Sleeping with Bread: with Apnea and Archives

As much distaste as I have for being labeled, as much as I resist identifying myself as a SAHM mommy blogger, a Christian blogger, a dieting blogger, etc., there is just no getting around my struggle this week with sleep apnea. And so, I risk repeating myself and boring people and defining myself as "the sleep apnea, diet and exercise blogger" today as I Sleep with Bread by asking these questions.



In the last week, when did I feel most alive?

I've been doing Weight Watchers online for just over four weeks now. During that time, I've also been very consistent with my walking. The two combined have made for a decent weight loss and an overall feeling of health. To be able to walk almost three miles in just over 45 minutes feels great. It is still a physical challenge but far more easy than it was when I started. I think I am even carrying myself a little straighter these days and although I haven't lost that much weight, my body seems lighter and I go about my business. The company of other moms from Marley's class and other friends when I walk feeds my extroverted soul and gives me a sense of spiritual well-being as well as physical. Additionally, being out in nature refreshes me. I live in an ordinary Southern California suburb. The norm is rolling hills and beautiful weather. Unless we are getting some infrequent rain, we are usually blessed with a temperature between 65 and 85 degrees and pretty blue skies. What's not to love about that? Yes, I have definitely felt alive this week as I pursue better health. Of course, there is a shadow side to all of this...

In the last week, when have I felt most drained of life?

Hi. My name is Mary-LUE and I have sleep apnea. I've discussed the adventure that is sleep apnea in the past. I was diagnosed seven months ago and began CPAP treatment five months ago. The treatment helps. It really does help. However, there have been two periods where my allergies have acted up above and beyond what my current allergy treatment regimen handles. When that happens, the extra congestion makes it more difficult to breathe with my CPAP contraption on. I'm in the midst of one of those cycles and have only managed more than four hours of sleep on my CPAP machine 4 times in the last 24 days. That is not good enough.

Last Sunday I woke up and knew that I could not face the day. I stayed home from church and hid in bed most of the day. It isn't just a matter of feeling tired. Too many nights without my REM cycle sleep and I get by turn irritable and overly emotional. I might snap at you or burst into tears. I teetered back and forth on this sleep-deprived seesaw all week. Saturday, we took Marley to a college women's basketball game. My sister-in-law's boss has a daughter on the team. We thought it would be fun (it was) and that it would be good to show Marley that girls do play basketball since she is not lovin' her coed team. I crashed about 11 a.m. and went to go lie down for an hour not sure if I could make the game at 2:00 p.m. I did pull myself together but as we settled in to watch the game, I just wanted to cry. For no reason. Just cry. Arghh! I hate it because I know what is causing it and yet knowing doesn't stop what is going on.

I've been trying to resist wrapping every SWB post up with my big picture perspective but I cannot leave it with the emotional ball of mess that sleep apnea lobs at me. I do believe that it would have been worse if I weren't exercising and eating right. I know when the current allergens leave the air, I will go back to getting more hours of sleep on the machine. And, I am fortunate to have been diagnosed and given the resources to treat my condition. So, it sucks. It really, really sucks but it was worse and it could still be worse... but it isn't. I'm very grateful for that.



My posts detailing my diagnosis and treatment of sleep apnea:

To sleep, perchance to breathe...

To sleep, perchance to breathe: a boring but informative update on my adventures in sleep apnea

To sleep, perchance to breathe: it's hard to strike a post in your jammies and electrodes.




For a list of other SWB bakers, you can go here.

Leaving: A Perfect Post

It has been awhile since I awarded a Perfect Post award. It isn't because there hasn't been any worthy posts to come my way. I've just been doing other things. This month, though, I was thrilled to see a certain blog pop up in my Google reader with a new post. It had been months and months since Cyn Kitchen had graced the blogosphere with a post, and after a brief post explaining her absence, she came back with a power-packed piece describing her son's leaving for the military.

If you are a parent, these words will suck you right in:

Did nobody warn me? Or was I not listening? One day my oldest son was here, driving me nuts, making me laugh, giving me bear hugs, and the next day he was gone.

If you aren't a parent, you will still be struck by this woman's writing. So, get yourself on over to Cyn's Kitchen and be amazed. And while you are there, do check out her archives, especially What They Really Meant to Say Was..., about the angst of getting published, It Could Be Worse, which anyone who has ever been a preschooler's mom must read, and her hysterical description of life as a coffee shop owner, How I Got This Way.

19

19 years.

That's how long Paul and I have been married. 19 years today. Yikes! How has that happened? 19 years have flown by--positively flown by. So today, we get a special 19th Anniversary Sleeping with Bread.

Our wedding in Grand Prairie, Texas. Yes--a Justice of the Peace.
Just the two of us and a witness. Just the way we wanted it.

Our wedding reception at my aunt's house about six months later.
I was all for casual, but my aunt refused to host a BBQ reception.

In the last 19 years of marriage, when did I receive the most love?

Wow... I'm not sure my non-detail-oriented brain will be good at this, but here goes. Over the course of our marriage, I have always felt that Paul loves me 100%. (I won't say that I think he's always liked me. I've had my unlikeable moments.) He shows that love through his actions more than his words. He's that kind of guy. The guy who goes out to get your Starbucks pretty much on demand. The guy who loves you through thick and thin--literally. As my weight has fluctuated, I've never felt insecure about his feelings for me. His affection comes without demand for change. He takes me as I am. For better and for worse. And when Paul does choose to express himself with his words, there is not a man out there who can beat him for picking and writing in a greeting card.

It has been said that you go into your marriage with all of your emotional baggage. It doesn't get checked at the door. That was true of me to the nth degree. Paul endured much of my emotional angst as I wrestled with my issues. It hasn't always been pretty. I once saw an episode of Oprah in which there was a contest to find the most romantic man. Some of the men were pretty impressive, I'll have to admit. But, as I watched these couples, I thought about what they would be like years from now. Would that man still be there? I've seen marriages fall apart and I can tell you, the romantic gesture is not what matters. Its staying power. Will your man stay with you through the crud. Paul has and I know Paul will.

In the last 19 years of marriage, when did I give the least love?

Only every day of my marriage probably. In your wedding vows, you make a lot of promises. Promises you cannot keep for the most part. Every therapist will tell you not to make always and never statements when communicating to your spouse. But that is exactly what wedding vows are: a list of always and never promises. You're doomed to failure. BUT... it is the big picture that matters. Although I have lost my patience with Paul, tried to change him, made him the problem when I was the problem, I hope I have matured enough that it is more the exception than the rule--my failures. At the end of 19 years of marriage, I hope it can be said that I loved more than I did not love; that I cherished more than I did not cherish; that I honored more than I did not honor.

This past Thanksgiving.

Is it just me...

...or does this headline read as if somewhere Julia Child's body is encased in glass and on display, similar in fashion to the Hall of Heads* on Futurama:

Julia Child enshrined in women's hall of fame.




*The only good picture I could find online was on a French site, pardonnez-moi.

She's got... personality!

In October, I shared about my daughter's personality and how I finally figured out her Myers-Briggs type (ESTP). (Now that I think about it, I might have written about it on my family blog. Anyway...) One thing I always, always knew in my heart, and the Nurture by Nature MBTI book clobbered me over the head with, is the fact that I need to keep her busy--not just with crafts, etc., but physically active. It had been a few months since her gymnastics program closed down and I could see a difference. She did get crabbier and into more mischief. So, in spite of my own distaste for chauffeuring my children around town, I signed her up for the next available sport: co-ed basketball.

She was not happy about being signed up for a sport that uses a ball and as we began attending practices, she was beyond upset because there are too many boys. Alas, although technically co-ed, there are--at mos--two girls per team. Before every game or practice she moans and wails about going. On days when the other girl on the team doesn't show up, Marley refuses to practice or play (her middle name could be Intractable*). When she is cooperating, she seems to experience a moderate enjoyment although she is not very assertive yet.

(Marley with the team mom. For the first game, I had to
pry her off of me and deposit her into the team mom's arms.)

Perhaps because basketball has been less than a smashing success, I began looking into the next sport. I promised her it wouldn't be co-ed. She said she doesn't want try gymnastics again so I was checking out softball. My sister was a softball player as is her daughter. As I looked into it, I began dreading the high fee to play, the candy sale and snack bar duty requirements AND Marley's possible resistance. But then, in the nick of time, I was rescued by a flyer insert advertising Cheer and Drill Team lessons. They are moderately priced, have a reasonable meeting schedule, Marley's friend will sign up with her AND... AND... AND... Marley is excited about it. I went to registration tonight and confirmed that this would not be a Hoochie Mama cheer team. So, I signed her up and she received these:



She is ecstatic about getting a uniform and being a real cheerleader although she did ask me in the car later, "Mom, what does a cheerleader do?"

*Trying to get Marley to do something she doesn't want to do reminds me of trying to trim our late dog Bob's toenails. It took four people to hold him down and even then it was a difficult task. I've always attributed her stubbornness to her personality. At five months of age, she figured out--after one night--that a bedtime story meant going to bed and she refused to sit through one for months afterwards. Since I began reading Parenting from the Inside Out, I am beginning to wonder if there isn't more to it.

At 10 months old, Marley had a febrile seizure. She was taken to the hospital for x-rays, blood tests, etc. As is usually the case with this type of seizure, she was perfectly fine. Less than six months later, though, she had another one. More blood tests, attempts to place a catheter, and a visit to our family physician resulted in a protocol for treatment whenever she had any fever at all: rotate Tylenol and Motrin at any sign of fever and a pediatric suspension formula of Valium for its anti-convulsive properties. This was all very successful. However, every visit to a doctor was a drama. I became quite adept at holding her with my leg crossed over her lower body, one arm across her chest and one holding her head. (She is able to manage a visit to the doctor quite well now.) I wonder if her implicit memories--ones she cannot consciously recall because she was too young--are having an impact on how she faces feeling "forced" to do something. If so, Paul and I definitely need to find a new approach to enlisting her cooperation. I hope the following chapters of the book have some insight!




I did it! Have you?

Sleeping with Bread Monday: with Parental Joy and Sadness

In the last week, when did I experience the most joy as a parent?

There is something about your child growing to love something which you love which makes your heart bursting-full. We all experience those moments throughout the lives of our children. It might be one of the more narcissistic aspects of parenting, but nevertheless, I believe it is a universal parental feeling. I had one such moment this week. Marley had drawn a picture of the earth, the moon and an alien in a spaceship. She wanted to share it at school and in order to do so, she was required to write about the picture. Here is the picture and her words (as is and then translated into grown up English.)

Ifyouhlldallangfllofaryoucansrvavforabou30secis.
(If you hold a lungful of air, you can survive for about 30 seconds.)

This may not have any meaning for most people reading this. I, however, experienced a moment of pure, unadulterated, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy-frenzied joy. This--this is MY daughter, without a doubt! (My husband probably would feel a similar sense of joy if he read my son's latest book project for his English class. He read a biography of Jimi Hendrix and stated that he chose the book because Jimi Hendrix is his favorite singer and guitar player.)

In the last week, when did I experience the most sadness as a parent?

There is something sad about persistent maladies and the impact they have on your children. Tonight, as I was trying not to lose my cool while I proofread my son's book report, I was getting a little testy. It isn't unusual for me to get frustrated when he has a project due--that could, and probably will, be a subject of an entire post. He was cooperating, though, with my suggestions. The work wasn't bad. I shouldn't have been as irritated as I was feeling. At one point, I asked my son to please turn out the dining room light. It was hurting my eyes. "Oh great," he exclaimed, "you're getting a migraine when I have a project to finish!" Well, so far, the actual migraine hasn't shown up. The pre-migraine crankiness and light sensitivity has, though. Those symptoms aren't a guarantee that a migraine will show itself, but it makes me sad that my son would know the symptoms and recognize, before I even do, that one might be coming. With a migraine, he recognizes that he will get to experience his mother being cranky, his having to help take care of her and his having to be responsible for an uncooperative little sister. It doesn't sound like a lot of fun, does it?














Thanks for joining me today!

P.S. I wrote this last night and dated it today because I knew I would be busy this morning. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, I wrote an entirely different sort of "How I'm Doing" post over here at my family blog. It ain't pretty but somehow, in the name of emotional honesty, I felt like I needed to disclose it here.

Also Sleeping with Bread this week:

Pam over at MarillaAnne
Sheila at Musings of a Mommy
atypical of nonsensical text

Life, the Universe and Everything Redux

Life...

Ahhhh...

It's almost 11:00 p.m. and I'm in bed, propped up by pillows, television on in the background and a post in the works. Friday night and all is well.

It's been a busy week with meetings and walking and talking and not-cleaning. Cold, static-filled air, bright blue skies and wispy white clouds kept me bundled up and moving quickly.

Paul got a call last night asking him to play bass at an 11:00 p.m. show. He declined until a second phone call, 15 minutes later. No other options were working out, would he reconsider. No problem. So, he's out tonight, helping out a friend at The Gypsy Lounge. He's good that way.

I watched the kids for our small group while the adults met at another house. Ten kids, ages 3 to 11, for a couple hours remind me of that joke about the guy who kept banging his head on a wall. When asked why he kept doing it, he answered, "Because it feels so good when I stop." The kids actually are pretty well behaved but there is a dull roar that is constant with a group that size and the silence that follows their departure is a blessed, blessed thing.

The main hang up was my own kid. Because Colin and Marley are 8 years apart, they don't have to share many things. When other kids come over, my possession loving, never-can-have-enough-stuffed-animals girl has a hard time sharing. She inevitably ends up spending a portion of the evening in her room alone. Within a couple of years, she'll be past this stage, but it is harder on her than anyone else. I wish I knew the magic button which would make sharing pain free. But alas, I have never been able to find that pesky control panel with all the buttons that would make that happen.

the Universe...

Two boys begin life after... after being kidnapped by Michael Devlin--one after four days, another after four years. They will attempt to live through the ravenous appetite to know anything and everything about their ordeal which is currently at its peak. The normal protections which provide anonymity for the victims of sexual assault don't work for abducted children. Although nothing has been confirmed, there is little doubt that the older boy at least was subjected to some form of sexual abuse. Of course, this is all being played out in the national news. I wonder how much more difficult it will be for the two boys to travel down the road of healing and recovery with all the attention being paid to them. I pray they will both be given the time, space and resources to make that journey.

Everything...

I'm reading a parenting book which talks about "response flexibility." Essentially, response flexibility is the opposite of a knee-jerk reaction. According to the authors of the book, it is a necessary anchor point for successful parenting, along with being mindful, lifelong learning, mindsight and joyful living.

Under certain conditions response flexibility may be impaired. When tired, hungry, frustrated, disappointed, or angered, we can lose the ability to be reflective and become limited in our capacity to choose our behaviors. We may be swept up in our own emotions and lose perspective. At these times, we can no longer think clearly and are at hight risk of overreacting and causing distress to our children. (Parenting from the Inside Out, Siegel & Hartzell)

Well, clearly someone has 24-hour access to my parenting and decided to write a book about it. At least now I know how to be a better parent: never get tired, hungry, frustrated, disappointed or angered. No problem, right?