day we got ready to go. She wore her USA hoodie and we took the picture of the Olympic gymnasts off the wall and packed it in a tote in hopes that we could get an autograph. We walked around the convention center beforehand and she was being moody and having an all around crappy attitude. She criticized my outfit choice. I almost left her there alone.
We sat down and they did a Q&A with Laurie. Laurie talked about being one of the only Puerto Rican gymnasts, repeating Level 4, struggling with bars, the TV shows she likes....my daughters eyes were wide. She leaned in and whispered, "We have so much in common." She was happy.
After, they announced that they would have a meet and greet. We got up an ran over and she was third in line. When it was her turn to meet Laurie she was shaking, she was so nervous. Laurie was so sweet. She hugged her and complimented her sweatshirt, she told my daughter that she had pretty hair and asked her about gymnastics. She signed her photo and posed for me to get a picture of them.
When we walked out of the convention center, my daughter was still shaking. Then, we sat down in the car and she started to sob. "What's wrong?" I asked, confused.
"I'm just so happy," she said. She cried the whole way home. I laughed. She loves gymnastics so much and to meet her FAVORITE gymnast was amazing. Priceless.
I was just glad to get a picture. She refuses to let me take pictures of her. "Ugggh! You always want to take my picture." Meanwhile, my oldest always wants me to take her picture. In 20 years she's going to wonder why I have hundreds of pictures of her sister and 2 of her. She's going to make me feel like a bad mother about it.
Things between us are better. Not perfect, but she is coming back to me a bit. Yesterday she sat down on the couch and leaned against me as we watched a show. Instead of putting headphones in on the way home, she hooked up her phone to the radio and we sang along to Panic at the Disco together, when I came home from the grocery store this morning, she thanked me for buying salami and asked if she could jump on my back....it's the little things.
I think she is leveling out a little bit. We're just taking it one day at a time. I love her so much.
I started this blog a few weeks ago and I debated whether or not to post it....but it's time to finish it now.
Last month, my daughter's marching band had their first exhibition. It was a beautiful day. The children did an awesome job. I was proud. Afterwards, I took her out to dinner. Just me and my oldest girl. As I was driving home, she chatted excitedly about the day, jokes that had been told, things to be done....
A song came on the radio; it's about suicide awareness and my daughter said this to me:
"This is everyone at schools favorite song and a lot of people told me they can relate to it and it makes me so sad. They should have a class that everyone has to go to that talks about stuff like this. Not optional, EVERYONE. Like, I know it's important for us to know math and English and history but if we had a class where we could talk about stuff then maybe everyone would realize we are going through the same things and maybe we would all be nicer to each other and people wouldn't feel so alone."
She said it so passionately. I thought it was a very prophetic thing for a 13 year old to say. "I completely agree with you." People with mental health issues do feel stigmatized and it's such an unfortunate thing. We talk about stuff like this a lot in my house because I REALLY struggled with mental health issues during my adolescence.
I'm not ashamed about it, I have often spoke of my appreciation for Zoloft but it's still a hard thing to talk about. I suffered from severe depression and crippling anxiety from 12-18. I can't exactly pinpoint what triggered it. Puberty? Middle School? My abandonment issues? I just remember feeling so intensely sad and empty EVERY SINGLE DAY of my life. I felt like I was alone in the world, like I was on the outside looking in, like I didn't belong. Not to my friends, definitely not to my family. Not to anyone. I remember thinking, I don't belong on this planet. Who's idea was it to put me here? I was weird, I was not a normal human being, I was not like everyone else and I hated myself for it.
My anxiety was horrible. Every test, every social interaction was like sandpaper on my skin, knots in my stomach. Everyone started talking about my future - I needed to be a certain way, get good grades, be a good girl because otherwise I was compromising my future. FUCK! That's heavy for a 14 year old. I was just trying to get through to next Tuesday and I felt like every step and every decision I made would haunt me forever. Everyone else's future would surely be brighter and better than my own - my anxiety fed me so many lies. I vacillated between overwhelming sadness and feeling completely numb. I started cutting at 12 and I was a cutter for years. I liked to slice side of my feet, because the cuts were easy to hide. I was really ashamed about it and that made it worse.
I had terrible panic attacks. I remember my first panic attack. April 20, 1999 - as I sat on the coffee table in my living room watching the news about the Columbine school shootings. The heat rushed and tingled up my neck, into my face, my heart raced and the walls seemed to close in. I thought I was going to die. I sobbed after. It was only the first of many. I would have up to 5 panic attacks a day after that. Probably for about a year. I got used to them, the feeling of dread as one was coming and I just let them wash over me. I did not want to live like this. I never had a plan but I spent many nights wishing that I would go to sleep and not wake up in the morning. I wasted YEARS of my life wishing that I was dead.
I didn't want anyone to know. I was convinced that my parents would send me to a home for crazy kids. That if anyone knew, it would confirm that I was IN FACT a weirdo. I suffered. I suffered needlessly.
I did have some lifelines, however. I had a few good friends who made me laugh and were there for me. Some teachers whose kind words and faith in my abilities numbed some of my emptiness. Marching band saved my life. When I was there, I belonged to something. It took up so much of my time that it was a wonderful distraction. I was almost happy sometimes. My husband, who embraced my weirdness and didn't run away from my crazy emotions. These are things that kept me going. In spite of the darkness and emptiness there was a voice inside for me that told me to Keep going, some day things are going to be better. Was it God, my guardian angel, hope? I wasn't fully convinced but I did keep moving forward.
Depression is like standing in a room full of people and screaming for help at the top of your lungs and no one can hear you. It's like going through life with a snake wrapped around you - slowly squeezing the life out of your body. It's like being a balloon that someone let go of that is floating away from the earth.
I left home and moved to Oklahoma 10 days before I was supposed to graduate from high school. I didn't care about walking in graduation. I didn't care about anything. I gave the school the forwarding address to send my diploma and I left. I was going to get married that month.
A few days after I had gotten out there, I dropped my husband off at work (we only had one car) and I spent the day unpacking boxes and setting things up in our tiny apartment. I went to pick him up from work that afternoon and I parked in the lot and waited. It was hot and dreary that day. It began to rain. I listened to the rain beat down on the roof and I thought it would be refreshing to feel to the rain on my body. It was a hot day.
I got out of the car and leaned against the hood and let it rain on me. The rain was warm and it was like I could feel every drop on my skin. In that moment a switch flipped inside of me. This is what it's like to be alive. I laughed.
My husband ran out to the car and I got in the passengers seat. I was dripping wet and laughing. "What are you doing ? Everyone in the office told me you were standing out in the rain and now they think you are crazy." I smiled at him. "NO. I'm standing in the rain because I'm NOT crazy," I said excited. He was like:
That was the day that I decided that I wanted to live.
It was the strangest thing. Suddenly, there was quiet inside of myself. It was like the fog lifted and I saw everything for the first time. I would look at the sky and think The sky is so blue! Has it always been this blue? I was living and it was the most wonderful, beautiful feeling in the world. I wanted to do all the things - smell the flowers, feel the grass on my toes, laugh in public, travel the world..... I had so much lost time to make up for.
Even to this day, I will sometimes cry and be overcome with emotion because I am so GRATEFUL to be alive and I never in my wildest dreams imagined that my life could be this good.
I don't think you ever recover from depression. Depression is like herpes, once you have it, it's yours for life. I did experience mild depression after the death of my grandfather, after we moved to Indianapolis and in 2014 due to stressful work circumstances. I was concerned when I was pregnant because I knew I was high risk for postpartum depression but I did great. Motherhood healed me in SO many ways.
I do still have anxiety sometimes but VERY infrequently and I do have 1-2 panic attacks a year. They do not interfere with my life and I have done well.
I will always be at risk and I know that. There are times when I can feel it creeping in. My depression and anxiety is like an old friend that you don't talk to anymore that shows up at your house every few years and is like, "Hey girl! It's been a while. Let's have coffee and talk about what a horrible person you are and all your life regrets; then we can make a list of everything that can go wrong!" And I'm like,
I choose happiness. That means that I take care of myself. If I need to nap, I nap. If I am stressed, I'll let my house be dirty and I get a massage. I watch movies and shows that make me laugh. I don't spend time with people who are toxic and make me feel less than. I don't read upsetting news articles. I listen to music that I can dance to in my living room. I do things and surround myself with people that make me feel good. If I need medication, I take medication.
I still think I am not like everyone else. I am a weirdo. I'm a strange bird, that cannot be denied. But you know what? That's what makes me ME. I've accepted who I am and I love myself. When people don't like me I think, I can't believe you are willing to miss out on this awesomeness!
Because I am so open with my own struggles with my mental health issues, other people confide in me as well. There are SO many people out there JUST LIKE me. I think the silver lining is that my experience has definitely made me a better person, it's made me kinder and I judge NO ONE because you don't know what other people are going through. Being a human is hard. We are all on this journey together. It is easy for no one, some of us just do a better job of hiding our demons.
Because I struggled so much in my adolescence, I am hyper vigilant about my children. There is definitely a family history so they are at risk. We all see a therapist periodically and I try to tell them all the things that I wish someone would have told me. Lots of cliches. Things you'll hear at my house:
"Lot's of kids your age feel that way."
"Being a human is hard."
"Be kind, you never know what other people are going through."
"You have made it through every hard day you've ever hard."
"It's a bad day, not a bad life."
"You are not alone."
"You are smart and beautiful and mom and dad love you no matter what."
I speak these things like a mantra. One of my daughter's friends came over a few weeks ago and we were all chatting in the car and her friend was talking about how she feels like she doesn't fit in. My daughter was like, "ALL of us feel like that. You are smart and an awesome person and everyone loves you." I smiled. Maybe she is listening. Maybe the kids will be alright.
This week started as usual. It was busy. I picked up my daughter on Tuesday from marching band and then we attended a band boosters meeting. We live the band and gymnastics life at all times.
We didn't get home until late. We were finishing up dinner and my daughter's phone pinged. I glanced over at her and I, as long as I live, will never forget the look of brokenness on her face. She told me that one of the marching band kids committed suicide.
She sobbed, friends called and they sobbed together. She took a hot shower and then we laid in bed together. She was so heart broken. We talked about life and we cried together. "All you can do is pray and be kind," I told her. It was getting late, she had the PSAT to take in the morning. She was emotionally exhausted. I tucked her in and kissed the top of her head.
I went to bed too. A few minutes later she walked in. "Can I sleep with you guys tonight?" she asked. "Of course," I told her. She climbed in between my husband and I and rested her head on my shoulder and fell right asleep. I watched her sleep for a long time that night.
This world is not fair to these teenagers. It's so hard to grow up today. The academic pressure is suffocating. Social media is so damaging because everyone shows the good parts of their lives, the parts they want others to see. It makes kids feel isolated, lonely and left out. They are forced to grow up so quickly. My sweet little girl has experienced so much loss this year.
But, if there is one thing that I have learned in my life, it is that it goes on. The world may be permanently changed and we may be broken but the sun will come up every day, we will breathe in and breathe out and the living will go on living. We too will get through this.
If you are struggling with mental illness, know that you are not alone. Know that it's okay to not be okay. Tell someone. People care more than you will ever know.
I have been living in crazy- middle-school-mom hell-the past few weeks. It's been so darn busy. Do I always say that? Have I been saying that for years?
I mentioned previously that I had some health problems this summer. I've been having gallbladder-like attacks for the past 14 years. They are infrequent- about once every 3 months and they last about 45 minutes. I think I'm going to die, but I don't and then I go on with life. I never went to the doctor about them because I'm terrible and never go to the doctor.
I had an attack in July that lasted 3 hours before I finally broke down and went to the ER. I saw a GI specialist. They thought I had gall stones but my scans and ultrasounds came back fine. I was tested for celiac which was negative. I could be having esophageal spasms but they are hard to diagnose and they want me to be on anti-spasmatics and PPIs daily.
I'm 33 years old. I am not taking medicine daily for a non-life threatening condition. I'm a terrible patient.
Because I've had this issue since forever, I know certain foods can trigger it and I am more likely to get them if I eat really large meals. So, I decided I am going to make some lifestyle changes.
I know what I should be eating. I studied human nutrition in college, I did nutrition counseling for a living even. Therefore, when I make poor eating choices, I do that with full knowledge that I'm making a bad decision. I'll eat something and be like, This has soooo much sodium. It's so bad that it's good....
My last attack gave me an aversion to food, so cutting my portions has been easy. I also decided to limit carbs and sugar and go to the gym 3 days a week. I always go once a week, so that wasn't new.
For the past 2 years I have gained and lost the same 5 pounds. I go between 129-134. I did gain some weight in Italy so I was almost up to 136. I don't think I look bad at 136 at all but I think my ideal weight is 126.
The day I decided to get my sh*t together with my diet, I laid in bed with my husband and told him my plans.
"I'm going to eat healthier and lose some weight."
"What do you want to get down to?"
"I think my ideal weight is 126," I said.
He paused, "No. I would say it's like, 123."
I didn't even realize that this man still had standards. "You like me skinny?"
"I think you look fine however. I just think your IDEAL weight is 123."
In his defense, I did weigh under 100 pounds when we got married. I was also an adolescent so I don't think that can be used as a baseline.
We decided to play a game. You should play this with your spouse- it's eye opening. We google imaged "good looking women" and scrolled through and he had to say "yes" or "no" to whether or not he found the body type attractive. I was shocked. I always assumed my husband liked this:
But really he likes this:
I was really surprised. So, then it was my turn. We googled "good looking men."
My husband assumed I'd go for this:
But this is what I really like:
I'm not into muscles. I like beards, bald heads, and strong arms and shoulders. Basically, if my husband lost 50-60 pounds. I don't like pretty boys. I like a MANS man. A guy with a beard, who smells like Old Spice and shaving cream, who has a great sense of humor, a decent job and enjoys sitting on the couch eating pizza and watching movies. A guy who could wrestle a bear and chop wood and keep me warm at night. Basically, Grizzly Adams. My type is Grizzly Adams.
So, we both learned a lot about each other. Mostly, that my husband has very high standards and that I have very low standards.
He said that he was going to lose 60 pounds and I was going to lose 12. So we embarked on this adventure. I did really well. I really was not that hungry and had few cravings.
I didn't totally restrict. If I wanted half a doughnut, I'd eat half a doughnut. I mean, what is life without food?
I did go to the gym more. I hate to exercise. Hate it, but I did it. I'm not a gym rat. I only will do 45 minutes. I do 15 minutes of weight lifting and 30 minutes of cardio. That's my limit. The gym is the funniest.
I'll always be on the elliptical, with my jiggly mom butt, sweating, looking like a hot mess and some 22 year old will show up and get on the machine next to me like:
Really? Come on. Do you have to be next to ME? Look, you're cute but I'm not impressed. You're 22-of course you look good. All of your body parts are still in their original location. Now if you gain and lose 50 pounds a few times and push some human beings out of your vagina and you still look that good - THEN I'll be impressed.
I didn't even look good when I was 22. I'd just given birth to my second child. I existed on a diet of sleep deprivation, leftover mac and cheese, and quiet desperation. This is as good as it gets for me.
I also like watching buff men lift weights. There is always a group of them standing around chatting as they take turns on the weight bench. I imagine that they are bragging to each other about how big their balls are: My balls are so big. Like, as big as my biceps. Well, mine are definitely bigger. Like two apples- Granny Smith apples. No way - mine are the biggest.
It makes me giggle. I have to entertain myself somehow while I'm running. That's what it's like to live inside my head, in case you were wondering. haha.
Once I got on a roll, the weight came off pretty quickly. I got down to 122. That is the lowest I'm willing to go. If I lose 1 more pound I'm going to be looking gross.
I've been on maintenance for about 10 days. I was so excited to eat carbs again. Not a lot, just some. My body has decided that I can't eat anything unhealthy. Seriously, it sucks. My body is like, Do you know what would go good with that cheeseburger? Diarrhea.
So, I'm eating avocados and nuts to boost my calories. BORING. I'd rather be eating bread and cheesecake. Whatever. They say nothing tastes as good as skinny feels but that's bullsh*t. Whoever said that never ate lasagna in Florence.
