The pumpkin patches you hope they won't miss...

Today, after dropping off the Traverse for maintenance issues we have been putting off for months, I rode with Michael back to his work and cried.

Not at first, at first I snapped and picked a fight. I passive aggressively mentioned problems "he's" caused recently, I acted completely offended that he suggest I "take it easy" even though he genuinely meant I relax,  and I then I sat there angrily scribbling in my creepy little personal notebook in silence... a sure tell sign for Michael that I'm about to lose it.

He took a deep breath "I'm not trying to fight. I don't want to fight, I just don't know what's wrong and if I don't know, I can't help.  I want to help."

TEARS. (from me, not Michael)

Ugly crying and deep gasps for air. (again... not Michael)

And everything that has been bothering me, but I'm ashamed to admit, came out in two and half minutes.  I wanted to this fall break to be perfect; 3 house projects, fun activity each day for the kids, dentist visits for all, enjoy my mom, get to soccer practices and games on time (5 total), clean the house, visit the two newest babies boys in my life, fall family photos, and on and on and on...

But, on top of ALL of this (horror of all horrors) I didn't schedule a pumpkin patch visit. End of the World? No. But from my current view of the World, threw the rose colored glasses of Facebook and Instagram; I'd failed them!

Michael paused and then spoke "We don't need to entertain our kids all the time, they are happy and loved. I never carved a pumpkin that we didn't grow on our farms. I never went to a pumpkin festival, maybe a cider mill for donuts, but all our pumpkins came from what we'd grown."

Sometimes, I hate when people point out the obvious to me and sometimes, it makes me love them even more. 

And Michael had grown pumpkins with our kids, all spring and summer they visited those pumpkins and watched them grow.  We picked those pumpkins and rolled them to our front porch.  Why hadn't I realized THIS was our tradition and this was just as important and memorable?

Fall break wasn't a bust; Grandma loved on our babies and made them homemade costumes, projects were complete, cuddles were had, everyone made it to their 6 month check ups, movies and snuggles occurred, we indulged in Casa Bonita, we made it on time(ish) to soccer practices, and  I even got to visit with friends.

It was a damn good break, but I let my high expectations of what I "should" get done and my view of other people's fun visits to the pumpkin patches cloud my vision.

Before typing this, I memory popped up on Facebook; it was the boys and me at the pumpkin patch 4 years ago... and just as I was about to say "You know what, we can make this work," I stopped myself and remembered that visit. 

The pictures are adorable, but the pumpkin photo at the top of the page.... the one with the white pumpkin, that little white pumpkin was for our future Eliza Jane. I distinctly recall that day; after spending hours in the heat with a 2.5 year old, a 1.5 year old and a 5 week old in my belly I came home and collapsed from exhaustion (and much like today) I cried. 

I cried because we'd planned too much and we were pushing ourselves too hard.
I cried, questioning whether we could handle three babies, or worse, what if I'd pushed myself too hard and risked the life of this little one???

I still have things on my to-do-list. 
I still kind of wish we could make the pumpkin festival work (it won't). 
My chest still tightens when I think that my kids didn't enjoy every second of every day of fall break.

But as Michael told me, I need to stop making "To-Do" lists and start making lists of all the things I accomplished.

Every parent wants their kids to have fond memories of their weekends, breaks, and overall childhood, but sometimes there just isn't enough time or energy to get to all the events and activities. Sometimes, life isn't picture perfect... sometimes it's just about making sure everyone is seen, heard, and loved.

This year we skipped the pumpkin patch and I genuinely hope my kids won't miss it too much. Next year we'll try again, or maybe we won't. If there is one thing I've learned today, it's that throwing out your to-do-list, building a fort in the living room with the kids, cathartically typing for 35 minutes as the kids watch toons, and accepting that what you've already accomplished is enough, is just as important as checking off every item on that list.

The night my three year old daughter helped me deescalate from a panic attack

At 4:30, we walked in the door after a busy weekend and long road trip; the car was a mess, the house dirty, the kids were exhausted, and Michael needed to run into work for several hours.

I had to clean up, put away stuff from our night away, vacuum the car, and then feed and put the kids to bed... no big deal.

But then, like so many times before, all I could see was the mess that would never be cleaned, the car I've neglected to vacuum all summer, and kids that would never listen, and all I could do was sit and try to breath deeply to take away from my chest pain. 
I couldn't start.
I couldn't pick what needed to be done first.
I was emotionally incapable of prioritizing.
There was no point of entry into the messy abyss that stood before me,
everything was torn to shit and all over the place.

No one was in ear shot to hear the silent screams inside me.
I could feel the panic and anxiety start at my chest and slowly seep into my limbs, filling my body with an overwhelming feeling of fear.

So, like any logical person in this state; I pick the best possibly thing to do when it begins to rain outside... I decide I need to clean the car.

The kids and I headed to the car wash so I could vacuum out at least two dozen McDonald's toys, a Costco size bag of Pirate Booty, 2 lbs of dirt from our travels this summer, and about 15 school art projects that had been ripped and shredded all over the floor.

As we pulled out of the car wash, my chest lightened and I felt accomplished. The industrial sized vacuum and car wash served as amusement park games and rides for the kids; I not only got something done, but entertained at the same time! I was multi-tasking.

The house was still there, though, and entering those doors put me back at ground zero.

I talked to my sister on the phone, I tried to call my mom, I posted a cute picture of my kids on social media, I cleaned out my email inbox, I went through and unsubscribed to emails, I busied my brain and myself; to avoid.  And, until Michael came home from work and the presence of another adult allowed me to see the chaos once more, I sat on my couch and avoided.

Michael didn't ask me to pick up, he didn't ask what I'd been doing, he started in on what still needed to be done and got to work.  In these times, we don't talk; partially because Michael doesn't know where I am mentally or emotionally and he doesn't want to push if I'm not ready, but also because (after 18 years together) we both know what needs to be done and if it isn't, there is usually a good reason.

And no, to those thinking "Why didn't he stop to check in with her, why didn't he find what was wrong and help her," that isn't always an option.  In a family of 5, our priorities are the 3 little ones that depend on us and if Michael sees me seemingly losing control, other than asking if I need a break (which he does often, but he had been working and driving all day too), him stepping up and doing more work, is often much more important and helpful. 

But the panic attack that had started was still looming over me.  I could feel it, sitting there, heavy, waiting

The light at the end of the tunnel felt near, Michael was going to put the boys to bed and Lizie was ready to fall asleep, but then, Michael leaned over the railing on our stairs and randomly asked me a perfectly harmless question that sent me spinning.  No, I didn't scream or cry, I didn't lash out or react, rather I perseverated on this (again perfectly harmless) question. I'd almost made it to bedtime.

The muscles in my body felt like they were quivering.

I started roaming the house and cleaning, all the while having hypothetical fights and arguments with people in my head that surrounded the topic Michael asked about. I played out every scenario, every possible fight or disagreement.  My heart was racing and my chest was tightening by the second. I was angry with people, I was mad, I was jealous, I was not making sense, and I knew it.

My breath was fast and it hurt to inhale.

I knew that all of this was unreasonable. I knew these fights weren't going to happen, that the horrible outcomes I had running through my head weren't going to occur, I knew that (because of this harmless question) no one was going to die, yet I could not get that through to myself.

The tightening in my chest was so much, that I was walking and holding in my heart with my left hand.

Eliza started following me and I could hear her murmur to herself, like I was. I could see my mini-me rummage and pick up items and straighten things in a flustered and irrational manner. I tried to tell her mommy just needed her chapstick and then she would calm down, but she knew; better than I did, that no amount of chapstick would stop my shaking and labored breathing.

My ears were hot, my pals clammy, and my body temperature kept rising.

I hate that this trait is something I will most likely pass on to one of my children, and then, that became my obsession; seeing my kids' futures like this, and I started spiraling deeper.

I couldn't breath or reason or slow down.

Amid the, hypothetical, internal arguments I was having with people, I heard Lizie's voice, asking me to put her to bed. We brushed our teeth, climbed into her hot pink princess bed, and laid on our sides facing one another.

There were tears streaming down my face and I was taking as deep of breaths as I could... but then I noticed it. I noticed what my three year old daughter was doing for me; she had found my breath and was breathing deeply along with me and looking at me directly in the eyes. (Something I do to calm the kids)

My heart slowed and my chest pain lessened, and for a good 10 minutes we stared at each other, breathing in unison; until the most beautiful thing happened.  Eliza took her little arm, rapped it around my back and began patting my shoulder and whispered "You're a good momma, we love you so much."

The thought of ever being a burden to my children scares me, it is not their job to take care of their mom, but at the same time; I love that they know how to take care of people. The balance of showing your kids your struggles, but exposing them to too much, is a difficult one; one that weighs heavily on me.

Today is slow. I have two check lists, a dream list and a practical list.  I've apologized up front to my kids that I have little patience and that I might cry, but it's only because I'm tired and want to do a good job for them.
Beckett got his sister breakfast
Brooks cleaned the living room
Eliza keeps cuddling and stopping to check in with her me.

I've yelled, more that I would like to admit to and I've cried just a little less than yelled, but the kids are alright. Lizie is curled up between my legs, Brooks is sitting beside me, and Beckett is at the foot of our lounger.  We are watching movie number 2 and I could give a crap less if I'm going over on "screen time."

Last night was inevitable, change always causes my panic and anxiety to ramp up. We've spent our summer going and going and going, because I was avoided a meltdown, but the irony is, that it most likely caused it.

I'm an imperfect mom who has an imperfect marriage and imperfect kids, but I try very hard to continually better myself.  I have a husband who, although he isn't always the best at communication, knows that silence and putting the kids to bed without a question, is often what I need.  I have children who are compassionate and forgiving and nonjudgmental, kids who I know will be good humans. 

And, with any luck, hopefully by tonight I'll have a clean(ish) house.

The reason I posted pictures of my kids today.

The repair man was coming at 10 o'clock and at 9:55, just as I was rushing to clean the house and dress the kids, the door bell rings... I throw on the rest of my clothes and answer the door flustered.

10 minutes later, after several broken conversations, the repair man asks me something that needs my full attention. Just then, Eliza screams for help from the bathroom and the boys begin an all out brawl in the kitchen right next to the dish washer. I lost my temper, yelled at the boys to go to their room, and the repair man, softly and apologetically, asked "Do you want to call your husband so I can talk to him?"

And then, like any sane person who has their shit together, I began sobbing. I called Michael (from the bathroom because Eliza was now full on screaming for help) and told him that he needed to take care of this.

I should be able to watch my kids and talk to an adult. I should be able to have the house cleaned and ready if someone arrives. I should be able to control my emotions enough so that I don't make a repair man feel uncomfortable with my tears.

I should, but I don't

After he left, I didn't plan an outing or set up any events for the day.  I didn't play games or sit and read to my children. I didn't clean the bathrooms or wash laundry.

After he left; I sat and watched as my kids tore the house apart.

*I wanted to leave and go pick out fabric for the blankets I was going to make the kids, but the thought of loading up into the car seemed too daunting.

*I wanted to organize Eliza's new doll clothing and finish the loads of laundry that add up, but all I could focus on was that they would still be there (even bigger) tomorrow. 

*I wanted to take the kids out to lunch someplace with a play place, but thinking about talking to someone I don't know (even to order food) exhausted me. 

*I wanted to go to Target to get some groceries for an exciting new dinner I'd come up with a few days ago for the family, but I just didn't have it in me to move from the couch.

The day drug on and I grew angrier with myself for wasting a day.  As a person who's always suffered from depression and anxiety, when something goes wrong... I can't always turn the situation around. And then, I dig myself an even deeper hole with self loathing.

The kids ate food, they played non-stop, they laughed, and overall will most likely sit at our dinner table tonight and tell dad they had fun; however, I won't recall that day, my day was very different. And the thought of a wasted day with my children, upsets me deep in my gut.

As 2 o'clock approached I stood up and announced we'd go for a walk. I checked that my yoga pants were presentable enough, put on Michael's hoodie, and helped each kid put on their tennis shoes.  I was going to leave this house.

As we walked and the kids played, I snapped a few pictures, because it was a moment I needed to be reminded of. And yes, I did post my photos, because I needed to share my win moment.  Today, after 4 hours, I won and got up and got out of my house. In years past, these moments were few and far between; so if posting on social media, and looking at my memories serves as a reminder to me, then I'll keep on doing it. When old posts pop up on my feed, not only do I get nostalgic, but I'm reminded of events and times that I had and gave myself reasons to get up and get moving.

I have three giant reasons to get up and be present every.single.day

In truth, we don't need to entertain our kids or drive them all over to be good parents. The skills my kids learn, when left to their own devices, are greater than half the stuff I can teach them. While I wasn't fully engaged or interacting with my kids at the level I generally deem as "being a great mom," I wasn't a bad mom.  I was there, not my best, but I was there. While I didn't play games with them or read to them, I sat and watched as they made up their own games and listened to Beckett as he read to his brother and sister.

I know my mental health should be something I'm constantly working on, and it is. Six summers back, I would have sat there for hours and then days; not watching TV, not playing on my phone, but contemplating what I should do and then convincing myself not to. Then, evening would approach and the guilt of my wasted time would get to me and I'd hate myself.

I work on myself now, more than ever. I work on myself for my babies. I acknowledge when I'm dipping deep into an emotional state that is best avoided and I find my outlets. I write. I run. I take deep breaths and count the beautiful living souls I've created.

I try to give myself rest days and I make sure to connect with people who lift me up. Above all, I forgive myself for days like today and I acknowledge the me that is deep inside. The me that wants to melt into her bed and grow forever stagnate. Because, she too is apart of me. And, though I fight with her daily, she is what makes me the compassionate person that I am.

So, I post pictures of my kids hiking, walking, playing at the museum, and running around the zoo because I wear those activities like a badge of honor. I'm not just proud that I get all three out of the house, I'm proud that I get out of the house and that I am able to be present in their lives.