In an attempt to be more frugal, and having to be careful what detergent I use because some of us have super sensitive skin, I decided to give The Duggar Family recipe for liquid laundry soap. It didn't take very long, and was really cheap.
Here's what I used:
1 bar of Kirk's Natural Castile Soap(it was in a 3-pack with the hand soap at Publix)
1/2 cup of Borax(in the laundry aisle at Publix)
1 cup Arm & Hammer Super Washing Soda (laundry aisle at Publix)
4 cups water
Pot
1 5-gallon Homer Bucket at Home Depot (<$5.00)
Giant Paint Stirrer from Home Depot
Grater
Funnel
Empty Laundry Detergent Bottles
grate up the bar of soap - it took me 10 minutes, and I took a couple of breaks to rest my muscles.
dump the grated soap into 4 cups of water(they started with hot, I used cold)
heat up the soap and water until it's bubbly and the soap has dissolved - took about 6 minutes.
measure the washing soda and borax.
somewhere there's a picture of the bucket half-full of hot water(was easy to do in the tub)
do that ^ and mix the dry ingredients into the water that's in the bucket.
now combine the two solutions
and stir (he was feeling pretty awesome).
stirring silly is more fun. obviously.
then seal up the bucket overnight - apparently it thickens up while it cools. I didn't notice much of a difference.
feeling pretty good about conquering the combining ingredients part.
here's the solution about 18 hours later. you need to stir it up again. a lot.
I scooped out the solution with a measuring cup and added it to my(mostly) empty bottles through a funnel. I made a pretty fantastic mess.
you're supposed to fill the bottle 1/2 full, but I went about 3/4. we're raising boys, here. fill the bottles the rest of the way with water (careful - I had a lot of spillage once I tried to put the caps on).
shake, shake, shake before use!
the over-crowded counter crowd. I also managed to top off two other bottles and have some left in the bucket!
believe it or not, those clothes are actually clean, and I managed to get in there to do a load of laundry with my new soap! I'm satisfied so far. We'll see how this goes...
Cradling him like the baby he was too long ago, I rocked Axl into dreamland. Before he drifted off, though, he reached his chubby little hand up around my neck and pulled my head to his, cheek-to-cheek. And there we stayed. Peace. Bliss. It was one of the 7,235 reminders that I frequently miss every day that, "wow...I'm living my dream." I was kicking myself for not having my phone with me...there would be no proof of the script-perfect moment! And my elbow was crunching against the rocking chair's wooden arm. Like and ice-cruncher. And my eye that was closest to his head was suddenly housing a ball of sandpaper instead of an eyeball. And his sweet little breath was uncomfortably hot and blowing in my ear(major peeve - leave the ears alone). sigh...there is no way so-and-so has these little asides in the margins her dream of a life story. Well, maybe the do, but they probably don't even notice ("What? A twister just hurled my house across the metro ATL while I was still inside? Oh, I didn't notice...I was just here snuggling my perfect little angel-child.").
As I began to thank Him for the sweetness amidst the imperfect, before the words even fully formed, it hit me: the flaws I see and feel are just evidence that it's real. That I accept the annoyances, time "wasters," and every million schedule disruptor and choose to be thankful for them is part of the beauty. I live in reality. When they crawl in bed with us, we're squished and sweaty...but it's beautiful and I'm thankful for the moment. When I'm too tired to rock him anymore, but he's still clinging in fear, I climb in the crib with him and (by golly, HOW does he sleep without a pillow?) I thank Him.
I don't like everything about parenting, or all the little things that come with parenting(fresh off of cleaning poop-up-the-back out of the car seat and wiggly child...seriously, he couldn't have just waited until he was home, and NOT sitting down?!), and that's okay. I cherish the beautiful and fun and encouraging and exhilarating and hilarious, and trudge through the ugly and uncomfortable. And I'm overflowing with thankfulness. Not because I'm some saint whose faith is stronger than superman and nothing nothing could ever shake me(i throw back some zoloft & abilify every morning. realness.). I'm really thankful because I choose to be. When it's beautiful, horrific, chaotic, adorable, peaceful, happy or tearful. I'm living my dream...full of flaws...and I love it. And I'm thankful.
it's usually pretty difficult not to be flipping thankful for these silly guys.
It stole things sacred, closest to my heart. Things I had longed for since memories began forming. Memories. It stole memories...tender moments with my firstborn. Friendship, peace, and laughter. Confidence. Patience. A clear head. Intimacy. And sleep...lots and lots of sleep was stolen.
Postpartum depression, anxiety, and OCD ravaged my mind and my body. I couldn't stand my husband. I lashed out, was hyper-vigilant(more like hyper on steroids), desperately wanted to escape my racing thoughts. Zero energy, but unable to ever rest. I would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, for seemingly no reason. I attended to each of Ace's needs, but was so disconnected. Dread hung in my gut like an ACME anvil. I worried constantly that something terrible would happen to one of us, or all of us, and, of course, it would be all my fault. I was always sure I would walk in and Ace would have stopped breathing in his crib, or that some sort of boa constrictor would get into his crib and kill him(pretty rational fear, right?)...so I checked on him over and over and over. Was the door locked? Is his nutrition REALLY what it needs to be? What if I miss something? Panic attacks wrecked my days. The littlest things could send me into a rage...I wouldn't hurt anyone, but the out of control feelings and intense anger was frightening, and because I was sure that if I talked about it, I would lose my baby and my husband, I didn't talk. I didn't just have a lack of interest in relationships with friends, I didn't want to see anyone...really, I didn't want people to see me - even my closest friends. I resented, even loathed dear friends who didn't have kids, and especially my husband. I felt so alone and so broken. I couldn't feel gooshy love for my baby that I had envisioned and longed for all those years. I was always on edge, my nerves fried to a crisp. I did have many "good" days, and have some happy memories of life with Ace as a baby. But for the most part I was flat...or irritable. Depressed. Anxious. Ornery. Bitchy. Grumpy. Impatient. Easily irritated. Exhausted. Jumpy. Empty. Incapable. Obsessed with and rigid in my rituals and routines. I was inundated with morbid thoughts, thinking, "what if," a neighbor raped me on a run "what if" I drove into a retaining wall, or dropped my baby on the cement, or he stopped breathing or Mace lost control and drove into a tree on the way home. "What if" I took too many pills, or passed out on a run...or, speaking of running, many times thought about running and never stopping, never looking back...leaving "all" my misery, dread, and worries behind. Because I couldn't get on top of house work or cooking or hobbies, I literally couldn't make myself even try. I knew I would fall short, and couldn't handle disappointing myself or my husband or my family. "What have I done?" I wondered..."how could I have possibly been a good or even any sort of capable mom?" I resented my baby whose well-being rested heavily in my hands, on my "performance." I loathed him...but I couldn't stand to be away from him. I desperately needed him to be near, but often grew irritable with his happy babble and baby-isms(including but not limited to pooping, puking, peeing, crawling, hunger, need-to-be-held). Pretty sure I grossly overreacted to eeeeeverything even remotely upsetting in my life.
But I was doing everything "right." I was breastfeeding, drinking gobs of water, eating, exercising, running and/or taking walks with baby. But it just barely all kept me from sinking below the surface. I was making good choices physically and nutritionally, but couldn't lose the baby weight, and my body was lost to motherhood. I often found myself succumbing to this "new" me, but desperate for the "old." I was miserable, and so was Mace. Praise God for the resilience of babies, yes?
I'm so thankful for people in my life whose brave refusal to let me continue down the PPD/OCD/Anxiety path, along with their experience with mental health and a glimmer of hope that my life could be restored led me to seek treatment. So grateful for the ability to receive professional care and guidance. Not sure I'll ever be comfortable saying I'm "cured." But a survivor? Hell to the yes. Every. single. day. And PPD? You stole much from me, but there are some things I refuse to let you keep...yeah, most of what you took ;). And there are some who say, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger..."
(ps check this gal out. she inspires and encourages me and her site is fab)
the odd solace in the swell of the sound machine is pierced by his wailing, and I cry along with him. his cries pierce my heart and my arms ache to hold him, to calm his fears and soothe him into a peaceful sleep. in his screaming, he is pleading, begging me to take him into my arms, to "rescue him," from the fear and frustration he feels. "everything you are, and everything he knows says you love him," Mace says. i am wracked with fear that in this he'll choose to pull away from me...but Mace is right - our babe knows that i love him.
every breath, he breathes in my love and devotion and protection and adoration. he feels it in my embrace, drinks it up in our smiles and laughter. i know that he knows...but still, "cry it out" never gets easier. sure, I could swoop in and save the day night, whip out a boob to appease him, and rock him to sleep. but it would not help him grow and be confident in who he is...even, in who i am. he won't truly rest until he works out the ability to go to sleep on his own. it's excruciating for me to allow or even force him to work it out on his own. but I know it's for his best...for my best, and everyone's.
we didn't make him to puppet him, his daddy and me. we made him out of love for each other...wanting our love and our joy to multiply and share it with the world. if he's going to experience growth, he has to surrender to this process. to trust that mommy and daddy know best, and that he is safe, and that we love him. sometimes he will fight and scream...for hours at a time. other times, he may babble it out, or explore his surroundings...taking comfort in what we've given him to assist in developing this self-soothing, put-your-own-self-to-sleep skill. it's essential and necessary, even as it is painful and exhausting. but as he grows, each sleep will become easier, as he accesses the abilities he has worked out...with our support, our confidence in him, our protection, and without our literal force.
we facilitated the growth...the decision to grow is up to him. it's hard to let him go through this...but he will be better for it and it will strengthen him at his core and we will all be restored as a result. we've given him all that he needs to conquer this - a soothing and calming warm bath, a lot of snuggles, a full belly, and his special blankie and binkies. we've reassured him of our love and adoration...telling him he's brave and loved and wanted and safe. he's got everything he could need, now's it's up to him to recognize their presence, to take hold of those things, and decide to grow. it may not be the way he wanted to grow, but we know it's what's best for him, for the circumstances...it's best for reinforcing our love for him and his confidence in us.
it's a crucial exercise in trust, this sleep training bit. and it reminds me a lot of how Jesus loves us...and how intensely we may fight the processes of growth and healing. i imagine our cries for rescue rip His heart in two. but even though we fail to feel or realize it, He's here...and He's given us everything and everyone we need to grow, heal, and move on. it's up to us to recognize the skills and resources available through Him. we fight Him, His process, and His power...and when we surrender, we will fall asleep grow, and then we find rest. oh, how Jesus loves us. so much more than we could ever love our boys...I am so thankful.
