I saw Mom this weekend and the visit went well. It's probably the best visit we've had since she's been in the treatment program. She's still very depressed and has tremors (her arms and hands are so shaky), but she managed to converse some with me and the visit didn't focus on her illness. She brought it up a couple times, but caught herself and redirected the conversation. She had a genuine interest in what's going on in my life and asked about Hubby and Peanut. She even asked for pictures.

I heard from one of my high school friends the other day. We keep in touch via email every few months and see each other about once a year. She’s the one out of that group of friends I’ve remained closest to and kept the most regular contact with.

She had some news and pictures to share. I wrote back and told her what Peanut, Hubby, and I are up to and asked about her family. I also told her about Mom.

I haven’t heard anything back. It could be that she’s busy. It could be that she doesn’t know how/doesn’t want to respond. It could be something else. I hyper-analyze her lack of response.

I hate that.

I hate the stigma associated with mental illness. The weird looks, the silence. I’ve made other friends uncomfortable by talking about Mom. I hate feeling like I have to edit what I say for fear of scaring them off. They’re my friends, dammit, and I should be able to share this with them. Not only is my mom in a bad place, I am too. I need friends to talk to, shoulders to lean on. But when I talk about it to people other than family or one particular friend (who has been through depression and whose husband exhibits a lot of bipolar tendencies), I end up regretting it. I start to wonder: Is that person going to avoid me? Have I lost that friend?

Today is one of those days when I want to crawl back into bed and avoid dealing with everything.

My aunt called last night. She left a message asking about Mom a few weeks ago and I never called back. I filled her in. Then she told me what's going on in her life. My cousin has tumors on her ovaries and uterus and an enlarged adrenal gland. She goes for testing next week. We're praying and hoping for the best.

Taking Peanut to daycare this week has been a huge power struggle. Today was the worst yet. He bit me when I tried to brush his teeth, then spit on, screamed at, and kicked me while I dressing him. I'm so fed up with his toddler attitude. I know it comes down to his frustrations at having to do things he doesn't want to, but I'm not a damn punching bag. Hubby stopped by for a couple minutes as we were leaving and I'm not sure if that helped or hindered us. Peanut was happy to see Daddy, but started screaming and crying the second we started pulling out of the garage. I lost it as we were driving away and yelled at him to stop. Real nice. Once we got to daycare, he didn't want his shoes on, so I carried him in barefoot. He wouldn't hold still for shoes until I threatened him with the time out chair.

I'm so glad Hubby is off tomorrow and can either keep Peanut home or take him in late.

I thought things couldn't get any worse with mom. I was wrong. She admitted on the phone that she tried to choke herself this weekend.

I need to talk to the social worker, but I've been burying my head in the sand. I can't deal. Obviously, the program is not working for her. They can keep for until August, as planned, but will it help? What will happen next - the state hospital? Mom has been talking about it for the past couple of months. It may turn out to be a self-fulfilling prophesy.

It all comes down to finding the right bribe. For potty training, that is.

Peanut has had little-to-no interest in using the potty since its newness wore off. He'll occasionally sit on it for oh, a nanosecond or so. He does sit on the potty at daycare once or twice a day, but never does anything.

Last night as Daddy was putting him into bed, he asked for the model Corsair hanging over his bed. Hubby said he could have it when he goes peepee and poopoo in the potty. He announced to Hubby this morning that he wanted to go peepee in his potty and he wanted his plane. So he sat down and peed. IN THE FREAKIN' POTTY.

Of course, once he had the desired plane, he pooped in his diaper.

But it's a start!

We have a budding photographer in residence. Peanut borrowed the digital camera and took some pix. Not too bad for a 2 y.o.

Toes:

The dog:

Train set: