The Power of Positive Thinking.

Memory is an interesting thing. I remember being fascinated by it as a young child. On multiple occasions through grade school, and high school, I would sit at my desk and think, "OK. Even though nothing remarkable happened on this day. I am going to remember it. Is it possible? What can I do to never forget this day? The conversations I had? The people I saw? The joy I felt in the small things? What I had for lunch?" As you can see, I remember having these thoughts, but no, I remember nothing about those days. I cannot remember what I ate, who I spoke with nor which activities I participated in, on any single one of those days that I tried so hard to mark in my memory.


The things I do remember, are things I photographed. The things I retold, over and over, turning them into funny stories. The events that I still discuss, rehash and laugh about with friends. I also remember traumatic events, like watching my dog get hit by a car, because my brain brings it back up, I talk about it, I think about it. Imagine, if all I talked about, photographed and discussed with friends and family were the negative things in my life. What do you think I would remember then? How do you think I would perceive my life?


I know there is this constant talk about our "social media" lives versus our "real" lives. How this "humble bragging", "happy all the time", "always picture perfect" posting is impacting others and making them feel guilty, inadequate, and not as successful at life than their peers. When, in reality, we are all {for the most part} going through the exact same thing. I would like to dispute this argument. I believe negative, or even constant "real" posts, would only make matters worse. It's one thing to vent about a poor experience, and another to ruminate on it. We all have those friends, the ones who bring us down, who we feel like they must be depressed because of their constant posts: no sleep, kids sick, I'm sick, traffic, work, drama, hospital, doctor, vet, car problems, plumbing problems, no time, tired. I see this and can't help but wonder: is this how they view their life? It's such hard work. It's so heavy. When they remember things, this is what they will remember, because THIS is what they talked about, all the time. To friends. To family. To their SELF.


For me, positive thinking is now second nature. I don't believe I was born like this. I had an incredible swim coach during my formative years, who trained us to think positive. I have parents who reinforced it. I've surrounded myself by people who bring me up, and join in my happiness. I have a hard time even creating negative thoughts, posts or memories, because I simply don't see negativity anymore. Sure, I see hurdles, I see difficult moments, I see poop and pee and temper tantrums and anxiety and lack of sleep and sometimes I even write about them, but then I see over-coming these trials, and view it as a time to celebrate. At the end of it, I remember surviving (or I don't remember it at all) because, that was my focus.

I just think we all get so consumed with everyone else. With external circumstances. With the feeling "poor me", "why me". We forget, the power of positive thinking. So, next time you have a bad experience, wait to tell about it when you can be proactive, maybe resolve it, and be encouraged by the result, instead of depressed about the journey. And, gosh darn it, next time you want to "humble brag" on Facebook or Instagram, do it. That way, when you decide to take a trip down memory lane, scroll through your own feed, see your "TimeHop" memories, the content that will be thrust in your face will be an awesome life, full of happiness and beauty. Which is exactly what life is. Or can be.

    
As a concrete, personal example, I performed the art of positive thinking just last night. Matt has been in New York for 3 days, and being single mother to 5 under the age of 7 is inherently difficult, stressful and exhausting without any added mishaps. Being a perfect fall weekend, by Sunday night, the boys were utterly, and completely filthy, with face paint and all. Every inch of every single one of them was covered in dirt. My mother offered to make dinner for us, and we tried to eat by 6:00 so I would have time to get them home and clean and ready for school the following day. By the time we finished with the meal I was done. I really couldn't stomach the idea of bathing all 4 of them while trying to care for the infant. So my mom suggested we throw them in the tub at her place and just send them home in some t-shirts.

     Well, the same wonderful reason they were filthy is the same reason they were EXHAUSTED! Bath time turned into kick, splash, hit, throw a fit and cry time. (In all honesty, I laughed through most of it, which probably upset the kids more, as I was not validating their emotions, but it was RIDICULOUS). My brother, home from school for the weekend, sat downstairs, listening to the disaster, wondering all the while who might survive this whole bathing ordeal. They all did, they made it. As I collected their belongings and packed up to leave, my mother dressed them. I walked down the stairs to find them all surrounding her, like 4 baby birds, being fed fruit snacks. That is the image I captured. It's the image I posted about. It was my favorite moment of the day. Had I not just written this little ditty, the joy I felt seeing my four, clean boys, surrounding my mother is all I would have remembered. This bath time calamity would have been completely forgotten, and viewed only as a fun, positive experience.

Only you have the power to mold your memories and therefore, your life. You can choose, on this day, to remember it as a happy one. And one day at a time, you will be creating your happy life. A life that is real, that exists, that is by no means "fake". Just because of a bit of positive thinking {and posting, and story-telling}.

3 months closer.

I refuse to believe that she is growing up. That she is grabbing the blanket and pulling it up to her mouth to nibble on. That she is laughing. Full on, belly laughing. Yesterday, I attempted to put her hair in pigtails. It was a complete failure, so I laughed. I showed her to Matt, he laughed. And as I turned away laughing at Matt laughing, she laughed with us! She thought the pigtails were hilarious too. Which brings me to another thing I refuse to believe, that her hair has grown enough for me to even attempt using rubber bands. I refuse to believe that one week from today she will be 3 months.

She is approaching that age where it's becoming less and less impressive that she sleep 8-11 hours every night. She is watching, tracking, absorbing the behavior of her brothers. She does not like to face inward, she wants to look out, and gaze upon the action. Frequently, in a scornful fashion. I can already see her thinking, "why must I be surrounded by these ridiculous, silly boys?" That or she fears for her life if not always observing her surroundings.

I want her to remain a sweet smelling newborn. Fresh. Tiny. Wistfully sleeping the days away. The little way she finds such relief in nursing, that almost appears like panic at first. How she sleeps with her hands above her head or grasped below her cheek. She taunts us with her perfection.

Everyday, she becomes more childlike and less newborn-ish. She is slowly developing opinions, likes, dislikes.

I love nothing more than a newborn.

Written on 8-10-15. | Diana, Age 3 months.

The Wild Stallion

I've finally come up with the perfect analogy for having children.

No kids. This is the wild stallion. Running free on the plains. Not a care in the world. Bound by nothing.

One kid. The once free stallion has been captured. He has been left out to pasture though. Free to roam, but with in certain boundaries.

Two kids. The stallion has been moved into a stall. He is still left alone, and let out to roam every so often, but his freedom has become so limited.

Three kids. The stallion is now in the stall all the time. He is only out when being led by a person. The term 'free' has left his vocabulary completely. One could almost say, he has been broken.

Four kids. The stallion now gets outfitted with a saddle. He cannot go anywhere without being chained by someone or something.

Five kids. He is ridden. Led everywhere. Even when the stall door is opened, he doesn't care to go out and run free. He is simply too tired.

Six kids. No one has six kids. 

The Final Straw

Matt has been in China for 8 days now. This means, I am left with 4.5 days to go as single mom to 5 kids under age 7. There have been some highs. There have been lots and lots, well, and lots of lows...but mostly it's just been 8 days of extremely, painful in the chest, palpitations, nausea provoking anxiety. Every single one of my minutes, of every single day is occupied. By somebody else, and then some. Between work, school, sports, feedings, laundry, dishes, meetings, broken bones, rotton teeth, poop, pee, baths, beds, books, toys, walks, dogs, cats, finger nails (120 of them to be exact), I have literally no time to even think my own thoughts. 

 

It is all I can do to keep my head above water. In all of my life (and I've done some pretty difficult things, like Med School, Residency, Division I Swimming, etc) the ONLY THING that has even come close to comparing to the brokenness I currently feel, was Christmas training camp at IU. Specifically, my Sophomore and Junior years. Even still, the exhaustion, beat down, and pain that I felt then was 90% physical. What I am experiencing now is 90% mental/emotional. Simply put: MY BRAIN HURTS. I think some people describe this as a headache (not something I routinely experience.) Maybe it's a tumor. You know that popular saying, right now? "I just can't." Well. I can't. 

I. just. CAN. NOT. 

I had been mentally preparing myself (and my family, and friends, and nanny) for the fact that Matt was flying halfway across the world - or is China ALL the way across the world? - for a few weeks prior to his departure. This extensive, good intentioned, but seemingly (at the time) over the top preparation helped me get through, exactly, the first 2.5 days. Then, it happened. I can remember the exact moment that the "I CAN" attitude got squelched. It was like a birthday candle being doused with 2 gallons of water. So over the top. So unnecessary. No. I am not talking about having to find time to repair Brock's broken arm. I am not referencing his dentist appointment. Nor the back to school night that went an hour too long. Nor the changes in work schedule. It was on night 3, when I found out that Brock had been selected to be, THE FIRST, "Student of the Week" in his First Grade class. 

Translation: Oh, you are home? Alone with 5 kids? Taking care of all of their needs, while working full time and trying to keep rodents from taking over your filthy, disgusting, neglected house because your children insist on crumbling crackers and cereal while they eat it walking through the house, and stripping down thereby leaving dirty clothes throughout the house, and the dog pissed the floor again, and your mental health is hanging on by the thinnest of all that is hardly visible thread? Well then, let me hand you our BIGGEST project of the year. You know. That one that is "all about the kid". The one that needs pictures printed. Paper cut and colored. The one that requires you (the most impatient human to ever exist, who has never spent more than 30 seconds on her own homework in her whole life) to try and get your child to sit and write (his least favorite thing EVER, by the way) and think about the things he "loves" while his 3-4 other siblings run a muck. Crying. Laughing. Watching movies. Playing. 

This assignment rocked me to my core, I couldn't even cry OR laugh about it. I simply switched into survival mode...and that is where I have remained. I tried to look at the silver-lining. It will be done. He's the first, therefore NO expectations. I get it. He's the new kid in the class, it's his chance to tell his new classmates all about himself. It all makes sense, but, fuck. The timing is so bad. I told myself, it's ok, technology is extremely advanced. I will simply choose some pictures on my phone, load them online and pick them up from Crick Camera. My favorite locally owned camera shop. An hour and 3 failed attempts later, I gave up on Crick. Screw it. I will just stop in CVS with my USB cord and print some from my phone. Fast forward 4 days later (the day before it's due) and I, to the shock of no one, have not had one second to stop in CVS. I call my mom, asking if I can drop the kids and run in the store for 15 minutes to print photos. 

ONE HOUR LATER, I have prints in hand. One hour. An hour I simply did NOT have to offer. If I was going to get an hour, free of children, it should have been to work out. You know. Release some endorphins. Or eat a decent meal, not another meal of hot dogs and potato chips. Or get a pedicure. Or sit and have my own thoughts again for a minute. This particular Kodak Kiosk, would not recognize my device. I needed to download the App. But apparently my App store had disappeared. I thought the App Store app couldn't be deleted!!?? Those kids have managed to find yet, another way to ruin my life. I can't even go to the App Store to find and download another App Store. I had 3 other iPhone users completely stumped. Gone. 20 minutes later, thanks to Google, I found it. Matt had turned off my "in-App" purchasing, thereby, "hiding" the App store all together. I had to call him in China (1am his time) to find out the random password he decided to use, instead of the usual 4-digit codes each of us have used all of our lives. The Kiosk then shut down. Just decided, you know what, I don't feel like functioning properly. I feel your day has not yet had enough obstacles. It had to be rebooted. This takes 8 minutes. Never, in my life, have I ever cussed to random people. (Not AT. But TO.) That streak ended today.

I'm really not sure I can handle anything else. The simplest requests feel like 135 pound weights on my chest. I used my precious child nap time to help Brock compile all the components of his board. Laundry which should have been folded (or, who are we kidding, at least sorted) remains untouched. Unwashed even. The mice are probably having a party with all the unvacuumed crumbs. My sanity has been chipped away at, yet again. But, the project is complete. It's ready to hand in on Monday. He might not have a uniform to wear, but his (my) homework is finished. 

That is, until Wednesday, when the PARENT'S are assigned to write a note. At least this time, it is appropriately titled. I mean, let's be honest. This entire project, along with almost all of grade school, is really just parent homework, right? I don't really know this for sure. Brock is my oldest, so I am just now experiencing this whole "school thing" from the other side. I don't remember doing homework, at all. I definitely don't remember my mom helping me with it. And now, I am a doctor. So, maybe I just leave them be? 

Who knows. What I do know, is:

Four. More. Days.

I. can. not.

Why having FOUR older brothers is THE WORST.

They drag you to the pool. The freezing cold pool. They run around, laughing, shooting water guns, and eventually, they splash you in the face. Why must they be so wreckless?

When your mother wants a family picture, you fear for your life. Every. Single. Time.

Your "pretty boy" brother wears pigtails better than you do. Not right.


No. Just no.


As if tummy time was not bad enough, you rarely make it 5 minutes without getting hugged, kissed, stepped on or kicked. 
Can they not just leave me be!?


You rarely fall asleep and wake up in the same condition. And their accessories simply do not go with the outfit.


They insist that power tools are fun. Please.

You can't even enjoy your brand new, adorable chair, in your newly finished nursery, without, again, fearing for your life.

They seem incapable of understanding the concept of personal space.

They have even convinced your parents that tractors are fun. You have GOT to be kidding me!!!
They are always hogging the iPad. And playing really dumb boy games at that.

I repeat. No. Personal. Space.

Always wondering if you will survive. Just curious. Will I make it another minute? Why are they all surrounding me?
Nothing, not even your adorable girly accessories are safe from boy cooties.

Do you see this!?

Mom, please, please get me out of this madness. What are they even doing? Why do they think that is fun?

Dirty, grimy fingers. In the mouth. In the eyes. In the ears. Eww. Just eww!!!

They just don't get it. I am crying BECAUSE of you. Please don't try to cheer me up. Ugh, boys.

They insist on filling my crib, when I'm only a few days old...have they not heard of SIDS? No stuffed animals in the baby's bed!!