Blessed?

Anyone who has read my writings, know I'm open about my personal struggles with depression and anxiety. I'm open, because I want others who may be struggling from time to time, with similar feelings, to know their really not alone with this. I talk about my decision to stop drinking alcohol, because again, I know there are people who can relate to the struggles associated with drinking #drinkingproblems# (I just felt like trying hash tags--it was a sudden--overwhelming compulsion). I appreciate any feedback my entries get, unless the feedback is mean or stupid, then I banish them from my life #justkidding# (whoops hash tags, sorry---I don't twitter). Awhile ago after I'd posted an entry, touching on these very topics, I saw a Facebook post in my new's feed, which said something like this, "A friend of mine has to use so many tools just to be happy, she truly does have a chemical imbalance--Feeling blessed, because I can get out of bed everyday feeling happy." I read it, and I was like, is this person talking about me? I mean, how do you know? People are vague with such posts, and you don't know their intentions--you don't hear their tone. It's impossible to distinguish human tone through verbal messages exchanged through forms such as emails, texts, and social media. The person who posted this, left the post up long enough, so that some saw what she wrote and she later deleted the post. I do think she was feeling a moment of gratitude and her intention was not meant to be cruel. But--this is what I want to know, why use the word blessed? Was I cursed? Was I cursed with depression--do people think those who struggle are being punished for something? I know, for the most part, the answer is no, people use the word blessed because, it's a way of showing appreciation. And, I am in no means the word police--I mean--ask my husband, he tells me EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE, "Stop--saying those words, you sound like a trucker... for the love of God-- why does my wife talk like a drunken sailor?!?!....shhhhhh, people might hear you Sarah!"

People who intentionally hurt others, (I'm talking emotionally) scare me (well, physically hurting others is really freaking scary too...I don't like violence). The fact that others do things and say things knowingly to hurt others, blows my mind. I'm not saying the Facebook post I mentioned above, was directly aimed at me, nor am I saying it was intended to hurt. I did think the timing of her post, was suspicious, and again, I believe this person was expressing an appreciation for her mental health. As we know, when using social media, we must take what others say with a grain of salt. And I'm putting myself out there to be ridiculed,  by writing about my life. I don't think God blesses people by giving them freedom from certain conditions/illnesses, while at the same time others are suffering from illnesses and sicknesses.

I have one child who takes three medications to survive, why was he not blessed with perfect health? Have I wondered this question thousands of times? Yes, of course. I remember sitting in the NICU after Keyton was born and pleading with God, to forgive me, for what ever I had done, to deserve the pain that my son and I were experiencing at the time. I was so young, I had such a heavy heart, I thought, I was being punished. I have to give my son an injection every day--every day he hurts, because the medication stings.When Keyton was two-weeks-old, my husband and I were taught how to give Keyton his injections. I was 21 and Jess was 24. We learned on an orange. The first injection I gave Keyton was the night before he was discharged from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Imagine how it would feel to poke your sleeping newborn baby with a needle..it sucked. And it continues to suck, having to poke Keyton every day for the last 11 years-- it never gets any easier. He still needs a couple of minutes before we inject him, he has to do deep breathing, he picks the site, and as we hold the plunger of the medication down for the ten seconds it takes, to be sure all the medication has been administered, he still squeezes his eyes shut and says, "Owe, Owe, Owe.". There are people who have lost babies and children--and I could say that I'm blessed that my children are all here with me today, but to me that isn't fair--because what about those whose children are not? I don't feel like I was blessed and for some reason those who lost a child were not. I understand the significance of the word "blessed", and I'm not uber sensitive to it, but I do think when using the word, it would be nice, if people thought a second before using it--because it does make those--who weren't fortunate enough to have what others have--feel a bit of wonder--and even a sense of significant sadness.

Sitting Still

Tadasana- According to Wikipedia (my go to for definitions) is, "The basic standing asana in most forms of yoga with feet together and hands at the sides of the body." Asana-- ( thanks Wikipedia) "Is, a body position, typically associated with yoga originally identified as the mastery of sitting still." Anyways, the above terms are closely related to the only two poses I did a few nights ago at a yoga [type class]. Jess and I went out to eat, just the two of us--we finished minutes before the class started. After walking into the class and taking my place on the mat, I knew I made two critical mistakes-- one, eating a large meal before class, two picking a front row seat. As the music and instruction started, my tummy started to grumble. I didn't dare move. I thought if I did, something loud might happen (I knew it would happen), and the class was basically packed, the classroom is not big to begin with with. There is so much bending, so much squatting. I've done this class a dozen times before. Months ago, I watched this YouTube video, where this man pranks a yoga class with a farting device he placed under his mat. When he would step on and sit on it, the machine would make the noise and the people would look horrified, but his peers never said anything, they kept the class flowing, ignoring the sounds coming from the man. I wouldn't have been pulling a prank--and the video kept playing in my head. This is a first for me. Completely sitting/standing still. The instructor looked at me, and I just shook my head. You live and learn, people. Some things go without saying, but I'm a do it and learn by it kind of person. Lesson learned. 

Last night we celebrated Owen's fifth birthday. He was hamming it up for my sister-in-law's camera. We had an elegant evening at Pizza Hut.

I know I've written about Owen's coming into this world at 26 weeks, numerous times. But, when you've come so close to loosing a child, his very existence on this earth, is celebrated all the time. I pick him up daily and kiss him.

And it all started like this (pic below) I wasn't allowed to hold him for days following his birth, they want preemies to rest and not get agitated by too much stimulation---I mean he was supposed to be in the womb for another 14 weeks. 

Best Buddies Anyone Could Have

Band buddies--first year--2014

Numerous people have mentioned the above photo to me, after I posted it on my Facebook page a week or so ago. These four guys are the best buddies anyone could have. There is one buddy missing from the photo, he isn't in band. This photo captures these guys' personalities. Keyton and his buddies do their own thing--they don't bug anyone, their easy going dudes. Their like honey badgers. I admire their ability to let "things" roll off of their shoulders. I appreciate my son's group of friends.

I can easily recall an event I was recently at, where kids were suppose to pick partners for a game. I watched Keyton try to partner up with a child. It was [more than] obvious this child didn't want to be Keyton's partner in the game they were about to play. He approached the child, the child pretended not to hear Keyton, even after Keyton tapped the child on the shoulder, the child continued to ignore him while trying to make it clear they had no intentions of being Keyton's partner. In my head, I was like, "Keyton-- dude, ask someone else!" but, Keyton asked this child a few more times, and the child continued to ignore him, until the child finally told Keyton no. This hurt my heart more than Keyton's. In fact, it didn't seem to phase him-- I saw Keyton shrug his shoulders and I watched him move on. He didn't loose a minute of thought over it. I'll never forget this incident--it was hard to watch. Lucky for Keyton, he understands, it's no big thing.  I learned, he'll either find a different partner to play a game with, or move on to something else. Many kids are naturally competitive (Keyton doesn't seem to be)  I understand these children would rather have a child that is just as competitive as they are on their team(s). I'm thankful these type of scenarios hurt my heart worse than Keyton's heart. I'm ever so proud that Keyton and his friends have empathy for others. I'm happy that Keyton doesn't go out of his way to hang out with those that turn their noses up at him. I'm happy he and his friends are still little boys who play the games they want and really don't care what other's think--they'll happily play "wizards" (I don't even know what this consists of--maybe swords and magic wands?). Keyton loves to play on the computer, I have to be attentive during this activity, or he would never stop. There is this game Keyton plays with his buddies, they can all play together while at their own houses, they wear headsets to communicate with one another (yes headsets). Keyton goes to one of his buddy's house and plays his trombone and he and his friends have jam sessions together--I mainly love this, because they are playing tubas, trumpets and saxophones. It's not uncommon for me to lock myself in the bathroom when the trombone starts up at my house--it's not uncommon that I'm talking on the phone while Keyton is playing his trombone--my friends have even quit mentioning it, it's normal background sounds these days.

Keyton told me he has been called a geek. I tell him," Be proud buddy, let your geek flag fly high." He doesn't LOVE being called a geek, but he has learned to embrace the fact that he likes what he likes (and ain't nobody going to stomp on his spirit). He won't go out his way to try to fit in and I'm guilty of buying him the named brand clothing to try to help him fit in, but fit in with what? This is a question, I cannot answer. Make no mistake, I know Keyton can be naughty, he drives me up a tree some days.

I'm proud of everyone who does what they love--even if it's not classified as hip. I wish I'd been more like Keyton as a child. Who knows, I could have been the next Kenny G.

Saucy Fellow

Teasing (not real mean) people, (my children mostly--okay mainly) is one of my most favorite past times in the world. Pulling their leg--is fun--pranking is the best. When Keyton was two/three-years-old, he loved the Children's Singer Raffi. One of the songs on the Raffi C.D  was titled, "Robin in the Rain". The first two lines in the song are, Robin in the rain, what a saucy fellow. Personally, I think calling a Robin a saucy fellow is funny, so naturally, I took to calling Keyton Saucy fellow. He. Hated. It. Keyton is my most serious child. Keyton at three would say (sternly,annoyed, livid), "I'm not saucy fellow, I'm Keyton Opsal!" I'd say "OK. OK, Saucy fellow." When Keyton was four I said to him, "I love the name Saucy Fellow so much, I went to the name changing station and changed your name to Saucy Fellow." He was pissed. He said, "Go back to the name changing station and change it back to Keyton!" Me-"What? But, I like saucy fellow, I just didn't know that name when you were born, but now I do, and I love it and now you are Saucy Fellow." Keyton-"I'm not Saucy Fellow, I'm Keyton Opsal!". Me-"Oh. Ok, Sauce. Now go pick up your blocks." Keyton-"I'm not Saucy Fellow!". This went on for years. Actually, it still goes on. If I pick him up today from school and ask "Saucy Fellow, how was school? He would say,"I'm not Saucy Fellow!" My brother has called him Saucy Fellow, Hal has called him Saucy Fellow, Jesse has called him Saucy Fellow, and my mom has called him Saucy Fellow. So, now I encourage you, next time you see him, call him Saucy Fellow. It never gets old. In fact today, when he gets into the car, I'm going to video myself saying, "Hi saucy Fellow, how was school?" I know his reaction with be epic. I'll post the video. It's be especially great, because this will be the first time I've called him Saucy Fellow in months. It's friendly teasing really. When he gets too worked up, I say, "OK--calm down, Sauce."

This morning on the way to school, I had Beastie Boy's "Fight for Your Right" playing--loud.  When the kids and I got one block away from the school, Keyton kept turning down the music. And when we parked in front of the school, Keyton jumped out as fast as possible and slammed the door--before I had the chance to play, "Brass Monkey" for the other children walking into the school. Hal also jumped out and slammed the door .In fact, this was the fastest Hal has ever gotten out of the car. Good thing for the other children, I rolled down the passenger side window and idled there for a half a minute, and they got to hear "Brass Monkey" Unfortunately, my two children didn't get to hear "Brass Monkey" because they sprinted into the school. However,the other children all walked backwards in slow motion looking at my vehicle. My day has started out right. 

Keyton Band O Rama, 2014

The above picture is of Keyton and I. I don't know if he was embarrassed to take the picture with me--my guess is yes. He's a good boy. He's looking like a Saucy Little Fellow.

Meditation

In the last week, I've been paying attention (like I said I would in my last post), to my thoughts, to my moods, to how I interact with people. I've been taking a class at my gym, the class is a combination of yoga, pilates, tia chi, and meditation. I've been surprised that I can loose myself in class and focus on the tasks presented by the instructor. During the meditation phase, you simply lay on your back and listen to the soothing voice of the teacher, as she instructs you to let go of any unwanted thoughts and stress. She starts with your toes, saying, "Let go of any stress in your toes, let those toes "melt" into the ground." The teacher moves from the toes to the base of your head. I do feel myself actually "melt", and I'm able to feel my stress "float" away. It's rewarding to make it through the class--the teacher tells you to, "Thank your body for the work it's done and to make a list of what you're thankful for." It's a time for reflection and prayer. I've attended this class three times, and I have felt revived after each session. I've felt calm and peaceful.

A good friend of mine emailed me an article on meditation. I've tried meditation before, when I was in treatment, I was 25 at that time, and I remember thinking it was stupid. However, after reading the article my friend sent me, I thought, "What the hell? I'll try it again, it can't hurt." With me wanting immediate results--I tried this right after I read the article, which was mid-morning yesterday. I sat down in my son's bedroom (it's the darkest room on the main floor) and I crossed my legs--with both feet sitting on my knees. I sat with my palms facing upward--resting on my thighs. I sat there for a few minutes, and then I was all, "What am I supposed to do now?"  I got up and went to my computer, re-read the article--did a search on meditation, went back into the room and got back into my pose. I learned this can be a time to ask a question--  you focus all your thoughts on that one question--ask it again, and again, and again. Then, after you've asked the question, you basically say, "OK, I've asked, now I give this question to you." (to the universe/God). And then you are supposed to sit there and try to keep your mind blank--and the answer to the question might come to you during the next phase of the meditation or later on. I sat there with my mind blank, (as blank as I could get it, I had to keep pushing any unwanted thoughts out of my mind) I did this for God knows how long, until I thought I heard the answer--I felt I was fairly certain the answer had came to me. I got up and did what I was "told" to do. And it didn't work out the way I thought it would. In fact, I felt quite awful after this. I felt a sense of sadness (I need more practice). For as long as I can remember, when I've been sad about a certain circumstance, I've went to friends and family--for advice and the advice I've received over the years, is common advice, advice that I too have given out countless times. It's, "Don't worry about it" and "Let it go." And, I've took this advice and tried to "roll" with it. I would feel sad, and I would think,"You can't be sadden by this, it's out of your control, you need to push it out of your mind." but, that hurts my stomach. What I've learned, in the last week (or last couple of days), was to not do push whatever is bothering me out of my mind, to let myself be sad, and if I let myself feel that feeling, it will pass. My stomach doesn't get a knot in it. I can let my feelings control me for a bit--and after awhile those negative feelings lessen and eventually pass. I've also decided that some of my feelings need to be private. I don't always need to seek advice from others. I can practice meditation, and during that time I will use that moment to offer up personal conflict and give my conflict "away", in hopes the outcome will be pure and untainted by what others have to say. I know my first session didn't go well, I need to be patient and not immediately run with what my gut instinct is telling me to do. People are not quite, as much trust as I have in humans, I don't believe they always understand anther's personal pain. Everyone has personal conflict, and unloading our own conflicts onto them, isn't always fair. They're going through their own life "battles", and they too are trying to overcome something, which might be "bigger" than the troubles of ourselves. I also need to be mindful before I speak. I've heard this quote many times, and I'm going to use it, everyday, the quote is "If you propose to speak, always ask yourself, is it true, is it necessary, is it kind.” ~ Buddha.  By, making these couple of changes, (seeking answers through prayer and by mentally using the quote above) I'm curious how life will flow. I'll continue to trust in the good intentions of people, but I won't rush to tell everything what is of great significance to me. Rushing to tell people what I'm feeling has at times "backfired" (not intentionally), by those who've I confided in and the results from those interactions, have not always been positive.

Where I Belong?

It's been awhile since I've last posted. I write on this here--blog quite often, I save what I write and never "publish". I'm kind of going through a,"Who the hell am I and what the hell am I all about?" phase. Obviously, I know I'm a mother, a wife, and a nurse--and on and on with that list, grandchild, sister,ect.. What I'm not is an overly religious person and I'm not traditional (I don't know what I mean by 'traditional'--I don't have traditions? That's probably it). I'm not content where I am, because I don't even know,who I am, so it's really confusing--I'm totally confused even thinking about this. I'm going to challenge myself, I'm going to focus on what I'm all about--so I know where I'm at. Get it? I don't--but I will. I've been in this phase.since I entered this world in 1981. It's time I start sorting it out. I'm not a clean freak--but I don't like chaos. I don't like confrontation--but I will confront. I have some friends, but not many. I used to drink like ten diet cokes a day (no kidding) and I quit drinking soda, a month or two ago. I can't do anything in moderation. In fact, I can't even look at greek yogurt right now, as I've eaten so much during the last couple of weeks--like, I'm really pissed off at greek yogurt--I just threw a huge container in the trash--and said, "Be gone with you greek yogurt, be gone!" I'm super lazy--like really, I'm a napoholic, it's true, ask my family. But, after I take a good nap, I can get up and run--like super fast, one mile I could probably concur, in a couple minute span--but then I get bored and I start skipping and stretching. One time (last summer) I did a somersault in a person's on the lawn in the front yard of one of my neighbors-- I didn't even know I did it, until I stood up and was all dizzy. ADHD? I dunno, I recently asked my doctor about it, she said I would have to drive to a special doctor in a different town, to be tested. I hate tests. I told her I was tested for ADD when I was in grade school, and "they" prescribed me medication, but I over heard the doctor tell my mother the medication could cause heart palpitations, [so watch for it] and soon after I started the medication, I was convinced I had heart palpitations. I would tell my mom to call 911, because I was having a heart attack, and soon she quit giving me the medication, because it caused me anxiety. So, my doctor was like, "Hmmm, Anxiety Disorder and ADHD, do go hand in hand." so, yeah I do probably have ADHD. I don't want to take the test, nor do I want to have anxiety attacks--about possible side effects. I love to read--that's my jam. I'm an alcoholic--I know that, because it's in my genes--and I was following the same pattern my Grandfather followed, and well, it didn't turn out so good for him. I try to educate people on the importance of educated on mental illnesses, because so often when there is a mental health issue that hasn't been addressed, they're likely to be addicts themselves, to self medicate--that's the bottom line. How can one be a productive member of society, when he or she is self medicating with a substance that alters their already afflicted mental capacity? It's impossible. When you see a homeless person and you say, "Why don't you get a job?" well, there you go--a prime example of who I could have been, if I hadn't quit the sauce and started taking care of my mental health, you would have been yelling that at me ("Hey you lazy bum, why don't you get a job?!?". I don't know what switched inside my head....I would like to think it was my own Grandpa--steering me off the path that he took. I think, I've been instilled with an empathy for those who suffer more so than others, because they don't understand--what it feels like--to think you (myself) suck. With knowing this much about myself, I'm going to start paying attention (yeah--totally hard) to myself--to learn who I am, so that I can start appreciating life to fullest amount humanly possible. My goal is to end in a place where I can be in a position to encourage others to do the same. I want my children to grow up knowing that mom is here--both physically and mentally. I'm doing this for myself, but I want it to benefit my husband and my family, and the couple of friends I have. I've tried to see where I fit in---all the time I used to wonder where I fit in. I don't. Bottom line--I just don't. I came to this conclusion a long time ago--but recently, I've decided I need to find that place and insert myself. My husband and I have talked about this countless times, he's all "Go find a hobby---like golf, golf is fun." And I'm all, "No, golf isn't fun." I've been told to go to Alcoholic Anonymous meetings, but I've done that--and it's Williston, ND and I'm scared--I didn't fit in there either--I was like, "Wow, I get a coin, for being sober?"--and they're like, "Yeah,and you can keep it!", but that was thee only silver lining, for me in those meetings. I've been OK with excepting the not fitting in thing--believe me, I would be taking naps All.The.Time. if I wasn't. But it's still annoying--and I still think about it--and I need to stop and just freaking move onward. So, I will update--I don't know--what I will be updating, but there were be updating going on-- I need to go about this in a more productive manner than only posting houses for sale in various parts of the country on my husband's Facebook page--cause that actually stresses him out.

Sarah Lemon

I think having the last name Lemon would be sweet. Like, if I  were to live out my dream and become a famous writer of some sort, my writer name would be, Sarah Lemon. I think lemons are pretty.

This morning on the way to school the kids and I were listening to our favorite morning radio program, Elvis Duran and the Morning Show. One of the show's host shared a clip from a Carly Rae Jepsen interview. Carly said, although she is thankful "her" song, "Call Me Maybe" was her first hit, she would really like to be known for more than just that song. Now, being the responsible parent I am, I took this opportunity to share with my children a valuable life lesson. I said, "Kids! Carly Rae Jepsen, will only be known as the girl who sang, 'Call Me Maybe' for always and forever! She's being crazy!  Kids, it's important to know these famous people are SO ungrateful! She has like a million dollars for that song, and she will always and forever only be known for that song." I took it farther, I said, "It's like it's our fault she sang that song! Just like it's our fault that Miley Cyrus played Hannah Montana, or Marsha Brady played Marsha Brady (Marsha's real name didn't come). Kids, these people, they're greedy! Like, me for instance, I'm your mother, but I don't give a crap that I'm known to your friends at school, as only your mother. And I don't even have million of dollars to show for it!". My kids sat quietly absorbing what I said. They get me. My kids really get me. Keyton said, "The NERVE of Carly!" Hal said, "They did it to themselves."  Me-"Exactly!" Then Hal and Keyton climbed out of the car. The hell with cleaning, I'd accomplished something big in that car this morning. I'm going to kick up my feet all day.

Happy Hoppy Little Jolly Farmer

I used to hold people to a certain level of expectation.  Not anymore--that's too much. I've learned not to expect anything from anyone. If I don't expect, I don't get disappointed. Obviously, this is not entirely true. I hold my children to a certain level of expectations--and that can't change, or I'll disappoint them. I expect my husband to continue to be the man he already is--a kind gentle soul.

When you stop expecting, you stop being disappointed. I think it's okay to say (even though it's awkward) I trust few. I've trusted and I've confided in too many people. I'm a talker--and now I've turned down the dial (well audibly). 

My mom started to tell me a story tonight, but then she stopped, because she knew the plot would burden me. I get invested--I feel for those who are hurting--and this has been something of an actual problem for me. I'm too sensitive? Yes! That's it! And yes, it can be a problem-- because people are aware (of my problem) and they can't tell me stories, for fear that I will dwell. I've been lied to, which I do give credit to those who did this to save me from anguish. 

I've tried all sorts of numbing techniques--and that's exactly what those techniques were and continue to be. Medication can be helpful, but they also can be awful. "Give em a pill--that will relax the anxiety ridden!" Well, dude, those anti-anxiety pills are bad for people like me, who want to be numb, because what we are feeling are real feelings, that need to be dealt with. Now, I'm not saying that every pill is that way---just certain medications, because after a time, your body builds up a level of tolerance, and then you need more, more, more! I'm not talking about anti-depressants, those things are great (in my opinion)--and many times are life saving. In certain situations, anti-anxiety medications are needed--and can be life saving as well (but not for me--I think we're clear on that now).

The only possible good quality of being overly sensitive, is that I can be sensitive to others. I can help those who want help. I'm not worried (strange, me not worried?) what people think about me, talking about myself, not being a happy hoppy little rainbow jolly farmer all the time. What I want, is for people to know that if they feel sad, and they too don't feel like a sunny ray of hot pink sunshine at all times, it's okay. If they too, feel like they have a very very small circle of people to whom they can turn to, they are not alone. It's okay to reach out --I will not judge you. I will not label you.  

Anger

Yesterday and tonight, I find myself being angry at times. It's okay to be angry-sometimes. When I'm angry, I'd rather not talk to anyone, because I might be mean, and if I'm mean--it's unfair. I've learned and I'm still learning to stay quiet and away from people when I'm angry, because I've lost relationships, caused by an angry rant for, which I regret later. I don't flip the bird (anymore) to the people who give me dirty looks at my impeccable driving--because I know people might have guns. My kids are exempt, (from my anger) for whatever reason, I'm able to do things to vent my frustrations so I can be the mother they need--like I'll mow the lawn, clean, or write. What makes me angry? I'm not quite sure--but the probable cause, this very minute (and last night), is the fruit wall paper hanging on the walls in my kitchen and the ants who found their way into my house, Really, nothing dramatic--or dramatic, probably dramatic. I could take the wall paper down, but I know we are going to remodel at some point, so the thought of spending time taking down the wall paper, just to have the walls ripped apart--seems like a waste of time. Like, being mad at walls is a waste of time. Some people say (people are probably the re-posted quotes seen on facebook) that being angry is a reflection of being hurt, but, I have to say that sometimes (most) people are just angry for a minute or two and then they get over it (and that's okay!). I'm not yelling at my kitchen walls and pounding on them or anything...I still consider myself sane. And I know, I know I'm lucky to have a home and all that..yada yada yada.

Today, I told Jesse he should become an electrician. If he was an electrician, like my dad, he could be home every night. I also told my brother he should become an electrician today (via text message) and my brother asked, why, and then told me he hates electricity. So, I asked my brother if that means he likes to live by the light of a candle. I thought they (my husband and brother) could start up a company together--I thought I was on to something, but all it got me was an image of my brother in the pre-electric era.

I read a lot of books. I read at night, before I go to bed. I have to have a book in my night stand to start after I finish the book I'm currently reading--or I get angry--again, until I get a new book. Reading gives me ideas. The last book I read was about a man named Judd. Judd's father died right after Judd caught his wife cheating on him with his boss. Judd had to go to his childhood home, and spend seven days with his siblings (who all hate each other) and his mother. Judd's mother said that it was Judd's father's dying wish that their family sit Shiva (Shiva is a Jewish tradition to sit for seven days in small chairs together as a family to mourn the death of the departed, while all sorts of people deliver food and their condolences to their home) The family sits side by side and gets in fight after fight. While sitting Shiva Judd learns that his cheating wife is pregnant, with his baby--the man she cheated on Judd with is sterile. On the last day of Shiva, Judd learns that his mother is a lesbian and that she lied to her children about their father's dying wish of the family sitting Shiva, so they would stay with her for the week. It's a funny book. I guess this book taught me about Jewish traditions/religion. And made me wonder how I would react to such a strange array of travesties and turn of events. I don't think I would handle myself well at all--I'd probably be like Judd and hide out during Temple, in one of  the Temple Israel Hebrew School's classrooms, smoking a joint--and like what happened to Judd, the firm alarm would go off and the sprinklers would turn on. People who know me well, know that would be my kind of luck. However, this book gave me the idea that maybe my brother secretly hates me, and that possibly my mother is a lesbian....just kidding. Seriously, I'm joking.

Smiles

I'm back at being a stay at home mom--when Jess is away. When he is home, I work at the hospital--in a day surgery unit. I've been pleasantly surprised with how much I enjoy my work in this environment. I've had the privilege of comforting people before and after procedures. I have seen tears of anxious people, tears of terrified people, tears of people in pain, and tears of people who are relieved. Compassion and empathy are what drive me--putting myself in the shoes of others, whether it be my patients or my patient's family members. Humor works for most people...either, I'm actually funny, or my patients are just being kind and laugh at my jokes, I don't know, I need to put a smile on their faces. 

I had a man hug me the other day and he cried when he said thank you--to me, for doing my job. That was a humbling experience. I will certainly never forget that moment. 

Weed Killer

Happy warm weather! Jess is gone this week, so I took it upon myself to spray the weeds that have started to grow in my front yard. I was spraying the weeds while talking with my neighbor---I didn't have my glasses on, and without glasses I can't see anything fifteen feet in front of me (well I can, but my distant vision is very blurry). I had this big jug that held the weed killer and a wand that sprayed the repellent on the grass. When I looked up I saw a blond little boy in a blue shirt riding a trike across the street. I pointed the "wand" at the little boy and yelled "Hey, what are you doing? What are you doing across the street? I'm coming to get you!" I thought it was Owen, but my neighbor was nice enough to point out to me that my Owen was next door riding his scooter in the driveway. I looked back at the little boy and he was crying--I scared the crap out of this poor kid. So, I pointed my wand at Owen (and to make the little boy across the street feel a little better), I yelled at the real Owen, "Hey, you get over here now!" I then pointed the wand at the "not my kid" and said "Carry on." My neighbor was confused.

Now it is raining. Will my weed stuff wash off? I hope not. I hope not.

I'm Human, right?

When anything upsetting happens, I feel this extreme need to share. When I disappoint myself, I have this desire to talk about it, because I have no other outlet. When I'm hurting, I let people know I'm hurting. When I fall, I need to be helped up. I sometimes think (to myself--obviously) "Okay, Sarah, lets not tell everyone how you messed up-- keep it secret." I tell myself this, but I can't control the need to share, just in case, my circumstance may help others, and (selfishly) I, in return will receive the support I am obviously looking for. My biggest, proudest achievement, thus far in life, aside from my children, is my sobriety. And, I messed that up--for a few hours. I chose to take a risk, during a weak moment. I'm human. I can't undo what I did. I can choose to not put myself in a similar situation, that proved to be more than I could handle. Am I mad at myself? Sure. Did I beat myself up? Yes. Did I grow a bit from this experience, I hope so.  I won't go into specifics about tipping over in the wagon, but it was eventful. I was like a child with their hand in a cookie jar. I was at a Snoop Dogg concert for crying out loud. I danced, laughed, and I asked every single person, gang members and all, where they were from and what their favorite colors were. I am human. You live and learn. I learned that I still hate not being in control of my own actions. I learned that, I will never go to Mexico again, probably either. I am human--I make mistakes-many of them. I am lucky to have the family and friends I have, who weren't necessarily mad at me, possibly disappointed, but they were more worried about how disappointed I was in myself. And for that I am lucky. For that I am grateful--for these people love me.

Weak?

I'm weak. I am not strong like the lady in the above picture. I have gained some much needed strength over the last couple of months, by pushing hospital gurneys around well...a hospital. This is a huge feat, many of the people I push are much larger than myself, but even the smallest person, on those beds, are hard to push specifically for a person with my lack of muscles. I have no upper body muscle, so all of the pushing I do, comes from my legs, and I often look silly doing a full on squat- run behind not only hospital gurneys, but also full on hospital sized beds. For one, when I am doing the squat run, I can't see over the head of the bed...and for two well, there isn't really a two, just a one. I have started to do push-ups at night to try gain  strength in my upper body area. I always ask for help, and only once or twice have I pushed a hospital gurney by myself. But, I think I am really no help at all, to the people who are helping me push.

Sometimes, I wonder if my lack of physical strength goes along with my lack of mental strength. I'm not always in a lull. But, I'm often in a lull (as I have written about too many times in the past). However, for me it's important to share with people how I feel, because to often people think they are all alone in feeling a certain way, which does not include sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops. This lack of happiness if you will, is a huge burden-- I have a family who is counting on me--I have children who need my attention, and when my mind starts to wonder, it takes a lot of mental power for me to turn off or turn away from THE "blah feeling". I easily get hung up on elements within the world I can't control. I easily let others have power over me. Recently, I had to ask...well...myself, why I let people or certain elements in this world have power over me.  Another question that I've had to ask myself, is why I feel like I NEED the approval of others. Obviously, there are people's opinions I value. But, if I feel that what I have done, or how I acted in a certain situation, was the right way to act and I honestly believe that, even though others may not approve, shouldn't I be able to move on--and not dwell? Yes, I should, the answer is obvious. But, only recently, (like the last few days), have I understood this (I should say started to understand this). Distancing myself from a broad spectrum of what I feel has been unhealthy habits, people, or thought processes will not only help me shake some of the blues away, but will allow me to thrive. The other day, I sat with two of my dear friends and I cried. I cried because I was sad. I cried because I was overwhelmed. After I left them, I felt stupid because I let them see me with my guard down and I let them see how weak I was. However, these two people love me, and I after I stopped kicking myself for letting them see me cry, I was able to recognize that the look they had in their eyes was love. They didn't want to see me hurting, just as I wouldn't want to see them hurting. I believe there are many people in this world that love me that I have not given credit to. It warms my heart to finally be able to start "seeing" this. My husband can read me like a book. He knows me better than I know myself. He has from day one, believed in me. We all have people in our lives that believe in us. Therefore, I encourage all of you (if you is anyone, since I am writing to myself here) to acknowledge those that believe in you. Because, far to often (well in my world) we get so caught up in those who do not believe in us that we don't give credit to the ones do. Thank you for believing in me. Love, Sarah.

California and Parades.

I spent Thanksgiving with my husband, my children (of course), my mom and dad, and my grandma and grandpa. Once in a while, my brother takes a break from hunting and shows up, but this often scares us, because he is dressed from head to toe in camo, and we don't know he is there, until he says something (which, by the way we love it when we  finally realize he is there). Jess had to go to work on Thanksgiving Day, so we celebrated the holiday on Wednesday so Jesse could eat with us.

Jesse had to fly to Los Angeles. Yesterday, I talked to him on the phone while he was driving in LA. He hates driving in LA, because I guess the laws regarding driving offences are really strict. When Jesse was home this last time, he received a letter from California's Law Enforcement, and within the letter was a picture of a person running a red light, and a bill for 400 dollars. In the picture was a woman running a red light. I guess it was Jesse's co-pilot driving the rental car they shared. Jesse is in a pickle, I think.

Owen might be the cutest person on the planet. He has such a sweet persona. Last night, I was having a little snack and he pulled chair up right next to me. It was getting late, so I told him he had only five minutes left until bedtime. He then asked me "Mom, will you play hockey with me, please, please mom?" And his voice is so sweet. When he talks his voice is high pitched and as he continues to talk, his voice get higher and higher. I politely declined the hockey request, and then through clinched teeth, he continued to ask (yell) "PLEASE!" and when I said no, he hit me on my arm--3 times. Since, he was mad at me, he climbed off the bar stool, and in anger, he sat down and preceded to take off (one by one), his imaginary hockey clothing and pads.

I have been pretty good about keeping my cool lately, meaning I have been patient. Last night, we went to a parade. I hate parades. I do. I'm sorry, but I have never like parades. Especially,when it is eleven degrees outside. However, as a parent, it is my duty to take my kids to a parade and not complain. I just hate candy being thrown at my face, I hate the traffic and the WAITING for the parade to start. We watched the parade from my car and my dad was with me and the kids. I think I only banged my head against the window four times. It was a cute parade, I guess.

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I did.

Stop. Hammer Time

When it comes to our personal relationships, I think we as humans get careless. I think this is especially true with today's social networking sites. We stop calling our favorite people and soon our calls turn into texts, and then those texts quit coming, and  soon, the only form of socializing we do is through social networking sites. Although, I credit social networking sites with putting me back in touch with people I had lost contact with previously, I also feel that it limits or discredits the friendships and relationships I have. I think social networking sites causes havoc (okay, havoc might be a little dramatic), but I do think these sites have the potential to (I don't know I can't think of a good word, so I will use the word shrink) "shrink" relationships. There is no tone to our communication. It makes saying important things like Congratulations or Happy Birthday easy or convenient, but it somewhere along the line, looses or disengages personal connections. People can use these sites to be passive aggressive, which at times makes me giggle. You know when people are using a social networking site to aggravate, slam, or reprimand another person. The posts will say something like "People should really keep their mouths shut when they are talking about my mother, because this is a small town, and what you say gets around!" or "Why do I even bother? No one cares anyways!" or "If you want to start with me, you will regret it, karma will slap you silly, you snot rocket!" or "Left out again, I guess I will eat a ham sandwich and watch Survivor, alone, again." or "Interesting what I just heard!" I guess people get their feelings hurt or they get angry, and instead of going to the human source, they hide behind their computers and let it rip. Like, take that! It's sometimes entertaining, sad, or irritating. However, we still need to work at our relationships with those we hold dear. I don't want to read a post on a social networking site and wonder, "Shit, is he or she talking about me? What did I do?" The other day Jesse posted "Stop..." on my timeline on Facebook. I thought he was mad at me, I thought, what in the hell does..."Stop..." mean? I thought of a million things I could have done, did I spend too much money? Was I cranky on the phone? I should know that my husband would never be passive aggressive on a social networking site, specifically when interacting to me, but I couldn't help but wonder. It wasn't until later I realized he was being silly, as he was flying MC. Hammer that day and he was just being funny. You know?, "Stop...Hammer Time!" He just forgot to add "Hammer Time!"

No Cell Phone for You!

In middle school, through, I don't know my early twenties, I went through this awful stage in which I needed everyone one to like me, I wanted everyone to love me. If someone didn't like me, whether I knew it as a fact or I suspected it, I would loose sleep over it, I would obsess over it. I KNOW I would not have survived being so young in today's society. I wouldn't have made it, I was not strong enough. I don't know for sure if the rate of suicide has dramatically increased since the early 90's/2000's. I haven't done enough research to be certain. I do know that it seems to be more recently, that I've heard/read about many young people taking their lives. I'm aware that the parents of these children (children who took their lives) have blamed the use of technology, a form of bullying that did not exist when I was growing up (Thank God). Keyton is nine, and he keeps asking for a cell phone. I am not a fan of Keyton getting one, to be honest it scares me. It's funny, because as I am typing this, I can hear Jesse and Keyton talking about how much it cost's to have a cellphone (they are sitting 10 feet away from me). I know that it's extremely important to talk to my children about what they will endure in the years to come. I strongly feel that it's important to prepare them for whatever cruelness awaits. I want them to have thick skin, but to be sensitive to others. I don't want them to follow the norm when the norm is to be cruel. I want my children to grow up with their own thoughts and dreams, and not to be discouraged by others. I want my children to be excepting and view humans as equals. I don't want my children to waist one second of their precious lives worried about what other's think about them. I pray that I prepare them enough to be the best they can be, to be compassionate, and strong.

Yesterday, someone asked me why I was so weird, and then today, I was asked why I was so weird again, by two different people in less than 24 hours! I still take some things personally, but I don't obsess over it (I know a few people would not agree with this statement). I'm goofy, I like to run not walk, I trip often, and I use a keyboard when it is missing a space bar (which by the way I got a sweet new one). Whether you like me or not, I am pretty sure I love you.

Scrooge of Halloween

I had an incredibly cranky day. I was just mad. I had no reason to be angry, but I was. This bitterness started on Saturday night, after I put my babies to bed. I got on Facebook (shocker) and saw what seemed to be a ton of pictures of people dressed up in their Halloween costumes, having SO MUCH fun. I guess, I should be happy that other people are having a happy ole' time-but I was sitting all alone, on a Saturday night thinking to myself, "Sure have fun--you Happy Halloween people, drink your yummy beer or whatever and have fun." As I was feeling sorry for myself, for probably the world's dumbest reason ever, I had a flash back of a Halloween party I attended in 2000. This would make me 19. I was Micky Mouse---I was one drunk Micky Mouse. People who attended that party, occasionally bring up this party to me. I went all out for this party. I borrowed a costume from a friend, who really bought some fantastic costumes. There was a Halloween dance I attended. I had the whole outfit, from the big (gigantic) Mickey Mouse ears, big white gloves, fluffy yellow shoes, black tights, red shorts, and suspenders.  I had a blue camera I was taking pictures with, back when we still used film, which I had worked hard for and I lost my camera that night. I would suspect that the pictures were entertaining. I can't tell you any stories about that night when I was Micky Mouse, because I can't remember them.Which, sort of made me appreciate the fact that I was not anywhere, making a ginormous fool of myself at that moment. Anyways, people are in the spirit of Halloween. I have been a Scrooge, the Scrooge of Halloween. With the up-coming election, Owen having been sick, and my husband working, I'm not in the most jolly mood. I am going to wake up tomorrow and try my hardest to be a Happy Halloween Woman. Keyton is a scary werewolf, Hal is Wonder Woman, and Owen is Cookie Monster. How can I not have fun with that combination? I can't.

Sometimes, when I get angry with sobriety, I have flashbacks of using or I have nightmares where I'm using, hence the Mickey Mouse flashback. Flashbacks are funny,scary,appalling, and surprising. I'm needing some positive energy. I don't always no how to go about it--ridding myself of negativity. I pray. I talk to friends and family. I try to think about how blessed I have been and am. But, as humans, I think we are entitled to feel however we want/need to at certain times. I can't walk around thinking I should be happy, because of A, B, and C. If I'm not feeling happy, making myself feel badly about not being happy, only makes me feel more anxious or even guilty. So now, that I admit I am having an angry moment, I feel better...a little. I will go watch "The Office" now and laugh and fall asleep feeling better and wake up a Happy Halloween Woman (my costume for tomorrow).

Basketball and Cats.

These last few days, I have been trying to talk Keyton into playing basketball instead of hockey. I have tried different tactics, including telling Keyton that Williston bought brand new basketballs that bounce higher than any other town's basketballs. It's not that I don't like hockey, I just like sitting in warm gymnasiums. And lets face it, there is a lot of protective gear that hockey players must put on, and the gear does not smell good. My dad played basketball when he was in high school. According to what people have told me, my father was a great ball player. I played basketball a little also. I was fast, but my height and attention span were short. When I was in the sixth grade, my mom was attending college in Dickinson, which meant that she and my brother lived there, and I stayed with my dad. I was responsible for getting myself up in the mornings and nine times out of ten, I forgot my inside shoes (in the winter) and I had to wear my snow boots all day, including to basketball after school. My dad would come to my basketball games after work and he would spy me running (well according to him, I would be frolicking) down the court in my snow boots. Now, as I am writing this, I am surprised my coach would let me play basketball in my snow boots. Anyways, I got an awful case of athletes foot that year (I have not had it since, but I do know athletes foot is not pleasant). I guess I better prepare myself for another season of hockey.

Hal wants a cat. I have an unpleasant memory that involves a cat. This memory includes hair and balls. Now that may sound strange, sure it does, but I had a cat as a child, who wore a collar with little ball shaped bells attached to it. One night, while I was sleeping the cat, named Ice ( she was all white) was sleeping with me and somehow, my hair got tangled in Ice's collar between the bells/balls, I mean really tangled, and Ice was hissing and scratching my face. Ice was one pissed off feline. I had to run to my parents room with a cat on top of my head. It was awfully scary.My dad had to free me from the cat's claws. I wouldn't be happy if I was stuck to some one's head either, but it was an unpleasant experience. And I don't want another cat.

Crazy?!?

The other day I dropped off two written prescriptions at my local pharmacy, which I had received from my family doctor earlier in the day. About two hours later, I went back to pick up the scripts and the pharmacy tech informed me the pharmacist told her that he would not fill one of prescriptions, unless he had word from the doctor that it was okay to fill it. I guess it had not been 29 days since I had filled it last, and the soonest I could fill was two days later, which was a problem, since I was leaving on a trip the next day. At first, I was okay with this, and I walked away from the counter, but then all of a sudden something snapped in me,  I was suddenly flooded with these intense feelings that I had never experienced before (seriously). I whipped around and found myself standing in line again at the prescription counter. When it was my turn, I could feel that my face was flushed. I said to the pharmacy tech, "You know, I like, really- really need that prescription to go on my trip." I had a written prescription from my doctor, which in my view meant the doctor had given them permission to fill it. The pharmacy tech turned to another pharmacy tech. The new pharmacy tech told me (not nicely) that it was the pharmacist's call and they (the techs) had no control over the situation. I felt my face grow redder and I said, "Enough! I want to talk to this pharmacist!" So, the pharmacy tech went behind a divider and I heard her say to a the pharmacist, "A crazy person wants to talk to you." So, I said to the divider, "Yeah, only that is why I am here, to pick up my pills-- so I am not crazy anymore." Then I turned to see a woman sitting in a seat  (whom I assumed was waiting for a prescription) gawking at me, as soon as she saw me looking at her, she hurried and buried her head in the magazine she was holding. The pharmacist walked out from behind the divider and made eye contact with me. I think my pupils had dilated and I was sweating and bright red. He told me something about how my doctor would have to contact him to give him permission to fill the prescription.....blah blah blah.  I explained, my doctor wrote me the script that day, and that my doctor knew I was going on a trip and that should be enough permission to fill the damn thing (I also may have told him that my doctor was going to be REALLY MAD at him when he finds out what he did). Then I found myself saying, "I'm not crazy!" After, which I didn't really prove my point because, I told him to take my written prescription and eat it--Then I walked out. Okay, I actually told another human being to eat a piece of paper, after I had explained to the whole pharmacy that I was not crazy. In all of my 30 years, I had never yelled at someone who was only doing their job. Yes, I think we all have crazy moments, where we act/speak before we think. I found a new pharmacy. I didn't bark.

At this point in my life I feel satisfied, as if past events have possibly "hardened" me a bit. I  have a happy feeling deep inside my tummy, and I am pleased with who I am--finally. For so many years I was ashamed of who I had been. I think I have been extra sensitive and finally some of that sensitivity is lessening itself.  Like, I have stated previously, I have been known to act sort of extreme in situations that are out of my control, especially, if it involves people that I love (Which, by the way only pushes those people further way--duh). I feel though, I am finally at peace with those situations.  Depression is a hard subject for many people to communicate. It is my choice to talk about it openly, hoping that others might actually read this and those people might not feel so alone. My best friend emailed me this link today, I wanted to share it. http://www.cnn.com/2012/08/22/living/going-public-with-depression/index.html?c&page=0

Art and Jerry

Above is picture of my maternal grandpa. Art Jr. Eliassen. He died when he was 43, on November 3rd, 1982. This picture was taken two years earlier at my mother and father's wedding. My grandfather took his life. My grandfather had three children, my mother, who was 23, my aunt Jan who was 17, and my Uncle Todd who was 12 at the time of his death. I was 13 months old.  Obviously, I didn't get a chance to get to know my grandpa---however, I love to hear stories about him.

Below is a picture of Jerry Patrick LeDosquet. Jerry took his life, December 27th, 2000. Jerry's daughter, Shelly and I met the summer before first grade and were inseparable. Shelly emailed me the photo below and I have looked at it a million times since.

Jerry, was like a father to me-- I loved him dearly. I had a hard time after Jerry passed. I have probably had a hundred dreams about Jerry during the last 11 years. In these dreams, Jerry is smiling just like he is in the above picture...because that is how I remember him, exactly how he is in the picture. Jerry loved the lake. Jerry's family still has the same boat (not the boat in the picture) that Jerry drove a million times on Lake Sakakawea and now, his family-- Phyllis, Melissa, Shelly, Melissa's husband Will, Jerry's Granddaughter Ella, and Grandson Ethan Patrick ride around on that boat in Minnesota. I learned to water ski behind that boat. Shelly had this to say, "You can not rationalize an irrational act. We love and miss you daddy

Families and friends that have lost their loved ones to suicide want to talk about their loved ones. Families often sense how uncomfortable others are when talking about their family member/friend and they feel as though they can't reminisce, because they, the family and friends, can tell that suddenly people become "odd" or shut down when the name of the person is brought up. This should not be the case and (most of the time), families and friends love to talk about the people they miss everyday of their lives. They need to feel comfortable doing so.