School Photos

Fourth grade and kindergarten. Wow.

Sophie, meet Kindergarten. Kindergarten, meet Sophie.

I'm baaaack!

I know, I know...I've barely posted in months. For the three people that were adversely affected by this, I'm really sorry. Life has been pretty hectic, and this blog has been one of the sacrifices I've made in the name of time management. (When time-constrained, why are the things we do for ourselves, for our own pleasure and satisfaction, often the first to go? Hmmm. Discuss amongst yourselves and let me know what you discover, please.)

Sophie going to kindergarten finally gave me the impetus I needed to post again. Because, you know, in case that first sentence flew right by you: MY YOUNGEST, MY BABY, IS NOW IN KINDERGARTEN!!!!!

Sophie is so flipping excited about going to the "big kid" school, the same place her big sister attends. The administration put a lot of effort into making sure the students felt comfortable, slowly prepping them for what school will be like before expecting them to jump right into a full day. Sophie had three days of kindergarten "orientation" last week, where she went in from 12:30-3:00pm and, from what I can tell, drew a lot of pictures. Then she received her teacher assignment (Hello, Mrs. Doyle!), and Thursday was her official first day. She was nervous initially because, oddly, very few kids from her preschool are attending Covington, and she didn't see any familiar faces during orientation. But then, some good news: we found out that two friends of hers are in her class...including her beloved Willie. The minute she and Willie spotted each other in line, all was well. They just kept looking at each other and grinning like idiots. They even held hands as they walked inside together. Pretty damn cute.

By all accounts, her first day went well. She seems to really love school. (Sixteen more years of the same, please and thank you.) This morning she popped out of bed and asked, "Is today a school day?" This is a potentially loaded question, so I wasn't sure what reaction I would get when I tentatively answered yes. She promptly started jumping on her bed and scream/singing, "Yay! School day, school day, I get to go to school today!" so I suspect she was okay with it.

She's now on the same schedule as Emma, my newly-minted 4th grader. (Yeah. I know. Time flying and all that. Wow.) Having them at the same location is divine. No more driving Emma one place and Sophie another. Our mornings are much more mellow now that I can just walk them both to school and drop them at the same place. And having them both out of the house is nice, too. (Is it bad to admit that? Well then, I guess I'm bad to the bone.) They've been home with me since summer camp ended Aug. 2nd, and we had a great time together. But my to-do list keeps growling at me like a wild animal, and I'm a little tired of staying up til 1:00am every night trying to jam 10 hours of work into 4 hours of time. So being on a regular schedule again is a very, very good thing. So good, in fact, that I'm gonna go bounce on my own bed and scream "Yay for school!" until I lose my voice. What's good for the goose is good for the gander, right?

And now...pictures!

Don't Blink! You Could Lose Nine Years.

Emma turns nine years old today. NINE YEARS OLD!

Wanna see how quickly nine years can go by?

Happy Birthday, Emma Bloom. We love you.

Oh, and please...STOP GROWING. At least for awhile. Please and thank you.

One Happy Mutha

Mother's Day has become my favorite day of the year. I was born on Christmas (as I think maybe I've mentioned once or twice or many, many times before), so until Mother's Day came along, I didn't know what it was like to have a day totally focused on me and nobody else. And I gotta say...I dig it. A lot.

Today marked my tenth Mother's Day. (Hell YES, the "in utero" one counts!) As usual, my family pulled out all the stops. I was greeted with flowers, handmade gifts, a new apron, a digital picture frame, a gift card to my favorite nail place, and lots and lots and lots and lots of love. My girls were actually waiting right outside my bedroom when I first woke up, pouncing on me the minute I emerged and bursting with excitement to give me their gifts. Nothing in the world can match the feeling of knowing that there are people in my life - people that I MADE - who love me so intensely that they literally cannot wait to make me happy.

I am so grateful to my husband for letting me be a lazy bum all day, and for always making me feel like the most amazing mother on the planet. And to all the moms I know - especially to my mommy Christine and mother-in-law Pat - HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

This is the pic on my apron. So cute!

This is Sophie's rendition of me. I think she made me look really beautiful.

This is from Emma. On the far right (partially hidden under a feather) it says, To be the best is good, but love is better. She told me, "I came up with that all by myself, just from thinking of the kind of mommy you are to me." Ha! I'm with Emma - being the "best" anything, especially the best mom, is impossible anyway; I'd definitely rather have love. I'll never stop being fascinated by the way this kid's mind works.

Quote of the day

Sophie: "I love all the peoples in our family, even if they are naughty or weird-looking, just the way they are!"

Well, Don't Get A Big Head About It

The girls started swim lessons today. They both did really well and had a lot of fun. We were sitting pretty far away, so it was hard to get any good shots. I managed a couple of so-so ones.

Sophie (in two-piece) takes the leap.

Emma walks the plank, readying to jump.

I did snag one great action shot of Emma jumping off the diving board...but unfortunately, my husband decided to step right in front of the ipad at the exact moment I hit click.

You can see Emma just to the right of my husband's enormous beautiful head.

Love Makes The World Go Round

We had a great Valentine's Day. Wonderful gifts and cards were exchanged by all. But one kind of stood out from the rest, because it took me by surprise and really touched my heart.

Emma made a card for us that she dubbed "The Family Valentine." Below is the inside. (It cuts off at the end, but you can still make out the words.) Best. Gift. Ever.

I Gotta Be MEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Yesterday, I went to my first therapy session in years. For those who read this blog somewhat regularly, you probably know that I have written a couple of times before about my struggles with depression. You may also remember that said struggles have been going on for quite some time. Therefore, you are certainly within the boundaries of normal reaction if you are thinking to yourself at this moment, "She is just now starting therapy?" I understand, because I am thinking that too. If I ever come up with an explanation that makes any sense, I'll let you know.

But so. My first therapy session. It was at a behavioral health center where I recently started seeing a psychiatrist. I liked the psychiatrist a lot. She was very straightforward and easy to talk to. She recommended a therapist in the practice for me to see, and since I'm held to few choices within the confines of my HMO (another post for another day), I accepted her recommendation and made an appointment.

I knew the first time I locked eyes with Dr. K that we were not going to be a good match. He was in his late sixties with a full head of white hair, spectacles, suit and tie, friendly face and gentle demeanor. He looked like a thinner Barney Frank. He seemed nice enough at first glance, and nothing during our session made me think otherwise. I didn't dislike him; I just knew in my gut that he wasn't the right doctor for me. And bless his heart...he really, really wasn't.

He spent fifteen minutes asking me routine questions about myself, and then the next thirty minutes talking. About anything and everything. His speech patterns reminded me of Jeff Perry; he had a quiet voice with a little hitch to his words, and he ended all of his sentences on an uptick so that every statement sounded like a question. (This caused me to say "uh huh" approximately 87 times in a half-hour period of time because I felt compelled to offer some verbal sound of encouragement after each sentence-that-sounded-like-a-question...even though all I really wanted was for him to Stop. Talking.)

Here are just some of the tidbits gleaned from our conversation:

• I shouldn't feel badly about starting therapy again because depression is like tooth decay; just because you get one tooth taken care of doesn't mean another one won't rot eventually, and no one thinks twice about going to the dentist for upkeep. (Actually, I think twice about going to the dentist ALL THE TIME, but oddly enough, I knew what he was driving at.)
• If I cut out regular soda (which I don't drink), I will consume 100 less calories a day and will therefore lose eight pounds by Christmas. He then proceeded to explain how it becomes harder to lose weight as we get older, so the one-pound-every-35-days ratio will stretch over time to 36 days, 37 days, etc. It was a very complex calculation, but his conclusion was that I can reach my ideal weight at approximately 60 years old if I just stop drinking the soda that I already don't drink. (He literally took out a calculator and did the math for me.)
• There was much talk about the life cycle of birds; something about migrating and moulting and being pushed out of the nest. I zoned out in the middle, so I think I missed whatever lesson the bird analogy was meant to impart.
• A pharmaceutical rep brought in lunch for him and his colleagues that day, and he was so grateful for our appointment because it kept him from overeating, and have I ever thought of just distracting myself from being hungry by going for a walk or taking a bath? (This was after I had already told him that my overeating actually has very little to do with my being hungry, but he was so proud of the solution he had thought up for me that I didn't have the heart to remind him. Also, by this point in our conversation, I was only allowed to utter "uh huh.")
• If I have a job and family and friends that I love, and who love me, then he doesn't understand what I am feeling so sad about. (You and me both, Dr. K. You and me both.)
• And my personal favorite: If he were to stand in a locker room in nothing but his skivvies (his word) with a Chicago Bear who was the same weight and height as him, their bodies would look very different - AND THAT'S OKAY.

He meant well, but OH. MY. GOD. I vacillated between biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing (I am not kidding) and just thinking to myself, "I will never get these 45 minutes back."

We ended the session by promising to meet once a week for the next month. I assured the front desk that I would call soon to schedule my next appointment. Of course, that will never happen.

So, I am now doing what I should have done from the beginning: digging in and doing research on a therapist that is right for me, regardless of the cost. (We are certainly far from rich, and paying for therapy out of pocket will definitely be a financial strain...yet I am acutely aware of how lucky I am that I even have that option when so many others do not. Again...another post for another day.)

I suppose I could have been wrecked by this experience. (I am so emotionally unpredictable lately that any reaction, at any time, is completely within the realm of possibility.) Perhaps it could have even detoured me from continuing to seek treatment. But to me, the whole thing was pretty comical. And it only underscored how rare it is to find a person who listens - really listens - to what you say and seems to have at least a somewhat reasonable understanding of who you are and what you are about. I have certainly found that to be true in every other aspect of my life, so it makes total sense that I'm gonna have to kiss a few frogs until I find my therapeutic prince.

But the other thing I took out of the experience - and a couple other experiences I have had recently, which maybe I'll talk about in future posts - is that I'm sick of pretending I'm not sick. I'm tired of writing about the hilarious things my kids do or my latest frustrating parental dilemma or newest chaotic family adventure, all while leaving out this huge other part of who I am. I often hide my true feelings - my true SELF - either because I don't want the person to know I'm depressed, or because that person already does know and is clearly not interested in hearing about it anymore. And let me tell you - hiding a whole aspect of who you are can be absolutely exhausting.

The truth is this: I am a mom/wife/sister/daughter/friend who is damn good at my job and has a wonderful family and relatively robust social life. I am creative and expressive and full of love. I experience joy and laughter, and I remain curious and awestruck when it comes to this life I live. I am all of those things. And I am also an emotional time bomb, an exposed nerve ending prone to intense anxiety, sadness, anger and/or apathy at the drop of a hat. I am many, many things all rolled into one...and one of those things is that I am clinically depressed.

I've never lied about my illness...but purposely avoiding certain subjects is starting to feel dishonest, and frankly, it takes more energy than I have to do so. So I'm just not going to pretend or deny the depressed part of who I am anymore. As such, the tone of this blog may start changing a bit. Or maybe not; who knows? I don't plan to suddenly post daily entries about the overwhelming amount of energy it sometimes takes just to get myself to shower, or how many milligrams of antidepressant I am taking, or how lonely it feels to show your true self to a friend and be met with grudging tolerance or hostility instead of understanding and compassion. I am just going to start writing about all aspects of my life, no more self-censuring. I can't keep expending precious energy hiding certain aspects of myself because I am embarrassed, or because it makes others feel uncomfortable. The fear of judgment and rejection just isn't a compelling enough reason for me to pretend anymore.

So the search for a therapist, and for stable ground, continues. I may tell you all about it; or not. You may decide you couldn't care less about hearing it; or not. As long as we are both being true to ourselves, it's all good.

These Are Our Demands

Emma and Sophie were upstairs yesterday "cleaning their rooms" (ie, playing/reading/fighting/giggling/procrastinating) when Chris found this note at the foot of the stairs:

(Background: Emma talked Grandma Kitty into buying her a huge stuffed seal from Ikea. She may be the teensiest bit impatient about its arrival.)

Sophie then came downstairs, delivered this note, and solemnly exited the room without a word:

(Background: the kids miss their grandparents, aunt and cousins. A lot.)

They were clearly very serious, so Chris and I were careful to make sure they were both out of sight before cracking up laughing. One thing about kids - one of the BEST things about kids - is that you truly never know what's coming next.

Christmas: A Photo Essay

We got almost no clear photos of Christmas this year (fail). Here are the few that came out. Happy New Year!

Emma makes a new friend at Brookfield Zoo's Holiday Magic.

The carousel is ALWAYS a hit.

Hitching a ride.

Christmas morning at Grandma's house.

Santa was very good to the girls this year. Sophie kept exclaiming, "I'm so glad he didn't bring me coal!"

Santa is real and lives in Chicago Ridge Mall

We took the kids to see Santa yesterday. This was the first year they were both actually excited to see him, which was fun. However, the "elf" who was taking the picture was so annoying. Her idea of getting a sobbing, terrified child to calm down was to scream the child's name at the top of her lungs while making ridiculous faces that made her look like she was having a seizure. (Yeah...that's gonna make the children less scared. Good strategy.) There was a baby that went before us that was so incredibly chill. She had the most beautiful eyes...eyes that had seen a lot and had stories to tell, you know what I mean? The eyes of an old soul. And the moment the baby was placed on Santa's lap, she just kept staring up at him with the most serene look of complete recognition. She and Santa gazed at each other for at least 10 seconds, and it was the Cutest Thing EVER. I was like, "That's the shot! That's IT! Take the damn picture, elf!" But all the stupid woman cared about was getting the baby to look at the camera, so she just kept screaming and waving and contorting and totally missed the boat. Chris couldn't believe how worked up I got about the damn photographer, but she was a deeply annoying woman and obvious amateur with no artistic instincts whatsoever (not that I'm judgmental or anything) who didn't deserve the privilege of working with this amazing Santa.

Because amazing he was. This dude was the realest-looking Santa Claus that Chris or I had ever seen. His beard was real! No age makeup! Clearly, he was a pro. He was soft-spoken and gentle, but also authoritative and grave. The girls ate up his every word. He listened very carefully to their requests and looked each of them in the eye when they spoke. Then he told the girls that they had been mostly good this year, but that they needed to stop fighting and help out Mommy more. (Santa almost got a lap dance of gratitude from me on that one. I wonder if the damn elf would have photographed THAT.)

Emma is absolutely, 100% convinced that he was the real Santa. (I think it was the beard that got her.) Real or not, he was one hell of a step up from the mall Santa we had a few years ago that was about 25 years old and looked like a serial killer. So thank you, Mr. Claus, for a job well done. (And no one will think less of you if you ship that annoying elf off to Easter Island or something, Santa. She seriously needs to go.)

The logical mind

I overheard this exchange while the girls were in the kitchen making snacks:

Emma: "Now remember...you get what you get and you don't get upset."
Sophie: "Yes. And YOU get what YOU get and you don't get upset."
Emma: "Well, no. I mean...I'm the one making the snacks, so I get what I want. You just get what you get."

Copy My Copy

Soph: "Emma can make copies of us, you know."
Me: "Copies of us? You mean like...another Sophie?"
Sophie: "Yep. Or another Mommy or another Emma. She really can. I'm serious."
Me: "How does she do that? Did she tell you?"
Soph: "Yes. It's cause she's a vampire."
Me: "Hmmm. That's pretty cool. I had no idea she could do something like that. I can't believe she didn't tell me!"
Soph: "Well, I think she is gonna tell you on your birthday or for Christmas or something."
Me: "Gotcha. But why does being a vampire help her make copies of people?"
Soph: "Because she grows her teeth really long and then they glow into a color and then poof! You are copied. Kinda like the printer."
Me: "I'm not sure I really want a copy of me. Would you like another Sophie hanging around?"
Soph: "Kinda. Like...so I can copy her and stuff."
Me: "So you would copy your copy?"
Soph: [sigh] "Yes, Mommy. That's how it works."
Me: "Oh. I see."
Soph: "And plus she could play with me when Emma has a sleepover. And if I get eaten by a monster she can give you hugs so you won't be sad."
Me: "Oh, honey..."
Soph: "So you need to get a copy, so that if you die, I will still have a Mommy."
Me: ... ... ...
Soph: "Mommy? Did you hear me?"
Me: "Yeah honey, I heard you. Okay then. I'll have Emma make a copy of me, too."
Soph: "Thanks, Mommy."

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...IN OUR NEW HOME!

I've always loved the holiday season, and it's been so much fun preparing for the first Christmas in our new home. I realize I'm completely and utterly slightly biased, but seriously...is this the best damn tree you've ever seen in your life or WHAT?

Yes, I love our Christmas tree...but she's not exactly new. (Although this was the first year we had ceilings high enough to fit all 9 feet of her, which was pretty cool.) Outdoor decorations though? Now that's a whole new thing. We've never had our own place on which to display anything before, so I've been excited for months at the prospect of seeing our front porch all lit up.

My awesome husband took advantage of the freakishly warm weather and spent hours today setting up outside lights. (Since we're newbies, it took some time - and a few unexpected shopping trips - to figure out exactly what equipment and supplies were needed.) I would have given up after the first roadblock, but Chris persevered and was just finishing up when I left for a concert in the city. (See how I said "in the city"? I don't feel like a suburbanite, but I can play that role.)

Tonight, I came home to find this waiting for me.

I actually teared up when I saw it.

Best. Christmas. Present. EVER.

Thanks, baby.

Sophie Patrice

My baby is five today.

FIVE YEARS OLD.

No more baby. No more toddler. BIG. GIRL.

Love this face, this smile, this child.

Love where we've been, where we are, and where she's taking us.

Love watching her grow and go, go and grow, touching all she meets with light and love.

Happy birthday, my Sophie Patrice.

My BABY. (Always.)

We love you.