Tomika and her Five F's

Since she admitted that she did not trademark her Five F's, I hope she doesn't mind that I'm sharing them in my public blog...

I had lunch with a good  friend today. I've known Tomika since the summer of '97 when I prayed (silently, of course) that the "loud Black girl" (lmao- especially because I am sometimes that girl) would NOT come sit next to me during our ASU LSP orientation. Of course, she sat next to me, and my life has been SO much the better for it. I have many memories that include Tomika...from the crazy outfit shopping at Savers for our Freshman skit (I wonder if Rob-Bob still has those pants with the upside-down ducks on them?) to the night she met my future husband and declared him "good people," to the night I called her, sobbing hysterically, when the two people who mattered most in the world to me were in separate emergency rooms and I was frantically driving back and forth between them (which, in hindsight, I had no business doing)...and she helped me pull it together. There are others, of course, but those are the ones that just now popped into my head.

As I've mentioned in a previous blog, Tomika is the strong voice in my head that keeps me going whenever I feel like spontaneously combusting. And today, she shared with me her plan for 2011: The Five F's. They are, in no particular order, Family, Fitness, Fun, Finances, and Faith. (She says that Food isn't one of them, but I think Food and Fitness could go together, as part of fitness is making good choices about food, which is the fuel that makes all the other F's possible...besides, I like food!)

Anyway, Tomika impressed the heck out of me, which isn't unusual...most of the people I know impress the heck out of me and either a) inspire me to emlulate their greatness, or b) make me acutely aware of my non-greatness, or c) both a & b. So I may have to adopt her plan or modify it a bit in development of my own. Her strong voice in my head is saying that it's a good idea.

Smarty Pants

Alex is convinced that he knows everything, a sentiment he shared with me this afternoon in the car. We were discussing the rest of our day's agenda (including completing some of his homework that should've been done a week ago!) after a fruitful excursion to Fry's Marketplace (we scored two awesome lighted Christmas decorations for $6.25 each due to their 75% off everything Christmas sale!). When I suggested that he might want to keep studying to become smarter, he replied, "I'm already smart, and I already know everything." Oh boy.

Sadly, Alex probably does know "everything" when it comes to me. He knows that he came from my tummy, that I'm married to his father, etc. What is sad is that he also knows that Mommy has some days when she's very sad, cries a lot, or is in a generally bad mood. I have explicitly told him that my bad days are NEVER because of him. He has already proven himself to be a sensitive child, but what strikes me most significantly are his quiet ways of dealing with my depression. For instance, he has instituted "Hug Time," which is when we drop everything to give each other big, bear hugs. Alex is also incredibly good about making sure that no one feels left out during our family moments. He gives "equal time" to both myself and George by insisting that we take turns when playing games, riding rides, choosing movies, or merely sitting next to him on the couch. I am never "permitted" to stay home when he and George make impromptu trips, and though I often feel like I am being dragged along, I appreciate my wise son's insistence that I engage in his activities, and as a result, in life.

How did he become so emotionally, interpersonally savvy? Perhaps his inability to remember to flush the toilet every time (or his selective hearing) is explained by all the energy he's putting into loving his family- and me. Somehow, he has already figured out how to prioritize! Maybe, in his own little 6 year-old way, he really does know everything. I'm so proud...and eternally grateful.

The Circle of [my] Life

This time of year always causes me to be reflective. Perhaps it's the 200% more sleep I get as soon as Winter Break starts. Maybe it's the lack of children following me around, poking me, and saying, "Mrs. Davis," in varying tones of urgency and at different noise levels (very distracting). Whatever the reason, I have time to think, and if I've learned anything in the last decade, it's that thinking time can be as bad as it is good.

For me, time to think means looking back on everything I've accomplished, relishing the amazing moments and wondering where my brilliance, strength, and/or charm came from. Honestly, I'm still not sure how Alex has turned into such a lively, positive, considerate child; nor do I remember how I survived my consistent fog of exhaustion that was his first year of life.

Unfortunately, I end up spending the bulk of my free time focusing on my mistakes, failures, inability to  accomplish all the fantastic things I thought about doing, and how much disappointment I have caused. I try to be constructive, reminding myself that true power and success have nothing to do with quantity and everything to do with quality and prioritization. And then I end up spending at least one entire day in bed lamenting my inaction and putting my negative soundtrack on a loop so I can listen to it over and over again. Luckily, this year I was able to pull myself out of the dark abyss, though in previous years, that has not been the case more often than not. I see this as progress, even if I am mostly horrified that it happens at all.

I will be completely fine again once the second semester of school starts and I become immersed in work and in the day-to-day routines that I've established for Alex. Truly, doing for others takes away depressed thoughts like nothing else! I'll long for days of having nothing pressing on my agenda during which I spend a very large amount of time doing nothing of note. And I will forget how dangerous time to think can be for me, at least until the Christmas season rolls around again. Maybe when it does, I'll be ready.

Here's a thought...

This is advice, not just for dealing with people with depression, but for interacting with everyone (from Beyond Blue Blog):

Listen.
"When people are talking," writes Rachel Naomi Remen, "there's no need to do anything but receive them. Just take them in. Listen to what they're saying. Care about it. Most times caring about it is even more important than understanding it."  Suggestions [come] off as condescending, even though...they were meant to be helpful. Advice [can be] annoying. Many times [they] just [need] to be heard, to be validated. Don't hesitate to say nothing. Because silence often speaks the most loving message.

From 'Beyond Blue' Blog....What to say to a depressed person

I'm thinking that a lot of my recovery was hindered by these very comments. After years of individual therapy, a stint in group therapy, and several combinations and dosages of different anti-depressants, it's amazing to me that I have heard every single one of these comments (sometimes the same message, but paraphrased)...and mostly from the people who love and care about me most.

1. Snap out of it!
Your loved one hasn't left the house in what seems like days. Should you tell him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and just snap out of it?
Don't say it.
You may be tempted to tell someone who's depressed to stop moping around and just shake it off. But depression is not something patients can turn on and off, and they're not able to respond to such pleas. Instead, tell your loved one that you're available to help them in any way you can.
2. What do you have to be depressed about?
In a world full of wars, hunger, poverty, abuse, and other ills, you may feel impatient when someone you love feels depressed. So do you remind him how lucky he is?
Don't say it.
You can't argue someone out of feeling depressed, but you can help by acknowledging that you're aware of his pain. Try saying something like "I'm sorry that you're feeling so bad."

3. Why don't you go for a nice walk?
Exercise is a known way to lift your mood. Is it a good idea to suggest that your loved one with depression go out and enjoy some fresh air and activity?
Say it -- but with a caveat.
By definition, depression keeps you from wanting to engage in everyday activities. But you can show your support by offering to take a walk, go to a movie, or do some other activity with your loved one. How about: "I know you don't feel like going out, but let's go together."

4. It's all in your head.
Some people believe that depression is an imaginary disease and that it's possible to think yourself into feeling depressed and down. Should you tell your loved one that depression is just a state of mind -- and if she really wanted to, she could lift her mood with positive thoughts?
Don't say it.
Suggesting that depression is imagined is neither constructive nor accurate. Although depression can't be "seen" from the outside, it is a real medical condition and can't be thought or wished away. Try saying instead: "I know that you have a real illness that's causing you to feel this way."

5. Seeing a therapist is probably a good idea.
You think your loved one could benefit from talking to a mental health professional. Should you say so?
Say it.
Reinforcing the benefits of treatment is important. Encourage the idea of getting professional help if that step hasn't yet been taken. This is especially important if your loved one has withdrawn so much that she is not saying anything. Try telling her, "You will get better with the right help." Suggest alternatives if you don't see any improvement from the initial treatment in about six to eight weeks.

I'm okay, you're okay...

I'm starting to think that maybe I'll end up in a very unpleasant nursing home. Alex made the bad decision to sit on the arm of the couch and fell backwards, landing on the handle of his newly-remodeled light saber (ouch). He cried out in pain and I went to investigate, thinking that his injuries always sound worse than they actually are. Turns out I wasn't wrong in this case. I said, "Wow, that was a dumb thing to do," and Alex immediately insisted that it wasn't very nice of me to 1) use the word, "dumb," and 2) use it in relation to him. So I apologized and he gave me his how-dare-you-not-think-everything-I-do-is-wonderful look. This incident, coupled with yesterday's rant about how he doesn't need me anymore because he can do everything himself and how much I bother him by standing nearby to watch him do things (like put on his seat belt properly) AND how I need to be more patient (something I'm constantly telling him)...not to even mention that this morning he told me that he already knows everything, so why do I keep telling him?...gives me the impression that there's a poorly-run old folks' home in my future.

On a different note, I still feel tired and angry/irritated, but I've decided that I'm okay and not sinking into the pits of depression again. Despite the fact that I am the negative self-talk queen, I have managed to think of some concrete examples of how okay I am:
1- I actually said something about not feeling well instead of going into full-fledged denial.
2- I'm still making it to work on time, if not slightly early (a HUGE deal for me!).
3- I know that I won't feel this way forever.
4- I make positive comments to George to note his improvements- so that shows I'm feeling hopeful.

There is hope. I'm okay.

Fighting the Good Fight

I haven't had a decent night's sleep since Thursday and adrenaline has been flowing through my body to keep me awake, alert, and able to take care of others. Now I'm tired. And worried about how tired I feel because I'm battling my depression....again.

I first noticed something was up when on Friday afternoon I started to cry when I couldn't find my backpack for camping. On the drive up to Williams, all I could think about was how much work I need to do since it's the beginning of the school year and how disappointed people will be because I will inevitably fail to meet deadlines or something like that. Today I went to Target for a heating pad for George and ended up spending too much time and money there (actually, that's fairly normal). The bad thing is that all the shopping made me feel worse because now I have to put everything away.

George's being unable to walk, sit, stand, breathe, blink, etc. without pain is painful for me to watch. My husband is a stoic sort of fellow- the kind who fits stereotypical descriptions of strong, silent men who don't share, much less display, emotions freely. On Saturday night and most of yesterday, George cried everytime he had to move. It was better today, but something has gone wrong in the world if my husband has to depend on me as though he was my child. Not that I begrudge him anything that he needs. He is actually very thoughtful and polite about his requests, and I am happy to be helpful. It's just hard to be unable to do anything to stop his pain. It's heart-wrenching to comfort my son, who is "worried that Daddy will be hurt forever," when I myself am worried and upset.

I try to calm myself down by remembering that it would be upsetting to anyone to see someone with tears streaming down their face because of pain. I try to reason with myself about feeling overwhelmed and I can identify the negative thoughts in my head and know that my exhaustion is part of the reason they're there.

But I'm fighting back anger that despite taking my medicine religiously, and despite all my awareness of signs and triggers (of which George's state is a major one), I still have to feel this way. I'm angry (all over again) that I am susceptible to every sort of stress overload there is and that I can't handle as much as I think I should be able to manage. I'm angry that I feel burning tears waiting to slide down my cheeks at random moments. I'm hoping that my anger will subside soon. I'm fighting it, but I'm also very tired.

Support

From the blog, Fighting the Darkness: My Secret Battle with Depression (fightingthedarkness.blogspot.com):

Since I’ve started this blog I’ve had several people contact me to let me know that their spouse suffers from depression and that my blog has helped them grow in their understanding and helped them to become more supportive. I am always so happy to hear this!
Today I’d like to share something with you about my relationship with my husband. Its secret I don’t share very often, but I did want to share this truth for those of you in the same boat. The ugly truth is that my husband is not supportive of my depression and it can hurt.
He doesn’t understand it. For example, when I want to warn him that I feel a depressive episode coming on, he asks me what I have to be depressed about. When I tell him that there is nothing for me to be depressed about, it’s an illness that I feel like I have no control over, he tells me to “snap out of it.” I find there is nothing more infuriating than having someone tell me to “snap out of it” – like I wouldn’t snap out of it if I could! I certainly would have snapped out of it 20 years ago when it first appeared.
We’ve been married for 14 years, so he’s heard it all from me. He’s heard all about my serotonin levels and how I can’t control something that is physically wrong in my brain any more than his grandpa can control his diabetes. He’s seen the medication changes, the nausea (from changing medications or changing the dose), the post-partum depression, the inability to function when my depression gets bad (can’t shower, can’t get out of bed, etc.), and the seemingly normal life I can live when everything is under control. And yet he doesn’t really get it.
It’s as though he thinks my depression is something I can control. Sometimes he acts like I “get sick” on purpose for attention. Once again we are back to the “just snap out of it” argument. To be honest, I could find way more creative ways to get attention than being depressed!
I can’t even begin to tell you how frustrating this is. It hurts that my best friend and the love of my life thinks that I have any control over the depression that ravages my life. It’s frustrating when he tells me to snap out of it when I physically cannot. It’s painful that he could believe that I would choose to feel and act this way instead of embracing life with the joy I wish I had inside of me.
Sometimes it makes me wish my depression was something that looked physical instead of a mysterious mental illness. I wish he could feel the pain it causes and understand how difficult it really is.
I also wish my husband had the magical ability to know when I should stay in bed and block out the world for a day, and when to drag me out of bed and plan something fun that might chase away the depression. But he doesn’t understand and somehow I accept that and we accept each other.
Now this isn’t to say that I don’t have support – I find support when I need it. I have a friend who understands depression even though she has never suffered from it. Her sister and her mother have both battled depression so she has seen a lot of it in her life. When I’m going through a depressive episode, I ask her to phone me first thing in the morning so that I get out of bed. Hearing an encouraging voice helps me get going on my day – or hearing that her day is tough too (and that a cup of coffee waiting in the kitchen is the only thing that motivated her to get out of bed) helps me feel less alone.
Planning exercise and sticking with it even when I don’t want to helps. A running group, mountain biking buddies, or a bootcamp (I’m looking into joining one in August for some additional motivation) helps. My friends in these groups don’t know my health issues and don’t have to. That’s enough to motivate me to get out.
Sometimes our spouses can’t be supportive, but that’s okay, it has to be okay. I find support where I need it and somehow everything works out.

I've been subscribed to this blog since 2006- it intrigues me that someone is able to eloquently describe some of what I feel. I always feel inadequate in that ability. I especially appreciate this post (written today) because George seems to feel the same way as Jamie's (the writer's) husband, and I've told him so on several occasions. I think she said it best with this line, "To be honest, I could find way more creative ways to get attention than being depressed!"

If it was a matter of just deciding to not feel depressed, I heartily assure you that no one would feel depressed for very long, and they certainly would not choose to rely on daily doses of medicine that are subject to change but that are never truly guaranteed to work.

If you are depressed, please be kind to yourself. Set one goal every day, even if it is as small as picking up your mail, and do your very best to achieve it no matter how horrible you feel. Then celebrate yourself for being able to accomplish something. If you can't get to your goal, be patient with yourself. Chances are very good that you will find a way to make it happen tomorrow. (And as you feel better, you'll find you can exceed your goals!) We are often our worst enemies when we feel depressed because we can't get away from the berating we give ourselves in our heads! Because of this, we must treat ourselves with the same kindness we would offer to any stranger who is suffering.

If you know someone who is depressed, please be kind. Consider the wisdom of Plato: Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. For those who are depressed, the battle is ever present, even on "good" days, no matter how much we wish it would go away. It's a cancer that never goes into remission.

My Back Hurts

2/27/2010
Once upon a time I had a chocolate Lab named Ralph (named Ralph because George always wanted a brown, male dog named Ralph like the piano-playing Ralph of The Muppets). Ralph was a sweet dog. He was even more lovable than normal because he was unaware of his massive, 116 pound size, and honestly believed that he could sit on your lap. Ralph was also very curious and had what is probably the dog equivalent of human ADHD. One day I needed to put a harness on Ralph so that I could take him somewhere. It completely escapes me right now why I was in a hurry to accomplish this task. As usual, Ralph was interested in something else, so he wasn't terribly cooperative. I tugged on his collar to get his attention, which eventually progressed to my pulling on him as though he was a tug-of-war rope to get him to move. With as much effort as I was using to pull toward myself, Ralph was pulling in the opposite direction. And then, all of a sudden.....Ralph stopped pulling. I landed on my bottom on the cold, hard, tile floor....and was unable to stand.

That must've happened at least 8 years ago. We've since given Ralph to a wonderful woman who operates a doggy bakery and who has veterinarian parents. We had to, since Ralph was a very, very needy dog and we'd just brought home an attention-hogging baby. Still, every so often, I think of Ralph, and I miss him...until my back starts to hurt. Then I think of that fateful day that I should've decided to change my plans!
Prior to last weekend, I took my back for granted. I forgot how important it is in the process of walking. I bent over frequently without giving it a single thought. I used it often to sit and stand straight. And then all of a sudden, my back got tired of being used with no thanks. It finally got mad and pretty much declared that it would no longer work for me until I showed it some care and appreciation. I have had no choice but to listen and wait.

Alex's Journey Toward God

4/4/2010
Six years ago, if someone had told me that I'd be baptizing my son Catholic, I definitely would not have believed them. I didn't know I was pregnant yet six years ago today, but I already knew that George was vehemently against infant baptism, since he was raised Mormon and he insisted that baptism was a choice that older children should make.

When I found out I was pregnant, we battled fairly regularly over the fate of my unborn child's soul. I eventually gave up the fight, convinced that God would not only protect my son, but would also show mercy toward his innocence. Still, I prayed regularly for years that somehow, Alex would be blessed with baptism. Over the last six years I have truly battled with my love for the Church and my passionate distaste for all of the pain that has been caused by the Church....and while I am at peace with God and am still a religious person in the sense that I pray and try to live each moment in such a way to serve God, I have become less and less Catholic. Somehow along the way, I

Imagine my surprise when a year or so ago, George began insisting that Alex be baptized....Catholic.

Imagine my utter shock when a few months ago, George started talking to Alex about God and began insisting that Alex learn prayers....Catholic prayers.

June Musings

May and June were big months for me (and by extension, those involved in my world)! Part of me wishes that I was a better blogger, especially because I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the ideas I want to talk about, but a larger part has decided to stop chastising myself for not doing things like this regularly. It frees up a significant amount of time that I now spend chastising myself for other things, like sleeping too much and not ingesting enough fiber on a daily basis.
At any rate, I'll just list things and add a little commentary. That way it all gets out of my head and onto the screen:

• A small fly died in my bosom last Saturday night. (This sounds like the beginning of a bad story.) I was at the wedding of my former student teacher/current friend in Prescott, and the weather was gorgeous, but my dress was entirely outrageous. First of all, it is a coppery color (I love it because it is a derivative of my beloved orange) and it's made of shantung fabric (so it has a bit of a shine to it- this is a dress that pretty much screams, "Look at me!"). Second of all, it reveals entirely too much of my womanly parts up top. I spent the entire evening fretting because I'd forgotten to pack safety pins. Naturally, we were running a bit late to the wedding, so we couldn't stop to get some at one of the many convenience stores in Prescott (sarcasm). George later told me that the gentleman who sat to my right at the reception seemed to be enjoying his view. Some women probably think nothing of displaying their cleavage to the extent that I was...but it turns out that I'm a bit prude-ish when it comes to this sort of thing. So anyway, I was sitting next to George and the ceremony had started. As I admired the bride's dress and choice of bridesmaid dresses, I felt something crawling around. I looked down and saw a small fly on my chest, in my dress. In my attempt to inconspicuously help it out of my dress, I smashed it with one of my two humps. The poor, smashed, disgusting, dead bug stayed on the valley of my chest until after the ceremony, when George (who was amused) walked me over to our truck so I could fish the fly out with a tissue. Needless to say, I scrubbed much of the area with Purell at my first opportunity!
• Need to get rid of stuff? Move! I have been soooooooo generous in the past few months and have given away amazing things- decorative items, furniture, window treatments, boxes, food, clothing...and the giving hasn't ended yet. As I unpack, I find myself wondering why I have held on to some of this stuff so long.....and then I throw it in the give-away pile. I suspect that the move, which has been disorienting, has caused me to notice possessions I'd forgotten about over the years. Of course, this doesn't apply at all to items with sentimental value, like my HOBY Orange sign that Tomika told me to throw out last week.
• I've lived in this new-to-me house for a month now, and it still kind of feels like I am a guest in someone else's home. This morning I found myself missing the old house as I lugged a laundry basket up the stairs. And then I marveled at how in a short amount of time, I've almost completely cured myself of my fear of falling down stairs. That's when I almost tripped and almost fell down the stairs. Maybe I should limit my thinking when I'm on stairs. I definitely won't be texting or talking on the phone while climbing/descending them!
• Last night, as I was playing my 1,752,467th game of Bejeweled (and that was just in one day-lol!) because I couldn't sleep, I started to think about.....work. It's been a month and I have managed to not think so much about work- in fact, I identify more with "housewife" than I do with "teacher" these days. But the thoughts came last night. In a very short amount of time, I will be thrown back into teacher-mode, and the joys and sorrows that come with it. And then my own classes will start and I won't have a life and will probably become an unsightly caffeine addict....it was easy to start predicting at what point of the year I would burn out and get sick. Once I started doing that, I started to think about my behavior patterns over the years. I started out teaching with gusto ten years (ten years!?!?) ago, and I truly loved my job until Alex was born. Looking back now, I had a severe identity crisis after he was born that was exacerbated by leaving Moon Mountain (a decision I still sometimes regret) and working half-time. I'm fairly flexible and able to handle new things, but being a young mother who went from full-time work to half-time work at a new school was too much change for me at once. Then I had hormone issues (that makes EVERYTHING worse!) and had the worst depressive episode of my life- so bad that I had to do a stint in group therapy for a month and take short-term leave from my teaching and miss the last months of school. At that point, I thought that maybe teaching was too stressful for me, so I briefly (for like, two weeks) considered a career change. Then I took a job teaching at Rancho Solano, which renewed my love of teaching because it was all I had to do- I didn't have to worry about all the other roles public school teachers have to assume. Interestingly, that same thing- not worrying about all the other roles- made me want it again...and that's how I ended up at Desert Heights Charter School. I love my job again, which is a huge comfort! Still, I've noticed that my health has deteriorated/absences have increased at the same time for the past two years...so last night when I had an "ah ha!" moment, I took a break from Bejeweled and looked up depression in the workplace. I have (reluctantly) accepted that my depression (a.k.a. clinical depression, major depression, unipolar depression, etc.) limits me in certain ways. I'm "stress intolerant" according to my psychiatrist, and my medication helps me to deal. Still, I don't handle stress as healthily as I could, and once I reach my "limit," I get sick, or my back hurts, or I start to become disorganized and disconnected and it affects my job performance. Even though I have become self aware, I'm not quite sure how to avoid it happening again....still thinking about it. In the past I have considered asking for accomodations (while I was in college), but that isn't such an appealing idea to me because 1) it means admitting that my depression is disabling at times, when I'd rather believe that it isn't and 2) teaching doesn't lend itself naturally to usual accomodations, such as extended deadlines, breaks and working from home. It's funny to me how patient and compassionate I am toward students who struggle and need accomodations when I am not that way with myself...
• I'm the person I always wanted to be ten years ago- in my thirties, somewhat settled in my career, married, and a mother. I feel a sense of pride when I think of all I have accomplished in the past decade, but also a sense of horror that so much time has passed and I still have yet to find true inner peace, discover the cure for procrastination, or become a statistic (though it is too late to become a teenage mother...sigh). Guess I'd better get busy!
• OMG! My parents' 33rd wedding anniversary was yesterday, I think. We don't celebrate it, mostly because the marriage is a strange testament to why divorce is necessary...but still, 33 years is a long time. I should know, I'm almost that old!

Yes!

Look back and thank God. Look forward and trust God. Look around and serve God. Look within and find God! God closes doors no man can open and God opens doors no man can close.

Already???

SETTING: In the car yesterday (Thursday)

Mommy: Alex, what do you want for dinner?
No response. Mommy is driving on Bell Rd. and there is traffic, but she glances in rear-view mirror to make sure Alex is still alive. He usually only remains silent when he's sleeping or angry with Mommy, neither of which applies in this case.
Mommy: Alexander (said exasperatedly), what do you want to eat?

Alex: I'm going to marry Elizabeth (said matter-of-factly).

Mommy isn't quite sure she's heard right.
Mommy: Huh?

Alex: I don't know why, but her says she loves me. I love her. I want her to come to my house.

Mommy is still confused. He's five and he has spoken before of girls wanting to marry him on the playground, but he has never declared love for any of them before.
Mommy: I'll have to talk to Elizabeth's mommy and daddy to see if that can happen.

Alex: Yeah, her said she loves me. I'm going to marry her.

Mommy doesn't say anything more and wonders if maybe Alex was playing pretend (or something) at school today. She feels oddly sad that her baby (who is now definitely NOT a baby) thinks about things like loving girls and getting married, especially because he's only five and she thought she had more time to be his number one gal. She remembers one of her 3rd graders from last year who was infatuated with girls and quite a lover-boy. She worries that Alex will be like that kid. She soothes herself by thinking that Alex is only five, has no idea what he's saying, and will forget about it tomorrow.

Mommy pulls into driveway and takes Alex out of car.

Alex: You and my daddy are married.

Mommy: Yes.

Alex: Elizabeth and me will get married too.

Mommy: Okay.

NEXT DAY, during dinner

Alex: Raise your hand if you have a baby. (Grinning) Not you, Mommy. I'm a kid.

Mommy lowers her hand. Alex asks why she isn't raising her hand.

Mommy: Because I have a big kid named Alex.

Alex: And you need a baby in your tummy, and when it grows big like me it will be my brother. Tell Daddy.

Mommy: Well....

Alex: And Elizabeth will be in this family because her and me is going to get married. And you're in this family too, Mommy!

Mommy goes to tell Daddy about what Alex has said (he has asked for a little brother before) and she and Daddy share a chuckle. Alex decides he wants to watch a Thomas the Tank Engine video. Mommy goes to type this blog entry.

How Lucky Are We Who Know Our Life's Work?

George and I had dinner with an old friend of mine from highschool and her fairly new husband last weekend. Among the topics of conversation was the typical "catching up" that we always do- who have we talked to? what good things have happened? what struggles are we muddling through? how crazy are our mothers?- stuff that would be gossip if it wasn't about ourselves. Then my dear friend (who has never been much of a technophile and who I was sure had fallen off the face of the Earth because I hadn't heard from her in almost a year) and her husband announced that they didn't see a need to have Facebook accounts because 1) they didn't really want to talk to anyone except for who they already made the effort to keep in touch with and 2) they didn't want their affairs to be public knowledge. I was about to open my mouth in defense of my beloved FB when my husband, who happens to be a very private person who had the misfortune of marrying a heart-on-sleeve-wearing-open-book (me), chimed in on their "side." I had the immediate feeling of shame that I imagine works in gangs, cliques, and other small groups: I believed differently, so something must have been wrong with me (not to mention that it takes a lot of courage to be a lone voice against a majority that is loudly opinionated). I quickly decided that pursuing this topic of discussion would've been fruitless and needlessly uncomfortable, so I let it pass. (This behavior is new...I think it has something to do with being in my 30s. Prior to this, I probably would've opened my mouth before thinking. Amazing!)

Here I am, a week later, still pondering the merit of valuing one's privacy. I certainly appreciate my friend's stance, and I have lived the last 11 years finding a way to live with my husband's insistence that the happenings of our lives should not become news feed for the masses. Despite this, I am often excruciatingly public when it comes to myself and my life. I have a few theories as to why (including that I have parents who have no concept of their daughters' personal boundaries, so it wasn't until I was an adult that I learned it's healthy to have lines that should never be crossed), but the one I think is most true is that I see myself as one who teaches others. Not just during my day job....but always, all the time, and about all sorts of things.

Some people believe their lives have a purpose, and I believe that mine is to teach people. That is why everything about me, from my neverending battle with depression to my trials as mother to a maniacally brilliant boy, is something I might share with others. This is not to say that I share EVERYTHING, because I most certainly do not (to my husband's relief!). It's just that I have observed that I'm willing to share more than others, more of the time. It's not even that I feel that what I have to share is better than what anyone else has....it's that I recognize that I learn the most important life lessons from other people, and I think that it's only fair that I am willing to help others learn. At the very least, I take comfort in knowing that I'm aware of my purpose and embracing it.