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...

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.

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.

"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

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.

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.

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.

Sickness

~
I hate being sick.

So last night, when I got a pain in my stomach that could only be a stomach bug, I tried to convince myself that the pain was just because I did crunches earlier in the day. Hey, I could have torn my stomach, right?

When I started sweating because I had a fever, I tried to convince myself that it was hot flashes.

When my son had a diaper change that smelled so foul we had to vacate the room and and still had to spray down the room with Febreez an hour later, I tried to convince myself that it was sour milk. Or too many graham crackers. Or man-butt.

When my husband rushed home from Guys Night Out and ran straight to the bathroom to throw up and do "other" things, I tried to convince myself that he was hung over.

When I spent two hours lying in bed moaning because everything hurt instead of sleeping, I tried to convince myself that it was because of the mile and a half run yesterday.

When my daughter came into my room and told me she had a "feber," I tried to convince myself that she just needed attention and pulled her into bed with me.

When my daughter sat up and vomited on my pillow last night at 2:30 in the morning?

Yeah, game over.

We're sick.

Disneyland Curse

~

My kids love Disneyland. I love Disneyland. My husband grudgingly likes Disneyland.

We were lucky enough to be given annual passes as a Christmas present last year. (Thanks Mom and Dad!) We make it to Disneyland a few times a month and always have a blast. Since we have the passes, we can go as long as we want and then leave when we have to, no pressure. Naptime? Time to go. Accident? Time to go. My sweet children morphing into demons? Time to go.

However, the Disneyland Curse hits us before we even leave the house.

For those of you who don't know, the Disneyland Curse makes normal, loving parents change into panicked, stressed out dingbats.

Before we leave for Disneyland, my husband and I are typically running around for about an hour, packing the diaper bag, getting the kids/house/selves/animals ready. For whatever reason, we act like we are going on a month long expedition instead of ten miles down the road.

My husband and I rush around, saying things like: Should we bring food for us or just the kids? Do they need their jackets? Should we bring towels? Should we bring the stroller or make the kids walk? How many snacks are enough? Where's the sunscreen? We should hurry, we want to get there right when it opens so we can go on Peter Pan before there is a three day wait. Did you feed the dog? How many outfits do you think the kids need - 2 or 3?

Seriously. We lose our minds. It's asinine.

I started thinking about this on Saturday... we had spend the morning at Disneyland and were going to CA Adventure that night to see the World of Color show. (Side note - show was AWESOME. And yes, you need towels.) Going back to Disney after spending the morning there causes more panic than normal -- my husband and I are both stressed out and exhausted and my kids are normally so thrilled to go back they are literally bouncing off the walls.

I was rushing around, packing a blanket and towels, gathering milk cups and pjs, while my son toddled around after me, saying "Momma, Momma."

I'm ashamed to say that my response was normally "In a minute, Boyo, Momma's busy."

After I nearly tripped over him a third time, I said, "Bud, Momma needs you to go in the playroom so she can get us ready to go to Disneyland and see Goofy."

My son took his binky out of his mouth and glared at me. "NO FOOFY!" he shouted. "MOMMA! UP! PUH-LEAZ!"

I felt like the worst mother on the planet... I was so busy rushing around so my kids could have fun at Disneyland that I forgot to have fun with them at home. The Disneyland Curse struck again.

I scooped up my boyo and snuggled. It was nice to catch my breathe and put things in perspective. And after a few minutes, Boyo pushed away from me and smiled.

"No mowe Momma," he said. "Foofy!"

It's Finally Done

~

My daughter is potty trained.

Finally.

Thank God.

After 3 months of tears (mine), stubbornness (hers), bribes (mine), negotiations (hers), and a lot of accidents (hers), it's done.

She got up on Monday and told me, "I'm going to put my peepee in the potty now because I'm a big girl and I'm going to school tomorrow."

I enthusiastically told her that was great, but I didn't believe her. She had been getting better lately about the whole potty training situation and her fear of the potty had dissolved. However, I was still bribing her; I had bought all of the Disney Princess dolls (2 for $20! And we have TEN of them... you do the math) since that was the only bribe that worked, but she still had a few accidents a week.

She has not had an accident in over a week. She tells me or her teachers or another adult when she has to go use the bathroom. She cleans up after herself. I'm still in a state of shock.

My sister asked me what I did to get her potty trained. I considered making myself out like SuperMom. I considered bragging about how all you have to do is listen to your child and find the right button to push. Basically, I considered lying.

Instead, I told the truth. "I don't have a clue," I replied. "She just did it."

My sister thought that over and then nodded. "You know your daughter is smarter than you right?" she asked.

"I know," I sighed.

"Her teenage years are going to suck," she told me.

"I know," I sighed.

At least she'll be potty trained for them. I was beginning to doubt that she would be.

Breastfeeding

~

My daughter saw a mom breastfeeding her infant in the park today.

I'm not against breastfeeding - I'm all for it. Heck, I tried it... twice! It didn't work out for my daughter and me, but it was a pleasant experience for my son and me.

So I didn't think anything of it when my daughter came running over to me and said, "Momma, what is that lady doing?"

I replied, "She's feeding her baby. Let's give her some privacy, okay?"

Now, this woman was breastfeeding under a cover, so my daughter couldn't quite see what was going on. "How is she feeding her?" she asked me. "With a sippy cup?"

Oh, God, how I wish I had lied and said yes.

"No," I explained. "The mommy makes milk and she gives it to her baby."

"Where does it come from?"

"Um, from her chest," I said. It was starting to dawn on me that this might not be the best thing to explain to a three year old.

"Her boobies?"

"Yup. Hey, look, do you want to ride on the swing?" I asked desperately, trying to change the subject.

"No," my daughter said firmly. "Did you feed me with your boobies?"

"Yes," I said. "Are you sure you don't want to go on the swings?"

"Brother too?" asked my one track mind daughter.

"Yes," I replied, physically dragging her over to the swings.

"Can you feed me with your boobies now?"

"No," I told her as I shoved her into a swing.

"Okay," she said, letting the subject drop, much to my relief.

Or so I thought.

Later that day, we went for a walk around our neighborhood and saw our mailman, Jay. My daughter and son love Jay... so I didn't think anything of it when my Girlie ran right over to him.

"Jay, Jay, guess what?!?" she said excitedly. "Mommy fed me with her boobies!"