JANT's space

This wasn’t an easy post to write; in fact, it took me an age to compose and I have been avoiding it for weeks.  I’ve come to the computer not because writing is a form of therapy for me, but I have decided to use my blog as a forum for healing: I have to be real.  When the CMA came out with a study about Canadians and the stigma of mental illness two days ago I decided that regardless of how hard it would be, I should write about my experience. 

Currently sitting at my sister’s kitchen table, sipping a hot coffee and looking over the endless fields from her kitchen window, it’s hard to believe that I’m on the farm again.  The boys are happy here... whether playing in the living room (John with Mr. Potato Head, Nate with his cousin Charlotte) or playing out in the yard (Nate is currently on a nature scavenger hunt while John naps)... and as I watch them – seeing how content they are – I know that I made the right decision. 

I reacted with scepticism when, during John’s six month immunization, the nurse told me that I was suffering from Post Partum Depression.  I believed that I was simply dealing with circumstancial stress because there seemed to be a lot of things happening in my life at the time.  After all, I could handle it.  For weeks I tried to hold it together – or at least appear to be holding it together.  Days passed.  I continued struggling – frustrated intellectually with my inability to work through the ‘circumstancial factors’.  Without a doubt I knew that I was blessed – amazing, supportive husband, family and friends; two marvellous, albeit busy, boys; a life with a lot of things to be thankful for.  However, recognizing the good things intellectually and living out life in reality wasn’t really working out for me. 

Now, looking back, I have no idea why I fought the original diagnosis for so long.  Sure, there’s a lot of factors (insecurity, denial, stubborness), but those barriers made the depression even worse.  After returning from our vacation, still unable to understand why I was struggling with so much, I went to my family physician and finally came to terms with the reality of the situation: I have post partum depression.  It’s been a hard road – recognizing and accepting it; seeking different forms of professional help; learning coping techniques; disclosing the fact I have PPD – an agonizing part of the process; and the next step... an agrarian retreat.

Lately, the term ‘retreat’ has taken on a new meaning for me; I have been thinking on the old war movies where a group of young soldiers head into a battle they couldn’t possibly win.  A captain sees what lies ahead and falteringly cries out, “Retreat! Retreat!”.  That was me back in Fort McMurray a few days ago.  I knew that I had a huge network literally at my fingertips (besides Arden’s support, all I had to do was call one of my awesome friends – I am so grateful for them in Fort Mac!) and yet, I wasn’t able to cope.  When Arden’s grandfather got critically ill, I knew that he had to go to Belleville to be with him.  I also recognized – when he left – that I couldn’t go on on my own. 

My sister, in a season of boundless energy before Harvest begins, decided in a matter of hours that the best – and only solution – was for her to drive to Edmonton with her girls and pick me and my boys up in her van in order to take us back to the farm.   How could I say yes?  Not only was it going to be a huge undertaking for my sister, I wouldn’t be there for my husband or my friends... and it is so hard to let go.  At the end of the day, however, Linda, my doctor and the words of wisdom of several supporters had me convinced: the farm was the best place for me to start the next steps in overcoming PPD.  My sister came to my rescue.   Besides being one of the most peaceful places on earth, the journey to the farm has meant getting (and accepting) the help I need.   

So after a greuling seven and a half hour to Edmonton with the boys, a lovely (but far too chaotic) visit with Max, and a 12 hour Thelma and Louisesque (with fun stops for the kids) van ride to Manitoba, I am working towards healing.  It will be a long process because nothing is ever simple.  I am going to take my time with the wide open spaces, take the care my sister is gifting me and take each day as it comes.  I am learning from this season.  This journey still has many roads left untravelled... but as a very wise friend said, one day I may be able to use this experience to help other mothers who are going through Post Partum Depression. 

Camping:

The concept was – theoretically – a really good one: a long weekend camping trip.  I set about packing and organizing (not easy with the many distractions of this home these days), and had everything ready by Thursday night. Then we read the weather forecast.  Thunderstorms Friday, 90% chance of 5-10mm Saturday.  Not good.  We decided to go regardless and it was good.  There is nothing like marshmallows and campfires and watching your children discover new things.   For Nate it was picking up sticks in the bush and for John it was trying to sample the delicious flavour of forest soil.  We essentially drove for four hours to set up for three hours (want to see your marriage or family dynamic in action?  Have you ever asked if you’d have grace under fire?  Go camping).  We then enjoyed a lovely dinner thanks to some excellent neighbours’ hospitality (mmm… chili and ceasar salad).  They even roasted marshmallows for my eldest as I tried to feed my unruly 8 month old.  Good friends like them are hard to come by.  That night the boys went down like a dream and we snuggled a sleeping John deep into our coats as we talked in front of a roaring fire. It was idyllic for an evening.  That night the temperatures went down to frigid and the morning brought rain upon rain.  John was tired of being cooped up and Nate was surely had had enough of me and my paranoia about his proximity to the fire. We cut our losses, packed up, and headed home for a weekend with movies, take out Chinese and a great time at Heritage Day.  Small kids and tenting = test.  

Toddlers:

We went to the park on Monday.  Now unfortunately, due to the amount of rain over the weekend (thus why our camping trip was cut short), the park had been flooded completely.  Since I had biked with John in the chariot and Nate had managed the whole way on his bike, there was no turning back.  So I stripped Nate down to t-shirt and skivvies and told him to try to keep his shirt as dry as possible.  “Yes, mommy” was the response as he immediately went into high energy mode.  It was truly entertaining, I have to admit.  Near the end of the play he discovered a spinning cup (which is designed for kids to sit in and spin while on a slight tilt).  I told Nate that due to the fact he was in the middle of a lake, I would be unable to help him if he got stuck.  He promptly got stuck. I came to his rescue while warning him against any further activity in said cup.  As I walked back to the baby swing, I heard him getting back in.   The dismount was amazing this time… I am truly amazed to see how he problem solved his way out – it involved a screeching forward flip into approximately 4 inches of water.  He wasn’t hurt in the slightest (save his 3 year old ego), though I got even further soaked comforting him after such a dramatic exit.  Guess who wore my sweater on the way home?

Biking:

On Wednesday I decided to try to do the right thing… the right thing for the kids, the environment, and my health.  I decided to cycle my boys to the park.  I buckled them into the Chariot, hooked the system up to the bike and went on my way.  It was a great trip initially.  We stopped at Safeway to pick up a few things (that Chariot was awesome for transitioning into a stroller) and Nate and I had a ‘date’ at Starbucks.  We then went to the Community Garden/Park and Nate had a great time in the sandbox.  The trip home went well… right up to the point when the quick release on back wheel of the bike decided to drop the wheel off.  I was stuck on Signal road in 30 degree noon sun trying in vain to fix a bike.  I’m not cut out for bike repair; however, desperate times call for desperate measures.  Due to the fact that Albian’s phone lines were down, I was on my own to figure out the mechanisms.  Surprisingly, with brute force and an ounce of patience (where did that come from?) I got the wheel back on and we made it home in one piece.  

Baby Mobility:

As I was preparing for a trip to the beach, I assessed that I needed sand castle tools – buckets, shovels and toys.  I decided (in my infinite wisdom) that the safest place for Jack during this 5 minute interval was the basement.  It’s the carpeted playroom, right?  I walked in from my trip to the shed to find my baby at the top of the stairs. My heart stopped.  My first reaction was to ask my toddler if he had helped this process. Alas, no.  Apparently, Jack is a ridiculously fast climber of stairs.  Needless to say, I am so thankful that he made it up safe and sound.  Obviously he is more mobile than I had anticipated.  Yikes.

A Trip to the Beach:

I decided that I would go to the beach; it was lovely weather and quite frankly, the condition of my home (the seemingly irreversible condition of a home messed quite innocently (perpetually) by little hands; impossible to clean as you’re trying to keep those little hands occupied) initiated me to seek the great outdoors.  I can’t tell you how beautiful it was out there.  The sun, the water, the scenery, the sand and the company equated perfection.  Nate had a great time and I had packed everything imaginable to keep Jack happy.  For the most part, I was successful.  Yes, he ate a few handfuls of sand despite my desire to keep him happily content in the baby tent.  Yes, he fussed about the fact he couldn’t get out and enjoy the beach.  But ultimately, he loved the water (and his own personal pool I arranged with a bin).  It was a good day… until we had to pack up to go.  Chaos – pure chaos - consisting of tears, sand everywhere and an invasive sense of angst.  It was a test to get to the car (ah, what would I do without good friends?) and make it home in a car (sans air-conditioning, of course) and keep my cool.  

This morning:

He was supposed to be having a nap.  I was following Nate into the boys’ room, telling him to be as quiet as he could when I gasped.  Jack had reached his go-go gadget arm out of the crib slats to grab artwork Nate had left lying on top of his dresser.  It was colour wonder paper – black – which he decided to eat and I was left speechless. Thankfully, it's non toxic (I've thoroughly checked this out)... but I was speechless. 

Moral:

Maybe friendship, marriage, and parenthood are ultimately made up of a series of tests.  Okay, so there’s no one there to give you a grade at the end of the day... but I think – despite serious sleep deprivation and challenges – that I’m learning. And if I’m not learning at least I will one day be able to look back and laugh.

I have to admit I’m starting to feel outnumbered by gender in this household.  It’s a strange feeling as I grew up in a home where I (well, and the cat) tipped the scales on the gender balance making it a very strong female society.  Top it all off, these boys have inherited a bit of humour.

Now maybe it’s genetics.  The men in my life (my husband, my father, my brother, my grandfather) all have varied and distinct forms of humour.  Arden’s sense of humour ranges from farcical to sophisticated humour; you can get a gist of what makes my brother tick (and me laugh) by reading his blog (A message to the inept masses and you); my grandfather’s humour was of the British pun format and there are no words to describe the ways my dad makes me laugh… his humour comes in all forms (from practical jokes [for example, leaving a cheese slice in its wrapper in the sandwich in your packed lunch] to teasing to witty asides). 

Nate has always been funny.  I think that’s while he’s still got free room and board here because it’s one of his redeeming qualities (and believe me, there have been times where those qualities have necessary for consideration).  Lately he cracks me up intentionally.  He’ll say “Where are all the poople?” (instead of ‘people’) and laugh hysterically.  His laughter itself is something to witness… when it’s genuine it’s amazing.  When it’s forced, I work hard at not encouraging it as this laughter includes a rendition of a trill (he rolls his tongue behind his teeth in a fascinating way) and ends in a series of forced snort laughter.  Don’t ask me where he got that from.  I do try not to laugh… but it’s funny (for about three seconds) when a three year old is snorting in laughter at his own joke.  He’s also inadvertently funny when he’s trying to be sweet.  His latest recent rendition of Jesus Loves Me has included the lyrics “for the Dino tells me so” and often transitions into “E-I-E-I-O, on the farm-farm-farm on the farm-farm-farm”. 

John (who seems to be more appropriately named Jack these days) thinks he’s quite funny.  He started pulling himself up to standing at 8 months, creeping around chairs and other objects and climbing up onto shelves – his eyes twinkling in mirth at my expressed dismay.  It appears he thought he was funny when he started crawling so early and he certainly thinks he’s funny when he’s chasing his brother.  Many aspects of his looks remind me of my father and my brother (check out the Facebook photos for reference) and his facial expressions remind me of them.  I think I’m projecting their humour on this boy but at least he comes by it honestly. 

Going back to the humourous men in my life, I have to admit that this has caused one problem… a problem of identity.  There have been many times when Arden has gone over the top making me laugh and I have – in dire need for him to stop – tried to appeal to mercy.  It usually goes like this “Ken! I mean – Dad! Arden! Stop it!”  These not-so-Freudian slips have occurred much to my dismay.  I think it has something to do with the fundamental fact that these men have elicited laughter all my life.  Now I have a problem distinguishing between them in times of hilarity. 

The scenario is now modified.  It may go something like this “Arden!  Ken! I mean – Nate!!!”.  It doesn’t really matter the order.  I still get confused.  I’ll be around my dad or my brother and within five minutes I’m calling them either Nate or Arden or some other name.  I’ll blame it on sleep deprivation, but the reality of it is that I’ll always struggle getting it right… I’m sure it’ll transform to “Nate!  Arden!  Dad!  Ken! I mean – Jack!”  Who am I kidding?  At that point, I’ll be simply saying “hey you!”.

So there’s laughter.  Nate provided yet another example this week.  I don’t know much about the show Bob the Builder.  We haven’t watched it much and I thought the voice for Bob sounded a tad too much like the comedian Greg from Who’s line is it anyway?.  However, Nate was happily eating a bowl of Bob the Builder pasta the other day.  Our conversation went as follows:

 Nate: “Mommy, what’s this?” (trying to identify the pasta shape)

Me (kindly, mind you): “I don’t know, Nate.  It’s pasta.  Enjoy.”

Nate: “This is Bob.”

Me: “Good” (I was distracted at the time with John)

Nate: “And this is Wendy… and this is Bob… and this is a hooker”

[He had my attention then]

Me: Um… (closely examining his spoon) I think that one must be a digger.  Yup.  Definitely a digger.

smap·py   /smæpi/ Pronunciation Key - [smap-ee]–adjective, -pi·er, -pi·est.

A sentiment combining the following emotive states:

Term created by Joelle Little c. July 2008 

I’m still alive…

It has been brought to my attention (on now numerous occasions … L) that I have neglected my blog.  Indeed, the last entry was on my dear brother’s birthday and in the entry I alluded to a state of busyness in the Tuck home.  The busy life of Spring only got busier due to the inevitable (but frustratingly fast) transition of John becoming mobile.  My blogging (as well as a large amount of other activities) became unfeasible when – much to my dismay – my youngest began a fast and furious foray into crawling.  It seems like what I once thought was an active life has now become an overwhelming existence wherein I try to entertain/educate/care for a precocious (read ‘spirited’) three year old while simultaneously chasing after a very active infant.  Nate essentially went from being immobile to walking at 10 months.  Jack, at six months, had decided that he has places to go. 

So we had a busy May and then an even busier June.  I’m not complaining because I love the busyness of our life (really I do… see the previous entry). 

Feeling Smappy… or the silver lining

The beginning of July has meant “vacation” for our family.  I unfortunately have to use quotation marks (which indicates that the noun isn’t actually what it seems… I hate it when I see signs that abuse this punctuation rule… say signs that advertise ‘smiles are “free”’… are they not really free? Though I digress) … as the vacation I envisioned for our family has not turned out all that it should be. 

Thus, why I’m feeling ‘smappy’.  My niece Joelle has coined this term and I think it is most appropriate to this trip.  In traditional Judith style (I would’ve thrived in a Victorian life), I won’t write about my angst (sadness/madness)… save that some things were significantly crappy.  And, like most crappy things, even when you think that you’re done with them, some things linger.  Don’t get me wrong… the time was primarily filled with amazing moments – moments that I cherish and I am so grateful to have had: celebrating my parent’s 40^th anniversary, reconnecting with family and friends, returning to my childhood home, christening John in my grandfather’s church, savouring the farm experience.  Yes – whether it’s a morning cup of java with my sister on her front porch, watching my boys discover new things, hugging my nieces or laughing with my family over our goofy photos – there have some great vacation times.  There’s nothing comparable to a family dinner, the wide open spaces of the farm or enjoying a fire at the lake… these silver linings were priceless.  I’ll be sure to post photos on Facebook to chronicle those times (I am sure I won’t have time to write about them… alas my scrapbook for 2008 (and John’s baby scrapbook for that matter) have suffered from this significant lack of time). 

In the meantime, my apologies for my exhausted state of rambling - I am recuperating from driving in a vehicle (read ‘beast’) with two small children (by the way, it’s about the destination, not the journey with an 8 month old), tackling laundry and hoping to organize a household that is perpetually in chaos.  I’m still feeling smappy: mad that Fort McMurray is so isolated geographically from our family and friends; sad that I can’t have it all; but still happy… there are so many good memories and so many amazing friends to come home to here. 

It’s been a busy time in the Tuck household… life with two young boys is… interesting.  Our day starts generally between 5:30 and 6:30 (if you don’t count the nighttime feedings) and there are very few moments of sitting still.  I won’t go through the whole process (tedious it will be, I assure you) because there are random feedings, changings, household chores and entertaining to complete.  We are generally ramping up to get out of the house.  For example, Tuesdays and Thursdays are Future Stars days (Nate’s sport’s program) followed by MOPs and the HUB “connect the tots” program.  We have a pretty busy schedule… but I find that life with our spirited Nate is a lot more enjoyable that way.  If I was pushed further to explain all of our gallivanting, I’d admit that I equally enjoy meeting up with my friends at said activities.  We come home from our morning activities for a quick lunch and nap/quiet time for Nate.  On rare, rare occasions (usually when I don’t want them both to be napping) the boys will have simultaneous naps.  I am determined to have afternoon activities for everyone’s sanity, so we are often out when we can be.  The hour between 5 and 6pm is most definitely the hardest time of the day… I won’t go into the chaos of pre-dinner preparations.  From 6 to 7:30 it’s the dinner-bedtime routine – the family time of our day.  By the time the boys are down, we’re not much further behind.  Sleep deprivation over long periods makes a person turn into an octogenarian. 

The past few weeks, however, we’ve been battling illness; amongst other irregularly scheduled sicknesses, John developed pneumonia.  Our poor little man.  We discovered that this boy is not a complainer.  Despite being quite sick, he didn’t complain – in fact he only showed signs of teething combined with a cough.  During this time he continued to charm – behaving as any extremely happy baby would.  Sigh.  Did I mention that I can’t wait for summer?

So I may be neglecting my blog.  I certainly haven’t been keeping up on domestics.  But I’m going to enjoy this time because these busy days are going to transform into even busier days when Nate heads off to preschool and my maternity leave is a thing of the past… so even if I’m not organized, I’m going to enjoy each day.  I hope you enjoy yours, too.