The State of the Heart

I'm convinced that whoever came up with Valentine's Day picked the wrong month. February is not a time when I feel amorous, or even particularly friendly, and that has never been more true than this year. Feelings of very deep depression had been on hiatus for several months and I had high hopes for this winter, seeing as how we haven't been so frozen in and I've been so consistent with exercise and taking time for myself.

Didn't matter. This last week has been a pit.

DH surprised me with a therapeutic massage and chiropractic adjustment on Monday and flowers on Tuesday. I did nothing much for him and pretty much felt like a jerk, but he knows I'll do something when I can emerge from survival mode.

All things considered, however, V-day was, for me, a series of small victories. We started the day with eggs baked into heart shaped toast and pink milk. No photos. Too hungry.

Then I took the kids to the gym where I ran 3.5 miles with as much incline as I could possibly stand. Have to practice for those Relay hills. It was a slow go, but I actually RAN at a 6 incline for half a mile at one point, almost a quarter of a mile at an 8. Also, I'm terrified I have an injury in my foot, but it hasn't stopped my training yet and I'm watching it closely.

Then I did the Valentines Day craft with the kid that I've been promising, and loathing, for three weeks. I like to do crafts. Crafts with kids is another story. Still, if you want to learn how to make crayon sun-catchers, Martha has a tutorial here.

Extra points for driving my kids around to take sun-catcher valentines to their friends.

Off to get E a haircut, our third fix-it cut in six months. After giving DH a haircut on Saturday we found, on top of DH's dark, shorn hair in the trash can, two neatly placed tufts of golden locks. She'd snipped off large chunks behind both ears.

Her new cut:

It wouldn't be so bad except that something about her super short bangs (thanks to her last foray into self-grooming) combined with her chubby cheeks makes her look homely to me (at least compared to how cute I think she could look). I think of little 1920s babies. Google "1920s child" and this shows up on the first page. Could this not be E? And if she's not careful, she's getting that very haircut, or worse.

Dinner was supposed to be steak and corn on the cob, but by this time I was feeling spent, so DH picked up KFC and I made chocolate fondue, our Valentines tradition.

Curse you, kitchen lighting. No flash = yellow. Flash = washed out. I can't win.

The evening was a good reminder that my perceptions of myself are a construct and do not necessarily reflect the feelings of others. While I was busy attacking myself about how lackluster my parenting/wife skills were, R was repeating what an amazing day it was, the best V-day of his life! After an impromptu dance party where DH and I taught the kids swing moves, R told me that he would rather have me as a mom than go on a Nickelodeon Cruise. All three of my kids were laughing and dancing, and I even laughed and danced some myself. Tender mercies.

I'd like to sanitize all this talk about depression and negative perceptions with the admission that I understand my feelings are irrational and derive from a false place. Please don't mistake my struggles for complaining. I know I have an amazing life. Still, while the perceptions are false, the feelings exist. They are real.

In other news (basically because I don't want to make a new post) here are two great images from the past week. The first is E, asleep with her blanket in her mouth. The second is a peach pie I made from scratch with peaches given to me by a neighbor fresh from their tree in August, which I had subsequently frozen.

Beauties.