Of Land Yachts and Mid-life Crisis’

When I was in high school my brother in law bought a new model van for himself.  This baffled me greatly as they had not yet had any children.  I used to taunt him endlessly about the fact that he drove this huge vehicle designed for soccer moms and he didn't have any kids at all. Even now he still drives one; they only have 2 kids, though he does take the seats out and uses it for work.  When I first drove this van he wanted to know what I thought...I told him that it turned like a damn boat!  Thus we dubbed it a land yacht!

At the time I was driving a sports car, which I loved beyond reason.  There has not been a car since then that I have loved the way I loved that Mustang...I still mourn the loss of that car.  After having to drive that land yacht of his around I swore to myself that I would never, NEVER own one of those things.  That to me was the ultimate symbol of growing up and giving in.  I went to high school in Orange County, CA...in that area driving a minivan was a status symbol, all the yuppies had one.  That, above all else, was a status I never wanted to achieve, an abhorrent place in life to be.

My husband has driven Cougars, it's what his dad always brought him...since we have been married we have owned 3 of them.  And while only having 1 and 2 kids we were happy campers.  I remember going all sorts of places and sitting in parking lots breast feeding my kids in the back.  We made it work because that is what we had.  Around two years ago the last of our procured cars kicked it...and my husband borrowed his mom's car to get to work.  It is a small commuter car, but it does have 4 doors, and we discovered how great it was to have 2 more doors with 2 kids.

In April when we discovered this surprise pregnancy we knew that before the end of the year we would have to address the car problem that we had been so happily ignoring.  It was at this point where I knew that I was going to have to decide what vehicle to get.  I had always told myself that if it came to this point I would get a SUV...not a van.  I started researching them, and soon discovered that if you were able to find one with a 3rd row seat and a V6 engine, then the tires were unreasonably priced.  Being on a budget, engine size and tire cost were important factors given the cost of gas and tires right now.  And to retain my sanity, I was going to need that 3rd row seat.  As the searching progressed, I soon realized that I would have to start compromising and look at minivans.  Thus the depression/irritation/annoyance set in.  The realization of what I had to do hit me like a freight train and I wasn't happy about it.

I swallowed the very uncomfortable lump in my throat, started quelling the panic attacks, and searched for a minivan on craigslist.  We were able to get the money we needed to get 2 cars: a family vehicle and another commuter for my husband to get back and forth to work.  At this point in our lives we don't believe in going into debt for a car.  Anyway, with cash in hand I started the tedious process of finding a suitable van...and within a few weeks we found one and brought him home.

My son was angry because he wasn't bumblebee yellow and refused to ride in him.  My daughter was sure we bought it just for her because it was red and decided that his name would be Rodimus Prime.  My parents are delighted with it because now we don't have to climb into the back of the truck to go to church anymore.  And I have hung my head in defeat and stowed what was left of the small amount of pride I had under the back seat.

I have been driving Rodimus for over a week now, and though I am getting used to him, I am still working things out in my brain concerning how I feel about this.  I was sitting at a traffic light the other day after school had gotten out and realized that I had the same type of van sitting in front of me and behind me...each having stick figure families and a woman my age behind the wheel.  I fell into a depression and felt a deep sense of loss and wanted to be sitting in my mustang again with its V8, hatchback, and Van Halen blaring over the speakers.  I wanted to climb on top of that van and scream that I wasn't a yuppie, that I wasn't one of them!  I soon came to the understanding that it would be a futile act and that it wouldn't matter, that it doesn't matter anymore.  I slowly drove on fighting the depression and the urge to cry uncontrollably.

Rodimus and I are coming to accept one another as we are, but I have decided that if I have to drive a minivan then my minivan will reflect my personality.  My family will NOT be stick figures, it will be Super Mario!  I will play rock music until the speakers burst.  If I have to sit and wait in a line to pick up one or more kids then my van will damn well stand out as not being the soccer mom van!  I am going to make it very clear that I chose the van, not as a status symbol, but as a necessity.  Rodimus will become a reflection of our family and my personality.  I believe we both will be happier this way, and we will be able to grow together and learn to love each other.  Here’s to you Rodimus, may you serve us well for a long time!!

Baby Blues

I think I am finally ready to write about part of this huge change and dilemma in my life...I'm pregnant.  My shock was greater, trust me!  I discovered this very early one morning in April.  I was in shock for some time while my husband celebrated...then I became angry, and I mean really angry!  I'm one who avoids conflict and anger...I have always found them to be destructive and I don't like it, so I avoid it.  This time was different, I was so mad and I couldn't stop it or even get a handle on it.  And all my anger was directed right at my husband, this was all his fault and I would never forgive him for it.  I felt as though I had just been chained to a wall and there was no escape, that what little freedom I believed I had was just ripped away from me with no hope of tasting it again.  Which in reality was not true and not really fair to him, but I felt it all the same.

Add all this to having to go off all my normal meds cold turkey and having morning sickness, and you have an unreasonable pregnant lady who stayed in bed for about a month.  It seemed a more reasonable approach to the situation then killing my husband or randomly running people over with the truck.  My first knee-jerk coping skill that I always fall back on is distraction...I didn't want to think about how upset, angry, and depressed I was about being pregnant...so I found something else to think about.  This is what happens when the doctors say you can't use drugs to mask your symptoms.

As I laid in bed crying or being mad, I decided to turn my attention elsewhere as I could do nothing to change my predicament.  My son’s iPad charges at the head of my bed, so to Netflix I turned.  They had recently added House to the instant play portion...this was a show I had always had interest in watching, but had a small child who prevented me from watching anything I wanted to watch.  I was most happy about finally being able to watch it, and it proved to be a most effective distraction.  After watching all 8 seasons in a short amount of time, I continued to use Hugh Laurie as a distraction from the irritation at hand...as he seemed really familiar to me and I couldn't figure out from where.  It turns out that all my time spent watching British comedy was useful after all, as that's where I had seen him before.  I had the joy of watching some of that comedy all over again...more distraction, yay!  And I got to laugh all over again, which is an amazing way to deal with anger...something that I had not known before.

As I continued in my exploration of this distraction I discovered 2 blues albums that Hugh Laurie recorded more recently.  As I'm not one that limits my exploration of art, soon these were downloaded onto a shuffle I had laying around...as I have previously said, I immerse myself in art...so I plugged myself in and it touched my very soul.  What started as a simple distraction became a piece of my life that I will always associate with my baby boy.  My baby boy...my connection to the blues...and a new piece of my soul.

I am pleased to report that I am gradually moving towards happiness about this situation.  I did want another baby, I just wasn't quite prepared for it...but I am beginning to accept that this is what God has planned.  I was able to look at baby clothes in the store the other day, and I bought the pajamas that he will wear when he comes home from the hospital.  This is an enormous step for me, given the way it all started.  I am having another baby boy to cuddle and love and melt my heart.

I am a Chameleon

Over the last few weeks I have come to a new realization about myself.  I never really needed that mask I wore for so many years...because I am a chameleon.  I alter and change given my surroundings and mood, and the person under all that is almost never visible by any but me.  I think this discovery has been a long time coming...a few months ago my husband found out something about me that really surprised him.  I realized that even though this had been a part of my personality since long before he came into my life, I had altered colors to suit his needs and adapted mine to accept fulfillment in the alterations I could make in his life.  Wow that sounded awful...but I don't think I can elaborate without revealing too much.  There is a beast inside me that spends a great deal of time writhing in anger and frustration.  If I hadn't been LDS, the demon would have won the battle for me and I would happily have fed him.

 

As it is I have to make concessions in order to maintain any level of control to change when needed.  In a lot of cases I may have thrown the mask away and burned it, but by no means will that ever reveal the beast.  My chameleon like skin will always adapt to cover and conceal what is really lingering inside me.  He and I are only uncovered when it's just me and him and a way to express it...where the only one effected is me.  I am the only one who knows the pain, the deepest desires, and all that can never be understood by others.  Ryane has only seen a piece of him, but little by little he glimpses bits if he is paying attention.

So who or what am I...hmmm, perhaps a little.  I am an artist...I drink art to the point of drunkenness.  It fills the voids with raw emotion and I love it, I take it in and I bathe in it and let it wash all over me touching every part of me.  Small parts of what is taken in is then regurgitated in my own work.  When I listen to music I become the music, it is no longer words and melody, it is raw and I feel every beat and intonation.  I breathe with it, I smell and taste it, and my inner eye blares with image and light.  This is why I love ALL forms of art, why I love to see movies in the theater, and devour well done tv shows.  I stood in front of Van Gogh's and Picasso's...for me those were spiritual experiences...it is like becoming a part of the pieces.

I value freedom of choice above all else...whatever you believe I shouldn't watch, see, hear, experience, believe, or any other bands you believe I should live in has little to no effect on me.  By voicing them all you do is anger me, and the only reaction you will get from me is irritation.  And that is the real me peeking out...if I remain silent it is only because my skin is changing.  I abhor any rule, law, or expectation that would essentially take away another persons’ right to make a choice for them self.  It is truly the only thing that is ours, given to us as a gift from God himself.  How dare we as mortals think we have any right or responsibility to take that away from another human being!?  People in favor of this are stepping in where even God will not go.  Choosing our life's course is no one else's decision...it belongs to the individual and no other.

But deep at the root I am a changeling.  I will adapt and alter depending on what is expected of me in the situation I am in.  If I am surrounded by church members I alter to the appropriate skin tone while part of me writhes.  If I am surrounded by addicts I change to feel comfortable and thrive equally as well...which is probably the more comfortable of the two situations for what I am.  Yes, I said it and I mean it...my comfort level is higher with addicts, I am one.  They also live without pretension, without judgment, and with openness.

Like a chameleon I have an almost telescoping eye...it is a gift and it is hard to shut off.  I spent five years studying human behavior, and I was a good study.  I read body language the way others read books, and lies are seen in fully highlighted words and paragraphs.  Pretension and judgment reek like body odor...I don't like the smell.  People get further with me by being accepting and honest.  Finding fault is hanging a sign around your neck that screams ignorance and fear.

This life is filled with absolute joy and beauty, God put it here for us to experience, drink it in...let it wash over all of you!  I choose to see it all, to take it all in, and to revel in it.  I want to go home to God with the ability to say that I experienced mortality to the fullest extent I could, to be able to say that I used all of my senses to the maximum.  So even if it defies expectation I will love what I love and enjoy all that I can, as I believe this is what God intends us to do. 

1 Year of Sanity

It has been 1 year since I was transported to the hospital in San Diego to spend 5 days under lock and key.  I have been sane for 1 year now and I'm both proud and grateful for it.  I did it. I made it a year!  This has caused me to reflect and almost relive my time there.  I can still smell it, I still feel her wind in my hair, and I resort to the schedule I had all the time.

I get up each day and take inventory of myself.  What's my number, what am I grateful for, and what is my goal for the day.  It brings me back to the moment and refocuses my mind on what is really important in my life.  I have realized over the past year that even the smallest goals count toward a day of accomplishment.  I do what I can do each day, and if I can't then there is always tomorrow. If you start the day by putting pressure on yourself then you will end the day dissatisfied and frustrated, and discouraged to start a new day.

I have bad days.  My people know that I have bad days, they are ok with it and so am I.  When I came home last year my kids and I had a talk about what happens when mom has a bad day.  They come in and kiss me on the head and tell me they love me, and we start new again tomorrow.

I have good days too, days where I get up and get dressed and know exactly what I will accomplish that day, and I get it done and have plenty of time to do the fun things like watch a tv show or do a craft.  These are the days where I go to bed feeling great and looking forward to the next day.  These are the days when there is not enough time to get everything done that I would love to do.  These are the days my kids live for.

My cycle is around 7 days...I go up for a day or two, I level off for around 3 to 4 days, and I come down for 1 to 2 days...then I level off again.  I'm told that my ups are a hypo-mania state, where I do silly things like buy my dog a raincoat.  (In my defense he is mr prissy-paws and it was raining.) My lows usually mean I get out of bed to pee then move to the couch and crawl under a blanket to spend the day watching tv with my boy.

Others who have no idea what it is to have what I have would say that I am wasting away and haven't accomplished anything this last 12 months.  To you I say this:  I have accomplished something, and if nothing else...I will no longer be silent!  That fear that I had before, that made me hide behind the "I'm fine" mask is no longer there.  I had a ritualistic burning of that mask in the interest of my future sanity, and I will NEVER be silenced by another person's stupid arrogance again!  And you better believe that I will not stand by and watch as someone else shrinks behind that mask in fear of another person’s judgment.  I'm not ashamed to live with mental illness anymore, for me it is a badge of honor and I wear it without fear.  I have what some will never have; the sure knowledge that I am enough just the way I am!  His grace is sufficient, and I have achieved a level of peace in my life that I wish everyone could have.

My name is Cristy.  I had a severe mental breakdown 1 year ago.  I spent 5 days in a psychiatric hospital.  I live with mental illness every second of everyday.  I know the love of God.  I know how to love.  And I love me.  I LOVE ME.

Grandpas and Little Boys

Being in the unique position of raising young children while having my parents living in my home, I have been able to witness the interaction between my son and his grandpa.  My son is almost 4 and my father is now 75…and trust me when I say that theirs is a special relationship.

 Grandpas need little boys, and I really mean that.  My father had a quad bypass over a year ago and he recovered in record time for a 74 year old man.  When he was on oxygen in the house with his 75 foot tube he still sat with the boy and ate popcorn.  He would go on walks with the boy, and the boy learned to pull his finger and grandpa would make farty noises with his mouth without his teeth in...trust me when I say that it is way funnier when grandpa doesn't have his teeth in.

 Now he takes the boy to the park quite often.  When the boy wants to go outside we send him to get grandpa and they have a system.  Ryan takes his finger and takes him for their jackets, then their shoes, then grandpa's sunglasses, and then he takes grandpa to the back door to go outside.  Ryan then takes him out back and sits on the swing next to him.

 On occasion when grandpa doesn't go where Ryan wants him to he will go around behind grandpa's legs, push his head through and use his shoulders to push grandpa where he wants him to go.  Sometimes grandpa will give the boy a ride around the kitchen in his office chair.

 I maintain that it is this relationship that keeps my dad young and alive!  Grandpas need a little boy in their life, even if it is not their own grandson.  They need that little boy to remind them of what it was like to be young...and roll tires down hills and knock motorcyclists off their bikes.  They need to have to hide the power tools from a little boy trying to power sand the carpet.  They need to have a little boy to come in and share whatever they are eating.  They need to have a smelly diaper clad little boy to plop his stinky bottom right in the middle of their nearly done puzzle, because that little boy wants his attention.

 These are the things that give meaning to an old man's life, and a reason to stay alive.  I never knew my grandpa in this life, but I can see how my son's life is truly enriched by having his grandpa with him.  Here's to grandpas and little boys, may they always have time together!