Thursday, December 15, 2011

And then…

Holy shitballs, Batman! It’s December. Not only is it December, it’s the middle of freaking December! GAH!

So last I posted I wrote about how I was feeling depressed. You should all be happy to know that several IRL friends who also read my blog reached out and encouraged me to contact the dr. Which I did, the next day and set up an appointment for the following week. Promptly after scheduling that appointment I found myself in the ER with excruciating stomach pain, on a Friday.

It hurt to breathe, I couldn’t eat, there was no way to get comfortable and lessen the pain. So I googled my symptoms (always a super awesome idea…not) and determined it was my gallbladder.  In the ER when the nurse was taking my vitals I mentioned that I diagnosed myself with gallstones and came in for a second opinion.  Even in pain, I am hilarious.  Turns out, I was right. I was admitted to the hospital after about 7 hours in the ER and had my gallbladder removed the following day.  Best part, my parents had just left a few days before for an anniversary trip to New Orleans and my middle brother and his wife were away in Costa Rica.

My youngest brother if you ask him will tell you he held this family together during the entire ordeal. Big head much? When I called to tell him I was in the ER and going to be admitted and have my gallbladder removed, he asked if people died from this and I told him no (I mean yes, I am sure some have, but this is one of the most commonly done surgical procedures).  He said, “Cool, I have to go interview for this job and then I will come see you. Don’t die before I get there, that would suck.” My family is awesome on so many levels! Haha.

Also, when you leave a sobbing voicemail for your bff on her work phone about how you are in the ER and you just want someone to know because your family is out of town…she will leave work and come spend hours with you in the ER and hospital. She will also clean your house, do your dishes and change your sheets so you don’t have to worry about any of that when you get discharged on Sunday. Amazing, right?

The Wednesday after surgery I found myself at my primary care physician’s office, crying because I still hurt and just felt so overwhelmed.  I now the happy camper on antidepressants. Yea! And feeling so much better.

I went to Colorado several times to see Stuart and Little Dude. When I went in Oct it was for final orders in the custody battle. Stuart won! He was granted sole full custody of Little Dude and BM is only allowed supervised visits. Also, Stuart is allowed to relocate to Oregon. They should be here permanently by the end of February. YEA!!!!!

For Thanksgiving, Stuart and Little Dude came out here. It was Little Dude’s first plane ride and he did awesome. He thought the flying truck had funny seatbelts though. While the were out here, I met Stuart’s family and he met mine…at a big dinner at my parents’ house the night before Thanksgiving.  That wasn’t nerve wrecking at all…pssh yeah right!  It actually went really well and everyone had a great time.  Little Dude was doted on by everyone so he had a super fabulous time.

AND…the biggest news of all…Stuart asked me to marry him and I said YES! I am so incredibly happy. I cannot wait for my little family to be all together. Oh and I may already have my dress Winking smile

Family thanksgiving

Stuart and Me b&w

Thursday, August 18, 2011

That bitch called depression

Sometimes the effort it takes to get out of bed in the morning is overwhelming. I want to stay in bed and just sleep the days away. Except, when I’m in bed I can’t sleep. All I do is toss and turn and watch the clock. The urge to burst into tears is always there. The slightest push and full on tears will be pouring down my cheeks.

It feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on me. I smile and laugh and put on a happy face (or at least try) when I am at work or with friends. But it’s an act. I feel alone, yet have no desire to make the effort to be around people.

I am stressed to the max. I took a stress test recently and my stress rating was 463.

150 – 199: Represents mild life stress
200 – 299: Represents moderate life stress
300+ : Represents major life stresses, and a strong possibility of presenting stress symptoms.

Again, my number was 463! And you know what my stress symptom is…depression. I am apathetic and ambivalent. I am depressed. And I feel guilty for being depressed. Yes, I'm stressed, but I have a lot of great things going on in my life too. It feels selfish to be depressed and sad, when I should be happy and grateful. Yet I know depression isn't my fault, but the guilt is there none the less.

The last time I felt like this I was in college taking 20+ credits a semester, trying to get two completely unrelated bachelors (a science degree and a liberal arts degree) in four years, and an uber stressful living situation. Along with being involved in campus life and all my other extracurricular activities and working. I did something about it. I got on antidepressants and started talking to a counselor. I took care of myself and I was able to feel “normal” again.

Here I am almost a decade later and the demons have come back. I feel the same as I did then and I feel just as helpless. I need to talk to a Dr and most likely get on antidepressants again. I have a family history of depression and I know it is a chemical imbalance that is only being exacerbated by stress. I disliked how I felt on antidepressants last time, but they did help, and there are different options available these days. I hate the thought of being “dependent” on a pill to feel normal again. I know what I need to do, the hardest part is finding the strength and energy to make the appointment and go. When really I just want to go home and crawl under the covers.

***For the record, I do not have feelings of wanting to hurt myself. I don't think I would be better off dead. I am not a danger to myself.***

Friday, August 5, 2011

Little Dude

I took a blogging hiatus. Obviously…

At the end of May beginning of June my world exploded into crazy. Work, always stressful. Money, never enough. Falling more in love with a wonderful man, amazing! Having my heart stolen by his adorable son, precious. Finding out that precious little boy tested positive for meth, earth shattering. Helping Stuart fight for and get sole custody (temporary until Oct and it’s made official), worth every sleepless night, stress headache, and tear shed.

Today is 8 weeks that Little Dude has been with his daddy and away from his drugged out mother. In 8 weeks he has gone from a sickly, underweight, scared baby to a happy, talkative, healthy little boy. In those 8 weeks he has thrived (he’s grown a whole inch!). Everyone talks about how happy he seems and carefree. A 3 year old should always appear happy and carefree. They shouldn’t be screaming and crying and making themselves vomit when they have to go back to their mother’s at the end of the weekend. At 3 life is supposed to be easy. There should not be anxiety attacks when you are 3. And at 3, a child should definitely not be mimicking smoking a bong or meth pipe.

I never thought I could despise someone as much as I despise BM (baby mama). Knowing what she has done to her son…she is supposed to be the one keeping him safe, instead she is the one inflicting the damage. Never once has she even acknowledged that her son tested positive for meth, never once. It is always about blaming someone else. Even once her own drug test came back, positive for meth, ecstasy, and marijuana, she still said Stuart (whose test was clean) was the one who gave Little Dude the drugs.

I don’t know what her delusional fantasyland is like, but I am happy to not live there with her. And more importantly, neither does Little Dude.

Oct seems so faraway, when the final orders will be decided. But it will be here before I know it. I get worried that something might go wrong and somehow she will be allowed to get him back. It terrifies me. Then I have to remind myself that she is the drug user, she is the one whose entire family has drug histories and trouble with the law, she is the one who misses court dates and important meetings with people who have a big say in the outcome (Child Family Investigator), she is the one who doesn’t always make her nightly phone calls and then makes up lame excuses as to why, she is the one who misses appointments with CASA to start her supervised visits. She is the one who is shooting herself in the foot and ensuring she never has custody of her son again.

For Little Dude’s sake I hope that one day she is able to get herself together and her act cleaned up and be a part of his life. But for now I am happy with her being as far away from him as possible.

And now I leave you with a picture of a happy 3 year old, chilling in his self made ball pit with some books and a puzzle:

Saturday, June 18, 2011


This last Thursday I turned 30.  The big 3-0.  I have entered a completely new decade. I am not bothered by this new age.  And I think it is because I am in a good place.  I have a home, a job I like well enough, and am in a relationship with a man I am head over heels in love with.  Because I am content getting older doesn’t bother me.

I am so completely happy.  My life is going in the direction I want it to.  This new decade is going to be full of greatness.  I believe I will be getting married and becoming a parent. My life is changing so drastically and I am excited about it all.


These two boys have stolen my heart. I love them both.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom


My mom, pregnant with me when she was 29 (my age now).  I was her first baby and am her only daughter.  I hope I can be half the mom she is to my own children.  The road has not always been easy, but she helped shape me into the woman I am today.



People tell me all the time I look like my mother. Isn’t she beautiful?! I am honored to look like her.

Happy Mother’s Day to the best mom I could have ever asked for!  I love you!

Friday, March 25, 2011

My Neon Sign

Sometimes life does give you a big giant neon sign that let’s you know you are where you’re supposed to be and doing what you’re supposed to be doing. Reconnecting with Stuart is one of those neon signs for me. There are just too many coincidences for this to not be where I supposed to be.

We reconnected on New Year’s Eve. Coincidence? I think not. It was the beginning of a new year and I was definitely ready for a new start, something new in my life. It all started with a silly Facebook status update. I was taking a Wii bowling break and checking my FB (it’s my crack, I admit it) (you’re totally jealous of my New Year’s partying) and there in my newsfeed was a status update from Stuart (who hadn’t updated his status since the previous May…obviously he is not as addicted to Facecrack as I am). It was one of those stupid statuses that are making the rounds, “If we woke up in jail together, using only 4 words what would you say?” I was compelled to comment. So being me, I posted, “I hid the body.” ‘Cause that is how *I* roll!

A little bit later I get an alert that I have a new message on FB. It was from Stuart, saying thanks for having his back in the body hiding and what had I been up to lately. We have been talking every single day for hours since then. He even texted me a midnight kiss that night because he knew I didn’t have one lined up :)

He lives in Colorado and I live in Oregon. Obviously we have some obstacles to work through. But I am already starting my campaign to get him back to Oregon. He is from here and his parents and brother all live here…plus ME! Hello! He makes me smile everyday. He has listened to me cry ugly unpretty tears over the sudden untimely death of a friend. He does things simply because he knows it will make me happy and bring a smile to my face.

He bought me a ticket to visit him in Colorado in Feb. My entire visit was so great. Even though we had never met in person before, there was no awkwardness or weirdness. Everything felt right. He was where I was supposed to be (cue sappy “awwww” music). He was waiting with flowers for me at the airport, beautiful flowers that he helped me wrap up so they could even make the trip home to Oregon with me. He held my hand and told me I was beautiful every single day I was there and he does it everyday still. Every door was opened for me and he refused to let me pay for anything.

He makes me happy. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to overlook him for so many years (3+). How did we not connect like this before. And I realize that the distance is what scared me and kept me from even considering starting a relationship with him. While I am not that much older now (I will soon be entering my 30’s which makes me automatically wiser) I have grown a lot in the last few years. I am no longer scared of the distance. Yes, it is inconvenient, but not insurmountable. We already have my next visit there planned and are working on his visit here this summer.

I also think blogging has helped me be less afraid of opening up to people I have only known online. I realize that I have friendships with some amazing bloggers and I have never even met any of them in person. Why can’t I have a relationship with a man who I have only met in person once? I can. While it is hard sometimes when I have a long day and just want a hug, I also think that Stuart and I REALLY talk. We talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly. I do try to stay realistic. I am not making plans at the moment to uproot my whole life to run off with a man. I know that one day when we do live in the same state, let alone the same town, it will be an adjustment. There will be things that he does that annoy the shit out of me. But I am not always the easiest person to live with either and God help him if he loads the dishwasher the wrong way ;) All relationships take work and sometimes being in a long distance relationship takes a little extra work.

For now, I am happy.

Sunday, March 20, 2011



This is the face of the man I am going to marry one day. This is Stuart.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

The Oldest

I watched him pace.  I watched him crack jokes and support his younger brother and mom.  I watched him walk down the hall, alone, where he could sit by himself around the corner out of sight…maybe to cry, maybe to just to recharge his reserves so he could be strong for the others.  All while we waited and waited and waited.  Hoping and praying his youngest brother would pull through this.  Hoping against all odds that this would be a story we laugh about and tease his brother about.  Waiting in vain.

As the oldest we are supposed to pave the road.  We are supposed to tell our younger siblings what to do and how to do it.  We aren’t supposed to watch, helpless, as our 33 year old baby brother fights to survive and loses that battle in less than 48 short hours.

I wasn’t in the ICU waiting room for him, I was there to support my friend as she waited to see the outcome of her boyfriend/best friend/lover’s fight to survive this surprise attack on his body from the inside.  I was there to help her through the night, to make sure she wasn’t alone.  But he caught my eye.  He drew my attention.

Him and I, both the oldest with two younger brothers.  I could empathize with him.  I knew what I would be feeling, what I would believe my role to be in this horror film if it was my baby brother in the ICU.  He was the one who got the phone call from their dad saying he would not be coming to the hospital and passed this upsetting information along to everyone else.

At one point, someone mentioned how much Dave looked like him.  His automatic response, “No, he looks like ME.”  It made me smile.  How many times have I said this exact thing when someone comments on the resemblance between my youngest brother and me?  We’re the oldest, they look like us because we were here first.

We were here first so in theory we should be the ones to go first.  My heart breaks for him and his family and my dear friend Amber who all lost someone very special.  It happened so suddenly and the tragic end came so quickly.

The few short days you have been gone feel like weeks.  You are missed so so much Dave.  You were and always will be greatly loved.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Ice is one mean mofo

Here is a great piece of advice from me to you…we don’t bounce like we used to as children.  When we fall, we fall hard, and we can’t get up.

A few weeks ago I was over at my friend’s house for the big championship game between Auburn and Oregon.  I was born and raised in Eugene, I am a huge Oregon Duck fan!  My friend who was having the party…Auburn alum.  Sadly my Ducks lost, but it was a fun game and I had a great time hanging out with friends.


Me and M (my friend’s daughter). M is rocking her Tiger bib. I am pretty sure she is going “This is what the Tigers are going to do to the Ducks, GRRRR”

It was after the game as I was attempting to head home that the incident occurred.  It was cold and late and ice was covering the ground.  I started to walk down the steps to the driveway and I said over my shoulder to Jen, “Careful, these steps are icy.”

Next thing I know, my arms are flailing and I am going down.  My feet literally slipped out from under me.  I land hard on my back, one step hitting me across my bra strap and shoulder blade and another makes contact with my left hip.  It was brutal.  I think if I had landed more on my side I would have cracked a rib or two.  I manage to get up and am doubled over trying to get air back into my lungs.  Jen keeps asking, “Are you okay? Are you okay?”  All I could do was wheeze as I tried to suck in air.  Once I could finally get a breath I looked at her with tears streaming down my face and said, “See, I told you they were icy.” Then we both started laughing hysterically.


My left hip, two days later.  Photo taken by Jen…in the sickroom at work, we totally started rumors as we walked out together Winking smile That’s how we roll!

I went to the doctor the next day because my neck was bothering me so much and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t seriously injured myself.  Turns out I simply strained a neck muscle when I jerked my head as I fell to prevent it from being smacked into the ground. Awesome.

So take it from me kids, we don’t bounce like we used to when we were little.  I am in the home stretch to my 30th birthday and my body is not a fan of being thrown down the stairs.  I was sore for a week and walking funny.  There is only one reason I want to be walking funny and it ain’t ‘cause I fell down some stairs!

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