Goodbye 2015!

Goodbye 2015!

It was a good year, even though I forgot to post anything on the blog. This year, I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing.

In 2015 we bought our first "real house" along with Brian's parents. They have closed the bed & breakfast and are in the process of selling the house on the coast and moving permanently in with us. Currently, they're staying with us for about a week and a half at a time and it's working out well for everyone involved. Fortunately, the house has a master suite, so everybody can have their own space. Very important for when small people have nightmares and wake up in the middle of the night, stumbling into someone's bedroom looking for comfort.

Mental-health-wise, it was a good  year. After spending 2014 trying medications seemingly at random to help with the postpartum depression/my regular depression which returned with a vengeance, I finally got on a good "cocktail" of medications. (My co-workers at the county took a vote and told me how much they liked it!)

Mimi started 2nd grade, then promptly told me "Mama, it's really embarrassing when you tell stories about me." So even though she's so cute it's hard not to gush, I probably won't be commenting on her doings as much.

Carol has started talking in complete sentences. She didn't bother until she was 3, because Mimi made sure she got most of her needs & wants met and "interpreted" for her. Her first complete multi-subject sentence was "Me hug the kitty that lives under our deck."

Which brings me to FizBit. Although he theoretically belongs to the next door neighbors, he resides under our deck. Why? He's seen the writing on the wall and decided he'd rather run the risk of being hugged by an overly affectionate 3 year old than regularly live with his 10, 7 and 4 year old humans. Who like to do things like dress him up in doll clothes and pretend he's a puppet. It's not the same thing as having a "real" cat, but it's a nice substitute.

Carol likes having a cat around so much that she regularly hugs him and says things like "Me love you kitty." And then insists that she herself is a cat for the rest of the day. When she was a newborn, her cries sounded like mewing because she was a bit premature, but this is slightly ridiculous.

"Carol, it's time to use the potty!"
"But mama, me kitty! Kitties no need to use the potty."

So on this blog, I'm just going to refer to her as Kitty.

Totally worth it!

I've been doing a lot more spinning lately. While the several tons of fiber I've accumulated over the years does provide a nice amount of insulation, it's been taking up space. Without turning into yarn. In spite of my best efforts, no amount of wishful thinking makes roving spontaneously metamorphose into yarn.
Apparently, I forgot about the most important step of the process to change the fiber from nice fluffy batts of wool to yarn I can knit with. Spinning!
Carol is walking (when she feels like it) and crawling all over the place. Now that she's fully mobile, I'm trying to train her to ignore the spinning wheel. She'd have to try hard to injure herself with it, but she's a clever lass. I'm certain she'll figure out a way.
So every time she touches the spinning wheel, whether it's in motion or not, I slap her hand and say "no touching the spinning wheel!"
As I was spinning some silk today, the drive band kept falling off the wheel. Carol, of course, tried to "help" me fix it. After that, when I didn't notice that she had been playing with the wheel, she got my attention and did it again. She spun the wheel, and dutifully held out her hand to me for a disciplinary smack. I could almost see the gears turning in her baby head.
"I want to play with the beautiful spinning thingy, but every time I touch it, Mama smacks my hand away. But if that's the price of playing with it I think I can live with it. Maybe I should make this process as easy for Mama as possible--just smack my hand so I can get back to playing with it!"

"Are you on meds?" and other questions

Can I just say that I'm sick of answering stupid questions about my mental health? I hate the stigma that surrounds mental health problems, but I harbor an even greater hatred for the well-meaning but completely asinine questions people ask about mental health.

"Are you taking any meds for depression? I saw a commercial for...."
Yes, I have major depression. Yes, I am taking prescription medication. (No, I will not share.) The rest is none of your business.

"Is it contagious?"
Depression? Under normal, abnormal and even highly impractical circumstances, no. Not even if you watch a lot of cable news, and then the depression just gets worse instead of better. (Although I suppose if you watched cable news with other people and they got depressed, you could theoretically claim that major depression is contagious, but then you'd have to count the cable news as a vector so it still wouldn't be directly communicable person-to-person.)

"If you're a psychiatric nurse, why aren't your children better-behaved?"
They're CHILDREN. Given that they behave better than half my co-workers and three-quarters of my relatives, I'm not sure what my choice of profession has to do with this discussion. If I wanted robot slaves for offspring, I would have created robot slaves instead of reproducing in the conventional manner.

Carol!

Due to growth issues, Carol came early. She's now almost four weeks old. The Mimi says she likes being a big sister, and seems to be responding well to the change. Then again, she's not the one getting up to feed the baby every three hours!

The Mimi loves to take pictures. Here's one she took of Carol with her favorite stuffed bunny, Monty:

 

Time to start adding money to Carol's counseling fund!

Preterm Labor: the Sequel

Over the last few months, I've been too busy to blog. Either that, or the self-esteem issues that come with my chronic depression have done a good job of convincing me that blogging is pointless because "no one wants to hear what you have to say anyway." Possibly both.
I didn't even bother to post the news about our "new addition." But now due to mandatory medical leave, I seem to have time for writing once more.
Shirley's fervent prayers for a little sister (the week where she prayed "and if the baby is a little brother--I guess I'll keep it" was particularly memorable)  are in the process of being answered. Carol Marzetta Mackey should show up for her scheduled C-section November 27th.
However, last week, Carol apparently got tired of waiting and I wound up in the local ER with contractions every 3-4 minutes. ("Dr. Obstetrician was looking over your chart from home and said he was really impressed with how strong and regular they were" isn't something you really want to hear from the staff. Unless they're giving out prizes--but all I got was some drugs that make me a cranky space cadet.)
So now I'm home for the remainder of this week and taking meds to stop the contractions. The meds help stop the contractions, but the side effects are a pain. I've got a massive constant headache, dizziness, feel exhausted, nauseous, anxious, and can't concentrate on anything for more than a couple of minutes. It's like having mono with a side order of paranoia.

In Memoriam

Shirley T., Brian's amazing and wonderful adopted grandmother, went to be with the Lord last month.  She was a great lady, and I'm glad I got the chance to know her, but we all miss her. I'm also glad the Mimi got to know her namesake some before she died.

Last summer, the Mimi wasn't getting the whole "great-grandparent" concept, so we started calling Shirley and her husband "SuperNana" and "Super PopPop." That was the week before this picture was taken. At Shirley and Jim's 60th anniversary party, the Mimi walked up to Shirley and promptly asked "SuperNana, where's your costume?"





"I'm so awesome I don't need a costume,"Shirley said, right before she gave the Mimi a large stuffed pink and white glittery unicorn wearing a sequined jumpsuit and a pink marabou feather-trimmed bolero. (It used to sing "You are my Sunshine" when you hugged it, but some minor surgery fixed that.)



And a picture of my mother-in-law trying to look nonchalant at a formal dinner party while carrying the "it's so pink and fluffy I could die!" unicorn around:

When we went to Shirley's funeral a couple of weeks ago, the Mimi looked around the packed room very wide-eyed before saying "Wow, SuperNana's got a huge fan club!" And we were all blessed to be part of that club.

Family, visible and invisible

On Saturday, we went to a family gathering to help our favorite cousin move. Shirley wore her Perry costume.  One of the cousin's friends inquired how we were related to her.

"Jay's my cousin, and I'm also Perry the Platypus' father," Brian explained as he pointed out the Mimi.

"I'm Shirley the Platypus!" the Mimi wailed.

Last month she announced she wanted a little sister. I told her she'd have to pray harder for it, because I was already doing what I could.  That's when she decided that Perry the Platypus was not only her invisible friend, but also her imaginary little sister. Does that make me Perry the Platypus' mother?