Sweet snuggles with a chirpy toddler wearing a denim pleated skirt and pink polka dot tee shirt. Brown gauzy skirt. Chocolate milk & Curious George. Coffee. Sunshine & BBQ chicken. Family. Clean house & the sound of the dishwasher running. A brilliant half-read memoir an arms-reach away.

I am the type of gal who likes to keep my house as clean as possible. Now, this doesn’t mean that when you walk into my house you’ll find the kitchen tiles cleaned with a toothbrush. It just means that I’m less content than most of my friends to let dirty laundry and clutter accumulate.

Some of my mommy friends even call me the “laundry queen” and consult me on how to get out their family’s various stains, be it lipstick, spit-up, baby poop, or ink.

So you can see how I was less than thrilled one morning when my 5 year-old daughter, Hannah, pointed out a small hot pink ink dot on my favorite lounge pants. “What is that on your pants?” she asked. I hadn’t seen it before and told her I didn’t know, already formulating what could be used to get the dreadful stain out.

“It sure is a beautiful spot!” Hannah exclaimed with delight.

I sat stunned. I had immediately thought of it as a stain; something to be scrubbed out and vanished. But my daughter had seen something colorful and interesting. Maybe, when I see a part of my character as a stain, something dirty and ugly and desperately needing to be blotted out, God sees a beautiful spot, something colorful that He can work with and incorporate into the mosaic of experiences and encounters that is my life.

So when I threw my pants in the laundry basket later that day, I made a decision. I decided not to try to get the stain out, but to send the pants through the laundry as they were – “stained” with a beautiful pink spot, so that every time I wear them, I will be reminded of God’s amazing ability to view me and my flaws as something beautiful.

I’ve been gone for a long time, but am back now. I just transferred a bunch of my MySpace blogs here, and dated them, so you can be "caught up." I hope to keep this blog current from here on out, so come along with me as I journey through this life of managing mental health, motherhood, grief, recovering from surgical trauma and the chronic pain it has caused, and trying to juggle everything from a part-time job to raising my daughters to keeping the laundry pile small.

Oh, and don’t just lurk. Comment, comment, comment! I’m a regular 29 year-old gal who is raising two little girls under 5, married for 6+ years. Introduce yourself! I’d love to "meet" you!

Despite everyday challenges and fatigue, I relish my role as a mother… my relationships with my daughters. Despite everything I do wrong, they continue to love me. I am the primary person they count on in their lives. I do my best to be the ideal mom to them. I don’t mean perfect. I will never be that. I want to be ideal for them – for their individual personalities, to mold and guide and encourage them to be the best that they can be. I know them better than anyone, as I am with them nearly 24/7. I want to be their personal cheerleader, to see their weaknesses and strengths and raise them to be confident in WHO they are. I think it’s important to see the real person they are, to help them learn to manage the various challenges they face, so that they can rise above them, and attain their goals.

My mom did this for me.

At the age of 14, I became withdrawn and quiet. My classmates noticed the difference, as did my siblings, teachers and parents. But noticing and understanding are two separate things. No one seemed to understand what was happening. My whole life I had been happy, laid-back, and outgoing. Now, as I entered my high school years, I was sullen, less and less socially involved, and my mind was rapidly becoming a darker place.

At 15 I began to think seriously of suicide. I knew I was depressed, but had no idea why, or what had triggered it. Nothing in my life had changed. During the course of the next decade, roughly the years 1993 to 2003, I was on a roller coaster ride of moods, emotions, and wildly varying mental health.

In 1998 I was diagnosed with "clinical depression", in my first year of college. In 1999 the diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder (aka "winter depression") was added to my chart. We pursued treatments ranging from St. John’s Wort and light therapy to antidepressants and counseling. Nothing helped much or for long.

My college years were unpredictable. I would start in the fall strong, buoyed by a long summer of sunlight, a break from academia, my love of learning, education, and autumn. I would begin each year happy, capable, and take on too much – a full load of classes, plus extra-curricular activities and a full social calendar. Soon the days would be shorter and darker, and autumn’s glorious potential would plummet into an overwhelmingly dark and stressful winter. My mom was my safety net, and caught me more times than I care to remember.

Despite attending college classes for parts of 5 years, I have never earned a degree. I did not possess the stability required to complete my English degree, despite my best efforts.

In 2001 I was hospitalized in a psychiatric ward for 7 days, and around that time a psychiatrist finally diagnosed me correctly: Bipolar Disorder, type II. I was terrified by this diagnosis. I was no longer just "depressed", as so many people are, but I was "Manic Depressive." I felt sentenced to a lifetime of insanity. 1 out of every 5 people suffering from Bipolar Disorder commits suicide. This statistic left me hopeless and all the more depressed. But at the same time as I felt terrified and "certifiably insane," I knew there was truth in this diagnosis.

There’s no need to list the many symptoms I experienced, and the havoc it wreaked on my life, but suffice it to say, you can’t tell what someone is experiencing or has experienced by looking at outward appearances. I do not have the most severe case of Bipolar Disorder, in fact, type II is generally considered to be less severe than type I. However, what I do have, and have been through, has been serious.

Now that Bipolar was my psychiatric label, I was started on a mood stabilizer, and over the next couple of years I tried handfuls of different mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, and anti-psychotics. I even had a "911 pill" prescribed for me, which offered the equivalent of placing me in a temporary coma. When things were at their worst, I could escape the torment in my mind by taking a pill that would make me sleep for about 16 hours.

While the medications helped some, I felt like a lab rat, a zombie and unable to think. I experienced many unpleasant side effects, including gory nightmares, and significant weight gain.

In the first few months after Jonathan & I were married, I was hospitalized again – this time for 3 days. When I was discharged, I went home determined to get better. I desperately wanted to be stable, to be able to live a "normal" life, to wake up from the nightmare inside my mind. I had always wanted to be a mother, but I knew there was no way I could be one like this.

In late 2002 I decided I had nothing to lose – that I couldn’t sink any lower – and tried a natural supplement formulated specifically for Bipolar Disorder, called EMPower. Within 3 days, I felt a pinprick of light enter my dark mind. (Picture when the first star appears in the night sky.) Within 5 days, we knew I was better. Within 8 weeks I had weaned off my ridiculous amount of psychiatric medications, and I was, for the first time in 10 years, not depressed, not moody, and not on meds. I was stable, without side effects.

It has been 6 years since I went on EMPower (a combination of vitamins, minerals, and amino acids) and I have never been back to a mental health professional, hospital, or depression medication. I’ve had some rough patches, most of them related to the hormone changes that come with pregnancy and motherhood, but the bad times are usually short-lived, and I get through them. Most of the time, although stress and sleep deprivation leaves me more susceptible to mental instability than most people, I am stable, capable, and happy.

I am a mother of two beautiful daughters, work (minimal) part time hours, and manage a household, and am now, thanks to God, EMPower, and my support system (especially my husband and my parents), happy and able to pursue my dreams.

I am sitting here this morning, trying to wake up. I am exhausted. The girls have had breakfast and are happily off playing together in Hannah’s room. It’s so fun to hear their dialogue. Hannah will say, "Natty, do you want to [xyz]?" to which Natalie will energetically reply, "’Shore’ can, Hannah!" Their little girlness is precious.

It’s nearly impossible for me to believe that they’ll grow into teenagers and then women, and leave to pursue education, love, careers, goals…. Nearly impossible to imagine we won’t always be a little family with small children.

I look forward to sleeping through the night of course (something that, even though our girls are approaching their 2nd and 5th birthdays, is still not something you can count on.) I look forward to not having to pick up toys all the time, not having to do so many loads of laundry every day, not having to clean the floor after every meal… but I can’t visualize being a mom to girls who pop in only on college breaks and holidays, who need help filing their taxes, balancing their checkbooks, who call asking for advice on everything from how to change the oil to how to know if that guy in their chem class likes them.

I know I will look back on this time fondly. I will look back with smiles on the mornings we brewed coffee and toasted "fuffles" (Natty’s word for waffles), the afternoons I took them to the library and the grocery store (where they rode in the car cart and asked for cookies), the nights of trying to get them to go to sleep… It’s exhausting, but I truly wouldn’t go back.

We are a family and I LOVE that. I am perfectly content, just being the four of us. I love how on rainy Sundays we drive down the coast, Jonathan & I drinking lattes, listening to music and talking and watching the ocean whiz by outside the rain-streaked windows. The girls fall asleep in their carseats and I cover them with blankets or jackets and J & I glance in the rear-view mirror occasionally and exchange comments on the cuteness that is Hanny & Natty.

I am not writing this on a day where everything is "dandy." I am not on a mommy break far from their noise and messes and sticky fingers.

I am exhausted and we need baths, and I have dishes and laundry waiting for me. I haven’t had a break in days and I could use one. It’s too cold in our house and we can barely walk through our garage.

But I have such joy in being a family. We are together, the girls are young and healthy. They are (usually) sweet. We love each other.

So I am taking this tired, messy moment to thank God for my family – for Jonathan and my little girls.

I lost a baby almost three years ago. I was ten weeks along. There was no warning that anything was wrong, and I was STUNNED when the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. Shortly after the D&C, I began having medical problem after medical problem. Months of surgeries, bedrest, hospitalization, ER visits, ultrasounds, doctor appointments, and medication. Hannah turned 2 during the three weeks between two of my surgeries. I was sad to say goodbye to our baby, but I was soon forced into survival mode, and couldn’t focus on surviving physically AND emotionally, so just got through the physical stuff. Recently the grief has hit me like a Mack truck. Emptiness in my heart, and a physical ache in my chest. A lot of crying.

I don’t know if the grief has just backed off for a bit or if I’ve hit a new stage in my grief process but I am feeling joy and gratitude to the God who knew my baby before he was formed, before he was conceived, and before he was born. I fervently believe that God loves my baby, just as He loves me, and that He has a plan for both of our lives. I believe I will get to hold my baby in Heaven.

Over 5 years ago, when my Grama Lonnie died suddenly and unexpectedly in her 60s, my faith was tested like it never had been. It took me several years to grieve the loss of her — friend, grandmother, confidante, spiritual mentor — and to cling that much harder to my faith in God, because as a result of our belief in God and our acceptance of the salvation He offers us, I will get to see my Grama again. That same faith-clinging and joyous revelation has hit me again, as I say goodbye to the baby we lost.

I will always miss the baby that I never got to know, but I feel certain that God works His purpose and His plan in our lives. The knowledge and the faith that I will see my grandmother and my baby again brings me unspeakable gratitude and joy.

Thank you, Jesus!

I wanted to share the great news that I’m feeling much better. The B12 & Iron supplements I was taking have really helped my anemia, and my energy is essentially back to normal now.

Last week I began seeing a chiropactor who does a lot of work with pain conditions and sports injuries. First we had a phone consultation and went over my surgical history. I explained to him that I’ve been in pain for eight months now, and life as a mom is a daily challenge. He asked a lot of questions and then told me he was sure he could help me. His clinic got me in the same day.

After the first treatment I felt positive and nearly pain-free for the rest of the day. I had my second treatment yesterday. In the last week I’ve experienced better sleep, increased energy, ability to take the girls shopping and to the library, go to the beach with my family, do errands, CLEAN my house, etc… My pain is not gone, but I’m needing less pain medication.

The treatments are used to try to break up my scar tissue that’s been causing me such debilitating pain.

Please pray that this is the answer and I’ll continue to feel better and better. I feel more like myself right now than I have all year.

My last blog relating to my ongoing pain left off saying I would post another blog if anything newsworthy developed. That was four months ago. To say a lot has happened would be a big understatement.

I’ve been wanting to write a blog for a long time, for those who truly want to know and truly care, but all I could imagine was coming across like a big fat whiner! "I’m hurting, I feel horrible, whine, whine, whine…." But for those out there who can tolerate the cold, hard facts, here we go:

 I have no idea where to begin, so I guess I’ll just skip a few months and start where I am now. To summarize the last months I’ll just say a few things: 1.) Specialist, 2.) Nasty drug, tons of horrible side effects, including severe mental health problems, 3.) Trying to get off the nasty drug, 4.) Pain throughout it all that will not go away for more than 5 days, and then it’s back just as intense as ever, 5.) No more surgeries…

I’ve just come out of a two week long stretch of horrible, nasty, severe pain. We’re talking all-day-long, prescription-pain-meds-won’t-touch-it, no-break- from-the-pain type days. Very difficult to handle while continuing to be a full-time mom and keep up with two small girls, the house and laundry, errands, any sort of social life, a part-time job, etc… Currently I’m (of course) still having pain, but it’s backed off some, which is a blessing.

For the last 2-3 months I’ve been exhausted. It takes me several hours after I get up each morning to feel truly awake or human. Mornings and early afternoons are difficult. Hannah is very compassionate and has this highly intuitive, old soul part of her that is so sweet. She’s taken to getting in bed with me each morning, cuddling up and telling me sweet things. She keeps me company and lets me doze until Natalie wakes up, then we all go out to the main part of the house. I try not to worry Hannah, but it’s hard to hide severe pain and severe exhaustion. Especially from a 4.5 year old who is as intuitive as she is. If I sigh, shift, or touch my stomach, she’ll immediately be at my side, "Are you hurting? Do you need medicine?" Once, I told her that I had already taken medicine, and it wasn’t helping. She sidled up to me, caressed my face with her little hand, and said soothingly, "Poor Sweetheart, medicine takes a LONG time to kick in, but it WILL kick in!"

About a month ago, I noticed that not only was I exhausted for the first half of the day, but I had way less energy than normal. In the last few weeks I’ve walked into a wall, been physically incapable of tugging Hannah’s jeans up, had to take breaks and rest my arm while brushing her hair, put the cereal box in the fridge, felt like I was going to faint a few times, had to cling to Jonathan’s arm in order to prevent collapsing in the grocery store, and my personal favorite, FORGOT I took a shower. I was doing the laundry and thought, "I should go take my shower," glanced down, and I was showered and dressed. I don’t remember doing any of that.

I decided to see a naturopathic physician, and she ordered a ton of labwork. Thursday morning she called and asked me how I was feeling.

"Tired," I replied.

"I have a reason for that!" she announced.

She told me I’m quite anemic, and low in various other things as well. Today I started on iron & vitamin B12 supplements. We’re trying some natural things to try to address the pain as well.

I’m sufficiently happy, married life is still good, my daughters are priceless little treasures, and life is treating me well in all aspects but my health. But gracious! How much more can I take? Before I start the whining portion of the blog, I’ll sign out. Hopefully the next blog will have some good news.

Last weekend I took Hannah shopping for new summer clothes and swimsuits while little sister Natalie took her nap, at home with Daddy. For the first time in Hannah’s four years she tried clothes on in the dressing room. As she modeled a pink swimsuit picked out from the "Big Girl" section (sizes 4-6x), she twirled and pranced around in front of the mirror, saying, "I feel wonderful in this!"

We got what we needed and were leaving the clothing section to go pay, when she paused at the hair accessories display. "Hey, Mom… what do you think of headbands for me? They’re cute, and they’re my size, and they’re for sale…"

Swallowing my laughter, I said, "Not today, Hannah."

"Okay," she replied happily and off we went to check out, with her carrying her own selections. Not riding in a shopping cart or stroller, just walking along side me.

Her comment made me flash forward about a decade to the inevitable back-to-school type shopping excursions: "Hey Mom…" she’ll say, tossing her hair over her shoulder, "What do you think of this skirt for me? It’s cute, and it’s my size, and it’s on sale, and all my friends have one like it…"

I’m not ready.

I’m short of words on this subject.

1.) I’m in pain … is it still or again?

2.) It’s not a mild sort of pain or I wouldn’t mention it.

3.) Am I feeling frustrated about this? Thus the sarcasm.

4.) What does it mean? Beats me. I do know adhesions can re-occur.

5.) What next? A specialist.

6.) Is it interfering with my life? Again, yes, or I wouldn’t mention it.

Just thought I should let you know. If anything newsworthy develops I will post another blog.