The Push

My very first Christmas tree. 

"I can't do this anymore. It's killing me." 

Those words, uttered by my husband, changed everything. You see, at the time we were still Jehovah's Witnesses. We had been having a conversation where I was trying to convince him to make more of an effort to participate. What else could I do, believing as I did, that the everlasting lives of us and our children depended upon it? I was scared for him, for me, and most of all, for our children.

We were married in our church (called a Kingdom Hall) and from the beginning, we tried to be "good" Jehovah's Witnesses. But every year it got harder and harder to go through the motions. Both of us were suffering from depression by this point, and our marriage was in trouble. In our religion, we believed the husband had to be the "spiritual head," and I tried every weapon in my arsenal to try to make that happen. I was encouraging and nagging and even insulting and cruel.  I tried not bringing it up and then bringing it up regularly. I prayed for him and asked others to do so. I could see that his belief in God was slipping away.

Finally, it came to a head one night at date night at our usual restaurant when he looked in my eyes and told me that our religion was killing him. It took the wind out of my sails. Over the next few weeks, I knew I had to make a decision. My religion dictated that my role would be to tell on him to the congregation elders so that they could reprimand him for his lack of faith and try to convince him to do his duty to his family and our congregation. If he didn't, I could patiently martyr myself as a long-suffering wife with an "unbelieving husband." But I couldn't do that to him. I knew what he had been through already and besides, I had been having doubts myself.

I chose to take a leap of faith, into what I believed was an abyss of no faith. Once I had made that decision, I started to explore my fondest dream. From a child, I always secretly loved Christmas decorations and would imagine what kind of a tree I would have if I ever celebrated Christmas. Of course, I believed these thoughts were wrong, so I always felt adequately guilty. However, I was going to celebrate Christmas that year, if it was the last thing I did. And I really thought it might be. In the whole lead-up to Christmas, I was so scared that what Jehovah's Witnesses call "Armageddon" might come before I got to celebrate Christmas. That's where my mind was at the time, I was in the in-between of still believing but not wanting to be a part of my faith. I wasn't ready yet to think that it wasn't true, that took longer.

But oh, that year, I decorated for Christmas! In my long-ago guilt-ridden fantasies, I had already decided that I would not have a monochromatic tree of all silver or all gold ornaments. I thought they were striking but too elegant. I wanted an old-timey tree with colorful decorations. I haunted thrift shops and bought enough ornaments to decorate a real tree because my dream Christmases had always involved a real tree. The very day that Zamzow's started selling fresh Christmas trees that year, we put one up. In a way, that simple act, celebrating a holiday that many people in their 30's are already tired of, it healed me.

I still love Christmas, I always say that I haven't had time yet to be jaded and I had been starved of that and so many other things for the first 33 years of my life. In one of my favorite books, Outlander, when the heroine had been accused of witchcraft and nearly sent to the stake, her husband defends her. When she asks what he would have done if she had been convicted of witchcraft, he answers, "I would have gone to the stake with you and hell beyond, if I must." I'm thrilled that my leap of faith involved neither being burned at the stake nor hellfire, but at the time, it really felt that frightening and dramatic. Cult beliefs are hard to challenge. Thankfully, when I went to the "dark side," I only found Christmas...and freedom.

Anesthesia Thoughts. My LSH Hysterectomy Recovery.

10 days after my surgery, I did my first full 2.5 mile walk, it felt great! 

When I became aware of anything after my hysterectomy, I was waking up from anesthesia and my first thought was how thirsty I was. My post-op nurse brought me no less than 3 cups of ice water and I drank them right down. I wasn't in pain, I felt pretty great, though groggy. I heard the nurse telling somebody that I was ready to go to the second floor and all I could think was that L&D at St. Luke's was on the second floor and did I have to have another baby?? My groggy brain couldn't remember being pregnant and I really didn't feel up to giving birth at that moment, thank you!

I vaguely remember saying "Not the second floor!" to the nurse and him assuring me that they actually have a surgical observation department there. I was so relieved! No baby! I had four of my children at that hospital so I was wheeled up to the second floor for the fifth time but for a different reason. When I got to my room, they asked me if I wanted to walk from the door to the bed and I did. I felt a little bit shaky and couldn't quite stand up straight because of my incision pain but I did it! They put boots on my legs that squeezed them to prevent blood clots, it was kind of relaxing, like a massage. The only thing that bothered me was having a catheter, I have had them before, in labor, but only when I also had an epidural. It's not a pleasant feeling when you're not numb.

Once I was settled into the hospital room, I called my husband, who was at work. After his procedure in October, there was very little I could do for him so we decided that it was better for him to be at work rather than sitting around in the hospital. I was tired and not really up to visitors anyway. I immediately started plotting to get the nurses to agree to let me get up and have my catheter out, but they explained that I needed it so my bladder could heal after the trauma of the surgery. I was on a clear diet but got to have black coffee which was heaven after having to skip my coffee that morning. I rested and watched classic TV and the nurses were absolutely great! My tendency to downplay everything caught up with me though. I hadn't asked for any pain medication since I got out of surgery and around 9 that evening, the pain became unbearable. I learned my lesson about trying to be a hero, and that surgery is not like childbirth! I've never been in the hospital except to have a baby, and sometimes, not even then. When I gave birth to Dori, for example, I made lasagna that morning while in the early stages of labor, had him an hour after arriving at the birth center,  and came home in time for dinner. James used to say that my births are so quick that it's like a trip to the "baby store". So recovery from anything is new to me and I wasn't quite sure how to handle it. My instinct is to push myself but in this case, it's not a good instinct.

The next day I finally got the hated catheter out and walked laps around my room to prove my legs worked and got to eat for the first time in 48 hours. James came to pick me up and I was able to walk out of the hospital on my own steam.

The physical recovery, for me, was- nothing. It is easy for me to forget anything happened. I haven't had much pain at all and almost no bleeding. Emotionally? Not so much. It isn't so much that I'm sad that I had to lose my uterus, I am completely happy not being able to have more children. But apparently, a surgery like that causes your ovaries to become traumatized and go on hiatus for a bit. So I have symptoms that are similar to sudden menopause, but temporary. I find myself crying over everything lately. Feeling sad but about nothing in particular. I can be a little short and testy with my family. I'm also very tired in the afternoon which I'm told is normal.

So almost 3 weeks later I feel....unsettled? Every once in a while, I get a feeling like you have when you're on vacation and it hits you that you forgot some important thing at home. I'll be doing something else and get this thought, "my uterus is gone!" and have a wave of panic. I'm sure I'll get used to it, I mean, they can't put it back so I guess I have to!

Overall, it's been a roller-coaster. I went back to my normal routine very quickly and definitely experience some more pain and swelling when I overdo things. Some days I feel like nothing happened and other days I feel really tired and emotional. I know that's all normal but I feel like I'm stuck in a weird in-between stage, not quite in recovery mode but not quite back to normal.

In a lot of ways, I feel so much better than I did before surgery. My asthma immediately improved. My resting heart rate, which had been creeping up over the preceding year is back to my normal 60's. I know once I'm fully recovered and my ovaries "wake up", I'll feel like myself again. But for now, I am having occasional hot flashes and a weird empty ache feeling. I'm looking forward to spring and better days ahead!

The Lump of Coal

The Lump of Coal

I don't feel well.

It feels like there's a lump of hot coal in my belly, just to the right of my belly button.

Sometimes I feel an odd tugging as if something is pulling my internal organs every so slightly over to the right.

Sometimes I'm doubled over as the hot coal inside my belly smolders and burns.

It's been like boiling a frog.

At first, it was "just" heavy bleeding. Bleeding so much and so quickly that no tampon, cup, or pad could contain it. Sleeping strategically, with both a cup and a giant pad, I would be careful even in my sleep so that I wouldn't shift enough to bleed through the pad when the cup overfloweth (as it always did) so I wouldn’t bleed on my white sheets. I’ve been menstruating for a long time, 26 years, and it was the first time it seemed feasible to wear an adult diaper or put one of those Chux on the bed that they use when you give birth.

Then it was the dull ache that wasn't menstrual cramps, wasn't a stomachache, was just...there.

Then I noticed that my digestion was impacted, as my uterus burgeoned up out of my pelvis to a size that rivals that of a four-month pregnancy. Except I'm not pregnant, and the hormones that women have in pregnancy that allows their uterus to expand without resistance are not present. So my stomach is being pushed upward by my uterus, and this creates bloating and heartburn that used to be a pregnancy symptom.

I toss and turn, hugging a pillow to my stomach and curling around it, hoping to contain the pain.

My toddlers have to sit next to me instead of on my lap because I can't stand any pressure on my lower abdomen. Even their elbows and knees as they squirm around make me wince.

When the doctor probed my belly before my ultrasound, I flinched. It hurts. It's tender and hard below my seven-kids-bread-dough belly, like a painful, overinflated balloon with a lump of hot coal inside.

I've never taken naps, not in 18 years of raising children. In the last two weeks, I have desperately needed naps. By the afternoon, I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I was bleeding for 3 weeks straight in June and for 2 weeks again in December. I wear a pantiliner or a pad more than I don’t.

My last period made it so I could not leave the house.  This bleeding involves sudden, huge gushes that come out too fast for the maxi pad to absorb, so the blood runs down my legs, feeling exactly like I've wet my pants, except it is blood.

Last month, when I thought the bleeding was finally over, I got in the shower,  and after I washed my hair, I looked down and saw that I was standing in a puddle of bloody water with blood streaming down my legs like I was Janet Leigh’s character in the Psycho shower scene. It is alarming to have that much blood leave your body, especially when it’s not supposed to happen. I am so tired of bleeding. On that occasion, I sobbed as the blood went down the drain.

I'm ready for surgery.  I need to get my energy back and not feel that a little more of my life force is ebbing away every day. I need to walk up a flight of stairs without becoming short of breath. I need to be able to stop having my period and pain rule my life and determine what I will do on any given day. I need to rid myself of the burning hot coal that is stealing my health and my perception of myself as a young, vibrant woman.

One of my professors once described me as having the energy of five people. Now I would settle for the energy of one regular, 38 year old person. Since I had Gretel my symptoms have gotten so much worse and they are impacting my quality of life more and more by the day. I’m ready to close this chapter of my life.

I'm ready.

***Today I had a hysterectomy! No more lump of hot coal! (though my incisions will be a bit touchy for a while)

One Flew (out of) the Cuckoo's Nest

My oldest son turned 18 in April and went off to Navy boot camp this summer. He has now spent several months thousands of miles from home, and it's been a huge adjustment for everyone. I have six other children at home, including two toddlers. I remember when I was in my 20's and had five small children, imagining that I would be happy and relieved when my children were grown and moved out. It didn't turn out that way!

Of all the things "they" don't tell you about when you bring home a newborn baby, I think this is the most unexpected. I remember the stereotype of moms being sad when they have an empty nest, but my nest is actually quite full. So why am I so sad?

When my son was in boot camp, I found a lot of solace in a military mom group, where us moms dealt with the culture shock of having our children suddenly thousands of miles away and unable to communicate, save via weekly letters. In some way that I can't fully explain, I think the transition would have been gentler if he had gone to college as so many kids do at that age, although I'm sure being a college mom has its own challenges! Having a child embark on their own life has brought about, for me, such an overflow of emotion that it caught me by surprise.

It's not that I want my children to stay home with me forever, God knows that we had our struggles during the teen years, after all! It's just a mixture of immense pride, love, fear of the unknown, and sadness that this phase of my parenting him is over all at once. When I think back over the last 18 years, I have regrets of things I did and didn't do, times I was too quick to anger and too harsh, and times that I wished my days away because of the monotony of parenting a young child. But it's not that I'm stuck in regret, I think that despite everything, I did enjoy his childhood. It is hard for me to believe that so much time has passed. I am as astonished that he is an adult as I would be if I woke up tomorrow and my 20-month-old daughter announced that she was moving out!

Since I was 18 when I got pregnant and 19 when I gave birth, part of it is disbelief that I am old enough to be some adult's mother. Because I started my family so young, and then, after a five-year gap, started over with two babies in my mid-30's, I feel like I don't quite belong in any "mom group." To use a nautical analogy, I feel unmoored. What am I now? How can I be an empty nester with a full-to-bursting nest? How can I be both a teenage and advanced maternal age mom? Am I a new-old mom?

As I write this today, my oldest boy is flying back to his barracks after a week-long visit over the holidays in which we revisited some of our traditions from the years he was home with me. He also showed his out-of-shape and weak-muscled mother how to lift weights! We took him out to dinner, we spent time just hanging out, and I cried a lot. I'm excited that he's going back to his newfound profession and routine. I'm so very proud of the man he's become. But I can't help but see visions of the bright-haired toddler that I used to take on a daily walk in the stroller, while he excitedly pointed out houses and cars and his favorite, the grey horse down the road who would walk over to the fence and say hello.

I think I'm ready to let that boy go on his adventures. I pray he will fly high, but come back down to earth (and us) sometimes.

I was in a Cult.

I'm finally ready to say it.

I was in a cult.

I didn't know I was in a cult when I was in it (nobody ever does). It's not like you're getting ready on a Sunday morning and say to your kids, "come on guys, we have to get to the <insert worship facility> so we can work on our cultism!". No, it's insidious. Everything seems reasonable to you. When I look back at the things I believed and the things I did, I feel like the stupidest person alive. Did I BELIEVE that nonsense? But I did! And I know that I'm an intelligent person. How did it happen? How did I let it take over my life? Why didn't I heed the giant waving red flags and sirens along the way?

Here's how it works: You either are raised in the cult from a very young age so the behavior and beliefs become normalized OR you come into the cult later in life, when you're seeking something to give your life meaning. Cults are very good at "love bombing" and seem to have a sixth sense about people that are searching for belongingness (which is on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs) and purport to be capable of filling that person's need. Of course, once you're "in," the love-bombing stops and you become just another rank and file member. But, by then, your world has shrunk to the four walls of your worship place, and the only people you have relationships with are those that are also "in."

When you're in a cult, everybody polices each other. It's human nature to deflect and as long as you're pointing the finger at someone else, it takes the heat off yourself. When you are in a cult, the leaders tell you that if you do, say, and think the "right" things, you will be safe. Another common factor in cults is focusing on apocalyptic "end times." My cult was no exception. Every day, we were to prepare and be on guard for this end time. So it didn't matter if you ever got an education, got a good job, or even got married. Having children was actively discouraged because what kind of monster would deliberately bring children into a world that was seen as soon to come to a violent end?

The real reason that people were discouraged from having outside goals or relationships or even to have children was a straightforward one: why would they want people to have divided loyalties or something else to spend their time and money on? People with small children were less likely to be actively involved in <insert pointless mandated activity>

I remember being chastised many times by our "religious leaders" about the fact that I had (at the time) five children. I was asked rude questions about my sex life and birth control choices. I found myself reflexively apologizing for my fertility. A story about some medical condition or accident of contraception was expected. It didn't make it ok, but if the other person heard that you were remorseful for your rampant irresponsibility, they could excuse you and nod sadly at your folly. Looking back, I genuinely regret the time I spent being less happy about my pregnancies than I should have been. I regret all the sheepish explanations I gave to those who chastised me.

I wasted 29 years of my life on a false and harmful belief. I was never faking, I was a true believer. I blocked out all criticisms, dropping anti-<insert cult here> pamphlets as if they were poison. I turned my head away from the protestors outside of our yearly gatherings. Now I think, "if only I had listened!"

I can't put all the blame on the leaders though. I did it. I participated. I shunned people. I hurt people. I raised my children in the cult. I am guilty. I could spend the rest of my life wearing a hair shirt and beating my chest (oh, how easy the Biblical allegories come to those raised in bible-thumping cults!), but I choose to do something else.

I'm going to speak out when the occasion calls. I'm going to raise my children differently. And I'm currently enrolled in college, with the goal of getting my Master's and becoming a licensed therapist. That's right, a big part of my successful exit from a cult is a secular, licensed therapist. I wouldn't have had the tools otherwise. I hope to help others with the tools they need when they are ready.

Unlike cult members, I will never seek out others and force my beliefs on them. I will never tell people how to live. I don't even mind if someone reads this and thinks, "That isn't a cult!". I am not here to tell anyone how to feel. I just know that for my husband and me, this was a terribly destructive force in our lives. It has taken us years to unravel the damage, and some will never be undone.

But, we are happy. For 25 years, I had a nightmare about some invisible force that I knew was coming. I had to shut all the windows and doors of our house, otherwise, it would get in. Each time I dreamed this, I would be panicking, racing around the house, trying to get all the windows closed, while my family laughed at me and persisted in undoing my work. When the cult I was in talked about end times, I knew that that was what I was dreaming of. How frightening for a child to live daily, feeling that the world would end in a terrible fashion, while spirit and earthly forces persecuted members of my religion. That was a heavy burden for a child who was already prone to anxiety. I also developed obsessive thoughts centered around religious themes and at one point became convinced (at 8 years old) that I had committed the unforgivable sin and would be destroyed by God.

I still have moments, over 5 years from the time we exited the cult, where the realization dawns on me that I am no longer carrying that weight. That I don't have to live every day in fear of end times or keep myself segregated from those that aren't in the same cult. And every time, I feel like I've won the lottery. I'm free!

P.S. I have deliberated avoided using the name of the cult I was in because it doesn't even matter which one I was in. But, if you're interested, it was Jehovah's Witnesses.

A Simple Kind of Life

Recently, I was washing the dishes (by hand, because I hate dishwashers, or at least our dishwasher) and as I was rinsing the bowl in the picture, I had some thoughts. This plain white mixing bowl is actually very special to me. I've had it for about 16 years. I vividly remember where I got it, it was from a Lilian Vernon catalog, that mail order gift company. I used to love those catalogs! As a SAHM with no car, my days were very long and I often filled my time by poring over magazines and catalogs. I used to love the Lilian Vernon one because the kitchen items were affordable and since we also didn't have much money, I would always dream of what I would buy if I could. 

At this time, we were living in our little two-bedroom apartment in Boise which had blue carpet. I decorated with my hand-me-down furniture and what few knick-knacks we could afford. I remember that I dreamed of a yellow kitchen in those days and one day, realized I could afford to buy a few things. I circled a set of plain white mixing bowls that were on sale and added adorable lemon salt-and-pepper shakers. We didn't have the internet then so I called in the order (on the phone!) and waited excitedly for my purchases to arrive. I don't even remember what happened to the salt-and-pepper-shakers and all the mixing bowls have been broken over the years except this one, but it reminds me so much of the simple days when I watched every penny and was so excited to get a set of cheap, plain white mixing bowls from a mail-order catalog. 

In many ways, my life is just as simple now, by design. I look around my house and see so many well-loved things that I have had since I got married. A cake pan, a pasta strainer, I have always had the attitude that you keep something until it can't be used anymore, there's no need to replace things! Because of that, I have been using a box grater with no handle for probably 17 years! But it works! I still have a casserole dish that I received as a wedding present nearly 19 years ago, cobalt blue and missing a lid. Probably half my kitchen items were wedding gifts, and the other half are Fiestaware that I bought at Goodwill and thrift shops. 

As I closed my business, I made a conscious choice to go back to a simpler existence. These days, if I get my step count on my Fitbit, the kids are happy and not fighting, and dinner is on the table, I consider the day a success. I'm still learning to adapt (again) to a simple kind of life. Most of the time, it feels just fine! 

Going Big and Going Home

 

Seven years ago this month, a stay-at-home mom of five pressed "submit" on her first Etsy listing. I look back on my then nearly ten years of being what I affectionately referred to as a "housewife" almost as if it were a dream. I was great at it. Really, really, great. My house was orderly and tastefully decorated. My children were in coordinated clothes. I myself never left the house without full makeup and often wore clothes I made myself. Oh, how I loved it. Baking a pie in the afternoon while listening to AM radio. Scrubbing the kitchen floor with a scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water. I was a relic.

And then I went through the looking glass. A twisting, winding path that would lead me to the picture above. On the floor of Nasdaq as confetti rained down. Yes, I was nearly 7 months pregnant at the time and my lower back was killing me, but I had traveled to NYC. I rode the subway! I visited Etsy HQ and sold my soap in Times Square. And if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere (as the saying goes).

But did I make it? I'm still not sure.

This year I closed my shop. It was a painful decision. I had more than 30,000 sales on Etsy by that time. I should be proud, I worked really hard at it for a long time. For a brief shining moment, it was my dream and I imagined myself turning it into an empire. And then it turned into something else. By the end, it stung.

The beginning of the end started just a few months after that moment on the Nasdaq floor. That July, had given birth to my sixth child but something wasn't right with me. I was suffering from postpartum depression that caused crippling anxiety. I could hardly bear to open my emails in the morning. I started to avoid them, going longer and longer before responding to customers. I had handed over the day-to-day operations to my husband and teenage son while I recovered. But when I had imagined going back to handling everything, I found that I wasn't ready. So my husband (who worked full-time) was burning the midnight oil every night making products while I ordered supplies and printed labels and answered emails and our son shipped orders. Things started to slip through the cracks. I remember clearly sitting on my bed with my laptop open to convos, holding the baby, with tears streaming down my face because I was dreading opening my messages. I started to get complaints about the slow response time and the slower shipping time. They were legitimate complaints but I felt powerless to address them. My mental state was not good and I simply couldn't handle being back at work yet. But I felt obligated to stay open because by this time, I had taken out loans for operating expenses and these loans required me to be open, making daily sales. At this point, I was also responsible for making a good portion of our family income. With a new baby and new expenses, I couldn't do anything else but keep plodding along.

Then one day, I opened my shop and realized I had lost my five star rating. I was devastated. It was then that I realized something had to change. I ended up going on vacation mode in order to catch up and started to do that whenever I felt the need. During the times that I was closed to catch my breath, I noticed that I felt happier, freer. I knew that my focus had changed and that my business was no longer bringing me joy. And wasn't that the point in the first place? To make our lives better?

By the beginning of 2016, the seed was planted in my head that my shop had an expiration date. In August 2016, I started college at Northwest Nazarene University as a 36 year old freshmen. It was time to move on to my next stage. I also found out I was pregnant with my seventh child, my only daughter. I felt like the universe was telling me I was making the right choice. But I knew I had to keep my business going until I could wrap it up in an organized fashion and after I had paid off all my loans. I also wanted to get to 30,000 sales just because. After my daughter was born, I had learned my lesson about overextending myself and I took a lengthy maternity leave. No more returning convos from my hospital bed as I had in 2015.

I closed my shop for good in October, after making my final payment to the bank that loaned me operating capital. It was over. For the first time in seven years, I was able to decorate my house for Christmas, set up my Christmas village, bake cookies and watch movies with my kids. As sad as I was (and am) about the end of PuurBody it was 100% the right decision. I am so grateful for every customer that believed in me and took a chance on my business when it was so new. I feel guilty sometimes that I was not able to "go big" but instead chose to "go home" but I know in my heart it was the right step.

I am not sure what I will do about my product formulas, which were all painstakingly developed by me and were hard for me to even share with my husband when he started learning to make products. I have received many emails from former customers who want to order my natural deodorant. I thought of just giving them the formula but I don't feel ready to give up my "babies" and am not sure what I will do with my proprietary information in the future. Sometimes I'm tempted just to whip up a batch of deodorant and gift it to those who have asked but I feel that would start me down the road to another business and I really don't want to go there! I definitely have the entrepreneurial spirit and often think of ideas for other business ventures and have to mentally slap myself to prevent me from doing them.

Now I am a stay-at-home-mom again and a Sophomore in college, pursuing my Master's degree. Life is good. I have come home.

Finding my Joy

Since I wrote last, I have been in homebody mode, in my winter break for college and stuck under a historic winter storm that has dumped unprecedented amounts of snow and meant that we have been hovering around zero degrees farenheit.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want for this year, as people are apt to do after New Year's and I'm finding myself gravitating to many of the same hobbies that I have not had time for in years. Meal planning, couponing and crocheting have all been happening. I have crocheted a soft pink lacy blanket for the expected baby girl and started another. I am anxious to get back to my studies as I find that I really enjoy being a college student. This upcoming semester I will be studying some subjects that I really enjoy, like Literature and Christian Theology.

I dyed my hair platinum blonde with rose quartz ombre in what is left of my bright red hair that I had months ago. I am still feeling unsettled and sometimes like I'm not accomplishing enough but I am thankful that I am adapting well to my new reality. Gone are the coffee-fueled all-nighters and the pressure to meet sales goals. Now I am taking my sales as they come and spending more time working on the things that are truly "Important to Me". I also watched the documentary, "For Joey" about Joey Feek and her cancer battle. It is really hard to feel sorry for oneself when presented with a story like that, and that's a good thing.

I used to be a Top Etsy Seller, but I'm not anymore. And why I'm Okay with that (Usually)

They Are Not Long - Ernest Dowson

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,

Love and desire and hate;

I think they have no portion in us after

We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses,

Out of a misty dream

Our path emerges for a while, then closes

Within a dream.

I came back to my little old blog because this is where it all began. That picture on my blog? It was taken almost exactly 6 years ago, right after I opened my silly little Etsy shop with zero expectations. I feel like I've lived 100 lifetimes since then and become someone I don't even remember becoming.

So allow me to sit on my rocking chair, children, while I tell you a story. How my silly little hobby became a business that at one time provided half my family income. How I went from 0 sales to nearly 30,000 on Etsy and how I ultimately, failed.

Six years ago I was a stay-at-home mom with five children and I was just trying to navigate the economic times, which for us were...bad. My days were spent figuring out how to make it all work. I baked, I sewed, I took care of children. I loved it. But I thought I could help stretch the budget a bit by making soap. Then I thought I could sell a few bars here and there for some extra cash. Oh, poor, sweet, naive 2010 me!

Well, anyway, it ended up exploding more than I could have imagined. On April 16, 2015, I found myself standing on the selling floor at Nasdaq, along with other Etsy sellers, ringing handmade bells as Etsy.com went public. At six months pregnant, I traveled to New York and walked down Broadway. I sold my products at a booth in Times Square. It was amazing and memorable.  In the last 6 years, my business has kept food on the table during the worst of the Great Recession. At one time, it paid for a bi-weekly cleaning service and a part-time employee. I bought my children clothes and books and shoes and gadgets. We went to Disneyland twice. And then I had my son, Felix. From the first night in the hospital, I suffered from extreme PPA which meant I couldn't sleep and sat on my bed crying while worrying over my Etsy reviews, which were suffering. I simply couldn't keep up anymore and my husband and son were taking over most tasks. After I got over the worst of my depression, which took at least 6 months, I no longer had the desire to outsell everybody. All I wanted was...peace.

Yet, how could I continue contributing to my family in the way we had become used to? So I soldiered on. I stopped being able to create new fragrances and products, so I just kept making the same old things. I lost my competitive edge. I didn't keep up with changes, I didn't keep my product line fresh. I phoned it in for a good year. And it showed! This past summer, I found out I was pregnant with my seventh child, a girl after six boys. A child that will likely be my last child ever. I do not want a repeat of July 2015. I need to find joy in my life again and move on to the next step. I don't have the energy to compete with other shops, I'm not good at innovating right now. Basically, I suck. I'm no Estee Lauder. And that's okay.

This fall, I enrolled in Northwest Nazarene University in order to ultimately get my Master's Degree. I have plans for the future again! I'm a full-time student at 36, pregnant with my seventh child! I have a son that will be going off to college himself in 2018. It is a busy and exciting time. I have cried a lot of tears at the prospect of my Etsy shop becoming a footnote in my life, or maybe a sidebar. It certainly will not be the focus of my day-to-day activities as is has for so long. I will still continue making products but likely I will cut my product line down by at least half.

It has been a grieving process realizing that I need to do this, it feels like somebody died. I've cried a lot of tears over this.  But I hope, in time, it will just be a happy memory of what I did from 2010-2016, and I won't feel the embarrassment that I currently feel at having not "made it big" or "created an empire" or whatever if was that I was so hell-bent on doing for so long. I've learned so much in the last six years. Mostly, that where I am truly happy and fulfilled is right here, planning my weekly grocery shopping or baking bread. It was quite a ride, and now that this era is coming to an end, I'm both sad and grateful.

Thank you to everyone that helped me make it happen.

I will be back!

Tired Mama Cooks

I love tuna casserole. It reminds me of being a kid! Unfortunately, my husband does NOT like tuna casserole. Something about texture. Whatever.

He recently told me to stop not making all the things he doesn't like (enough double negatives there?) so I threw together a made-from-scratch tuna casserole while he was at the gym. No sodium laden condensed soup here or weird cracker crumb topping (though I secretly like that). It's so easy and cheap! And it was a win with my kiddos.

Tired Mama Tuna Casserole

• Large can of light tuna (12 oz) in water
• Two cups milk (lowfat is fine)
• 4Tbls olive oil or butter
• 1 tsp celery salt
• 1/4 tsp sage
• 4 TBLS flour
• 1lb whole wheat penne
• 1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
• 1 cup shredded colby-blend cheese

Melt butter in saucepan, add flour, stir into a smooth paste. Add celery salt, sage, and milk. Cook and stir until thickened and bubbly and then 1 minute more. Drain tuna, add to sauce. Cook pasta (I do mine in a rice cooker!) to just past al-dente, drain. Grease large casserole dish, add noodles, then sauce, mix gently with a wooden spoon and smooth the top. Add cheese, then seasoned bread crumbs. Cover with foil and bake at 350 for 30 minutes.