The Key to Happiness is Under a Different Stone.

I haven’t posted here in a long time. Partly due to not having time, partly because I forgot about this, but mostly because I haven’t felt particularly inspired. That’s not to say nothing has happened in my life in years, it’s been quite busy; it more points to nothing notable having happened in a long time. Until today. I  learned a lot about happiness and fulfillment. The kind of happiness I never considered. The search for that happiness. The importance of it.

Sigh… happiness, the ubiquitous virtue, more deeply sought after than money, more misunderstood than calculus.. happiness is subjective and messy. Happiness causes more sadness than a homeless puppy and brings more joy than a box of fluffy kittens. But we are doing it wrong. Happiness is the key we insert upside down and jiggle haphazardly until something happens. It never seems to open the right doors and now I know why:

We simply turned the wrong stone over to find it.  

For so long, people have walked around erroneously thinking: “If I obtain _____, then I will be happy”, “If they would only _____I would be happy”, “If only I could just ______, I would be happy.” NO. That just isn’t it. And it has been said a million times over but it’s true, happiness comes from within. But then the phrase ends. No more clues on how to make it happen, no protips or happiness hacks, just…. start there somehow and wing it.

Today, I met a woman while I was out, chatty little thing who continued on and on in a self-inflating, blissfully unaware sort of way. She went on and on about she is getting a bigger house, she makes great money, her over-privileged children are getting hundreds of dollars in Christmas gifts and they aren’t even out of grade school. How she doesn’t want her precious children going to a certain school because she heard Section 8 housing was going up in its district and she doesn’t want to “deal with the riff-raff”.

I was annoyed then actually a little angry. She had taken no time to even consider the sight of me shrinking into my chair a little lower, my adverted gaze, my comments about how I would love to do those things but I simply work too much and don’t have the money. She continued on asking if my kids did popular after school sports that require both time AND money and dug into me as if she enjoyed being able to do the things I couldn’t. As douchey as it was, it made me realize one important thing: she was smiling, but she wasn’t happy.

Me? I’m happy. I have little money, a full (and then some) time job, two lovely but demanding children/demons at home and a dog that refuses to be housebroken. I trudge through the week waiting for my every-other-weekend break when my demons/children are at their dad’s house and I can be an individual. I have an emotional breakdown weekly, cry for sport and my anxiety kicks me in the teeth every chance it gets. BUT SOMEHOW, I’m happy.

It’s possible to be happy and look sad, be broke, be tired and stressed. I do it all the time. I do it because I found it properly, and when you do that, it sticks with you. Like crash dieting vs. slowly losing weight, I guess. Here’s what I’ve picked up:

  • He/she/they should never make you happy. First off, that’s a huge burden to place on someone’s shoulders. Instead, he/she/they need to *make you want to be happy*. A good friend/partner isn’t going to do the work for you, they are going to make you want to do the work for yourself.
  • THINGS DON’T MAKE YOU HAPPY. They don’t. Trust me, I’ve tried. I shopped away a lot of feelings and you know not one of those things bring me joy. Metaphorically, the clutter of those things I bought because I thought they would make me happy causes more far more stress than they ever did happiness. Stop trying to buy your happiness, you’ll only be broke with a messy house.
  • Your happiness will never actually come at the expense of someone else’s. It might feel a scootch good to brag about your stuff, your house, that yacht your husband’s family owns that you take selfies on and post for accolades. Continuing to raise yourself up by lowering everyone else is going to eventually catch up to you and when you fall to the level you placed your peers, it could get ugly.

I guess the point is, we are looking for happiness in all the wrong places. We are trusting people and things to make us happy for us instead of putting the work in ourselves. We surround ourselves with yes-men instead of finding people who make us want to be better versions of ourselves and it just isn’t working anymore. We are misers and entitled. We are the microwave generation and we need to learn it’s time to do work.

Perhaps next time I post here it will be more light-hearted and less preachy. It won’t seem like I’m some enlightened tool who tried Ayahuasca in college and knows the secrets of the universe. Or maybe not. Who knows?

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Nina Needs to NO.

I hate, hate, hate the show “Nina needs to Go“. It’s a new show on Disney Junior. Every time I see it, it makes me want to stick that id in a corner for a year for being a brat.

HOW MANY TIMES ARE WE GOING TO GO THROUGH THIS, NINA?

I ask you if you have to go, you say no, then 5 minutes later you interrupt our family outing for the bathroom? I don’t think so.

And thanks for the Super Nana, character, too. Now the kids thing some old lady is going to break I don’t even KNOW how many rules to get them to a bathroom.

Maybe the kid needs to see a urologist.

My Dirty Laundry.

I had a bout of “Idontgiveashititis” that lasted far longer than it should have. Well, this morning, I kinda got my crap together and decided to get some things done. One of those things happened to be laundry (ew.). As I started the massive amount of kid laundry, I realized one thing: I HAVE 4 EFFING LOADS OF KID LAUNDRY TO DO. WTF.

FOURRRR.

I have two tiny kids.

Here’s what I took from that:

  • My kids have entirely too many clothes
  • I’m a lazy POS for amassing 4 loads of kid laundry before actually washing them
  • Doing kid laundry sucks.

Ok, I kinda already knew that last one, but a day full of tiny socks and shirts/pants that needed to be turned inside out (and you KNOW it’s like, impossible to fit an arm in those tiny cloth tubes) really solidified the point.

It took pretty much all day. Hours later, I’ve got all the kids laundry done and I’m 3 loads in on my and hubby’s clothes (that’s another story). Moral of the story here: Stop being a POS and do the effing laundry.

So that was my day.

‘So Now What?’

ha

Let me tell you something. That’s got to be one of my least favorite questions in the entire world. Most recently, because it’s all Haley has to ask for my head to explode. Generally though, it’s a lame question signaling to me that you can’t figure your own shit out.

Haley won’t just ask for what she wants. Rarely will she just ask for juice or for more or to be excused or anything it’s always “So…. Now what?” And my head explodes.

Dinnertime:
Haley: “Mommy, I’m all done with my dinner….” (at this point, I know she wants to be excused)
Me: “Yeah. I see that. And?”
Haley: “… annnnnd… I’m all done……. So now what?….’
Me, head exploding: “WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHAT HAPPENS EVERY NIGHT AFTER YOU’RE DONE WITH DINNER?”
Haley: “Oh. Well. I put my plate in the sink and get excused.”
Me, defeated: “WELL IF YOU KN–….. ugh just go do it.”

EVERY. DAMN. TIME.

Like, if you know what should happen, just ask for it.

Lunchtime:
I gave her two chips, one for each hand and then…
Haley: “Mommy? I finished both chips.”
Me: “Yeah? And?”
Haley: “So…. Now what?”
Me: “DO YOU WANT SOMETHING? JUST ASK FOR ITTTT!”
Haley: “Oh. Yeah. Can I have another chip please?”

REALLY?!

I don’t know why, but it’s just one of those things…

Priorities.

There are several things that go through the average mother’s mind when she hears her child scream. Usually. Unless you’re me.
When I hear one my girls shrieking from the other room, my brain goes into ‘priority mode’. It actually amazes me how quickly my brain can analyze the type of scream. Then, of course, based off of the analysis, I determine the priority level, then decide if I’m even really going to do anything about it. It’s kind of like when moms know the specific cries of their newborns.

The single scream: priority level 5 : from Haley: Harper is existing near her, from Harper: something inanimate isn’t moving out of the way or Haley is existing hear her, in general: someone’s not sharing something.
Action: fight to the death.

Harper’s extended scream of doom: priority level 3: Harper has something she probably shouldn’t and Haley is looking at her.
Action: yell for them to stop since that scream will not end itself.

Haley’s extended scream of doom: priority level 4 (if followed by crying, priority level 2): this one is a gamble. The scream alone probably means Harper is standing, sitting, or jumping on Haley and it’s annoying her. If followed by a cry, she’s probably actually hurt.
Action: yelling ‘knock it off’ should do the trick, unless there is crying.. crying means I need to investigate.

Screaming in unison: priority level 5: they’re fighting over something.
Action: nah.

THAT scream: priority level 1: you know what I’m talking about. That one scream that means bad is happening. Someone’s hurt. Hurt or stuck. If it’s Harper, I will probably end up either laughing or crying. If it’s Haley, bad is happening. OR her sister took one of her coveted stuffed animals/her blanket because that shit is no joke. Or she’s hurt.
Action: time to go in and laugh, cry, or lay down the law.

There is a lot of wiggle room. Judgments are passed, decisions made, actions executed, but at the end of the day, these general guidelines seem to be pretty accurate. Again, when amazes me is the fact that my brain cycles through all of this each tome one of those little monkeys screams… no wonder I’m so freaking tired at the end of the day!

 

#REALTALK: Double D’s… An Inner (but important) Rambling

**This is pretty long, but worth it.. If you don’t make it to the end for whatever reason, just know that down there, I ask you to share this post (I don’t care if you share the whole blog, just this one post) because it was hard for me to write, and I want to know that someone, somewhere is benefitting from it. **

I have been meaning to do a post about depression and diabetes for quite some time now, but I just haven’t really had the time. Since I can’t seem to sleep, it seems like I’ve found some.

A really big part of diabetes is the blood sugar (checking, monitoring and the always prevalent “YOU CAN’T EAT THAT”), but there’s another part that people who don’t live with the D seem to pass by: depression.

Think about it, diabetes is a disease of the endocrine system. The endocrine system controls a whole host of hormones and functions. As a matter of fact, if my sugar is too high or too low, I’m completely horrid. Like AWFUL. Cranky, whiney, tantrum-y, and just a plain ol’ bitch (yeah, I admit it.).

There are some times when I’m on a high trend and I just get straight up drepressed. Then, of course, I eat my feelings (and let’s be honest, no one gets sad and eats kale amiright?!) and my numbers get higher (therefore getting deeper into depression) and there you have it! A vicious cycle brought on by too much candy (the depression, not the ‘beetus) that I then have to suffer and break myself.

Coming completely clean, I admit that I tried taking an anti-depressant to try to calm the depression down (this was a few months back) so that I had a fighting chance at fixing the whole thing. You know what? It didn’t work. I know that different things work for different people and all, but I’m pretty convinced that because this was from my sugar, medicine wasn’t going to fix it.

Eventually I broke that whole cycle and started getting things back to normal… But every once in a while, depression starts knocking at the door and I have to shove it off all over again. Watching, I have noticed that this seems to happen whenever I deicde that my numbers aren’t important to check anymore and eat whatever I want. (see what I’m getting at?)

There are a lot of other things that go on inside the mind of someone with the D, and I mean, I can only speak from a young person’s point of view here. I know that, at least for me, the hard time losing weight has always been one of them. Diabetes makes it a little harder to lose weight, and a lot of the oral meds for diabetes make it even harder on top of that. Throw in a slow thyroid (a common problem for diabetics) and have a lot stacked against you. I’m not making excuses here, guys, anything is possible!

Continuing on with my unabashed honesty (I’m chalking this up to the fact that I am exhausted) I have always struggled with weight. The demon in my closet steps on the scale A LOT. It sometimes will remind me how much weight I’ve gained since starting this medicine, randomly in the middle of the day. It comes into the dressing room with me at Old Navy and we try on clothes together (it judges). I hear it’s great friends with my on-again-off again-pal, Depression.

Lastly, don’t forget that people with diabetes get to deal with having some life-long, pain in the ass disease for the rest of their lives! Not to be dramatic or anything… but it’s kinda true. Although you should never let your disease get the best of you, some days it wakes up a little earlier than you and has an extra cup of coffee or something, and just gets a leg up on your spirit for the day, that’s totally normal. 

Is this me coming out as a basket case all over the internet? Heck no. This is me trying to give some people some insight into what goes on inside other people’s minds. Not everyone is willing to share. I’m not even sure I’M willing to share!

Think of this as a Cliff Notes for Diabetics, an, Everything you may not have read about on WebMD about the disease kinda thing.

Share this. Share it with everyone you know. Share it with people who have diabetic friends and family members, people married to diabetics, shit, share this with diabetics themselves and hope it encourages them to share what their demons do and say.

I’m sharing all of this uncharacteristally personal dribble with you guys in the hope that I can help you. Even if I help you help someone else. It’s better than being miserable for nothing.

This isn’t a cry for help, it’s a cry to help.

Dear Children,

Dear children,

If you cold read, I probably wouldn’t post this….

I have here, a list of things I would LOVE to tell you two little… darlings, but won’t because it will either break your baby hearts OR I simply can’t find a way to say it without cursing at you… Mommy loves you.

1. I DON’T WANT TO KISS YOU WHILE I’M ON THE TOILET. This is pretty self explanatory. Mommy’s “potty time” is already compromised by the fact that I can’t go to the bathroom in peace. Please do not open the door, come up to me, try to kiss me, then scream at me when I don’t want to kiss and poop at the same time (yes, mommies poop, too.)

2. YOU KNOW WHAT’S NOT CUTE? WAKING MY UP BY WHINING. Sorry, babies. I love you and all and there’s nothing that I would (theoretically) love more than to wake up to your cute little faces in the morning. But that horrid screech-whine hybrid noise that comes from your face-hole at whatever-o-clock in the morning just kills it for me. Be silent until I’ve had my coffee.

3. I JUST DON’T WANT TO SHARE WITH YOU. MINE, MINE, MINE. Go away when I’m eating, on the computer, drinking from my water bottle, or sneaking a snack. It’s bad enough that I guilt myself for stealing chocolate covered pretzels in general… don’t draw attention to it! My snack. And lunch? No, kids, I fed you already… Hit the road.

4. SURE IT WAS CUTE THE FIRST TIME, IT’S JUST ANNOYING NOW. Okay, it was kind of cute when you spun yourselves dizzy, flipped over the couch, and hung upside down in a weird-ass head stand thing, but let it go. I just can’t fake interest that long.

5. IT’S TRUE. I REALLY CAN’T WAIT TO DROP YOU OFF SOMEWHERE AND DO NOTHING…. WITHOUT YOU. I mean I love you.. so, so, so much and I always will. But holy Christ, you guys are just too much sometimes. I’ll say it, sometimes I just want to drop you off somewhere and sit in the house and do nothing.

If these little confessions (and trust me, there are the little ones, you KNOW there are others) make me a mean or bad mommy, then so be it… but I’m sure I’m not the only one. I love you little turds, but sometimes you make me want to hide in a corner for days at a time (that’s not weird).