The First Day of School and all it's aftermath.

Well, today was the day... the children were forced to bed early last night and then awoken early this morning (both much to their dismay) and dressed in fresh clothes and undies to greet the school bus.

Doodle was visibly thrown... he hates changes in his routine. He kept walking in circles looking at the ground and doing these arm stretches he does and cracking his knuckles.

The Bird, however, was most confident. This child is convinced that everyone and everything is meant to make life better for him. He really does believe he is the most handsome and cute boy on the planet and that everyone will love him. He kept telling me how his new teacher was (though he had not met her) the best teacher he ever had and that she would be the nicest woman in the world besides Mommy.


When they got home, I took pictures... easier on Doodle that way, with the pressure of the first day over. Doodle wouldn't look at the camera, showing again it was not one of his best days.

So what do they do? The teacher sends homework on the first day for him. UGH. And I'm not even sure I was supposed to have him do it (we had to skip half of it because it was beyond him). But I did... because I'd rather have him do it and not have to than the opposite.

Typically, all his homework comes from his special ed teacher, so I suspect that it is either changing, or that the homeroom teacher just doesn't know yet.

The Bird was showing off his artwork, feasting on the awe of parents who are just so happy to have a child who enjoys his school work and will tell us ANYTHING about his day.

Naturally, he went on about who was in his class, who he saw, who was on the bus, what all he ate, everything. Whereas Doodle told only what we could pry out and refused to tell us hardly anything.

Ah... children... they are all individuals.


I'm looking forward to open house more this year because for some reason our letters about the meet and greet and who their teachers would be had not arrived... so I had to call and get the info and thereby missed the meet and greet.

So I really want to see the teachers, especially Doodle's... I like to kind of give them a really good idea about how to deal with him and where he is mentally and psychologically... so they don't have to spend a good half the year figuring it all out.

But of course, I have found out that I also have to watch out for Bird. Last year he got a real hardnosed one until they put him in EDK, so I have to be sure that she is sensitive and caring and will be good with his more sensitive and emotional nature. After all, this child wears his heart right on his sleeve. However, he can tease and pick as well as the next child, so it's a hard line that he walks on.

But all in all, I'm optimistic about the school year. It's going well so far... Jeffrey loves his teacher and thinks she's great. As long as he doesn't start coming home in tears like he was last year, saying his teacher was mean and didn't like him, I'll be good.

Clothes - Why I bother

Okay... so after the last post, I thought I should answer the question.

I bother because there are times, like just this past weekend, where I find out that Doodle has outgrown an entire size of pants and I have to hurry and buy some more. Of course, this had to be done before school started today... so that's why there have been no posts.

On top of that, 3.5yr old Roo is already outgrowing her 5T stuff, so I have been quickly accumulating (through the awesome start of the year deals you can get on craigslist) 6T stuff to get ahead.

The Bird of course had to look just right for his teacher this morning, so when he's happy because he looks handsome, it's worth it.

Clothes - Why do I bother?

Okay... so part of being a mom is dealing with clothes... buying clothes, making sure clothes fit, cleaning them, etc.

Sometimes I wonder why we bother dressing children.

Seriously, I mean, what's the point? They get dirty if you just look at them and they only want to wear maybe one outfit, which they have to wear all the time, or they refuse to be dressed so you pick your battles and only make them be dressed outside or when you leave to go somewhere because it's not worth it.

Doodle is one who really makes me wonder. Okay... this boy has NOT wanted to wear underwear. I couldn't figure out why. Well, today I finally got to the bottom of it... he's outgrown all his underwear and never said a word. His shorts and pants are getting tight, too. This boy will wear clothes until they are ready to explode off of his body and never complain about it. I just don't get this. Sometimes I don't know if it's the Aspergers or just him.... since some kids on the Autistic Spectrum are so fussy about their clothes.

Of course, he hates the idea of having to get new clothes. He finds some pieces in what I buy him that he likes (and we stick to the styles he prefers, which are t-shirts with no collars, no buttons, etc., and jeans (he hates khakis). He's so my son... I was the same way... I liked t-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans... that was it.

So I have to buy him more underwear... but I'll still have to make sure he actually wears it... ugh.

He would be happy if I just let him wear the same outfit every day and just washed him in his clothes to get the grime off once a month. He hates being bathed, hates changing his clothes, and he hates being naked.

He does, however, love his shoes. Sure, he's picky, but when he picks out shoes, he'll wear them till they're outgrown and he'll tell ya soon enough about it and pretty much wear them out in the process. He gets excited when you tell him which shoes he gets to wear. I'll tell him, put on your sneakers... I don't have to tell him anymore that he must wear socks... he just says... "yay!" and gets them. I'll tell him to put on play shoes (canvas loafers at our house) and he'll ask me.... "do I need socks?"... cause that depends on the weather.

Sandals he is iffy about these days, though. He doesn't like his foot exposed so much... but when it gets hot enough... he's the first to be thrilled and grab them.


Then, we have The Bird. This child... he attracts dirt and grime the way honey attracts flies. It cakes on him. And he hates being dirty. Not only that, but he's still wetting the bed at night, so he has to change when he wakes up sometimes. The Bird is obsessed with clothes... they must be just so, his hair must be just so, and his shoes must be just so. But this child hates socks. He's reached the age where he wants to do it all himself and socks are posing hazardous.

He's also the child who will, on a whim,change his outfit just because he wants to. So, in a day, I may easily go through 3-4 shirts and 2-3 bottoms for him. He loves underwear. THere was no thrill like it when he found out he was able to wear boxer briefs just like big guys do (I require poop training for such undies... for reasons I will spare you.).

Now Roo is my nudist. She started taking her clothes off around 1yr old and didn't stop. Now she's sort of growing out of it. However, if she soils herself and you don't change her and redress her immediately, you will have a child who deposits her clothes in the dirty clothes and then is hard to get redressed.

There are times when she will get on clothes to go outside or to go somewhere and the moment you bring her back in the house, she strips.


So... wouldn't it just be easier to let the children run naked and take out the hose when they need cleaning? Probably would be.

And yet, I continue to buy clothes, force the children to wear them, and then, when they are dirty, wash them.

Oh the insanity!

I could never be a single mom

I totally admire single moms... why??? Because I could never do it.

This statement is coming because my husband (who I love to bits... he's my big sexy bear) has left to go to ozzfest and so, for the next 2 days, I'm like a single parent. UGH. No one to just pass the kids off to when I need that "going nuts from hearing them fight off and on all day" break or getting backup when I have to really put my foot down and one of the kids is being stubborn and another one is getting into trouble.

My mother was a single parent and I really admire her for that, despite all the problems I have with her and my complete dislike of her and all parts of her. She did the best she could given her situation and generation and for that, I do admire her.

However, my childhood (the bad parts that I swear I will post about one of these days) was one reason I vowed that I would not get married until I was sure I was ready to be really and truly committed and put in the work to make it last. My husband is from a family where divorce just doesn't happen. The first person to do so has been my youngest brother in law and that was because he just made a really bad choice in wife. I got very lucky in that I was able to not only find someone that I love with all my heart, but who knows first hand that marriage is tons of work. He's had infinite patience as I've gone through my bipolar mess and gotten on meds. He has taught me so much about what a real partner is and what it is like to have someone by your side who truly won't back out when the going gets tough.



Anyway...

So day 1 of me on my own with the kids with no husband coming home tonight (miss him so bad) involves the dishwasher breaking (the thing is old, so probably now is dead).

Doodle is sick with a cold and so thereby will not sit on a piece of furniture correctly (why this happens when he gets sick I'll never know) so I'm battling to keep my sofa together.

The Bird is only tolerable today when on a computer playing games or reading comics because otherwise he is trying to be the boss of his brother and sister.

And Roo has found the halloween buckets from last year and is prancing around in her brother's ninja turtle shirt and her pink shorts chirping "trick-y-treat!"

He owes me big time for letting him go to Ozzfest. However, I still owe him for just being him. A wonderful husband and father who is why I am not a single mom.

Fall (not Spring) Cleaning

Okay... I've noticed something about being a mom (henceforth I'm now posting about cleaning today instead of continuing with my backstory).

When you become a mom, a lot of things change. Spring Cleaning is a big thing... most people do a big clean-out of things when Spring comes. Well, I do, too, but I also do Fall Cleaning. I go through all the shoes, the clothes, whatever is in our attic, and we clean the house top to bottom.

I just have to do this because otherwise my kids (who grow like weeds) would completely overwhelm the storage and the rest of the house with their outgrown clothes, shoes, broken toys, toys they no longer play with, and GOD only knows what else.

So... today... I spent 4 hrs doing this... and OMG... felt good. my front closet is cleaned out of shoes (only the new school shoes/sneakers (school shoes if you go to school/sneakers if you don't), their sandals, and their play shoes (used when sandals are not practical) are in there.

I have a ton of stuff to list on craigslist, ebay, and to pass down to my niece's daughters.

It feels good to have so much done.

And yet, it creates more work.

I find I have to do this to get the house ready for the start of school. Just as, in Spring, I'm preparing for the onslaught of children being released... the big times the weather starts to change, basically.

Tomorrow I have to bring everything out of the attic (clothes for the kids to grow into) and see what size pants Doodle is actually wearing. I also have to add more items I bought for Roo for winter and stuff... so it's more of an update to my attic.

But I am feeling almost where I can just breathe easy and know that we're ready for school to start and not worry about clothes or anything for awhile.

My first post

Okay... this is my first post and I guess I'll start with telling everyone a little bit about myself.

As you can probably tell, I'm bipolar (I have bipolar II). I honestly think back and wonder how I made it so long before I got diagnosed and was on meds.

So... I guess this post is going to be kind of a background on my bipolar disorder.

Okay... I was what one would call very emotional... even as a toddler. My mother has told everyone so many times how, when I was but 4yrs old, in preschool, I dropped a carton of milk, closed, so none even spilled, and totally freaked out for over an hour, crying and inconsolable.... even when a teacher tried to retrieve it and give it to me... even with the offer of a new milk.

Looking back, I just think... if only they'd known back then what they know today... it'd be so obvious. I remember when my own oldest son, Doodle, was little... looking at his mood swings and just seeing myself in him.

Instead, I was just called emotional, sensitive, shy, and left untreated as many children still are today... no therapy, no real help, no one knowing what was going on with me or how to make me feel balanced. I grew up wondering how everyone else managed to keep looking so even tempered... why they didn't seem to get as upset as I did. Surely they did, they just hid it better, right? I tried to hide it more and more... leading me to take out my frustrations in food, which have lead to my obesity that is still a problem (more posts may discuss my attempts to lose weight in a healthy way and my various issues with food).

When I went to elementary school, I wasn't focused. Those of you who have bipolar disorder know that a manic high is often similar to add or adhd in what it does to your attention span and I often either had a high, which made me not able to pay attention, or such a severe low that I would be thought to be reclusive, shy, and a loner.

My wonderful 2nd grad teacher, who I loved dearly, suggested that I see a psychologist or psychiatrist. My mother took me, but she was looking immediately for a quick fix. All the psychologist recommended was talk therapy, in addition to med options, but they would need to be scripted by our family practitioner. I actually have fond memories of my sessions with my psychologist, but unfortunately, they didn't do much to help me and I found myself not wanting to open up with him as there was so much about home life I was trying to hide (will get into THAT another time, too).

In the meantime, I was put on Cilert, a popular choice for add at the time. It made me drop weight, which I liked, and pepped me up, which meant the lows were gone, but it would also keep me awake at nights.

It would make me how my mom wanted for a little bit, but then I'd act up or something, so she'd up my dose. After a year like this, she gave in to my grandmother and my insistance that it wasn't helping and allowed me to stop taking it.

However, whenever I acted up too bad, I was threatened with it. Because of this, I preferred to be at my grandparents' house and still feel that they were more like parents to me than my mother. My parents were divorced, so my relationship with my father is something I'll talk about in other posts.

I forget when I stopped therapy, but I believe I was in about 4th grade.

In Jr. High and High school I had longer bouts of highs and lows... I would see talk of depression, which was a new thing everyone was talking about. It sounded so much like parts of me, but there was no mention of the highs I had. And they said the medicines were for when you were having what my lows were like, so since that could be for just a few hours or as long as several days, I just didn't think it would help.

I became pregnant with Doodle toward the end of my Senior Year of High School. While pregnant, I found my moods were more balanced, rather than all over the place, and it was nice. However, I was very ill during the pregnancy and he was born early due to pre-eclampsia (more info on that for another post). After, I had what I would now call post-pardom disorder, but yet different from that. I had visions and thoughts of harming my child, but I wasn't depressed, and I had control over myself. I figured I was watching too much Lifetime Television and went back to work to get out of the house as it was winter (breastfeeding was going well, so I figured I could keep pumping during work and nurse at home... it worked)... it helped... but the thoughts and bouts of lows continued up until right before I became pregnant with The Bird.

When I became pregnant with The Bird, it was more like being on a 9-month high. I'd never felt better in my life. It was only when breastfeeding failed that I crashed so hard into depression and thoughts that my baby didn't love me, that he didn't need me. It wasn't about hurting my baby. I was literally having suicidal feelings. My husband was so worried. I went back to work hoping it would help get my mind off of failing at breastfeeding (I was so dehydrated and anemic... I must detail in another post).

We moved out of my in-law's house (we'd moved there so I'd have help when I had The Bird) and to Virginia and the moods and everything I'd had for years continued though my ppd from The Bird was done (work had helped and a happy healthy baby who was smiling, babbling, and interacting in ways that could assure me he definitely needed and loved me helped, too). It finally got to where my husband gave me a choice... get help, or lose my family until I did.

I felt almost euphoric, though. Finally, someone besides me thought something more basic than just a bout of depression, ADD, or ppd was going on. He thought I needed to see someone for something chemical. By then, info on bipolar disorder was more widespread and I had watched Anna (Patty) Duke's story and identified so much with her that I was just sure I had some form of what she did.

I got lucky. My psychiatrist diagnosed me and confirmed what I believed to be true. He prescribed me Lexapro, which has helped me so much, and Seroquel, which creates the pure balance. Lexapro boosts the lows that persist with just the mood stabilizer.

The thing that terrified me when I got pg with Roo was the idea of going off of my meds. I did the best I could, though, and succeeded in staying completely med free until 1/2 way through the 2nd trimester. Zoloft helped a bit to get me through the end, but I sadly had to choose between the meds that worked best for me and nursing my daughter. This time, it was no physical reason, it was pure choice of true sanity and feeling happier and more normal vs. giving my daughter what I knew was best for her (breast is best and all). In the end, my psychiatrist and my husband urged me to do what I wanted, as only I could know just what would keep me able to best function as a wife and mother to both my husband and new baby, as well as my older children. I chose my sanity and don't regret it, though I feel guilty sometimes.

I continue to feel as though the medication that helps me feel normal, not have the horrible lows and highs that plagued me from as long as I can remember, and have healthy relationships and live a happy life are the best gift GOD has given me.

Well, if you've made it this far, my next post will talk about my pregnancy and birth of Doodle.