Tough questions

This week we had one of those surreal experiences that you see on prime time drama shows. Swat teams in armoured cars, road blocks, and snipers on roofs.
Except it wasn't on TV. It was our block that was closed off with cop cars, the roof of the shed that backs on to our yard that served as a platform for the man in black with the big gun. And it was our next door neighbour - whom we've alternately seen arrange hedges and flowers in his garden, go on random tirades against neighbours and family, and raise a baby crow as a pet - who eventually gave himself up and was taken away.

Drama aside, it's left me with a lot of questions. The sort of questions that don't have tidy answers. The sort we often don't want to think about for that reason. But this is not a character wrapped up in a screenplay reality, with a story line that neatly starts and ends within a few days or weeks. I have had a part to play, and a much more personal perspective.
I'll admit I've felt some relief, or at least reprieve, with the crow guy gone for awhile, at not having to wonder what state he's in today, or check for his presence outside before letting the dogs out in the yard. I'm also apprehensive about what's coming. We don't know where he was taken or for how long, and will not likely be informed when he's released. There's a good chance he's going to be pretty angry when he comes back, and he has a pattern of being highly suspicious of those around him after an outburst or when authorities have been called.
But beyond that, I'm concerned for him. I want to know if he's getting help from competent people wherever he's at. Is there anyone within the system who's been able to gain his trust before? Is there anyone who has contact with his grown sons, one of whom was over and did his best to calm down and reign in his dad during this most recent episode. Do they have support and resources to help their father? As his neighbour, how do I strike a balance between offering a hand of friendship, and ensuring the safety and security of my family, especially my children.

I've done a lot of reading on mental health and various mental disorders over the last year while trying to understand my own experiences. I've talked to a number of friends who've struggled with different symptoms and disorders. I happened to just finish reading a book, The Soloist, that chronicles part of the life of a promising musician who was afflicted with schizophrenia.
To my knowledge - it was mentioned in passing by our former landlord - it is schizophrenia that has long plagued our neighbour.
I'm no psychologist, but in what I've picked up there's a consistent dividing line between psychoses and other mental health issues, where psychoses have some element of disconnect with reality. In my research this past year, I've found commonalities between my experiences and many of the different categories of illness I've looked at. I've recognized that I've been lucky that many of the symptoms I've experienced have been fairly limited, often just enough to trouble me with a taste of what it must be like to deal with similar symptoms in a full blown form. I also count myself fortunate to have stayed on the connected side of that dividing line to psychosis.

I was very glad that I happened to be out at a speech therapy session with Trinity for most of this incident, and just happened to pick that week to take a detour to visit a friend after the session, so that when I arrived on our block, Trin was asleep in the car and I only had to wonder for five or ten minutes before they cleared up the operation and I could go home and check in with the Bear, Eli and the nanny.
This was not the case with the last major incident with the crow guy. I was pretty much full term with Eli when a minor indiscretion of a friend's young puppy set him off. We were heading for coffee, when the puppy slipped past me out of her car and ran on the other side of our fence, on the crow guy's property, to playfully chase our dogs on our side of the fence. By the time we had retrieved the puppy, who had run a couple of laps front to back down his property, he was standing in the street in front of us, with a roofing hatchet in hand, screaming and threatening us.
Even then, we wrestled with whether to press charges because we were concerned first and foremost that he get the help he clearly needed. That obviously added some tension to our neighbourly relationship, and many awkward moments of avoided eye contact. A couple of times when opportunities arose, I tried to extend an olive branch of sorts. Sadly, it seemed to trigger his paranoia. Over the last few months, though, it was my very charming son who seemed to bridge the chasm and soften up the crow guy. A few well timed waves and smiles as the crow guy drove by or sat on his porch, and I no longer felt the need to usher the kids past that first property on walks for fear they'd pull a flower or step over a boundary and set him off. The crow guy even came out to give the kids some leftover bubbles one of his grandkids had left in his trailer.

It bothers me immensely that a troubled man has to get to a point of bearing weapons on a street dotted with young families before action is taken, and that it then has to come in the form of forcible removal from his home at gunpoint. This is not a case where there were no previous indications. There are a number of people who have lived on this block for decades, and known this man and his occasional outbursts, but have generally gotten along with him. But over the last few years he has gotten steadily worse.
I don't know what should have happened. I don't know how to strike that balance between the rights of the individual to have some say in their own health and lifestyle, the safety and the security of the public at large, and the health and safety of the person whose very mental illness may make it difficult for him to recognize his need for help and accept what is offered. But I feel for our crow guy and his family. I feel the need to at least voice the questions, that perhaps a few more people would pause before pronouncing judgment on 'the crazy down the street.' I hope that I will find ways to let him know, gently, that we understand at least a little, and we hope to meet up again with that personable guy in the garden.

A momentary change of pace

Life with two young kids keeps you going. It's downright crazy at times. Probably no more so here than in other homes with two (or more) pairs of little feet trotting ever in different directions, but I don't have to trump anyone with epic tales for you to understand why my writing has been far from prolific.
So, now. How does it happen that I find just a little bit of time to post again tonight? Well, my two pairs of little feet are marking paths around Port Moody with their Mor Mor for a few days.
I've been very much looking forward to this, a few days with my hands free to make some progress on the list. And time to spend with some girlfriends who were visiting. Indeed, we did some marathon shopping (apparently, I'm an enabler for shopaholics), and hosted a little party Saturday, and Sunday I did roll the carpet of weeds back a little further in the yard, puttered a bit with some new art materials and slept more than I thought I could on the couch in the middle of the day.
But I found something was definitely missing. I've been dragging myself along, feeling rather low. I've done alright with taking advantage of the freedom, but even the fun stuff like art puttering didn't give much satisfaction.
It took me some time to put my finger on it, and when I did, it was an oddly pleasant surprise. I was missing the kids. Not just in a 'miss their smiling faces' way, a sentimental something you could neatly frame and put up on the dresser. No, with all that I struggle with, and all the ways it's so closely tied to the kids, as hard as it is sometimes just to spend a day with them and still keep myself together, nothing else in my life fulfills me like sharing life with them. Finding ways to connect with Trin when her words won't come. Watching the wonder in Eli's eyes as he discovers the world around him, and leaving him room to conquer a bit more of it, safely. And stretching out those chance moments I get with each of them alone, one on one.
In an odd way, the struggle seems to be part of the satisfaction, not only of parenting, but of all the other things that don't get done as well or as often when you're raising little kids.

I'm wrapping this post up in the morning, before I dig into my work day. With my current mental state, I struggle at the best of times to stay focused and on track with my work, If I'm working from home, as I sometimes do, I can pretty much guarantee a few 'MUMMEE!!' interruptions, and I'll chat with Trin or look at whatever she's brought to show me and then shepherd her back out to the living room, or occupy Eli while Sheryll draws Trin in to put on her socks and shoes for a walk.
Today, I'm working from home again, saving the commute time knowing that there'll be no-one bursting in on me, no backdrop of toddler chaos and drama. But I know where my head will be, too. It's already there at the ferry terminal, waiting to scoop up my babies and get back to the crazy daze of parenting.

Happy Birthday to me!

Well, it's not actually my birthday, yet, but I did give myself an early present. Yesterday I went into the hospital to get my tubes tied. Or fried, to be slightly more accurate. And so here I am, taking a couple of days off at home, with time to actually post to my much neglected blog.
We made this decision a long time ago, shortly after we found out we were pregnant with Eli, in fact. I talked to my GP almost as soon as the three month minimum post partum wait was up, only to find I'd be waiting quite a bit longer. Sometime in early March I got a call, for an initial consultation late April, and an average of six weeks or so after that for surgery.
Which all amounts to another ten months to consider the choice. I've thought about it a lot, and it makes each of those milestones that are passing all to quickly with Eli a bit more precious, but I don't think I've ever really come close to changing my mind. It would have been a harder choice if I were maybe ten or fifteen years younger, with that many more potential childbearing years to cut off. But I'll be thirty-seven in a couple of weeks, and unless I had another in very short order, I'd likely be done anyway.
Probably the biggest factor for me, though, has been the struggle with mental health issues. Eli's a year old now, and at some point things cease to fit into a neat postpartum package. They simple become a part of ongoing life. As with any other health issue, you seek out ways to manage the disease, and work to maintain a balance in your life, always juggling a bit as things shift. I can no longer do my job the way I used to, and have to keep that in mind as assignments change. The children grow and develop and different issues come up that require different strategies, and take different tolls. And you reevaluate and adapt.
I do look back on the last few years, though, especially as I have a few longer stretches of clarity, and am a bit saddened to see signs of the impact this has had on my kids. The times I've not been able to be fully present with Trin, when I've simply been doing what I know I ought to, working up a smile and a kiss, but not fully there. I can't help but think this has been a factor in her developmental delays, and in the insecurity that shows itself now and then. It's far from the only factor, her sickness last year was a big part of it I'm sure, and it's not a guilt I feel, just a regret that this was how it had to be, and that in some cases I didn't have the energy to advocate and intervene sooner on some fronts. Eli's doing great developmentally - in fact I wouldn't mind at all if he slowed down a bit. But I'm disappointed, to put it a bit mildly, that I've missed out so much on really enjoying that first year - being fully in love with my babies. I've had a few of those really good days lately, and they're wonderful, but it kinda hits home about how much I've lost.
So, to think there won't be any more first smiles, first giggles, first hugs, first words or first steps makes me feel a little nostalgic. But I love the two blessed, beautiful babes I've got, and I want to take care of myself so that I can be more to them. And for me, that means taking no further chances with aggravating mood and anxiety disorders with another child. As time goes by, I hope and pray and expect things will continue to get better, the good stretches brighter and maybe longer, the dark spaces more manageable. We can't go back but in the days ahead I'll be able to make up for some of what we've missed. I pray, too, that my children will learn from my struggle, to become resilient to depression and anxiety themselves, and to grow up to be empathetic to those in their lives who struggle like this.

Of course, no post on this topic would be complete without some reference to the joyous return of spontaneity, freedom and stress reduction to our sex life. No more hormones messing me up, no more double backup to be extra sure (we don't trust much to be fully safe after the IUD :). Which could all make for a great birthday party! And one less thing to stress over in life, and a little more access to a great outlet for the other tensions, is good for all of us!

Life is good

Sometimes it's hard, and now is certainly one of those times, but it's good.

I was talking with a friend sometime last week month, and an offhand comment stuck with me. I'm not even sure what we were talking about before. "You think your life sucks? You should try walking in my shoes." Now, we didn't go any further with that thread, so I don't know what trials were wearing on her at that point, and obviously it wouldn't be for me to share here if I did. I expect it was an overflow of frustration with any number of things piling up on her horizon. I do know very well that any trip down her path would be far from a vacation. I know I couldn't do what she does, and I don't know how she does and handles everything else as well as she does.
But the reason the comment stuck with me actually has nothing to do with her. In the back of my mind, it bothered me that, doubtless due to all the talk of my various struggles, I'd given someone the impression that I thought my life sucked. I like my life. And you should know that if I didn't feel that with some certainty, it would be a lot harder than it is.

A little disclaimer here. The rest of this post could get a little graphic, a little scary perhaps. If you're the sensitive type, or you're just feeling a little vulnerable now, you might want to skip this and come back another time.
That said, I choose to share this because one of the hardest things about going through depression and mental health issues of any sort is feeling like you're the only one who's ever felt this way or experienced this. I know of at least a few people who are currently struggling with something similar, more who've been there before and perhaps there are others among my readers who are still silent. And perhaps there are some out there who will stumble on this little corner of blunt reality and feel a little less alone.

One of the ways depression manifests itself for me is intrusive thoughts. Ugly thoughts about things I might do or that might happen. I've learned, though, that there's a huge difference between the thought that just crosses my mind and the one that sets up camp. If, say, the thought of shooting myself in the head fluttered past in a moment of high stress, I'd let it go and pay it no mind.
On the other hand, if it started doing laps, passing by somewhat predictably, I'd need to pay some attention to what was happening, lest it just sidle up on beside me like a shadow.

This is where things get a little hazy. I started this post well over a month ago and so much has happened - little day to day things that keep me busy as well as grander things pondered, learned or revealed. It's hard to remember exactly where I was at and where I was going when I left off writing this post. As such, it won't be quite as potent as it would have been had I managed to finish it much sooner. The sharper edges grow dull with distance.
But if I look at what I'd written, I remember one key point quite clearly. The marked contrast between those dark thoughts that sometimes fill my mind, and what I really believe and value. When things are most off balance, when the storms in my head are raging, it's difficult to see anything else. I seek desperately for any way out of the chaos, and that's where the dark thoughts come in. The urges for anything other than the chaos. Nothing makes much sense, especially from the outside looking back, but in the midst of it somehow it seems that slamming my head against a door frame would be a useful tactic for dealing with it. As obviously irrational as that is, it is amazingly difficult in that state to fight those urges and follow reason.
That's where I was when I realized I needed more than a little moral support or a day off. When I knew I had to talk to my doctor and take some concrete steps. I had given in to those urges on a couple of occasions. Feeling totally out of control, even over myself, I had ducked around the corner from whatever room the kids were in and let loose. The result? Add a horrendous feeling of guilt and despair at what I'd done to the mix. And a good sized tender spot on the side of my head. Then came the day when I didn't leave. I didn't have even so much control left as to spare my kids that sight.

When I'd come through the initial challenge of finding the right meds, I remember I described the effect of the meds as keeping a lid on things. Keeping the thoughts and anxieties from boiling over. Leaving enough room in the cauldron for reality to remain on top, and just let the steam out slowly.
In the calmer times, I'm able to go through those alien thoughts and think about what I really do believe. In the last couple of months, there've been a few longer stretches of calm, and I can see things a little clearer, bit by bit. When that door frame taunts me lately, I've been able to recognize not only that it's not what I want, but that I'm really longing for a place to rest my head. I can change the picture.
After I started this post, I was bathing the kids one night, and peeling again at the plastic liner that didn't come off the tub before we started using it. We were trying to protect the new tub while various construction stuff continued, but the end result is that it's no longer going to peel off nicely. So every time we have a bath, I peel at the edges of the film. The film is now pretty grungy and a little grey, so as I peel back more and more the clear surface is revealed. That's kind of what it feels like to be coming out of this. Very slowly.
As dark as things sometimes get, even when I'm desperate for anything that feels like control, even an end to life, I've always known that my life is good. It's hard, in more than a few ways, but it's good. I have two beautiful children. I have a marriage that, while bumpy, has been a blessing through 12 years and is worth fighting for. I've been blessed with good friends who encourage and inspire me. There've been cracks of light from unexpected sources. I've been blessed with gifts and abilities and great opportunities to use them. And above all I know there is a purpose for my life.
Knowing all this gives me strength in the storms. And the means to capture those dark thoughts and turn them back. And that's about as far from a life that sucks as I can imagine.

Language learning made easy, if not exactly accurate

Ok, so I haven't posted anything in a long while. There are posts in the works, but not the sort I can rattle off in my spare moments. But this, this just begs to be shared. Soon. And widely.

Caught this on a banner ad just a little while ago. I was so glad it was one that cycles through a loop so I could catch a screen shot. This speaks volumes for the quality of language training available, don't ya think?



Somewhere, right about now, a designer is polishing up her resume.

around the next bend

I should really learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. In a previous post, I took you all on a ride with a roller coaster metaphor. I talked about what might come next, around that next bend. I left the door wide open with "something crazy and unexpected."
I definitely didn't expect what came Saturday morning. The Bear was working for the morning, and I was wandering through a typical morning with the kids, with wake ups, changes and food. Weighing out the options for what to do with the day, store run, library or pool. At some point, I recognized a slight feeling of uneasiness, not entirely unfamiliar on days when I know I've got the kids for the full day. Generally, this feeling translates to a little less patience with any testing by the kids, but the kids were pretty content.
But, that morning, the uneasiness took on a life of its own. I felt it building up, and I decided it would be a good time to take the kids and dogs for a walk. But long before it got there, it escalated to something I've never experienced. An anxiety attack. Crazy and unexpected. I didn't know what was happening or how far this might go. I was terrified that I couldn't do anything for the kids if they needed me. It was everything I could do to keep breathing. I called my two childcare options, but nobody answered. I called the Bear to let him know. And with much struggle, I got the kids haphazardly bundled into the stroller and we were out of the house.
The attack, which lasted probably 45 minutes, had started to subside a bit by the time I got out the door, and tapered off as I pushed around the block a few times, checking known neighbours' windows for signs of someone who'd be up and able to help. When I got back, I tried my daycare backup again, and she was home, so I went there with the kids, stayed for awhile until the Bear was home, and then left the kids with her for most of the day.
In talking with a few people, I've learned that mine was probably only a moderate attack, but it was quite terrifying enough. Seriously, it ranked up there with being screamed at by the angry schizophrenic with a roofing hatchet in hand.

When I came home Saturday, one of my urges was to blog it all, raw and real, as soon as possible, as it was such a strange, but internal, experience that I was afraid that if I didn't put it out there it would fade and I would be questioning if it really happened. I wasn't too far off, as within a few hours, my recollection was vague and fuzzy. But it did happen. And I'm looking into what I can do to reduce the odds of it happening again, as well as preparing myself to better deal with it if and when it does.
The kids are sick, and home with me again today, but I know if anything should come up today, daycare is just down the street. Writing about this has made me a little jumpy, but I needed to do it. I'm going to sign off now, and have some juice and a few deep breaths before I check on the kids again.

Tidbits

Trin has started a bandaid collection. It began earlier in the week. She came home from daycare with a scrape on the inside of her finger. Nothing too nasty, but just because of where it was, and some missing skin, it needed covering. So a little bandaid, a little ointment. She did make it a bit of a conversation piece, but she didn't pull it off.
Today, we were walking home from daycare. We were a little late heading out, as Eli had skipped his morning nap and was still sleeping when I came. Trin, too, had resisted a nap, so she was tired, though surprisingly not taking on the usual sleepless toddler demeanour. One thing is always consistent, though, when Trin is tired. She gets clumsy. (Or clumsier - she's got a ways to go before they invite her to the national ballet.) Sure enough, about halfway home, she tripped on the sidewalk and took a tumble. She's a tough girl, but I knew she was tired and likely to trip again, so I picked her up and carried her the last bit.
Back at home, we carried on. A little later, she tried to tell me something. I didn't quite understand, but I knew it was about something upstairs. She often goes upstairs to get one of her dolls, or put them to bed, or..., so I figured it would be something related. I let her start on her way up and followed a few minutes later to see what was up.
At the top of the steps, Trin was fishing through the boxes of bandaids. As I came up the steps, I figured out the word I couldn't place before. Bandaid sounds a lot like baby (doll) and a few other common phrases in Trinese. I helped her get her tights off, and she showed me a good little scrape on her left knee. We picked out a suitable bandaid and sealed her up. Then she pointed to the smaller scrape on her right knee. "Ouch!" Another bandaid. She fished a bit for a final strip to cover the little scratch under the main scrape, but I persuaded her she could handle that one without. I realized our stash of bandaids - at least the kinds that actually stick on toddlers - is getting low, and I'll have to stock up. Hopefully she doesn't become a major addict :)

One of my favourite shirts on Eli is a button up plaid shirt, lined with a light cotton knit. It's a handsome little big boy shirt, size 18 months. It's from the Gap, which is pretty generous in their sizes. It just fits him now, though you probably couldn't do up the top button easily, if at all. I picked up a few shirts at my favourite consignment store earlier this month, all size 24 months. They fit him pretty well. He's not even eight months old! I had to abandon a number of his non-buttoned shirts recently because I couldn't get his arms into the holes without dislocating his shoulders. Apparently they don't design baby clothes for linebackers.

For those of you who follow my erratic facebook statuses, my prediction came true. Eli crawled for the first time last night. Not far - inches really - but with bum up, arms and legs going and resulting in forward motion. Apparently today he spent much of his day working on pulling up. That seems to be why he was too busy for a morning nap. Important work to do. "I crawled six inches yesterday, now it's time to walk."

Trin is apparently taking the two-year-old thing to the next level, and the sassy sparkle that's lit her eyes when she's given me the gears in the past has begun to twinkle for Shannon, too. I'm told the other day she had a time out at daycare, and when Shannon was having a talk with her, Trin rolled her tongue around in her cheek and did her best to obviously ignore her. Getting saucy that one, I'll have to keep my eye on her.

Eli can get himself down on his belly and back up to sitting. He still enjoys trying to launch himself into orbit in the exersaucer, if only for much shorter periods. I'm told he learned to clap today, too. Music was on, all the little ones were singing and clapping, Eli was enjoying the scene, and doing the usual baby misfires to participate. Until his two hands made contact the first time, and apparently that was all he needed and he clapped away for a bit.
Sometimes he kinda scares me with how fast he grows.

Trin seems very much into her ABCs these days, rounding up the little foam letters that have been dispersed from the bathtub collection. I think she's kind of intrigued with the concept of these symbols, and wants to remember which ones are which. She's got two versions of Dr. Seuss's ABCs, but that's fodder for a whole different post.

Lately Eli quite loves jerking his head forward like an eighties punker. He's only beaned himself once, so far, on a smooth flat floor. I'm hoping it will be a short lived habit, and that it won't take a trip to emerg to cure him of it.
He'll feed himself cheerios and raisins, and munches them up quite well with all those front teeth.

And what post of random wee one snippets would be complete without a few current pics. Made a point of snapping off a few earlier tonight to have something for you. I hope to be together enough one of these mornings to bring the camera along to Shanni's and have her take some shots for me. You know, so I'm not the one always behind the camera. Evidence that I actually do spend time with my own kids. If it happens, I'll be sure to post some of the favourites. In the meantime here's some quick shots.

Trin after bumping her knees yet again. See my owies?
Trin a little later, having bounced back like a good little viking
Check out the teeth
and the shoulders
With a month or so's less hair, Eli in one of my favourite vests, posing in his chair