This post may get a little personal and a little serious at first, but I promise you will chuckle at the end.
Since the birth of my daughter (a little over a year ago), I felt like something inside was a little off center. Lots of people attribute it to the post birth blues...and then when it didn't leave....post partum disorder. It wasn't "depression" in a typical sense. It was kind of erratic and hysterical feeling.
A lot of people believe in talking to someone to talk through their problems. I took that advice at first. Utah has a new mental health building that looks fancy and authentic. When I talked to them, they wanted me to come in everyday for a four our group meeting. (Hello, I have a baby and I work full time...thanks for nothing). I talked to my OBGYN, clergy, my mom and of course my husband.
Blah blah blah and it didn't feel better. A few months of that I took it inside and tried to handle it myself. That worked for a while, but it built up and slowly the release happened once every few weeks, then every week and than it hit a scary point for me when it started happening for days in a row.
Dave, my husband, has been a fantastic listener. Hearing my complaints and crying like a champ but even he has his limits. The company he works for has this "mental health campaign" or something for their employees. I took him up on it and met with a counselor, who is fantastic. I have a difficult work schedule and it is hard to find a babysitter for additional hours outside of work, so who knows how often I'll be able to see him.
His first suggestion was to get all my blood levels checked. As if my countless blood draws (to check my cumidin levels) during and post pregnancy weren't enough. Oh needles, it's a good thing I'm not afraid.
So I go and check, fill out more forms on depression and anxiety. I could probably recite them in my sleep I've read them so many times.
Results came back today and all my hormones look good but something awkward showed up: hypothyroidism. I know thyroid problems run in the family but I have no idea about what it means. Underactive thyroid, which means missing stuff.
So I'm reading symptoms and stuff: weight gain (not really), dry face (yup), aching joints and muscles (YES), feeling sluggish & tired (sure), depression (yup). These things have increased over the past year to crazy levels.
Then I read the "people at risk". Women over 50 and/or a genetic predisposition. I'm only 25. What if I didn't find this stuff out now? Would I be dead by 50? Probably not, but I thought the blog universe would enjoy knowing that my body apparently thinks I'm a 50 year old women. Tell that to my monthly visitor.
10.22.2012
9.09.2012
People of Note
People come in our lives for a reason. Even the most obscure, random person has a very direct purpose. It's an odd thing to think about. Lately, on the drives back and forth from work I've been thinking about insignificant people who made a big difference.
I had to ride the bus in middle school. It was slightly embarrassing and as I got older, the younger people became more obnoxious and I hated it more each year. From my first step on the black ridged steps, Gavin made a difference in my life for more than an hour and a half every day.
Some people called him a creep. A girl I used to walk with swore that he looked down her shirt every day, but I didn't see him treat or look at anyone differently.
The only decoration I remember was a small, yellow "Rampant Lion" flag stuck to a peg next to his teacher looking name tag. He had thick gray hair that would grow out to almost his ears before practically shaving his head. He seemed to have perpetual scruff every day.
Gavin didn't really care what you did on the bus. You could be smoking dope; starting a rave; or pile seventh graders on top of each other and he wouldn't look twice at you. If you stood up; you faced his wrath, which included a powerful Scottish yell, "SEET DOOON!!!" And he would yell it; and glare at you in the reverse mirror over and over until you did.
There weren't a lot of kids on the bus who got bullied; for one reason. Gavin always put a stop to bullying on the bus pretty quick. He wasn't a heavy guy; but he was very "built". One kid called him out and I'll never forget him charging down the aisle; pretty much shoving the kid off the bus, "Doon't yew everr git on mah bus agin."
After I graduated; I went on a lot of afternoon runs. I remember seeing him barreling that yellow bus down the road; honking the bus horn at me and waving.
I met this other guy when I was in high school. I can't even remember his name. It was probably like Devin or Dane or something. A lot of my spare time was spent around the English department; especially when I was on the Literary Magazine Staff.
One day; I was having a really hard day. I sat by the window with my notebook just writing everything out. My friend, Brett, waved at me from the bottom of the steps before class; talking with Devin. Devin called me over to talk with them.
When I went down; he introduced himself and proceeded to give me the tightest hug I've ever received. We never had any real opportunities for conversation after that. Whenever Devin saw me after that, he stopped what he was doing and would ambush me with his famous tight hugs.
At the time, I developed a crush on him but he had a pretty steady girlfriend all through high school. Not too long after we graduated, he got in a car accident and died.
Those moments are frozen in time. Gavin, in mid-honk, hand in the air at me at the end of a long run. Devin, squeezing me so tight that for a moment I didn't worry or stress. I didn't know these guys personally, but they both made a pretty big difference in creating who I am today. It makes me want to make sure that my brief impressions with people in my neighborhood or other cars on the freeway should be more positive. Make that smile a little wider; wave to them even if you don't like the way they are driving; you know how to do it. Here's to this week; to being better.
I had to ride the bus in middle school. It was slightly embarrassing and as I got older, the younger people became more obnoxious and I hated it more each year. From my first step on the black ridged steps, Gavin made a difference in my life for more than an hour and a half every day.
Some people called him a creep. A girl I used to walk with swore that he looked down her shirt every day, but I didn't see him treat or look at anyone differently.
The only decoration I remember was a small, yellow "Rampant Lion" flag stuck to a peg next to his teacher looking name tag. He had thick gray hair that would grow out to almost his ears before practically shaving his head. He seemed to have perpetual scruff every day.
Gavin didn't really care what you did on the bus. You could be smoking dope; starting a rave; or pile seventh graders on top of each other and he wouldn't look twice at you. If you stood up; you faced his wrath, which included a powerful Scottish yell, "SEET DOOON!!!" And he would yell it; and glare at you in the reverse mirror over and over until you did.
There weren't a lot of kids on the bus who got bullied; for one reason. Gavin always put a stop to bullying on the bus pretty quick. He wasn't a heavy guy; but he was very "built". One kid called him out and I'll never forget him charging down the aisle; pretty much shoving the kid off the bus, "Doon't yew everr git on mah bus agin."
After I graduated; I went on a lot of afternoon runs. I remember seeing him barreling that yellow bus down the road; honking the bus horn at me and waving.
I met this other guy when I was in high school. I can't even remember his name. It was probably like Devin or Dane or something. A lot of my spare time was spent around the English department; especially when I was on the Literary Magazine Staff.
One day; I was having a really hard day. I sat by the window with my notebook just writing everything out. My friend, Brett, waved at me from the bottom of the steps before class; talking with Devin. Devin called me over to talk with them.
When I went down; he introduced himself and proceeded to give me the tightest hug I've ever received. We never had any real opportunities for conversation after that. Whenever Devin saw me after that, he stopped what he was doing and would ambush me with his famous tight hugs.
At the time, I developed a crush on him but he had a pretty steady girlfriend all through high school. Not too long after we graduated, he got in a car accident and died.
Those moments are frozen in time. Gavin, in mid-honk, hand in the air at me at the end of a long run. Devin, squeezing me so tight that for a moment I didn't worry or stress. I didn't know these guys personally, but they both made a pretty big difference in creating who I am today. It makes me want to make sure that my brief impressions with people in my neighborhood or other cars on the freeway should be more positive. Make that smile a little wider; wave to them even if you don't like the way they are driving; you know how to do it. Here's to this week; to being better.
8.30.2012
Deoderant
These two boxes were delivered to Dave. One to my mom's house and one to our current house. They are two free sample boxes of deoderant that I didn't send for.I wondered where he got them from, "Hey Dave, how come you got two free samples of deoderant?"
Dave's response, "They think I stink."
I don't think my husband smells at all, but apparantly the makers of Degree deoderant would like him to smell better. Thanks for the free samples. He won't stink anymore.
8.21.2012
Emma Watson Sexy?
If the print is too small for you, she says, "I find the whole concept of being ‘sexy’ embarrassing and confusing. If I do an interview with photographs people desperately want to change me - dye my hair blonder, pluck my eyebrows, give me a fringe. Then there’s the choice of clothes. I know everyone wants a picture of me in a mini-skirt. But that’s not me. I feel uncomfortable. I’d never go out in a mini-skirt. It’s nothing to do with protecting the Hermione image. I wouldn’t do that. Personally, I don’t actually think it’s even that sexy. What’s sexy about saying, ‘I’m here with my boobs out and a short skirt, have a look at everything I’ve got?’ My idea of sexy is that less is more. The less you reveal the more people can wonder."
She's such a great role model, righ? I disagree. Did we all forget about the "Deathly Hallows" incident, where you see side-boob?! I tried to find a picture of it online (I would censor it of course), but alas the online world hasn't posted it. Or what about this picture?
Or this one?
 |
| This one she actually wore to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I |
When you are publicly a hypocrite, I hate you. Shut up, Emma Watson. If you wanted to save everything for the imagination; cover up--or shut up.
8.18.2012
Dad's Funeral Ponderings
Funerals. I didn't keep any physical images from that day. My memory is stronger; the emotions triggered by so many sights:
My brother and his four-year-old son wearing my dad's ties to the funeral; my dad's Winnie the Pooh tie on my nephew sitting crooked and nearly dragging on the ground.
Standing at the wooden pulpit; lined paper folded on below the microphone. The flowers on top of the casket seeming to reach out to me. While I read my talk, I wanted to take one in my hand to solidify the events of the last few weeks.
Dozens of flowers on my mother's table-her usual bright tablecloth noticeably missing, symbols of support and love.
Going through my father's clothes and shoes; the homemade blue denim slippers that he's had for my whole life, a heavy finality of the future. I snag a few shirts to craft for memories; so that in some way I can see it and feel like he's physically around still.
Family and neighbors I haven't met or seen in more than ten years; hugging me with condolences, and I just want to slap them and run.
Memories still linger of him. After Cameron's birth, he was wheeled in the hospital room in a wheelchair and his smile couldn't be wider. Her blessing day; my family all around but all that seemed to matter was my dad and Cameron. A few terrifying hospital scares. Private moments of Cameron and me visiting him a few times on my days off; sitting in the armchair with a book in his hand and an open laptop of writing on the coffee table. Conversations of joy and faith.
It's far too early for him to leave. I wanted to see him age like Andy Griffith. I could see him looking like him as he got older: white hair, smile wrinkles and crows feet around his bright blue eyes. Cameron shared something special with him; I could sense that from her birth. He deserved to see her grow up, to be there for special moments in school and play.
My dad worked so hard; he deserved a moment's peace. There are so many of his dreams left untouched and un-achieved. There are so many unfinished stories and the train set in the spare bedroom will remain as it is with a half done water tower and unpainted mountains. He deserved so much better than the painful, abrupt end.
It makes me almost angry to think of all those people out there, who will get their fathers for many years. I still had so much more to do with him. I still had some fences to finish mending. He was supposed to teach me all the silly, random facts he always had up his sleeves. We had so many more memories to make.
My brother and his four-year-old son wearing my dad's ties to the funeral; my dad's Winnie the Pooh tie on my nephew sitting crooked and nearly dragging on the ground.
Standing at the wooden pulpit; lined paper folded on below the microphone. The flowers on top of the casket seeming to reach out to me. While I read my talk, I wanted to take one in my hand to solidify the events of the last few weeks.
Dozens of flowers on my mother's table-her usual bright tablecloth noticeably missing, symbols of support and love.
Going through my father's clothes and shoes; the homemade blue denim slippers that he's had for my whole life, a heavy finality of the future. I snag a few shirts to craft for memories; so that in some way I can see it and feel like he's physically around still.
Memories still linger of him. After Cameron's birth, he was wheeled in the hospital room in a wheelchair and his smile couldn't be wider. Her blessing day; my family all around but all that seemed to matter was my dad and Cameron. A few terrifying hospital scares. Private moments of Cameron and me visiting him a few times on my days off; sitting in the armchair with a book in his hand and an open laptop of writing on the coffee table. Conversations of joy and faith.
It's far too early for him to leave. I wanted to see him age like Andy Griffith. I could see him looking like him as he got older: white hair, smile wrinkles and crows feet around his bright blue eyes. Cameron shared something special with him; I could sense that from her birth. He deserved to see her grow up, to be there for special moments in school and play.
My dad worked so hard; he deserved a moment's peace. There are so many of his dreams left untouched and un-achieved. There are so many unfinished stories and the train set in the spare bedroom will remain as it is with a half done water tower and unpainted mountains. He deserved so much better than the painful, abrupt end.
It makes me almost angry to think of all those people out there, who will get their fathers for many years. I still had so much more to do with him. I still had some fences to finish mending. He was supposed to teach me all the silly, random facts he always had up his sleeves. We had so many more memories to make.
8.15.2012
Aliens Do Exist
I can't remember the last time I had a nightmare, but last night was a doozy.It starts with Dave and me at a concert. My nephew, Andrew, was a concert pianist in the dream. He was crazy good, the best pianist I had ever heard.
After the concert Dave and I were talking to some people and they mentioned that Curiosity (the land rover that was recently launched on Mars) found something. There was evidence of life on Mars.
I blew it off. I am a little bit of a skeptic.
After we went home; Dave and I walked into our room and a bright light filled the room with a loud "bang" noise outside. Nothing else happened, but Dave seemed to understand the light and noise better than I. He shouted at me to get down on the floor because someone had tried to bomb our house.
I'm laying on the ground next to him trying not to move; when I hear someone in the house. I need to look like I'm dead so I tried to hold my breath and not move at all. In my heart, I knew what we were hearing was the alien killers coming to finish what they started.
I woke up because I was laying awkward and was literally holding my breath (just like in my dream). Dreams are so weird and scary sometimes. If Curiosity finds something, I'm moving.
After the concert Dave and I were talking to some people and they mentioned that Curiosity (the land rover that was recently launched on Mars) found something. There was evidence of life on Mars.
I blew it off. I am a little bit of a skeptic.
After we went home; Dave and I walked into our room and a bright light filled the room with a loud "bang" noise outside. Nothing else happened, but Dave seemed to understand the light and noise better than I. He shouted at me to get down on the floor because someone had tried to bomb our house.
I'm laying on the ground next to him trying not to move; when I hear someone in the house. I need to look like I'm dead so I tried to hold my breath and not move at all. In my heart, I knew what we were hearing was the alien killers coming to finish what they started.
I woke up because I was laying awkward and was literally holding my breath (just like in my dream). Dreams are so weird and scary sometimes. If Curiosity finds something, I'm moving.
8.02.2012
Stung By a Bee
I do not run or squeal when I see one. I laugh. It reminds me of how stupid I have been when it comes to the fuzzy yellow and black bug.
The first time I encountered a bee, I was about six years old. There was this big bush between my friend's yard and my yard. We noticed a lot of bees around this bush and could see the bees nest resting in the middle of this bush.
Maybe it was a boring summer or maybe I didn't listen to my mom very well, but I turned to Erin and suggested the smartest idea ever. We should find a stick to poke the nest.
We picked out a long stick from one of the countless trees in my front yard (long enough so the bees wouldn't get us).
I poked it kind of rough because I didn't really expect anything to happen.
Then there was the loud buzz of anger, beginning to echo around the bush. They burst out like a grenade and Erin and I split, heading for our respective houses.
I was a lot faster than Erin, but I still suffered a bee sting of numbing proportions in the middle of my right palm. I am smart.
Don't poke a bee's nest. They will not swirl around you like animals in Snow White, or pick you up and dance you around to a silly tune. They will impair you.
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