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One of my hobbies is to watch a TV show long after the new-show-buzz has died down, and then go up to people and say things like “Oh my God please tell me you watch Scandal” and they look at me with a puzzled expression and say something like “Um, yeah, like two years ago when it first came out.”

Call it the age of binge watching.  Call it me being a bit behind.  Either way, Noah and I have started to a bit of television together, something we do occasionally but never really make a priority.

So, we’ve caught up on Episodes (great, and Matt LeBlanc is perfect), we’re a few episodes in to House of Cards (I want to take off of work for three straight days and do nothing but watch), and we tried House of Lies but gave up (didn’t do much for either one of us).  I also watched The Comeback (possibly my favorite show of them all), but N. skipped it.

I’m really not one for television, especially now that Elise is around and with more daylight when I get home, that’s the last thing on my list.

Even though I am purposely not thinking about the time I’ve wasted watching all of this (I guess it’s not technically wasted), I am learning how to relax and slow down and sit still.  I also am learning that I like TV sometimes, I like laughing, and I like knowing that even though I’m watching like it’s 2012, I’m still trying to keep up.

I was alerted yesterday to a very sad news story in the local area, where a 13 year old boy was found dead a few hundred yards from his parent’s house.  Allegedly, the boy was feeling pressure from school.  I’m sure more will come out on this story, and it’s very sad for many, many reasons.

I’m reading comments online from parents in the area, and their responses.  The general thing to do is to cuddle your kids extra close and perhaps have a conversation about mental health or school pressure or even suicide.  Hover over them, realize how lucky you are, murmur how grateful you are that this didn’t happen to you.

But what are you, as a parent, going to do tomorrow, or next week, or next year?

So many times people respond inwardly to tragedy.  I challenge you to respond outwardly.  I challenge you to do more than just think about your own family, and your own kids.  I challenge you to think about all of the parents who are grieving for children, and why.  I challenge you to do something—anything—tomorrow, and next week, and next year.

Squeezing our kids tight and being grateful that they’re alive and safe is a great first step.  It’s time we start putting our arms and actions around the community, too.

So honored and excited to share I’ve been chosen to be a part of the 2015 Baltimore cast of Listen To Your Mother. Check out the cast announcement.

I will be sharing my story May 9th.  Lots to do before then!  To my family and friends, thank you for your support, always.

Here is my piece today from PALS Magazine.  Thanks for reading!

It’s the end of an era.

Elise, at ten months old, had finally gotten sick.

I don’t know why I was so smug that she never really got sick until now.  Looking back, she was just lucky.  I still felt responsible though, like I personally wove a cloak of germ repellent fabric and draped her in it every day.  Silly me.

Did I mention, as I was holding a feverish, crying baby who was vomiting and testing diaper capacity, that my husband turned to me with bulged eyes and tells me that he thinks he’s going to get sick too?

Daycare was not an option the next day, and my husband was too sick himself to watch Elise.  I do what anyone else would do- I call my mom.  She drives to my house the next morning (did I mention she does this in an ice storm?) to stay with Elise so I can work.  My husband seems to be in bed for days with the flu.  I busy myself with Clorox wipes and Pedialyte.

Did I mention that my mom gets sick while at my house?

I’m mentioning all of this because I’m a working mom.  I’m a full time working mom.  I’m a full time working mom at a brand new job with limited time off, people to impress, a corporate ladder to climb, a name to make.

Did I mention I had to take a day off the previous week because I had the stomach bug?

It’s hard, this working mom stuff.  It’s even harder to watch your precious rainbow baby sick, and suffering.  As I was on the phone with the pediatrician, I wanted them to understand my situation exactly.

“Yes, her fever has gone down with Tylenol.  Do you want to see her? But, what if she has an ear infection?  What if it’s not the stomach bug after all? Do you want to see her? What if something happens?  What if I lose her, too? Don’t you want to see her????”

I don’t say this, though.  I breathe.  I tell myself that parenting after loss makes situations like this emotionally intense for me.  I mentally add weave cloak of confidence for self and drape over self every dayto my list of things to do.

As I write this, things have calmed down.  Elise and my husband are both on the mend.  My mom, who headed home full of apologies for getting sick, is also over the worst of it.  We have a plan for Elise coverage tomorrow.  I am not as worried that I’m going to lose my baby.  I’m still worried about being a working mom, and being a good parent, and trying to exercise, and finding time to read the book I keep renewing from the library.

But, throughout all of this, did I mention I’m doing the best that I can, which is all anyone can ask of me?

It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to be in the kitchen for more than ten minutes at a time lately, but today I got my chance.

A few years ago, someone in my family had a great idea to switch out a cookie exchange with a soup swap.  We did a cookie exchange in January, and no one really wanted junk food in January, and it just became stale (no pun intended).  We decided to do a soup swap instead.  We make the same soup and fill up as many quarts as there are people.  Everyone goes home with lots of different soup for the freezer.  I can even remember what I’ve made all five years (shrimp bisque, Italian wedding, curried butternut squash, pasta e fagoli), and this year I made wonton, with baby bok choy and shittake mushrooms in a miso broth.

After explaining our swap a few times, I decided to host a soup swap for my friends.  In preparation, I made my soup today (everyone brings theirs frozen).  This time I did a navy bean and bacon.  So, this happened today.

I also made a salad with dinner.  Red onion, cherry tomatoes, mint, parsley, pomegranate seeds, and roasted lemon.  The lemon was the best part.  You slice them paper thin, take out the seeds, blanch them, toss them in olive oil with sage, brown sugar, and a little salt, and then roast them.  I dressed the salad with some olive oil, salt, and brown sugar.  So good.  The recipe came from Plenty More, by Yotam Ottolenghi.  I improvised a bit (Who has pomegranate molasses?  What even IS pomegranate molasses?) and it’s very good, will definitely make it again.

Here it is.  It looks like the picture in the book, if I can toot my own horn for a second.

Last but certainly not last, Elise’s dinner.  Blueberries, carrots, peas.  Not pictured: oatmeal and salmon (not a fan of the salmon).

Who’s there?

My fifth month post is up at pregnancyafterlosssupport.com.  Check it out, and thanks for reading!

http://www.pregnancyafterlosssupport.com/happy-birth-day/

I saw something on BuzzFeed recently (what did we ever do without BuzzFeed?) that showed pictures of women in the throes of partpartum depression.  They were all smiling and cheery looking, playing with rosy cheeked babies and standing next to well dressed spouses.  These women were showered and dressed, and some even had done their hair and makeup.  The captions to the photos were all different, but the general takeaway was that for the moments/days/weeks before the picture was taken, these women had attempted suicide, had depressive periods, or had other episodes of postpartum depression.

Having struggled with depression at various points in my life, I knew that I was more likely to have postpartum depression based on my history.  I also rationalized with myself that I had spend thousands of dollars and hours and tears trying to get a living baby in my arms, and that should somehow magically cancel out any depressive thoughts I may have.

Yeah, this didn’t happen.

I am 17 weeks (yikes, that was fast) postpartum, and I am struggling.

I empathize with these BuzzFeed women now, where I thought before that I’d only have sympathy.  I realize the power of the mind, the power of hormones, and how your day can be fine, and then suddenly it’s not.  I realize postpartum depression doesn’t mean that you don’t love your baby.  I realize postpartum depression does not mean you have to want to hurt yourself or someone else.

For me, postpartum depression is like a blanket of tense that is wrapped around me, always.  It doesn’t shrug off easily.  I can’t help but think of those thunder shirt that you put on a dog during a storm.  Lately, I keep thinking about how nice it would be to wear a thunder shirt for that feeling of calm instead of chaos (is that allowed in the dress code at work?).

So,  I’m going back to my tried and true methods that work for me to deal with my depression.  This includes seeing a professional, trying to get outside and exercise, trying to ear right and trying (ha!) to get enough sleep.  All of this is easier said than done, though.  The luxuries that would afford me an easier and more efficient way to make time for these things are luxuries I don’t have, but I still need to keep plugging away the best I know how.  Isn’t that all anyone can do?

I keep reminding myself to breathe.  I keep thinking about how, in order to get better at just about anything, one needs to practice.  I’m practicing taking care of myself, and I’m practicing being proud of this stage of my life, because even though it’s not pretty or glamorous, it’s who I am.

I’m human, and it hurts to be human right now.  But, I’m also still confident that through it all that I will come out ok on the other side.  Like any other part of my life, this too will pass, and I’ll someday look at that thunder shirt and realize I can toss it back into my closet, because the storms that come will just now roll on through instead of lingering.

Copyright 2014 Anne Mathay

The best part of summer (and yes, it’s still summer until September 21) is fruit.  Well, maybe not the best part.  The BEST part is the beach, and the feeling of grass beneath your feet, and the smell of sunblock.  Fruit is a close fourth, though.

With an overload of picked peaches, I made a crisp that is easy and quick.

Ingredients:
8 fresh or previously frozen peaches, sliced
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
2 tsp. cinnamon
3/4 cup oats
1/2 butter, melted
1/2 cup Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal

Combine peaches, 1/4 cup brown sugar, and 1 tsp. cinnamon in bowl and let sit (the longer it sits, the tastier it will be).  In another bowl, combine remaining sugar and cinnamon, oats, butter, and flour and hand toss to create a crumbly consistency.  Mix in Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  Place peaches in a baking dish and cover with crumb topping.  Bake covered for 40 minutes at 400, then remove cover and bake for additional 20 minutes.