Blog Feed – Page 48 – making unbreakable

the one about my modesty soap box.

I don’t rant very often.

But I spent the afternoon with my family at the mall.

Shoe shopping.

We were woefully unsuccessful.

And I left grumpy. But not because of the shoes.

Because of the teenagers.

Let me say this, neither Addie or Vivi will ever be allowed to leave the house in shorts or skirts that end above their fingertips.

There wasn’t a single girl wearing these…things, who wasn’t constantly pulling them out of her crotch.

I saw more butt cheek fold today than I’ve ever seen on MTV, VH1 and E! combined. ON TEENAGERS.

I had to physically restrain myself after seeing a MUCH OLDER MAN ogle a girl in a short skirt.

I wanted to take her to the side, grab her by the shoulders and say “HONEY. YOUR BUTT. IS HANGING OUT. WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE (11 years ago?) THAT WAS ILLEGAL. A MAN OLDER THAN YOUR DAD JUST ENJOYED LOOKING AT IT. COVER THAT UP. HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR YOURSELF.”

Then there were the bare midriffs.

YES.

Never have bare midriffs been acceptable unless you are on the beach/pool, near a beach/pool or walking to the beach/pool. Even then? Bare midriffs are debatable. With this being the case about bare midriffs, they are certainly not okay on TEENAGERS at the MALL in INDIANA in SEPTEMBER.

Google “cute teen clothing?”

YOU GET THIS.

WHEN DID THIS BECOME OKAY?

Google “modest teen clothing?”

You get…well. Let’s just say some people have some ideas about over the top modesty.

Shouldn’t there be some middle ground?

That being said, there were some girls who did cover themselves. Who dressed to flatter their body instead of flaunt it. I wanted to congratulate them. Thank them. THANK THEIR MOMS. The best part? They were the ones that stood out in a sea of non existent denim and tiny tank tops with multi colored bras hanging out from underneath them.

So.

That’s my rant.

(See also, ice cream is more delicious this week than other weeks. Make of that what you will. *ehem*)

past mistakes, present miracles, pretty dorks.

Oh Addie.

I am so proud of you it makes my throat itch.

Hey, remind me again, who was that first grader who read a third grade level book out loud, to her class?

Oh yeah, that was you.

There is so much worry these days about young girls being sexualized before they have a chance to realize their true worth and capabilities. You my love, my beautiful curly headed daughter with the gangly legs, sprinkle of freckles and eyelashes for days?

You are becoming the smart girl. You are bordering on dork. Nerd. Smartypants. Bookworm. Brainiac.

And I couldn’t be more proud.

I was the smart girl. I was the quirky weird dork who loved reading and had an affinity for Shakespeare long before anyone else in my class could spell Hamlet. I dazzled the ACT (32.) I sailed through the ACT (1423.) I looked forward to geometry and never got less than an A- through high school. National Honors Society? Yep.

But here’s my confession. One very few people know.

I dropped out of high school my senior year. Because of a boy.

After interviewing with colleges I went to his house full of excitement about scholarships, far off places (Texas to be exact) and figuring out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

He was a high school drop out too. He asked me why I even bothered staying with him if I was just planning on leaving him for college.

Who knows what I would have become had I kept those college brochures in my hands instead of dropping them for him. There’s really no sense in wondering.

I would have never met your dad had I left that day with the pamphlets and without a boyfriend. I would have never gotten the highest score possible on the GED. Vivi wouldn’t be here. This blog wouldn’t be here. YOU wouldn’t be here.

You, my intelligent baby with my ears and my blue eyes.

There is nothing wrong with being smart.

And anyone who tells you otherwise?

Is just jealous.

Stay geeky my love.

****

Speaking of geeky, I babbled the seedy underbelly of Nursery Rhymes.

the one about gratitude, hope and inspiration.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a folder in my email titled “Warm Fuzzies” where I keep the kind heartfelt words that are sent to me. I have to be careful when I dip into them because they bring me to tears every time.

I generally receive the most emails when I am lost in my own brain. I read over them, file them away and when I’m able, I go back and respond to them.

“…Reading your blog made me feel like I wasn’t the only one. It made me smile, it made me laugh, it made me tear up.

I minored in English in college, but I was never able to harness my words and wrangle them into the style I wanted. Reading your blog is like reading my own thoughts that I was never able to turn into a worthwhile read…”

Often times I am unable to write much more than “Thank you.” But what I truly wish is that they could *feel* the thank you that is in my heart. The overwhelming gratitude that leaves me staring at my screen in disbelief at all of these tender injured souls who found comfort in something I wrote.

“…’You are not the only one who regrets their children on the bad days.‘
is burned into my brain.
It is the worst feeling I have ever felt.
It is such the horrible, honest truth.
And I thank you so much for telling me/making me feel like I wasn’t alone…”

I’ve wanted to share parts of these emails for a long time. But I was never sure how to do it without it coming across as a big “LOOK HOW WONDERFUL I AM! *glitter glitter* APPLAUSE HERE” But the truth is I get a lot of emails me asking how I do it.

‘It’ being honesty about my mental illness.

“…Then after I read what you wrote, I realized that we do have a close relationship. She will be fine as long as I continue to shower her with love, despite the overbearing cloudy days. Basically, I just wanted you to know that you helped me feel at ease that everything will work out. So, thank you for your honesty and opening my eyes to your situation…”

I have a hard time responding to questions like that, and then I remember my Warm Fuzzy folder. In it there are currently 66 reasons why I do “it.” Why I am honest about my struggles. 66 people who I have helped. 66 people who were able to find words about their own struggles and emotions because I was honest about mine.

“…Casey, I cannot tell you how much it is helping me to read these words from you. I have never, not ever, found anyone who was willing to share, explain, put it into words that made sense or even came close to expressing how much it hurts. And when you talk about this I don’t feel like such a freak show…”

Can anyone do it? Maybe. But there are still a lot of social stigmas around mental illness. Should you do it? If you can, yes. Even if no one ever reads it. There are days when writing is easier than breathing for me. And the first time someone thanks you for helping them feel not so alone? You’ll never forget that. Ever. It doesn’t matter if they’re a friend, a stranger or your mom. Your story can and will help people.

“…The world is a better place because people like you exist in it…So thanks for being you, Casey. Even though we don’t know each other, I look up to you a lot. Your ability to fight back…I hope you know how many of us find this inspiring. I’m rooting for you. We all are…”

I’m beginning to realize that what drives me the most, as well as what drives others who admit to emotional defeats is that we want nothing more than to be well. To be better. Even though I know I will never be healed from this disease, I have hope for those good days.

And hope makes anything possible.

Anything.

**************************

This post is sponsored by Hallmark’s “Life is a Special Occasion” campaign.

“you are stronger than anything broken inside of you.”

So. Yeah. Remember how I was all “Things are getting kind of bad.” and you were all “I hope things get better!” and I was all “Thank you! This too shall pass!”

Things didn’t get worse, but they didn’t get better. It’s still just bubbling, right under the surface.

I told my Ami about it and she wrote me this email back, and now I’m going to share it with you.

Because it applies to you (some of it at least.)

And me.

And we’re all just doing the best we can.

*******************
1- You are stronger than anything broken inside of you. I know this to be true with every fiber of my being. You don’t see how strong you are, but I can see your strength shining in you.

2- You have done absolutely nothing to deserve depression. You haven’t taken anything for granted, you haven’t offended God, you haven’t been a bad person. You just have it for no reason I understand, and I plan to ask Heavenly Father about it at my “exit interview.”

3- If this is, in fact, a depression episode and not just a blip on the screen, then eventually everything will wind up being okay. You are strong enough to get help. You are brave enough to push forward, even when it feels like you are merely standing in place. And you are incredibly and absolutely loved.

4- You are not alone. I know when everything is at its worst you feel alone. But you aren’t. You have people, right here in Indiana, who will catch you if you fall. You have loving people who will gladly circle about you and hold you. If things start to collapse around you, there is an entire Casey team ready to help put the pieces together again.

5- Your depression will not permanently scar your children. I know you worry about this. But you need to remember that every single parent who brings a child into this world is a broken human being with great faults. Right now you are looking at other mothers and comparing their shiny outsides with your dark inside. Just remember, we are all broken, just maybe where you can’t see it.
Additionally, you are demonstrating to your beautiful daughters that it is okay to not be perfect. Women, Mormon women in particular, have a hard time with this concept. We all want to run the perfect home, be the perfect parent and perfect wife, doing a perfect job. You are proving to your babies that this is a myth and furthermore that it is okay to be less than perfect. You are also demonstrating that recognizing our imperfections does not mean we just succumb to our weaknesses, it means we press forward, relying on Christ to pick up our slack.

6- If this is a worst case scenario, don’t be scared. We can put together a plan that will keep you safe and your children happy.

7- I love you.

Remember these things.
Ami (and by association, me.)

(Ami has a blog…it’s really good. You should read it. If you’re local you should totally be friends with her.)

lots of nifty stuff I tapped out other places.

I admitted to facebook last night that Vivi spread my hips like a pair of forceps. Thanks baby.

Which means none of my pants fit, including the ones I wore when I was NINE MONTHS PREGNANT.

Seriously, thanks baby, you’re lucky you’re cute.

Needless to say I bought some pants today. That fit.

Know what else I learned? At this point in time it’s worth the extra $30 to get the pair of pants that “claims” you’re a size 6.

No, I’m not above vanity sizing at all. In fact I’m all for it! GO TEAM VANITY (sizing, at least.)

(Hey Diana? (I’m pretty sure that was your name right? Finn’s mom?) We met at Lululemon? Email me. We’re going to be friends. I’ve already decided. Thanks.)

Anyway, here’s a bunch of stuff I wrote, if you read only one I suggest the one about Vivi emailing me about her day.

Babbled: (to see all my babble posts clicky clicky here.)

Tiny (handmade) baby bows and baubles. (Lou and Lee make some of the best)

Dumbo Bumbo. (I take it back Bumbo, you’re amazing!)

The maternal (long arm) self portrait slideshow. (The only way I can get in pictures anymore.)

An email from Vivi concerning her day. (Dear mom…)

My husband handles the midnight feedings. (And I love him for it.)

Babies don’t keep, dirty toilets do. Trust me. (Stare at the baby.)

The baby has been booted. (SOB, but it’s going well.)

Babyhood: When chubby can be embraced and nibbled. (Babies ain’t fat, they’s just fluffy.)

The kind of not really only second child. (Six years apart isn’t bad at all!)

My baby, she’s super nifty. (Title kind of says it all.)

On CafeMom –

How to get yourself or a loved one through the struggles of depression.

the dear bug diaries. chicago edition.

July 16,2011

Dear Bug,

So it’s our first big trip away from home! I mean, if you don’t count that time we drove for TWENTY SEVEN HOURS to Utah and then flew back because Dad wanted mom to keep her sanity. Needless to say a three hour drive to Chicago is nothing compared to that crap we had to put up with a couple of weeks ago.

I don’t know about this place, it’s loud and there are very little trees. However staring down at the street from our 10th floor hotel room onto Michigan Ave? Almost better than staring at you dangling above my head. What? I said almost.

I think you were in mom’s bag when this happened, but when we got to the hotel, mom had a wee bit of trouble getting the stroller situated. Even as she was checking into the hotel she couldn’t get the thing figured out (thankfully she brought two extra sets of arms along to assist her.) The cute guy behind the counter asked if he could help her.

Yeah, that guy was *maybe* 10 years older than me and probably hasn’t touched a stroller in his life. One thing he obviously touched? Gym equipment and hairstyling products. Hey, I may be a baby but good hygiene and personal care are NOT lost on me. I spend a lot of time snuggled up with a lot of different people and I can appreciate good grooming.

Anyway, thanks for coming along with me on my first trip through the busy streets of Chicago. It sure was nice to have someone that understands the complexities of being me along for the ride.

All my best,

Vivi

verizon 4G, thunderbolts and xooms.

I do not have a smart phone.

A majority of my time is spent at home and if I’m not at home I’m generally very close to home or out with the people I would be talking to online anyway.

So I’ve never really needed one.

That isn’t to say I’ve always wanted one.

I’ve worked with Verizon on a couple of different occasions with several different products (disclosure: I pay for AT&T service on a very average phone that calls people, that’s it.) and am currently working with them in reviewing a Motorola Xoom tablet and I was able to take a HTC Thunderbolt smartphone with me to BlogHer.

Continue reading “verizon 4G, thunderbolts and xooms.”

the bathroom majority.

The gloves are off.

Well, maybe a more appropriate saying is THE DOOR IS UNLOCKED.

Emily and I were at dinner last night with some friends and after the comments on my post about CLOSING THE DOOR WHEN YOU GO POTTY PLEASE AND THANK YOU I’m pretty sure I’m the majority. But the table assured me I am in fact in the minority.

So Internet, A POLL.

AN ANONYMOUS POLL SO ~~I CAN’T~~ NO ONE CAN JUDGE YOUR BATHROOM HABITS.

So I went to the Britney Spears concert last night.

I’ll bet that girl pees with the door open.

(those other two? pee in front of their husbands. I die. I DIE.)

our love story.

To my girls,

Your daddy and I are part of a love story.

It is not one that will ever have movies made after it or books written about it, but it is a love story just the same.

It started in a shopping mall, one that has since been torn down. I called him, he said yes. I wore a pink shirt and a gray skirt on our first date, he wore a plaid shirt, jeans and white socks with sandals. We ate at the Village Inn on the corner of 9th east and 4th south. I had strawberry pancakes and our server’s name was Mutt. We watched a horrible Jim Carrey movie (on VHS) and I refused to be covered in a blanket despite the fact that I was freezing.

By the end of the movie he held my hand and my heart sang.

When he took me home he walked me to the door. I hated being walked to the door, that is until he walked me to the door.

I closed the door behind me and knew something big had just happened, I just didn’t know what.

I couldn’t have designed a better husband. He slides into all the broken pieces of me and fits perfectly. I know a part of me is missing when he’s not around. Where I am weak he is strong, and where his few weaknesses are? He lets me shine.

He is honestly the best thing in my life.

He gave me you two.

We’ve survived unspeakable things together.

After 10 years I’d like to say we’re safe and that we’ve made it.

But I never want to get comfortable, to take him for granted.

We did that once, it didn’t turn out so well.

It’s empowering to know that we threw our whole selves into something as uncertain and difficult as marriage at such a young age and that we’ve come out the other side ten years later more bonded by love than two passionate kids discovering each other for the first time. At a point where many people would have given up we did not, specifically your dad did not give up on me.

If I could wish one thing for you girls it would be that you would have a partner in life who brings out spectacular parts of yourself you never knew were there. One that will never, ever give up on you and one who will love you so much you can feel it through their fingertips every time they touch you.

That kind of love is the kind that heals. The kind that leads to great and amazing things. The kind that can get you through anything. The kind that makes dreams come true.

Your daddy is an amazing man, he was wonderful when I married him as a 22 year old boy. But now, now he is better than I ever could have imagined. We are both better than I could have ever imagined. We have grown together. We have become stronger because of each other, like rivers that join and become indistinguishable as separate bodies.

You girls are tangible extensions of our love story, and if babies grow best on love? There’s no limit to how big and wonderful you’ll become.