guest post

I have been asked to guest post on an amazing blog called See The Happy. My post is entitled Surviving Bipolar and is located here. 

I'd love it if you hopped over there and gave it a look. 

why so serious?

"Mommy, listen to this!"

Tells joke they just made up and isn't remotely funny. 

~light chuckle~

"Mom - that was funny! Why didn't you laugh? Wasn't I funny?"

Ouch. 

Kids can really cut right to it. Why hadn't I laughed? And why don't I laugh more? 

The thing is, I love to laugh. Some of my fondest memories with friends and family are ones filled with laughter. Great deep belly-laughs that cause tears to stream down my cheeks. Moments that cause inside jokes that last for decades. I love those kinds of laughs.

So why don't I laugh more with my kids? I've become too serious and stern for no good reason - other than the fact that I became a mom. Motherhood has changed me. Some for the better and some definitely for the worse. My bipolar issues also certainly don't help the matter. Since my diagnosis, I've found myself the quietest that I've ever been. In my high school years, I was seriously, obnoxiously loud and silly. Laughing all the time. Now, silence and polite laughs have become my forte. And I know it's all me. When my kids want to be silly, all I can think is "Please stop interrupting what I'm doing. I'm busy."

Too busy to laugh with them....how awful is that? 

I could blame it on the stressfulness of being a parent but that's crap. Everyone knows laughter can relieve stress. So it comes down to me. How do I want my home to sound? Silent as my perfect children of the corn while away hours playing by themselves? Or do I want to be part of their sweet laughter? As I've mentioned before, Jason plays the silly games and laughs at the thousandth joke. He makes them laugh. I crack a smile. Or half. 

That makes my heart hurt. That I find it hard to join in.

I want my home to be a welcoming place where the kids can feel relaxed and as happy as possible. And I know that includes mommy laughing more. 

So that's my goal this week, this month, this year and all the years to come. I want their memories full of laughter. Mine included.

hey jealousy

I trust my husband implicitly. We've been through too much for me to doubt him. Nothing bad - just almost 12 years of...much-ness. I can't think of a better term than that. We've been through tough things, as you would expect after so much time together. 

During our first year of marriage, I was jealous of every woman he talked to or about. The green-eyed monster would rear its ugly face until I knew exactly where that relationship stood and then I could feel superior. 

Now I know where my relationship stands and I don't feel threatened by every girl that comes into his life. 

But, yes, I've been jealous. I just never thought I'd be jealous of my husband. 

. . . . 

Everett: When will Daddy be home? 
Me: I don't know.
E: But when will he be home?
M: Soon.
E: Don't say soon! When will he be here? 
M: When he's done.
E: Just tell me! Grr Argg!

This conversation happens in some form every single day of my life. Both Penny and Everett LOVE their Daddy. And that's fantastic! I love that they love him and want to be around him. 

All the time. 

They'd pick him over me any day of the week. 

 

And that's the hard part. I'm the one who is home with them while he's at work but they constantly ask for Jason. To be quite honest, it hurts my feelings every time. I know I'm so lucky to have a husband who's involved in our children's lives. Too many live in ignorance of the importance fathers play in the lives of their kids. 

So I'm truly blessed. But that doesn't stop the sting of jealousy every time they ask for Dad instead of Mom. 

 

Jason is the fun parent. The "I'll play with you until my limbs fall off" parent. I'm more of the practical one. The "Get your shoes on, we're going to be late!" one. I've tried being the fun one who plays all the time. I'm just not very good at it. It's not my skill set. Jason says I need to practice more. And he's right. Practice would make it a little more natural for me. Instead I just compare myself to him and that is why I fail. 

I don't want to keep failing though. I truly believe there's no place for jealousy in a cohesive, happy family. So I'll keep trying to do a little better, play a little more, laugh more and remember that I'm grateful for what I have. 

more of a suggestion

"You want to marry me, don't you?"

The words were out of my mouth before I had even finished the thought. 

It was March 29, 2006. What was I thinking? We'd only been dating, maybe, 3 months. And here I was blurting out the first thing that came into my head. 

We were standing in the cold, snow falling lightly around us, while we admired the Sundance Resort in Utah. Somehow the words had came into my mind so forcefully and truthfully that I couldn't stop myself from saying them. I knew they were true, just like I knew he loved me before he'd ever said it. 

Luck was on my side that night. He chuckled and replied, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. But we have time for that. What about you?" I could barely nod as I said, "I think I want to marry you too."

I thought at the time that it wasn't a true proposal. No one had gotten down on one knee with a ring but it had definitely defined the rest of our relationship. From that moment on, we knew what we were working towards. 

Not too long after, I took him down to Arizona to meet my parents. They loved him right away. But the true test in my book was the 10 hours spent driving there, the 3 days with my family and the 10 hours driving back. As we pulled into his driveway after that extremely long weekend I realized I still wasn't done being near him. I adored his company above all others and he had truly become my best friend. It was a major eye-opener for me and a test of our relationship. 

 

The official proposal with the ring came a few months later. It was sweet and mostly unexpected. He had even called my father for permission. 

 

Like I said, the later proposal was sweet but I still recall most fondly that cold, snowy night when I couldn't keep my thoughts to myself. That's when I knew I could spend eternity with this man. 

perfection

 

Perfection. So many unhealthy thoughts come to mind when I think about being perfect. Twelve years ago, when my husband and I married, I thought I would be the perfect wife and mother. I was all set to have the perfect Instagram life even before Instagram existed. 

When we got married I was bubbly, energetic, optimistic and out-going. Over the years, and in some part due to my Bipolar Disorder, I've become introverted, overly serious and even pessimistic, though I like to call it realistic. 

I was striving for perfection in an imperfect world. I know that real people are never perfect but that didn't stop me from wanting it. I don't believe anyone is the same after 12 years of life experience, but I know I can do better. I can try to look on the positive side more instead of dreading and expecting the worst. 

 

I want my home life to function a little more smoothly and I think that needs to start with me. I don't need to be perfect, just better. I think optimism will follow from there. I want to have joyfulness for myself and for my family. Things may never be perfect but that doesn't mean we can't make it work.