*Dumb Doll

I used to make jokes about me having ADD. But they were just jokes. I’d follow it up with something like, “Oh, but I’m not really! Just forgetful! Hahah. Hah.”

In retrospect, it should have been so OBVIOUS.

(Okay, sorry, I know I talk about this a lot lately, but a friend's blog post reminded me of this, and I decided I had to write about this)

Since I started meds, it’s like I’m looking down from a high mountain onto my life. I can see it all spread out before me, and it’s like I missed the Great Salt Lake sitting right in the middle. I’m finding out that all kinds of weird things are a symptom of ADHD (not just the attention issues). Things like inability to handle criticism (people-pleasing in general, really). I just crumble inside when someone criticizes me. I know it’s my thing, and so I try not to show it outwardly, but I’ll go cry in the bathroom if I’m given a chance. And I don’t cry all that easily over things like people dying or extreme pain. Now, it’s not all bad. I like a lot of the ways it’s made me who I am (sense of humor, creativity, my ability to get.it.done. when it’s down to the wire). I think in a different type of society, a lot of the “problems” of ADHD could be assets. If I belonged to a tribe of nomads, for instance, I would hear every single suspicious noise in the middle of the night.

But, with this newfound clarity has come a bit of cockiness. “I am medicated, so I can do this! and this! and this! and why not schedule this one other thing while we’re at it!”

Well, I overextended myself the last couple weeks. A lot of it was out of my control. But a substantial portion of it was not.

I’m the church secretary. Surprisingly, I’m at least somewhat competent. I tend to forgot minor things, but that’s why I have lists and routines for everything. If I were an artist, I would make an exhibit called, “My Life in Post-Its,” and it would take up all the walls in my home. Last week, I had a lot on my plate, but I was feeling so great about how well I was doing. I left the house Friday morning with everything I needed for the day. I got to church after the gym (did NOT forget underwear or a towel!) and set to work.

I got so much done so quickly. It was amazing. I was on top of the world. We have an annual thing we do, and I had to send out letters for that. I took the time to personally start each letter with, “Dear [LastName] Family,” before printing them out one by one. We have a small church, so that’s not quite as amaaaaazing as it sounds, but I was still pleased. I got everything sealed, stamped, and addressed, and then I realized, oh no, I had not printed on the church letterhead like my pastor had asked me to.

Thirty-four years of forgetting stupid crap and being scolded for it came rushing back to me. I’m really glad I was alone at church because all I could do for a minute was sit there with my cheeks burning, trying not to cry.

(He was really nice about it, and I did not have to go back and redo everything.)

The rest of the day was like a domino effect. I forgot one thing after another after another after another. My brain had decided to mutiny. I felt like such a dumb child again.

One of the other things I had to deal with last week was Emmy’s book report. While I was helping her work through and understand her book, the word “evaporation” came up; she didn’t know what it meant. I showed her how if you pour a little water on the table, it will eventually turn into a gas and disappear into the air. She said, “Oh! So that’s how rain happens! It evaporates off the ground and goes into the clouds and then when it rains…” Not bad for a first-grader who, to the best of my knowledge, has not yet learned about the water cycle. But she lost her train of thought near the end there and immediately burst into tears. My sweet baby who figured out the water cycle on her own felt stupid and ashamed. I worry that she’ll grow up thinking the same things about herself that I used to (and still do, sometimes).

So in that moment I was grateful for all of my blunders just a few days before. I knew exactly how she felt right then and dealt with it so much better than I would have a couple weeks ago. It’s hard to talk about this without making it sound like my parents are to blame. I have wonderful parents. It’s just that inattentive type doesn’t look like ADHD. It doesn’t disrupt the whole class or cause destruction. It’s daydreaming, procrastination, forgotten assignments, and a weird combination of slacking off and perfectionism. So, basically, everyone’s idea of a terrible student. Unlike my parents, we know what is going on with her. We can help her, and I can understand how she feels when she messes up.

*This title brought to you by my first grade teacher in all her compassion and wit.

98 Ways You Are Inadequate, and How to Fix That (Part Two)

For your information, Jessica from the cover is actually named Amri. And her kid is named River. I like Persimmon better, but I guess they didn't wish to consult me when she was born. Amri looks great in yellow. This is irrelevant; I'm just in awe of people who look good in yellow. I look like a zombie ghost clown.

Speaking of Manufactured Problems!

I immediately went to "Smoother Mornings, Easier Lunches, Fewer Hassles." Why? Because Facebook has been trying to guilt me into making my children's daily school experience just as magical as Christmas morning. I don't understand this. Certain cultural expectations leave me feeling like I'm missing something really obvious that everyone else gets. Why do their lunches need to look like I hired a Japanese animation team?

"Have a Better Morning" is pretty sensible and boring. But the sub-section on getting dressed (for Mom) makes me laaaaugh ("Have a few outfits ready to go that you know you look great in!").

My morning motto: do only the absolute necessities. I squint at my kids' faces, teeth, and hair to make sure I won't be arrested for neglect. I get a giant mug of coffee and a bowl of yogurt (which I usually eat in the car). My hair usually looks like a discontinued muppet that fell off a Big Lots truck, only to be discovered in a wind-blown shrub. Most days, I do manage put on my gym clothes and make sure I have what I need in my bag. This is not exactly dedication; if I don't do this, I come back home to change and oops how did this very comfortable bed get here?

By the time I get to the gym, I'll have been awake for almost an hour. THEN I can go into the locker room and make myself presentable. I definitely won't be planning out outfits that look great on me. If it covers all the important parts, my job is done. I'm not even visible from the waist down at drop-off, so I wouldn't really have to do that much (I only do because that would be the day the best-looking police officer of all time would pull me over).

"Master the Drop-off." What? Why? I pull up, the kids get out, we scream I love yous and blow kisses, I drive away. My friend who works at the school sometimes sees me with my muppet hair. That's it. The author, on the other hand, walks her child in every day. This I do not understand. Is it a school rule? Does your child have special needs? Does the neighborhood have roaming sidewalk gremlins? If the answer to these is "no," then drop them off a block away and let them walk. My kids would walk all the way if it weren't three miles. That year where Grace walked to kindergarten was fantastic. Statistically, she was safer than if I'd driven her, and the confidence she gained in that year was phenomenal.

Your kid will be okay. It's one thing if you want to walk your kid into school, but the woman writing this hates everything about it. I want to shake her and yell, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

And now my favorite. Lunch!

SIMPLICITY!


There's another page of this, but I'm too lazy to upload another photo.

How is "simplify" the very first word on this page? I'll give you THREE ingredients: carrots, apple, sandwich. Bam. Done. It's not simple if your kindergartner can't do it herself.

Actually, some of this looks pretty good for a lunch. FOR ME. You cannot beat a lunch that your kid makes herself. Do you know what happened yesterday? Grace put together her own plate of leftovers for dinner and microwaved it herself, unprompted. Kids that make their own lunches are learning independence and initiative. This is no small thing if you know Grace. Lazy parenting has its upsides.

STOP THIS MADNESS
This is a bunch of solutions to imaginary problems. Ladies, why is this a thing? Do men do this? Maybe they do, but it's not something I ever see.

If you love making cute lunches for you kids, that's really cool. And I don't mean that in a patronizing way. It is super cool. If you love to look your best first thing in the morning, I totally understand (it's how I feel around... noon). If you like the special time walking your kid into school, that's sweet.

But if you hate these things, stop. Your kid will be okay. In fact, not doing some of these things can sometimes have great results. Doing them can also have great results. Guess what. Either one works out pretty well.

Save you energy for the stuff you actually like to do with your kid (and the stuff that you hate but is necessary). I ran the jog-a-thon with both my kids because it was fun. I love reading to them and doing the voices. Guess what I hate. *Mornings. Crafts. Mornings. Adorable lunches. Effort of any kind in the morning. Also, crafts.

By many standards, I'm a lousy mother, but I don't care. I've developed a radar other moms who feel the same way, and it's really fun. Why? Because none of us expect the others to pretend we love things we hate. And most of us hate mornings, too, so we have a good time waiting for our kids at pickup.

*Yes, they're much better with my new drugs, but they're still awful. Like how Sauron is the evilest evil, but Saruman is still bad.

98 Ways You Are Inadequate, and How to Fix That (Part One)

Or, as most people call it, Parents magazine.

I don't know why this just came in the mail, but I'm going to have fun with it.



First Impressions!

"Smoother Mornings, Easier Lunches, Fewer Hassles." We'll get to this later. It's my favorite.

I love the article title, "The Chill Mom's Guide to School." I sense they're implying that the mom on the cover is chill (we'll call her Jessica), but she is not. That baby (her name will be Tulle) looks terrified. The older one (Persimmon) is clinging to her leg like it's Kate Winslet's ocean debris. Both she and Jessica have fabulous hair and clean outfits. Something is up with this family. But "chill" is definitely not that something. At the very least, they're all morning people, whom I never trust completely.

"Baby's Amazing Milestones: When to Coax Them (And When to Relax)." Or, as I call it, "Information for Parents Who Don't Trust the Pediatrician (Sometimes It's Legit)."

Guys, there's a Special Report! "Work. Life. Balance?" I'm not a working mom, so I can't be too snarky about this title, but I predict it will include at least 500 moms who are stressing about manufactured problems.

"30 Beauty Buys Worth Your Dime." Okay. I actually kind of like this.

"Safe and Easy Natural Remedies for Kids." I call it, "How to Reject Perfectly Safe and Highly Effective Medicinal Remedies Because You Want to Be Crunchy." I don't know. I haven't read it yet. Maybe it will surprise me.

I ♥ Big Pharma

Let me tell you about me. I mean, I know this is my blog, so that's what I've been doing all along, but bear with me. I'm writing about this partly for the benefit of other people who might be like me. And now you get to know more about me. Are you super excited?

I function pretty well when I have a consistent routine. I function pretty well when I can keep my obligations to just one thing per day. Or maybe every other day. I do pretty well when I don't have to remember stuff on my own. This is why, since I left school, I haven't been a complete mess.

(I originally wrote the following paragraph with "we" instead of "they," but despite all signs pointing to "yes," I still hesitate to diagnose myself--out loud, anyway.)

This is typical for *women with ADHD, by the way. Women usually favor the inattentive type. Less with the hyperactivity. It goes unnoticed because they don't normally cause problems in school. They turn in assignments late. They struggle to finish assigned readings (unless the reading is super interesting; then they finish them weeks early by staying up until 4am until the book is done). They lose car keys. But they don't usually inconvenience other people, so it never gets addressed.

Until you're 33, and your kids are in school and have projects to do and need their own routines enforced, and all you want to do is nap because otherwise you have to face the mountain of things to be done. Because of me, Grace nearly missed an entire project last year. That's when I started thinking seriously about this. I first saw it on the Dr. Oz show when I was at the gym. I think Dr. Oz is all kinds of things, but "reliable source of medical information" isn't usually one of them. I have, however, picked up one or two useful things from his show. So after the initial brush-off and my complete failure in keeping track of a first grader's schoolwork, I started looking more deeply.

Just Google "ADHD in women," and you will come up with article after article that describes my life. I don't think mine is severe; I've been able to pass as a functional adult for quite a while. I'm not crippled by this in the true sense of the word "crippled." Until now, I've only ever failed myself. But then Grace's school projects started making me hyperventilate. And Emmy started showing signs, and I learned that routine is the key to managed children's ADHD, and I can barely manage my own routine, much less impose one on my half-feral child.

I can't cope by fleeing responsibility anymore, so here we are. I'm finally doing something about it.

Today I started week two of Strattera. I KNOW that it's supposed to take a full two weeks of this stuff before most people see improvement, but I am telling you, I am functioning well above my normal level these days. And it's not a stimulant, so it's not because I'm high. I know the placebo effect can be powerful, but I swear this is something else.

No anxiety. I don't feel like I'm choking on the (totally reasonable to a normal person) adult responsibilities I have.This week, I have two different friends' houses to clean, plus my job at church. I am not dreading this; I am looking forward to it. Even physical work, when it's an obligation or on a deadline, makes me anxious. Not today! I just keep thinking about how great it will be to have something to do all day. I've learned to ignore the dread and embrace obligations because, once I start, I enjoy good, hard work. But I've never been free of the sense of dread leading up to it.

No exhaustion. Folks, I am tired all the time, unless I'm up and moving. It doesn't matter what vitamins I take, whether I get enough sleep or not. I am just tired. There's a baseline of tiredness I have just learned to accept. It has become the new normal. Until now, I didn't realize how much of that was mental exhaustion. With the exception of the day I started Strattera and the day my dosed bumped up (yesterday), I have felt energetic throughout the day for the last week. The only other time I feel like this is when I'm **camping. I feel light and free.

Focus. I cleared out the kids' play room today. It took me two hours. I filled three garbage bags of junk, and about half again that much went to the thrift store. I went through a stack of old school binders. I picked up an article about ancient Lachish that I never got around to reading when it was assigned (judging by the lack of fold marks around the staple, anyway). I read the whole thing. My eyes didn't slip over the boring paragraphs--which, with this kind of writing, is all the paragraphs. I didn't go back and reread sentences over and over again before I actually read them. The information was interesting, so I took it in. I rifled through my old papers. The majority of them would have been high grades, if they hadn't been turned in late.

Morning person. Okay, I'm still not a morning person, but I don't need a full hour of what I imagine dying feels like before I can stand to listen to other people talk. In fact, when it's time to get up, I just get up. It doesn't feel like dying anymore. And so far, I have slept really well at night. My insomnia comes and goes, and it hasn't been as persistent in the last year as it used to be, so I hesitate to declare this a fix yet. But... yeah. I've been sleeping great.

This is like how I felt when the buspirone kicked in, only more complete. Buspirone helped with the anxiety and the overwhelmed feelings, but it didn't do much else. Those two things were a huge help, but it wasn't quite hitting the mark. And maybe this isn't the solution yet, but it's certainly a step closer.

I recently read an article on how ADHD isn't real. The author claimed that since the symptoms are things that all people experience to one degree or another, it was too nebulous a thing to be defined. I call that nonsense. Everyone gets headaches; migraines and cluster headaches are still a special thing. Everyone feels sad and apathetic; depression is still a real, treatable illness.

I don't believe that we have even begun to touch the surface of mental disorders and their possible treatments. If the mind were earth, we would still be calling America "The New World," if we were even that advanced. It's possible the idea of ADHD as we know it is completely different from what it really is and what really causes it. But in the meantime, so what? If you're having real trouble functioning in the way you need to, and something helps, go for it. I would love it if our society worked in such a way that I could be out in the sun and carry around heavy things all day, but that's not what we have. In the meantime, I'll take what I can get to be a half-decent mom and stop having to nap all the time.

*This is actually part of a larger problem in medicine. So much of what we "know" has been derived from male-focused studies. It's pathetic and little funny when it comes to ADHD, but with things like heart attacks, it can be downright fatal.

**My theory on camping is that I'm ideally suited to just work physically all day, to not have to think and do things outside my tasks. Give me good physical work and all-day sunshine, and I am at my best. If I were an animal, I would be a majestic ox.

Hoo Boy

I started an ADHD medication today (that supplement helps, but I still want more help). I was a little irritated with my doctor.

Me: I'd like to be evaluated for ADD.
Him: Why is that?
Me: *Abandons mentally itemized list of textbook symptoms* I can't pay attention. And. Uh. Insomnia. My mind doesn't shut off at night. I feel constantly overwhelmed.
Him: How did you do in high school?
Me: *Abandons mentally itemized list of ways that life and school have felt like a constant string of--at best--Stooge-like pratfalls* Well, I'm smart. Ish. And, uh, high school wasn't terrible because I could learn enough just by being present to get OK grades. And then college was terrible. I was lost most of the time. It was hard.
Him: OK, what type of treatment are you looking for?
Me: *Abandons mentally itemized list of coping mechanisms that I have developed that are now failing me* I don't even know. I don't think I need anything super strong. I just couldn't even handle my first grader's projects last year, and I'm dreading this school year with two of them doing real school. Things.
Him: Well, I don't prescribe Adderall or Ritalin [which, despite the fantastic weight loss appeal, I'm not really interested in anyway], but you can try out this sample of Strattera.
Me: OK

fin

I mean, if he's not qualified to give that evaluation, that's great, but if I have it, I want to have a doctor tell me, "You definitely have ADD," so I can start using it as an excuse for everything normal that I can't seem to do. Just kidding. Kind of. And if I don't have it, I clearly need a life coach. So, I don't know. I don't even know how insurance works with these kinds of things. If I want a formal evaluation, can I just make an appointment with someone? Or do I have to get a referral from my doctor? Does that mean I have to go back? Does that mean I have to pick up the phone and make another appointment?

I just don't even know. I don't mind (some of) the flightiness and the slight craziness. I kind of like a lot of those aspects of my personality. They're fun. But I don't want to feel like vomiting every time my kid brings home a project. I don't want to forget appointments and small but important tasks. I don't want to lie awake at night wondering about the phases of the moon and why locusts eat so much and how do skunks stand to be around each other?

So I started this sample. It's a big sample. Like 45 days worth, starting at 25 mg and working up to 80. It's supposed to take 2 weeks to see any benefits, and then 2 weeks after the full dose starts is when you can really assess its efficacy. Yesterday I took my first sample, and I basically napped all day. It was wonderful, yet also frustrating. It felt so good to slip into sleep so easily, but, you know, child neglect and needing clean clothes and things like that. I slept like a rock last night, which might have been simple exhaustion. I haven't slept well in a couple of weeks.

Today, I took it with some apprehension. It was the girls' first day both in school. I wanted to use all that time as much as possible. No napping! I went for my first swim in a long time. No amount of weightlifting or running makes swimming easy the first time. There was a lot of gasping for air by the wall between sets. Then I lifted. It was leg day. I really hate leg day. You'd think with all that running, I'd have strong legs, but they're surprisingly weak. The squat rack is my own personal cage of humiliation.

Then work at the church. And here is where I swear the Strattera is already kicking in. I sat down, did my job, never lost focus, and got it done in three hours. I didn't even realize it until I was almost finished. I had at least half an hour of extra work this week, and I finished half an hour faster than I normally do. Huh.

I got the kids from school, made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and went to back to school night. At no point did I feel overwhelmed today. It was weird. I have good and bad days, but there is usually at least one point during the day when I feel overwhelmed. On a good day, it's because my house actually is a mess, and there really are a lot of things to do. On a bad day, it's because I have to buy deodorant for Jeremy, and there are too many choices (this is a real example, and I seem to remember reaching out and grabbing the nearest one, then running away). Today was ripe to be a bad day. Back to school night alone is its own mountain of details and obligations and too many people talking. But I was fine.

So, I don't know. It still could have just been a good day, but maybe this will work out. And I didn't nap at all today!

Make it stop

I’m so sick of the gorilla story.

Reasons I am NOT sick of it:

1. I hate gorillas and think this particular one wasn’t important at all.
2. I think the mom did nothing wrong and is a special unicorn.

I’m sick of it because all of a sudden everyone knows two things:

1. That he or she would never look away long enough for said child to something idiotic and insane in the worst setting possible.
2. How he or she would react in such a situation.

I know exactly two things about myself/my family:

1. My kids are naturally pretty calm and well behaved. We didn’t do this. They came out that way. But Emmy is a wanderer. Every once in a while Grace’s brain shorts out, and she does something awful and completely out of character (like that time last October she stuffed her mouth FULL of vitamin D capsules she filched out of a tall cupboard). Thank God they have never done insane things in a busy street or a gorilla exhibit or with toxic vitamins, but it is not outside the range of possibility. I have lost Emmy at the zoo a few times. (This is actually why we don’t go anymore.) The last time we went, she just kept slipping away, silent like a snake. She once did a swan dive face-first off the changing table in the three seconds it took me to turn away and look at her sister’s owie. Sometimes it’s the well-behaved kids that do these things the most easily, since your guard is down. They know this and will exploit it.
2. Sometimes I surprise myself with how cowardly I am, and sometimes I surprise myself with how brave I am. I just never know what is going to happen. I am 99% sure jumping into the gorilla exhibit to save my kid wouldn’t even have occurred to me.

Can I say something crazy here? Can I say that mom could have done a better job in that specific moment, that this happened because she was too inattentive? Can I then also say that it could have been me? Or you? Or any of us? You can say a woman messed up without demonizing her. We can have compassion and be upset or angry about the situation at the same time.

If you do not leash, carry, stroller, or glue your child to your body every single time you are in the vicinity of something dangerous, this could happen to you and your kid.

Update

In a surprise to no one (except me), I ran out of my brain enhancing supplement because I forgot to order more. I emptied the bottle into my hand the other morning, and thought, "Huh. That's strange."

News flash, Naomi: THINGS RUN OUT.

More should be here tomorrow. This is good because, if I wasn't sure it was helping after I started taking it, I know for a fact that it helps now that I've run out. Life is for sure more exciting when surprises (aka things I've planned/ordered/promised and then forgotten) happen all the time. But panicked flight from one barely-remembered activity to another is not how I enjoy spending my life. Thank goodness the kids are on a two-week break from school right now.

Facebook, late at night

When I've had some wine, a thing usually happens to me. A thing where I go about sharing all of my reserved feelings with everyone. I don't mean a drunken sloshed-up sentimental tirade. I mean an almost-entirely-sober gushing forth of all the emotions I typically find too vulnerable.

"I love you. You have no idea what your friendship means to me," I say to that woman who showed up with margaritas once four years ago when Jeremy was out of town forever, and one of my kids had a weird illness that kept us couch-bound for days.

"Oh... Kay..." she says.

"NO I MEAN IT."

Or, "Your hair is so pretty. How is it so shiny?" Or, "Your cake tastes like unicorn fruit, and can I live here?"

It's like I am holding back everything at all times, so the slightest lowering of inhibition (we're talking a single glass of wine here, friends) sends it flying out at anyone in my path. I don't feel repressed at any other time, but apparently I am. One glass of wine, and I will begin to tell you how lovely and kind and meaningful you are with the intensity of a Jack Nicholson character.

Well the same kind of thing happens on Facebook late at night. I go on sprees of liking and commenting (I never say anything I don't mean, mind you, but that actually makes it more uncomfortable sometimes), then wake up the next morning and have no idea why I have all these notifications.

I'm a super night owl. If I didn't have a very specific routine and didn't take mind-quieting drugs, I would never sleep. In ten years I would still be awake like a cat strapped to the hood of a speeding car. So I don't know why I get so weird at night. It's not as if I'm tired.

But for some reason, come 11:00, I perceive myself as the cleverest person on earth. I spend ten minutes crafting a witty comment, cackling all the while, and wake up the next morning to an effusive word salad. It's both embarrassing and amusing. I'm not sure I dislike it enough to ban myself from Facebook after 11.

There are odd things about myself that I like, and I'm not sure why. So if you've encountered this side of me, don't worry for my sanity. I'm just as bananas as I've always been, and it's never turned violent. So we're good, right?

Right?

Weird things that stress me out

"It goes by so fast! Treasure every moment!"

I hate that.

My kids are to the age where I do want time to stop; I want them to freeze right now, while they are sweet and carefree, but old enough for basic logic. If kids teleported to this stage after 6 months, we would probably have ten of them.

But I have no regrets about looking forward to when my toddlers and preschoolers were older. Of course I miss the fat rolls and on-demand snuggling. OF COURSE. Unless your life is an unmitigated hell, there is always something to miss. The frustration of those years changed me into a better mother and forged a bond with my kids that can't be replicated.

However. I do not regret casting my mind forward to the future in order to get myself through another day with a one year old and a two year old. I do not regret visualizing grown-up conversations with my three year old while she threw herself face-first off a piece of furniture and cried into my arms for the third time that day. I do not regret gagging and gritting my teeth through yet another stomach bug where my vomit-covered babies required immediate hugs.

I know some people get through those days by reminding themselves that these years are short, that the baby fat turns to ribs and lean muscle. I get that. You do whatever it takes to find joy in the moment.

But for me, knowing that these years are short is exactly what got me through it, for exactly the opposite reasons. I knew there would come a time when I would be able to have a conversation at dinner with my six- and seven-year-old about Harry Potter, and we would all more or less understand what each of us were saying. One of them would no longer scream until snot fell into the dinner I spent an hour crafting, while the other refused to eat anything but salad (yes, this is a valid complaint when it is literally the only thing your always-hungry child will eat) and rubbed the rest of her food all over her body.

During that time, commands to TREASURE IT only stressed me out. Someday I'll be 35 years old, and my kids will be at school, and my dried-up womb and I will sit on the living room floor, sobbing into baby clothes. 

No.

I'm not 35 yet, but this hasn't happened. Every time I eat dinner with a mom of a very young child, and her dinner gets cold while she cuts up his food into tiny pieces, I think, "I'm so glad that's over." Every time I change the diaper of a friend's baby, I think, "I'm so glad we don't have to pay for these anymore." Every time I hear a toddler throw a fit in a store, I remember every time I had to wrestle a writhing 30 pounds of Emmy out of Target in a swirl of humiliation and think, "YES! It's not mine!"

There are things I miss, but as a whole? I'm so glad those days are over.

(this is where God decides it's time for a surprise baby, right?)
_________________________________________________________________________
Now, the other thing that stresses me out, and this one is super weird.

Coloring books.

They're supposed to relieve stress, right? No. No, I look at a coloring book in the store and I feel like I'm looking at my term paper I haven't even started that's due tomorrow. Even pictures of them on Facebook stress me out. I can barely look at this image:

I just broke out into hives.

It is the weirdest thing, and I want an explanation for it. I keep Googling things like, "Coloring books make me anxious" and, "Adult coloring books cause me more stress," and I come up with everything except an explanation. On a planet with seven billion people, I find it hard to believe that I am unique in any one area, but this might be it. I may be the only person on earth who breaks into a sweat looking at a coloring book.

I don't know if any of you are psychologists (via a legit school or Google university, I don't care), but I really want an explanation for this.

On a lighter note

Emmy has begun trying to read. A couple of months ago, she could recognize maybe five letters and would literally run away every time I cracked open a book to read to her and her sister. A couple weeks ago, she still thought all letters made the same sound that they start with. And then today, she comes up, points to the Mary Kay brochure I have sitting on my night stand, and reads, "Earn While You Learn," needing no help except with "while." I don't know how "wh" threw her off when "earn" and "learn" did not, but whatever. It's Emmy.

I've been a little nervous about her non-reading because I am reading more and more about how beneficial it is to let kids learn to read when they want to and when they are ready. For a lot of kids, this happens as late as age 7. It was no problem with Grace. She has had a book glued to her face almost from birth. But I was a little concerned that Emmy would flunk kindergarten for not being able to read. I have no concerns about her mental development, but I am a little concerned that her extreme creativity might get squashed in traditional schooling. And I REALLY don't want to homeschool, ever. If my kid clearly needed something else, I'd do it, but it's like saying I'd eat live frogs if I were starving to death.

So she's suddenly reading words like "earn" and "learn," but can't read "boat" or "cat." I think she might take the same approach to reading as she did to talking: begin with odd words, hide ability for a long time, and then profit when everyone underestimates her. I still can't figure out if she's an evil genius, or if she really does just operate on a different wavelength from the rest of us. Maybe both.

I might lose a few readers now.

I don’t typically respond to trending topics on Facebook. It’s usually because I don’t care, or I’m embarrassed that I care, or I don’t want to ruffle feathers. I like people to like me. Too much.

But this Duggar family uproar is too much. It is really too much.

Jesus forgives me, and I’ve moved on, so I don’t need to face earthly justice.

Folks, this is not biblical. Perhaps Josh Duggar is truly repentant, and perhaps he truly isn’t subject to those predilections anymore. I have no idea. But it is not okay to wait for the statute of limitations to run out before you confess your sins.

“Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good. For this is the will of God, that by doing good you should put to silence the ignorance of foolish people. Live as people who are free, not using your freedom as a cover-up for evil, but living as servants of God. Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the emperor.” 1 Peter 2:13-17

The Christian thing to do would be to turn yourself in to face justice in the courts, not run off to work with a family friend, and then tell a shady state trooper about it when you come back, and keep the whole thing under wraps as much as possible. I cannot even imagine what it would be like to learn this about your son; I hope that I would do the right thing, but I can’t guarantee it. However, my sympathy for grieving parents and a likely terrified kid doesn’t change right and wrong. It is WRONG purposefully evade justice.

Forgiveness is personal. It goes from the wronged person to the perpetrator, from God to the sinner.

The courts deal in justice. Earthly justice. Nowhere in the Bible does it say that we are to escape earthly consequences of sin just because we are sorry, and God forgives us. We are to submit to the governing authorities, unless they mandate that we sin. Can you imagine what would happen if all anyone had to do to get out of jail time was to say he was sorry, and Jesus forgave him? That would be wrong.

Yet we are closing ranks around the Duggars because… because why? Because the apology actually sounded like a real apology (It really does sound like deep regret, none of this non-apology “I’m sorry if you feel that…” nonsense)? Because the people in charge at the time “dealt” with it? Because they’re the most famous Christians we have, so we’d better present a united front?

I’m not shocked by the Duggars’ handling of this sin. (Yes, SIN. It was not a mistake. Call it what it is, for the love, especially when you are apologizing.) I might think they did it all wrong, but it doesn’t surprise me. Like I said, I can’t imagine what I would do as a parent in this situation.

But fellow Christians, we should not be rushing to comfort the perpetrator after he slips under the radar just long enough to escape the consequences. Let me be clear: Eternal consequences are God’s business; nothing is too big for him to forgive. But he commands us to obey the earthly law (and at the time that Peter was written, let’s not forget we’re talking about Christians under Roman law). Obedience to earthly law elevates God and his mercy; it does not diminish it. We do not glorify God by pretending sin is just a really bad mistake.

We glorify God by calling sin what it is and praising his ability to forgive even the most vile manifestations of it. But their actions do not “put to silence the ignorance of foolish people [or non-foolish people].” This looks a lot more like using freedom as a cover-up for evil.
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Edit: I realized after I wrote this that this might come out too much on the OTHER side of things. I have… certain opinions about the Duggars and their theology, but that aside, they are my Christian brothers and sisters. The personal issues of forgiveness and repentance are between them, the victims, and their church leaders (if they have such a network of accountability; I’m not sure). People who profess repentance and appear to be repentant should be taken at their word (although I don’t think I would have Josh Duggar babysit my children; forgiveness should not be conflated with stupidity). We shouldn’t shun people for this, especially when we know so little of the details. I am talking about the way we tend to view professing Christians who have done terrible things and equated the forgiveness of God with escape from legal justice.

You can('t) do eet!

I know I've written something along these lines before, but I just read the umpteenth nasty comment on a nice blog post about things you can do for your friend who just had a baby. I commented on it a while ago and keep meaning to unsubscribe, but then oh shiny!

It goes something like this: "I don't know what's wrong with all you people. I did all this and more after kids, and I never complained!"

This is another thing we need to stop doing.

Repeat after me: "I can do a lot of things you can't do. You can do a lot of things I can't do. Let's not scratch each other's eyes out."

Well. I might scratch your eyes out if you're good at murder, and you find me in an alley.

Here's what I'm really good at:

-Imitating a monkey call. It is loud and extremely accurate.
-Imitating various other animals' calls. Also loud, not necessarily as accurate.
-Predicting the bad guy on TV shows.
-Crossing my eyes.
-Staying awake long past the limits of normal human physiology.
-Lining things up the way they are supposed to go. NOT LIKE THAT YOU IDIOT.
-Having huge feet.
-Learning a new language. Unless it's German. I dropped out of that after 2 weeks.

I expect that every other human being on earth can and should do all of these things because I can do them.

Obviously, I'm being silly. There are real life skills that everyone should have nailed down eventually. I would never think very highly of an able-bodied 30-year-old who can't use the bathroom without assistance. But I don't think doing All the Things immediately after having a baby is one of those life skills. After Grace, I was pretty much useless. I felt like I was trying to juggle 20 hammers at once. She was 6 months old, I think, before we ever had dinner before her bedtime.

It was a totally different story after Emmy. I was able to do just about everything that needed to be done after having her. At no point did I look back at my brand new mom self and say, "You were such a lazy complainer. You could have done so much better." No. Because I couldn't have.

I've been on both sides. I'm sure there are women who use their new-momness as an excuse to be lazy. But most of us just do whatever we're capable of at that moment. So stop being a jerk.

Tough Mudder

Did I ever mention that I signed up for the Tough Mudder? Well, I did. It’s in September. It’s at 10,000 feet. Now, I live almost a mile up, so it’s not like a shore-dweller doing a ten-mile obstacle course at 10,000 feet, but it’s still going to be brutal. What was I thinking?

I actually wake up in a panic over this occasionally. Usually it’s after a weekend of slacking on my shoulder PT.

I did that this past weekend. I skipped the exercises on Saturday and on Monday. On Saturday we were busy, and it had been raining all week, so I hated the world/napped with every free minute. Monday was again very busy, and by the end of it I just wanted my bed.

I have four resistance band exercises that I do on each side, 3 sets of 15; I do two types every day. There are two other optional (but immensely helpful) ones that I have to do at the gym. They require the lat pull-down machine, a stability ball, and a platform.

I hate them because I’ve been doing them three times a week for two years.

I hate them because they are tedious.

I hate them because the nature of my shoulder issues means I will never actually progress in them; I will always and forever use the green resistance band, and 3 sets of 15 will always and forever be uncomfortable and hard.

I hate them because I know I have to do them all three times per week until I die or stop caring about being able to use my shoulders and arms at all.

Mostly, I hate them because they look like old lady exercises, and I feel kind of stupid doing them.

With the lat machine, it’s not even a full pull-down. I grip the bar above my head and then pull my shoulder blades down and together. It looks like I’m a really weak person who is in denial about the amount of weight she can pull down. This is because, given the chance, my shoulder blades would slide all the way around my body and become protective chest plates.

The stability ball push-ups are even more super fun. Fun in the extreme. Fun like getting punched in the face. I put a stability ball on the corner of a platform and then attempt push-ups while squeezing the sides of the ball with my hands. It’s incredibly difficult, but it looks wussy. I know this because there are mirrors everywhere in the room where I do these push-ups, mirrors of mockery. It makes me want to force everyone in there with me to try them with me while I laugh.

(Yes, I know none of you strong people notice me; a tiny yet vocal part of me knows even harder that you are all laughing at me).

So I skipped those all weekend. You’d think just a few days wouldn’t make a big difference, right? Nope. Everything is weaker. I’m at half strength for some of the weights I regularly lift. I accept this for the exercises that require shoulder stability. But even my grip is worse. If you look at your arm and grab something tightly, you will notice that all the gripping muscles are far removed from the shoulder muscles, so please explain that to me.

Anyway, all this to say that I am a little apprehensive about this Tough Mudder thing. This doesn't mean I don’t want to do it. I do. A LOT. But I definitely need more motivation with the shoulder exercises. It doesn't take long to catch back up, but I need to get strongER for this thing, not just stay where I am. So here are a few ideas for every day that I do them:

1. My children clean their room without complaining.
2. The dishes wash themselves.
3. My lawn dies so it never has to be mowed again.
4. Fairies give me a dollar.
5. Fairies give me wine.

I’m sure none of these will be counterproductive at all, so help me make it happen.

I swear I don't have a (consistent) favorite

I went back through a couple years' of Facebook posts the other day. I started just to make sure my last post didn't show me for a complete hypocrite, but then I got sucked in to the memories. It's 75% Emmy doing something bizarre, 20% Grace saying something disturbing/weirdly adult, and 15% me blundering around like an idiot. Grace will think she is the less favored child someday (sweetie, I swear you're not; it's just that you're not entertaining fodder most of the time). If there's ever an archive feature to Facebook, and if I ever want to resurrect the person I was 5, 10, 15 years ago.

I don't.

It's weird how I look back at things I've said, thought, written just a few years ago and always think, "Wow. I was stupid/mean/judgy/not funny." Sometimes all of those.

I think part of the reason I don't write much anymore is that I don't have much to say that translates well to the blog format. I can be funny in the moment, or if I have a topic, but writing just to write is hard for me now.

I used to try to make complaining funny, but most of the time it isn't anymore. It just sounds whiny to me. The things I have to complain about, I mean. Many of you have Real Things going on. That's what this space is for. My life is by no means perfect, but complaining about it sometimes seems like the equivalent of a robust American telling a room full of Eritreans that he's "starving."

(this doesn't mean I don't complain, ever; it just seems narcissistic to make a whole entry about the mildly inconvenient road construction going on in our neighborhood)

So, back to Facebook. I had NO IDEA how weird Emmy seems, until I re-remembered her only through status updates. She is super weird, for sure, but nothing that will land her in a home when she's an adult (*please oh please oh please*). But to read about her only through me, you would think she did nothing but shout random words in between chewing carpet and falling down stairs.

Emmy is surprisingly clever. I know this because I catch her hiding it. On purpose.

One of her preschool teachers told me last fall that she can read a few (small) words and has memorized several of the storybooks at school. I told her I didn't even think Emmy knew the names and sounds of most of her letters ("Emmy, what does double-u say?" *blank stare* "...Du-?"). Ever since, I've been waiting and waiting for this ability to appear at home, and it didn't... until we bought a lift-the-flap dinosaur book, and all of a sudden she is all about reading that to me. It's obvious she's been hiding it because she knows it means she'll be expected to do things. In order to get full access to this amazing book, she knows she has to sit with me and read it.

(I'm sure she showed her cards sooner at school because she's in love with one of the teachers and will do anything to gain her favor.)

When she was a toddler, everyone at church thought she couldn't talk. We would swear that she could, and just wouldn't away from home, but it was getting to the point where it was like, "The W's are in denial. Should we maybe have a gentle talk with them?" But because Emmy didn't talk, people would just do things for her. She was fat and cute and scowly (in a cute way). Of course you want to give her snacks.

So one day in the nursery, one of the little girls had lost her cup. Emmy was off in a corner by herself hoarding some toys or whittling a shiv. They were looking all over for several minutes while she was completely silent (as usual). Finally, in exasperation, she turned around, pointed to a high shelf across the room and said, "It's RIGHT there!" and went back to playing.

Girl is wily, is all I'm saying. She's manic pixie adorable preschooler on the outside, but mad scientist on the inside. I think realistically the only thing I can hope for is that she doesn't explode something important someday.

Stupid People

Other people are stupid. I walk around, convinced of my smartness. I am better. I am smarter. I never text while wandering aimlessly down a sidewalk. I drive around. I am clever. I use my turn signal. I am considerate of other drivers. I am better.

Oops. I pulled out in front of you. It's an anomaly. This is not the kind of driver that I am. I almost never do stupid things. I am conscientious. I care about other people. You are stupid. I just make the rare mistake.

No.

People, no.

We are all stupid, and we are all jerks. A lot of the time. Please stop posting on Facebook about how stupid everyone else is. You're a jerk, and I'm a jerk, and we're all stupid a lot of the time. We ask forgiveness or shyly duck our heads as we slink behind the person we cut off.

Just stop it. This is humanity.

Night and Day

I had my first parent-teacher conference with Grace's teacher. Unfortunately, I had to bring Emmy.

 The conference starts with what they call a "student-led conference," which was actually a binder-led conference, where I read the directions and looked in Grace's notebook for her. She's a smart kid, but initiative is not her strong suit. I would ask her the questions I was supposed to ask her, and she would stare at me blankly. 

"Grace, what leadership duties do you have in class?" 

*blink* *blink* 

"Is there something you're supposed to lead?" 

*blink*

"Do you have a job in the classroom?"

"Ooooh! Yes. I put the pencils away"

She gets this from her father. 

He has Rainman-level abilities to store and retrieve information, but if I do not phrase something in exactly the correct way, he cannot understand me. It has been the root of many an argument in this household. It's gotten better. I have learned that this is the way he functions; he has learned to at least *try* to hear what I was thinking, and not what I actually said. It's been a slow process. 

Did you ever play the old King's Quest games, or any like them? You know, where you're locked in a dungeon and you have to come up with exactly the correct words and sequence of actions to pick the stupid key out of the pile of straw and unlock the door? If you type "lock" instead of "keyhole," too bad! The guard has noticed you trying to escape and now you are dead. This is what it is like to live with Jeremy and Grace. Minus the executions.

While this is happening, Emmy is doing the potty dance. We live one minute away. In the hour before we leave, she knows we are leaving soon and has free access to our fine bathroom. But of course, the moment we get into the school, there is a bladder emergency. How could we possibly have foreseen this? Ms. M, Grace's teacher, recognizes the situation and offers to take her to the bathroom for me. 

Grace and I continue through her binder. Grace meets all her goals. Grace is performing well. Grace burps rainbows. Ms. M comes back with Emmy, looking a bit incredulous. "She was singing the whole time!"

"Yes, it's probably part of a musical from her native planet."

"I thought she was taking a while, so I went in, and there she was, singing away with the water running!"

I imagine there was a complete story structure to go with it, along with some dance moves. This kind of thing no longer surprises me.

We sit down, and immediately Emmy begins to mess with everything. I tell her to sit still, and she gets her legs tangled in the table and chair.

"Grace sits well in class." "Grace listens."

Emmy falls on the floor. I send her to retrieve my keys and our jackets that we left at the other table.

"Grace is polite and compliant." "Grace loves to read."

Emmy spells everything G-Q-U-R-C-X.

"Grace understands easily, but she cries a lot when frustrated."

Emmy is tangled in the chair again.

Everything with Grace is going pretty well. We commiserate over the problem of her looking and sounding so much older than she is, yet still having the emotions of a kindergartner. Emmy begins to writhe in agony from sitting still(ish) for three minutes.

We get up to go, and I say thank you. I pat Emmy on her bobbing head. "You might have this one next year!" I say, and walk off. What a lucky woman Ms. M. is.

Neurosis!

Remember how I don't sleep, and Ambien changed my life? The Ambien stopped working slowly over the last year. Around the same time, my anxiety went from constant but barely there to constant but much stronger, though not what I would call severe. 

No reason. Life is good, on all different kinds of levels. All of the major stressors that contribute to anxiety have either diminished in the last year or vanished completely. For instance, our house sold, and our kids are getting more likable and less needy. I can say with some confidence that this is probably the best part of my life that I can ever remember. But I am cranky, always on edge. The people I love most bear the brunt of it, of course. That's how these things go. So I don't sleep at night, and I'm always lashing out or keeping myself from lashing out, and there is no reason for it. 

I have never been much of a worrier. I have a constant sense of dread hanging over me, but it's not about anything specific. It's like the tense background music in a horror movie. That is the soundtrack of my brain. I don't lie awake at night worrying about things that actually worry me. It's weird things that keep me awake at night. Sometimes I become convinced that the kids are up and walking around. I often feel a child climbing into bed when there's no one there. I woke up one night and gaped at the wall for a long time because it was rippling like the surface of a lake. 

When worry does keep me awake, it's over stuff that doesn't bother the real me. Like, I will never finish this book before it's due at the library. Or, Grace didn't get a birthday party this year. When will she start killing small animals? Or even, Jeremy has a secret girlfriend. They're not latent worries that surface only at night (then I would lie awake worrying about that stupid thing I said yesterday, and now my best friend will hate me). They are lies my brain cooks up because it hates me and wants me to become crazy. I often imagine it as Krang.

I hate it when people tell me not to worry when I say that I'm a bit anxious. Worry is just one possible symptom. My biggest symptom used to be avoidance or procrastination. If I pretend a responsibility is not there, it doesn't exist. It was easy when we had no kids, and I could get away with writing papers the week or night before they were due. It's harder now to flee responsibility, make up for it in a furious burst of sleep deprivation and coffee, and then go about my regular day again. 

No, now I have to be kind to two souls who believe their wants and needs always trump mine. In college, I got far less sleep, but the bar for functioning was far lower. I could nap between classes, and the only people I had to interact with were my professors. They did not follow me home. I did not have to tenderly clean their faces minutes after they had thrown food on my clean floor. They were not necessarily less irritating or more empathetic, but they could give me Fs. My kids can't give me Fs. Well, they can, but they would be scrawled in Post-Its in three-inch letters and usually backwards, thereby lacking a certain gravity.

Avoidance worked for a long time, and then I had a tiny, helpless person, and that wasn't going to work anymore. I kind of got used to that after being a mom for a few years, but the insomnia got worse. Then the urge to snap at everyone started putting a damper on my hopes and dreams of my kids not becoming serial killers. So Ambien! Ambien to the rescue! I became a new person after a couple weeks of good sleep. Then in the last year it slowly stopped working, and I was back to square one.

I talked to my doctor. She went through all the standard questions with me (Do you exercise? Do you smoke? Do you drink? Do you have friends? Are you a worthless layabout looking for an easy solution when really your lifestyle is horrible, and you make bad chocies?) and suggested buspirone. I have never heard of it before. She said it was not a heavy hitter, but that people who do respond to it respond well. 

I came home from the pharmacy, took my first dose, and proceeded to be nice to my kids for the rest of the day. I looked it up and read that it's supposed to take 4-6 weeks to begin working. I was sure it was just a placebo effect, but then I continued to not be angry in stupid situations where only a jerk (like me) would be angry. There were also other things I didn't expect, like the ability to remember. My memory hasn't been this sharp since before I had kids. I can memorize piano music again, and I haven't lost my keys even once in the last month and a half. I am able to focus instead of slogging my way through a haze of distraction.

I slept well for a couple of weeks, but I'm not again. Not all the time. However, on days after I haven't slept well, I'm just tired. I don't want to hiss and growl at every little thing. I still enjoy life even when I'm tired. 

Also, part of the reason I don't sleep well is that our mattress is made of horrible, and Jeremy twitches around like a 190-pound rodent. I wonder if there's a drug for that.

I love cars

Sometimes I wish we lived back in a time and place when it was uncommon for people to go anywhere except on foot. I mean, dysentery and not being able vote are both less than ideal, but imagine if shopping were situated close enough for walking. No car? No problem! If you've never had gangrene and an amputation.

With the money we have spent fixing our cars in the last six months, we probably could have bought a whole new vehicle (but an old enough vehicle that it would need repairs of its own soon). It's hot enough here lately that our car can't keep up cooling the engine. I ride around with the windows down and the heat on. To complete the picture: we are also missing three hub caps. It's my childhood on repeat. To be fair to me, we have cars with windows that actually roll down, and I don't have to keep a fire extinguisher on the passenger seat to put out the engine when it starts on fire (yes, that is a real thing that happened, and when I was 5 I thought it was TOTALLY NORMAL).

And the alternator on our van just broke. It's like the lottery of awesome. If you are our local mechanic.

On a positive note, we just paid off the last of one of our student loans that was costing us $100/month.

On the other hand, if we hadn't paid that off, fixing both cars would not be a problem at all.

On the other hand, yay for less debt.

If one of my children ever wants to go to college for 8 years, she had better become something where earning lots of money is involved.

Bees will buzz! Kids will blow dandelion fuzz!

I love it when I save something as a draft, and it disappears. I have started at least five entries over the last couple of months, decided to come back to them later, and then realized that I just previewed it instead of saving as a draft. I'm smarter than I look.

What has been happening here? Summer! Summertime! That has been happening. You can tell I'm happy because my house isn't as clean as my anxiety usually forces me to keep it. Sorry about the doll tied up in the corner. It's not what it looks like. I don't know what it actually is, but Emmy was cooing lovingly at it yesterday, so I assume it's nothing sinister.

Summer turns me into Olaf, with the singing and everything. The hotter it gets, the happier I am. I like to walk outside and feel like I'm getting smothered in the face by a pillow made of fusion reaction. I like to play in the pool and not freeze to death when I get out. I like for all the grass to die so I don't have to mow it. I love summer. I literally twirled in the parking lot the other day because it was freezing inside church, and when I walked out, all of my molecules came to life with glee. I had to twirl. It was imperative.

But yes, about the cleaning. I mean, we don't live in squalor. But I couldn't care less if the table is messy, unless we're actually eating dinner. And I don't mind pulling clean clothes out of the dryer for a few days instead of my dresser. And if it's not going to infect anyone, who needs to mop the floor constantly?

The only drawback is that the second we have a cloudy day, I'm back to neurotically scrubbing everything. I guess it gives me something to do when twirling isn't an option.

Speaking of which, I'm back to being interested in working out. Most of the winter, it's just a thing that I do that I don't particularly love, but you do it because that's how I stay mentally healthy. I have good weeks and bad, but a lot of it is just doing what I'm supposed to do. I floss so my gums don't wither. I brush so my teeth don't fall out of my head. I work out so I don't hate myself and you and everything.

But now I'm back at it with zeal, and I feel great, and I'm looking for new fun things to do.

This brings me to my next point:

I blame Pinterest. When I first joined Pinterest, I grabbed a couple of these workouts for myself because they looked like something I could easily do at home with an odd minute here and there. And then they multiplied and infested Pinterest like a colony of smug, muscular rabbits.

I do a lot of these things in my various workouts, and my belly is neither flat nor capable of killing things. It does a lot for me. It digests food. It supports me when I sit or stand. It connects my legs to my heart, which I'm pretty happy about. But if I think it will ever look like these pictures, I am just setting myself up for extreme disappointment.

So I stopped pinning them. Maybe I will start making my own text-superimposed-on-belly workout ideas. Perhaps with a taco in one hand and a beer in the other.

Let It Go

Okay, so "Let It Go" was not my favorite song in Frozen. For one thing, it sounds like it's written about a step and a half too high for Menzel; she has a fabulously powerful voice, but the vocal strain on the higher notes makes me wince. But for another, it doesn't seem to be about what everyone thinks it's about. THIS IS NOT A HAPPY SONG, folks. This is something that has been driving me crazy.

Elsa's character has lived in stifling isolation for years and years, fearful of her magic and what might happen if she made one wrong move. So, in that sense, it's a step toward happiness; she's no longer living under that immense pressure. But she's not there yet.

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight/ Not a footprint to be seen/ A kingdom of isolation,/ And it looks like I’m the queen.

That sounds more like bitter resignation to me. "I can only be queen if I'm cut off from society."

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside/ Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see/ Be the good girl you always have to be/ Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know/ Well, now they know

This is a good(ish) step. We know that fear of her gift is what makes it so wildly uncontrollable. So she's given up hiding it, but only by running off to a mountain by herself instead of taking on her responsibilities as queen and by breaking the heart of her only remaining family member.

Let it go, let it go/ Can’t hold it back anymore/ Let it go, let it go/ Turn away and slam the door

This reminds me of nothing so much as a rebellious teen fleeing authoritarian parents. It might be good that she's escaped, but that doesn't mean her actions are commendable.

I don’t care/ What they’re going to say/ Let the storm rage on,/ The cold never bothered me anyway

It’s funny how some distance/ Makes everything seem small/ And the fears that once controlled me/ Can’t get to me at all

It’s time to see what I can do/ To test the limits and break through/ No right, no wrong, no rules for me/ I’m free

This is not freedom. She's free only so long as she's alone. That sounds like another sort of prison to me. I do not believe this is accidental on the songwriters' parts. She's on a trajectory that can't be sustained. There's a reason this is in the middle of the story, not the end. If this were the happy ending, the place where she should end up, the movie would end here. But it's not. She clearly needs people, especially her sister. Without that, how long would it be before bitterness and eventually hatred set in? Perhaps even a desire for vengeance against the people who drove her away?

Let it go, let it go/ I am one with the wind and sky/ Let it go, let it go/ You’ll never see me cry

Here I stand/ And here I'll stay/ Let the storm rage on

My power flurries through the air into the ground/ My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around/ And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast/ I’m never going back,/ The past is in the past

This sounds like denial. She's reveling in her power and telling herself that all the other things--her beloved sister, her kingdom--don't matter. The rest of the movie proves that's not true.

Let it go, let it go/ And I'll rise like the break of dawn/ Let it go, let it go/ That perfect girl is gone

Here I stand/ In the light of day/ Let the storm rage on,/ The cold never bothered me anyway

More denial.

Elsa only becomes free when she turns back and reaches out to her sister in love instead of fear. This song is about false freedom. It's at the midway point for a reason. It's the height of a crisis. It's the beginning for Elsa, but it's certainly not the end.

No, my favorite song is "In Summer." Especially when Emmy traipses around the house singing, "A drink in my hand, my snow up against the burning sand/Prob'ly getting gorgeously tanned in summer." The mental imagery is hilarious.