I've joined it. And I am so happy about it.

I know I've been ignoring my blog, but sometimes there is too much to say, rather than not enough. Then you wonder how much is too much? How much do you share? Sometimes I felt if I started to write I wouldn't stop. Sometimes I had no words to express the feelings.

I'm not depressed. Just the opposite - I love my life so much that the thought of something terrible happening wigs me out. I have an anxiety disorder. I've always been a worrywort or hypochondriac. But since Liron died, it started to get a little out of control. Then I had the miscarriage. Had another big flareup. Tried Paxil and messed myself up more. Stepped back and tried to get my head on straight. I thought I was doing well, but then a few weeks ago M told me he was going to start traveling for work again. Soon. And often. And all of a sudden my body wigged out. In psych talk it is called derealization. Like walking through a fog. Vertigo, dizzy, removed from your life. It was like being on bad drugs. After a few days of this I dragged myself to my doctors office in tears and begged for drugs. Good doctor that she is she was hesitant to write it all off as anxiety and wanted me to see a specialist, but agreed to do the drugs until I could get into see someone. But I knew. I knew it was my crazy self. And on the way home from the doctors I had to call M on the phone b/c I felt so insane and out of my brain. I have never been so terrified.

There is nothing I fear more than losing my health. And now I can add my mental health to that as well.

The prozac helped. It caused some panic attacks at first, but mild, so mild compared to Paxil. And then just good. Feeling good. Still some off moments, but I am giving it some time and letting the drug do its thing.

Note to self, cancel all subscriptions to parenty type magazines. Or at the very least disregard all advice. Stupid me read an article that said let your child be involved in decorating their room. So I let A pick the paint color. Red. Sounded good at the time. That is because I am not a visual person and I could not imagine that it would actually look like bloodshed. I had nightmares about that room in it's primer stages. So we hemmed and we hawed and we revisited many things, and this is what fell out. Not bad for a room without a plan.

For the paint people, that's Benjamin Moore Million Dollar Red and Benjamin Moore Sweet Butter. The Blue is actually wallpaper - thanks to Christy for that tip! And after all the angst, I have to say, I like the end result. And A is beyond thrilled with his red room with a "little bit of yellow here, and some blue."

In a never ending struggle to get A to take some medicine this morning, at the end of my rope from all the nice cajoling, I said "A, you have no choice, you have to do this. You don't make the rules. I do."

And a little voice pipes up from across the table - "YOU THE BOSS MOM!" I love me some O. Train them young I say!

It was cold this morning! Cold! A and I were freezing as we got into the van on the way to school this morning. So I turned on the heat. Then I looked up at the digital thermometer thingy and guess what the outside temperature was - 75 degrees. OMG. Damn Florida weather has made me soft! In another life I stood outside on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston waiting for the world's slowest B line trolley in the dead of winter. And I was OK with it. And now, 75 degree weather sends me cranking the heater.

What has happened to me!?

Me: "O, I'm so sorry you have a yucky belly"
O: "No MOM! No Yucky belly! I have YUCKY MOUTH!"
- a conversation had while the evil stomach bug from beyond hell ran through our house this weekend.

A: "It's no fair."
Me: "What's not fair now?"
A: "I'm not having fall. Nothing is happening here. I don't have any leaves falling or changing color. That's not fair!"
- said while watching a Noggin short about fall. A, I feel your pain. We are trapped in the endless summer that is southern Florida. I need apple cider. NEED IT. And the donuts, please send fresh hot apple cider donuts. Please?

Dear friend L: "What's going on with you?"
Me: "I am driving home from Chucky Cheese with O's puke on my foot!"
(mutual shrieking and hysterical laughter)
Me: "Vent, vent, moan, groan, vent, vent, groan, whine."
- thank you L for letting me completely let it out - every girl needs a friend they can call when they have been puked upon - literally and figuritively! Did I mention I had flip flops on? Yeah, there was puke on my foot! So gross! A had the classic lunchtable pukefest at school, O lets it rip at Chucky Cheese. Childhood at it's finest!