Mama’s Boys

Brothers gotta hug.

James has been refusing to sleep in his bed lately and last night, as he snuggled up to me in bed, I asked him how old he would be when sleeping with his mom and dad would be considered uncool.  His response, “Ummmmm maybe when I’m 16.” Because that won’t be awkward at all.

Sam has been asking me a lot of questions about college lately.  He is worried about leaving home and going off to college and he has assured me that when he is done with college, he is going to move back in with me.  Also, he has claimed that he does not want to get married so that he can live with me forever.  Fantastic.

I document these stories for a few reasons.  One because they are cute, but two, I want to have something to hold over them when they are teenagers and hate my rules…

My Little Artist

He *thinks* he looks good.

Sam loves markers. He loves markers so much, he has taken to drawing all over himself.  His body art is always unique and always done with Mr. Sketch markers.  Because they smell good.  And because they smell so good, he always draws on a mustache.  And his mustache drawing skills leave something to be desired.  Because he draws little Hitler ‘stashes.

I’m Still Here Asshole

A few weeks ago The Bloggess wrote an amazing blog post on her struggles with depression and anxiety. (I encourage you to go here and read it.)

I have suffered with depression and anxiety almost my entire adult life. Most of you know about the horrible postpartum depression I suffered through after I had Sam.  It took the better part of a year to find the right combination of medication to help me through that time.

A few months ago the perfect storm hit and I sunk into a really low spot.  I was anxious, over come with self doubt, and couldn’t see the joy in life. I had just started a new job, one that I was really excited about because I would be doing such great work in the community.  I had to resign from that job because I couldn’t get over my anxiety attacks before, during and after work. I spent over a week in bed because I just couldn’t get up and face the day.  When I finally got out of bed, I moved upstairs into the recliner and watched TV. A lot of tv. For days. Weeks.  During this time I went to the doctor weekly, radically changed my medication regime, and cried a lot over what I felt was the hopelessness of my situation.

Things are slowly getting better. I am working again. I have a job that I can go to, do my work, and leave my work at work.  This is what is best for me right now. I come home from work exhausted and pretty much fall into bed and veg out until bedtime.

I have a lot of anxiety still.  Because now that the depression is slowly lifting, I worry about it coming back. I don’t want it to come back, but I know it someday will.  I don’t ever want it to come back and be as bad as it was a few months ago.  But it might, and I worry about that.  It’s a vicious cycle.

I am lucky that I have such a supportive husband. I couldn’t have gotten through the last few months without him.  He is pretty damn amazing.  I also have some pretty kick ass supportive friends. (The title of this post is a quote from the movie Angus.  It’s a quote that is a favorite of mine and a good pal wrote me a card with this in large print. Because every day I tell the depression, “I’m still here ASSHOLE!”)

A few nights ago the kids and I were watching TV together and a commercial for Abilify came on.  The commercial was a cartoon with a little depressive robe hanging on the back of a women.  It’s a stupid commercial.  The commercial was going though all the signs and symptoms of depression and talking about who should and shouldn’t consider taking the medication.  Towards the end of the commercial Sam looked over at James and said, “We don’t have that do we?”  James answered, “No but I think mom has a little bit of it.”  The both looked over at me for confirmation and I said, “Well yes I do have depression, do you know what that is?” James thought for a minute and said, “Well it’s when you get sad for a little bit and cry.  But you take medicine to help you not be sad, right?”   Right.  My six year old understands depression.  And so does my five year old.  I wish they didn’t have to understand it, but they do.

I wish I had something profound to end this post on, but I don’t.  As the Bloggess says, “the fight goes on.” It goes on every day for me. Because I’m still here, asshole.

The Sleep Issue

Living in Alaska is interesting for many reasons, but lately the endless amount of daylight is making our lives a little crazy. The boys don’t like to go to bed because it is not dark outside yet and therefore, it CAN’T be bedtime. James has more trouble going to sleep than his little brother (he is our little insomniac).  Last night James wandered into our room at about 10 pm and announced that he had just put his little brother to sleep.

When I asked what this entailed he said that he climbed up in to Sam’s bed, told him to close his eyes and sometimes he would rub or pat his back until Sam fell asleep.  Before he climbs out of Sam’s bed, he pulls the covers up tight around his chin so he stays warm and cozy all night. James was so sweet when he was telling me about his little bedtime routine with his brother (something that has been going on all summer, I just had not found out about it) it almost brought a tear to my eye. Almost. Because with James, there was a catch. Because he had done such a good job putting his brother to sleep, he wanted permission to sleep in my room on the floor. I caved because he was so cute telling me about his little bedtime routine with his brother and let him sleep on the floor.

Right now I am waiting for the boys to fall asleep. The were wired after their bath tonight and Sam was running around telling me that he was doing a “girlie dance.” When I asked what a “girlie dance” was, he told me it was a naked dance.  So there you have it. My serious old soul and my wild little monster.  I hope that James is always around to watch out over Sam and tuck him in at night, because I think a kid like Sam is going to need it.

FISH!!!

I caught two of them halibut.

Bladder Testing, Because You Care

A few months ago I had my tubes tied.  Due to my depression and anxiety issues Paul and I (with consultation from my doctors) decided that we were officially done having children. (Granted this would have been an easier procedure 4 years ago when I was having Sam, but recent issues have really solidified that I am DONE having kids.)  I love my kids, they are great, and really, I don’t have to justify our decision to anyone.

Since getting my tubes tied. I have had issues.  So next week I am going in for a uterine ablation and as an added bonus, I am getting my bladder tacked back into place.  Two large children have done things to my bladder to make it not so happy.  Here is a direct quote from an email I sent my cousins regarding the ablation and bladder surgery: “They put me under, shove a balloon all up in my lady junk, fill it with really hot water and let is fester in there for like 8 minutes while my uterine lining gets burned off. Also, because I am super classy and have lost control of my bladder since having kids, I am getting my bladder tacked back into place so that I can sneeze with out peeing myself.”

Sooooo, in order to prepare for the bladder surgery, the insurance company needs proof that I pee myself on a regular basis, so I went in today for “bladder testing.”  I get into the room and see this:

This? Totally normal.

I was a little freaked out and the nurse came in to tell me how they were going to put a catheter in, take some measurements and try to recreate situations where I pee myself. All with two nurse practitioners in the room. Yeah, because that is not super awkward.  So I got to test out the little camp toilet and while I was peeing it measured all kinds of stuff.  Then I got to sit on the table with my feet in stirrups. I was supposed to pretend I was just sitting at my desk at work, working I guess, and every now and then I would have to cough or bear down and push while the nurse would look to see if I accidentally peed myself.  Long story short, I peed myself, the insurance company will be happy and I survived one of the most AWKARD tests I have ever been through.  At the end of the test, I had to get on that toilet thing again WITH THE CATHETER in and pee. Not only was the catheter in, but it was taped to my thigh.  Talk about awkward. But I did watch my urine stream on the monitor.  That was kind of cool.

Oh, and when you have a catheter, you don’t piss excellence afterward like Ricky Bobby. You piss fire for hours.

And that is how we keep things classy here in Alaska.

Humping and Wiggly Bears Part II

I got a phone call today from Paul. Paul and Uncle Dave were chaperones today for the kindergarten zoo field trip.  They took Sam along for the field trip and the two of them were responsible for 6 little boys.  Anyway, Paul called me to tell me that they had just witnessed a show at the brown bear pen.  The brown bears have been a favorite of ours because sometimes they get all wiggly with each other and the boys find rutting bears HILARIOUS. Well today the bears were at it again and Paul called to tell me about it. Apparently, most of James’ kindergarten class watched the show today.  After the two bears were done, the female bear rolled on to her back and “finished the job” (to quote my husband.) While she was doing this, one little boy shouted out, “He is scratching his BALLS!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Of course all the little boys found this funny and Paul and Dave just whispered to each other, “those aren’t balls she is playing with.”

At dinner tonight James shared the brown bear experience with us. His teacher had told the kids that the brown bears were giving each other piggy back rides. He was confused as to why they weren’t really running around very fast, because he thinks you should run around fast while giving someone a piggy back ride.  All the adults at the table had a nice little laugh at the bears’ expense.  And this is why the brown bears at the Alaska Zoo never disappoint.

Super Helpful

James has been super helpful lately. I suspect he is proving his independence as a six-year-old, but sometimes he doesn’t realize that he is not actually helping the situation, but rather making it more and more difficult for his parents to fix. However, we are slowing learning more and more patience, as James is learning to stretch his wings and help out more.

And destroy more.

Yesterday, the guys all went to Costco to load up on groceries and the when they came home, James raced out of the car and ran around to the trunk to open it. (We have a Tahoe, and he has learned how to open the trunk by watching us over and over again.)  What James didn’t account for was the shift in groceries during the course of the car ride.  As he opened the back of the car, items started falling out and an apple pie that Paul and Dave got to celebrate our first backyard bbq of the season fell out flat on the concrete.  Paul felt rage and frustration well up inside of him but before he could do or say anything, Sam looked at the mess and said, “Well, nobody is perfect!”

James felt terrible, Paul calmed down and started to pick up the mess and Sam just stood there handing out more words of wisdom. Sometimes that kid is pretty smart for a 4 year old.

Some Photos For You

Yeah, we went "Running with the Reindeer." Because we are badasses.

Pre-run coffee and reminder. Ew.

Stupid People

I have had a bunch of experiences with stupid people in the past few days, but my experience with the pharmacist tonight really takes the cake. So I go to my local Freddies to pick up a prescription for Paul. (Paul has a “man cold” and got a prescription for cough syrup with codeine today at urgent care.)  Normally I go to the Target pharmacy because I like the customer service, the color coded medication bottles, and really picking up a prescription is just another excuse to go shopping. Paul doesn’t like driving all the way out to Target so when he gets prescriptions when he is sick, he drops them off at Fred Meyer and then I have to go deal with their stupid pharmacy.

Since he had never had a prescription for cough syrup with codeine, I had to sit through a “pharmacist consult.” Seriously. SERIOUSLY. You are giving me prescription strength Robatussin with codeine in it. It’s going to make my husband sleepy. I get that. No need for a consult people. Anyway, the pharmacist FINALLY makes his way over to my little window, looks at the medication, doesn’t even look at ME, and says, “Uh, watch him for drowsiness.” AND WALKS AWAY.

UM SERIOUSLY. WATCH HIM FOR DROWSINESS!!!! HOLY FUCK I NEVER WOULD HAVE FIGURED THAT ONE OUT. Thank you Mr. Pharmacist for that amazing look into what Robatussin and codeine can do to the human body. Never would have figured that one out on my own.  I am glad my two fighting children and I got to spend an extra 10 minutes in line JUST for that information. phenomenal.

And this is one of the many reasons I don’t like the Fred Meyer pharmacy.  My only joy was that Sam flicked some boogers on the counter while we were waiting. Because he is a classy kid.