Is This What Postpartum Depression Feels Like?

by Camille Posted on September 7, 2010

Here I am, once again preparing to face a brand new semester of higher education.

When I was a kid, the day before school started was always a big deal. My sister and I would carefully sort through our new stash of school clothes (which we had dutifully modeled for our grandma the week before) to select our first day outfits and hang them up on our closet doors. It helped us sleep better—helped calm our pre-school jitters—knowing that what we would wear the next day was already in order, and that there’d be no last-minute scrambling for that perfect scrunchie to complete our ensembles. All we had to do was get dressed and not drip toothpaste froth down the front of our shirts, and we’d be golden.

Even as a (sort of) grown up I still utilise this trick on the nights before job interviews (though sadly, it has not catapulted me to success in my later years like it did in the sixth grade—how depressing that I reached and expired my prime before I even started junior high).

As a kid, my dad always gave me a blessing (a special prayer) the night before I started back to school. I had my backpack packed days in advance, with fresh wide rule looseleaf tucked safely in my knock-off Trapper Keeper, prepared for the best my mind and #2 pencils could conjure.

Every year, I set the same goal in August: to get all my permission slips signed early so that I wouldn’t have to forge my mother’s signature thirty seconds before class started on the morning of every field trip day. (Every year, that goal was shot to Shelby by the time the Halloween party rolled around…but I never gave up the fantasy that someday I might be on top of my game.)

I dreaded the end of summer and the classes, homework, and projects it heralded, but I could always find something to look forward to with the onslaught of a new school year. Even if that something was as silly as Daniel Wilsford, that hottie from the classroom over who only ever had eyes for Ashley Carter…it still got me out of bed in the morning with a smile on my pimply face.

This year is different. I have no blessing from my dad (though I’m sure he sends his blessings from Arizona); I’m not bothering to sort through my closet for that perfect outfit because it doesn’t exist—I didn’t buy new school clothes, and nothing I own excites me much these days.

I’m not excited at all; truth be told, I’m not even really nervous. Having just aced a summer school class a few weeks ago, I don’t feel out of practice or insecure or anything.

No, it’s just another semester in what has proven to be the longest, dreariest string of semesters I’ve encountered since the last string of semesters I encountered.

So apathetic am I, in fact, that I cannot fathom having ever courted the idea of graduate school; yet it was not three weeks ago that I announced to the world I’d be getting my Master’s degree after this.

Ha. That was foolish of me. A Master’s degree is not in my future. How could it be, when even a Bachelor’s degree—though only ten classes away—feels barely closer to my grasp than it did the day I graduated from high school six years ago in May.

The only thing that might’ve cheered my heavy heart this semester was the glimmer of hope I fostered for someone to drop out of the Jane Austen class so I could sign up for it (there were only 20 openings and it was filled long before I was allowed to register back in April), but nay—such good fortune is not, nor has it ever been, my lot in life.

Although, I do confess I bought the books for it last week while they were still available used, as a sign of good faith that God would throw me a bone just this once. I have until September 14 before add/drop ends and my faith is shaken beyond its strength.

Just kidding, kind of.

Posted in graduate school, my edjumacation and me, sad things, woe is me | 9 Comments

Hip, hip!

by Camille Posted on September 2, 2010

I don’t know, I just can’t seem to stop saying Hip, hip! these days. Something about it has been exactly the perfect exclamation for me lately. I’m sure it has stemmed from my recent adoption of Reagan’s “hooray!”—I can’t think “hooray!” without turning it into “hip, hip, hooray!” and then shortening it to “hip, hip!” I’m not sure why…it just feels right. (I’m profound sometimes.)

Need to celebrate with your sister about her husband losing 18 pounds on Weight Watchers?

Hip, hip!

Happy about your spouse getting home from work early?

Hip, hip!

Finally contributed money to the household income after a three-year dry spell?

Car went 1,000 kms on its most recent tank of diesel?

One more chilled DDP in the fridge when you thought you were all out?

Hip, hips all around!

I’ve said it at least eight times just today, and I’ll say it once more: Hip, hip!

I’ve got an especially good reason to say it now, though, and the reason is this.

Read it. I think maybe you won’t be disappointed.

Posted in awesome., blogger finger, do what I say, like-it-link-it, Overall Good Things | 7 Comments

Leap of Faith

by Camille Posted on September 1, 2010

I have been thinking a lot about poverty lately.

Some months ago, Poor Kyle and I took a leap of faith.

Our leap, like that memorable portrayal in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, seemed like sheer lunacy at the time. To step off the ledge of security and stability into the vast unknown of self-employment requires equal parts courage and stupidity. Luckily, we had both.

But you know what I’ve learned about leaps of faith?

Sometimes it takes a lot longer to land than Indy would have us believe.

In his last crusade, Indiana Jones steps directly from one ledge to the other; he only feels sheer terror for about a second before he gets to heave a massive sigh of relief.

But when Poor Kyle and I leaped off our cozy, stable Ledge of Financial Security, we jumped feet first into the longest free-fall of our lives. We had discussed leaping for many months before we actually did it, and we felt fairly prepared…but all it takes is one ounce of confidence for the Fates to zero in on your head and dump a bucket of crap on it.

We went for six weeks basically without a paycheque amidst the months of property taxes, summer school tuition, an ill-timed trip to New York, mortgage payments doubling, and various other financial goblins popping out from underneath rocks to give us mini-heart attacks every other day or so.

It was a frightening time. As in, I felt fright in my soul. I never considered ourselves the living-from-paycheque-to-paycheque kind of family, but I also never considered that we really only had to wait fifteen days for more money to magically appear in our bank account.

Let me tell you what, right around week four and a half, I started to lose sleep—a lot of sleep.

Interestingly, though, during that poorest time of our lives, Poor Kyle and I argued the least about money—what’s the point in arguing about something that doesn’t exist, you know?

And even more interesting is that as soon as we finally did get a paycheque, it was less than twenty-four hours before I thought we needed to open up a separate savings account for taxes, and Poor Kyle thought that was stupid and that we should just leave it all in our chequing account (And not spend it? Yeah right.), and before long we were slamming doors and hanging up without saying goodbye again. Just like the old days.

So what I mean to say is this:

A lot of good can come from the terror of destitution. Fewer arguments, malnutrition weight loss, et cetera. It was only when I stopped buying groceries so we could pay our mortgage that I decided I should maybe start teaching piano lessons and proofreading/editing and applying for jobs and dropping some classes and foregoing salon appointments and so forth. Necessity is the mother of invention, they say—or in my case, poverty is the mother of Getting a Life.

I write this post like the story is over—like we’ve reached our final destination—because people like to read happy endings. But in truth, it’s still a long way from finished. I haven’t quite got a life yet, we haven’t quite built up the savings we need, I can’t quite look back on it and laugh. We’re breathing easier right now, yes. But I will never forget the six most troubling weeks of my life.

And I think that’s probably a good thing.

Posted in change, Cutting Back, I hate change, looking back, Married Life | 7 Comments

Whatcha Wearin’ Wednesday—A Happy Accident

by Camille Posted on August 31, 2010

My friend Niki is starting a new club—a weekly run-down of fashion—entitled What are You Wearing Wednesday. Inasmuch as she blatantly proclaimed that my Saturday Steals inspired this event (an admission which made me blush—thanks, Niki!), I thought it was only right that I join in the fun.

Now. Even on my most fashionable of days, I’m not very good at fashion. I’m not good at following trends. I’m certainly not good at starting trends (although I used to try back in junior high, but I quit the day I realised that wearing paper clips for earrings probably would never catch on). I mostly just wear clothes that are comfortable and clean. (I always wash my jeans after exactly thirteen wears because I know that cleanliness is next to godliness. You should, too, if you know what’s good for you.)

Really, my participation in this event is kind of laughable.

But I’m going to participate all the same, because I discovered this outfit a few weeks ago and I kind of haven’t stopped wearing it since. So I thought I’d share it with you:

Regular readers of this blog are probably thinking this image looks familiar, and they’d be right: I posted it last week to illustrate my new necklace.

But it’s more than just the necklace that I like about this outfit—it’s everything.

It all came about rather accidentally, to tell you the truth…

I bought these ill-fated skinny jeans in June at DownEast Basics (after months of searching) because I discovered they came in 36-inch inseam—just my size!

Too bad I ignored the part about how they are so low rise they make my muffin top look like it was fresh-baked at Costco.

Because of said muffin top dilemma, I have always had to wear these skinny jeans with looser tops, like this one:

But incidentally, on the very day I wore the shirt (above) with these skinny jeans, I had a wardrobe malfunction that compelled me to hightail it to the nearest clothing retailer, which just happened to be Ann Taylor Loft, where I skulked into the dressing room and changed out of my broken shirt into the white V-neck T-shirt you see in the first photo.

I ripped off the tag, took it to the cash register, and asked the lady to please ring me up. I thought the shirt didn’t look very good because it wasn’t as flowy as the tops I usually wear, but it was on clearance for $6.00 and I needed something that wouldn’t fall apart in front of famous people. So I bought it.

But then a funny thing happened: my friend Chelsie convinced me that she liked the shirt, and so, reassured, I kept wearing it. For days on end.

Before long, I’d become enamoured with my new white T-shirt and muffin top skinny jeans! As it happened, I bought the shirt in a size larger than I normally would, which allowed just enough breathing room to alleviate my spare tire anxieties. It’s such a simple outfit—”jeans and a T-shirt” in every sense—but for some reason it seems versatile enough to wear for date night or for a morning of errands. And I have worn it to both.

I’ve also worn it to the dentist, to school, on an airplane, and to parties (just kidding I don’t go to parties). I’d wear it to church if I thought I could get away with it.

It’s my new favourite outfit and I think every girl should have one.

Additional details:

Necklace from Bead for Life.

Sunglasses from my garage.

Flip flops from Marshall’s.

Watch from Fossil™ as an end-of-semester gift back in April.

Posted in fashion people, like-it-link-it | 8 Comments

Philosophical

by Camille Posted on August 30, 2010

Well, I didn’t get the job.

In preparing for the dreaded phone call, I was all set to say something snarky and flippant, like, “Oh, that’s too bad, you’re really missing out.” But when the interviewer called to give me the bad news, my passive aggressive heart couldn’t bear to cause any sort of confrontation, even with the voice of a woman I’d surely never see again. Instead, I just said, “Okay, thanks for telling me.”

Then she insisted on explaining why I didn’t get the job, even though I was ready for the conversation to be over approximately three seconds after it’d begun. Apparently one applicant had more online experience (unlikely), and one applicant had tutored previously. (Yes, I lost to TWO applicants—Lame’s my name, don’t wear it out.)

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I have lately begun to embrace—truly embrace—the idea that I can try my hardest, and do my best, but in the end some things will still be out of my control.

What will be will be—I think that’s how it goes.

I can take my decisions to the Lord, and I can say, “Hey, God, I’d really like to land this job that pays over $20 an hour. I believe it is a righteous desire to make that much money; I think it would help our family. Here’s what I would do with that money if you could land me the job: Pay tithing. Pay taxes. Pay off George Jettson. Pay tuition. And then, if there’s anything left, I’m not gonna lie, God: I’d probably buy some new clothes…but I would buy them at the thrift store, does that help my case?”

[My prayers tend to drag out a little; sometimes I wonder if God saves them for his secretaries to muddle through.]

And after all that—after all those pleas and petitions, and after doing my best and getting to the interview early, with an ironed shirt and flossed teeth—if I still don’t get the job, I can safely assume that I wasn’t supposed to get it.

Because the only alternative is to believe that my life is one heaping sack of screwups and failures and might’ve-beens…and that’s no way to live.

Instead, I choose to believe that not getting this job is some sort of blessing. Like maybe I would’ve wrecked my car on my way to work some frigid December morning. Or maybe I would’ve gotten raped in the parking lot after work one night. Or maybe it would’ve put us into a higher tax bracket. Or maybe I just need to learn to live without money. (And if that’s the case, it’s gonna be a long, hard life I think.)

I don’t know the meaning behind it, but I do know this:

Disappointment is temporary.

And that helps me sleep at night.

(But it doesn’t do a dang thing for quelling my dreams of wealth untold.)

Posted in failures, introspection, self-actualisation | 14 Comments

Saturday Steals Recap and Shiver Me Timbers

by Camille Posted on August 30, 2010

Hi, guys. We had another titillating weekend of steals—let’s take a look at what was showcased, shall we?

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Shesten, who is going back to school after a long hiatus (huzzah, Shesten!) found a book she needed for her class for only $2.55, and she got free shipping! (I never qualify for free shipping.)

Maureen caught the cooking bug and grilled up some gourmet-style green chile cheeseburgers, which she calculated cost her less than half what she’d’ve paid at a restaurant.

Leah got throw pillows for her awesome grey couch at a fraction of their original prices from the Pottery Barn outlet (I had no idea they had an outlet—I have been missing out, clearly).

Chloe got this adorable overnight bag for her birthday (gifted by her parents for her to use on her HONEYMOON, ooh la la).


Lindsay (private link, I’m sorry) got this “ugly as sin” (her words, not mine) rocking chair/recliner for only $12.50! While she admits that it is really very ugly, she has plans to slipcover it. Knowing her talents, I have no doubt she will make a boutique item out of it.

Chelsie got this copy of Mockingjay for $8.50, pre-ordered, plus free shipping. Add that to the many hours of delicious literary enjoyment I’m sure she squeezed out of it, and you’ve got the steal that keeps on giving.

(I haven’t read Mockingjay yet, but I’ve heard the ending leaves much to be desired. No spoilers, please, but what did you think of it? Was Chelsie’s steal really a steal after all, or was she, in fact, stolen from?)

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As for me, I would just like to announce that on this, the thirtieth day of August, 2010, my house was FIFTY-FIVE DEGREES when I woke up shivering this morning. The thermostat has gradually been reading lower and lower temperatures. I thought it was cold yesterday when it was sixty-six, and now I’ve got the heater SET to sixty-six to warm me up from fifty-five.

Yes, friends, you read it right: I turned my heater on. I tried so hard to hold out till September, but I am weak and undeserving. And my heater is on in August.

O, Canada…

Posted in Canada, Saturday Steals | Tagged | 13 Comments