Readjusting to Alone Time

           Every morning for the past two months, I come home, after dropping both girls off at school, and make myself a pumpkin spice chai tea latte. As I sit drinking my chai, I take note of what has to be done around the house that day, which errands need to be run, and how much laundry I have gathered in my laundry basket.  On the days my mom is home, I call her and we converse for 45 minutes or so before I get my day started. When I hang up the phone is when my anxiety sets in.

            I haven’t had time without a child by my side for four years. Therefore, it is a bit disconcerting to walk into an empty house with four hours of quiet ahead of me. I admit that in the past all I have wanted is time to myself. An hour of quiet to sit and read or to leisurely browse the plethora of magazines that come in the mail seemed like an unattainable dream, one that I have longed for for the past four years. However, now that I have the time, I find myself wracked with anxiety because I feel lost and alone.

            I remember feeling this way when Lucy first started preschool at the age of 3. I was petrified to leave my house should an emergency arise at her school. I found myself pacing the floors waiting for the phone to ring to deliver some disastrous news. It took me forcing myself out of the house and a whole lot of talking myself off of a ledge until I became comfortable with the thought of being alone.  Once I became comfortable, I was able to relax and enjoy the time I spent with myself. I came to terms with the fact that some days I was extremely productive and others I did nothing but care for myself.       

            But then we got Lily, and everything once again changed. I not only had a new baby and limited time to myself, but then she was diagnosed with diabetes and time to myself became almost non-existent because she requires 24 hour care from someone trained to take care of her, that person being either my husband or I, with a little help from my parents when we lived in Vermont.

            Today we live thousands of miles from friends and family. The lack of support has taken its toll on my mental health. It has made me more vulnerable to anxiety. Lily’s physical health is a constant state of worry, and even though I have taught her teachers the basics, they aren’t trained to deal with every situation that may arise. Daily, I find myself making mental lists of all that could go wrong and sticking close to my phone in the event that I should have to run out the door at a moments notice. I have to talk myself of ledges regularly and remind myself that keeping busy and taking care of myself are the keys to reducing anxiety.

            Therefore, I am sitting here doing something I love, writing; a task that also tends to ease my anxiety. I will probably browse Facebook for a bit after posting this, and then make a list of all those household tasks that are still incomplete. Hopefully, I can keep myself busy enough to keep myself sane.

A Letter to My Friends

             Yesterday, after talking to an old friend on the phone, I cried. I cried after seeing a friend’s wedding photos on Facebook. I cried because I realized just how much I miss old friendships. I cried because my friends have been absent from my life and I from their lives.

            I underestimated just how much time and energy motherhood would take from me. I wasn’t aware of how much I would lose, even while being handed the world. Apparently, the key to being a better mom is taking care of yourself, fostering your own relationships, and doing the things you love. I guess I haven’t figured out how to do these things with two children, one of who needs constant care. 

            It isn’t that I haven’t wanted to be there for you. It isn’t that I have forgotten you. I still remember the fun times, the laughter, and the jokes. I remember what it was like to feel supported and to support. I miss being appreciated. And I want you to know that I appreciate you. Even now, across the distance and time, I appreciate you.         

            I don’t want to make excuses for my absence, but do want you to understand my plight. I have struggled since Lucy was born, with depression and with anxiety. I have struggled with exhaustion and grief since Lily was diagnosed with diabetes, neither of which has helped the anxiety and depression. I have struggled to find myself in the chaos that has become life with two kids. And in my struggle I have neglected you. I have neglected you when I should be reaching out to you, leaning on you, depending upon you.

            I shouldn’t have let the distance and time get between us, but life has slipped away so quickly and easily that I didn’t realize you were absent until it was too late. I am working on mending the gap between us. I am vowing to call more frequently, to check in on you even during the most chaotic moments. I can’t promise I will be perfect, but I do promise I will try. I want you in my life, and I want to be a part of yours. I don’t want to miss any more monumental moments.

            I only ask that you hold me accountable, that you do your part to keep me honest. If you haven’t heard from me, remind me. If you haven’t seen me, contact me. I am doing all I can to be a better friend. I ask that you do all you can to help me.

Bubbling Over

             I feel like, for the past two days, I have done nothing but harp on, yell at, and discipline my children. Last night while I was trying to relax, Lily squirmed, she got into things she wasn’t supposed to get into, and her talking never ceased. Today, I dealt with one meltdown after another between her and Lu. First Lily didn’t want to go for a walk while waiting the hour to pick up Lucy. Then, while in Wal-Mart, she through a conniption over purchasing a certain scarecrow. In the car, on the way home from Lucy’s school, the girls started arguing over what to name said scarecrow. Lily successfully instigated Lucy into a full-blown tantrum over Lucy’s inability to get a word in edgewise. At home Lily lay on the floor screaming because I gave Lu a box to use for her fairy house (Lily was given a box yesterday). Lucy then began crying over her eyes playing tricks on her. The two got in a screaming match over who was going to feed the animals. It has been one fight and one tantrum after another.

            I usually consider myself a fairly patient mother. I am fairly adept at ignoring tantrums and doling out consequences for inappropriate behavior. However, the last two days, I have felt myself losing my shit and praying for peace. I have practically begged my girls to sit in front of their iPads. Sensing my impatience, they haven’t been obliged to comply. Instead they have continued to push my buttons by making messes, chattering endlessly, and failing to listen and follow directions.

            As I sit here writing, Lily yells, “Mom, Lucy is looking at me.” My husband once made a statement that at the moment is ringing true. He declared, “I am convinced that our children were put on this earth to bring joy to others because they sure as hell aren’t here to bring us joy.” I am trying hard to find some joy, but the tantrums, fights, and lack of listening is overshadowing any good that may exist. I am taking a deep breath, counting to three…and screaming internally.

Hopeless Longings

             For the past month, my Timehop feed has been full of Vermont falls. Pictures of brightly colored leaves, snapshots of the girls jumping and running through piles of leaves, status updates pertaining to the changing weather, lazy mornings drinking coffee on the front porch, apple picking memos, and my extreme productivity as I canned, baked, and cleaned. Soon Halloween memories will appear, pictures of the girls dressed as their favorite characters and comments pertaining to the village buzzing with activity as hundreds of tick-or-treaters collected and stashed oodles of candy. These memories make the absence of a Florida fall harder to bear.

            Yesterday, while waiting for Lucy to get out of school, Lily and I took a walk to Walmart. There, lining the shelves were scarecrows and pumpkins, wreaths (both centered around the fall harvest and Halloween) and costumes galore. I was tempted, for a moment, to purchase a scarecrow or two, a hay bail and a couple of pumpkins, thinking that such a purchase would temper some of my longing for Vermont and the spectacular northeast falls. However, aside from having no way of hauling the items back to my car, that fiery desire to decorate escaped me.

            My longing for fall has turned into depression and my depression has stripped me of the motivation and the desire to engage in fall related activities. I have no desire to drive an hour in search of a pumpkin patch. Despite printing a delicious looking chocolate zucchini bread recipe, I have no desire to bake. My house remains relatively cluttered because to thoroughly clean it I would need an incredible amount of motivation, something I simply can’t muster. My day, instead, consists of everyday laundry, dishes, and vacuuming. Simple chores meant to keep complete chaos from breaking out.

            I honestly feel like crying, screaming, and cursing God for my situation. After all what kind of a God creates a place with such lack of feeling, smell, and inspiration. I realize the ridiculousness of these statements. I own my choices. However, there is a hopeless longing that in my darker moments overtakes me bringing with it, not the colors of fall, but the darkness of winter.

Florida Fall Fails

             About a month ago, I asked my favorite Starbucks barista when pumpkin spice would be returning. “It’s only August,” she replied. Three weeks later, I again asked her when pumpkin spice would be returning, anxious for all things fall. “In two days,” she exclaimed. While shopping at Target over the weekend, Jody noticed a shirt exclaiming, “You had me at pumpkin spice.” Having just checked out, I wasn’t keen on having to return to the line in order to buy the shirt. However, I returned the very next morning to purchase said shirt and indulge in a Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino. For me, the arrival of all things pumpkin signals the beginning of fall, by far my favorite season.

            Unfortunately, I live in Florida where fall only exists in box store décor. Instead of cool nights and warm days, changing leaves, the smell of fires burning, and lengthening shadows, Florida days continue to reach the 90’s with high humidity and afternoon thunderstorms. Palm trees sway, but don’t change, and the only smells are those of molding damp earth.

            I generally bask in this time of year. In the past, I have hung wreaths, propped up scarecrows, and created displays of hay bales, pumpkins and gourds. I have watched my sunflowers bloom, and raked piles of leaves for the girls to jump in and run through. I have donned sweaters and boots, my favorite pieces of apparel. I have enjoyed taking pictures in preparation for our Christmas card. As a family, we have gone apple picking and explored local corn mazes. I have canned and baked. I have savored each and every memory created.

            My time in Florida, however, has been extremely different. The weather and lack of fall aura have left me feeling depressed and homesick for the northeast. I have no desire to decorate; even less desire to can or bake. With few places close by to pick apples or run through corn mazes, I find myself apathetic and generally sad.  I cling to all things pumpkin spice in an attempt to feel the fall spirit.

            I wonder, “Will I always feel this way living here?” I’m afraid I will. For now, I try and focus on the positive. Fall as the ushering in of winter always depressed me while living in Vermont. However, here the ushering in of winter means cool nights, warm dry days, and the arrival of visitors. It is my time with those visitors that I will cherish and work to create and savor new memories.