I feel bad that I haven't written anything in a few weeks.  Truth is, this is my "thinking" blog, and I've had so much on my mind that I haven't had a clue where to even begin.  I still don't, really, but I thought I'd just write something to get the ball rolling. 

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Here I go by "Puffer-Mom" because this is my place to sort've vent my frustrations and talk about things that are more personal than just homeschooling.  For the past few weeks, I've been feeling extremely "puffy" (perturbed, bothered), and to be quite honest, I feel guilty about it.  I feel like such a spoiled brat when I look at myself compared to 80% of the world's population that is living in poverty, and here I am whining about stupid stuff.  That alone should be my motivation to change....  But again, this is my reality, and I am not part of the other 80%.  I didn't ask to be born here and to be given the things that I have.  And God doesn't love me any more than anyone else just because he chose to put me here. 

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On my refrigerator, I have a photograph of a little girl named "Yvelyn" that lives in Haiti.  She is our sponsored child through Hope For Haiti's Children.  My dh traveled there last January to help on a medical mission, and he took Yvelyn a little baby doll, along with a few other things.  In the picture on my refrigerator, Yvelyn is cradling her new treasure (the $10 baby doll) and beaming from ear to ear.  Every time I look at it, I can't help but smile, and I think about all the trials that that little girl faces every day.  She has no idea what she's missing because she's never seen or known anything but poverty.  She lives in one of the most dangerous cities in our hemisphere, because there is no law there.  The gangs rule the streets and Yvelyn's family can't leave the city for fear of being hunted down by the gang leader and killed.  She shares a tiny shack with her father, mother, and 4 siblings.  They have no running water, no facilities, no electricity, no clean water to drink or bathe in. 

But, Yveline still smiles. 

~

I could learn a lot from that kid.

It’s not really “good-bye”.  Even though she’s moving 264 miles away, it’s not “good-bye”.  That’s a four and a half hour drive.  It’s not like she’s moving to Australia.  But still, my heart is sad.  So I just keep telling myself that it’s not goodbye.

RJ came into my life when I was 7 years old.  My siblings and I had really been hoping for another baby in the house.  Our Mom told us we had to pray for one if we really, truly wanted one.  So, we did.  And God said, “Yes.”  We didn’t know if she’d be a boy or a girl, but I was very relieved to get a baby sister instead of a brother.  I already had two older brothers.  I had an older sister, too, and we girls did NOT want to be outnumbered by the boys.

On the day she was born, the rest of us were in school.  I remember leaving that morning, worrying about my Mom, who was lying down on the couch.  She never did that first thing in the morning, so I knew something had to be up.  I was in 2^nd grade, and it was our track and field day that day.  I had just finished one of the events when my teacher, Mrs. Stewart, came to find me.  She told me that I had a new baby sister!  I couldn’t wait to get out of school to go and see her.

Of course, back in 1983, they wouldn’t let kids back to see the babies, so we only got to see her through the window.  That night, my Dad took the other 4 of us out to eat at a place called “Western Sizzlin’”.  I loved their big French fries there, and the “homey” atmosphere.  Of course, Dad was just desperate to find something for us to eat, since the only thing we’d ever seen him cook was burnt popcorn.  That was one of the few restaurants in our small town that brought the food to the table for you and all that stuff, and I figure Dad was feeling like celebrating, too.  It had been almost 8 years since he’d had a new baby in the family, so it was definitely a time to celebrate.

I don’t remember much about RJ’s first weeks at home.  She must have been a pretty good baby, because I don’t have any scary-screaming-baby memories.  One thing I DO remember, however, is that my mom used cloth-diapers for her.  I can’t forget the smell of that diaper pail, either.  Shoo!  And, if Mom was stuck with the baby and needed someone to take a wet (or worse) diaper to the diaper pail, we learned real quick to either volunteer or duck.  If Mom didn’t have any volunteers, she’d fling that thing at whoever happened to be within range, and if you weren’t careful you’d get clobbered with a wet (or worse) diaper.  It was usually easier to just volunteer.  Less messy that way, too.

Growing up with RJ was a lot of fun.  I resented having someone take over the “baby-of-the-family” position, but through the years I managed to find ample opportunity to get my revenge.  Like the time that my nearest-in-age brother and I had RJ with us in his room playing.  I don’t remember how old she was.  I know that she was old enough to have plenty of hair, though, because I took my brothers little electronic robot and was pretending to drive it all over her – and the wheels on the bottom of that thing got the hair on top of her head all tangled up in it.  Yow!  You should’ve heard that girl scream, too.  She had a fine set of lungs.

I also remember how every night our family had dinner together, all of us around one big table.  RJ’s high chair when she was a baby sat at the end next to Mom, and behind them was a sort of half-wall thing.  A lot of times after I finished dinner, I’d get down behind that half-wall and play peek-a-boo with her.  I’m sure that my mom loved that, since she was trying to feed her and here I was distracting her.  RJ loved it, though.

And, at our house – there was always some sort of sand pile or dirt pile somewhere in the yard, because my dad was in the excavation business.  We spent the majority of our time outside when the weather would allow it, and we could usually be found in a mound of dirt.  When RJ got old enough to join us, she was particularly enthralled with the dirt.  My closest-in-age brother thought it would be funny to get her to eat some of it.  He offered it to her, but she wouldn’t taste it.  That is UNTIL he told her that it tasted like Oreo cookies.  He came up with an elaborate story about how the sand man came every night and sprinkled special sand over the dirt that made it taste so good, just like Oreos.  And she bought it, hook-line-and-sinker.  Of course, as soon as she got a mouthful of it, she went spitting and sputtering and crying to Mom.  And we got in trouble.  But what was even worse was, the next day – the same brother told her the same story, and she bought it AGAIN.  She’s 24 now, and we still laugh about it.  I don’t know, maybe she laughs about it now, too.

Years and many long tales later, my little sis is all grown up.  She’s accomplished so much, some things that I have only dreamt of doing – like graduating from college.  She’s very smart and extremely gifted.  And that’s why she’s moving, so she can go to grad school and get the rest of the degree that she wants.  I’m incredibly proud of her!  I know that it’s hard to take such a big step.  She’s very brave, in my opinion.  And I know she’s going to do great.  She’s going to go down there and knock their socks off at that school, just because she’s such a neat person.

In the meantime, we’ll be here.  We’ll go on with life as usual, with our school work and jobs and the many other things that keep us occupied.  We’ll probably go and visit her in Tennessee some, and she’ll come home to visit some when she can.  But I’m gonna miss her.  I’ll miss having her just two blocks away, where we can easily walk over and visit.  I’ll miss seeing her at church and at family get-togethers.  I’ll miss her quirky ideas and the way she always tries to include my kids in the things she does.  I’ll miss her just being here.  Thank goodness for telephones and email and instant messaging, because I plan to keep the wires hot between here and there.  And 264 miles seems like a long way, but it’s not too far to keep from staying in touch.  After all, we’re sisters.  That’s not something that just happens by chance.  Having sisters like mine is nothing short of a gift from God Himself.  They are such blessings, and I love them both dearly.

My older sister had better not go getting any ideas about moving, though, because I don’t know if I could handle BOTH of them leaving me.

There has been sickness in my home since last Monday night (7/2).  It started with the youngest.  Within a few days, dh, dd, and I were sick, too.  Doctor said it was strep, and we all got antibiotics.  All except my eldest ds.  He decided to wait until the rest of us were almost well before he started in.  He spent the night with his grandparents last night so he could go to church with them this morning.  He spent the day with them today, and when they brought him home, he, too, had a fever, sore throat, and runny nose.  I'm just praying that my in-laws don't get it.  I will feel horribly guilty if they do! 

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It's bad enough being sick, but when the whole family is sick at one time, that is just plain scary.  It is one extreme experiment in family bonding, that's for sure.  It reminds me of one of my favorite books of all time, "The Stomach Virus, and Other Forms of Family Bonding".  Talk about hitting home!  I am currently hiding in my bedroom with my dh's laptop (that's technically for work, so it's not intended for "personal use"... but sometimes a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do!), while the rest of the family is vegging out in the living room.  Last I checked, dh was on the couch snoozing and big ds was in the recliner with a glazed look in his eyes, watching cartoon network.  DD actually felt well enough to go to worship tonight with Gma and Gpa.  Little DS is in here with me, but I made him promise to be quiet.

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Little DS gave me a pretty serious scare Friday night.  He had been asleep for a few hours during the early evening.  When he woke up, his temp was 105.6*.  Scared the pee-jeebers out of me.  In my 10 years of parenting, I've never seen a temp that high with my kids, and certainly not after they'd been on antibiotics for 24 hours.  I gave him a lukewarm bath and that brought it down to 104*.  Then we started giving ibuprofen/acetemenophen (sp?) every 3-4 hours, and waking him up to do so.  Thankfully, by Saturday evening his temp had broken for good and stayed down.

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After all this, I am in desperate need of a break.  I'm supposed to help my little sis move this coming weekend, if we're all completely well by then.  I feel bad leaving dh with 2 of our 3 kids (I'll take big ds w/us), but hey..that's life w/kids.  I don't know how long we'll be gone, but I'm sure they'll be fine.  I don't know how much of a "break" it will be... but I know one thing, and that is that I've GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!  The walls are closing in.....

I hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it.......

Some days I barely even notice it.  Other days, it shows up thick and ugly and mean as a snake. Most days, it's just there, and no matter what I do, I can't seem to shake it.  It's the big "D" word....

DEPRESSION.

I've been lugging it around for the past 10 years, since my firstborn joined the family.  I thought it was just an innocent case of baby blues, but lo and behold, that sucker rented a U-Haul and just moved right in with me.

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It took me a long time to figure it out, too.  Depression is like that - elusive, like a shadow.  It starts off lurking around, and maybe you don't notice it so much. Like in my case, I thought it was "baby blues", like everyone told me I would have after giving birth to a bouncing baby human.  For the first few weeks, it was pretty blatant.  But it settled down for the most part after that.  Then, 2 years later we added another little human to the mix.  What do you get when you put one mom, one 2 yr. old, and an infant together in one little house all day?  Answer: psycho-mom!  There were days when I called my dh so many times at work that it was a miracle he didn't get fired.  I'd call him bawling my eyes out, as if there were anything he could do about it from his workplace.  Sometimes he'd break free and come home to check on me.  But then he'd have to leave again, so it almost made it worse.  I'm not kidding you, it was scary.  I remember feeling so desperate at that point.  And then, I didn't even realize just HOW desperate I was.  I had tried to talk to my doctor about it.  He said, "Oh, just give it a few weeks and you'll feel better."  And in the depressed state that I was in, I took that to mean, "You're being silly. There's nothing wrong with you.  Stop complaining and get used to your new life - trapped at home FOREVER!”  Sound a little extreme?  Try being depressed - everything seems extreme.  Seriously.

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Just to give you a visual on how bad this was, when my 2nd child was born, I weighed 150 lbs.  That's post-pregnancy and all.  By the time she was 6 months old, I weighed 200 lbs..  No joke.  50 pounds in 6 months.  Can we say "warning signs"!?  Hello!?  My friends were dropping like flies, since no one could stand to be around me.  Even my nearest, dearest friend, who was there for me through everything before... did not understand.  Dropped me like a hot rock.  I was just no fun to be around - I'll admit it.  I was obsessive about all the baby's things being absolutely spotless and sanitary.  If we were out somewhere and the paci fell on the floor - that was it, we HAD to go home and BOIL it immediately.  That actually happened one time, and the friends we were out with really thought I had gone mad.  I guess, in a way, I had.  Hindsight is 20/20, eh?

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(I hate looking back at the times when my kids were small with such despair.  I don't want to make it sound like it was all so horrible, because it wasn't.  There were lots and lots of great times and we have some great memories, so don't go thinking I'm a horrible mom.  I'm just trying to relate a state of mind, so that means talking about the not-so-fun stuff.)

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So, my doctor didn’t listen to me.  For my 3^rd pregnancy, I switched doctors.  My new doctor was much more understanding and knowledgeable about postpartum depression, and he introduced me to a new medication called Zoloft that would help balance out my serotonin levels.  Within a few weeks of starting the medication, I felt like a new person.  Once I started feeling better, it became apparent to me just how depressed I had really been for all that time.  It was actually very scary to look back at those down times.

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Today, I’m still on medication for depression, and most of the time, I feel fine.  But it always seems to be there, lurking in the shadows.  Even with the meds, there are times when I feel myself slipping back into it.  For example, late afternoons are always the hardest part of the day for me.  For the longest time I thought it was just coincidence, but recently I’ve been reading about others who experience the same feelings in late afternoon.  Maybe there’s more to it than I realize.  There’s just something about that time of day that really gets to me.  I wish I could put my finger on it, figure it out, and do away with it once and for all.  I’d really like to kick this “shadow” out of my life for good. 

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I don’t know what it is about Wal-Mart on a Friday night that seems to draw every varmint in the county out from under their rocks.  I go to great lengths to avoid shopping at night, particularly on the weekend, because of all the interesting (to put it nicely) people that seem to congregate at the local Wal-Mart at those times.  Inevitably, however, those shopping trips are sometimes unavoidable.  Last night was one of those times. 

With family visiting from out of state and all the flurry of activity that accompanies times like this, a lot of last minute runs to Wal-Mart seem to be necessary.  Yesterday I began the morning with a trip to the store at 6:45AM to get supplies for a spur of the moment trip to the river for the day.  The day was a ball of fun, watching the kids splash in the shallow, cool, clear water of the river in the hot Arkansas sun.  When it started to cloud up and thunder, we retreated to our vehicles for the long drive home.  Sleepy, filthy, grumpy children (and parents!) piled out of the vans to shower and rest until dinner. 

Grandma prepared a huge barbecue meal, which definitely perked everyone back up again!    Rested and with bellies full, the children broke out into games of hide-and-seek and tag and football.  This is always a treat to watch, especially since these cousins only get to see one another a few times each year because of the distance that separates our families.  The adults enjoyed the peace and quiet of the house while the children were out in the yard, and were able to have some nice conversation.  Around 9PM, we decided it was probably time to put the sleepy heads in the bed (mainly our own… more so than the children’s) and we rounded up our crew to head home.  One of the cousins wanted to join us for the night, so she packed a few things and came along.  On the way home, it hit me: I absolutely HAD TO GO TO THE STORE before I could go to bed.  Let’s just say that there were some very necessary personal products that I had forgotten to purchase earlier in the day, and really, really needed them before bed.  GREAT. 

Hubby was gracious enough to offer to put the kids to bed, which required setting up sleeping arrangements for our guest, as well as getting our three dressed in their pj’s and teeth brushed.  I dropped them off at the house, and grudgingly set off again for Wal-Mart.  Thankfully it is not a long drive from our house to Wal-Mart. (I often wonder if there is a home in the U.S. that isn’t within just a short drive from a Wal-Mart?) 

I’ve seen a lot of strange things while shopping at WM at night.  Teenagers riding around the parking lot on the motorized wheelchairs that are intended for disabled shoppers to use; teenagers riding on the motorized carousel and other toys that are available near the front doors; groups of kids playing what appears to be hide-and-seek throughout the store; kids riding bicycles from toy department throughout the store; kids playing with toys such as balls and Frisbees, also from the toy department, throughout the store; scary looking teens with multicolored hair and makeup and piercings of all sorts just hanging around watching people (I know they’re most likely completely innocent, but it still creeps me out!); various rednecks of all shapes and sizes doing the things that put them in the category of “redneck”, beyond a shadow of a doubt; and one time I even was horrified to witness a young man driving very slowly through the parking lot with a dashboard DVD player displaying a pornographic movie with the volume up extremely loud – where anyone who happened to glance his direction was subjected to an eyeful of garbage and filth.  Thank goodness my children were not with me that night. 

That brings me to the number one reason I HATE going to Wal-Mart at night, which is the observation of so many parents who appear to be doing such a poor job of parenting.  Many times I have seen parents dragging their little ones into the store very late at night.  I realize that a lot of people have no choice, for whatever reason, whether they do not have a caretaker to keep the children at home; they work odd hours and that’s the only opportunity for them to get groceries; there is some reason why they MUST go to the store at that moment and can’t avoid taking the children with them; etc…  I understand that.  What bugs me is when a child is so obviously tired and needs to be in the bed, and the parent(s) continues to shop and meander through the store, browsing and stopping to chat.   When the child fusses or cries, he is not dealt with tenderly, but is told to “shut up”, and it’s often said with even more harsh words than that.  Teenagers come to the store with their tiny babies in tow, sometimes the daddy is the one hauling the little one around, showing him off to friends as if he’s a new toy.  They don’t seem to have a clue what’s best for the baby.  Much of the time they don’t even have proper clothing or at least a blanket around the poor thing. 

Last night, what I saw disturbed me so greatly.  Our Wal-Mart now has those shopping carts with the little compartment for children to sit in just in front of the handlebars.  An older man was pushing one of those carts with a little curly-headed girl sitting in it.  The man was dressed in a filthy pair of jeans and an even filthier shirt.  His hands and face were dirty, his hair was shaggy and he wore a dirty hat on top of his head.  The mom of the little girl walked beside him.  She looked to be in her early twenties, and as I said, the man appeared to be “older”.  The mom was scantily clad, but at least she was clean.  As they pushed the cart along, the little girl somehow managed to slip out of the compartment and land in the floor, banging her head on the ground.  As she cried, the man picked her up and shoved her back in the cart.  The little girl might have been 2 or a very petite 3 at the most.  As he tossed her in, he scolded her very loudly for falling out of the cart.  He told her to “get in there and sit on (her) a** and not get up again”.  I wondered what she had done earlier in the evening to deserve such a harsh scolding instead of compassion. 

Our paths crossed several more times during the course of my shopping trip.  At one point I saw the little girl out of the cart walking around.  The two grown-ups were looking at clothing, and the mom snapped at the little one with a warning that she was NOT going to chase her so she’d better stay put.  I observed her as I looked through a rack of men’s shirts (Father’s Day shopping – may as well since I had to go to the store anyway.)  She crouched down close to the floor, almost sitting down but not letting her bottom actually touch the floor.  She yawned.  She looked up at me with bright blue eyes.  I winked at her, but she didn’t smile.  She just stared at me, tired.  I noticed that she didn’t have any shoes on her feet, and her feet and legs were nearly black with dirt.  I just wished that I could scoop her up and take care of her.  As I left the store, I noticed the family again, getting into an old, beat up van.  The little girl was not buckled up, of course.  I wondered what kind of home she was returning to, and if she had a warm bed to cuddle up in. 

I don’t know what else to say.  I'm thinking that this post might sound pretty snotty, although it's not the way I intend it.  God loves every single human being, regardless of class or color or geographical location.  And our greatest calling is to love one another, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.  It really makes me sad to witness things like this innocent child being mistreated, and I know that there are much, much, much worse situations throughout this country, and the world.  I can’t change the world, but I can help.  In situations like the one I have described, I only wish I knew HOW to help.  *sigh*

All through the school year, I complained about not having time to (fill in the blank).  I needed more time to plan for school; more time to clean; more time to do laundry; more time to organize; more time to scrapbook; more time to work on my own projects (drawing, painting, writing, decorating); and the big one – more time to rest!  Now that summer is here and all the pressure is off as far as schooling goes, you’d think I’d be spending every waking moment conquering all my lofty goals that I didn’t have time for during the school year.  I am not sure what my problem is, but I am not getting ANYTHING done.  I’ve been doing a lot of twiddling my thumbs (figuratively) and that’s about it.  Granted, we’ve had family here for the past week, and that has occupied quite a bit of time.  But that’s no excuse for not accomplishing at least a little something.

One thing I’m really bad about in the summertime is staying up too late at night and then sleeping in in the morning.  Why do I do this?  I don’t know.  It’s like I have to wait until the house is asleep before I have any time to myself.  While this may be true, I still need to find a better way to make time for myself instead of staying up ‘til the wee hours of the morning.  I end up waking up late and feeling groggy for the next few hours, or worse – the kids wake me up really early and then I’m grumpy because I didn’t get enough rest!  It just throws the whole day out of whack!  And this only contributes to the whole problem of getting nothing done.  *sigh*

So what’s a mom like me to do?  I guess it’s time to be a grown-up and exercise a little self-discipline, even if it is summer vacation.  No one’s saying I have to get up at 6AM, but I do need to get up early enough to get a good start on the day before it’s time to make lunch.  LOL.  And I need to make it a routine to get up at the same time each day as much as possible.  This will confuse my body MUCH less, and make it easier to get along with myself.  And along with getting up on time, I need to get to bed on time, too.  Blah.  Now I do sound like a boring grown-up, don’t I?  No one ever said that being mature was easy.  I guess that’s why I’ve been avoiding it for so long.  *wink*

Hopefully by changing those two things, I can pull myself out of this rut that I’m in and begin to make tracks through the rest of the summer.  Here are some things I’d like to accomplish by the end of August:

HOUSEHOLD GOALS

·         Take down wallpaper in hall bath and repaint. (I actually was able to do this a few weeks ago… er, um… I mean, my FIL did it for me.)

·         Repaint hallway.

·         Put fresh paint on all interior/exterior doors.

·         Paint or refinish the back porch.

·         Wash outsides of windows.

·         Clean out homeschool closet and organize.

·         Clean out pantry and organize.

LANDSCAPING GOALS

·         Transplant the big yellow bush that’s always in the way.

·         Transplant the big hosta that’s always in the way.

·         Get rid of the weeds in the flower bed and put down the weed-blocking tarp. (shoulda done this months ago when it was still cool.)

SCHOOL GOALS

·         Decide on and purchase math and language curriculum for next year for older two.

·         Purchase KONOS volume II and get ready for the fall units.

o   Make a list of recommended books and begin looking for them.

o   Make a list of materials that we’ll need.

o   Make a list of ideas for field trips and begin planning.

o   Get my notebook organized with all the plans, lists, and calendar.

·         Come up with a reasonable daily routine.

·         Make a new set of chore cards and come up with new incentives.

So those are a few of my goals.  I’m sure I won’t get all of it done, and I know I’ll be adding to it over time.  It makes me tired just thinking about it! 

 I    think   I    need    a     nap….

Also called swellfish, or blowfish, any of about 90 species of fishes of the family Tetraodontidae,

noted for their ability when disturbed to inflate themselves so greatly with air or water

that they become globular in form.

[from Encyclopedia Britannica Online]

I feel that way sometimes, that if I’m disturbed just one more time, I might explode!  My life is full of interruptions and disturbances, if you will.  That is because my job, my occupation of choice, comes with its own little personalized set of disturbances.  Some people get a company car or a fancy office…I get three short people who follow me around calling me “Mom”.  But ya know what?  I’m cool with that.  I can handle short people and all their shortcomings.  And as a matter of fact, don’t go telling them this, but I actually like having them around.  (Shhh!) 

But alas, I am a human being, and I do relish the occasional peace and quiet.  That is something that is so rare at my house, especially since we homeschool.  We live at home.  We have school at home. We do just about everything AT HOME.  So, when there are three children consistently in one house, there is rarely peace and quiet. 

Oftentimes at the end of the day, when the little monsters darlings have said their prayers and are tucked away in their beds, I feel like hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign around my neck for the rest of the evening.  My poor hubby, he really gets the raw end of the deal sometimes.  After all, he’s not the one that wore me down to my last nerve, but he’s the one who has to deal with the results.  That’s when he calls me a “pufferfish”.  “Are you pufferfishin’ tonight, hon?” he asks.  That’s how he knows to give me some space, so I don’t explode - cause that would not be a pretty sight. 

And sometimes, a pufferfish just has to get some things off her chest so she can deflate again.  That’s the reason I’m starting this blog, aside from my regular homeschooling blog, just to give me a space to exhale.