Me

Anxiety.  Just seeing the word makes me anxious.  I'm not sure if I've gone a day in my life without feeling it.  I'm sure everyone feels anxious sometimes....I hope everyone feels anxious at some time - otherwise I'm in more trouble than I thought.  Anxiety is a normal part of life; but when it consumes you and affects your day to day interactions - it's an issue.  I have an issue.

    When I was 6 months old I was hospitalized for 3 days in an oxygen tent with RSV. I only, and I mean ONLY stopped crying if my dad put his hand on my wilted, fragile back.  He couldn't hold me because I was confined to my tiny cell but he could touch me. One night, some well-intentioned nurse insisted my dad leave me to get a cup of coffee.  He recalls stepping off the elevator only to hear my screams at the other end of the hall.  He rushed into my hospital room with his tepid coffee to see the same well-intentioned nurse frantically trying to calm me.  Only daddy could rescue me. My father now has a theory that that illness scarred me. It literally changed me.  

     I've dealt with anxiety ever since I could remember. I couldn't walk to school without crying. My younger brother walked me to the corner to meet my friends - two boys from the neighborhood who were my own private escorts;  my knights in shining zooba pants and striped socks. They hated walking with me.  They would roll their eyes at my tears but they never teased me.  Somehow they knew I couldn't help it and at 5 years old would just fall apart if provoked.  

     My life was full of anxieties.  My mom used to say things were always harder for me.  Everyday occurrences would turn into heart-wrenching panic attacks - even at 5 years old.  I wouldn't let my own mother walk me to school because "it would just be harder when we got there."  I would get up several times during the night to make sure my homework was still in my backpack. My mom bought me winter galoshes that I could slip my sneakered foot into because what if I forgot my sneakers? What if I couldn’t get them on? What if they were on the wrong feet?  Disaster.   I couldn't wear pants with zippers or snaps - don't even mention belts! - what if I couldn't undo them in the bathroom and what if no one would help me?  I wore only sweatpants.  Not only was it exhausting being me and having to worry about everything from pants to homework to sneakers but it was exhausting to be my parent too.  They tried to make life easier - buying me Velcro sneakers so I wouldn't panic for example.  My dad turned down a job offer because it would have required us to move 2 hours away and my mom knew I couldn't handle that kind of change - I was 5.  At the resilient age of 5 my parents knew it'd be too traumatic for me to move.  I can't say they weren't right.  

    In 7th grade my parents did move us from a public school to a catholic school.  Being a new kid is always hard but being a new kid with an unusual amount of fear and anxiety is devastating.  My dad drove us because I was afraid to take the bus.  What if the driver took us to the wrong school? What if I miss the bus? What if the driver takes us to the wrong house?  For the first 6 months at my new school I brought my lunch everyday including milk because I was too anxious to buy it at the lunch counter.  If I'm only buying milk do I skip the line and go right to the milk crate? How do I even go about buying lunch? What if I don't want everything the lunch lady offers?  Exhausting.

    In high school, it was no different. I actually looked forward to test days because the teacher wouldn’t call my name to answer a question or complete some ridiculous calculus problem on the board. (that calculus class is a post for another day). I dreaded the inevitable “Ann O’Connor, please come to the board.”

     When it came time for college I nearly died from anxiety and worry.  I went to college 45 minutes from home and was unable to live in the dorms freshman year.  I commuted. Every. Day.  My sophomore year, my younger brother (same one who walked me to the corner) joined me at Fredonia so I was able to at least stay on campus (for a while).  He was my savior.  He actually walked me to class because what if I couldn't find the building the class was in and was late? or missed it!? Exhausting.  The worry was exhausting.  It's a goddamn miracle I graduated.

     As an adult, it didn't get much easier.  What gets easier is coping.  I learned to cope.  And I can cope pretty damn well.  Though maybe it's not coping so much as hiding but is there really a difference? As a teacher I'd check three things every day at least 8 times before I left the classroom - Did I close and lock all windows? Is my computer shut down?  Did I lock my desk drawer with the students' personal information? No less than 8 times that had to be checked because obviously the day I don't check it 8 times is the day someone will use my classroom window to break in, use my computer to hack into our schools' files and steal the children's IEPs. It's so ridiculous it's comical.  But it's my life.  Everyday. Every. Fucking. Day. And these are just a few examples. 

      But what's even funnier is things that make normal people anxious really don't bother me.  Like driving in the snow - no problem!  Daughter that climbs to the top of the jungle gym - more power to ya! Heard a crazy noise outside that's probably a serial killer waiting to saw my head off with a butcher's knife - meh.  I'll go check it out.

      People who have known me my entire life can't believe I actually sought out a mommy group on my own....or started my own business - with stuff I hand make nonetheless!  All very out of character behavior. What if no one likes it? What if it's crap? What if the mommy group doesn't like me? Or my kid?  I didn't just step out of my comfort zone - I bull-rushed that zone and ran it over with a tractor trailer then backed up and did it again.   See, accomplishing something, anything, is always an extra step for me.  I have to overcome the debilitating anxiety first and then overcome normal feelings and obstacles. Am I proud of myself? damn right I am. But I'm prouder that I defeated my anxiety to accomplish it.  It's a pride I take on solo for no one lives in my head but me. And no one knows my struggle but me.  So I take these small feats and celebrate them silently because to the average person they're no big deal.   For me though, I may as well have cured cancer or discovered life on another planet.  That’s how I feel every time I do something I never thought possible, whether it's just getting out of bed or starting up a business- something that little Annie in the O2 tent would be proud of.

         My anxiety has taught me many things though.  Mainly that I'm stronger than I think but must stay on my toes lest the anxiety monster rears its ugly head.  My family is amazing.  My husband is amazing.  I learned who my real friends are through the years.  It's hard to be friends with someone who constantly worries.  Luckily I've mastered the art of hiding it - well - until this blog gets published of course. I've met some pretty awesome mommy friends too.  And now you know part of my story.  My very personal, scary, sometimes sad story. I’ve never shared it formally until now – and I just scratched the surface.  Yikes.
     Fortunately, I'm learning that I am enough.  I am enough dammit.  I'm a good mom, wife and friend. I love with all my heart and try my best at everything.  I'm a rockstar. An anxious rockstar...but a rockstar!

The Doctor's Office = A Mom's Personal Hell

My kids had their checkups yesterday at the doctor's office - aka, my own personal hell! My oldest child, like all children aged 1-10, LOATHES going to the dr. You would think that at only 4, he wouldn't quite grasp the concept of complete and utter hatred for something, but let me tell you - he most certainly does! And in turn, I am forced to loathe it even more.

There is no other place where I have such a physical reaction to my discomfort. In response to my son's meltdowns, I start to have one of my own. I break out in hives, start sweating profusely, and forget every single thing I wanted to discuss with the doctor. Layers of clothing start getting ripped off as I ask, "Is it hot in here?" Last time, the nurse had the audacity to look me right in the eyes and say, "No, actually I'm a little chilly." Seriously? Throw a stressed out mommy a bone, lady!

Yesterday, I thought I had this thing well planned out. I made sure the appointment was scheduled for after my 9 month old daughter's nap so she would be as well rested and chipper as possible. We also watched an oldie but goody Barney episode about going to the doctor, and sang loud and proud, "The Doctor is a Friend of Mine!" We even had a very grown up conversation about how we were going to the doctor and exactly what was going to happen when we got there (Ok, so I left out the part about the shot. Sue me!). I also grabbed a bag of cookies as we were heading out because I am not above bribing when the going gets tough.

They were both so great on the way to the doctor. My son was singing his doctor song and kept reiterating what the doctor was going to do. Check ears, check nose, check mouth, check heart. I was feeling better then I had ever felt about our impending visit. We pulled into the office and walked in. He was great, she was great...all was great.  I should have known then that sh#t was about to hit the fan.

The nurse came into the waiting room and called his name. He looked at her, calmly shook his head, said, "No," and made a beeline for the exit. F#ck! I grabbed the 800lb baby carrier (seriously, WHY are those things so heavy!), and intercepted him at the door.  I smiled at the nurse through clenched teeth and began walking him towards the exam rooms - he's now crying as I'm carrying the baby carrier in one hand while dragging him down the hall with the other.  My daughter idolizes her big brother so once she sees his tears, she decides to join in too. Oh boy!

The next hour of my life is essentially a blur - I think I must have blacked out at some point. All I know is that there was screaming, there was kicking...and some doctor tools may have been swiped and hidden to prevent an ear exam.  I walked out of that room a changed woman.  What was I thinking scheduling both kids appointments on the same day, at the same time? Who was I to think I could go into this battle alone, armed with only a bag of cookies? Next time, I will be better prepared.  Next time, I will bring my filled to the brim, Mommy Sippy Cup ;-)!

My Frien-emy, The Pump

As a breast feeding mother, let's talk about pumping.  It's pretty much the worst.  Ok, so it's not the worst thing, but it ranks right up there with going to the gynecologist or locking the bathroom door to escape.  I don't have to do these things but they make having kids a whole lot easier.  And with regard to pumping, by a lot easier, I mean a little.  Not only do I need to nurse every 2 hours around the clock, but now I need to strategically schedule a pumping session.  Do I pump right after a feeding, leaving me with enough to fill a thimble until I can actually accumulate an entire bottle's worth 2 weeks later?  Finally, I can leave for exactly 1 hour and 59 minutes!  Or do I squeeze it in somewhere before a feeding, risking the wrath of my thirsty 4 month old after she realizes her favorite all night diner just ran out of the early bird special.

Or how about when your 5 year old turns to you during breakfast and says, "Hey mom, this strawberry looks like your boob.  See, it has a nipple!" And proceeds to move it back and forth making the "eh-eh, eh-eh" pump sound.  At least at 5 years old he's comfortable with seeing breasts in their natural state and using the proper vernacular.

Not to mention the moment when you think you've turned the pump dial in the off direction but really cranked it up to MAX suction power.  Yeah, insert eyes popping out of your head emoji here.  That's sleep deprivation at it's finest right there.  Never the less, pumping is important.  I mean, how else am I going to let another person experience the joy of feeding my baby and not feel like a constant milk machine?  Oh wait, right, then there was that time I caught a glimpse of myself pumping in the mirror...Just call me Bessie.

Krista

food failure

Being a mom is the toughest job out there.  There's so many rules.  When I was a kid my mom used to leave us in the car while she ran into the grocery store.  In today's helicopter parenting world you can't run to the mailbox without having someone copy your license plate number - or at least glare at you with judgmental eyes as you retreat to your vehicle - ashamed and labeled as the world's worst mom.  I remember piling into my friend's mom's car at the ripe young age of 5 to go to Kindergarten...no car seats...sometimes no seat belt (don't tell my mom).  Speaking of Kindergarten, I WALKED to Kindergarten.  WALKED.  In the snow, rain, sleet and sometimes uphill both ways ( I have a serious direction problem).  Studies show that we actually live in a much safer world than we did 30 years ago - but I guess when you have the ability to buy an actual leash for your small tot we should be living in a safer world.  Some of these rules of course are better for us...car seats for example.  I supposed bouncing around in the backseat of a Ford station wagon wasn't such a great idea....nor was leaving us the car for more than 2 seconds - especially the time my brother nonchalantly got into the driver seat and moved the car a few feet.  But some things I cannot wrap my big 'ol mama brain around.  Food for example.  Yes, Food. I'm blogging about food. 
     I remember drinking pop from those glass bottles and eating fruit roll-ups like they were going out of style.  I grudgingly admit that I don't know much about the food industry and am certainly no expert.  I have great admiration for people who ONLY eat whole, natural foods.  I can't do it.  Sometimes its chocolate milk and a prepackaged muffin from the gas station for breakfast.  
     Parents today have this idea that if it's in a box or package it's the worst thing your child could ever consume.  This makes play dates stressful for someone like me who doesn't worry so much about the additives in food as much as I worry my 4 year old won't pelt her tiny playmate in the head with a building block.   I went to a play date once where everyone was supposed to bring something to eat. The hostess had a vast array of fruits and veggies (all organic probably) and some kind of organic, sugar-free cookies (bletch). Another mom brought Greek yogurt for everyone to have with the fruit and someone else made flour-less, gluten-free pecan muffins or something - it was hard to tell actually...and so on and so forth.... Wanna know what I brought?  Timbits.  TIMBITS. I may as well had brought the measles.   I gave the usual excuse of "oh my god, the kids were so terrible I didn't have time to bake anything" which actually meant 'oh my god I didn't know this was a healthy play date and I didn't have time to go to the store buy all-natural, organic ingredients, look up a recipe and bake something six times until it becomes something remotely edible."   So when other moms talk about the avocado, blueberry, acacia berry, organic, flour-less, sugar-free, gluten-free diet their child is on I just smile and nod and try to hide the goldfish crackers and apple juice in the diaper bag.  Then I go home and cry about what an inadequate mom I must be for letting my kids drink juice and eat fruit snacks - All while downing chardonnay and  eating chocolate chips right from the bag.
     Sure we eat healthy...well healthy-ish.  We strive for 5 - we drink water.  But sometimes mama wants a diet Pepsi and Doritos.  and sometimes we have chocolate chip pancakes for dinner...3 nights in a week. it happens. don't judge. I'm here to make you feel better about your parenting skills. Mission: Accomplished.

AZ

Meeting these Mommies

As I entered my early 30’s it became startlingly clear, I had no girlfriends.  Of course I had friends, both men and women, but somewhere along the line I lost touch with, lived in different time zones, or outgrew many of the friends that I once held so dear.  Up until I became a mom I got by seeing the few remaining friends I had on a sporadic basis, more than content to fill any free time with my husband, the television, and long strolls along the beach, correction, aisles of Target.  With regard to my social life, I didn’t feel as if anything was missing. 

All of that changed six months into becoming a stay at home mom.  I was heading into the winter months with an infant by my side, the perfect addition to our family, and answer to our prayers.  Sure the summer months were great.  Picnics at the park, lounging on my blanket with my baby that hadn't yet discovered the art of being mobile, stroller walks through the neighborhood stalking any sign of life home during the hours of 8 to 5 for a simple smile and hello.  My complacent bubble of not having many friends was beginning to deflate, though, as I neared the months of bitter cold hibernation.  The walls of my home were getting closer and closer with each falling leaf reminding me that I would soon be stuck inside with a miniature person that, at six months old, had awful conversational skills.  To his credit, that would all change in another six months leading me to wonder where his stellar vocabulary was coming from, and remembering the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ but that story is for another time.

I knew it was time to get out and mingle with the outside world, but how? I hadn't made a real friend since college and even then it was only by default from being in class together or working the same shift over and over selling movie tickets at the old General Cinema.  I needed help and I needed it fast if I was going to prevent myself from going bananas with the lack of adult socialization.  I started to do some research.  Google proved to be very helpful: “mommy and me classes”, “events and activities for infants", the list goes on and on.  I finally stumbled upon a few local music classes and a pay by the hour playroom that will remain nameless, however, fulfilled all of the typical stereotypes that comes with anything that is deamed “pay by the hour”, germy and gross.  Things were looking up as I got my baby and me out to sign language and gym classes, but my longing for a connection with women in the same stage of life was still looming in the back of my mind.  I looked for anyone that displayed the same parenting style, lifestyle, clothing style, unkempt hair style, as me during the 30 minute Barnes and Noble story time with Grandma Faye.  Talk about a meat market, it was like dating all over again with no intent of physicality or even a long term commitment at that point. 

The more we got out, the more some faces, both parent and child, started to look familiar.  I was recognizing people and becoming bold enough to, dare I say it, give out my actual number and email address.  Things were looking promising but it wasn't until we started to attend the infamous play date that things really started to change.  Our first one, I knew one person but not very well, I was going out on a limb.  I drove me and my child to what might as well have been a foreign country to me, a town about 20 minutes from my own.  Was this legit?  Was this a real play date or some ploy to lure desperate stay at home moms to an unsuspecting Pampered Chef house party?  I guess I didn't care.  I walked toward the house, boasting with square footage about 3 times the size of my own home, with baby in car seat tow confident that I was going to make some new friends.  Of the 8 or so people there I found a sense of common ground with about 3 of them.  Nonetheless we had fun, and by “we” I mean me and the other moms.  My son would have been content at the Pampered Chef party, but luckily for me it was two hours of stay at home moms chatting endlessly about breastfeeding, bottle feeding, sleep habits, poop color, size, and shape and anything else that fell under the category of “is this weird or does your child do this too?”  I mean it was a room full of Chatty Cathy dolls with energizer bunny batteries connected to a generator on speed.  It was cathartic and very refreshing.  By the end of the morning all of the babies had brought us back to the reality of looming nap times and feedings, but I can confidently say that everyone there walked away satisfied with what had just taken place, adult conversation. 

I didn't leave that play date thinking I had made another best friend for life, or so I had thought, but I did leave with hope.  That hope turned into reality over the course of that first winter season as a new mom and beyond.  Now that my son is almost 5 and my daughter just 4 months, I have met and been blessed with girlfriends that have truly been an answer to another one of my prayers.  I have made close relationships and bonds with women that I admire, trust, and have a heck of a lot of fun with.  We have become a support system for each other as well as a social group for not only ourselves but our children too.  It is amazing what having girlfriends can do for the soul.  I still walk through Target solo sometimes because let’s face it, that’s just fun, but how great it is to have my girls in my life. Girls who know just when I need a song like Smelly Cat dedicated to me or a morning full of playing make up.  Moms who listen and never judge.  People who just get me.  Friends that I love.  Thanks girls, you all make me smile.     

K

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time there were a bunch of moms - extraordinarily ordinary. Their lives were seemingly normal - changing diapers, cleaning up spills, crafting, surviving on coffee, walking around like zombies and trying to escape "home jail". When all of a sudden, they found each other. They shared in the joy of mommyhood together. They leaned on each other for support, laughed about their crazy "normal", created the funniest of jokes, creating lasting memories with their kiddos in tow, celebrated big moments together and found the beauty in the everyday. These are their stories...(insert Law & Order "dum-dum" here!)