Archive for February, 2011

I’ve started and stopped and erased and edited this quite a few times.

I’ve tried to be clever or witty or funny.  It just ain’t happening.

We are planning on moving mid-March.  (I am pretty sure the tickets are booked.)

Things are moving along here, as best they can.

My depression is kicking my ass today.  I spent a few hours this morning sobbing.  There’s lots going on, but nothing I really want to discuss openly here (only because I have made some incredibly stupid mistakes that made me feel good at the time but have impacted … oh hell … I spent money I shouldn’t have.  It is stressful.  And on top of everything else, it just was bad timing on my part.)

Sometimes I just feel stupid.  Like life stupid, not book-smart stupid (though throw too many big words at me and my eyes will glaze over).

Today was definitely one of those days.  It’s almost 8pm and my eyes still hurt from the crying I did this morning.  I haven’t cried like this since my dad died.

Ironically, the things that have me upset do not include our impending move.  Rather, it’s just the stupid mistakes I make again and again.  And let me tell you, I love the stuff I buy.  I buy great stuff.  I get great deals.

But as BJD pointed out, had I not spent that money, we would have more than enough in SAVINGS to have a vacation.  Perhaps not fancy-schmancy, but a vacation nonetheless.

Knowing that we are both pretty maxed out – I mean, PPD is (normally) well under control for me, but the long-term effects of it on both of us are starting to rear their ugly heads.  (Why can’t their heads be pretty?  or sexy?  or something that we would like to see?)

It’s hard knowing that while I know what I went through, I really have no clue how BJD has dealt with it all these years.

Surviving preeclampsia twice wasn’t easy for me – but I didn’t have to witness my spouse fighting a disease that could not only kill our child, but also my spouse.  I haven’t supported him in fighting postpartum depression or chronic hypertension.  Or all those other things that I have been going through.

I’ve been too busy being engrossed in it all.  Sitting in it.  Lathering it up and washing myself in depression and sadness and feeling guilty for feeling this way because I did survive – as did both of my children.

I know my blessings.  I am thankful.

But why do I think that surviving, having two living breathing children, means I can’t be depressed?

Sofia turns 2 at the end of this month.  She has been very clingy and crabby lately.  It’s probably a combination of her 2 year molars and her being a mini-me.

But I can’t help but think of those lonely days during her pregnancy when I was hospitalized, fearing her premature birth every day.  Every hour.

That fear weighs so damned heavily on my soul.  It brings me to my knees, asking God why can’t I just be thankful for what I have instead of focusing on what I have gone through to have what I have?

And then, I feel guilty (yet again) for the delayed gratification (aka shopping) I have not yet learned … but didn’t I?  I mean, haven’t I been through a hellish 4+ years, with my dad’s death … blah blah …

This pity party is stopping right now.

This is how I am feeling today.

Not one of my good days.

But thankfully, I have fuzzy warm socks, comfie stretchy house-pants and a wonderful supporting husband who doesn’t care if I keep a clean house or not (I don’t).

I am excited and nervous about Minsk.  I worry about how Henry will adapt – though I am confident he will adjust fine.  And so long as I am there, Sofia will be too.

Here are some pics of Henry finally finding some confidence in his bike-riding skills (he insists the training wheels stay on the bike because that’s what the picture on the box looked like)


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Knitting Pics

It’s been quite some time since I have shared pics, so here goes:

Now if only I could figure out how to make socks that fit (and that fit the same!)

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A bit of retail therapy, some luscious wool from the UK, some new needles (including these gorgeous rosenholz dpns) = a very happy Alice.

Yes, I am on a yarn diet.

And yes, money is tight right now.

But I do feel better.

I mean, really better.



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I have been attending German classes now for about 6 months.  They are semi-private which in theory, should have been very helpful.

But, I am a lazy student.

And BJD was travelling so much, it was difficult to do any of the homework.

To my advantage was that I speak quite well, with my fair share of grammatical mistakes.  But I get along with pretty much most people I speak with.  (In comparison, the other student is better at the written and grammar, but not so good at the spoken word.)

My teacher recommended I try reading in German. Since my postpartum depression began almost 5 years ago (wow, it really has been a long time), I have changed my reading habits.  I used to have quite an assortment of historical fiction or horror or real life stories of murder and well, quite gruesome reading.  But I balanced that out with the occasional fluff.  However, I have since gotten rid of any book that brought me down. (thanks amazon for letting me sell stuff!)

Finding a book that was natively written in German (not a translation) and that didn’t contain any of the drama that makes my heart race and my mind go non-stop wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.  But I found a great series by Kerstin Geier – Die Mütter-Mafia (the mother mafia).

The first book in the series took me about 2 weeks to finish (had it been in English it would have taken 2 days tops).  But it really was cool to read something in German about life in Germany.  It is set in Cologne and is basically about a woman who gets pregnant while in college, marries the guy, leaves school, and spends her life as a Hausfrau, until one day he tells her he wants a divorce and offers her (and their 2 kids) his mother’s house.

A bit dramatic of course, but it slowly introduces other characters, including a midwife and her 2 sons, grumpy old neighbors that try to sue for every thing possible (could they have spent time in the states?) and another neighborly couple that is trying desperately to have a baby but can’t.

She addresses mothering, life as a hausfrau, life as a mom in Germany (which truly is different than life in the states – but that’ll be another post), divorce, getting screwed over, the “perfect” mommies, infertility and miscarriages.  But it is presented in a way that is foreign to me (not just the language, ha ha …)  It is presented in a way that is reflective of the German culture.

I made it through the first book and quickly search my lover (a.Ma.zOn) for more in the series.  I am almost done with the 2nd book after just a few days and am so proud of my ability to read through and understand.

Go me!

We still have no move date.  Pins and needles doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.  Nor does it begin to describe the difficulties BJD and I are dealing with, trying to adjust to his travels and being back home.

On top of it all, Giant Baby turns 2 at the end of this month.  She is cutting her 2 year molars and is quite miserable at times.  AND the terrible twos that we didn’t face with her brother – oh yeah, those are coming forth in triplicate.

Lucky us.

Something is bothering Bubba Joe.  And I don’t know what it is.  At first I thought it was the initial adjustment of his dad being around.  But BJD has been around for quite some time now.  Bubba got a bit better but the last 2 days has just had meltdown after meltdown.

And when he has one, the only thing you can do is, well, be me and not his dad, hold him and tell him it is okay to cry.

Yelling does not work (though in the moment it makes me feel better).  Neither does walking away because that only frustrates him more.

Asking him what is wrong in the middle of meltdown mode doesn’t work either – because you just can’t understand what he’s saying, especially if he mixes his languages when saying something (many words he uses I don’t have yet in my vocabulary).

Needless to say, I am stressed and worried.

But I am knitting, so I have an outlet.

And I blog, which helps even more.

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