Ohmystinkinheck

**If there are errors in this post it is because I knew if I previewed it I’d never publish it. Deal with any errors and just take the honesty for what it is…my experience poured out for the possible benefit of others.**

It has been six months since I wrote this post. Six months.

Six months since I was handed a med that supposedly would help govern the constant tears and the ebb and flow of sadness that was slowy reaching a depth I felt I couldn’t tread.

It has been six months since I told Jeff that on most days I could not tell which I wanted more…to live or to die.

It has been six months since he said, “Let’s go see a doctor.” and took me in.

If I look back on the last couple of decades of my life I can see slowly increasing cycles of emotional undercurrents; they hid behind a smile, a joke, or laughter. When I couldn’t hide them I’d hide myself. If you asked anyone if Heather was capable of depression they’d look at you like you were mad. “Heather? The one that loves life? The goofball?! NO WAY!”

Well, yes–me.

The same person that loves life can hate it.
The same person that laughs with you Friday night can be buried under their bedsheets on a Saturday morning here and there…not wanting to face a new day.

Don’t get me wrong. I am blessed. My life has been blessed by any standard I can see. I know of God’s mercy when I look at my life and I’m so very thankful. I love my husband and my children and now, I even have the pleasure of raising my children near my parents, and having family I love all around me. My life is good.

So what was wrong with me?
I was depressed.
I am depressed.
Keep reading the rest of this post. »

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I’m not the least bit proud.

First place in the Pre-K Division.
And not just in his elementary school, but across the entire district, 5 different Elementary schools.

There was a reception in our mall (read: The word mall is very subjective. Our mall is basically two big stores, J.C. Penney’s and Cato’s Fashions; they battle it out to see how many mall walkers they can get to stop and shop).

I was the one oohing and ahhhing and wondering how come all the other parents thought their kids even stood a chance.

A mother’s bias never fails.

There is absolutely no singular devotion going on here.

None, whatsoever.

—

Kenny: “Mom, you can take a picture of me now.”

Me: “Oh, I can? Now, eh? While you’re hanging off your dad’s hind end?”

Kenny: “Yeah!”

Me:”Of course, you know what’s why I call you Daddy’s little stinker.”

He didn’t quite catch that one, but no matter…I can never resist popping off another shot.

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Emelie isn’t the only one learning how to play the guitar.

I’ve learned D and A7 and I’m rockin’ the bayou with Fontineaux and some other “son of a gun.”

One day I hope that I can actually do this well.
For now, I’m…delayed.
Yes, that’s a good word for it.

For all that responded to yesterday’s post on Grandpas - wow.
So many of you painted the perfect portrait; I could see the man your words so clearly described.
Others of you broke my heart.
Still others made me laugh–there was one in particular this morning that nearly saw egg shoot out my nose.

This is why blogging is so cool…better ‘n a crawfish pie and a filet gumbo.

I know, I KNOW…I need a new song.

“Dress in style, go hog wild, me oh my-oh.”

Hank Williams is rolling over in his grave.

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