playdate

All Aboard the Crazy Train! We're Talking about Postpartum Depression

I never thought depression would happen to me. I naively thought that depression affects those who have something traumatic happen in their lives. I will admit that was completely uneducated as to how depression affects us. That was until it affected me.

When my maternal grandfather passed away in 1997 my family was devastated. Not only did we lose someone we loved immensely but we lost the glue that held our fragile family together. Over the past ten years that side of my family had deteriorated to virtually non-existent. No visits, not even Christmas or Birthday cards. Essentially my mother cut herself off from her family - justly I believe - which percolated down the line leaving my brother and I without contact with our extended family on the maternal side.

When all this began, I unintentionally found out that my mother had sought out professional help by ways of Prozac. She, seemingly embarrassed, brushed it off as nothing. I didn't see it as nothing; instead it was the embarrassed part that stuck with me. I began to worry about her because OMG! My mother is medicated. She's losing her shit!  was the mentality of depression.

The social stigma of depression classified my mom as a nut job.

Continue reading "All Aboard the Crazy Train! We're Talking about Postpartum Depression" »

I never thought depression would happen to me. I naively thought that depression affects those who have something traumatic happen in their lives. I will admit that was completely uneducated as to how depression affects us. That was until it affected me.

When my maternal grandfather passed away in 1997 my family was devastated. Not only did we lose someone we loved immensely but we lost the glue that held our fragile family together. Over the past ten years that side of my family had deteriorated to virtually non-existent. No visits, not even Christmas or Birthday cards. Essentially my mother cut herself off from her family - justly I believe - which percolated down the line leaving my brother and I without contact with our extended family on the maternal side.

When all this began, I unintentionally found out that my mother had sought out professional help by ways of Prozac. She, seemingly embarrassed, brushed it off as nothing. I didn't see it as nothing; instead it was the embarrassed part that stuck with me. I began to worry about her because OMG! My mother is medicated. She's losing her shit!  was the mentality of depression.

The social stigma of depression classified my mom as a nut job.

Continue reading "All Aboard the Crazy Train! We're Talking about Postpartum Depression" »

Buying clothes? Beware the mom zone

Sometimes I think one of the hardest things about being a mom is resisting the siren call of stereotypical mom clothes.

And by stereotypical mom clothes, I mean clothing that doesn't take too much effort, clothing that celebrates comfort over style and function over form, and clothing that, if I am truly honest with myself, I would not have been caught dead wearing prior to giving birth.

I'm not trying to be a smart-ass: it really is hard.

We moms are tired and rushed a lot of the time. Time and money are tight, but our bodies?Not so much (not mine anyway).

And I think that drinking in the silky skin and shiny hair of our children - our beautiful children - goes a long way towards satisfying our inherent need to feel the presence of beauty in our lives.

And that's not necessarily a good thing.

Art is Life

I spent this past weekend up to my eyeballs in chalk dust, and for once it didn't bother me one bit.  You see, I wasn't drawing trucks and trains on the sidewalk - which is a lot of fun, don't get me wrong - I was indulging in an old hobby of my: portrait art.  The chalk dust was from my collection of pastels that I brought out, dusted off, and stood staring at for a while like long-lost love letters.  It's been almost a DECADE since I've done a portrait (or any kind of art, really, that doesn't involve crayons and glue) because life just kept getting in the way.  First it was play rehearsals, then wedding planning, then house hunting, then marathon training, then having kids - there was always something more pressing to attend to. 

People are constantly telling me that they can't draw, to which my stock answer has always been: "Anyone can draw, it's just a matter of how you look at things."

Disney Does Something Right

There are very few things I like about the Disney empire: Walt was a card-carrying member of the Nazi party; birth records in the ‘90s and now playgrounds everywhere are drenched with little girls (over)named Jasmine and Ariel, and when our daughters do finally tire of all those fucking princesses, we have High School Musical and The Jonas Brothers to look forward to. I shudder to think how far a 3-year-old’s capacity for consumerism might extend if we actually took her to The Most Commercial Place On Earth.

Stand Up Proud with Your Boobs Held High!

Have you been over to BlogHersAct Canada lately?  The lovely Sam is covering our new Family Health initiative at BHAC and if you haven't read Stand Up Proud with Your Boobs Held High! yet, you are missing out on the most recent breastfeeding controversy to hit the blogwaves:

Being a nursing mother is one of the most challenging things I've done. Scratch that. It IS the most challenging thing I've done.

Oh, sure! Really hard! I bet you're thinking.

But if you've ever been in a situation where you're surrounding by prying, judgmental eyes because you're child is throwing a tantrum, then you have a minute idea. Compound that by having to raise your shirt, position your body and baby hoping to avoid exposure of your truly offensive breasts (sarcasm, yes) because someone may be offended by boobs. You'd think that lady had just shoved a fish under her blanket.

Continue reading "Stand Up Proud with Your Boobs Held High!" »

There's a Potty Going On 'Round Here

Ah, potty training. Feared by parents who haven't been there yet, subject of parenting books galore, and known to drive grown men to the very brink. I was lucky in this regard - Pumpkinpie was on the case before I was really even worried about it. Even so, I employed a book or two, in my usual manner, to help explain things to her, to show her other kids in action, and to give us a talking point. Now I can't tell you how to go about potty training your child (sorry), but I can tell you about a few good titles to help put forth the suggestion.

Transit Cops Say the Darndest Things

Just when I think that life has become pretty predictable, something happens that surprises the hell out of me.

The family and I were in our local coffee shop the other day enjoying a mid-afternoon snack, when in walk three transit cops.  Our preschooler was ecstatic.  Real!  Live!  Policemen!  Right there in front of him.  They pretty much made his day just by choosing the same coffee shop as us.

The owner, who knows us fairly well (Not that we go to coffee shops a lot...Ahem.), began making jokes along the lines of "No officer, don't arrest the boy, he didn't do anything wrong!"

I Was A 50's Housewife

Imagine coming home from work and finding out that you are having the following for dinner: Meat Soufflé with Buttered Broccoli Spears, Creamed Potatoes, Denver Buns, and for dessert, the alluringly named, Glamorous Fruit Cup. Wow. That would be something. Now imagine cooking this meal. Not only would you need shortening, Bisquick, salt pork, undiluted frozen limeade and sifted Gold Medal flour on hand, but you’d need a whole afternoon to assemble this feast and a floral apron and protective head scarf to wear while doing so (optional).

While the above menu and ingredients sound unappetizing and downright bizarre for a meal today, I am quite sure that in 1958 a spread such as that would entice words of pleasure and approval from the mouths for whom the spread was intended.

on the walls

Last night I put pictures up on the walls. And I like it.

Why? You think I'm moving too fast? I've only lived here (cough) eight years.

I've never been good at putting up the finishing touches on a room. Paint I can do reasonably  well, but the homey touches and whatnots?

Oh so bad.

A Tale of Two Dresses

It was the thinnest of times, it was the thickest of times.

Or something like that.

What I really mean is during the last week I have acquired two new dresses that couldn't be more different. One is soft and clingy and...slinky. One is bulky and cozy and...yet, still somehow slinky.

My two new dresses are both birthday gifts and couldn't be more different. And yet, I love them equally. How can that be?

Let me tell you.