dearest daughters & son

Knowing What You Want

Dearest Danjo,

Even though I've just written you a letter about demanding good behavior and cutting down on other parenting tactics such as explanations, negotiations and bribery, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do.

In an recent attempt at bribery, I offered you gummy bears if you would walk home from school without whining or being carried. We agreed on five gummy bears, even though I was willing to offer more. You definitely left gummy bears on the table at that negotiation.

When we got back home, I wanted to take a picture of your always fashion forward outfit. Sometimes, you hop up on our porch in front of our red front door backdrop, ready for your closeup. Sometimes, you are Not Having It.

Me: I’ll give you five more gummy bears if you let me take a picture of you. That’s ten gummy bears!

DJ: I don’t want ten gummy bears. I want five.

Me: Are you sure?

DJ: Yes. I just want what I want.

And a truer sentence has never been uttered.

You are definitely a lady who knows what she wants.  And I'm glad to know that you can't be bought. But, just take the damn picture.

(You did, eventually.)

Who wouldn't want to document this outfit?

(I WIN!)

(This battle.)

(In the words of Jay-Z: "On to the next one. On to the next one.")

Love,

Mommy

the best worst day

Sometimes you just have one of those days. The Worst.

 

 

Yesterday, I forgot about gymnastics because I was taking a nap.

 

Today, driving down a narrow road in the rain, I knocked off someone’s driver’s side mirror and put a minor dent and scratch in our passenger side door.

 

While I found the owner at their house, I left Danielle in the car parked out front. When I got back from giving the owner my information, Danielle was hysterical--worried that the police got me [because I’ve told her before that I can’t leave her in the car alone while I go into the grocery store because the police will arrest me #doh #backfired].

 

That last one seems the worst.

 

When things like this happen, my first reflex is to beat myself up--to think about all the things I could have done differently, all the things I should not have done. I want to replay the events in my mind and cringe at my stupidity. Over and over. I want to call myself names. And apologize profusely. I am really hard on myself and I feel like I deserve the lashings.

 

But, I am trying not to be that version of Lauren anymore. It doesn’t do me service. I now recognize that I am not Wonder Woman. I am not perfect. I am not omnipotent. I am not infallible.

 

You know, I probably needed that nap more than the girls needed to go to gymnastics. And an accident is just an accident--and an extremely minor one at that--no one was hurt. And after Danielle climbed into my lap, intertwined our arms, squeezed us closer together, told me she loves me, I knew I didn’t permanently damage my child.

 

You see, the past is really just a concept--there is nothing I can do to change it. No amount of wondering--why I didn’t remember gymnastics or why my spatial awareness sucks or what if the police took me away--will change the past. I just have to acknowledge it, accept it and be in the present--the present where I’m rested, where I’m safe, where I’m loved.

 

Doesn't sound like a bad day after all.

 

Dearest Daughters, we need to be gentle with ourselves. We have to. The world will tell us when gymnastics bills are due, how much it will cost to replace a car mirror, what it takes to be a perfect mother. The world will tell us we’re not pretty enough or smart enough or strong enough. That we don’t deserve attention, time, forgiveness, love.

 

It’s going to seem like the hardest thing to do--because your brain and sometimes other people won’t let you forget--and it’s going to seem like you don’t deserve it--like you ought to stay in time out a little longer--but, listen: this is when you need it most.

 

So, be gentle. Breathe deep breaths. Hold yourself close. Whisper kind thoughts. Cloak yourself in warmth and unconditional love. Give yourself some grace. You have to.

 

Because Mommy said so.

 

Love you no matter what,

Mommy

An Always Home

Dearest Daughters,

 

When I moved out of my parents’ house to go to college, I thought I knew everything. I thought the world was my oyster. And life could finally begin.

 

Then, I came home at least four times during my first semester of college.

 

When I married your Daddy, we moved into our first apartment together in Los Angeles. We began to make a home together. It was only a temporary stay in Southern California and, still, my heart called me home.

 

Some might argue that I have some clinical separation anxiety. Others would note that I really am just *thatclose* to my family. Our lives are intertwined and I’m inextricable.

 

At first, your daddy may or may not have resented my attachment to my family, ready for my allegiances to newly lie with him. But in my heart, there was just more room. Instead of moving houses, my home just got bigger. In some cultures, when you leave the nest, you definitively leave the nest. But, in my family it was always made clear to me that not only was I welcome to return home for any and all reasons, but it would be as if I never left.

 

Recently, my parents held true to their lifetime offer of shelter and the four of us (five with the dog) moved back in with Lola and Lolopop while we waited to buy our new house.

 

It was crowded. It was chaotic. I couldn’t find any matching socks.

 

It was nevertheless home. You girls slept in Lola and Lolopop’s room every night. We shared meals. I had help with the kids and the laundry.

 

And I totally reverted to my lazy teenage self, whining to my mommy about life, watching an inordinate amount of television and leaving dirty dishes on the counter.

 

Now, we’re finally in our new house. For whatever reason--the layout, the neighborhood, the knowledge that we’ll be here awhile--this place feels more like home than any place ever has.

 

Babybel in her new purple room.

 

Just as my parents’ home will always be part of what I know as home, this house will be your home.

 

You will spend your childhood here. You’ll leave dirty dishes on the counter and lose your socks here. You’ll feed the dog and learn how to make scrambled eggs here. You’ll eat your groggy-eyed breakfast in the kitchen nook and say your prayers here. You’ll smudge the walls with your fingerprints and you’ll do chores here. You’ll read your first chapter books and write your first essays here. You’ll forget your homework and your manners here. You’ll bound in the door into my arms and you’ll roll your surly teenage eyes here. You’ll get your feelings hurt and you’ll hurt feelings here. You’ll make a mess of your bedroom and mess up, in general, here. You’ll know unconditional love and love to know everything here.

 

You’ll make a lot of memories here. I’ll make a lot of memories here.

 

And when you leave for college, for international travel, for your honeymoon, for school in the morning, you will have this home to which you can return. Not only in the poetic figurative sense, but also in a concrete I’ll clean out the guest room for you, I’ll hold you in my arms no matter how big you are, I’ll make you feel as if you never left sense.

 

You will know that no matter how far you go, how many mistakes you make, how many successes you experience, how many places you live or how many homes you make, you will always have a home here.

 

Love you no matter what,

 

Mommy

My Living List: 25 things I want you to know about Living Life

Dearest Daughters,

I'm writing this list because now is as good a time as any. That being said, I do think about what you will remember when I'm gone.

I wouldn’t say I’ve been suicidal in the clinical sense of having “a plan,” but I’ve certainly entertained the thought of death. And in my darkest moments—not just once, but still—the only reason I can think of to not run away or run my car into a ditch, the only reason I can think of to stay alive is to not hurt the people that love me. When I start to think about you growing up without a mommy, I know that I have to be in that picture. That is my “reason for living” in the most morbid and inspirational senses of the phrase.

Death is something that my mind spirals to on a daily basis surrounding me in a bizzard of What Ifs. What if I get in a car accident? What if I get cancer? What if there’s an earthquake or a tsunami or a zombie apocalypse? What if something happened to you?

In my right mind, I know that it does no good to think about death. It is a certain thing, but we, as humans, must deny this reality on a daily, hourly basis in order to focus on the Living part of Life. We cannot be paralyzed by the fear of death or bad things happening. We must Live in the present. #mindfulness

And yet, I find myself wondering whether I’m Living my best Life, whether I have any regrets or unfinished business, whether I’ve told you I love you enough?

One day—hopefully no time soon, but one day, I will pass. And there are things I want you to know—about me, about your family, about yourselves, about Living Life. Many of those things you’ll find on this blog should you one day choose to pore through it.

Until then, here is my Living List—25 things that I want you to know about Living Life:

1. Crazy is in your blood. Not just clinical crazy—which you should be aware of, but bathrobe-curlers-clashing-red-and-purple-mile-long-nails-bingo-daubber-disco-disco-gun-in-your-purse-capital-C-R-A-Z-Y. That would be thanks to your Great Grandma Marie.

2. You don’t have to grow up to be religious or believe in particular teachings, but know that I believe in a loving and gracious God. And if you choose not to, I’ll believe for you, because I see God in you—from your first steps to your missteps and everything in between.

3. You do need to grow up to be kind, thoughtful and caring—not because you are girls or because you are doormats, but because you will consider and be understanding of people, places and forces beyond yourself.

4. You will seek knowledge. The more you know, the more you’ll realize how little you know. Ignorance isn’t a lack of knowledge, it is a lack of desire to know. Let your curiosity be your guide.

5. Family is family. If it looks like a family, talks like a family, walks like a family, then it’s a family. Be family.

6. I say, we can dance if we want to / We can leave your friends behind / Because your friends don't dance / And if they don't dance / Well they're no friends of mine. (source)

7. Be close to your siblings. I mean realrealclose. See, talk and text with each other weekly if not daily. Have unwavering loyalty. Be willing to cut a b*tch. Laugh with and at each other. Make fun of your parents together. Always say yes—to watching their children, to putting out their trash, to going on vacation. When I get old or am gone, you’ll have one another to help decide my fate, to cry into each other’s arms, to take my trash tchotchkes to the dump.

8. Falling in love makes you grow Stupid Cells. You’ll fall madly, deeply in love—maybe more than once. Once the experience of falling in love has worn off, make sure your Stupid Cells didn’t grow into a tumor. If they did, get it removed immediately.

9. Trust your gut. It’s never too late to say no, to turn around, to back out.

10. Always practice safe sex. Enough said.

11. Look for integrity and respect in your partners. If you don’t know what that looks like, pay attention to how he treats his parents or how she treats your waiter.

12. Judge no one, except for assholes. Assholes are assholes.

13. Love is a choice. We all love and like to be loved differently: in words, in acts, in gifts, in time, in touch. Be aware of how you love and like to be loved. Fill others with love and allow yourself to be filled.

14. Be passionate about something. Anything.

15. Practice doesn’t make perfect. Practice makes practice. Take breaks, but never stop practicing.

16. When you’re lost, go get lost in nature.

17. Believe you are worthy. This is more than having good self-esteem or confidence. Know that you are worthy—of love, of attention, of time for yourself, of treating yourself, of pursuing your passions, of taking up space, of existing.

18. Play—music, with paint, with a ball. Play with your friends, your children, by yourself. Make-believe and make time. Laugh at silly things and wonder at the playfulness of creation.

19. You can’t wear makeup until I say you can or until you’re sixteen, whichever comes first. And you’ll wear quality makeup that accentuates your beauty. You are not a clown. No tattoos or piercings until you are eighteen and out of the house. And I shouldn’t ever see your booty or your tummy in public. Say no to drugs.

20. If you feel you can’t talk to me, talk to your aunties, uncles, ninangs and ninongs. You are loved more than you know by more people than you know.

21. Know that there are awkward things about being human—poop and farts, bras and periods, wet dreams and body odor, among other things—but there is no shame in the human body. They come in all shapes and abilities. Our bodies can do amazing things—run and jump, spin and tumble, create and transform, see color and movement, feel a soft breeze and immense pleasure, hear whispers and thunder, smell the first rain and bread baking, taste sweetness and snowflakes on the tip of your tongue.

22. Be angry. Be sad. Be outraged. Feel powerful feelings. Do not run or hide from them as they will overwhelm you.
 

23. Do not harbor resentment. Resentment comes from not speaking your truth, from not being vulnerable enough to say what you need or want and then blaming it on someone else.

24. I love you no matter what. My love is unconditional. I will love you in the depths of your pain and mistakes. I will love you in the heights of your success and happiness. I will always be your lap to sit on, your ugly place, your shelter, your sanctuary. I will not always be nice or your friend. I will be the voice that haunts you, that urges you to do better, that annoys you. You will say you hate me. You will want to run away. You will say you love me. You will come back. You will always be my babies and I will always be your mommy.

25. Make good choices.

pacific the adjective

Dearest Daughters,

There is nothing better for my soul than the ocean.

I’m a Pisces, which is a water sign and though I hate to get in the water, I love looking at it, listening to it, feeling it.

This past weekend, I spent with my best friend, who is also your Auntie Ninang. She is the second best thing for my soul.

She is intelligent, very well-read, fun and a simply lovely travel companion, able to both go with the flow and also set the flow to a pace that is perfectly relaxing (i.e. not manic).

As I typed the word “pacific” into my iPhone this weekend, I noticed that the word did not autocorrect to the capitalized proper noun “Pacific,” as in the ocean. Puzzled, I asked Auntie Ninang if there was a circumstance in which Pacific is not capitalized. And being well-read as I noted before she told me “pacific” meant “peaceful in character.” Which was sort of a duh moment, but also an epiphany, like: of course my favorite ocean would be named after peace.

But then it got me thinking about how the ocean isn’t always peaceful. There are storms and tsunamis, there is the pounding of waves eroding cliffs, there are dangerous rip currents and dark depths, there is a lonely vastness and relentless character to the ocean.

And, yet, I still find peace in that great blue beyond. Peace, knowing that the ocean is ancient, that it is unending, that it is teeming with life, that it provides both a steady rhythm and a placid surface, that if you listen closely, you can hear a million sounds in the single crash of a wave and if you look closely, you can see all the colors there are.

[Insert cliché thought about the nature of the ocean and the nature of life here.]

Here are some photos of our weekend at that tumultously beautiful Pacific Ocean from the shores of Laguna Beach and Crystal Cove, inluding some good company, food and drink.

Just what my soul needed, something pacific:

Love you no matter what,

On the Occasion of Being Sick, In Pain or Generally Miserable

Dearest Daughters,

I brought Babybel to the doctor this morning where he confirmed double ear and sinus infections.

My stoic babe, I wish I could have taken away your suffering sooner.

When Danjo, my “less healthy” and—let’s face it—whinier child emits even the smallest of whimpers, I rush her to the doctor, one-hundred-percent certain she has an ear infection. Multiply that by about a million times and you’ll know what the past three years have felt like.

All the while, sweet girl, your germs were festering. And I only put two and two together when you woke in the middle of the night with your head throbbing, crying because you needed help falling asleep. You’re such a sound sleeper and haven’t needed help falling asleep since you were an infant.

I’m not writing this letter to rake myself over the coals.

It’s that, in this moment, I see myself in you. I see my inner five year old. And I want to tell her so many things.

Maybe it is my stoicism that helped me mask my mortal weaknesses like illness or depression or the simple ups and downs of life. Or maybe it was those things that lead to my stoicism.

Either way, I see the same thing happening in you. You act so strong and so brave; and I want to tell you that you don’t have to act that way. That you just are, even in your weakness, because of your weakness. We are born strong, reslient. You have nothing to prove.

No sooner had the doctor written out your prescription than you fell apart. I shouldn’t say you fell apart so much as you finally had permission or allowed yourself to be the sick five-year-old you have been the past few days. You suddenly felt sad and worried and just plain crummy.

And that feeling resonated with me—the floodgates opening after so many days, months, years of holding them shut.

As I held you in my lap while waiting at the pharmacy, cradling your barely-cradle-able body, you shivered, your body fighting back germs, and you fighting back tears.

All I wanted to do was to tell you that I’m here, that you’ll be just fine, that there’s no reason to cry. But, the truth is: I won’t always be here, that sometimes you won’t be fine and that you have all the reason in the world to cry.

(Dearest Readers, if you’re burnt out on my mindfulness and emotional coaching lectures, then you can stop reading three paragraphs ago.)

One of the hardest things to do as a parent, is to sit with you in your pain, to let you cry and feel sad, worried and crappy. To let the tears flow. To tell you that it is so, so, so okay to feel everything you are feeling even if it means more tears and even a little bit of hysterical vomit.

So, we let your tears flow some more, let them mingle with my own, reminding myself it’s okay to cry too (in our second week of illness)—let the people in the pharmacy line tilt their heads at us, wondering if they should call a relative, an authority, an emergency responder or some combination thereof.

And when I’m (mostly) done crying, I know it’s my job to coach you through those crappy feelings—as I have done so many times for myself.

I sat there, praying to God that the pharmacist would call our name already, wanting to go home too, wondering what I could possibly do—not to make you stop crying, but to help you through your pain to the other side, as I like to think of it.

And I imagined my most helpful ally in times of anxiety and panic: water—from whence we come, quenching thirst, the first medicine, the ocean, tears and sweat and baptism.

I told you a story about the waves. I asked you to imagine yourself floating in the water peacefully, maybe in a boat or on a blowup alligator. And you looked at me like the crazy, crunchy momma I am. And I told you that feeling sad and yucky is like a storm. The waves are really rough right now, but the storm will pass, you just have to breathe.

I’ll pause the mumbo jumbo melodrama for a second to say that breathing, prayer or reciting mantra will no more cure you of your sinus infection than they did my depression. But, it sure does help you make it through the storm.

You have to know that a storm can’t last forever. That you can ride the waves, let them wash over you. That soon the pain-reliever and antibiotics (thank you for modern medicine) will start working. That your fever will subside. That your pain will diminish. That you will find comfort and relief (in your lovey, netflix and mommy’s hugs). That your strong and wonderful body will do the work it needs to do to heal. That popsicles and crackers will sustain you.

That you can trust in all of this and in the knowledge that you are safe and secure. That you can let go of trying to feel better, let go of the yuckiness and finally rest (literally, please, go to sleep).

And in this small instance when you wake, the storm will have subsided. And, it is my hope, that you will have learned a little bit about how to weather life’s storms no matter how small they are or how big they feel.

Love you no matter what,

P.S. By the time I published this, you woke up, your fever was gone, you ate some jello, kept down your antibiotics. You were back to your healthy self, thoughtfully asking your sister about what you missed at school and whether you could eat the Valentine's candy she brought home for you. That is to say, you survived the storm, more importantly, Mommy did too!

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With my commitment to taking care of myself and my mental health--in addition to (or in conjunction with!) taking care of my family--I'm not able to post here as regularly as I would like or as much as I did in the past.

Lucky you! I'm pretty active on the Dearest Daughters Facebook page. So, make sure you like DD by heading on over to our page or clicking the Facebook button on our sidebar (over to the right). And you'll keep getting all the Dearest Daughters' latest and greatest!

You'll Like How This One Ends

In the past couple years, I’ve had more bad weeks than I could shake my fist at, so I can’t say this was the worst week on record. But, it was pretty bad.

I won’t describe it in detail, but it was really just the culmination of two weeks in a row where your Daddy was gone on business travel; we were low on energy, low on patience, high on yelling, hitting, spitting and, mostly, crying. And, by the way, it’s that time of year that we adults call “The Holidays,” which sounds pleasant enough, but is really just a bunch of hustle and bustle, busy-ness, excessive commercialism and a self-fulfilling prophecy of stress. Not to mention the arrival of the baby Jesus #thereasonfortheseason

[I must take pause here for my humility and gratitude to say that when your dad is gone, Lola and Lolo quickly step in when it appears I’m Losing It; they make dinner or provide a guilt-free environment for you to watch television while I complain about a certain three year old and the number of objects she’s thrown at my head this week. Auntie Ninang Jonelle also watches Bel on a weekly basis which she has done practically since you were born and she never hesitates at my request to take both of you for a bit. And some days you go to school for a few hours, thank God.]

[Okay, all that being said, my therapist says I have this habit of minimalizing my experiences and feelings, especially when I start comparing myself to So And So whose spouse is gone all the time or to So And So whose life seems fairly similar to mine, so why can’t I deal? Or I get on a kick of how I’m totally competent and can handle anything thrown, literally and figuratively, at me.]

So, I’m saying this because it is important for me to say this—like my therapist would be super mad at me if I didn’t admit—it is hard being responsible for two small children for multiple-day stretches at a time.

When your Daddy leaves I can’t help but feel alone, abandoned even. And being with you morning, noon and, ugh, bedtime is no walk in the park. Did I mention the objects been thrown at me?

It’s hard. And certain unnamed behaviors from certain unnamed children don’t make it easier.

You were both The Worst this past week. But, so was I.

We probably hit bottom around Tuesday night when I was crying because Danjo was being Danjo and Bel was crying because I was crying and the dog was crying to be let out.

So, even though Wednesday also had its challenges, things were already looking up. I went to yoga, we bought a new DVD and you both went to sleep in your own beds with no fight, allowing me to have a little time to myself for an art project.

And yesterday, Daddy came home. I guess that put us all in a better mood. Though I still had a toy horse thrown at me. Twice. But, after dinner as a family complete with ice cream sundaes, we were in Seventh Heaven.

I was Communicating Clear Expectations and Providing Transition Time left and right, baby. And you two were dare I say, behaving? I was basically in Parenting Nirvana.

I can’t take all the credit though. Danjo was, for once, not putting up a fight. And Bel was only a small puddle of tears as we cleaned up the living room—and I don’t mean the royal “we” where I mostly pick things up while asking you to do one measly task—I mean like you were both actually transporting toys and clothes and string cheese wrappers from one place to another more appropriate place.

Not only in an effort to give positive reinforcement, but also because I was purely shocked and delighted, I noted how well Danielle was behaving last night.

“Wow, Danielle! You are doing such good listening!”

To reward Danjo, I took out our on-again-off-again positive reinforcement tool: The Chore Store or in layman’s terms: a bucket of dollar store toys used as bribes. She chose some Hello Kitty stamps and Bel chose a plastic horse figurine.

Danjo never ceases to amaze, but usually in her wiles, wits and willfulness. Last night was no exception, as she maintained her agreeable disposition. She went potty and brushed her teeth, even setting out her sister’s toothbrush for her.

I helped you out of your clothes into pajamas that were easily chosen with no Drama (if you are not familiar with Drama Pajamas they are the pile of Danjo’s rejected clothing amassing in the corner because of her decisive fashion sense).

As I tugged your nightgown down over your head, you beamed, “I did good listening!”

“Yes, Yelly! And I am so proud and happy.”

“Mommy,” she said, “sometimes you make me happy too.”

The End.

Because there couldn’t possibly be a better end to this week or to this story than that.

I love you no matter what,

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With my commitment to taking care of myself and my mental health--in addition to (or in conjunction with!) taking care of my family--I'm not able to post here as regularly as I would like or as much as I did in the past.

Lucky you! I'm pretty active on the Dearest Daughters Facebook page. So, make sure you like DD by heading on over to our page or clicking the Facebook button on our sidebar (over to the right). And you'll keep getting all the Dearest Daughters' latest and greatest!

"I Love You No Matter What" or "Apparently You Do Listen to Me"

Dearest Daughters,

You are The Worst at falling asleep these days.  No matter how full your day or how thorough our bedtime routine, you two see bedtime as a challenge—who can be the loudest, who can throw the most stuffed animals out of bed, who can get out of bed and bother me the most.

I’ve tried yelling, coercing, logic-ing, but to no avail. Our bedtime rule has diluted to the most vague of expectations: sing, talk, stop, drop and roll, but just STAY. IN. BED. God help me [you].

I do want you to get your full night’s rest, especially on school nights. But, I try not to get too caught up in your nighttime shenanigans. I recall fondly sharing a room or a wall with my little brother, your Unkinan. And we did the same things from our respective bunks or rooms.

Side note: I don’t know why I thought my parents wouldn’t hear me singing to my brother through a wall!? Or maybe I didn’t care if they did, being five and having little impulse control or self-awareness and all.

As long as it doesn’t get too Ka-Razy up in there, I find your whispers and chitter chatter comforting and sweet.

The other night you two were taking longer to fall asleep than it does for me to choose toothpaste (and that takes a long time—if you ask me there are an inordinate amount of toothpaste options out there.)

And you were in rare form. First Danjo calling out for me. Then requests for different lighting—the hall light, the bathroom light, the night light—requests more complicated than Broadway stage directions. I almost called in a lighting crew. Then more crying for me. Then Bel getting out of bed to let me know that I hurt Danjo’s feelings because I told her to go to sleep. Then Bel crying because we told her to go to sleep.

But, finally, the sounds of sleepiness began to take over and in the sweetest of sweetest voices, we overheard Bel, comforting her little sister, “Danielly, you know, even though Mommy’s not right here, she is always near. She is in your heart. And God is in your heart too. And I am always by your side, no matter what. Even if I’m mad or you’re mad, even if you’re frustrated or angry or afraid, I love you no matter what. And I am always by your side, okay? You know that, Danielly?”

And I about melted into a puddle.

Because those are words I’ve shared with you. And I like to believe that you’re not just parroting them, but that those words are written on your heart.

That now and forever you will know and believe these things with every fiber of your being.

That even when I’m frustrated you won’t go to bed. Even when I yell at you to stop throwing stuffed animals and to get back into bed. Even when I’m all the way in my room or all the way across the Pacific Ocean. Even when I’m not right here, I’m always near.

And I love you no matter what,

Taking My Mental Health for Granted

Dearest Daughters,

You may have noticed lately that we’ve been busy—traveling to and fro, camping, birthday-partying, wedding-ing, family reunion-ing, visiting friends and family, even Disneyland-ing! And locally, we’ve been hitting up the playground/library/family-friendly-activity circuit more than usual over the past few months.

And I can gladly say that all of our activity (my activity) is not rooted in mania; just in the enjoyment of life. I am even more elated to say that I feel mentally healthy—more than I ever have in my life.

Once upon a time I hurried through life, operating on Shoulds and Have Tos, unaware of my feelings and the stress I heaped upon myself, suppressed, fighting through life, against myself. I’d say part of the difficult and desperate life I lived was due to my bipolar diagnosis—the chemical imbalances, the moods, the high and low extremes I worked so long, alone and helplessly to moderate.

The other explanation for the life I led is that I was just so damn hard on myself. I had unrealistic expectations of myself, of my life. Perfectionist expectations I could never live up to—that kept me from ever being happy, from ever accepting myself as I am, from ever feeling I was or had enough, from ever experiencing my own life.

And then there was a time when it all crashed down upon me. I felt hopeless. And I know I’ve told this story before, but looking back on the past year, reflecting on the darkness, it all feels like yesterday.

When I think about the pain I felt, my lack of desire to live, my inability to care for you, let alone myself—those feelings all come rushing back. I’m transported to those days of panic and depression, those days I rocked myself back and forth, unable to leave my parents’ guest bedroom, hardly able to watch anything but Storage Wars because anything else reminded me of the life Outside—a life I felt undeserving of and unable to live anymore.

And then there was the time when little by little the panic and anxiety dissipated. I took my medication and I worked SO SO SO SO FREAKIN' hard in talk therapy.

And now here I am. And mostly, those dark days and thoughts never cross my mind. There are days when I leave the house, when I go visit friends or family, when I plan and execute and celebrate a grand third birthday party without any thought of anxiety, without any worry.

I ask for help when I need it. I navigate stress better. I’ve learned to say “no” when needed. I’ve learned to plan better. I’ve learned how to identify and work through manic or depressive episodes. I’ve learned to accept my reality, to stop comparing my life to the lives of others.

I’ve learned to accept that my self-worth is in no way connected to the undone dishes, to the amount of TV you watch, to my education, to my employment, to how much I sleep, to how much I do or what I get done. I know now that I am enough—enough Mommy, enough wife, enough daughter, enough Lauren.

And that revelation is such relief. I feel lighter. I feel free.

So now, most days I leave home without my Emergency Just-In-Case Supply of Xanax. That may not sound like a big deal if you’ve never dealt with anxiety and I don’t mean to sound like I have or ever did have a pharmaceutical dependency, but for the last year I have made sure to never leave home without my medical equivalent of a blankie: teeth brushed? Wallet? Cell phone? Drugs? Check, check, check, check!

Whether or not I used or needed Xanax, every morning for over a year, the possibility of panic crossed my mind. And no matter how far in the past my last panic attack was, I was compelled to think that it could happen again at any moment. Even as days turned into weeks and months and over a year, a pall was cast over every day. I lived, if not in constant dread and fear of panic, at least under its shadow.

But now, I feel like things are not only “normal” once again, but also better than ever. I am better equipped to handle stress, to handle feelings, to handle crowds and panic triggers, to handle my own life.

These days, I take my mental health for granted the way that I imagine most people do every day of their lives when they wake up and make their coffee and welcome the day ahead.

And it feels great.

Love,

Important Life Questions

Dearest Daughters,

A piece of realistic non-fiction--who am I kidding?--this is my life. Love it. Hate it. Mostly love it.

She knew what her life amounted to as soon as she pulled back that damp shower curtain.

Sometimes the mundane is purely the mundane. And sometimes, when the morning light hits it just right, when you can smell the freshly rain-dampened earth through the cracked window, when you’re feeling a little bent out of shape about that argument you had with your husband last night—sometimes everything feels saturated. Saturated with color and noise and meaning.

Where she once saw mold creeping its red veins across the shower curtain, she now sees time--endless, wasted, passing, demanding.

She sees the remains of last night’s bath. The murky, sandy water, never drained, forgotten, leaving its own mark. The plug pulled, the water drains away, revealing brownish rings, keeping track, telling a story, like the rings of a tree.

The sand and sediment settling as the last of the water swirls down the drain, stuck in Mermaid Dora’s long tresses, sitting at the bottom of teacups, rough against her feet as she enters the shower. A reminder of yesterday’s joy and messiness, of the exact moment when she had Enough with The Sand Throwing and The Whining, when she exploded, marching her children to the bathroom for a ritual cleansing—theirs and hers.

A deciding moment. Yesterday behind her, the day before her. What will this moment hold? The wash cloth disguised as a hippo hand puppet, the rubber ducks (indeed, there are several), the cups and spoons, the squirty submarine and sea creatures—a veritable war zone of toddler bathing paraphernalia.

She steps on a lone dragon wing, cursing its existence, its randomness, its (clearly) aggressive role in her otherwise peaceful morning. What did I ever do to you, Dragon Wing?!

And then the definitive question arises, as she begins her day—planning, pacing, envisioning, ignoring the muffled voices of her children from behind the bathroom door: Do I bother to pick this up? Or do I just let it be?

By now, her loofah lathered, she’s well on her way.