~
"When I grow into a boy, can I still wear dresses?"
"I don't want to get burned... do I?"
"I don't know how to color, I got short hands."
"I'm going to be the princess and Brother is going to be the monster. And then I'm going to save myself because I'm a strong, pendent girl!!"
(after I got my hair cut) "Don't worry, Momma, it will grow back."
"I don't want my hair cut, it will hurt me." (For those of you who don't know, my daughter only has a little cap of blonde hair.)
"Christmas is over!! Now it's time for Halloween!"
(Christmas night, as she's falling asleep) "When Santa comes back tonight, will you tell him I want a scooter?"
"Momma, I love you always!"
I thought I was raising children...
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Why I'm Tired
~
11:31 pm: I went to bed.
11:42 pm: Boyo had a terrible nightmare; he ran out of his room wailing and couldn't be comforted.
11:56 pm: I finally calm him down, but he refuses to go back into his bedroom. I let him climb into bed with my husband and I.
12:02 am: Just as I am starting to fall asleep again, I get whacked in the head with a binky and sit up to find my son demanding "Mow Mik!"
12:03 - 1:30 am: I won't detail all of it, but I spend the next hour and a half getting climbed all over, punched, kicked, snuggled, hair pulled, and ultimately shoved off the bed. Boyo won't go back to sleep.
1:32 am: I sit up, cuddle Boyo in my arms, and sing him a lullaby. There is a note of desperation in my voice. Or full fledged hysteria. I'm so tired, I can't tell.
2:09 am: Boyo finally falls asleep. He's sleeping sideways on our bed, and my husband and I have an inch and a half of bed to share. Whatever, I'll take it.
2:17 am: Just as I fall asleep, I hear my daughter screaming for me. The storm has scared her. And she's wet. I get her changed and pull her into bed with us, and she thinks this would be a great time to have a philosophical discussion. Hey, who's your favorite Disney Princess?
2:43: I finally get my daughter asleep. I have a 2 year old elbow in my ear, a three year old foot in my back, and my husband is snoring. Great. I ease myself out of bed and go to sleep in my son's room.
6:12 am: I wake up to find Girlie staring at me over the safety bar on the twin bed. "Momma?" she asks quizzically, "Why are you in Brother's bed? It's time to get up; it's light outside."
11:31 pm: I went to bed.
11:42 pm: Boyo had a terrible nightmare; he ran out of his room wailing and couldn't be comforted.
11:56 pm: I finally calm him down, but he refuses to go back into his bedroom. I let him climb into bed with my husband and I.
12:02 am: Just as I am starting to fall asleep again, I get whacked in the head with a binky and sit up to find my son demanding "Mow Mik!"
12:03 - 1:30 am: I won't detail all of it, but I spend the next hour and a half getting climbed all over, punched, kicked, snuggled, hair pulled, and ultimately shoved off the bed. Boyo won't go back to sleep.
1:32 am: I sit up, cuddle Boyo in my arms, and sing him a lullaby. There is a note of desperation in my voice. Or full fledged hysteria. I'm so tired, I can't tell.
2:09 am: Boyo finally falls asleep. He's sleeping sideways on our bed, and my husband and I have an inch and a half of bed to share. Whatever, I'll take it.
2:17 am: Just as I fall asleep, I hear my daughter screaming for me. The storm has scared her. And she's wet. I get her changed and pull her into bed with us, and she thinks this would be a great time to have a philosophical discussion. Hey, who's your favorite Disney Princess?
2:43: I finally get my daughter asleep. I have a 2 year old elbow in my ear, a three year old foot in my back, and my husband is snoring. Great. I ease myself out of bed and go to sleep in my son's room.
6:12 am: I wake up to find Girlie staring at me over the safety bar on the twin bed. "Momma?" she asks quizzically, "Why are you in Brother's bed? It's time to get up; it's light outside."
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Round Two
~
'"The time has come," the Walrus said... " (L. Carroll)
This is it. We're potty training the boy.
We were going to try the Three Day Potty Training Method. But several things convinced us that this might not be the best method for us:
1. I'm pregnant. And the amount of patience that I do have will not fill up a thimble.
2. The 3 Day Method calls for staying inside for two days with no TV. Well, you can go outside for an hour on day two and for two hours on Day 3. But still... Boyo starts to go crazy if we don't get him out of our house by 10 am every day. So 3 days, basically stuck inside, seems like a suicide mission.
3. He doesn't fit on toilet training potty seats. He's large and if we sit him on a toilet ring or a potty chair, he can't put his pee down; there's just not enough room. But he's still only two, so he doesn't fit on the adult toilet seat either without spreading his legs really wide.
4. He all ready gets it. He sees his sister use the toilet. He tells me when he is going potty or has to go potty. He runs to sit on the potty and then demands a sticker. So I don't see the need for a 3 day method.
So we started yesterday. When we are home, he wears underpants. (And they are so cute!) So far, we have had one accident and two successful potty trips. When we go out, he wears pull ups (which we call outside underwear). And he still wears a diaper to bed.
I say, "Tell Momma if you have to go potty," about once a minute. And he does. Sometimes we make it, sometimes we don't. When we go out, he looks at me and says "Potty" clear as day.
He still hasn't made it to a potty out of our house, but that will come with time. And he still hasn't gone number 2 in anything but his "Outside Underpants" but that will come too.
Our methods might not be what works for everyone, nor will some people agree with us. After all, we are breaking the cardinal rule: Once you start potty training, you can't go back to diapers/pull ups. You know what? I don't care.
I'm much more relaxed about this than I was with Girlie.
'"The time has come," the Walrus said... " (L. Carroll)
This is it. We're potty training the boy.
We were going to try the Three Day Potty Training Method. But several things convinced us that this might not be the best method for us:
1. I'm pregnant. And the amount of patience that I do have will not fill up a thimble.
2. The 3 Day Method calls for staying inside for two days with no TV. Well, you can go outside for an hour on day two and for two hours on Day 3. But still... Boyo starts to go crazy if we don't get him out of our house by 10 am every day. So 3 days, basically stuck inside, seems like a suicide mission.
3. He doesn't fit on toilet training potty seats. He's large and if we sit him on a toilet ring or a potty chair, he can't put his pee down; there's just not enough room. But he's still only two, so he doesn't fit on the adult toilet seat either without spreading his legs really wide.
4. He all ready gets it. He sees his sister use the toilet. He tells me when he is going potty or has to go potty. He runs to sit on the potty and then demands a sticker. So I don't see the need for a 3 day method.
So we started yesterday. When we are home, he wears underpants. (And they are so cute!) So far, we have had one accident and two successful potty trips. When we go out, he wears pull ups (which we call outside underwear). And he still wears a diaper to bed.
I say, "Tell Momma if you have to go potty," about once a minute. And he does. Sometimes we make it, sometimes we don't. When we go out, he looks at me and says "Potty" clear as day.
He still hasn't made it to a potty out of our house, but that will come with time. And he still hasn't gone number 2 in anything but his "Outside Underpants" but that will come too.
Our methods might not be what works for everyone, nor will some people agree with us. After all, we are breaking the cardinal rule: Once you start potty training, you can't go back to diapers/pull ups. You know what? I don't care.
I'm much more relaxed about this than I was with Girlie.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Rainbows and Circles
~
I think a marriage works best if one person is able to go with the flow. You know what I mean - a person who doesn't get phased by changes in plans and can adapt easily, with a shrug of the shoulders when things don't go his way.
I wish I could say I was that person in my marriage.
I'm not.
I'm more of a takes-an-hour-to-get-over-the-slightest-disappointment type of person. My husband is the go with the flow person in our relationship. And sometimes, I really hate that. Yes, I appreciate it after the fact, but during whatever has me disappointed hearing him say, "Oh well. It'll be okay" really sets my teeth on edge.
This was never more apparent yesterday when my husband and I loaded the kids up in the car and went to the ReStore, Habitat for Humanity store in Garden Grove. I was so excited; I was like a giddy little school girl. Why was I so excited about going to a restore for your home needs?
See, we were going to look at kitchen counter tops. For those of you who don't know, our kitchen counter tops are H-I-D-E-O-U-S! White laminate. That stains. And is chipping. And I think are the original countertops from 1971. I HATE them. Actually, hate is not a strong enough word, but it will have to do.
Anyway, the kitchen counters have been on our to-do list for 5 years. And my husband is finally ready to take on this monumental task.
And the moment we walked into the store, my kids lost it. It had been raining forever (or six days), and they wanted to run. But we couldn't let them run in a home improvement store. So my husband scooped them up and loaded them back into the car. "We'll come back soon," he told me.
So there I was, sitting in the car, sulking. My visions of new countertops and me cooking on them were crumbling to dust when my daughter asked me if I was happy.
"No," I snapped. "I'm disappointed."
"Oh," she said, smiling. "We should find you a rainbow. That will make you happy. Or you should run around in circles. That always makes me happy."
I started laughing as I realized that my daughter is going to be a go with the flow type of person too.
Wonderful. I'm surrounded.
I think a marriage works best if one person is able to go with the flow. You know what I mean - a person who doesn't get phased by changes in plans and can adapt easily, with a shrug of the shoulders when things don't go his way.
I wish I could say I was that person in my marriage.
I'm not.
I'm more of a takes-an-hour-to-get-over-the-slightest-disappointment type of person. My husband is the go with the flow person in our relationship. And sometimes, I really hate that. Yes, I appreciate it after the fact, but during whatever has me disappointed hearing him say, "Oh well. It'll be okay" really sets my teeth on edge.
This was never more apparent yesterday when my husband and I loaded the kids up in the car and went to the ReStore, Habitat for Humanity store in Garden Grove. I was so excited; I was like a giddy little school girl. Why was I so excited about going to a restore for your home needs?
See, we were going to look at kitchen counter tops. For those of you who don't know, our kitchen counter tops are H-I-D-E-O-U-S! White laminate. That stains. And is chipping. And I think are the original countertops from 1971. I HATE them. Actually, hate is not a strong enough word, but it will have to do.
Anyway, the kitchen counters have been on our to-do list for 5 years. And my husband is finally ready to take on this monumental task.
And the moment we walked into the store, my kids lost it. It had been raining forever (or six days), and they wanted to run. But we couldn't let them run in a home improvement store. So my husband scooped them up and loaded them back into the car. "We'll come back soon," he told me.
So there I was, sitting in the car, sulking. My visions of new countertops and me cooking on them were crumbling to dust when my daughter asked me if I was happy.
"No," I snapped. "I'm disappointed."
"Oh," she said, smiling. "We should find you a rainbow. That will make you happy. Or you should run around in circles. That always makes me happy."
I started laughing as I realized that my daughter is going to be a go with the flow type of person too.
Wonderful. I'm surrounded.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
A Letter to My Son on his 16th Birthday
Before my children were born, I decided to write letters to them that they could open on their birthdays. Since I figured they would not be able to read when they were born, I addressed the letters with instructions to be opened starting on their 13th birthday. I wrote a letter when I was pregnant, a letter on the day the baby was born, and I write a letter every year on their birthday. Today is my son's second birthday, so he gets to open this letter when he turns 16...
To My Darling Boy:
I'm not sure what I want to say to you today... My heart is overflowing with love, but my body is exhausted from chasing you around all day. Today you are sixteen, and I hope and pray that you are running me as ragged now as you did today, the day you turned 2. After all, life wouldn't be any fun if I didn't have you to keep me on my toes.
This past year has been joyful and exhausting, terrifying and exhilarating. I get teary eyed as I think of 16 year old you - you are on the cusp of manhood and I can't wait to meet the man you become. But at the same time, I weep when I think I am losing the sweet, sticky little boy who yells, "Mommy!" and comes running over to give me a hug whenever I enter a room.
You are a loving two year old, asking for my hand to hold, Mommy's "uppie" for a cuddle, or screaming "NO!" when you want to run, climb, or crawl when I want to carry you. I am going to miss your solid little body snuggled up next to me on the couch, your chubby little hand grasping mine, your giggles as I tickle your round belly, and your screams for "again, again!"
This coming year, your three year old year, is going to bring changes. You are going to go from the baby to the middle child. And two year old James is uncertain about that. Everyday you tell me, "No baby. MY mommy." I hope that 16 year old James is comfortable with being the middle child, and I hope you realize that you will always be my baby, my boyo, my sweetheart. You hold a special place in my heart, not for being second born, not for being a boy, but for being mine.
I am proud to know that you are becoming your own person, someone independent from me. I can only hope that, as you turn 16, your father and I have given you the right lessons to help you become a strong, independent, generous, sensitive man.
What are my hopes for 16 year old James? I hope you are smart enough not to out think your common sense; that you trust yourself to listen to your intuition. I hope that you are still that loving boy you were when you were two, but that you are not afraid to speak your own mind, regardless of what people may think of you. I know the teenage years are hard, and I know that being an independent thinker can make them harder. Don't be afraid to say no to your friends, and if they give you crap for it, they aren't your friends. I hope that you are not afraid to be an independent thinker, that you are brave enough to fight injustice in your life, to let your voice be heard, and to protect those who cannot do so for themselves.
And what advice do I have for you, my 16 year old boy? Just this, the same thing that I say daily to two year old Boyo: Be careful! And remember, being able to do something and thinking you can do something are two very different things. I'm not saying don't try; I'm telling you to try. Try with all your being to accomplish your goals, so that years later, when you look back, you will have no regrets and you can honestly say, "I gave it everything I had." Thinking you can do something is the beginning. It is the start of a goal; it requires hard work, effort, and time. Being able to do something is your reward for those things. I hope that we have raised you to not be afraid of working hard, giving a strong effort, and spending time trying to achieve your goals.
You are my baby, my sweet boy. (I don't care that you are sixteen now, you are still my baby.)
I love you so much, and I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Mean Old Biddy
~
This post was supposed to be a letter to my son for him when he was a teenager. HOWEVER, I am still stunned and amazed by something that happened to me today...Boyo and I were at the post office. We stopped by right after his 2 year well child visit, where he had gotten a vaccine. So he was not in the best of moods. Added to that, there was a line. I should have turned around to leave. But I had a letter I had to send certified... so I got in line.
Boyo did not. He ran over to the corner of the post office, where the blinds were. And he proceeded to sit down and run his car in and out of the blinds. I made a half-hearted attempt to get him to come back to me, since it seemed like I should make my son stand with me if I want to win that Mom of the Year Award.
My son's response was a vigorous "NOOOOOOO!" at the top of his lungs.
I promptly apologized to the people in line, went over to my son, and gave him a stern talking to before I got back in line. I left him in the corner. He was five feet away from me and he was happy. I wasn't tempting fate again.
I finished my business, collected my son, and told him, since he had been mostly good, that he could run on the sidewalk. A woman (who had been in line when my son yelled no) walked by me and I smiled at her. She responded by sniffing at me, glared at my son, and mumbled under her breathe, "That is not acceptable. He is NOT CUTE."
I came to a standstill. Not cute? My son is freaking adorable. Yes, he had a snotty moment in the post office - he was a two year old in the post office. What were you expecting? For him to stand docilely by my side? He's two, not six.
Several responses flew threw my head. The first involved a lot of four letter words. The second involved an apology (even though it grated that I was going to offer one) - but when I opened my mouth to issue it, something else came out of my mouth, surprising both me and the mean old biddy:
"He's two," I said sweetly, with a smile on my face. "What's your excuse for being a stinker? You have a merry Christmas."
It was one of those perfect moments when I had the exact right thing to say at the exact right time. As I led my son to the car, I could hear her sputtering behind me.
I'll win Mother of the Year next year. I'm too tired this year.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Happy Second Birthday, Little Dude!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Surprise!
~
I know that it's the day before my son's second birthday. I know I should have waited. But I was so excited about his present, I just couldn't. My husband and I agreed to let him have his present early.
He was not nearly as impressed as we thought he would be.
What did we ultimately decide to get him?
A little brother or sister.
I know that it's the day before my son's second birthday. I know I should have waited. But I was so excited about his present, I just couldn't. My husband and I agreed to let him have his present early.
He was not nearly as impressed as we thought he would be.
What did we ultimately decide to get him?
A little brother or sister.
Maybe he was upset because he has to wait until July to really get his present?
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Mommy Thumb
Remember when I mentioned that I had sprained my thumb?
I just saw something on Yahoo News...
I have MOMMY THUMB!!
I am not making this up! You can read all about it here.
My favorite part: "Treatment - proper warm up before doing any lifting and avoid any activities that cause pain."
Yeah, that will go over well with my son: "Sorry, honey, I can't lift you up because I haven't stretched out my thumb yet."
And no, I still have not gone to the doctor.
I just saw something on Yahoo News...
I have MOMMY THUMB!!
I am not making this up! You can read all about it here.
My favorite part: "Treatment - proper warm up before doing any lifting and avoid any activities that cause pain."
Yeah, that will go over well with my son: "Sorry, honey, I can't lift you up because I haven't stretched out my thumb yet."
And no, I still have not gone to the doctor.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
My Son's Birth Story
I did it for my daughter, and now I have to record my son's birth story, before I forget...
On December 10, 2008, I was getting my daughter ready for daycare. I was due to give birth in a week, and while my daughter didn't go to daycare every day, she did go fairly often: on days when I had doctor's appointments (which, since I was a gestational diabetic, meant I went to the doctor 3 days a week).
I had just squatted down to pick her up and put her in the car when I heard a pop and felt fluid in my underwear. "Hmm," I remember thinking. "Did I just have an accident, or did my water just break?"
I was praying that I had peed my pants. See, it was my husband's and my anniversary, and we had decided to spring for a sitter - a rare treat. It was going to be our last date night before the baby was born and our lives spun out of control for a little bit.
I called my mom to ask her, but she didn't answer the phone, so I didn't think much of it. I took my daughter to school, I came home, showered, and picked up the house. I wasn't feeling any contractions, but still -- that rush of fluid was on the back of my mind, worrying me. So I called my husband, told him my water might have broken, and drove myself to the hospital.
The nurse checked me and and swabbed at my, um, nether regions with a little strip to test for amniotic fluid. If my water had broken, she said, the strip would turn blue. If not, they would send me on my way. When I pointed out I wasn't feeling any contractions, she just laughed and said, "Honey, we can start those right up for you."
The strip turned navy.
Then nurse laughed again when I asked if they could start the contractions tomorrow. After all, it was date night. "No," she said, hooking me up to an IV. "You're having a baby today."
I called my husband, told him my water definitely had broken and that he needed to leave work and come to the hospital. While I waited for him, I pulled out my schoolwork and tried to read. Oh, did I mention that I was in my MA program at the time? And it was finals week?
My husband showed up and asked if I would mind if he took a nap. Since we were both expecting the 36 hour ordeal we had with our daughter, I said sure.
The contraction-starter-medicine kicked in, and it kicked in HARD. Within two hours, I was writhing in the bed, whimpering in pain. My husband was napping in the cot they had provided him. I threw my book at him to wake him up; if I was hurting, then damn it, he was going to witness it.
The contraction monitor was shooting over a 100. A nurse came in to reset it and commented that I seemed a tad "uncomfortable."
"You think?" I snarled back.
"Do you want me to call the anesthesiologist?" she asked, patting my hand.
"No," I said, at the same time my husband said "Yes."
The nurse looked at me and then at my husband and then back at me. "Why not?" she asked.
"I want to try to do this without medication," I said. "I want the epidural, just not yet. I want to feel it, to know that I tried..." I would have gone on, but right then I was hit by a contraction so hard my body jack knifed like I was the little girl in the Exorcist.
To the nurse's credit, she didn't roll her eyes at me. "And now you've felt it," she said. "And it hurts. You are at 6 cm. It's only going to get worse."
"I know, but..." I whimpered.
"We don't give you a medal when you check out, you know," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "We give you a baby. And you need to be rested so you can take care of it."
I agreed to the epidural.
[To those of you out there who firmly believe medication only has a place in a birthing room for extreme cases: Good for you. I'm happy that is the choice you made. This was the choice I made. The nurse was right; I needed my rest, not to reenact the Exorcist. And they didn't give me a medal. They gave me a newborn baby boy with colic. I'm grateful for the epidural because it allowed me to take a nap - the last nap I got for over a year. So please, no comments on my decision for an epidural or the nurse offering me one.]
And then I went to sleep for five hours.
The nurse came in at seven, checked on me, and said, "Wow, you are ready to go! Shift change is here, though, so we are just going to let you hold tight; the night nurse is going to help with your delivery."
"Wait," my husband said. "If she's ready to go, shouldn't we be pushing NOW?"
"No, it's fine," the nurse said, backing out of the door. It was obvious she was trying to get away...I hope she had really important plans. More important than my having a baby.
So we were left to our own devices for about on hour. An hour that I spent shaking with adrenaline.
To be fair to the night nurse, she was great. She walked in right at 8 and said, "So, we're having a baby in about five minutes, huh?"
She got everything all set up and then said, "Okay, Shannon, I'm going to have you do a couple practice pushes with me, so we can see if we have to turn off the epidural before we call the doctor in. Push on one... two... thr-- STOP!"
"What?" I asked frantically, as my husband started to laugh. "What's wrong?"
"The baby's crowning," my husband told me, kissing my forehead. "They had you wait too long."
The nurse ran for the doctor, who came in 30 seconds later, positioned himself at the end of the bed and nodded. My son was born three pushes later. He literally just slid out. (I know. I hate women who say that too. But after an hour of waiting... well, he was ready.)
They didn't give him to me right away. Everything was hazy, and I remember thinking that was odd, so when I looked down, my heart stopped. Boyo was blue. Not your normal, baby hasn't pinked up yet blue, he was umbilical cord wrapped twice around his neck, around each limb, and around his stomach blue. The doctor studied the knot my son had tied himself in and started twisting and turning the baby until he wasn't blue anymore. He was red. And screaming. And pissed. And it was beautiful.
I should also mention that because he had been slamming against my cervix for so long, he had a second head. Not a conehead, like most vaginal births, he had a perfectly round bump at the top of his head, about two inches wide and half an inch thick. It looked like he was a mad scientist.
"That's perfectly normal," the doctor said, reassuringly. At least, it would have been reassuringly if he wasn't pressing on the bump, trying to make it go back down.
Throughout all of this, I was focusing on my boy. I'll admit it, I was apprehensive. Yes, I know that I all ready had a baby at home. You would have thought that I was used to this. But I was scared of him. Why? Because he was a boy. I didn't know what to do with a boy. He was the first boy in my family in 40 years. And yes, you would have thought that in the 18 or so weeks I knew I was carrying a boy, that I would have gotten used to the idea. I didn't. (I'm mildly ashamed to admit that I was hoping the ultrasound was wrong, and that he would really be a girl. I know. I know. I had an ultrasound every week for the last 6 weeks because of the diabetes, but I was still clinging to that last ray of hope. I'm a horrible mother.)
So I was focusing on my boy, and getting more and more nervous. And then the nurse finished his bath, wrapped him in his blanket, and put him in my arms. And when Boyo looked at me, I caught my breathe, I couldn't help it. He had this very serious, old man look in his eyes (which was aided by the mad scientist head bump), and he just stared at me as if to say: You're going to be fine.
And that was it; I was sunk. I started falling in love with him at that moment, and I haven't stopped (I will admit, though, some days I fall in love with him faster than others. Like the six months he had colic. I loved him, but man, it was a painful process. But isn't that true of any parent who has a child with colic?)
My son was born December 10, 2008 at 8:07 pm after 9 hours of labor. He weighted 7 lbs, 12 oz and was 19 in long. And he has gone from this:
to this:
Friday, December 3, 2010
Things I've Learned About My Son in the Past 12 Hours
1. He sleepwalks. Right to my side of the bed. And then he wakes up, kisses my hand, and says, "Momma, uppie?"
2. He is quite proud of his vocabulary at 2:30 in the morning. He sat on my pillow and named everything in my room he could see. And when he found something he didn't know the name to? He smacked me on the head and asked, "That?"
3. When he says he wants Momma at 3 in the morning, he means he wants Momma. So I had no luck kicking my husband awake and telling him to take care of Boyo.
4. My son likes to sleep on my neck. Not curled up next to me, not on my chest, on my neck. Which means I don't sleep at all. Or breathe.
5. For some odd reason, my son has decided he has to sleep with the Sleeping Beauty DVD case. Getting hit in the head with the Sleeping Beauty DVD case at 3:30 in the morning is not pleasant.
And what have I learned about my husband in the past 12 hours?
He's really good at pretending to sleep through all of the above.
2. He is quite proud of his vocabulary at 2:30 in the morning. He sat on my pillow and named everything in my room he could see. And when he found something he didn't know the name to? He smacked me on the head and asked, "That?"
3. When he says he wants Momma at 3 in the morning, he means he wants Momma. So I had no luck kicking my husband awake and telling him to take care of Boyo.
4. My son likes to sleep on my neck. Not curled up next to me, not on my chest, on my neck. Which means I don't sleep at all. Or breathe.
5. For some odd reason, my son has decided he has to sleep with the Sleeping Beauty DVD case. Getting hit in the head with the Sleeping Beauty DVD case at 3:30 in the morning is not pleasant.
And what have I learned about my husband in the past 12 hours?
He's really good at pretending to sleep through all of the above.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
You know what the problem with holiday cards are? My kids have to be in them.
This year, I got a brilliant idea. I should take a picture of my daughter kissing my son for our Christmas card, I thought. I'm an idiot. I'd clearly forgotten the Valentine's Day fiasco of 2009.
This is what I got:
This is what I got:
You would have thought I was torturing Boyo.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Hockey and Kiddos
~
For my birthday, I wanted to go to a hockey game. And I wanted to actually watch the game, which meant my husband was in charge of watching the kids.
Boyo LOVED the game. Didn't quite get it - cheered when people were booing the refs, clapped at the end of the first period and then turned to me and said, "Home?", and was more content to watch the lights than the game. But he still had fun.
And Girlie? When I asked her if she liked the game, I got a "Talk to my hand, Momma."
For my birthday, I wanted to go to a hockey game. And I wanted to actually watch the game, which meant my husband was in charge of watching the kids.
Boyo LOVED the game. Didn't quite get it - cheered when people were booing the refs, clapped at the end of the first period and then turned to me and said, "Home?", and was more content to watch the lights than the game. But he still had fun.
And Girlie? When I asked her if she liked the game, I got a "Talk to my hand, Momma."
I truly LOATHE whoever taught her that.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Just Like His Daddy
~
My son has a fascination with buttons. Not clothing buttons -- no, actual buttons that DO things. Like reset the clock on the microwave. Or open my car doors from inside the house. Or try to order porn. (Luckily, I caught that one in time before he could hit "okay" on the remote and watch Space Alien Hotties v. 31.)
In order to channel this button loving fanaticism (and partly for the photo op), I set up a video game and gave Boyo the controller.
I'll be damned if he didn't beat Daddy's top score in 10 minutes.
My son has a fascination with buttons. Not clothing buttons -- no, actual buttons that DO things. Like reset the clock on the microwave. Or open my car doors from inside the house. Or try to order porn. (Luckily, I caught that one in time before he could hit "okay" on the remote and watch Space Alien Hotties v. 31.)
In order to channel this button loving fanaticism (and partly for the photo op), I set up a video game and gave Boyo the controller.
I'll be damned if he didn't beat Daddy's top score in 10 minutes.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Things I Never Want To Hear Again...
...
My husband call from the living room: "How much blood is too much for a head wound?" after our daughter did a swan dive from the living room couch onto the corner of the fire place.
My daughter crying in my arms: "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding! My head hurts!" as I rushed her to the car to take her to the ER.
The ER admitting nurse saying: "Well, she looks okay, so it'll be about an hour wait." I deserve a medal for not losing it and screaming at her right then and there.
The doctor saying: "It's okay, it's only going to be two staples," after cleaning out and studying her wound. Sorry, Buddy, "staples, "my daughter's head" and "okay" don't go together.
The discharge nurse saying: "Here's a staple remover. Take the staples out in 7-10 days." Uh, what?! I didn't go to medical school; you take the damn staples out. We compromised on her pediatrician doing it.
My daughter sniffling in the car on the way home, not because she was hurting, but because she realized she can milk this injury for about a month. Her daddy all ready promised her a pony.
My husband call from the living room: "How much blood is too much for a head wound?" after our daughter did a swan dive from the living room couch onto the corner of the fire place.
My daughter crying in my arms: "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding! My head hurts!" as I rushed her to the car to take her to the ER.
The ER admitting nurse saying: "Well, she looks okay, so it'll be about an hour wait." I deserve a medal for not losing it and screaming at her right then and there.
The doctor saying: "It's okay, it's only going to be two staples," after cleaning out and studying her wound. Sorry, Buddy, "staples, "my daughter's head" and "okay" don't go together.
The discharge nurse saying: "Here's a staple remover. Take the staples out in 7-10 days." Uh, what?! I didn't go to medical school; you take the damn staples out. We compromised on her pediatrician doing it.
My daughter sniffling in the car on the way home, not because she was hurting, but because she realized she can milk this injury for about a month. Her daddy all ready promised her a pony.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Date Night
How can date night be awful and wonderful at the same time?
Saturday night my husband and I headed over to the Happiest Place on Earth. It took us over an hour to get inside -- and we live 10 miles away.
We went to the Blue Bayou and were told they were not taking "Walk -ins." The hostess said it disdainfully, like we were road kill. Road kill that smelled like sewage.
So we shrugged it off and decided to head over to the Golden Vine Winery in CA Adventure. On our way there, we were able to walk on to Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Woohoo! I love that ride.
Space Mountain was closed. Sigh.
At the Golden Vine, we were told, "Oh, we aren't taking walk ups right now. We will be soon though."
My husband, a model of tact and decorum, respectfully said, "Great. When do you think that will be?"
The hostess smiled at us vacantly and said, "Around 11."
It was currently 7 pm.
I wanted to eat at a sit down restaurant at Disneyland as a special treat - not grabbing food from the diaper bag or a push cart, the way we normally do. So I did what any mature 30 year old would do when she found out she wasn't going to get her way: I sulked.
I was in a total funk. My husband knew to leave well enough alone, and he steered me over to California Screamin'.
After that roller coaster, I was in a much better mood. After all, how can you be angry when you have just been hurtled through the air at speeds of 60 mph?
We decided to leave Disney and go to the Olive Garden. As we left Disneyland, we heard two loud bangs. Sighing, we pulled into a parking lot to check our tires, certain we had just had a blow out.
Nope. The loud bangs we heard were the Disneyland fireworks going off (we're dumb, okay?). So we sat in the parking lot and had a front row seat for this:
Saturday night my husband and I headed over to the Happiest Place on Earth. It took us over an hour to get inside -- and we live 10 miles away.
We went to the Blue Bayou and were told they were not taking "Walk -ins." The hostess said it disdainfully, like we were road kill. Road kill that smelled like sewage.
So we shrugged it off and decided to head over to the Golden Vine Winery in CA Adventure. On our way there, we were able to walk on to Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Woohoo! I love that ride.
Space Mountain was closed. Sigh.
At the Golden Vine, we were told, "Oh, we aren't taking walk ups right now. We will be soon though."
My husband, a model of tact and decorum, respectfully said, "Great. When do you think that will be?"
The hostess smiled at us vacantly and said, "Around 11."
It was currently 7 pm.
I wanted to eat at a sit down restaurant at Disneyland as a special treat - not grabbing food from the diaper bag or a push cart, the way we normally do. So I did what any mature 30 year old would do when she found out she wasn't going to get her way: I sulked.
I was in a total funk. My husband knew to leave well enough alone, and he steered me over to California Screamin'.
After that roller coaster, I was in a much better mood. After all, how can you be angry when you have just been hurtled through the air at speeds of 60 mph?
We decided to leave Disney and go to the Olive Garden. As we left Disneyland, we heard two loud bangs. Sighing, we pulled into a parking lot to check our tires, certain we had just had a blow out.
Nope. The loud bangs we heard were the Disneyland fireworks going off (we're dumb, okay?). So we sat in the parking lot and had a front row seat for this:
And then we went to Olive Garden.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
I WON!
I mentioned before that I was a Contest Queen.
Well, guess what? I WON SOMETHING!!
It came in the mail yesterday -- this is what I won:
I don't recall entering a contest to win a jar of vaseline....
Well, guess what? I WON SOMETHING!!
It came in the mail yesterday -- this is what I won:
I don't recall entering a contest to win a jar of vaseline....Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Beautiful
"I'm not beautiful!"
Hearing these words, words that I've said myself numerous times, coming from my 3 year old daughter shocked me.
"Baby Girl, you're absolutely positively beautiful," I told her, stunned that she would think she wasn't.
"No, I'm not," she said adamantly. "I'm NOT beautiful!"
"Then what are you?" I asked.
"I'm like Mommy," she explained.
I'm 95% sure she didn't mean to be insulting.
But as I thought about it, it made me realize how often she hears me sigh and complain about my body or my looks. Or how she copies my "Oh well, it will have to do face," when she sees me make it as I study myself in the mirror.
I'm teaching her this, I thought in horror.
It's important to me that my daughter have high self esteem. We tell her that she is beautiful, praise her when she does well, and encourage her to keep trying when she gets frustrated. I thought I was doing everything I could to help her develop her self esteem.
Instead, I've been undermining my vocal efforts with my actions. She hears me tell her she's beautiful, but then she sees me complain about my butt. Or skin. Or whatever else is bothering me that day. And then she does it too.
If I want my daughter to have high self esteem, I need to have some too.
Sometimes, raising a girl is really really HARD.
Hearing these words, words that I've said myself numerous times, coming from my 3 year old daughter shocked me.
"Baby Girl, you're absolutely positively beautiful," I told her, stunned that she would think she wasn't.
"No, I'm not," she said adamantly. "I'm NOT beautiful!"
"Then what are you?" I asked.
"I'm like Mommy," she explained.
I'm 95% sure she didn't mean to be insulting.
But as I thought about it, it made me realize how often she hears me sigh and complain about my body or my looks. Or how she copies my "Oh well, it will have to do face," when she sees me make it as I study myself in the mirror.
I'm teaching her this, I thought in horror.
It's important to me that my daughter have high self esteem. We tell her that she is beautiful, praise her when she does well, and encourage her to keep trying when she gets frustrated. I thought I was doing everything I could to help her develop her self esteem.
Instead, I've been undermining my vocal efforts with my actions. She hears me tell her she's beautiful, but then she sees me complain about my butt. Or skin. Or whatever else is bothering me that day. And then she does it too.
If I want my daughter to have high self esteem, I need to have some too.
Sometimes, raising a girl is really really HARD.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Secrets from a Blogger
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Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Mommy CIA
~
Last week was my daughter's field trip to the Pumpkin Patch.
I had been so excited... I think I was more excited than she was.
I couldn't wait to go on a hay ride with my kids, or take them through the haunted house, or debate the best pumpkin with them.
Of course, I threw out my back the weekend before and I couldn't walk the day of the field trip.
I was crushed. CRUSHED.
My daughter didn't have a clue.
And my husband rode to rescue as my knight in shining armor... he took the day of work and took the kids to the Pumpkin Patch. The only dad among 22 moms and 34 kids.
Thursday, at my daughter's Halloween party, another mom came up to me and said, "I just want you to know that your husband did great with the kids."
"Um, thanks," I replied, but in my head I was thinking: They are his kids too... he had better have done great with them.
"I mean, I would want to know how my husband did," she continued. "So I thought I would let you know."
I smiled, but I wasn't sure if I should be thankful or indignant.
When I told my husband about it over dinner that night, he laughed. "I'm glad your Mommy CIA reported favorably on me," he said. "Are you going to have to change the name of the Mommy Club now that I figured it out?"
Last week was my daughter's field trip to the Pumpkin Patch.
I had been so excited... I think I was more excited than she was.
I couldn't wait to go on a hay ride with my kids, or take them through the haunted house, or debate the best pumpkin with them.
Of course, I threw out my back the weekend before and I couldn't walk the day of the field trip.
I was crushed. CRUSHED.
My daughter didn't have a clue.
And my husband rode to rescue as my knight in shining armor... he took the day of work and took the kids to the Pumpkin Patch. The only dad among 22 moms and 34 kids.
Thursday, at my daughter's Halloween party, another mom came up to me and said, "I just want you to know that your husband did great with the kids."
"Um, thanks," I replied, but in my head I was thinking: They are his kids too... he had better have done great with them.
"I mean, I would want to know how my husband did," she continued. "So I thought I would let you know."
I smiled, but I wasn't sure if I should be thankful or indignant.
When I told my husband about it over dinner that night, he laughed. "I'm glad your Mommy CIA reported favorably on me," he said. "Are you going to have to change the name of the Mommy Club now that I figured it out?"
Monday, November 1, 2010
It's hard to say....
~
...what my favorite moment was this past Halloween.
Was it my daughter's determination to pick out the absolute BEST pumpkin?
Or my son staring into his pumpkin, confused, and saying "Hello?" 
Was it my son's delight upon realizing that he gets to have candy?
Or was it trick or treating with my kids? 
Was it listening to my bossy 3 year old tell the big kids "Say Trick or Treat!" when passing out candy with my sister? 
Or was it just getting to hang out with my kids?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Boundaries
~
I'm getting better at setting boundaries.
Since my post two weeks ago, where I wrote in a state of panic over everything I have to do, things have calmed down.
I'm more acclimated to my job.
My hubby and I have devised a plan that lets me work at home without having to worry about all the housework and all the child care. (I just have to worry about 75% of the housework. And no matter what he says, I'm still worried about all the child care.)
My kids are getting used to the idea of Momma working from home.
And even though I still have a to-do list as long as my left arm, I'm getting better at leaving it at home or asking for help.
For example, yesterday I had two tasks for work that were due at 5 pm. It wasn't happening.
So I prioritized. I did one of them and then I called my boss, begging for a weekend extension for the other one.
And because of that, I was able to take care of my most important priority: the pumpkin patch with my kids.
I'm getting better at setting boundaries.
Since my post two weeks ago, where I wrote in a state of panic over everything I have to do, things have calmed down.
I'm more acclimated to my job.
My hubby and I have devised a plan that lets me work at home without having to worry about all the housework and all the child care. (I just have to worry about 75% of the housework. And no matter what he says, I'm still worried about all the child care.)
My kids are getting used to the idea of Momma working from home.
And even though I still have a to-do list as long as my left arm, I'm getting better at leaving it at home or asking for help.
For example, yesterday I had two tasks for work that were due at 5 pm. It wasn't happening.
So I prioritized. I did one of them and then I called my boss, begging for a weekend extension for the other one.
And because of that, I was able to take care of my most important priority: the pumpkin patch with my kids.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
My son is the Hulk. I swear.
~
I went outside today during naptime to take a quick call. Since both my kids were sleeping, I figured it wouldn't be a problem. I came back inside to find this:
which led me to this:
which led me to this:
which led me to this:
which led me to this:
Child proof gate, my a@#
Monday, October 25, 2010
My Former Students Rock!
~
Up until two weeks ago, I was debating the idea of leaving the teaching profession. I mean, yes, I'm a SAHM, but I was debating never, ever walking into another classroom again. I was thinking about going to law school. Or working in a museum. Or opening a children's bookstore. Or (my sisters will die laughing) nursing even crossed my mind.
I don't know why... you just kinda hit the point where you are DONE. You're tired of the whining, the whatifs, the phone calls or emails at 8 in the evening. And that's just the parents!
But you begin to wonder: Am I even making a difference? Who cares? None of these kids are going to remember me anyway. They didn't care about what I taught. They didn't pay attention anyway.
And then 6 things happened:
1. I landed an awesome teaching job. One that lets me stay home with my kids and still teach.
2. One of my former students emailed me to wish me Happy Constitution Day. I was stunned that she remembered.
3. A different student emailed to tell me that it was the 90th Anniversary of the 19th Amendment. She even included a "Yeh for voting!" Not only was I stunned that she knew that, I put it into my calendar so I would know that.
4. I got another email from a different student who graduated last year:
"I shared the "I'm just a bill" school house rock video with everyone in my english class today! Don't ask me why because I really don't even remember how that came up but I just thought i should let you know!(:"
The fact that she remembered School House Rock and shared it with everyone in her class, and cared enough to tell me about it, made me smile. Maybe I did get through, I thought.
5. And then I got this email from a student (I should preface this by saying that voting is my soap box issue -- I would rail and rally my students to vote. I didn't care who or what they voted for, I just wanted them to vote. Okay, that's not true. I did care a little about who and what they voted for... )
So I'm determine to register as many people as possible around campus by October 18th, but I have one question so I don't give people false information. If they do not register with a party, who will they receive on their ballot for governor? Also, if they register as Independent is it the Democratic or Republican candidate that will show up on their ballot? It just annoyed me to hear that people didn't know how to register, or that it would take forever to do so. I decided to just help people out!
I got a little tear eyed when I read that. Not only did I get through, but she cared about what I was teaching.
6. Lastly, I got a long email from a former student; one who graduated two years ago (or was it three?). She was commenting on one of my recent blog posts, and she ended with this:
I want you to know that I always have respected you and think you are a wonderful teacher. You have touched more hearts than you most likely know.
I lost it. I started to cry, right in the middle of the coffee house where I had gone to escape my kids and do some work.
And I realized: I did make a difference. They did remember me. They do care about what I had to say.
Teaching has to be the best profession on the planet.
Up until two weeks ago, I was debating the idea of leaving the teaching profession. I mean, yes, I'm a SAHM, but I was debating never, ever walking into another classroom again. I was thinking about going to law school. Or working in a museum. Or opening a children's bookstore. Or (my sisters will die laughing) nursing even crossed my mind.
I don't know why... you just kinda hit the point where you are DONE. You're tired of the whining, the whatifs, the phone calls or emails at 8 in the evening. And that's just the parents!
But you begin to wonder: Am I even making a difference? Who cares? None of these kids are going to remember me anyway. They didn't care about what I taught. They didn't pay attention anyway.
And then 6 things happened:
1. I landed an awesome teaching job. One that lets me stay home with my kids and still teach.
2. One of my former students emailed me to wish me Happy Constitution Day. I was stunned that she remembered.
3. A different student emailed to tell me that it was the 90th Anniversary of the 19th Amendment. She even included a "Yeh for voting!" Not only was I stunned that she knew that, I put it into my calendar so I would know that.
4. I got another email from a different student who graduated last year:
"I shared the "I'm just a bill" school house rock video with everyone in my english class today! Don't ask me why because I really don't even remember how that came up but I just thought i should let you know!(:"
The fact that she remembered School House Rock and shared it with everyone in her class, and cared enough to tell me about it, made me smile. Maybe I did get through, I thought.
5. And then I got this email from a student (I should preface this by saying that voting is my soap box issue -- I would rail and rally my students to vote. I didn't care who or what they voted for, I just wanted them to vote. Okay, that's not true. I did care a little about who and what they voted for... )
So I'm determine to register as many people as possible around campus by October 18th, but I have one question so I don't give people false information. If they do not register with a party, who will they receive on their ballot for governor? Also, if they register as Independent is it the Democratic or Republican candidate that will show up on their ballot? It just annoyed me to hear that people didn't know how to register, or that it would take forever to do so. I decided to just help people out!
I got a little tear eyed when I read that. Not only did I get through, but she cared about what I was teaching.
6. Lastly, I got a long email from a former student; one who graduated two years ago (or was it three?). She was commenting on one of my recent blog posts, and she ended with this:
I want you to know that I always have respected you and think you are a wonderful teacher. You have touched more hearts than you most likely know.
I lost it. I started to cry, right in the middle of the coffee house where I had gone to escape my kids and do some work.
And I realized: I did make a difference. They did remember me. They do care about what I had to say.
Teaching has to be the best profession on the planet.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Making Momma Happy
~
My daughter's new kick is to make Mommy happy.
Before she does something, she asks, "Will that make you happy?" and when she's done, she says, "Are you happy now?"
I try to explain to her that I want her to do things to make herself happy. But she's three. She's happy if she gets two cookies instead of one. So making her bed, picking up her shoes, cleaning up her playroom... those aren't high on her happiness radar.
And I feel sort of guilty about it... That this is the beginning of some sort of problem she will have, a problem that I'm going to have to pay a lot of money in therapy for during her teenage years. Maybe she will be diagnosed with low self esteem or an inability to make herself happy if she is not pleasing other people. And I don't want that -- I don't want her to worry so much about making other people happy, I want her to do thing to make herself happy.
Still, though, this is a great tool for getting stuff done around the house...
My daughter's new kick is to make Mommy happy.
Before she does something, she asks, "Will that make you happy?" and when she's done, she says, "Are you happy now?"
I try to explain to her that I want her to do things to make herself happy. But she's three. She's happy if she gets two cookies instead of one. So making her bed, picking up her shoes, cleaning up her playroom... those aren't high on her happiness radar.
And I feel sort of guilty about it... That this is the beginning of some sort of problem she will have, a problem that I'm going to have to pay a lot of money in therapy for during her teenage years. Maybe she will be diagnosed with low self esteem or an inability to make herself happy if she is not pleasing other people. And I don't want that -- I don't want her to worry so much about making other people happy, I want her to do thing to make herself happy.
Still, though, this is a great tool for getting stuff done around the house...
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
The Second Child
~
Sometimes, I feel awful for Boyo.
Not because he can be a stinker. Not because he is a bruiser. Not because his sister walks all over him. Not because he has to do what he's told.
I feel bad for him because he is the second child.
I feel guilty that he didn't get the one on one attention that his sister got when she was an infant.
I feel guilty that I didn't rock him for hours on end, singing lullabies to him.
I feel guilty that when he cuddles up to me on the couch, I only wrap one arm around him because my other arm is wrapped around his sister.
I feel guilty that I'm not as excited over his milestones as I was for his sister's.
I feel guilty that I'm not as patient with him because I know that while he is trying to decide on what truck/plane/car/ball to play with, his sister is wrecking havoc in the other room.
I feel guilty that I don't let him sleep in our bed as often as I do his sister.
I feel guilty that I don't read him 30 bedtime books a night, like I do for his sister. In my defense, he doesn't sit still for them. I'm lucky if I can get one in.
I just feel guilty.
And then...
...while I was feeling my most guilty...
...a friend said something to me. Okay, so it was an article in Parents Magazine. I'm lame. I know.
Basically, what the article said was: You love every child differently.
And this is true. I love my daughter with the wild abandon I think you can only feel with your first born, a type of disbelief that God has trusted you with this precious little person -- it's almost a fear that you will do something to mess this person up because you love them so much.
And while I love my son the same amount, I do love him differently. The way I love my son is similar to a boiling pot - as if all the love I have is in a pot, but he is the heat that makes it cook, that makes it boil and pop and spill over. I love him with a patient acceptance that I never had with his sister; I'm not afraid of him the way I was of her.
After reading that article, I realized that while Boyo doesn't get the same amount of Mommy/Daddy time that Girlie did/does, he gets something different, something Girlie didn't have until she was 18 mos.
He gets a sibling.
He gets his sister's love and attention in addition to Mommy/Daddy time. When he was born, he all ready had a friend in his older sister, ready and waiting for him to play. He has a partner in crime. He has a collaborator when working out a plan on how to score cookies from Momma. He has someone to play catch with, watch movies with, to twirl with, to play tag with, and to giggle with. He has a fan club. He has someone to talk for him and about him. He has a defender. He has this:
Sometimes, I feel awful for Boyo.
Not because he can be a stinker. Not because he is a bruiser. Not because his sister walks all over him. Not because he has to do what he's told.
I feel bad for him because he is the second child.
I feel guilty that he didn't get the one on one attention that his sister got when she was an infant.
I feel guilty that I didn't rock him for hours on end, singing lullabies to him.
I feel guilty that when he cuddles up to me on the couch, I only wrap one arm around him because my other arm is wrapped around his sister.
I feel guilty that I'm not as excited over his milestones as I was for his sister's.
I feel guilty that I'm not as patient with him because I know that while he is trying to decide on what truck/plane/car/ball to play with, his sister is wrecking havoc in the other room.
I feel guilty that I don't let him sleep in our bed as often as I do his sister.
I feel guilty that I don't read him 30 bedtime books a night, like I do for his sister. In my defense, he doesn't sit still for them. I'm lucky if I can get one in.
I just feel guilty.
And then...
...while I was feeling my most guilty...
...a friend said something to me. Okay, so it was an article in Parents Magazine. I'm lame. I know.
Basically, what the article said was: You love every child differently.
And this is true. I love my daughter with the wild abandon I think you can only feel with your first born, a type of disbelief that God has trusted you with this precious little person -- it's almost a fear that you will do something to mess this person up because you love them so much.
And while I love my son the same amount, I do love him differently. The way I love my son is similar to a boiling pot - as if all the love I have is in a pot, but he is the heat that makes it cook, that makes it boil and pop and spill over. I love him with a patient acceptance that I never had with his sister; I'm not afraid of him the way I was of her.
After reading that article, I realized that while Boyo doesn't get the same amount of Mommy/Daddy time that Girlie did/does, he gets something different, something Girlie didn't have until she was 18 mos.
He gets a sibling.
He gets his sister's love and attention in addition to Mommy/Daddy time. When he was born, he all ready had a friend in his older sister, ready and waiting for him to play. He has a partner in crime. He has a collaborator when working out a plan on how to score cookies from Momma. He has someone to play catch with, watch movies with, to twirl with, to play tag with, and to giggle with. He has a fan club. He has someone to talk for him and about him. He has a defender. He has this:
Monday, October 18, 2010
Big Boy Bed
~
There are so, so many reasons why I think we picked the wrong time to move our son out of the crib and into a big boy bed.
1. I just started a new job where I work from home, so nap time desperately has to happen.
2. I'm going to be working a few hours in the evening when my husband is home, so a routine bedtime is a must.
3. Since I just started a new job, my schedule is crazy and my kids are not getting quality Mom time. In fact, I'm mildly ashamed of how much TV they are watching. So I can't cuddle and soothe as much, in order to make this transition easier.
4. We are talking about potty training Boyo next month.
5. Boyo had slept in an Elmo Toddler Bed for awhile, but it scared the bejeezus out of him, so we weren't very consistent.
Still, none of this crossed our minds when my parents offered us a free twin mattress. And since there wasn't enough room for an Elmo bed, crib, and twin mattress in his room, the Elmo bed and crib were dismantled and stored in the garage. Boyo and I went shopping so he could pick out new sheets and blankets. We were good to go.
Bedtime on day 1 was a dream come true. Mattress is comfy, guard rail is up, and he loved the new bed.
Naptime on day 2 was perfect. He even took a 4 hour nap!! Still, I remembered when we made the switch to a mattress with our daughter: it was on about day 3 when she realized she could get out of the bed.
My son is a faster learner than she was at that age.
Bedtime on day 2 was a nightmare. He kept coming out of his room, peeking his head around the corner and saying "Hi," before he would wave at us and run back to his room. Finally, we dusted off the baby gate and put it up. So he sat at the gate and screamed for two hours.
Naptime on day 3 was no better. I finally thought I had him down when I rounded the corner and found this:
Great. Girlie's conspiring with him against me.
There are so, so many reasons why I think we picked the wrong time to move our son out of the crib and into a big boy bed.
1. I just started a new job where I work from home, so nap time desperately has to happen.
2. I'm going to be working a few hours in the evening when my husband is home, so a routine bedtime is a must.
3. Since I just started a new job, my schedule is crazy and my kids are not getting quality Mom time. In fact, I'm mildly ashamed of how much TV they are watching. So I can't cuddle and soothe as much, in order to make this transition easier.
4. We are talking about potty training Boyo next month.
5. Boyo had slept in an Elmo Toddler Bed for awhile, but it scared the bejeezus out of him, so we weren't very consistent.
Still, none of this crossed our minds when my parents offered us a free twin mattress. And since there wasn't enough room for an Elmo bed, crib, and twin mattress in his room, the Elmo bed and crib were dismantled and stored in the garage. Boyo and I went shopping so he could pick out new sheets and blankets. We were good to go.
Bedtime on day 1 was a dream come true. Mattress is comfy, guard rail is up, and he loved the new bed.
Naptime on day 2 was perfect. He even took a 4 hour nap!! Still, I remembered when we made the switch to a mattress with our daughter: it was on about day 3 when she realized she could get out of the bed.
My son is a faster learner than she was at that age.
Bedtime on day 2 was a nightmare. He kept coming out of his room, peeking his head around the corner and saying "Hi," before he would wave at us and run back to his room. Finally, we dusted off the baby gate and put it up. So he sat at the gate and screamed for two hours.
Naptime on day 3 was no better. I finally thought I had him down when I rounded the corner and found this:
Great. Girlie's conspiring with him against me.
Friday, October 15, 2010
HELP!
~
I am so overwhelmed.
I am treading water frantically, but I'm still under a foot of water.
And I feel horribly guilty complaining about being overwhelmed because I wanted this job. I prayed for it. I was sure it would be absolutely perfect for me.
And now...
I have two kids that just want their mommy to play with them.
I have a To Do List that is 2 pages long. And that is just for work. And I only know how to do half of the crap on the list.
I have another To Do List that is 1 page long. And that's for my house.
I am an idiot and decided to have a garage sale this Saturday. Yeah, is it set up? No.
My daughter's field trip to the pumpkin patch is on Monday, at the exact same time as my first department meeting.
I'm in the process of hiring a nanny, which means interviews.
My kids' playroom is so thrashed that in order to pick it up, I have to jump over three piles of toys just to get into it.
I have four loads of laundry waiting to be folded, and five more waiting to be run.
I'm supposed to make a plate of sandwiches for a picnic today.
I have a sink full of dishes that desperately need to be washed... I'm afraid of the insect life that will be attracted to them soon.
I have a husband who tells me just to relax, he'll take care of it... and then goes outside to smoke a cigar.
All I want to do is drink a cup of coffee, lay on the couch with a blanket, and watch the week of TV that I have DVR'd. Or I want to sit down, drink a glass of wine and cry. Or I want to go for a run. Or to a yoga class. Or just AWAY.
And I'm blogging about it, instead of working...
I am so overwhelmed.
I am treading water frantically, but I'm still under a foot of water.
And I feel horribly guilty complaining about being overwhelmed because I wanted this job. I prayed for it. I was sure it would be absolutely perfect for me.
And now...
I have two kids that just want their mommy to play with them.
I have a To Do List that is 2 pages long. And that is just for work. And I only know how to do half of the crap on the list.
I have another To Do List that is 1 page long. And that's for my house.
I am an idiot and decided to have a garage sale this Saturday. Yeah, is it set up? No.
My daughter's field trip to the pumpkin patch is on Monday, at the exact same time as my first department meeting.
I'm in the process of hiring a nanny, which means interviews.
My kids' playroom is so thrashed that in order to pick it up, I have to jump over three piles of toys just to get into it.
I have four loads of laundry waiting to be folded, and five more waiting to be run.
I'm supposed to make a plate of sandwiches for a picnic today.
I have a sink full of dishes that desperately need to be washed... I'm afraid of the insect life that will be attracted to them soon.
I have a husband who tells me just to relax, he'll take care of it... and then goes outside to smoke a cigar.
All I want to do is drink a cup of coffee, lay on the couch with a blanket, and watch the week of TV that I have DVR'd. Or I want to sit down, drink a glass of wine and cry. Or I want to go for a run. Or to a yoga class. Or just AWAY.
And I'm blogging about it, instead of working...
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
CHOCalkers
My family is participating in the CHOC walk this weekend.The CHOC walk benefits Children's Hospital of Orange County and all of the babies and children who desperately need care.
This cause is very near and dear to our heart. Why? Because CHOC saved my son's life. I don't mean that figuratively. They literally saved my son's life.
You see, when Boyo was five weeks old, he caught a cold. This would not have been a big deal for an adult, or for his 18 month old sister, who gave him the cold. But for a five week old baby, with a delicate respiratory system, it's a very big deal.
He started throwing up on January 10, 2009, his one month birthday. He was vomiting so copiously that he was struggling to breathe. My husband called the hospital advice line and was told that if Boyo developed a fever or the vomiting continued to bring him to the ER. I spent the night in the rocking chair, holding my son, praying for this to pass.
The next morning, he developed a fever of 102. I loaded him into the car and took him to the ER. I still remember what I said to my husband as we left: "It's probably nothing serious, but I'm going to take him to the ER anyway. Because with our luck, if I don't take him to the ER, it will be serious and if I do take him to the ER, it won't be. I'm sure the doctor is going to dismiss me as a nervous mother and send us home. We'll be back in an hour."
I didn't come home for three days.
At the ER, they checked my son's vitals in triage. They couldn't get his respiratory stats... when they finally got them, he registered 64. He should have been over 90. The nurse looked concerned, mumbled "That can't be right," and checked them again. His respiratory stats registered 76.
Everything happened very fast then. The nurse scooped up my son and ran to the back examining room. The doctor was in the room before we were. Now, those of you who have ever visited an ER know that it takes forever to see the doctor. The fact that the doctor beat us to the examination room made me realize that this was very, VERY serious.
The medical team basically shoved me into a corner, hooked my son up to oxygen, and began running tests. Blood work to test for meningitis. Chest xrays for pneumonia. I was questioned repeatedly as to my son's habits the week prior. My husband showed up, and the questioning started again. Through it all, we had to hold an adult oxygen mask to our son's face. He was so tiny that the mask covered his entire face.
Eventually, they told us that our son had RSV and pneumonia and since the hospital we were at did not have pediatric facilities to deal with these types of illnesses, they were going to transfer us to CHOC.
The CHOC ambulance showed up with a nurse and a respiratory therapist. We hadn't even made it out of the driveway when the nurse came up to the driver and me in the front seat.
"We need lights and sirens," she told the driver before she turned to me. She put her hand on my arm and I held my breath. I knew that this was going to be bad.
"I don't want you to worry, but your son stopped breathing for a little bit."
My blood turned to ice. She said something about a mask and oxygen, how it wasn't a big deal and they would intibate, but I'm fuzzy on those details. I spent the entire trip to the hospital peering into the back of the ambulance, staring at my baby while the respiratory therapist said things like, "It's okay. He's breathing now. He's fine." I didn't realize he was talking to me until two days later.
At CHOC, we were rushed to PICU. Five nurses and two doctors met my husband and I at the door. A doctor took my husband and I outside to ask us questions while they intibated my baby. I prowled the hallway, trying peer into my son's room to see what was going on. When we were finally let back inside, my son was on a ventilator.
He was on the ventilator for five days. We couldn't hold him, and it was impossible to find a part of his body to touch that was not covered in wires, tubes, or tape. When he came off of the ventilator, he still had an oxygen tube. We couldn't pick him up; the nurses had to pick him up and place him in our arms and then put him on the bed when were done holding him. And we couldn't hold him for longer than 10 minutes at a time - they didn't want too many people to handle him, for fear that he would have a relapse. I am still furious with myself that I was not the first person to hold him when he got off of the ventilator - I had taken my daughter down to the cafeteria and my husband was in the room.
Through it all, the nurses and doctors were compassionate and informative. The nurses especially were kind, understanding, and strong. They were the ones who reminded us to sleep and eat. A nurse even arranged for me to get a breast pump - I had completely forgotten that I was breast feeding. They brought my son toys and blankets. They changed his diapers and fed him. They kept him sedated so he wouldn't pull out the tubes and wires. They gave him pain medication so he wouldn't hurt. They talked to us and listened. One nurse gave me a hug and let me cry on her shoulder. They answered all of our questions, and when we forgot the answers, they answered them again. When family members came to help out, the nurses answered all of their questions too. They gave our daughter a toy and some crayons so she wouldn't feel left out. They kept telling us, "He's going to be fine. This is the easy part - you should go home and sleep, because when he goes home, the hard part is going to start."
Our son left CHOC January 19, 2009. He was healthy and whole and unbelievably pissed off at the entire situation. He screamed the entire way home and then for the next two days - making up for lost time, I think.
Because of the nurses and doctors at CHOC, my son has gone from this: 
to this:
So we are walking this Sunday to give back and to raise awareness. If you want to donate to this worthy and wonderful cause, you can do so here.
My family and I thank you.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Roller Coaster
~
I have been on a hell of a roller coaster lately.
First, I was struggling with the idea of being a stay at home mom.
Turns out, I didn't have to make a decision, since I lost my job.
So I applied for unemployment.
Then I found a new tutoring job.
And then I found out I didn't qualify for training.
So we applied for a loan modification.
Then I found a different tutoring job.
And then I found out that it didn't start until November.
Then we drained our savings.
Then I found out I lost my unemployment claim.
That same day, I found out our loan modification was denied.
Through it all, I have tried to maintain a sunny outlook for my kids. I did an abysmal job. They knew something was wrong. My daughter had to tell me to stop crying at least once a week. My son was extra cuddly, as if he knew I needed some extra compassion.
During this roller coaster ride, I have been talking to a friend about it. She's Catholic, as I am, but she's much better at it than I am. What I mean is, I struggle with my faith. Yes, I go to church and I go through the motions - say the prayers, make the donations, sing the songs. But I've had a real problem with the church's stance on social issues, and my faith took a huge hit when I lost my job and my unemployment claim, given that I was employed by a catholic school.
My friend doesn't struggle with her faith. She's serene about it. If something bad happens to her, it's part of God's plan so she can learn and grow. If something good happens to her, it's part of God's plan so she can learn and grow.
I didn't think I had it in me to follow that blindly. I wanted to. God knows, I've tried. But I'm too much of a control freak to simply give myself over to God when I don't know what's going to happen.
Still, He forced the issue.
My friend would gently remind me, whenever I called her up to complain or cry or whine about my circumstances, that God has a plan for me. She shared her mantra with me: "God knows your beginning, middle, and end. You don't and you don't need to." She told me that when I got overwhelmed and panicked to stop and breathe and remind myself of that.
So I did. When I found out I didn't qualify for tutoring, I took a deep breathe and reminded myself it wasn't part of God's plan. When I found out the training job didn't start until November, I sat outside and told myself that I needed to turn myself over to God. Every day I prayed. Every day I meditated. My family started going to church again. We started praying before meals and before bedtime. I could feel my faith growing, getting stronger, and that made me stronger. I was better at handling crises. I was calmer. I was happier.
And then I got hit with the two-fer: no unemployment and no loan modification. All of the work I had done over the summer to strengthen my faith was gone in the blink of an eye. I was back at square one, furious and scared, wondering why God was punishing me. I called my friend, hysterical. She cried with me. And then she said, "Shannon, I know you don't want to hear this, but God has a plan for you. Trust in Him."
My response was: "I can't trust anything but myself."
The next day, it rained, as I mentioned here. And, I swear, I heard God. So I danced in the rain. And during my dance, I fell to my knees and looked up to God. "I put myself in Your hands," I said as tears poured down my face. "I can't do it alone anymore."
Four days later, I got a call. I had landed my dream job - I'm now a virtual teacher; I work from home so I can still be with my kids. I can keep my credential current. There will be no real gaps in my resume. I will have a paycheck. My family will survive financially.
And this wonderful thing happened the moment I found the strength to turn myself over to God.
I know now that I needed to struggle and fear and ride this roller coaster. I needed to take this path to find my faith.
I have been on a hell of a roller coaster lately.
First, I was struggling with the idea of being a stay at home mom.
Turns out, I didn't have to make a decision, since I lost my job.
So I applied for unemployment.
Then I found a new tutoring job.
And then I found out I didn't qualify for training.
So we applied for a loan modification.
Then I found a different tutoring job.
And then I found out that it didn't start until November.
Then we drained our savings.
Then I found out I lost my unemployment claim.
That same day, I found out our loan modification was denied.
Through it all, I have tried to maintain a sunny outlook for my kids. I did an abysmal job. They knew something was wrong. My daughter had to tell me to stop crying at least once a week. My son was extra cuddly, as if he knew I needed some extra compassion.
During this roller coaster ride, I have been talking to a friend about it. She's Catholic, as I am, but she's much better at it than I am. What I mean is, I struggle with my faith. Yes, I go to church and I go through the motions - say the prayers, make the donations, sing the songs. But I've had a real problem with the church's stance on social issues, and my faith took a huge hit when I lost my job and my unemployment claim, given that I was employed by a catholic school.
My friend doesn't struggle with her faith. She's serene about it. If something bad happens to her, it's part of God's plan so she can learn and grow. If something good happens to her, it's part of God's plan so she can learn and grow.
I didn't think I had it in me to follow that blindly. I wanted to. God knows, I've tried. But I'm too much of a control freak to simply give myself over to God when I don't know what's going to happen.
Still, He forced the issue.
My friend would gently remind me, whenever I called her up to complain or cry or whine about my circumstances, that God has a plan for me. She shared her mantra with me: "God knows your beginning, middle, and end. You don't and you don't need to." She told me that when I got overwhelmed and panicked to stop and breathe and remind myself of that.
So I did. When I found out I didn't qualify for tutoring, I took a deep breathe and reminded myself it wasn't part of God's plan. When I found out the training job didn't start until November, I sat outside and told myself that I needed to turn myself over to God. Every day I prayed. Every day I meditated. My family started going to church again. We started praying before meals and before bedtime. I could feel my faith growing, getting stronger, and that made me stronger. I was better at handling crises. I was calmer. I was happier.
And then I got hit with the two-fer: no unemployment and no loan modification. All of the work I had done over the summer to strengthen my faith was gone in the blink of an eye. I was back at square one, furious and scared, wondering why God was punishing me. I called my friend, hysterical. She cried with me. And then she said, "Shannon, I know you don't want to hear this, but God has a plan for you. Trust in Him."
My response was: "I can't trust anything but myself."
The next day, it rained, as I mentioned here. And, I swear, I heard God. So I danced in the rain. And during my dance, I fell to my knees and looked up to God. "I put myself in Your hands," I said as tears poured down my face. "I can't do it alone anymore."
Four days later, I got a call. I had landed my dream job - I'm now a virtual teacher; I work from home so I can still be with my kids. I can keep my credential current. There will be no real gaps in my resume. I will have a paycheck. My family will survive financially.
And this wonderful thing happened the moment I found the strength to turn myself over to God.
I know now that I needed to struggle and fear and ride this roller coaster. I needed to take this path to find my faith.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." ~Proverbs, 3:5
Monday, October 11, 2010
Thank You Boyo
~
A Thank You Letter To My Son:
Thank you for going with me to the mail box two weeks ago. Your very presence when I got hit with two pieces of bad news made me smile and take a deep breath instead of cursing the heavens and collapsing into fetal position.
Thank you for cuddling with me that night as I pondered how our little family was going to survive. Your sweet little body pressed against mine reminded me how lucky I am.
Thank you for dancing with me in the rain. Your delight and excitement in this new game made me smile and let me truly laugh for the first time in weeks.
Thank you for being quiet when I took the phone call that changed our lives for the better - the one that gave me the job I desperately needed but still allows me to stay home and play with you.
Thank you for cheering and clapping when I got off the phone and I started jumping up and down, screaming, "I got the job," like a lunatic. I know you didn't have a clue what was going on, but your joy was infectious and made me feel so proud and happy that I could provide for you and your "Sissy."
Thank you for your sweet smile and sticky kiss when I scooped you up and danced around the room with you. I needed that more than I knew.
Thank you, my darling boy, for filling my heart with love and for giving me strength.
I love you.
A Thank You Letter To My Son:
Thank you for going with me to the mail box two weeks ago. Your very presence when I got hit with two pieces of bad news made me smile and take a deep breath instead of cursing the heavens and collapsing into fetal position.
Thank you for cuddling with me that night as I pondered how our little family was going to survive. Your sweet little body pressed against mine reminded me how lucky I am.
Thank you for dancing with me in the rain. Your delight and excitement in this new game made me smile and let me truly laugh for the first time in weeks.
Thank you for being quiet when I took the phone call that changed our lives for the better - the one that gave me the job I desperately needed but still allows me to stay home and play with you.
Thank you for cheering and clapping when I got off the phone and I started jumping up and down, screaming, "I got the job," like a lunatic. I know you didn't have a clue what was going on, but your joy was infectious and made me feel so proud and happy that I could provide for you and your "Sissy."
Thank you for your sweet smile and sticky kiss when I scooped you up and danced around the room with you. I needed that more than I knew.
Thank you, my darling boy, for filling my heart with love and for giving me strength.
I love you.
Monday, October 4, 2010
I love...
~
... the look of delight that comes over my daughter's face when I hand her a baggie full of cereal.
...the look of delight that comes over my son's face when he shakes all the cereal in his baggie onto the ground.
... how my son will run into the rain, screaming, "Run! Run! Wa-Wa! Wa-Wa!"
... how my daughter will stand in the doorway, saying, "Come inside before you get your hair wet!"
... when my daughter climbs up next to me to pet my hair.
... when my son climbs up on my lap and pulls my hair.
...that my son gets up in the morning and goes to his sister's room and knocks before he looks up at me hopefully and says, "Sissy?"
...that my daughter will run into her room and shut her door, yelling for her brother to go away, that she needs "alone time!"
...days where my daughter and son sit on the same couch cushion, arms around each other, giggling as they take turns kissing each other.
...days where my husband and I each have to take a kid out alone, because the two of them are fighting like alley cats.
...dinner time when my daughter turns to me and says, "Momma, feed me like a baby."
...dinner time when my son climbs up on my lap and sticks his hand in my potatoes.
... asking my daughter if she needs privacy when she goes to the bathroom and she tells me, "No, just go away."
... asking my son if he needs a diaper change and chasing him all over the house to take care of that task.
...bedtime, when my daughter takes my hand and says, "You can lie with me, okay, Momma?"
...bedtime, when my son hides behind his chair and giggles like I can't see him to tuck him into bed.
... family movie night, when my daughter will cuddle up next to me on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn.
... family movie night, when my son ignores us and plays with his trucks.
... the look of admiration people shoot to my kids when they are being well behaved at church.
... the look of sympathy people shoot my way when my kids are being wild monkeys at the store.
...going to the zoo so my daughter can sit on the bench and watch the birds drink water from their pond.
... going to the zoo and restraining my son in my arms to keep him from going into the pond to get the birds.
... getting in the car, so my kids are in their own seats and can't touch me for five minutes.
... getting out of the car and carrying my sweet, sleeping babies to their rooms for naptime.
...reading to my daughter and having her try to sound out the words.
...reading to my son and not being able to finish because he takes the book from my hands, turns it upside down, and hands it back to me.
...my son's sweet smile as he puts his head on my lap and says, "Hi."
...my daughter's brilliant smile when she looks up from her games and says, "I love you Momma."
... my kids.
... the look of delight that comes over my daughter's face when I hand her a baggie full of cereal.
...the look of delight that comes over my son's face when he shakes all the cereal in his baggie onto the ground.
... how my son will run into the rain, screaming, "Run! Run! Wa-Wa! Wa-Wa!"
... how my daughter will stand in the doorway, saying, "Come inside before you get your hair wet!"
... when my daughter climbs up next to me to pet my hair.
... when my son climbs up on my lap and pulls my hair.
...that my son gets up in the morning and goes to his sister's room and knocks before he looks up at me hopefully and says, "Sissy?"
...that my daughter will run into her room and shut her door, yelling for her brother to go away, that she needs "alone time!"
...days where my daughter and son sit on the same couch cushion, arms around each other, giggling as they take turns kissing each other.
...days where my husband and I each have to take a kid out alone, because the two of them are fighting like alley cats.
...dinner time when my daughter turns to me and says, "Momma, feed me like a baby."
...dinner time when my son climbs up on my lap and sticks his hand in my potatoes.
... asking my daughter if she needs privacy when she goes to the bathroom and she tells me, "No, just go away."
... asking my son if he needs a diaper change and chasing him all over the house to take care of that task.
...bedtime, when my daughter takes my hand and says, "You can lie with me, okay, Momma?"
...bedtime, when my son hides behind his chair and giggles like I can't see him to tuck him into bed.
... family movie night, when my daughter will cuddle up next to me on the couch with a big bowl of popcorn.
... family movie night, when my son ignores us and plays with his trucks.
... the look of admiration people shoot to my kids when they are being well behaved at church.
... the look of sympathy people shoot my way when my kids are being wild monkeys at the store.
...going to the zoo so my daughter can sit on the bench and watch the birds drink water from their pond.
... going to the zoo and restraining my son in my arms to keep him from going into the pond to get the birds.
... getting in the car, so my kids are in their own seats and can't touch me for five minutes.
... getting out of the car and carrying my sweet, sleeping babies to their rooms for naptime.
...reading to my daughter and having her try to sound out the words.
...reading to my son and not being able to finish because he takes the book from my hands, turns it upside down, and hands it back to me.
...my son's sweet smile as he puts his head on my lap and says, "Hi."
...my daughter's brilliant smile when she looks up from her games and says, "I love you Momma."
... my kids.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Rain Rain
~
Yesterday, it rained on my family. Seriously, the bad news just poured down on us. I don't know how my husband and I were able to remain standing to handle the onslaught. I don't know where we found the strength to carry on - make dinner, play with our kids, bathe them, put them to bed. I don't know why we didn't just lay down and give up. God knows, I wanted too. I can't speak for my husband, but I wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and hide for the rest of the year. Maybe for two years. By the time we had talked through the situation three ways from Sunday and climbed into bed, it was just shy of midnight. I woke up to a cloudy and miserable day. I wish I could say that I sprang out of bed with a new day, new outlook and all that garbage. Nope. I saw the clouds and thought it was very fitting for my miserable and self pitying mood.
Today, it actually rained on me. For some odd reason, there was a thunderstorm in Southern California this morning. It let loose lightening that reminded me of Zeus' Lightening Bolt, thunder as loud a fire bombs, and rain. Not just a few sprinkles... no, it poured. And I'm terrified of thunder and lightening, but I was home alone with my kids - I have to put on a brave face. So we stood on the stoop and watched the rain come pelting down. My son was in my arms and my daughter by my side. And I thought it was fitting, this rain coming down on a day when I was in a miserable mood. It's as if God is crying for me, I thought.
And out of nowhere, I heard another voice. Dance, it said.
Why on earth would I go dance in this rain, when I'm terrified of thunder and lightening?
Dance, I heard again, insistently.
I'm not going to lie; my faith has severely been tested in the past four months. I've struggled to hold onto it. I've prayed more, meditated more, listened more. But still, in my mind, there has always been that doubtful question: Why would God want you to suffer this way?
Dance, I heard again, insistently.
So I gave myself over to the voice in my head. I decided that it was God talking to me and not schizophrenia.
I danced.
I took my daughter by the hand and led her and my son out into the yard in the rain. We stood right in the middle of a mud puddle. My daughter ran away - she hates getting her hair wet. But my son took my hands and twirled with me. And as we spun, I laughed. After all, it was ridiculous - we were wet and dirty, but I felt warm and clean and whole.
My son leaned over and gave me a kiss, then clapped his hands and looked up. Following his lead, I looked up to the heavens too. I was overcome with so many different feelings, but the most important one was relief. We're going to be okay, I thought.
I can wash you clean, the voice replied. Trust me.
"Thank you," I said to God.
Yesterday, it rained on my family. Seriously, the bad news just poured down on us. I don't know how my husband and I were able to remain standing to handle the onslaught. I don't know where we found the strength to carry on - make dinner, play with our kids, bathe them, put them to bed. I don't know why we didn't just lay down and give up. God knows, I wanted too. I can't speak for my husband, but I wanted to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and hide for the rest of the year. Maybe for two years. By the time we had talked through the situation three ways from Sunday and climbed into bed, it was just shy of midnight. I woke up to a cloudy and miserable day. I wish I could say that I sprang out of bed with a new day, new outlook and all that garbage. Nope. I saw the clouds and thought it was very fitting for my miserable and self pitying mood.
Today, it actually rained on me. For some odd reason, there was a thunderstorm in Southern California this morning. It let loose lightening that reminded me of Zeus' Lightening Bolt, thunder as loud a fire bombs, and rain. Not just a few sprinkles... no, it poured. And I'm terrified of thunder and lightening, but I was home alone with my kids - I have to put on a brave face. So we stood on the stoop and watched the rain come pelting down. My son was in my arms and my daughter by my side. And I thought it was fitting, this rain coming down on a day when I was in a miserable mood. It's as if God is crying for me, I thought.
And out of nowhere, I heard another voice. Dance, it said.
Why on earth would I go dance in this rain, when I'm terrified of thunder and lightening?
Dance, I heard again, insistently.
I'm not going to lie; my faith has severely been tested in the past four months. I've struggled to hold onto it. I've prayed more, meditated more, listened more. But still, in my mind, there has always been that doubtful question: Why would God want you to suffer this way?
Dance, I heard again, insistently.
So I gave myself over to the voice in my head. I decided that it was God talking to me and not schizophrenia.
I danced.
I took my daughter by the hand and led her and my son out into the yard in the rain. We stood right in the middle of a mud puddle. My daughter ran away - she hates getting her hair wet. But my son took my hands and twirled with me. And as we spun, I laughed. After all, it was ridiculous - we were wet and dirty, but I felt warm and clean and whole.
My son leaned over and gave me a kiss, then clapped his hands and looked up. Following his lead, I looked up to the heavens too. I was overcome with so many different feelings, but the most important one was relief. We're going to be okay, I thought.
I can wash you clean, the voice replied. Trust me.
"Thank you," I said to God.
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