Things I Like About Me

On twitter today, a fellow tweeter posted a link that led me to another link that led me to another link.... you get the picture. Bottom line, I ended up reading a post that challenged others to write a list of things they like about themselves, to recognize the good in yourself and your life, and to realize that you are enough. It's so easy to feel like we aren't good enough, we aren't good enough mothers, we aren't good enough at keeping the house clean, we aren't good enough at ________ (fill in the blank.)   She challenged us to just be enough, and to write the list.

Two years ago, this would have been impossible for me to write. In fact, I remember being at a dinner party with friends and being asked what I was proud of. I was at such a low point struggling with postpartum depression that I couldn't answer. I couldn't verbalize anything that was good about me.

Now I can. I'm proud of it. I'm glad for it. I'm grateful for those who have helped me and encouraged me and taught me to start believing in myself as being good and capable again.

So, here's my list.  I'd love to see yours.

1. I see opportunities.
2. I am capable.
3. I am honest.
4. I care.
5. I love.
6. I laugh.
7. I learn quickly.
8. I am great at giving "under-doggies" when I push my kids on the swing.
9. I know how to shine my sink.
10. I can be meticulous and detailed when I need to be.
11. I understand the difference of when I don't need to be.
12. I can let my kids get themselves dressed, with their pants on backwards, and not be embarrassed about it at the supermarket.
13. I am a great teacher.
14. I am giving.
15. I am a great cook.
16. I make excellent Homemade Hostess Layered Cake.
17. I am a good wife.
18. I sing to my children.
19. I love to help others.
20. I have raised children that love to read and learn.

#41. I sometimes take good pictures.

21. I can forgive.
22. I am willing to help others, even at my expense.
23. I am protective of my children when I ought to be and can still let them learn independently and experience life when they have the opportunity.
24. I make amazing banana bread, though I have to acknowledge Ry's sister Barb for showing me how.
25. I have learned, have grown, and will continue to - even when it hurts.
26. I am not the same person I as ten years ago. I am wiser. I am more willing to look at myself.
27. Even if I have not always succeeded, I have always tried.
28. I allow myself to heal. I actively work to understand and let go of things that hurt.
29. I actively work to solve problems.
30. I love my Father in Heaven and know that He lives, that Jesus loves me, and that he hears my prayers. I know this, even when times are rough, when things aren't going my way. 


Ryan called in the middle of me writing this post and asked if he could help. I said yes, so the rest of this list is from Ry about me...

31. I smell good.
32. I have awesome kids.
33. Everyone can trust me.
34. I'm cute.
35. I make yummy grilled cheese sandwiches.
36. I make yummy pancakes.
37. I am awesome at selling books.
38. He likes it when I play the piano.
39. I make him laugh.
40. I help him smile.

He said he could keep on adding to this list of why he likes me, but that it would take the rest of the night.

I love that man!

So, what is something you like about you?

Running My Brains Out

Oh boy, did I get myself into trouble today.

Daisy came in earlier this evening and flopped down next to me on the couch as she said "Mom, I just ran my brains out."

"Oh yeah?" I said, as I thought to myself, "Hey, I haven't worked out or gotten any exercise in today, maybe I should go run with her."   You see, Ryan and I both challenged each other to do certain things every day while he is in Oklahoma this month.  One of the things I'm supposed to be doing is working out.

And so, naively, I said, "Want me to run my brains out with you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked wearily, head still down on the couch.

"I mean, you take me running. I'll go wherever you go."

Can we say bad idea?  One second ago, she had been red-faced, panting, and thrown herself onto the couch, completely worn out. The very instant the words came out of my mouth, she suddenly popped up, refreshed, rejuvenated and ready to run.

I should have known then I had asked for more than I bargained for. Before we even got to the door, Braelin had his running shoes ready and was planning on going with us. Carolina was begging to come too.

"No, you take me running tomorrow okay?"

Second mistake. Boy, was I digging myself in deeper.

Daisy took off running out the door, out the gate, and around the corner. She booked it to the back gate, onto the driveway, and around to the front yard.  Before we even got one lap around the house, I was ready to quit.

Let me explain something. I never run. I hate to run!  What had I gotten myself into?!!  

She got a little gleam in her eye as she realized that I hadn't limited her to the yard and took off down the street. I tried my best to keep up with her, failing miserably evidently, because every so often she would stop and wait for me to catch up before taking off again.

This little girl had moments ago been lying on the couch, barely able to move, panting as though she would pass out any moment. Now, she was sprinting down the street as though she had trained for this all year. And that's when I realized - she had. She had been running every day at school for a year. They require the kids to run around the track three times, and though she always complained about it, she did it.

Miss Daisy - Summer 2011

There was no way she would be stopping anytime soon.

I puffed and panted, my face growing redder with every step.  I finally talked her into running to our friends house a couple blocks away, thinking then I could sit and rest a bit before talking her into running home.

No luck. Sheila wasn't home, and off we ran again. She turned right, then left, then right again, turned the corner a couple blocks down, and started headed farther west, farther away from home.

"Wait!" I cried. "The splash park is this way. Want to run to the splash park?" At this point I'm trying anything to get her to head back toward home instead of farther away.  Luckily, she agrees that the splash park would be fun, and off we go.  The closer we get, the more inviting the water looks. I'm hot, tired, and ready to go back home. She takes my hand and we run through the streams of water spraying in every direction, giggling as we went.  Yay!  She'll want to go home next, right?

Wrong.

"No Mom, I want to go 6 more places, because I'm six years old." Places. As in stores. She wants to run to stores. Like Lin's Supermarket, 11 blocks down. Nooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!

By this point, I'm bribing her. Ice cream. A movie. Yes, I admit it. It was pathetic. But her pace hasn't slowed a bit, and I'm sure she would have no problem jogging the 11 blocks to the grocery store without breaking a sweat. Can you blame me?

We finally made it home, her teasing me the whole way that I really "walked my brains out and didn't run!" Who greets us at the doorway?  Braelin, Carolina, Taliesin, and Tyler... all reminding me that they each get to take me running too.

Oh boy. I AM in trouble. But maybe I'll also get in shape....

Wish me luck!  And if you see me running behind one of my kids this week, red faced and panting -- feel free to laugh... after you hand me a cold bottle of water.

- Rachel

Labels

Shameful. Pathetic. Embarrassing. Ungrateful. Selfish. Attention seeking. Unfaithful. Unrighteous. Weak. It's all in your head! You just don't pray enough. You just don't read scripture enough. You're just not righteous enough, not close enough to God.

These are some of the labels that I often felt when someone would find out I was experiencing postpartum depression. It's not as if I didn't have my own set of labels I was busy sticking on myself.

Crazy. Stupid. Weak. A total mess. A horrible mother. A monster to my kids. An awful wife. A pathetic housewife. An horrible friend. Crazy, crazy, crazy, and a failure at pretty much everything.

Throw in postpartum anxiety and PTSD, and the list of labels and hurtful comments from others grew even longer.

You just need to exercise more. You're just allowing yourself to be weak. You brought it on yourself. It's because you had all those kids!  You're just nutritionally deficient. You just need more minerals. You just won't let go of negative feelings. You're just holding grudges. You're just blowing things out of proportion.  It's because you've judged others. It's because you've judged your mother.

Labels in and of themselves are not bad things, in fact I've found that labeling things often helps me understand them, and then know how best to deal with them. But the labels on my life as I dealt with PPD were heavy, weighing me down, and worst of all -- I believed every one of them. Somehow this was my fault because I just wasn't enough, wasn't good enough, and wasn't doing the right thing. Somehow I could fix this if only I were good enough, but no - I was a failure.

It wasn't true. It wasn't true for me, and it isn't true for you.

Now, it is labels like this that I try to use to help other mothers experiencing PPD understand what's real. What's true. And what they can do.

Postpartum depression is a REAL physical problem, that isn't all made up in your head.
Postpartum depression is not uncommon, and it's certainly not something that is your fault, or that you can fix just be being good, eating the right vitamin, or simply by thinking the right positive thought.
Postpartum is complex, there is not one cause, and there is not one cure. But there IS something that will help you. There is hope. You will get past this.
Postpartum depression means you are STRONG. You are strong! You have given birth to a baby. YOU are amazing. You are going through a hard time, but you are strong. You will get through this. You won't always feel this way!
Postpartum depression is a little piece of hell -- but you ARE amazing, and you WILL get through this!
Postpartum depression is REAL. It is a physical ailment, just as having two broken legs would be. 
And yes, I know I repeated myself. The fact that PPD is a real and is a physical problem is perhaps one of the hardest things for someone to wrap their brain around - until they go through it themselves. 
There is HELP for postpartum depression. There is HELP available for you.
You are not weak. You are not weak for needing help. You are not weak for accepting help. 

And, you are NOT in this alone. 


PS -- Congratulations to Katherine Stone at PostpartumProgress for her 7 year blogiversary! You've helped so many people, and I refer friends to your site so many times since I found your blog again.




 

Baby K with his Dad

Though I wish circumstances were different for this baby and his parents, I fully support his parents in giving him the best life they can, full of love and nurture, involvement and respect. Brig - you're holding a little bit of innocence. Make the best life you can for him, brother. And let me know if there is something I can do to help you on your new journey as a Dad.

Love you, Rachel

Baby K

 Maybe it is simply the innocence of a newborn child, or perhaps it is that the love between a mother and a child is one of the strongest bonds of love there is... 

whatever the reason, a mother in love with her child is a beautiful thing.  

Quilla asked me to take some pictures of her with Baby K. 

She had some of him individually -- but no pictures of them together. 

Here they are Quilla... may you always gaze into your baby's eyes like he is brand new.

Enjoy the pictures.

 - Rachel

Scratch Before Baking

Many years ago, my sweet-as-pie aunt, known for making things that tasted good and looked pretty, told me a secret to baking enviable desserts, breads, and cakes - from scratch.


"Rachel," she said as I waited eagerly to hear the secret that made her delectable sweet-and-moist-in-every-bite cornbread so delicious, "Always be sure to scratch the box before you open it. Then, follow the directions on the box."

I laughed. And for many years, I have taken her advice to heart. Tonight was no exception.

I have an extra 9 kids here this weekend, cousins, and we are having a blast! Spent the day at the lake, soaking up the sun and enjoying 80 degree water and warm sandy beach. We played Duck Duck Goose, Motorboat Motorboat, Ring Around The Rosie, Water Spider, and more... all in the water. Lots of splashing, lots of smiles, and lots of fun. But after hours of enjoying Sand Hollow, the wind began to pick up and it was time to go home to celebrate a birthday this evening.

What I really wanted to make was a Brownie and White Chocolate Strawberry Silk Torte. But with 16 hungry children, there wasn't a lot a lot of time to throw the ramen noodles in the pan, change everyone out of their swim clothes, or shower off the pound of sand brought home in my hair - let alone put together an elaborate cake, or go to the store for missing ingredients. So... I fell back on Auntie's trusted advice.

I scratched the box of the chocolate cake before I opened it, mixed it up, and threw it in the preheated oven.  And then - I grabbed the can of pink frosting floating around in my cupboard, bought as a precaution for a day like this, and (after scratching the lid, of course) opened it and whipped it up to be even fluffier and lighter than  it already was.

The four round cake pans were cooled in the freezer while I took the last remaining cup and a half of powdered sugar I could find in my pantry and made a half batch of Fudge Frosting. (This delicious concoction is the ONLY thing I made tonight that I didn't have to scratch before I pulled it out of the box.) After everything was cooled, I carefully layered the cake, strawberry frosting while my daughter looked on.

"Mom," she said.

"Yes?" I asked.

"You do realize this cake is for a BOY right?!?"

"Of course dear. Why?" I say, as I think to myself "I'm pretty sure I know whether that kid that popped out of me 12 years ago was a boy or a girl. I did change quite a few of his diapers, after all!"

"It's PINK!" she exclaimed.

And so of course, we had to cover up the beautiful pink layers of fluffy strawberry frosting sandwiched between the four layers of cake. My powdered sugar was gone, and so as I stared at my pantry trying to decide what to do, my eye rested on a box of chocolate pudding mix.

Voila! I hastily scratched the box as I ripped it open and whisked in the milk, making a thick, goopy chocolate paste that I carefully smoothed around the edges of the cake. After dumping the fudge frosting on the top and letting it drip down the rim of the cake, I stuck it in the freezer to firm up a bit more while the kids finished eating their ramen.

The result?  Fabulous. It was six inches tall, covered in chocolate, and paired perfectly with the Cookies 'N Cream ice cream that was halfway melted before we got through dishing up for all 18 kids at the party.

Happy Birthday Big T.  Love you more than you'll ever be able to comprehend.

(PS... the recipe for Sweet Cornbread is below.)

SWEET CORNBREAD RECIPE - delicious to the last crumb. 

1 box of yellow cake mix
2 small boxes or bags of cornbread mix
1/2 cup sour cream

Add the cake mix and cornbread mix together. Make as directed using ingredients for both mixes, replacing 1/2 cup of water or milk with 1/2 cup sour cream. 


Bake til golden brown and top springs back lightly. (Or at least doesn't leave an indent!)

More Pics From The Family Breakfast

 Two of the sweetest people I know! Esther always has such a fabulous "can-do" attitude. Nan is just amazing in so many ways!  Love you both!

 

Lew -- Your Mom sure misses you!

 My kids love the stories all the brothers tell about growing up!  Good times. Good to see you both!

Dustin and Nat -- I love your boys!  I am so glad we got to spend some more time with him before you moved. Miss you more than you know!!

1000 Page Views

Thanks to all my readers... I have over 1000 page views on my blog.  I'm flattered... though I still can't figure out why anyone takes time to read it! But I'm glad you do.

So, my question to you is... what would you like to see me blog about?

Lukey

These cuties are two of Ryan's nephews... both named Luke. I hadn't had the chance to meet them until a couple weeks ago at a family breakfast in Salt Lake.  Both of them are just adorable, and so much fun!  Enjoy the pics... I'll be posting more from this weekend in the days to come, I'm sure. 

This little guy has a ballplayers arm.  Watch out for him in the NFL as the star quarterback!

And this little guy is already following in his Momma's footsteps as an awesome photographer. Everytime I turned the camera sideways, he would do the same. He stood there taking pictures of me while I was taking pictures of him. 
Too cute!

 

 And here he is with Tiff... one of heaven's angels still on earth.

 Too bad my camera's not quick enough to catch this without the blur.

Two of my favorite people in the world!

 Luke's big sister Jaden and my son Taliesin were best friends when they were younger. Moving 8 hours away keeps them from seeing each other very often... but not from being best friends again as soon as they are together.  Taliesin was doing everything he could to stay out of pictures that weekend... and so this is Jade holding him down so he has to be in a picture.

Stuck!

"Will someone please get me out?!?"

The cries were coming from my 4 year old.  He sounded stressed, but not hurt.


"Will someone please get me out?!?!?"

The cries were getting a bit more frantic. At first, I thought he must have locked himself in the bathroom, but as I walked closer, I could tell they were from the kitchen instead.  What could he be stuck in?

I burst out laughing when I saw this...

Sweet Nothings...

Homemade Hostess Cupcakes. Best eaten semi-frozen. Mmmm...

Piped curlicues make them look like the ones from the store. But once you taste them, you'll never get them mixed up again :)

Homemade Hostess Layered Cake. So delicious and rich (and tall!), you can only eat a sliver at a time.

There is miraculously still a few Homemade Hostess Cupcakes and the remaining half of this beautiful Homemade Hostess Layered Cake sitting in my freezer, begging to be eaten. I made it for Amanda's birthday, and she requested I make it again for her last week so her friends could taste the cake she's been raving about. With luscious layers of moist brownies, covered with homemade chocolate ganache, and more layers of my special Homemade Hostess Cream Filling, it's quite delicious. But no, instead of indulging, I am sauteing up a pan of vegis with quinoa for a late night dinner. 

We've been at the lake with the kids and I've just changed out of my wet clothes and into a comfy top and some grey knit capris. You know the kind, with the University of Utah logo written across one side. So there I stand in front of the stove, seasoning the colorful mix of snow peas, carrots, and squash, stirring contentedly as I wait for the vegis to cook. Ryan walks up behind me, puts his arm around me, and leans his head down to my ear. "Rachel," he says, in a sultry voice. (I think he's going to whisper something sweet in my ear, like maybe how nice I looked in my bathing suit, or how delicious the pumpkin bread I baked for our treat at the lake was, or how much he loves me. Right??)

No. Not at all. Nothing of the sort.

Instead, this is what I hear.

"Rachel," he says.

"Yes?" I answer, smiling hopefully.

"Your pants are on backwards."

And then he walks away as my face turns bright red.

Four Questions...

Ry with his Mom.  Love you Nan! Thank you for your love and prayers, and for raising such an amazing son!

Sometimes, especially when Ryan isn't home, I sit up for hours and since I cannot sleep, I edit pictures, or quite frequently, read snippets of blogs. Tonight, is one of those nights. It's 2 am, and I am tired beyond belief but wound up more than I should be... and sleep is far from coming. I know - it's my anxiety getting the best of me. A downward spiral at its beginning. And yet, here I sit.

I've been reading blogs about this, that, or the other, but quite a few about postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, and other postpartum disorders.  Why??  Because when you've been thrown against a brick wall, had your entire life turned upside down, been shaken loose from all that's holding you together, and still are dealing with the effects of it, you tend to want to understand why. And what to do. And how to help someone else dealing with the same thing. And so even though I feel mostly healed from the whole experience... I still read about it. I still am working through it. I still am making sure that I am not just getting the point of feeling better... but that I am getting past it, through it, over it, and conquering it.

I've been asked a few times lately "do you think this is PPD?"  and "How can I tell if I have PPD?" Tonight, I came across a post that said to ask yourself these questions to help you determine if you have PPD...


Has it been longer than 2 weeks since I have given birth?
Am I feeling worse as days go on?
Am I eating much more or less than usual?
Am I sleeping much more or less than usual?

As I read it, I remembered reading this same thing as I started to do a little research on PPD before I finally accepted the fact I needed meds, and as I remembered reading it, I also remembered getting a bit angry.

No, getting VERY angry. As in, want to throw the computer across the room and yell obscenities and then break down into very large sobs kind of angry.

Here's why.


Am I feeling worse as days go on?  I remember thinking.. my lower regions ache from giving birth. My head aches from feeling crazy. I have a piercing headache from not getting enough sleep. My arms ache from bouncing this baby and trying to hold it just the right way while I try to nurse and that isn't working either. My eyes ache from crying all the time. I haven't got enough cohesiveness of thought to figure out whether I'm feeling worse right now than I was 2 hours ago, let alone try to track how I felt a week ago. Am I progressively feeling worse? How could I possibly feel worse than I do right now?


Am I eating much more or less than usual?  I remember thinking... more or less than usual??? What is usual? Do I gauge that on how much I was eating before this kid popped out of me? It was Thanksgiving for crying out loud! I was eating for me, for the baby, and then some! Or do I look at afterward? I am crying so much, so exhausted, and not functioning well enough to get up and out of the room, let alone go make myself some food.  When someone brings me food and sticks it in front of me I eat. When they don't, I don't. And if there is a bag of chips or a box of cookies within reach, I will eat the entire thing without thinking about it. Is that more or less than usual?


Am I sleeping much more or less than usual?  I remember thinking... sleeping more than I was before I had the baby?  I got up every hour to pee and took another hour to go back to sleep because my hips hurt, and then dozed while reading books to my toddler.  Should I gauge it off that? Or am I supposed to remember back to after I had my last baby and gauge whether I'm sleeping much more or less than the average new mom not getting enough sleep because she has a newborn's poopy diaper to change or baby to feed every hour. I have small kids! I haven't had a full night's sleep in years!! Is that more or less than usual sleep for a mother?

What ridiculous questions, and yet, my very answers to the questions were telling enough in themselves.  I couldn't just answer "no"to any of them, so the answer was obviously "yes". Yes, it had been more than two weeks since the baby was born. Yes I am feeling worse than I want to be, need to be, and can handle feeling. Yes I am eating much more or less than usual, and Yes I am sleeping much more or less than usual. Yes, I had many, many things pointing to severe postpartum depression. Not being able to hold the baby without crying. Not enjoying when I had the baby near me. Not wanting to talk and play and laugh with the baby, kiss his tiny nose and marvel at his tiny fists.  Not being able to turn the thoughts in my head off, and yet not having rational thoughts - all at the same time.

Still, the questions - though they tried to be helpful, didn't feel helpful at all. And my poor husband had to bear the brunt of all of it until I got it figured out... and then, still took care of me for 2 more years as I began to heal.

One day, I'll write a real list of "how to tell" questions. Until then, I'll just say "Thanks Baby. I love you more than you can imagine."

 - Rachel

My Sweet Chili Peppers

It's amazing how much better the house stays clean when I'm not working 40 hours a week.  Hmmm... maybe I'm not as horrible a housekeeper as I've felt like for the past few months. It's amazing how much more I can get done too! In the past week, I've painted the girls room (cream), the boys room (butterscotch brown), the stairway landing (white), the front porch (sandy red), the front steps, back steps, back stairway and railing (forest green), half the picket fence (white), and touch ups all over the house.

I'm painted out, for the moment... and although I would love to be at the lake right now, soaking up some sun, someone borrowed my pass. So... I decided instead to edit some photos I took of the kids in May.

I hope you enjoy them.  My Chili Peppers are the highlights of my life :)

- Rachel

Visitors

A week ago, the kids and I came back from a long trip away from home. Anyone who has seven kids and has been gone for a week knows that you have a lot of clean up, sorting laundry, and work to do when you  finally get home. Well... we hadn't done all the work yet, and the house was still a mess. In fact, a little before we got home, Jonnie piped up in his carseat and said,  

"Mom, I'm pooped."

"Okay," I said, "We'll change you as soon as we get home."

"You're not going to throw me in the bathtub," he said worriedly. (He hates to bath!)

"No. We'll just change your diaper, okay?"  

Well, he was asking if I was going to give him a bath for good reason.  We went to get him out of his carseat and realized he had done more than just filled his diaper - he had a poop explosion!  It was everywhere!  We spent the next half hour cleaning everything up, and then I jumped into the van again and ran to a job interview. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. The kids were exhausted. I decided we would clean the house the next day.

BAD IDEA. The next morning I let the kids sleep in, and as I'm sitting on the porch couch enjoying the peace and quiet of the morning, here comes a big shiny suburban pulling into my long driveway. "Who is that," I wonder. Pretty soon, out pops our good friends Mark, Paul, Steve, and their Dad.

Now, let me paint this picture a little more clearly.  I'm sitting on the couch on the front porch, lounging while I look up job listings on my laptop. I have no bra on yet, I haven't combed my hair, brushed my teeth, or put my makeup on. The porch is crowded with furniture we are storing for someone as a birthday surprise, and EVERY room in the house is messy. Every. Single. One.  In fact, when I came home, I had dumped my suitcase on my bed frantically trying to find something I needed from it before I left for my job interview.  I came back from the interview and shoved everything onto the floor before I fell into bed, exhausted. The room was bombed.  I'm not the world's best clean freak housekeeper to begin with... but that day, every room looked awful.  The food storage we had relocated to the playroom while we were working on a project was all still sitting there. The huge beanbag full of foam squares had broken the week before we left and since I didn't have time to sew it up, the kids had them scattered everywhere downstairs.

Mark gives me a hug hello and walks into the house to see how the basement turned out, which he had helped us do the drywall on. He goes downstairs, where Amanda is still sleeping.  I awkwardly give the others a hug and excuse myself for a minute while I go get my brassiere on. When I come back, Steve says he wants to see the house so I start showing them around, cringing at every room we walk into.  We go upstairs, and meanwhile Amanda comes up to the main floor, oblivious that we have visitors. When we come back down, she is sitting at the dining table in her nightgown eating a bowl of cereal, totally unaware they were even here.  They all want to see the work Mark did down in Amanda's room too... and Amanda is freaking out because her room looks about as good as my room.

Ugh. Normally, I love visitors. But sometimes I think I need to get one of those signs on my door that says...

"If you come to see me, come anytime.  If you came to see my house, make an appointment."

I can just imagine the stories they had to tell their wives when they got home.

Oh well....