anxiety x anxiety

breathe in, breathe out. daily. repeat. and so on.

anxiety is really fun, you guys. sometimes, it's your period. sometimes, it's work, or work/life balance. sometimes, it's money. sometimes, it's family. sometimes, it's everything and absolutely nothing. all of the times, it sucks. it's consuming. it's difficult to capture with words. to explain to those you interact (or don't) with why you're suddenly ghosting everyone. or why you have perma bitchface. or why you are overreacting or not reacting to every and anything.

and all of the millions of things in your head. what if. . .i can't. . . i don't want to. . . can i?

it's been a rollercoaster of a month/week/day, you guys.

my family and i moved into a long overdue upgrade of an apartment. we have every and anything we could ever want or need. a backyard, private garage, giant park behind our home, a dishwasher, free laundry, a playroom! happy kids, happy mom and dad. i bike four miles a day now! (well, on work days, anyway). so there's exercise. and sunshine.

i just saw all of my favorite people in the world last week. i turned 35. we had a barbecue and two of my long distance girlfriends went out of their way to make it to chicago to celebrate and that meant more than the world to me. we went out for drinks on 'mom time' (aka super early on a sunday evening) at one of my favorite establishments. i was able to temporarily play social jodi and see some friendly faces i haven't seen in forever. it was nice, it really, really was. and is. i'm so lucky to have these people in my life.

i had almost a whole week off with my kids. i got to play house with my husband over an extended weekend. we grilled out twice! it was the best. it is the best.

and still, my heart feels like it is constantly palpitating and my shoulders are tense and i can't seem to answer my phone or talk to people. and sure, it's about to be 'that time of the month,' but do normal people have breakdowns when they are faced with talking to family members? because i did.

let me give you guys all a friendly tip. if you have someone you love or even just kinda like, or just have to get along with, who has anxiety, guilt trips don't really work. in fact, they have a tendency to trigger anxiety and all the fun shebang symptoms that come along with it, into hyperdrive. so i'm a bad aunt. i'm going to miss my niece's graduation party. and yes, i feel bad. but i also feel bad that i'm being made to feel bad because it would be a major stressor to upheave my family's routine and the thought of driving in traffic on a graduation weekend to the suburbs alone, right this moment, is terrifying and i can't breathe right.

i mean, seriously? i can't really say why or what or how i'm feeling, because i can't justify it. i can't explain it. sure, i met with my friends last weekend. but that was  a good week. and quite frankly, i think it may have exhausted my 'regular' energy to just be me for a minute. and now i'm not having a regular moment and i'm just - - - tense?

it doesn't always make sense, you know. and what really gets me, is the pressure and expectation to just 'suck it up' and swallow a pill and blah blah blah to make yourself normal. i do take pills, actually. daily. but they don't always work like a magic wand, to my dismay. you don't always know where the other person is coming from, especially if you don't know where they've been.

where i am. where i've been. where i'm going.

i'm so incredibly lucky and grateful for my support system. my husband. my friends. my kids.

my friend sarah got my boys matching t-shirts. it melted my heart faster than a nuked cheese curd.

there's no real point or punchline, here. just trying to see if getting it 'out there' maybe helps the pain in my neck.

if not, there's always a sixer of spotted cow waiting in my garage tonight. and some two and four year old boy snuggles.

-x

TRUTH. (gimme the chips)

25 days, 24 nights

until we move. this july, i will have been a chicagoan (or at least a wisconsin transplant in chicago) for 12 years. crazy. and april 30, my family and i embark upon what will be my 7th residence/move in the past dozen years. while i think about it, it does sound like a lot, but my whole life has been a nomadic lifestyle from the day i turned 18 years and got the hell out of argyle.

if i try to count, can i even pinpoint my different addresses?

argyle: 2
river falls: 3
wisconsin dells: 5
oshkosh: 6
chicago: 7

so - 23 places in my 34.almost 35 years? eesh.

but i'm SO ready to move. between the sketch pad bums that infest the third floor of my building and the frat party bros directly above us and the seasonal cockroaches and gangbangers in our basement - i. am. so. done. we had to call our landlord to report police/security issues eleven times in two years. i mean, c'mon. that's not even bitching about the gross/annoying stuff, that's just 'oh there was a gunshot in our building two floors up and we have little kids, so uh, yeah,' or 'our storage unit was broken into by the gangbangers who got pissed when we ratted them out for letting their buddies sleep/live in our basement where we keep our stroller, so uh, yeah,' or 'there's a homeless dude sleeping outside our unit on the stairwell, anything you can do about that?'

UGH.

moving is expensive. you have to a) pay to get out of your lease at said slum; b) pay moving application fees, background check fees, move-in fees, mover fees, extra babysitting hours so your kids don't drive you even more crazy than you already are when packing your million boxes (that you had to pay for on amazon), and alllllll the random shit that type A crazy OCD people like me insist is necessary for making a new house a 'home' (see: random impulse buys at marshall's - new oven mitts, kitchen towels, cupboard/cabinet thingy for cats to shit in, new rugs, blah blah blahhh).

but you guys i am so excited. for real.

for the first time in my adult life (i dont count the college years bc i had no identity and listened to good charlotte and newfound glory and wore plaid pants and boyscout shirts), i will have a BACKYARD. like, a real one. fenced in. ON THE PARK. with not one, but two playgrounds within our line of sight. a two car garage! remember that time my car got completely totaled just by being parked in front of my apartment last year? because some dumb bitchass kid didn't know how to parallel park and it ate 12k out of my savings that i still haven't rebounded from? well at least that won't happen in our private secured garage. and we can buy a picnic table! a kiddie pool! a grill! mama can have beers in her backyard! lounge in my mom swimsuit with spotted cows while the kids run around. holy hell. with all of this, you'd think we're just living in someone else's backyard. but nope. we have private free laundry too! what the what??? it's a lovely bottom unit of a two flat in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, but that's besides the point. it's a really lovely family friendly quiet residential street. sure, my commute to the office will be 20 minutes more inconvenient, and i'll prob end up putting some kid who's dad is an uber driver through college, but - no more gunshots! no more break-ins! NO MORE PARTY BROS LISTENING TO THE BACKSTREET BOYS. (i mean what, why even?)

it's more space. it's safe. it has all the comforts we need. with a dishwasher! as a mom to little kids who never even has time to use the restroom without company barging in, dishwashers and laundry onsite is like a halleeffinglullah. and we got sunrooms.

and the best part? it's only a couple hundro more than our current rent. i feel like an ass for not getting out of our squalor earlier. and it's a good school zone!

so yeah. 25 days. 24 nights. and then, we move.

it's not out of the city like i initially envisioned. turns out, it really does take a village to raise a fam with lil kiddos. so we're not going anywhere until the boys are big enough to not need grandparents and nanny help. i keep saying 'minnesota 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019. . . .' yeah. we're in chicago.

even with this umpteenth winter wave (i mean snow? in april? gimme a goddamn break), i'm still super stoked for summer time, even if it means we completely skip over spring.

you can catch me sipping pbr's with a straw in a sexy fashionable mom swimsuit in a kiddie pool (maybe or maybe not sporting bright blue brand new oven mitts, b/c they are so fly). i'll be the freckly whale just off the river park, bumping some moana and frozen songs on the bluetooth speaker - with or without kids.

here's to life dealing you a shitty hand and karma doubling down to make it up to you. let's hope there's no 24th move before year 15 as a sconnie transplant.

parenting is not being able to laugh when your kid tells it like it is.

and here i thought we had until at least kindergarten until the kid lived up to his namesake.

treinta y cinco

i'm turning 35 this year. in two months, actually. even though each day seems to drag on slowly, i'm somewhat appalled at how quickly the years manage to be ticking by. i mean, i still feel like i'm 26 or 27. that cute young thing, who always seemed to have so much energy and be so interested in the next big thing. music, friends, activities. fun. and now i'm all like, wait, wut. 35? really, guys? i mean, yeah. 35.

and i'm cool with it! i'm all bout it bout it. my kids are finally old enough where independence is slowly becoming a thing with me again. after a hard blurry four years of survival, ooey gooey love, physical pains, stressors, tears, snot and lack of identity - i'm like, almost me again. but a grown up version. i mean 35? whoa.

somewhat intentionally, somewhat not, 2018 is turning into the year of self care. or at least awareness. i'm a redhead again (kinda). i fixed and added to some tattoos. i wear makeup again. sunscreen, omg! my skincare regime game is STRONG son, albeit expensive. whoever made up all these stupid creams, lotions, and serums targeting 30 something yuppie women is a genius. i fall for all of it. YES PLEASE. FIX MY DISCOLORATION. erase my freckles. hide my eye luggage. my recklessness of self care the first 34 years, all resolved with some magic goop! more more more. (raises hand).

i mean, last night. the kids went to bed at their newer later bedtime much to my chagrin. daylight savings is a mother fucker, i tell you. the almost four year old is getting smarter 'it's not bedtime yet mom it's still sunny outside!' GO TO BED. but i digress. the kids fiiiiinally passed out. and dad offered me a glass (or three) of rose, despite my usual aversion to weeknight drinking. and mom went buckwild on an online shopping spree! among the many purchases, an icecream scoop (oh man i am so sick of bending our regular spoons with hard ass icecream! no more!). three new pairs of thinx! (if you don't know - well, you're about to. they're period panties. PANTIES FOR WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR PERIOD. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WEAR A TAMPON. bye bye diva cup! just freeball it. or freebleed it. whatever, modern conveniences are awesome). but these mother fuckers are like 35 bucks a pop, so naturally i had to get krunk to buy my second set (because mama wanted some back ups!). but always the savvy shopper, i made my husband buy them so i could get an extra $10 off referral code. i bought some other garbage, too. on top of going wild and springing on some new threads (see i'm a hip mom, using slang. threads means clothes!) at target, i've got some buyer's remorse this morning. but i also had buyer's guilt after splurging $120 on three new sofa cushion sag relief supporting blocks - and now it's like we have a brand new couch! so sometimes it's smart and not compulsive!!!

it's like money. retail therapy. whether it be to 'better' my home. or my appearance. or spoil my kids with damn frozen barbie dolls. i can control these things. i can bring temporary happiness and joy into my family's life. so i do it.

2018 is the year of self care.

in addition to buying home goods and facial serum, i also have made myself read again. so far, nothing great or to write home about. i joined this online book club thing, where you get a new book every month. i kept falling into a rut not knowing what to read because i usually rip through everything an author puts out after discovering one, and i've exhausted all my usuals. so it's mostly been trashy contemporary housewife fiction. it's pretty bad. but fun. so i'm at the very least meeting my one book a month goal, actually slightly exceeding it.

i also fully plan on running again, now that it's starting to warm up again. signed up for my usual ravenswood 5k in april. that'll be nice. it'd be nice to have a running buddy, but i'm pretty damn slow, so would be too self conscious to even bother trying to recruit one.

and concerts! i realized i haven't seen a 'real' show in years. i discount my experience at ravinia last summer or any of the street festivals, because those shows don't have the same experience. i'm old and crabby. i want to sit down and hear the music. not be squished in some hipster dude's smelly armpit, barely able to keep my eyes open. so i've rediscovered all ages shows. they begin at 7:30 pm!!!! and one of the shows i bought tickets to has RESERVED SEATING. whoamygod. so yeah. sylvan esso and beach house should be solid jams. yeah yeah yeahs are playing 3 days after my birthday. and it's all ages so it's early. aaaaand i have the majority of the last week of may off work. but i don't know if i can justify the pricetag, and even if i can, if anyone else can to accompany me. but we'll see. the fact is that i'm making efforts to do things i used to enjoy for me. it's funny, i don't put a second thought into shelling out the same amount of money (nearly 60 bucks, cough cough), on this hunk of garbage for my kid's upcoming birthday. but for myself? ahhhhhhh. queue internal debate.

i'm trying to write again. i kinda flip flop between blogs. between unpolished and mom vomit heart rambles. i should probably just consolidate. i didn't want to get too personal on the former music one, but too late. it's not like i write anymore so it's definitely not like people will even read any of it. but that's not why i do this. i do this to get my brain flowing again. so i'm not humming 'do you want to build a snowman' for the 30th time to myself in my office like a creeper. (i am a creeper tho). NOTE: i tried to update this post on the unpolished domain, as i realized i hadn't posted there since DECEMBER 2015 HOLYSHIT, but the formatting is all jacked and i'm too lazy to figure it out. ok, this blog wins, i guess.

overall, 2018 is shaping out a-ok. my kids are amazing human beings. the little one is such a fireball. so stubborn and mean. but so beautiful and sweet (sometimes). the big one is really something. always accusing us of 'lying' if we tease. screaming 'I WANT TO CUDDLE YOU MOM' and begging to wear my clothes and makeup. they're my little bears. and things are good.

the housing situation sucks, so we're looking to move as soon as we can. i don't have the energy to document all that bs, but i'm looking forward to moving somewhere where i don't have to operate my 'meth lab' (aka portable washer and dryer, funnels, buckets, tubes and all) just to get clean clothes on my back.

i'm ok with 35. i'm actually pretty excited for it. i can't drink like i used to, nor do i want to. but this may be an excuse to throw some back and just live in the summer. these cold ass winter months have been brutal and i'm all too prepared to get my kids running around the playground again. go out for icecream. be a cool mom. i was jamming to some lil wayne on the radio in my car the other day with my kids. that's a cool mom thing to do, right? or is it just awkward. we ended up switching to 'PLAY MOANA MOM' immediately after anyway.

even though i can't seem to come up with a clever blog post title, or a cutesy closing to this long winded pile of words, it feels good to kindasorta write again. i may just challenge myself to checking in on the reg a bit more this year. a blog a month or week or something. you know, mental health. because 2018 is the whole year of self-care and whatnot.

progress (report).

hot damn. i just re-read the post i published today, but wrote nearly six months ago. capturing the feels of my post-partum / generalized anxiety disorder. i was on day 11 of my anti-depressants at that point. and the struggle was (is) real.

i'm not sure what day count i'm on anymore, which to me, is an excellent sign that the meds have done their duty. i am on month six! and while i still worry, i think that's just par for the course of motherhood. i'm me again, in the extent that i can focus on milestones, and tasks, without losing sleep.

i started off on 25 mg of setraline, the generic pill for zoloft. it wasn't enough. 50 mgs. not enough. sitting pretty at 100 now, for the past three months or so. there are days that are considerably worse than others, to be frank, i don't think my mind will ever slow down to the point of 'normal,' but for me, i can function and no longer feel electricity (literally) coursing through my veins. i've been off the birth control pill now for four years. i went off shortly before conceiving holden, then had max, and decided to investigate alternate means of birth control for the remainder of my fertile years. because fuck artificially controlling your hormones. but i will say this - they helped (or at least me in my personal experience) dealing and controlling with the sads. and by oh boy do i get the sads. but only for 1-3 days a month, so i can handle that. beyond those temporary sads, (which i have the help of hydroxyzine - because my psychiatrist thinks that benadryl and putting my ass to sleep is effective for the super sads?), i'm doing ok. which is great!

i see my friends more. i talk more. i'm me more.

i got a haircut, with no second guessing or trembles! and chopped it!

i may even get another tattoo, which i'm not sure is the smartest decision as an adult, but i'm looking forward to exploring the option. which is as jodi as i ever used to be, so maybe it's a nod towards the yester-me. the bridging between the pre-mom jodi and the mom today jodi.

i love my husband. i love my children. i love my friends.

vincent and i are going on our first (!!!) night away from the children in a couple weeks. unless you count the night i went into labor with maxwell and holden stayed with his grandparents while vincent and i hung out in the hospital watching garbage tv as the nurses barraged in our room with oxygen masks, belly detectors and various IV fun to get things moving, we haven't had a night to ourselves since the arrival of kid #1. we're planning on driving south to starved rock for a day of hiking and a night sleeping in the same bed!!!! at a hotel while his sister and my sister watch the kiddos. (good luck, dudes - max without a tit at 3 am is a hoot, i'm sure). i don't get to sleep with my husband anymore. i sleep with two other little men, who no matter where they fall asleep initially, somehow always wind up spooning me in my arms.

i'm not complaining.

although, it will be a treat to cuddle a grown up for once.

the thing is - i'm talking about it. i'm thinking about it. i'm looking forward to it.

these are things i did not - could not - do six months ago. before i finally sought help for my mental health.

i got a letter from my psychiatrist in the mail yesterday informing me he's leaving his practice and that he'll develop a 'transition plan' for me to a different doctor at his office. good riddance. i wasn't a fan of the sixty dollar co-pays to come in for five minutes to confirm 'yup, the meds are working' every 3 weeks. it's zoloft, not xanax. i just want my pills. i want my stability. i want my help. just for a little while. i was on medication for about a year between a rough patch when i was 19-20. saved my life. and they've done it again. so i'm not in hurry to go off, nor am i really entertained by having to spend so much money to confirm that my medication plan is in fact working. why is our health care system so screwed?

oh wait - that question right there is enough to lead to dozens of others. (why is the world falling apart? like seriously the apocalypse? why does it take multiple life shattering hurricanes for me to think 'oh wait, chicago's not that bad - at least we're only killing ourselves vs. natural disasters, gang shootings in broad daylight out of elementary schools aren't THAT bad, at least we're not flooded!)

ugh.

i need to move my family to minnesota. there, the only natural or otherwise disasters we'd be at risk for would be cold ass winters. bring it on, snow. i ain't afraid of no frostbite.

but i guess what this ramble is getting to is that if any of you are feeling off - or know anyone who is - it can get better. it can be ok.

it's scary to read my past writing, and to think back on my past feels, and realize how silently and how long i was secretly suffering. and i mean suffering. and belittle myself like, oh what are you whining about, you have financial stability, a family, healthcare, there are so many people in need, you're fine. . . . but the thing is, i wasn't.

the first day i saw my psychiatrist, i was a shivering, scared mess. i was sitting in the doctor's office, and saw a familiar face come out of their own appointment. and it was the last thing i expected - seeing someone i knew - admitting i was weak, being caught as vulnerable and not a rockstar. but it was nice. instead, i got a hug, an 'it'll be alright,' and it was unexpectedly empowering, and nearly brought me to tears. this person will never know, but that hug meant the world to me and was everything i needed in that moment.

i'd like to return the favor to anyone else in the boat i was once in. if you need a hug, be it physical, or virtual, or just an 'i got you, dude,' here it is. seeking help is so worth it. it's scary. but because of the help of my doctor and anti depressants, i'm a happy and fun and most importantly, present, mother in my children's and husband's life.

a lot can happen in six months. i can only imagine where i'd be now - before he who shall not be named's 'ruling' overtook the country and the world fell to shit, without my meds. i'd be a fullout mess, and not an ironically hot one.

anyway. i know i say this all the time and never fall through on it, but i'm going to try and write again. when i can. document the trivial day to day moments, so i don't forget. holden whispering 'theres a party in my tummy,' or repeating 'fistbump' to himself before jittering himself to sleep. max screaming 'BEEEEEEE' at beans, and laughing in joy at his older brother's funny faces. that's the good stuff, the reason i'm here, the justification for self care - gotta take care of me, to take care of these little boys of mine. to raise genuine, loving good men. that's what the world needs. solid people to have other people's backs in times of need.

first day of school.

My baby is going to school today.

When you ask him, my blonde haired blue wonder child, how old he is, he'll no longer respond "two months,"  (like he did for the first three years of his life), but 'three years,' holding up the four fingers, holding one down with his left hand, and ask, 'is this thwee, mom?'

He's so bright. If you ask him his address, he'll reply in song, and get it right. He knows both parents real names, although you may have to prompt him after he initially responds with 'mom' and 'dad.' He can count to ten in Spanish. He can count even higher in English. He knows three quarters of the lyrics to Taylor Swift's latest single, (although I'm not sure if that's brag worthy in itself, the fact that he can retain the lyrics in the ten or so days since he heard it for the first time is impressive in itself). He not only pees and poops in the potty at home, but he'll insist on taking a dump anywhere we go. He has conversations with himself, "I was telling a story to me, mom--why are you looking at me like dat?" (This is his common response to me peeking in with a giggle).

His favorite color, hands down, is blue. He loves torturing (and snuggling) his younger brother. He loves his grandmas to bits. His favorite song, forever and always, is Taylor Swift 'Bad Bwood,' (again, he's a Swiftie).

He just recovered from his first (and I hope last) battle with strep throat. Really gave us a bit of a scare last week, when he woke us all up at 3 am last Thursday evening wheezing and struggling for air as he dry heaved with sobbing coughs. Talk about a heart stopper. But thanks to Taylor Swift on mommy's phone (again, I know), a steam shower with Dad, and snuggles elevated on mommy's shoulder, he was able to make it without a trip to the ER and the walk-in pediatrician saved us with antibiotics AND steroids. Talk about metal. And that was only our third out of four doctor's visits in ten days between the two kiddos. (although the little one, I suspect, is the initial culprit behind the strep bug, and also accounted for three of the four doctor visits - they're both healthy now, knock on wood).

This morning, as I struggled to apply mascara without jabbing myself in the eyeball, the two shorties ran between my legs, hugging my waist to sturdy themselves as they took turns  pulling each others' hair, pushing one another in the chest, and lunge biting (the little one). why? because of the new rage in our household, the big one had a plastic drinking straw and the little one wanted it.

a drinking straw. 'a bwue one, mom. i don't wike the green ones.' DON'T YOU DARE GIVE HIM A PINK ONE. unless you want to battle a seven minute whining cry spree over how he doesn't wike pink ones, and eventually give up and toss a blue straw in his direction just for three minutes of peace while you hustle to scramble some eggs and microwave sausage links for the little carnivore who is a neverending bottomless pit, despite peaking at 6% on the height/weight charts just under 20 pounds at 16 months.

but i digress.the big one. my first born. he's so bright and independent. and i'm so proud of him. 

part of me (almost) feels guilty for not sending him to the public school preschool program. but the rational/financial part of me is still high fiving myself for finding the alternate park district program 'kiddie college' that is essentially the same thing, and i shit you not, nearly $5,000 cheaper for the same program. because Illinois reallllly (eyeroll) has its shit together - public preschool costs $500/month. even with teacher strikes.  this equates to something like $4500/5000 a year. or, the park district, which is two versus three days, is $165/year. tough choice.

but still! he's going on his own. we went school supply shopping. he's wearing his nice first day of school outfit from grandma, despite mom winning the ten minute melt down this morning of the big one wanting to wear his skeleton shirt. (maybe for the second day, kid - we can't creep out all your buddies on day one). 

my  babies are growing up. and i haven't cried or gotten super sentimental (yet). maybe when i drop him off in a couple hours? 

it's amazing, how the days seem SOOOO long. (especially during the epic battle of the bedtime each night). but the weeks, months, years fly. they truly do - it sounds so cliche, but i remember waddling around pregnant with holden, and here i am, a 34 year old mother of two boys, working in a coffee shop awaiting the hour to drop my firstborn off for his first real day (ok, two hours) of independence without a parent, grandparent or nanny. 

and i just love him so much. even if he drives me crazy insistently whining about the color of drinking straws. 

mom loves you holden, today is the first day of your journey into you, and i know you'll kick butt and make me proud. but please kiddo, no matter how quickly you blossom into yourself, please remember how much your mama loves you and know you'll always be my baby.