just some reassurance

there has been an awful lot of discussion here lately about babies. the fact that so many friends have been having beautiful little spit machines isn't helping.

after having otto i knew that we needed to take permanent measures to guard against any more pregnancies. because i have this problem...every time a kid grows too big i yearn for another.

and that yearning has been there for a good 3 years, with our otto nearing 4.

i've been content this whole time with it just being a wish...a desire...but knowing that everyone was with me in otto being our final creation. it'll be fine. we'll get a puppy, and everything will be just fine.

then people start talking about babies. people being cory. and he hasn't actually said "i want another baby" but when i talk about it he just gets quiet..and damnit, man..i've been married to you for nearly 10 years. i know what that means.

before you all think that 4 weeks from now i'll be announcing a pregnancy, there are definitely no plans to have unprotected sex at the moment. it's the absolute wrong time...it just is....

and my biggest fear? the darkness that comes after baby.

i think that post partum depression is still one of those taboo things that people rarely talk about.

and when they do it gets shrugged off as something that's just one of those things..it just happens. baby blues. you'll be fine. shake it off.

while discussing babies last night cory confirmed what i was afraid of...

"you haven't been the same since otto"

and it's true.

everyone praises me on my honesty, but this is on the verge of being too raw for me to share... because it's something i fight within myself every single day.

i still don't think i'm back to myself. i've been feeling incredibly nostalgic lately. which means i've been dusting off the oldest pictures in flickr and our old youtube account. the smile i had before having him were so genuine. now everything feels so..just, not real.

and don't get me wrong. most days are good. but some days are still a serious struggle. and it can be anything that sets me off. a sad news story, a sad movie... any number of things.

even life itself can do it.

right now it's the stress of dealing with angry groupon customers because i'm not returning their calls fast enough even though i have a dozen voicemails waiting for returned calls. it's just too much right now.

it's money. money always comes into play. having bare cabinets two days before the end of the month..biding our time with spaghetti night after night.

i don't regret otto. i would never ever. i was just expressing my deep gratitude for birthing him the other night. and telling cory that i felt sorry for men..that they would never know that feeling. that rush of oxytocin. the feeling that if you can do that you can very literally do anything. his dimples make everything worth it. that child is my joy. 

but it was so hard to see... and some days i find myself in that haze again. when i think about what life would be like without me here. if everyone would be okay. and the answer is always no. my children need a mother. my husband needs a wife. 

and i wonder why it is that we, as women, rarely talk about our experience. whether it's baby blues, post partum depression, or even psychosis. it's not something we should be ashamed of. we need to be in it all together, not against each other.

the thing that really amazes me is our readiness to discuss child birth and breastfeeding, but when we talk about the low that comes after those 9-10 months are over it's always done in hushed tones. 

i long for some realness.. for us to reassure each other. it'll be okay. the fog will lift. or maybe it won't, but we'll find ways to deal with it.

dwell on the good, not the bad. because there's so much good around us. and to take care of ourselves. it's okay to spend a day laying in bed being sad. and it's okay to make yourself go outside and face life, because otherwise you'll drown. 

i'm still normal. it's all okay.

i want to

wear pretty dresses

spin around in circles

get a weekly manicure

learn how to walk in heels

wrap a long string of pearls around my neck

learn how to properly use false eyelashes

walk with my shoulders straight and head high

have the kind of class and grace of a starlet alongside jimmy stewart

curl my hair

shit, brush my hair

and do it all while driving a big ass truck covered in the finest red mud around

the david mayfield parade

sometimes music can save us. in high school it was sarah mclachlan and elliott smith that saved me. what can i say....i have many layers.

for some reason my late 20's and early 30's have left me longing for banjos, guitars, and slow southern drawls. it must be my redneck, barefoot farmer daddy's influence. i still have such fond memories of listening to 8 tracks of johnny cash and elvis's country albums in his truck with the windows down.

this man belongs on that list of slow southern drawls and beautiful guitars that i've fallen in love with.

and i swear to you, he's cory's brother from another mother. i mean, seriously. the men look just alike and act just alike. which means that his stage presence is like none other.

we knew we had to go see him on sunday night, even though it was a school/work night for cory. the best part was that the show was free. free is my favorite price..and it left money available for us to get shirts which is always a bonus.

he managed to charm an entire audience who had probably never heard of him and get a well earned standing ovation before leaving the stage.

and his new crew is amazing as well. i was skeptical since i enjoyed the old ensemble so much, but i managed to develop a pretty hefty crush on his fiddle player.

i have another video we took as well but haven't uploaded it yet.. maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, who knows....

but for now...ladies and gentlemen, i present to you one of faith's favorite bands. seriously, she listens to them non-stop... the david mayfield parade.

if you don't fall in love with them then you don't have a heart. in which case i can't help you..no one can.

label: depression

the thing about being prone to fits of depression is that you can be going about your day, happy and bubbly, until the house is quiet and the chaos is gone..there's nothing left in the air but you and your thoughts.

the internet isn't helpful. the mind wanders and you find yourself browsing the elliott smith tag on tumblr reading the coroner's report of his death and all those emotions come back. the same emotions you had the moment you heard that he died and you know somehow that things will never be the same.

then you think about june carter cash dying hours before your wedding and have the realization that johnny won't be far behind. and flashback to the moment where you drive past her house on your honeymoon and see all the flowers out in their yard and that same heaviness rests on your chest that did then.

and old friends that have gone. and the one that still hurts because no one even had the courtesy to call and let you know, even though you grew up together. she initiated you into rebel adolescence by escorting you on your first sneaking out of a window in the dead of night to drive to the lake with random people you didn't know.

life is good. you are good. the people around you are good. but there's still this darkness that wants to seep its way through your pores sometimes. you need a good cry, but are never alone long enough to get it.

sleep sounds so good, but it just won't come. and when it does it's riddled with nightmares.

things feel so uncertain and unbalanced. and that damn lump in your chest won't just go the fuck away. it hurts like hell, so it's probably not cancer. but it's just so damn annoying.

the scale at your mom's registered the highest weight you've ever seen while standing on it, but you just can't find a reason to care. so you shove another hershey's chocolate bar down your throat while drinking a diet coke, because the fake sugar will balance out the real right?

people die. things change. and life is just really difficult sometimes. and you're just trying to float...sometimes maybe even swim to get somewhere.

tomorrow will be better. next week will be better. and the darkness comes less often these days. but when it does it feels three times as heavy.

a short story about a tall boy

so much with the heavy here lately.

and i don't want to look back on this blog in 5 years (if i'll even be able to..i have a habit of starting then deleting these things) and only remember the ugly.

i need to remember the shiny things too.

this is a story. a story that has a happy ending. and i have it on good authority that anyone who reads this will enjoy it more if they're eating something delicious at the same time.

multi-tasking is your best friend, guys.

punctuation, capitalization, and other nonsense is over rated.

this place always smells like teenage boy ass, stale coffee, and cigarette smoke. i contribute the smoke to all the delinquents who crowd outside the door so they can make out with each other and give themselves cancer.

i don't get the point of making out. not that i wouldn't do it if some boy asked me. it's just so weird...tongues on tongues. where's the appeal of tasting someone else's spit or finding out what they had for lunch? 

no, i've never made out with a boy. or girl for that matter. and yes, i'm 19. my mother tells me it's because boys are intimidated by me. i call bullshit. i think it's 60% i'm too fat, and 40% i come off as a bitch because i'm too afraid to talk to them. 

tonight might be different though. see, there's this boy. he found me on aol and i'm supposed to meet him here, since apparently we both like hanging out with weirdos. i don't know much about him, except that we like the same music. and he's supposed to be wearing a philmore shirt. common sense tells me he could be a stalker. or really boring, creepy, or just plain dumb. scout's honor, i don't really care what he looks like. it's so cliche i know, but i've never really cared. 

it's funny how i don't care what he looks like, but care way too much about how i look. but here's the irony: so much care is given to make me look like i don't care. my shoes are old and dirty, my hair brushed in such a way to look like i haven't touched it in weeks. and my make-up is applied the way that aunt becky on "full house" taught me. i look like i'm not wearing any at all. 

but for some reason tonight i feel invincible. because someone has finally noticed me. someone wants to meet me. and talk to me. and maybe even "like" me like me. i feel like i could fly.

i'm not alone, thank god. amy's with me. and we spend the entire night checking all the shirts on the boys in the room. her glass half full attitude is infectious. which may explain why i feel like flying and not crawling into a hole, like my usual self.

i don't know anything about coffee. which is why i order the same thing every single time i come here. some syrup infused cold thing... and truth be told, i don't think the boy behind the counter with blue hair and 17 holes in his head knows jack shit about coffee either. but it always makes me feel less awkward, having something in my hands. 

we make our way into the huge, carpeted room with dark walls where the music is coming from. the smell is by far its worst in here. and everyone is trying so hard...so hard to fit in, by looking like they don't want to fit in. and i so badly want them all to notice me. to like me. 

sometimes the music in here is so loud i'm on the verge of convulsions. seriously. i hate to sound like an old person, but does it have to be so loud? and why do all these boys think screaming at me makes me happy? there's a right way to scream and a wrong way to scream. and these people are all doing it wrong. 

and anyway, it's nearing the end of the night and i haven't seen a single philmore shirt in the crowd. i should've known he wouldn't show when he saw me. i'm so stup.....

"hi, are you vanessa?"

"oh, hi. yea. you're really tall."

"i eat a lot of pizza."

then he smiled. and, well, i had that feeling i'd been waiting 19 years for. it felt like i'd been punched in the stomach and it forced my heart into my throat. suddenly swallowing became just as impossible as saying anything whitty, smart or funny. all i could do was smile. and pretend to enjoy the screaming that was happening on the stage a few feet in front of me. 

he wore the wrong shirt. a shirt that happens to be his favorite he'll later tell me. 

whether or not he's my future, i don't know yet. but i do know the following:

he's adorable
he's adorable
and, well, he's adorable
also...tall. very very tall..

which is good because he makes me feel very very small.

i wonder if he'll talk to me again after seeing me...

the end

or, i'll say it, the beginning

out history started september of 1999.

we would officially start dating in november.

and make out for the first time in december. at which point i would understand why people did it so much. we still do it as often as the short people will let us.

engagement would come in july of 2001.

marriage in may of 2003...

then the rest is a blur of babies, poop, breastmilk, and sleep depravation. 

and i still get that feeling, you guys.

the one where i feel like i'd been punched in the stomach and it forced my heart into my throat.

today's post was brought to you by too many hours of staring at this damn laptop editing pictures, my love being at school or work 24/7, and non-stop fighting from my children.

it was written on the floor or my dark bedroom in front of a whirring box fan and "roseanne" on the tv. 

i am not a writer, i just play one on this blog.

that boy that was supposed to wear the philmore shirt? he's the writer.

and i love him. 

care enough to care

the thing about learning to love yourself is that you have to ignore all outside influences.

i spent my day cleaning our bedroom, which meant hours of folding laundry, which i usually do with the television as my companion. jenny craig told me multiple times that i needed to eat their food so i could lose 20 pounds. a size 6 actress told me that "big girls wear shapers under everything". fuck you..the only time i wore a shaper was the day i got married, and i hated every second of it.

there's the television, the magazines while i'm waiting to buy my groceries, the billboards on the side of the highway, the people in my life offering to send me to weight watchers.

and all their voices seem so much louder than the one in my head.

i weave in and out of self confidence.

some days i feel untouchable. like nothing can bring me down off this high i've recently found. the high where i love the chub in my armpits, the cellulite on my thighs, and even my belly.

others i avoid looking in the mirror all together. i catch a picture of me that was taken when i didn't know it and am disgusted with what i see. i hate it all, right down to the weight i've gained in my hands and face.

and it's always the same, whether i weigh 160 pounds or 260. i wonder if i'll ever be comfortable in my own body. and why i can't find that place where i love myself enough to care.

and the worst part is that every woman, and probably even most men, who are reading this are nodding their head thinking things like "this is exactly how i feel".

it's like we're trained early on that we're not worth much outside of what other people see when they glance our way. they probably look at me and think "she'd be pretty if she weren't so fat" or "why do fat girls think they can wear short shorts?".

and in doing so they fail to ever know the real me. and if they did they'd know that i happen to be talented, funny at times, have a decent sense of humor, enjoy good music just as much as i enjoy good food, love going for walks, adore the ocean, and a good book..among other things that make me wonderful.

and none of this really even matters because those other voices will always be there. i just need to learn to employ the selective hearing skills being a mother has offered me.

i need to develop my own opinions of myself and quit relying on what others think. and i need to learn to love myself enough to take care of myself.

late night cake eating to drown my sorrows doesn't make me feel better, even if it does give me the brilliant idea of forcing siri to call me "the goddess of cake". nothing feels better than a long walk or maybe even a jog. i've been dying to try yoga but am terrified that i'll fail miserably. i adore hooping but can't force myself to go outside and play.

i'm worth it. we all are. and i want my children to grow up with the confidence to love themselves..know themselves..and know better than to listen to the other voices.

by the way, i realize i've been extremely ego-centric as of late..especially in the self portrait department. there's a good reason, other than me being completely vain. 

i'm taking part in this incredible class with a group of brave, beautiful women and it's causing me to do a lot of searching within myself. it's been challenging, exciting, and terrifying all at the same time. 

list of happy

1. hula hoops. obviously. and the fact that it's impossible to be sad when one's in your hands.

2. boys with banjos.  i've said it before and i'll say it again..these guys will always have my heart. and not just because of their songs, but because of who they are.

3. kittens. and being okay without one.

4. jewelry that makes me smile. and embracing the girly girl inside me with glitter nail polish and red lipstick.

5. lazy, silly mornings.

6. beautiful women who inspire me.

7. tracking this tag on tumblr. and having the confidence to know that i'm beautiful.

8. this beautiful, wonderful man. the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles. his love for books. his patience. the way he looks at me. his hands. the way he can't get through a joke without laughing so hard he can't breathe.

9. new

recipes

to

try

and food in general.

10. the love of friends.

crying in the frozen section

while grocery shopping last night..because hi, it's 113 degrees & neither one of our cars have air conditioning... i was thinking about life, and death. mostly death. how unfair it is. and how the only thing i believe in right now is love and friendship. not even family.

then this song came on..

and i'm standing there in front of the frozen chicken breasts, trying to decide if we can afford one bag or two...and i just start crying. in the middle of crest. this is where i'd insert an ode to my long hair..a poem about how much i love it because it enables me to hide my feelings from those around me.

and fuck i'm angry. and sad. and mostly angry. and confused.

i've spent the last two days in a haze.

then i woke up this morning and decided that there are lessons to be learned. every single day bad things happen, and we can choose to drown in them or rise above and swim.

i've never been a very competent swimmer. i suck at it really. but this is me trying to gain my strength.

hope. it's what keeps me going. hope that the children of lost parents will be okay. that my friends will stay safe. that my children will forgive me for being totally incompetent for the last two days. i'm losing faith, but i can hold onto hope.

laughter, adventure, and imagination. these are the thing i'm going to strive for today.
because my boys are currently jumping from couch to couch to table to couch dressed as spiderman, and i'm going to play this until the funk has passed. because it's as annoying and catchy as fuck.