This past Monday morning, we drove to a play about winter in the dead of winter. Appropriate, no? It was very slow going and a bit nail-biting at times, but we made it there despite the blowing snow and slippery roads.
There were semis in the ditch.
We attended a ballet based on the book The Mitten. Have you read it? It’s a family favorite.
A mole crawls into an abandoned mitten and is eventually joined by a whole host of other animals.
The mole doesn’t want to let them in at first but eventually sighs, “I’ll make room.”
So I took some pictures at the play.
Correction: I tried to take some pictures at the play, having dressed my toddler in Jan Brett-ish gear.
He refused to cooperate, and wore a decidedly woodland-creature-in-the-headlights expression in EVERY PICTURE THAT I TOOK.
This past Monday afternoon, my no-more-iPad withdrawal was at an all-time high. It was the third day since it’d gotten broken, and isn’t Day 3 supposed to be the hardest for an addict? I felt my mood descending like a car skidding downhill, and it wasn’t long after that that my husband told me my attitude was “poisonous.”
He canceled his plans to go to Boy Scouts and made me stay in my bedroom until my mood improved.
He steered clear of his weepy, overwhelmed wife.
In an act of miserable desperation, I texted my sweetie-pie friend Ruth Ann. I chose this friend because, unlike me, she checks her texts fairly often, and unlike me, (at least, I hoped), would be in a cheerful frame of mind.
“Having a hard day,” I tapped on my phone. “Depression.”
Well, she didn’t text me back. She called, within the minute.
Girlfriends understand, in a way husbands just can’t, how it can be everything and nothing that’s got us down. They don’t judge; they don’t try to make us “snap out of it.” They truly get that weepy, overwhelmed feeling.
They listen; they nod; they cluck their tongue sympathetically…
And then they invite us over to watch Downton Abbey! (I didn’t go because it was getting late, but just being asked brought me out of my funk.)
I went from crying to laughing, which is what women do.
I made room for a friend in my overwhelmed mitten.
Epilogue: One of the hardest things to do when I’m sad is let someone outside the family know. It’s a pride thing, I’m sure. I don’t want them to know that I’m not coping. At that point, the devil has his way with me. He sends me, and consequently my family, spiraling down down DOWN, and when I hit bottom he tries to keep me there.
That’s how ol’ hairy legs operates but you know what? I’m onto him!
Mind, I still want my iPad back.
May I ask, what do you do when you have the blues? Do you phone a friend? Watch an old movie? Both? Any & all feedback is most appreciated, especially since it’s winter.