Month / November 2018

by bean2bird

A Journey Of A Thousand Miles

img_9938This singular image alone is insufficient to illustrate completely the disaster that was my house today. But let it serve as a suggestion to your imagination as to what the rest of the picture looked like: apple slices littering the kitchen floor; dripped water color trails leading from the table to the sink; various pieces of cutlery strewn about willy-nilly as the ten-month-old unloaded the dishwasher (a favorite of his hobbies along with sorting through our trash can and emptying every package of wipes he can get his hands on). Not to mention the dried Ramen noodle on the carpet (pretty sure that’s still there) and the almost completely emptied Christmas boxes in our two-thirds decorated living room.

But more than wishing I had pictures of all of these messes so that you could more fully understand what I mean when I say ‘disaster’, what I really wish is that I had documentation of what this house looked like last week. Because let me just tell you: last week I was a house-keeping goddess. I’m talking every single room of my house, spotless, at least twice a day (morning and night…ahh the moments when the short people sleep) all at the same. time. This is not a drill.

I’m talking no laundry in the laundry baskets, I’m talking floors vacuumed and mopped, I’m talking rooms having been deep cleaned and de-cluttered. It was a dream come true. And I reveled in it. Cleaning, last week, was top priority. I was determined never to see a mess again without immediately swooping in on the threat and neutralizing it. It’d been a project eight months in the works, this nearly perfectly clean house. It started with a massive overhaul and de-junking in the summer and had culminated the week prior in the vacuumed edges of this paradise I was now at “leisure” to enjoy. I say “leisure” because it was anything but leisurely to jump on messes in real time. Do you know what real time looks like with four, tiny human beings who’s entire life mission is to destroy my creations?

But I loved it! I loved walking in the door and seeing a spotless living room, I loved waking up and wandering the neat and vacuumed hallways, I loved being able to find every single thing I needed instantly because it had been put back where it belonged, I loved doing only one load of laundry a day, putting it all away as soon as it came out of the dryer and not having to do anymore laundry because there literally wasn’t any.

I loved it.

Then, it all came crashing down on me in one fail swoop: the flu. It hit me like a ton of bricks…one moment I thought I was feeling queasy because I’d skipped breakfast in preparation for afternoon Thanksgiving feasting; the next minute I was so nauseated, I couldn’t move and spent the entire night awake and puking. (I kid you not, I was awake until 5:30 in the morning, puking every ten minutes. It was The Worst)

Shem got sick, too, and pulled his ankle the same weekend during a turkey bowl because the universe likes to watch us squirm. So you can guess what the first thing to go was. No, not our children. They’re still here but it was a close call*. No, the first thing to go was my beautiful, immaculate, I-will-never-let-you-get-dirty-again house.

And honestly, it hasn’t been the same ever since. Oh sure, we’ve cleaned up at night and de-cluttered and it hasn’t been a holy wreck the entire time, but the spotless utopia we’d been living in up until that point hasn’t been near the same caliber ever since the flu. I know we’re only three days past being knocked flat on our butts by the thing, but here’s the truth: I’m actively not choosing that blissful order this week. Because I’m actively pursuing other things and there simply isn’t space for Everything.

On Sunday I had a private devotional while my kids napped and in the process I mapped out some goals for the coming week; what I wanted more of, what I wanted less of, what my goals were, etc. and I wrote a list that looked something like this:

-Less social media; More creativity
-Less television; More reading
-Less cleaning; More intentional time with my babies

I know we’re only a day in, but that top picture should give you an idea as to where my priorities were today. And they just weren’t as devoted to my house. They couldn’t be because instead, we were busy painting and making homemade play dough and then using our Christmas cookie cutters to make some pretty stunning Christmas scenes and we were reading stories and telling stories and listening to Samuel’s fabulous ideas for the 25 Days of Kindness advent we’re going to put together this year and rocking the baby and teaching him “Itsy, Bitsy Spider” and getting into tickle fights with…pretty much everyone, and singing Christmas carols and watching Christmas movies and teaching our brains how to like fish and brussel sprouts. And there just isn’t time for Everything.

With a few notable exceptions, you can have anything you want in this world; a spotless house, a million dollars, a thousand friends on facebook, a thriving career, a huge family, a healthy diet, a bangin’ bod, good relationships with your kids, a second language, a third language, all the languages, …you get my point. You get to pick what you want out of life and whether or not you’re doing it intentionally, you are picking everyday. Maybe you’re unintentionally choosing to set the world record for fastest binge session of every season of Doctor Who (guuuuilty) or to eat chocolate everyday (that’s more of an intentional choice for me, tbh) or to become the foremost expert on That One Family from My 600 Pound Life, but whether intentional or not, you’re making decisions with your time that are leading you somewhere.

Intention is just steering.

Now, I enjoy living in a clean house (a cruel irony that I also really enjoy having and raising baby children because the two are almost entirely mutually exclusive) and so some of my time will almost always be dedicated to that end. And I’m at peace with that. I’m at peace in the knowledge that the time I choose to devote to keeping my house at an acceptable-to-me level of cleanliness will necessarily take time from something else and the amount of time I choose to dedicate might even change on a week to week basis, depending on the needs of my children and myself. I’m at peace with the fact that some weeks might necessitate deep breathing as I survey the state of disaster surrounding us and am working on listing the less visible accomplishments I’ve achieved in the course of the day (like listening with all my heart to a detailed blow-by-blow of what The Oldest created in Minecraft).

I’m also learning to make peace with the fact that in this season of my life, the intentions with which I steer my life are somewhat per-determined based on choices I’ve already made (like. procreating). And so in order to steer my life and the lives of these cute boys towards a destination I’ve always envisioned for us, I have to use my time for certain, non-negotiable things. I’m trying to make peace with the fact that things like cleaning are negotiable while things like… teaching my children to negotiate with kindness, for example, are not. Sometimes the thing I think I really want (like a spotless house) might not always be the thing I actually want (like respectful sons who know how to negotiate peacefully as men).

We’re playing the long game here, people.

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; so watch your step.”
-Jeffry R. Holland

Steer intentionally. You’re on the journey anyway, might as well enjoy the destination!

*just kidding

by bean2bird

Allow Me to Introduce…

image 615 Fun Facts about Me:

1. My name is Alicia, but my friends from high school all call me Bean and/or Beanie. There is an entire group of human beings on this planet who would sound really strange if they called me by my first given name. Which is weird now that the number of people who use my first name have far outgrown the number of people who don’t. But I love it because it means I get to keep a piece of my maiden name which I loved and now miss.

2. I didn’t used to love children, even though I’ve always been really good with children. They kind of overwhelmed me and made me nervous, but I can now genuinely say in a surprising turn of events that I love interacting with kids. LOVE. It’s becoming one of my passions in life, actually and I anticipate that when my own children all start going to school full time, I will begin a career which involves children in some capacity.

3. I’m super into football, guys. Like, I get really, really into it. I love the intricacies of the rules, I love the strategy, I love watching a talented quarterback make breath-taking passes in less time than it takes me to figure out where the football is during the play. It’s one of my favorite things about fall, actually.

4. Reading is my number one hobby. I love reading about the same as I love chocolate which should give you some idea if you have functioning taste buds. I’ve read more books than I could ever remember to count. And several of those more than once.

5. Harry Potter is my jam. I’ve read the entire series once a year since I was 11. I’m 29 now. So. You do that math.

6. I hate math.

7. I love music! I’m looking forward to a time when I can devote some of my time to re-learning music theory and practicing the piano on the regular. Right now, I practice a few times a month if I’m lucky because I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to play the piano in the presence of a 7, 5, 2 and 9-month-old, but I can make you a couple of promises: A) they will all sit next to you on the teeny, tiny bench, B) they will play the piano and C) you will not.

8) I’m a singer. I was studying music in college, but was derailed by a little thing called: babies (a sacrifice I am very happy to have made because I heart my life and my kids and wouldn’t trade them for all of the college degrees in the world). I was planning on going back to school to study music, but have changed my plans for a future career and will focus on music on my own time when time and money permit.

9) I love to write. I’ve been writing short stories and books and poetry since I was really, really young and have never fully stopped. Writing is a really great way for me to work out my thoughts and feelings. I’ve kept a journal since I was in second grade and as a result, I have about 20-25 full journals. Including one I typed from 8th-10th grade. It’s about the length of War and Peace and literally no one will ever read it because I’d be mortified if they did (turns out 13 year olds are tres embarrassing), but hot dang if it doesn’t exist.

10) I love food, but don’t love to cook. I’m a fan of shortcuts in the kitchen and typically see meal prep as a necessary evil in the ‘keeping my children alive’ category.

11) I’m a boy mom and love it! I’ve experienced some gender disappointment in the past, but now I just experience all kinds of joy at being a mom to all boys. I feel like I won the lottery and genuinely enjoy my role as mother to all these tiny men.

12) I hope to sing in the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square someday.

13) I’m a brand-spanking new yogi! I’m really terrible at yoga because I am zero percent flexible, but I absolutely love it because it does wonders for my back which is a miracle because I have the back of an 80-year-old. I’ve been doing it for several months now and am just getting to the point where I can do a proper downward-facing dog. Which. Is an embarrassingly easy yoga pose.

14) I love nature. Camping, hiking, the beach, forests, walks in the park and by rivers, etc. It all brings me joy. I don’t even super mind the bugs out there because that’s where they belong. If they happen to wander into my house, though, our truce has officially been breached and I will slaughter them with no remorse.

15) Diet Dr. Pepper is my D.O.C. I could drink that stuff all day, err day. I try really hard to drink responsibly and not get to the point where I’m having it every single day, but it’s a struggle. That stuff is like crack to me. Mmm. Dr. Pepper.

by bean2bird

The Love Affair: Part 2

If you missed the struggle that brought us to this featured image of me sitting in my doctor’s office, in a hospital gown, waiting for the MA to come in with the equipment for an EKG, head on over to Lexapro: A Love Affair part 1 where you’ll get all kinds of caught up.

So here’s the thing. This moment; me sitting in a doctor’s office with sunken eyes, no makeup, sallow skin and an attempt at casual silliness in the form of ironic duck lips and an instagram worthy filter, did not come easily, naturally, or quickly. In this moment — the moment I snapped a selfie in attempt to memorize this appointment as though I knew on a subconscious level how pivotal it would prove to be in the timeline of my life story — in this moment I am chalk full of fear.

Well, to be fair, in virtually all moments back then I was chalk full of fear, but here I am specifically chalk full of fear over the fact that I am sitting in a doctor’s office, seriously contemplating starting medications for postpartum anxiety. What if they don’t work? What if they make it worse? What if the side effects are awful? What if they make me gain all the weight back I worked so hard to lose after baby? What if I have to try medicine after medicine in a horrible, vicious cycle and never find a good fit? What if this means I’m weak and can’t handle the challenges that come with having four children? What if I shouldn’t have had four children to begin with?

The questions were endless. As a good friend of mine told me once, “someone with anxiety can never make the decision to go on anxiety medication; they’re too anxious!” Never a truer word. And speaking of that comment, let me rewind a bit to the weeks and months leading up to this life-changing doctor’s appointment, because like I said, this was not a decision made lightly. It was months in the making.

One key moment in my decision making process came on a hot, sunny, summer day when I took my boys to the park with two good friends of mine. We chatted about life as we walked and our conversation eventually turned to postpartum mental health.

Both these mamas, who are absolutely some of my favorite people on the planet, have had experience with some level of anxiety in their lives. One of them was telling me about her decision to start medication and how it completely changed her life. I’d casually texted her about this subject in the past because she wasn’t shy about sharing her experience and this was not the first time I had considered the fact that I might be in the middle of a postpartum mood disorder, but for some reason this conversation in the park hit me differently.

As she told us about what her life looked like before she decided to take medication, it hit me how much her life then sounded like mine was now. In fact, I started crying in the middle of the park as I told her I thought this conversation might be an answer to months of prayer. I’m not an easy crier, you guys. Even at the height of my anxiety, tears seldom came…but here I found myself in the middle of the afternoon, crying actual tears at a city park while I pushed my baby in a swing and realized consciously for the first time that the anxiety I was experiencing was probably not just a normal result of having four children.

Hooray! Following this breakthrough, I immediately called my doctor and started a medication and everything was perfect!

…no.

I went home and kept thinking about that conversation; about the feelings I experienced while my friend talked; about whether or not my anxiety was the “medication” kind of anxiety or just the “take a deep breath, smile and get your stuff together” anxiety that was sort of my normal.

The problem was that I just. Kept. Thinking. And I kept thinking until I’d thought myself back into the cyclical pattern that was so familiar by now: “I’m so anxious, it’s making me absolutely miserable, I feel like I’m failing my children. This isn’t normal. But what do I know about normal? Probably everyone with four kids feels overwhelmed and they just deal with it. Why can’t I deal with it? I should be stronger/better/more flexible/less worried/harder working. Tomorrow, I’m going to have the perfect day and prove to myself that I’m equal to this task. *the next day ends* Well. That day was far from perfect. I’m just way too anxious! I’m not functioning well. I’m totally miserable. I wonder what’s wrong with me? Should I medicate? No, everyone with four children probably feels this way and they just handle it better. Tomorrow I will try even harder…” and on and on and on it spun forever and ever amen.

I had this conversation four hundred different times with four hundred different people (and many of the same people, in fact, sorry friends!) and always came to the same conclusion: I just needed to be “better”. Whatever that meant. And to Anxiety Brain it meant: work more. Get more done every day. Have a clean house. Control everything.

Months passed, and I couldn’t shake the conversation I’d had in the park that day. I thought about it again and again and particularly the line about how an anxious person couldn’t ever choose to go on anxiety mediation on account of their anxiety and all… I knew I was living that truth. And somehow that line finally snapped me out of it.

I called my doctor to make an appointment for my baby’s well baby checkup and in almost a trance, I told the receptionist I also needed to be seen for postpartum anxiety. To my surprise, she opened up about her own PPA and made an extra effort to get us in as soon as possible which meant the very next day. That ended up being a tiny miracle because it gave me no time to over-think my decision and cancel the appointment.

I can’t explain it, but everything leading up to my swallowing that first pill felt like I was being driven instead of doing the driving. It was like I’d “let go” in an almost literal “Jesus, take the wheel” sort of situation and just let Him steer for a minute. I heard myself explain to my doctor how worried I was about starting medication, but about how sure I was that I needed them, saw myself fill out the questionnaire which helped my doctor and me see quite definitively that I was suffering from PPA (they look for a score of 10 and above…I scored 25 out of 35), watched myself get an EKG to check my heart health and heard myself, ever so reluctantly, say “yes” when the doctor asked if I’d like a prescription.

I left that appointment still nervous that I was about to make a huge mistake, but really grateful that my doctor took the time to talk me through a lot of my fears. He put my mind at ease to such a degree that despite my misgivings, and again in almost a trance, I swallowed that first pill right before bed. I’ve never been so happy to have taken a risk in all my life.

Today it’s been two and a half months since I took that first dose and let me just tell you: I am changed. I haven’t felt this free in years. I feel like a physical weight has been taken from me and because it’s gone, I’m able to think not only more rationally, but also more frivolously. I can daydream again! Life isn’t nearly as serious as Anxiety Brain made me think it was. My house gets messy a lot more often (they should maybe list that as a possible side-effect on the bottle) just because I don’t want to devote all my energies to keeping it spotless 24/7. My kids make me laugh far more often than they make me want to pull my hair out. My hard days still happen on occasion, but with far less frequency than they did before (which was literally daily). I go places with all four kids now! We have great and marvelous adventures and I don’t worry constantly about what people are thinking about us or how we’re invading their space or if I’m going to lose a kid or two or if we’ll have tantrums or diaper blow-outs. And guess what? We do sometimes. And I handle it. And it doesn’t stop me now. I feel whole again.

My husband agrees. If you ask him, he’ll tell you he thinks this is the happiest I’ve been in our entire married life. Which is saying something because I’m pretty darn happy being married to that man. But sometimes in order to experience a deeper happiness in a marriage, you have to get you a good side piece.

Lexapro, I’ll never leave him for you, but stick around anyway because we’re just so good together.