A Campin' We Will Go

All The man asked for this year for Father's Day was to go camping as a family. Those of you that know me may have just blown your drink of milk out of your nose at the thought of me planning a camping trip. Now, I know how to roll with the punches with only minimal meltdowns, so a camping trip I planned. I had only two rules. A toilet that flushed and a one night maximum. I lost on both accounts and began to obsess that one of the kids would fall in the vault toilets. Thank you National Forest Service providers.

Our adventure took us to Mormon Lake. However, due to an earthquake in 1988 which caused a crack in the bottom of the lake and subsequently drained it, Mormon Lake is now more like Mormon Meadows. No matter because with 78 degree weather and giant beautiful pines tress abounding, it was hard not to fall in love with the area. The kids had a blast sword fighting with sticks and making fallen logs into tables and stools to serve pine cone dinners at. The dogs rolled in the dirt and rivaled in hunting down the trail of scents all over the forest floor. And The Man got his chance to commune with nature. Me? I started and finished a book and committed only to a second night if I didn't have to cook another dinner on a two burner camp stove without any utensils. You know because who packs kitchen utensils for camping? That would be people who don't want to burn their fingers off trying to turn hamburgers with a chef's knife. The one thing from the kitchen I remembered to bring.

So a tradition was born. Six humans and two dogs in a tent for one giant adventure every Father's Day. Next year? I'll remember to put kitchen utensils on the list.

Rollie Pollie

a.k.a the Chunk, Chunky Monkey, Yurtle the Turtle, Lilly Lizard

10 weeks old
12.7 lbs
23 1/2 inches
Facinated by her hands and feet
although, I am not sure she realizes they are attached to her
Loves to "talk" with us
Can usually be seen sticking her tounge out
and is a wee bit stingy with the big gums filled smiles

In Your Head

Look at me all bloggin' twice in a week. Frankly I debated quite a bit on this post. I consumed a half of a bag of Sun Chips just writing the first two lines. Bob Greene taught me that on Oprah. You know, the whole eating so you don't have to feel or deal with your emotions. The bag of chips were delicious and I am ready to continue on. Eh, maybe a Twix bar first. Wait, those are gone, gummie bears it is. Being shareful is so hard.

After each of the kids, I have temporarily lost myself. I didn't know until after Caitlyn, and things spiraled out of control to the point that my marriage nearly fell apart, that I suffered from postpartum depression. I was prescribed a not so insignificant amount of medication and attended counseling for several months to put the pieces back together. It worked, and life went on. After Reagan, I thought I had the necessary tools to handle things and believed I could do it without medication. Then I threw the rice crispy treat at Nathan's head fully intending to knock it off of his shoulders. The next day I called the OB for the medication.

Normally the volcanic rage doesn't begin to boil until after I have the baby. But this go round, I began to feel it at about 28 weeks. I had a conversation with the doctor about it. Nathan cleared his schedule to be at the appointment to be sure all the facts were shared. But it was the holiday season and the doctor said that my desire to ram people with my cart in Target could just be the stress of the holidays. He wanted me to start walking every day to raise my serotonin levels and we decided to revisit the issue at my next appointment. We decided that for us the right decision was to wait until after the baby was born to start medication. However, the decision came with a few known consequences. Nathan took a few pot shots, I recused myself from interaction at great length with most people, and did my best to bite my tongue. Then exactly one hour and twenty four minutes after the baby was born I began the medication.

Some people believe postpartum depression is all in your head, and technically it is. It is an imbalance of the hormones and nero-transmitters in your brain that stabilize your emotions and ability to cope. For me, it is a lack of serotonin. The happy making brain chemical. For some, the opposite of happy would be sad, but I feel rage. Not anger. Rage. I get very irritable at the most minor of issues. Things like the dog licking his lips after he eats, or there being no toilet paper in the bathroom EVERY time I go in there. Yes these things are normally annoying, but during postpartum, they send me over the edge into the screaming rage. I can intellectualize that it is not normal to scream at people about these things, but I can't help it.

I also have a very difficult time making decisions and tend to withdraw from life. A few days after having the baby, before the medication had fully taken effect, I stood in front of the refrigerator sobbing because I couldn't decide what to have for lunch. Nathan decided to take the week off and pulled out the chicken leftovers. There are also several accounts of me staring off into space for extended periods of time, and other things that Nathan hasn't yet talked to me about because I still have difficulty processing things. Even now I will not make any decisions I don't have to regardless of their significance in my life, and no major life decisions will be made in the coming months. You probably won't find me in many large groups of people either since it tends to bring me great anxiety, and I find it extremely overwhelming. But there is good news, I now have the pizza place on speed dial so that I don't have to decide what's for dinner, and I do make a conscious effort to go out and be with my constituency.

So there you have it, the wizard behind the curtain. Normally I'm not this "sharey" with people. Hence the bag of Sun chips. But the theory is that if I talk about it, then the shame of it disapates and I am not left bound in its grip. And instead of feeling powerless, I can bask in the joys of the pretty great life I have.

And Then Some

So it's been a while. I know. I could go back and tell you all about the last seven months, but that would require a portion of my brain that is not quite fully functional yet due to sleep deprivation combined with age! Did you know it's WAY harder to have a baby at 34 than it is at 29? I didn't but I do now. So the best I can offer is a brief run down of events, a few pictures, and the promise to do better from this point on.

Reagan turned 4, and with that grew a pair of sassy horns! The problem with these horns is that everything she says is actually quite funny,so you often find yourself biting your lip while explaining why she shouldn't be putting make-up on the dog, or running across a bridge to catch up with her friend that gets to run and "that's not fair." She is adjusting to her new role in the family. Her volume has increased exponentially, which most believed impossible, and only occasionally sits on her sister's head. Mostly it's love and kisses for her real live baby doll!

Caitlyn is still 7, but not for long! I must say that she is by far my most obedient child. If she didn't cry 47 times a day, I would deem her perfect. She has had a rather tumultuous 2nd grade year, but finished the year strong with all A's and is now reading above benchmark! She is still my little artist and has found a special place in the heart of her art teacher at school! But she is my little shopping buddy. If it has a heart or peace sign on it, or is the color blue, she must have it. I really enjoy the moments we have together, just her and I. They are too few and far between.

Logan turned 11 in March, and reminds me every day since school let out that he is not in elementary school anymore. I find it remarkable, especially since I am still 25. He has been extremely helpful since the baby was born. Most say he could run the house if necessary, and I must agree. When asked, he will moan and groan about having 3 sisters, but he is the best brother ever and takes excellent care of them - except when he is on a recon mission with a Nerf gun and "accidentally" shoots his sister in the eye with it. He was inducted into National Honor Society last week which requires a GPA of 3.9 or better to be a part of.

And the baby. Eden is now seven weeks old, but is often mistaken for a 3 month old. She is in the 75% for height and weight, with a nice round basketball head. But we love our little chunky monkey! She is a perfect baby. You need one of those when it's number four and you have scouts, piano, soccer, football, and work. The only time Eden makes any noise is to coo when she is happy and cry when she is hungry. Which is every three hours. Around the clock. And enjoys her momma bonding time at 3am. For at least an hour.

That makes for one tired me. And a daddy that had to get kids off to school every morning so I could sleep an extra hour. We are learning how to adjust to the new normal of a family of six. We are learning to build an extra 20 minutes into any schedule, and yet we are still late everywhere we go. Surely we will get the hang of it by Eden's first birthday. But then it will be time for another one! How many hearts did I just stop? Oh we tease because if there is anything I have been sure of in these last seven months, it's that this womb is officially closed for business!!