A simple request @JamesRoday @DuleHill of #Psych

Please guys, read this and please make me the happiest woman in the world?

Hi. I’ve never spoken about this at any great length on here, however, let me start off by saying, I AM A HUMONGOUS PSYCH FAN. Huge. Perhaps borderline obsessed with watching. But absolutely not in a crazy, creepy, stalker kind of way. More of a this makes me forget how sad I am and remember the good times kind of way.

I like to escape into their world and pretend like I’m that cool.

Since I discovered it was on Netflix early last summer, I have watched the first 6 seasons countless times. It’s on a constant loop on my bedroom computer so that I fall asleep and wake up to it.

It started out that I was just catching up on any episodes I may have missed, and then watching whatever tiny scraps of Season 7 I could agonize through (because my computer sucks and can’t handle USA’s video format or something). At the time, my youngest, referred to here as Bean, and I were sharing a room. Noodle was sharing a room with my mom, however generally by morning I had two tiny people in my bed. Many mornings, middle of the night fever wakings, afternoon quiet times and any other times are of my happiest memories: the three of us, snuggled up in my bed, watching Psych. And just so there’s no uproar/backlash/OMG you let your kids watch that???, I’m happy to assure you that they did not watch any of the remotely questionable parts. They mostly liked to sing the theme song, and just spend time in my arms. For a short time, they were even convinced that “Shawn” was actually my friend John. “Why is John on Netflix Mommy? How’d he get on your ‘puter?”

When they…weren’t here anymore, I couldn’t stop crying. It took all that I had to get out of bed. So while I lay there, a shell of a human being, I watched Psych. Grateful for the humor and memories it helped me recall, it also provided enough distraction for me to stop crying in brief interludes. So I kept rewatching. And watching again. And starting from the Pilot to the end, backward to forward and every way in between.

Well, tonight I am going to the Paley Center for some special event where (wait for iiiiiiiiit) …. JAMES RODAY AND DULE HILL AND ALLY SHEEDY WILL BE THERE AND TALKING ABOUT THE SHOW AND THERE’S GONNA BE A SPECIAL SCREENING AND OMG OMG OMG OMG I AM SO EXCITED I MIGHT EXPLODE!

I came up with an idea, a pretty good one if you ask me. How about I try and get a short clip of them and me (holding a pineapple, obviously) outside (or inside, wherever is ok with me) waving to my girls and saying Hi! Sounds like a great idea right? What’s the big deal, you ask. Why is this so important?

Because I haven’t seen my kids in a while. It’s been close to a month since I’ve seen Noodle, a week and a half since I’ve seen Bean and honestly, I have no idea when I will get to lay eyes on them again. I don’t get to hear their voices, I don’t get to brush their soft sweet-smelling hair off their faces, and I don’t get to give them tickle torture. Frankly, it’s the most painful thing I have ever had to go through.

I keep myself busy by drawing pics and putting together little gifts for them and thought, HEY. This is something we used to do together, and a once in a lifetime potential opportunity. I could then post the video on my fb and hope it gets to the right place, or somehow get it before their eyes so they can see that Mommy is healthy, that I love and miss them, and LOOK! Shawn and Gus say hi too! They would be SO blown away.

So this is my official request; PLEASE, will you wonderful, handsome, talented, hilarious, empathetic, kind, generous and all around awesome men, James and Dule, and maybe even the incomparable Ally Sheedy, PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR AND HONEY AND ICE CREAM AND SPRINKLES AND WHIPPED CREAM AND PINEAPPLE ON TOP HELP ME OUT BY TAKING A FEW SHORT MOMENTS AND MAKING A SHORT VIDEO CLIP FOR MY BABIES ? It would definitely be the coolest thing ever in the whole world and I would be eternally grateful and in your debt. I am bringing the pineapple. My name is Alicia. I will be there tonight. I hope this happens!!

 

 

(So if you’re not them and reading this please share it and RT it and do whatever needs to be done to make it go viral or until they say yes. PLEEEEEEASE!)

Oh, also, I apologize for any grammatical, spelling or any other errors in here, but I wrote this on the fly cuz I gotta get my behind to the CIT-AY!!!

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Annual Parade for Drunken Debauchery

Yesterday was the town’s annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade. This year I actually attended. I had my motives, and it was the first time I got out of bed in a while lol.
I did not go to see the marching bands or eat funnel cake. I had no friends to meet up with.
I did however have an ill conceived plan to try and find my kids.
Usually KD takes them. I went along once I think. The baby was a wee tiny bean back then, and Noodle was your average no cares in the world happier than me at an all you can eat cupcake buffet. It was a decently enjoyable short period of time- I went late and left early. The weather was crappy and rainy. Call me a stick in the mud. 
Back to the point. My black ops mission.
I walked from one end of town to the other hoping to see their tiny angelic faces, so that I could scoop them up and cover them in kisses.
It didn’t work out. If they were there, I somehow missed them.
On the bright side, I ended up being more active than I have in months. I walked 3 miles, met my 10,000 steps a day goal for the first time ever by the way, and took lots of pictures and videos and was generally amused by the lot of it.
So I’ll share with you some of the enjoyable highlights.

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This is the Food Bank cow. If you have food donations to make, call the number above her head . There are many needy individuals and families in the area who will benefit.

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This sweet ride.

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This guy       ↑   that guy ↓

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Gumby, fire trucks, and lots of people in green.

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And by the time I walked home I realized that it all adds up to…

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And there you have it.

MEMORIES

I was hanging out with my friend earlier, checking out this sweet book she has on Mandalas from different cultures. I love those.

When I was 12, I used to draw them, not knowing what they were, or properly creating them probably. In college I learned a lot more about them, as it was art school. I surmise that I drew a couple then as well. I was more into the boxes and these incredibly beautiful beads I was making though. Fast forward to the very beginning of my relationship with my children’s father, we used to watch a tv show which featured mandalas and meditation as a central theme in several episodes. Here I am now, pining away for my children, coloring them in to keep my anxiety at bay, using them as a meditative aid so that I can focus my energy on positive thoughts.

You’re probably confused. A lot has gone down since May. I won’t get into it in great detail; frankly I could get myself into trouble if I start running my mouth-er-fingers about it. Suffice it to say, I am currently spending 100% less time with my children than I was this time last year, and I miss them horrifically. As if  part of my soul has been removed and is elsewhere, being tortured.

What I’m left with is entirely too much time in my own head. However I had such a happy memory as a result of these mandalas today I couldn’t help but share it. As I scanned the images from her book into my computer so that I may print and color them, or perhaps even play with them in Photoshop or Painter Pro 2 (? some similar program my mom has on her computer. I actually rather like it. If anyone knows anything about it, please let me know. I don’t quite have the hang of it, but I’m ok with basic stuff) or MAYBE one of these days I’ll get into the correct frame of mind and draw some from scratch. Regardless,  I was scanning, and my dear friend puts on a song, asking if I’ve ever heard it.

 

This was the highlight of my day. I used to play this song every morning while I made breakfast for the girls and I. We would sing it and dance around the kitchen even during the darkest of my PPD days. It was how I coped with the fact that I had to get through another day. How I got my blood flowing. And my babies were so sweet dancing around with me, singing along. The best was when DDa would, out of nowhere bust into song: “BLAME IT ON MY ADD, BABY!”

Like the waves during high tide, I was pounded with memories. They flooded my mind and touched all of my senses. Snuggling and watching The Lorax 800 times, playing in the inflatable pool with our old neighbor, tearing up Kale chips like there was no tomorrow and laughing, singing and dancing. Just thinking of these times I am sitting and smiling, probably for the first time all day.

I have some pretty shitty ones, but right now I am immeasurably grateful for my memories because they are all I have to hold on to. I miss my babies. I can’t wait until they come home. So if you’re so inclined, perhaps say a prayer, burn a candle, recite an incantation or chant so the Powers That Be may understand, and know to allow them to come back to me. I appreciate it, and I know that even though I can’t ask them, that my sweet little monkees do too.

 

Whatever happened to the day of rest?

Ahhh, picture it. Waking up when your body says, “I’m done sleeping”, having a leisurely cup of coffee while gazing blankly out the window. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining. Spending the day enjoying hobbies or other leisurely activities.

WE’LL HAVE NONE OF THAT NONSENSE HERE.

Thought I’d share with you my itinerary for the next couple hours.

2:40pm-5pm: Clean, organize, launder, fold, put away, vacuum, mop, repeat until return of children.
5-?: Make and serve dinner to two incredibly hyper children. Clean up dinner. Carry children to bathroom for bath as they fight to escape. Run water. Chase and (hopefully) catch 3 yr old, returning her to bathroom. Convince her to take clothes off (normally she is refusing to put clothes on). Wrestle (literal, actual physical exertion) clothes off 21 month old. Help her on and off potty 17 times. Retrieve naked 3 yr old from hiding place. Retrieve naked 21 month old from hiding place. Figure out how the heck to keep the stupid ear plugs in the ears and not in the hair.
Put kids in the tub. Lather while 21 month old screams and tries to climb out of tub while 3 yr old plays mermaid. Rinse little one while convincing other one why she needs soap. Take little one out and roll in towel like burrito. Finish washing and rinsing now crying 3 yr old because she wasn’t first. Dry, lotion and pajamafy both. Carry them, one in each arm back to bathroom to brush teeth while explaining (as I do twice every day ) why we brush at least twice a day. Put little one in crib. Begin desperate search for pacifier. Find it. Wash it. Insert it. She’s out. Find 3 yr old back on the computer doing her kids learning games. Carry her back up to bed. Play musical beds. After 2 hours give up and go downstairs. Sit down, wipe sweat from brow, and find you have been joined by 3 yr old.
Get self ready for bed. Drag self into it. Find 3 yr old already in it, taking up all the space. Lay on floor. Sleep.

(Crap now I’m 16 minutes behind schedule)

How do you spend your Sundays?

*LE SIGH*

I keep thinking about posting, and what I want to write about. I jot little notes of funny or crazy things that pop into my head throughout the day. Yet here I am, at the computer, kids asleep, and all I want to do is go to sleep.

 

For now I will just say Hello, I have missed you. I would love to hear from you; please feel free to leave me comments so I know you haven’t forgotten about me. 😉

 

I promise I will have something fun or interesting or at least longer than this really soon. I will. Really. But if I sit here any longer I will end up like I did last night, out cold with my face on the keyboard.

 

 

Yes, that’s really how I woke up.

 

Then I went upstairs, sat on my bed to get situated, and woke up an hour or so later still sitting on the edge of my bed. I bet this is the kind of exhaustion those famous people have when they have to spend a week at a fabulous spa getting rested and pampered. My plane ticket and spa voucher must have gotten lost in the mail so for now I’ll settle for a twin bed with a toddler or two in it.

 

Nite all.

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into oblivion

Undulating just beneath my conscious mind, floating into the oblivion of sleep

Babbling away, trying to remain positive.

Babbling away, trying to remain positive..

Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

I keep starting to write, and stopping. Saving drafts and deleting. Trying to think of something meaningful or amusing to say, and coming up empty. Beginning a chore, project or task, and getting interrupted.
There are about 5 different topics I had planned to talk about between my last post and now, and I just haven’t gotten to it. The truth is, life has been really crazy. I have been absolutely mad.
Like two minutes ago, it was quiet and I sat down to type this. Then my almost 3 yr old walked in wanting to wear my bra. Moments later she decides she didn’t want to wear it anymore and left the room. As she left she announced that the baby is awake.
Start. Stop. Start. Stop.

Le sigh.

Mirena, PPD, or both?

I started writing this about two months ago. I had initially not posted it because I wasn’t “feeling it”. Two months later I’m starting to feel like my normal self again, and decided this needed to be posted.

Post Partum Depression is a serious subject and is often not recognized/treated until there’s some kind of crisis involved. At least, that’s how it went for me. If you have struggled with PPD or anything similar, I’d love for you to comment on what helped you and how you realized that something was not right. I’m interested in what you have to say.

So here’s the story:

September 13, 2012

Well, it’s been a bit over a month since I had the Mirena hormonal IUD removed. I am highly disappointed to report that not all of my symptoms have disappeared.
Panic
Anxiety
Depression
Apathy
Inability to start tasks
Inability to complete tasks
Hopelessness
Palpitations
Rage
Lightheadedness
Dizziness

Extreme Fatigue
BO requiring 2-3 applications of deodorant application per day. Prior to this I barely needed it at all. I tried 6 different brands marketed for both males and females and none were effective. (sorry if that’s tmi for you)
Thinning hair-clumps falling out daily
Peeling fingernails

Weird swelling in hand (one spot on each hand would would puff up and have a burning sensation. There were no changes in lotion, soaps, etc)
Upset stomach (nausea)
Stomach pains
Abdominal pain
Stabbing pains in uterus

Memory loss
Poor vision
Vision disturbances

Joint pain
Impatience
Severe mood swings
No libido
Always cold
Cystic Acne (had this while on other BC)
Shaking/tremors (hand)
Stabbing pain in head
Pain during sex
Shaky when hungry (even if I had just eaten a meal a short time ago. Note: I was once diagnosed with mild hypoglycemia but it was never EVER to the point where I’d be shaking if I wasn’t eating every hour)

The ones in bold are better. The rest apparently fit the criteria for Post Partum Depression.*

Well SHIT. NOT what I expected there.

I made some calls. Had several trips to the ER for panic attacks. Called the NJ Speak Up When You’re Down hotline for PPD, who helped me get set up in a support group and with psych services in my area. They’ve helped me apply for a grant to pay for those services through a local mental health center. In the meantime I’ve been seeing a wonderfully attentive Nurse Practitioner who is helping me get the remaining symptoms to a point of manageability.Things are improving slowly. What I hate the most is the medication issue. I CLEARLY need medication. Unfortunately, to treat my variety of symptoms effectively, several medications were needed. Which led me to make the decision to gently wean my youngest daughter sooner than intended. I had made it past the one year mark, and that’s something to be proud of. Still, it’s sad for me, and I’m sure my little Bean is missing the all access pass she once held.

*some of these symptoms can also be explained by thyroid issues, but I had that checked too and mine wasn’t the issue.

Update 11/15/12

Things finally seem to be normalizing. After several months, different combinations of medications, support groups both online and in person (I only made it to that once, but REALLY REALLY love the ladies there and want to go back), talk therapy, essential oil therapy and the end of a less than healthy relationship, I am thrilled to report that I have hope. The suicidal ideations I was experiencing and obsessing over all day have stopped. I am able to laugh and play with my children. I no longer become so overwhelmed at the thought of a task that I can’t even bear to do it. Bits and pieces of me are showing up and I’m starting to learn who I am. I’m finding my identity as a mother and a woman. It’s kinda cool.

This is not to say I am cured. I am, however, better. Much better.

If you are stuck in it, I feel for you. I know your pain. Please read this and know, it gets better. The most important thing to do is speak up. Ask for help. It makes all of the difference in the world. It was the hardest thing in the world for me to admit that I was not ok. Once I said it though, I couldn’t stop saying it. I am not ok. I am not ok. I am not ok.

Today, I am ok. I hope you are too.

🙂

On car repairs, anxiety, and early mornings

I woke up at 630 am. I never do this except under great duress generally brought on my my children. Today I have things to do. Many, MANY, things to do. I’ll start with the big one. And a fun little anecdotal account of my car history. Because again, it’s early, I don’t do mornings, and maybe you’ll enjoy my foggy morning brain. Mostly, though, blogging about this is easing my anxiety.
I bought a used car from a lovely elderly couple. The woman is of the generation of women who generally didn’t get drivers licenses. Her husband, also an octogenarian, was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. They needed to sell the car, I needed to buy a car. A good, reliable, inexpensive, safe car to transport my little lovelies. It was bittersweet. I had a car, the elderly gentleman cried as I drove away.
Shortly thereafter, I thought perhaps my brakes needed to be done. They were squeaky. I asked a couple friends and we unfortunately were never able to make that happen. After that, on a trip to Maryland, my check engine light went on.
*cue panic*
We had just bought a car, shelled out a security deposit on a new place to live, and living on a modest to meager income. Holy crap of all holiest craps, I bought a lemon. (This has yet to be proven or disproven.)
Anyway, time passed, the check engine light went off. Sigh of relief. But then the brakes went from squeaky, to kind of grindy, to kind of stuttery.
I know these sounds. My first car? I drove through the pads, shoes, rotors, whatever else is in there-basically to the point my wheels were about to fall off. I had no idea. And I was 17 and on Phish tour so I wasn’t particularly worried about anything. $800 dollar brake repair later, I got into an accident and my car was totaled. I think that was maybe a month after my mom shelled out the cash.
Next car? Same deal. Paid for big repair, totaled car.
By my third car I thought I was much more responsible about the whole car repairs thing. And I may have been. However, the dear old girl ended up with close to a quarter of a million miles on her and was in need of a $2500+ exhaust system repair (in addition to the couple hundred just shelled out for various other things). She was only worth $1700 on a good day. Big Blue had seen better days. I sold her cheap.
Then I got another car. One of the first things I did? Got the brakes checked and fixed. No big deal. The check engine light went on. PANIC. Got a diagnostic. Catalytic converter. Dude. Seriously? I had a new tiny baby, a commission based job and absolutely no way to pay for $1000 repair. Eventually I got it fixed by a mechanic friend and no lie, less than a month later, my radiator hose blew, and in the process of fixing it, we discovered some seal in some part of my engine had stopped doing its job and fluids were all mixed together and was probably not a good idea for me to drive it again. My mechanic suggested head gasket. Considering the amount of time and labor needed to fix this, I opted to look for a new car.
In rolls Bessie. She’s a sweet girl. I can fit two big girl car seats in the back, she’s clean (aside from the ton of kid stuff in it), plays my old live Grateful Dead and Phish tapes and gets me where I need to go.
Basically I’m telling you all of this because I’m sitting here waiting for him to give me the damage. To any of you who know me IRL, on FB or Twitter, you know my anxiety/panic issues have been kicked into hyperdrive. I’m trying not to freak out and throw myself on the floor crying and hyperventilating. So far this has helped.
And hey, maybe some of you can relate.
Cross your fingers and toes, do a happy car dance, send inexpensive quality repair vibes and calming energy my way.
Pretty please with a cannoli on top.

And have a lovely day.

A day like any other, but calmer. But not really. Cuz Mirena.

Today started out surprisingly well. I woke to the baby jumping on me and yelling for her sister. After several attempts to get her back to sleep so I could get (PLEASE) 5 more minutes, I succumbed.
Now we are having breakfast.

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She made a beautiful garden.

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She was just happy.

All was well in Monkeeville. There was general mayhem, which is normal for us.

AND THEN. IT HIT ME. Like a ton of evil little demons. A panic attack. Not a full blown panic attack, but it was coming. I could tell. Those little green anxious demons were dancing in my gut. So as quickly and efficiently as I could I packed the kids up and took them to my moms.
She took one look at me and knew I wasn’t ok. We brainstormed. We made phone calls. We made arrangements.

By the time I got to the hospital I thought I was having a heart attack. My left arm and hand were tingling. I felt like I had a tiny person standing on my chest. I wanted to cry. My hands were shaking. My stomach was upset.

They immediately gave me an EKG which came back normal. I ended up sitting for almost 3 hours in a hallway until a room opened up.

Meanwhile I hadn’t eaten since 8am and was STARVING. So my guy brought me pizza. And root beer.

Finally I got into a room. They drew blood. I’m getting fluids. They gave me meds. The meds kinda worked. But those little green anxiety demons I mentioned earlier? They’re regrouping. I can feel them.
So I figured I’d write to you. Maybe this could take my mind off of this for a bit.

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Eventually I spoke to someone in the crisis unit. She agreed that I didn’t need to be admitted and that (HOPEFULLY) this will pass in time as soon as my hormones regulate.

By the time I got out of there I was tired, cranky, and the anxiety demons were back.

This blows. And this is only the first day I’ve had the damn thing out. Please someone tell me this will pass quickly and I will be able to function again?

 

But I can’t express enough how grateful I am for my IRL friends and family and my internet friends and family checking in on me, sending me virtual hugs and love and peaceful energy.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. You people rock my socks.

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