Wisteria Lane.

(deep breath)

So I've taken on the oh-so-highly-regarded title this year of Room Mom for my daughter's preK class. In taking some needed time off from promoting my photography business I decided to immerse myself in things that I don't often get to dapple in... hence, the new challenge.

I'm never good at jumping into things like this for the purpose of staying 'out of the limelight'. I want to arrive at the preschool with none other than my favorite PINK sweats from Victoria Secret, my flip-flops (yes, even in the snow), my Nike fleece zip up and my hair tussled about due to lack of showering. I APPRECIATE relaxation in a form unlike any other 30+ year old Mill Creek Mom out there. It is not unlike them to arrive in there itsy bitsy jeans, heals, tailored tops and hair done up like a hair product model... it makes me puke a little in my mouth. I then hop out of the car, lick my palm and slick down the frizz while looking at my reflection in the drivers' window, grab the baby in pajamas and no socks, walk to the double doors, close my eyes and reach for the handle and remember 'I'm not here for them... I'm here for the kids... I'm not here for them... I'm here for the kids...' As I open the doors I'm surrounded by supermodel Moms fresh from the gym or the aforementioned Herbal Essence models. They laugh and giggle while picking up little Janie. Janie is dressed to the hilt in Gymboree striped leggings, a corduroy skirt, french cuff shirt and hair in pigtails... she carries her bag like its a Gucci purse and smiles. Her teeth even sparkle - I mean it, the little 'star' that if caught just right blinds you? You know what I'm talking about.

I look above the crowd of suburbialets and find my hoodlum. Dressed to the hilt in pink ballet leggings with dirt on the knees, OshKosh skirt a size too small but sufficient none-the-less, layers of clean-but-stained shirts, old tennies and hair we forgot to comb. She drags her bookbag on the ground as she approaches me and looks me up and down as if to say, 'I thought you said you'd shower today...' Not that she could care less but her 'awareness' is rather mature compared to Miss Janie who's now sucking her binkie as she hops in her booster out in the parking lot.

****

Fast forward to Room Mom Krista.

Today I arrived at school in my '7s'... my Ann Taylor LOFT shirt and my heels. I wore a long, wool cream colored jacket just perfect for Fall and my hair was down and blowing in the Fall wind. I felt rather svelte and 'with it'. Dress for success as they say. Today we were having a Parent's get together at one of the parent's home and it would consist of talking face to face, sipping coffee, munching on pastries and giggling about things not unlike what you may see on Desperate Housewives. I wanted to 'fit the bill' if not for any other reason than to not be 'noticeable'. The week old sweats and spongy teeth might conjure up more concern than I cared to address and so I... did it.

I 'Wisteria'ed myself.

Though the time was lovely, I couldn't help but consider the 'woman from a different country' walking in and surveying our crowd. She would quizzically look at us as though we were unaware of life outside Mill Creek and scoff at our stupidity. She would likely turn on her new digital camera and begin recording our interactions as one would a pack of lioness' on the Savannah. It would be taken back to their educational system as a means of teaching the children about God's faithfulness and His provision - see what you DON'T have to wade through? God is good. Now go fetch me a pail of water, boil it, cool it and we'll have it for drinking tomorrow.

I don't mean to short change our time together today - it was surprisingly 'not surface-level' conversation. We talked about what 'church' is and the idea of 'faith'... it was headed in a different direction than I had originally assumed it would! Casual... outside the box... witty comments and valid responses. And what did I want to do?

I wanted my PINK sweats and a hot cup of jo'. I wanted to curl my legs under me on the couch and begin asking these women about what its 'really' like out there... how do we do this and be blameless before Jesus? How do we... on and on and on.

My dream is that on Friday we'll all show up not having showered since this morning. We'll be anticipating the next get together and offer to bring Ho-Hos, instant coffee or the like...

(cricket. cricket. cricket) In other words, never gonna happen. God forbid. Its Mill Creek.

Survival of the Fittest.

When I write this I think to myself, 'what IF my kid was nabbed by some freakish human wanting to abuse them and murder them?!'... then I have to ask myself, 'am I considered 'fit' to be a parent?'

I'd like to raise 'fit' children and in doing so I need to understand how the responsibilities and capabilities should mature with age. I hope I can be wise enough to figure out what's appropriate at what age. I need to find a good book on that.

I'm quite certain Katie shouldn't have driven her drunk mother home last night... now where's that book...

Post overdue.

It was promised that I would write about the experience of letting Katie walk to the mailbox herself. She has since gone to the mailbox twice -- she takes quite awhile getting ready as though its her first school dance. She walks around as though in a matter of moments she's been given the authority to detonate a nuclear missile and the responsibility sends small waves of anxiety... hope... urgency... apprehension... timidness... confidence... weariness... all of which manifest themselves in one of many ways - flinging her hair back over her shoulder, rubbing her forehead, pacing, snacking without concern for weight gain, talking jibberish, talking to herself, talking to the Lord. Good graciousness.

She chooses the appropriate shoes. She opens the front door and then with masked-concern asks William one. more. time if he would like to go with her. William responds with 'no' as he stares into the abyss of the internet game he's playing - he will change his mind only moments before she steps foot onto the sidewalk at the end of the driveway... he will then scream with fear and surprise that 'he actually does want to go' at which I raise my eyebrows and motion him to hurry up, get his pickin' shoes on and 'RUN! SHE'S LEAVING YOU! RUN!' That's a joke - I would hate to clean up his poop-filled pants.

He tears out of the front door and I walk slowly down the long drive as they make the 100 yard trek to the mailbox at the front of the neighborhood. I see them the entire time against my 'better judgment'... I think it would be far better for them were I to let them go at it alone.

Just yesterday a friend ours was over with her 3 year old. Katie asked if she, William and Regan could go to the park and have a picnic by themselves. To this I looked at my friend, Jess, and shrugged my shoulders as if asking for her thoughts. She looked at me, 'really? truly? where is this said park?' (paraphrased) I explained the situation, 'down the drive, down the sidewalk, around the houses, through a trail, across some grass... lay down a blanket. Eat. Play. Come home.' It helped that the FINAL stretch brought them right back to eating their picnic on the adjacent lot to our house -- she stretched herself and her comfort zone and agreed. The kids, 5, 3 and 3 years old took off on their adventure. Lunches packed (no I will not go into the detail of the drama and thought that goes into THIS outing), layers of clothes in case of 'weather change', water bottles and toys. They ate their lunch in the sunshine feeling like Queens and Kings of another land eating on the plains of their heritage and basking in the glow of charmed lives. We Moms peaked on them every so often to make sure the bad men had not 'found out' and run off with them... or to make sure that the nearby marsh hadn't drown them with its temptations of frogs and ducks... nope, they were more child-like than ever with imaginations that stretched farther than the world they found themselves in.

Its refreshing and scary. Its nurtured in us that this is unsafe parenting yet I can't help but think we've fallen into foolishness and naivety when I think of the loss of imagination in our children and the reality of how little control we have in our lives. One moment I'm asking my child to 'not go beyond the second pear tree' in our driveway so that she will be 'safe' and the next moment we're speeding down the freeway and find ourselves tangled in metal and gasoline due to no fault of our own. Each of us finds our own 'comfort zone' when it comes to giving our kids responsibility -- I just hope its founded on wisdom as opposed to fear. Its seems we're getting better and better at not thinking for ourselves... and this is one symptom of that, I'm afraid.

Lexapro - my lifeline.

I'm depressed.

Its always been an issue but it wasn't until my daughter was born that I owned it and dealt with it. Maybe because when the doctor asked if I'd consider hurting her I responded with a somewhat drunk-meets-hyperactive 'yes! do you? I mean I know she's not yours but when you think about her do you think about hurting her? not that you've ever met her but do you ever wonder why polar bear cubs don't make it through the first year of life? No Doc! You're wrong! They don't starve - the mother eats them! Yeah... Yeah... so that's how I'm feeling! You?! Do you ever feel that way?!'

As the doctor looks at me, he casually grabs the baby from my shaking arms and hands her to the CPS agent recently called to the scene... I'm whisked away from the life I knew just moments before and I'm being pumped full of fluids and meds.

At least that's how those moments felt right before I answered the question, 'do you ever think of hurting her?' The doctor looked so casual as though this would be a question at any child's 2 week appointment.

I paused. I carefully thought through my answer. He wouldn't ask if he didn't have some sort of resolve for the answer I'm about to give. 'Yes. I think about hurting her. Or just not feeding her. Both and.'

He looks down at his prescription paper pad and clicks his pen, legs crossed at the ankle and knee he begins scribbling. He rips the paper off its stub and hands me hope that life will be different from now on.

With Katie, I lived on samples due to my insurance not paying for the brand my doc recommended. I was on them for 3 months and went off cold-turkey with little to no side effects. With William my OB/GYN put me on them at 36 weeks of pregnancy -- she mentioned that she would much rather have a baby go through 'withdrawals' than a Mother who's suicidal. AMEN! I was on them for 6 months - another round of samples due to insurance. With Benjamin I went with what I knew -- I've been on the anti-depressants since I was 36 weeks pregnant with Ben. I'm 18 months past the birth and have discovered through trial and error that my ability to function without the Lexapro is less than desirable. I take the lowest dose possible and find that the 'edge' of irritation and anger is ever so wonderfully 'curbed'. I'm able to not care about the sticky floors although I'm kind of perturbed that I have to mop - again; I let the kids paint although I'm kind of impatient with my youngest painting himself and his clothes... I find that I'm not 'happy-go-lucky', I'm simply a high-functioning depressed individual. Although the 'depressed' that I feel while on Lexapro is comparable to the regular wear and tear of raising a child...

It feels good to be normal.