O' Fun For... me. Thanks!

Families are full of traditions. Things passed down throughout the generations that become a part of who that family is. Some may pass down the china that their great-great-grandma brought across the plains in her covered wagon. Others may pass down a love of music or a talent for sports.

And then there's the Turners. Some of the most obvious traits and traditions from our family (the one I grew up in) include an acute sense of sarcasm, a pressing need to publicly embarrass those we love, and perhaps most unavoidably, a shocking lack of essential brain-chemicals. Seretonin, endorphins, whatever. You name it, we probably don't have it. That makes for all kinds of fun times. Between the five of us Turners, we have various levels of depression, anxiety, ADD, ADHD, and Tourettes (the twitchy kind, not the sweary kind. usually.) to name a few.

You are probably thinking "My, this is certainly fascinating. However, I fail to see the connection to making things, which is what I thought this blog was about." Well, this has all been a lovely lead-in to the latest adventures in baby-making (the baby-growing part, not the explicit part.) See, I have the Turner Family depression fun, as well as a sprinkling of anxiety. Over the last 12 years or so I have learned that keeping certain things as an important part of my life help keep my chemical issues in check as best as they can be. Things like running for ridiculous distances (or biking or swimming if I need a substitute activity), taking plenty of happy-pills, staying involved in regularly-scheduled activities outside my house (like volleyball teams or classes of some kind), sunshine, doing spiritual-y things like going to church or getting involved in service projects, and staying healthy all help. If those still don't do the trick, it's nothing a trip to the shrink can't fix.

Enter Terrorist. Now, it's not The Terrorist's fault that it makes my happy-upkeep difficult. I knew that going into this. That is one of the reasons I am not a huge fan of pregnancy. Over the last few months almost everything on my upkeep list has been crossed off. No running, biking, swimming, volleyball, feeling healthy, leaving my house, or going to church and church activities regularly. The sun tends to vanish this time of year in Utah. And above all- I chose to go off my pills o' happy for the first trimester. They say they are safe for use in pregnancy, but this isn't Tylenol that has been around for long enough to test for years and years. Sure my baby may not be born with two heads or anything, but there is no research to say he or she won't sprout another head in, say, 20 years or so. That could get awkward. So, I stay off the drugs o' fun for the first trimester.

All this finally started to overwhelm me lately. By Wednesday, I could feel that familiar "losing it" tremor, and knew the crazies were-a comin'. After a day full of crying and hiding in my room, I found that night that I was bleeding a little. Not emergency-room bleeding, but enough to tip my fragile scales right over the edge. Psch! Stupid scales. After a blessing from James, I crawled into bed to eat things covered in lots of peanut-butter and watch Star-Trek episodes on his laptop. (Blast!.. I mean.. uh.. Friends episodes...) I was still feeling freaked-out, but almost immediately the awesomeness started up. I had friends call or stop by to check on me and offer support and prayers and dinner. The person over me in my church assignment called me to make sure I wasn't getting overwhelmed or overloaded. James called work to tell them he would be staying home the next day. Verna said she was going to call the temple to put my name on the prayer roll. (I told her maybe not. I mean her temple is San Diego, and once those protesters break in and find my name written somewhere it's all over... )

Thursday I was still hiding out in my room with the peanut-butter and Star-Trek, but being taken care of. One friend brought over dinner and another brought over some frozen-Indian-food goodness (mmmmmm) so I had another meal taken care of. By Thursday night I was feeling amazingly better. I knew I still needed to get back on my lovely pills o' happy and get out of my house more and whatnot, and the panic-tremors were still threatening to take over, but I felt okay about it all. By this morning, the sun was making a rare appearance and I had just enough energy and motivation to clean up a little, refill my drugs, and get dressed and ready for the day.

I think it is awesome when things like this happen. Not the freaking out, the rest. God knows what's going on. He knows who has some time or energy or concern they can use to help you out, and lets them know when it would be useful to share those things. Thanks, everyone! It really meant a lot.

This is definitely the last time I use my creative urges to make a child, though. I'll stick to making quilts or purses or things like that in the future.