Our household goods were finally dropped off last Thursday. Even though we’ve completely unpacked our kitchen, we have no spoons–well, we have 1 spoon. And only 1/4 of our forks. Justin wants to give up on them. I am still holding out hope that we will discover the lost silverware in a random box somewhere.
Before we left Kentucky, our kids received their first quarter report cards. Xander’s read, “takes an unreasonable amount of time completing tasks.” Justin and I have laughed about it for weeks–especially since Justin announced, “if I could write you a report card for life, it would say, ‘takes an unreasonable amount of time completing tasks.'”
I can’t deny it. Justin has unpacked about 100 boxes (probably not, but maybe); I have unpacked about 7. Maybe more, but I don’t know. It’s overwhelming. I hate it. Once a day I think we should just leave the boxes packed and throw it all away. Of course, if we did that, we would never find the spoons!
I’ve been having a rough week. There is no real cause, other than depression is sometimes a rollercoaster of awesome emotions. I have found myself in tears daily.
Not just in tears, but crying as my boss talked to me.
Did I screw up? Yes. Was I in trouble? No. Was I crying because of the talk(s)? NO!
He took it like a champ. “Well now, don’t cry about it.”
“It isn’t that!” And then came straight sobbing. Which always makes me hold my breath, in a sorry attempt to stop it. Which, let’s be honest, only makes it worse.
That was Monday.
Tuesday, different talk, more tears.
I locked myself in the bathroom and had a good long sob. Pity party for one.
I thought I was good. I thought I had it under control.
Five minutes later, I was hiding in the locker room, sobbing once more. There comes a point when you realize you just have to give in and allow yourself to not be ok.
I honestly love my job, but sometimes I have regrets: I am not the type of person who can do it all. Single working moms are real life super heroes, and this past few days have been another chunk of time where I question my though process: what made me think I could go from being a Stay At Home Mom whose husband was here, to being a Full Time Working Mom whose husband was on the other side of the globe!?
My morning started off no better. This is the point in the story where I also explain that my blood pressure has been astronomically high lately. While I was making breakfasts and lunches and FaceTiming Justin, our children were going to war, simply because Shea likes to torment her little brother, and Xander likes to hold a grudge and retaliate. Justin gets to calmly sit and eat his dinner, while I try to keep this insanity in check.
Luckily for my boss, I got my daily dose of crying out of the way before he came in this morning. Honestly though, when I pulled in and saw he wasn’t there, I could hear him saying, “I just don’t think I can handle another day of Sam cryin’!” And I finally think I got all of it out of my system.
Until the next breakdown. Because depression doesn’t play by any set of rules. Depression is just that uninvited guest that shows up and eats all your ice cream, and doesn’t help you do dishes. What a jerk.
Two weeks ago, I woke up with a pounding headache. Honestly, I rarely get headaches, and when I do, they’re usually dehydration related. I am terrible about drinking enough water, especially in the winter.
I drank water, I took an Aleve, and it got a little better. But if I moved my head too fast, it came screaming back.
For the next week, I suffered through. Lots of Aleve (that did a whole lot of nothing), and lots of water (by this point, I had accepted that it wasn’t dehydration, but it couldn’t hurt). I even cut back on my workouts, because the up/down movement of a lot of exercises (deadlifts, kettle bell swings, burpees). It was mainly a stabbing shooting pain above my right eye.
Then, it was a tormenting pressure in my eye–my eyeball felt bruised! I’m not a hypochondriac, but I sure do love google searching medical ailments. Four or five articles stated that if there’s eye pressure, you should get your butt to the doctor.
Very well. Even when I called and told them my symptoms, they told me to get there as fast as I could. So, maybe I should take this headache seriously? I opted not to put my contacts in–hey, if my eye socket is about to spit my eyeball out, at least my glasses could kind of catch it, or at least stop it from rolling around on the floor of my car.
My eye stayed put, and after a bunch of tests, and a good amount of that fun yellow dye, I was told it was sinus pressure.
Well, that was anticlimactic.
I added allergy meds to the mix. Still, there was not much change.
Bus driver, bus driver, open the door!
Fast forward to Sunday. When we were kids, my Mom taught my sisters and me all kinds of fun things: pull the skin back on your face and say, “Mommy! Mommy! My ponytail’s too tight!” Pull the skin out on either side of your neck and say, “who left the knife in the peanut butter!? And last of all, smoosh your face and say, “Bus driver, bus driver, open the door!”
I have spent these last too weeks with the combo. Mom, my ponytail’s too tight, and my head is caught in the bus doors!
Self-diagnosis: round 2. Tension headaches, caused by stress. And jaw clenching at night (hence the pounding headaches in the morning).
NNOOOO!!!!! It’s not that I wanted there to be something wrong with me. I just wanted there to be something wrong with me that had a quick and easy fix. Please explain how this temporarily single mom is supposed to reduce stress!?
Then, on our way home from the pool, Shea starts in: “Tell Mom what you did.”
Xander: “No, I don’t want to.”
Me (expecting the worst, by the way, because Xander, and his nickname is often “Mr Destructo): “What did you do??”
“He peed in the trash can!!!…in the gym!!!”
Now Xander is ready to chime back in: “No no! It was in the bathroom!”
Ah yes, because that makes it better.
As we drove back to the pool, so that my son could take the bag o’ pee out to the dumpster, I thought, “hmm. I can’t imagine why I’ve had a never-ending stress headache!”
