Month: May 2021

If you talk to my 8 year old today, he will tell you, “Mom made we overdose last night.” Technically, this is true. But as that guy whose name I can’t think of right now used to say, “Now…the rest of the story.”

My son has never voluntarily slept. Ever. When he was a newborn, he would nap for five minutes at a time, and that’s if I was lucky. I remember once he slept long enough for me to shampoo AND condition. I remember this…eight years later…because of how odd it was…and how awesome my hair felt for those few extra minutes until there was spit-up in it again.

Some time back, his doctor recommended we try melatonin before bed. I kid you not, the child himself started calling it his “antidote.” He takes 5 mg and 30-45 minutes later he is in dreamland…and I’m watching a show with the F-word in it.

We are coming to the end of one melatonin bottle and just got another, but it’s a different brand. One bottle is 1 gummy = 5 mg and the other bottle is 2 gummies = 5 mg. I got them mixed up and ended up giving him 2 gummies for a total 10 mg. After we figured out what I did, you would have thought I gave him a line of cocaine. Dude, it was an extra melatonin gummy. I don’t think we need to go to the Emergency Room.

Somehow he managed to survive the night and he is his normal self today. Hopefully I can lay low from drug enforcement until his memory fades.

I don’t mean to make light of the subject. I have never done an illegal drug in my life, and my mom was a nurse so I grew up knowing you absolutely follow the instructions on the bottle (and go wash your hands…again…and use soap). But I don’t feel super bad about one extra gummy. When talking to my oldest son’s doctor about melatonin at his last visit, she said some people take half a bottle to get to sleep. Could she have been exaggerating? Yes (and I hope so because that would cost a small fortune over the course of…just one freaking day).

One extra gummy? I think he’ll be okay. I’ll save the mommy guilt for next time…which I’m sure is coming very soon.

Mother’s Day is a very weird holiday for me. I love being able to share it with my boys. Even though they are getting older, I still treasure the homemade cards they make me, filled with little drawings of them doing household chores they’ll never do in real life. This year they showered me with gifts including breakfast in bed, fancy cupcakes, a Schitt’s Creek mug and sticker, and a towel that says “I freaking love cats!” I also got time to watch the last few episodes of Schitt’s Creek I hadn’t seen yet, and now I’ve finally stopped crying and mumbling about how David and Patrick are my favorite couple in the history of forever.

After breakfast and gift opening, my husband asked if I wanted to go to the cemetery to “visit” my mom. I answered, “I don’t know.” Here I sit, several hours later, and still don’t know. I hate going to the cemetery. I wear a bracelet with some of her ashes in it everyday so I don’t necessarily feel any closer to her when there’s just more of her ashes in a box under my feet. I want to go to her house with a cake the boys decorated and eat grilled brats from the 100-pack she got on sale at Sam’s Club and give her a huge hug and a mushy card I got at Dollar Tree. I don’t want to look at her name on a gravestone with her date of death now over a decade in the past.

The first few years after she died, I hated Mother’s Day. Then, I started to tolerate it. Now, I somewhat enjoy it again. I have my boys (husband and sons) to thank for that. They give me the perfect balance of love and space on that day. Actually, they do that every day. They are the reason I wake up every morning. In my darkest moments, it’s their love that shines the light to show me I’m needed. They make this mom feel special everyday…even if it’s just to tell me how great I happen to make their toast or how much I’m improving at playing Super Smash Bros. (reality: I’m not). Hopefully these are the happy memories they will carry of me when I won’t be there to celebrate with them on Mother’s Days…long into the future I hope.

So yes, I will find the “happy” on this day, on Mother’s Days, and in all the days. It’s what my mom would want for me and it’s definitely what I want for my boys. It’s what I want for all of you, too. Happy Today!

I went on an adventure today! And by adventure, I mean I went to Target. And by Target, I mean I had to pick up prescriptions at the CVS inside Target. But the greatest thing happened: the pharmacist said there was another prescription they could refill for me while I was there…if I didn’t mind waiting. Um, take your sweet time, my new favorite human! Don’t mind me if I accidentally on purpose knock a few dozen things on the floor with my purse that you need to pick up before you fill my bottle (just kidding; I’d feel so guilty I’d clean it up myself and buy the pharmacist Starbucks as an apology…while I was crying). I was at Target, alone and unsupervised. I don’t know why Target is like Disney World for moms (at least this mom), but it. was. epic.

The first thing I did was grab a bottle of Excedrin because welcome to my life. Then I tossed in a can of spray paint to finish a project with my kitchen island chairs. To super spice things up, I bought the new Dawn dish spray because if it works anything like it does in the commercial, I may fall in love harder than I already am with Magic Erasers. In another exciting turn of events, they had Command hanger thingies 70% off and for a deal like that I can definitely find something that needs to be attached to a wall.

Then the saddest thing happened. I got a text that the prescription was ready. I headed to the pharmacy, got my meds, and said good-bye to my favorite bullseye.

Why was this such an adventure? I honestly can’t remember the last time I left the house by myself. I rarely leave the house at all these days, but today I got in the car and turned the key and drove myself to Target. Yeah, it was to pick up medicine for my kiddo, but normally I’d wait for my husband to go get it. I might ride along, but I’d still be more apt to wait in the car than go in the store. I’m not sure what gave me the push to go out by myself, but I’m glad I did. It felt really good. I enjoyed wandering down the candle aisle and not perusing the Pokemon cards. I was able to pick out new undies for the youngest by looking at size and price, not what character was printed on the butt. It was a magical experience.

Am I cured of my anxiety of driving and getting in an accident and, well, all of the things that could go wrong going to the store by myself? No, not even close. But I feel better about the thought of doing it again, and I’ve come to learn it doesn’t matter how fast I’m going as long as I’m moving in the right direction. Today was the right direction.

I woke up today.

I didn’t take a shower. I didn’t change out of my pajamas. I didn’t make breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.

I didn’t do laundry. I didn’t do the dishes. I didn’t sweep. Or dust. Or vacuum.

I didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t check my email. I didn’t do. Or plan. Or achieve.

But I woke up today. And today, that’s enough.

Every time I’ve chosen to write something about my struggles with mental health on social media, I’ve received messages and texts from people thanking me for sharing. Most of these include sentences like, “You’re so brave!” or “I could never share about my own struggles publicly.” And that makes me sad…because it shouldn’t be that way.

When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, people contacted me to set up a Caring Bridge site so they could follow how she was doing; dozens jumped in to help put on a benefit for her. Friends brought cards and flowers and frozen lasagnas. I still feel the warm fuzzies when I think about all the support our family received. About three years ago, I was hospitalized for severe depression. And you know what? I was honest about the severity of my illness publicly for the first time. At first I was scared out of my mind. And then the cards started showing up. And the flowers. And some good ol’ North Dakota hotdish.

And since that experience, I’ve learned that I can give a voice…and a face…to mental illness. I’m your next-door neighbor. I’m the lady in Target looking through the clearance rack. I’m your kid’s teacher who’s trying so hard not to bawl at graduation. I’m normal (I use this term loosely but I think you get what I’m saying). Normal people struggle with mental health issues. And it’s okay to say that you are part of the club, too. To quote Colonel Mustard from the classic 1980’s movie “Clue,” “There’s safety in numbers, my dear.” If you are feeling up to it, take a brave step and share your journey with someone…share it with me if you’d like…because there really is safety and comfort in sharing our struggles and carrying them together.