Made in Richmond

I would like to say that I’ve been off doing lots of fabulous and fantastic things but…well…I’ve just kinda been doing…stuff. My “thing”, I guess you could say.

Highlights:

Having dance parties.

Watching Tim Riggins. I mean, Friday Night Lights. Oh, who am I kidding, it’s all about Tim Riggins. Think Jordan Catalano but taller and in cowboy boots sometimes. And not a total douchebag.

Making feltboards (and accompanying accessories) for JR.

Reading A Game of Thrones. YES IT IS FANTASY WHAT OF IT.

Writing about depression (yes, AGAIN, I am such a buzzkill)

Watching every version of The Real Housewives (or as Ross calls it “Real Women Yelling At Each Other”).

—

What have you been up to?

JR and I came home from errands this morning to a strange kerfuffle happening in our pantry.

A kerfuffle of the feathery sort.

Yes. There was a BIRD in my HOUSE. A black, winged, gross bird who alternated between perching on the pineapple tucked away in the corner and flapping frantically into our windows with his death beak ready to kill me and my child.

(I have a thing about birds. I love them on pillows and curtains and bags. But they scare the bejeezus out of me in real life.)

Being the wonderfully calm and collected parent that I am, I hollered at JR to get upstairs and go into his room and play with his blocks, so help me God. Then I called my husband. My husband who was nestled all snug in his bird-free office, undoubtedly thinking to himself “Isn’t it awesome how if there were a bird in my house right now, I totally wouldn’t have to deal with it? My life is great!”

So we talked.

“Hi.”

“So there’s a bird in the house.”

“What?”

“A BIRD in the HOUSE. In the pantry.”

“How did it get in there?”

“I have no idea, but what do I do.”

“How big is it? Like a baby bird or a bird like as big as your head?”

“It’s probably half the size of my head, but it’s still bigger than any bird I would like to have in my house.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’d prefer to have no birds in your house?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re going to have to open the windows and then swoop it out of there with the broom.

“What.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t I just open the door and wait for it to find its way out?”

“No, birds are dumb.”

“Ok, here I go. I’ll call you when it’s gone. Or when my eyes have been pecked out.”

“Bye!”

(I wish I were making that conversation up. Oh how I wish I were, that my husband, upon hearing the distress in my voice, would have booked it home to help me deal with our wildlife situation, but alas, no.)

Because I am me, I immediately thought he was wrong about the front door thing, and I opened it up. But I grabbed the broom because I can follow some directions.

And then I just stood there. As the bird kept slamming his dumb head into our pantry windows, down the hall from the open front door.

I moved out on to the porch. With the broom. I stood there some more, hoping a kind passerby would see me and come to my rescue. A few folks did walk by but they didn’t help. Probably because I didn’t say anything to them. Apparently a haggard woman clutching a broom on her front porch doesn’t communicate “Excuse me, kind sir, would you be willing to come inside and help with a bird removal?”

Eventually I went back inside and did my best bird talk.

“Psssst. Bird! Cheep cheep! Tweet! Over here!”

He was unimpressed.

After about 15 minutes of this, I decided one of two things was going to happen 1) the bird was going to get brave and venture out into the rest of my house, forcing me to move away forever or 2) it was going to eventually kill itself slamming its aforementioned dumb head into the glass, and then I’d have to deal with a DEAD bird in my house. Ew.

So I did the only thing that made sense: I wrapped myself up in Ross’s Eagle Scout blanket. Because a knit blanket is impervious to a frightened bird’s beak.

With a deep breath and silent prayer, I went in. Moving faster than I ever thought possible, I got the window open and high-tailed it out of there. A few seconds later, the bird completed one more (and extra dramatic, in my opinion) lap around the pantry before flying out of the window.

And then I spent the next 15 minutes cleaning up the bird shit he left all over the counter, floors, and windows.

Happy Friday, everyone.

I had a follow-up appointment with my doctor today — just over four weeks since I took that initial first step to get things back on track with my brain and all. Since it was time to check in with him, I figured it was time to check in with you all, too (since the comments, emails, phone calls, and text messages I got following that post showed me that I am, in fact not alone in this).

I’m feeling good. That heavy feeling is gone, most of the time, and I feel like a fog has definitely lifted. Lower days still pop up every now and then, but overall I think I’m functioning like the rest of the world does on a regular basis. And now that I’m getting a taste of how most people react to stressful situations (and, you know, life) I’m realizing that I definitely should have gotten my little bippy into the doctor’s office much sooner. I mean, how come none of you TOLD me that you can experience something stressful and annoying and yet still function in other parts of your life without letting said experience seep into every part of your existence, thus rendering you useless and in despair?

As far as the specifics go, I’m currently taking 25mg of Zoloft, once a day — that’s half of a regular pill. I tend to be sensitive to whatever medicine I take, so my doctor wanted me to start there and move up to 50mg after a couple weeks. Well, when I did that, once 2pm came around, I was ready for a three-hour, face-slammed-into-the-pillow-drool-all-over-my-chin nap. We agree that I do need to bump up the dosage, but I’m going to try taking the pill later in the day so the sleepies coincide with when I’m going to bed. I go back in six weeks for another follow-up to see how things are going.

When I was talking things over with my doctor, going back and forth on how to time my dosage and what I can do to counteract any side effects, I interrupted him with…

“AUGH. I just HATE this. I hate having to sit here and come up with a strategy to make my brain work properly.”

Being the awesome guy that he is, my doctor looked me in the face and said, “Listen. This isn’t ‘you.’ Having this doesn’t define you. You’re just in a dip and we need to get you back out. It’s not forever. We’re starting here and then we’re going to see how it goes. You’ll get there.”

And then I proposed to him.

Just kidding.

So there you have it. One month in, doing well, with plans to be doing even better very soon. I’ll take it.

Well, that last post was, um, heavy. Thanks for all your emails and what nots. You all are as sweet as can be.

And until I post again, I leave you with this picture that basically restores my soul every time I look at it. Look at this boy. Look at all I have. Things are gonna be great.

A while ago I started getting a familiar (but highly unwelcome) feeling — a feeling that I couldn’t shake no matter what I did.

For me, depression has always felt…heavy. You know those aprons they put on you at the dentist’s office when you get X-rays? It’s like wearing an entire coat made of that stuff. A coat you can’t take off. Pair that with a constant undercurrent of anxiety, and you end up with quite a mess.

Currently, I am that mess.

I’ve dealt with depression off and on since 2004. Back then it was severe enough to go on medication. I got off the medication about two years later and managed to control things fairly well through exercise and behavioral changes. When I went off the medication, my doctor told me that there was a chance I’d have to go back on it at some point in my life; depression isn’t something that really just goes away, and certain life circumstances can cause symptoms to “flare up” if you will.

When he said that to me, I nodded and said I understood. But I was convinced that I had gotten this thing under control and he would not be seeing me again (at least not for this issue).

Well. My doctor and I had a little visit yesterday. Ok, a long visit. A long visit in which I cried a lot and said things like…

“I can’t shake this off.”

“My son deserves a mother who isn’t checked out emotionally.”

and the clincher…

“I feel like I cannot take one more step without some help.”

So last night I got a new prescription filled. And to be honest, I was bummed.

No. I was pissed off.

I’m pissed off that for whatever reason, I can’t just snap out of these things. I’m pissed off that there’s something wrong with my body chemistry that sometimes prevents me from being the best version of myself. And I’m pissed off at myself for waiting so long to address the problem this time.

The plan is to keep the dosage very low for a while. I go back in a month to see how things are going. Overall, we’re hoping that I’ll just need to be on this prescription for about 6 months. By then, I should be at a point where I’ll be ready to turn to other options, like exercise, to help control this. (I would love to have been able to make exercise work this time, but when you can barely convince yourself to leave the house or talk to the people you love, you’re not exactly itching to go out for a run.)

Despite the frustration I felt yesterday, today I’m feeling better. It feels good to recognize that something is off and to do something about. It feels good to take care of myself.

I don’t know why I feel the need to share such a personal thing in this space, but here we are. Maybe because I know a lot of you can relate? Maybe because I know a lot of you are going through the same thing and need to feel like you aren’t the only one? Whatever it is, I’m thankful that you’re listening.

Earlier today, JR helped his Mamaw bake cookies. I did not help bake them, but I will help eat them.

My incredibly generous in-laws are heading up a renovation of our kitchen. It’s been a bit crazy for the last couple weeks, but things are coming along quickly. It’s so nice to have cabinets that don’t squawk when you open them.

Last week, JR and I ran into some friends at Maymont, a local park that has farm animals and lots of great gardens. During a quick break from our stroll, he and his friend decided to climb this big hill. They both got nervous walking back down by themselves, so I scurried up there to retrieve them. As we made our way back down, I reminded them to help each other. JR took his friend’s hand, and they held on to each other the rest of the way down, laughing the entire time.

I wasn’t there for this (Ross was) so I didn’t take this picture (Ross did), but the entire city of Richmond is completely consumed by the fact that VCU made it to the Final Four. This includes me. I didn’t go to VCU and I have never cared about basketball, but I actually couldn’t sleep last night. It’s just awesome to see all of Richmond so stoked about something so positive. I can’t get enough.

***

So tell me, what’s up with you these days?

I don’t think I’ve shared this little tidbit with you, but I made a promise to myself a long time ago that somehow, someday, I would convince someone to name a sandwich after me.

(I just really, really love sandwiches ok? I’m much like Joey Tribbiani.)

Turns out, all it took was me saying so on Twitter.

(And knowing someone who actually *owns* a restaurant that specializes in sandwiches. Why it never occurred to me, during the numerous years I’ve known this person, to actually share my goal with her, I’ll never know. I’m not so good at connecting the dots.)

Anyway, on Wednesday night, I posted this tweet:

A few minutes later, this restaurant owner (who has her tweets protected, so I won’t link, etc.) said “I can totally do that. What’s the key ingredient?”

I then spent the remainder of the evening tweeting at her to stop teasing me and not thinking that this — this MAGNIFICENT DREAM — was going to happen.

The next morning, she tweeted this to me: “Done. The Valerie. Available while supplies last.” She even posted a picture on the restaurant’s Facebook page, so it was totally legit.

I then had this conversation with Ross on gchat:

Me: THAT IS MY SANDWICH
IT IS ON THE GARNETT’S FACEBOOK
I HAVE A SANDWICCCCCHHHH

Ross: that is incredible!
let’s go eat it for dinner!
i like that your sandwich is a bologna sandwich
ITS PERFECT

Me: I KNOWWWWWWWWWW

Ross: babe
i am in love with you
is that ok?

Me: YESSSS AND I HAVE A SANDWICH!!!!!!!!

(My priorities, they are clear.)

So, later that evening, Ross and took JR to meet my in-laws for dinner so we could all try The Valerie — we had to act quickly because it was just their special for the day. And here’s a crappy picture!

Lebanon Sweet Bologna and Swiss cheese on a Ciabatta roll (which happens to be my most FAVORITE kind of roll). It also involved some kind of mustard that gave the whole sandwich quite a “zing.” Fitting, no? I have zing. Or I’m zingish, at least.

(Also, that Cane Cola pictured in the background is fantastic. I don’t remember the brand. It’s “Boy-something” as you can see in the picture. I am no help to you. But know that you should be drinking it.)

So anyway, the moral of this story? If you want to achieve a life goal, all you have to do is whine about it on Twitter until a local business owner you know by happenstance notices and decides to humor you.

(Thanks, Kendra. You’re a peach.)

I was going to write a big, reflective* post about this, but, quite frankly, I’m busy hanging out with my awesome kid. So know this:

Monday was my first day as a (mostly**) Stay-At-Home-Mother. I’m stoked and totally terrified. But it’s going to be awesome, I just know it.

Yeah, he’s pretty excited too.***

*You can read about my official exit here.
**I’ll still be working for our church on Wednesdays mornings and Thursday afternoons. JR will be in daycare on those days — at least until we’re too broke to afford it.
***Yes, he’s holding an iPhone. We removed all the apps off of my old one, and he uses it as a camera. You can check out his photos here.

Eating my weight in peanut M&Ms.

Taking a walk in the snow with my little guy.

Getting a little flashback of ridiculous adventures of my youth during a Christmas night party with old friends. (It involved catching an owl. Don’t worry, the animal control people told us to.)

Hearing JR say “I wanna do my ornament” each evening as he added to his Advent tree.

(Yes, his Advent tree is black.)

Spending evenings watching movies and not working (even if I had to pay for it last week…and possibly this coming week)

Watching my almost 100-year-old Grandma (her birthday is on Wednesday) have a nice little chat with JR.

Seeing my little boy enjoy his wonderful Christmas gifts.

(It takes everything I am to not pull these trains out for a little therapeutic building time during JR’s naps or after he’s gone to bed.)

Being left speechless.

(That is what you think it is. I don’t think I’ll ever need another gift in my life.)

I hope your holidays were filled with nice little somethings as well. I’d love to hear about them in the comments.

(Next up: JR now sleeps in a bed. The crib is in storage at my in-laws’ house. And I’m still crying in the corner.)

(All of these images were taken with Instagram, my new most favorite thing. If you have an iPhone and you’re not on it, get on it. My user name is ValerieCatrow. Let’s be Instagram friends!)