We are moving on Friday. Athena is completely stressed out. And you can imagine that if the six-year-old is freaking, Mommy ain't doin' much better.
We've packed maybe 1/8th of the house. I'm pretty sure at this point that the movers will just be moving our furniture and we'll have to carry all the boxes over. Chris was very helpful today while I was working and he packed several boxes. Unfortunately, he doesn't look at the size of the box vs. what he is packing, so I am going to have to repack some stuff. He put Marcus' books in one HUGE box that is not even full yet and is practically impossible to move. But I'm still grateful, as repacking a box is fairly simple.
To make things worse, I can't get myself motivated to do anything at all. I feel completely out of it and exhausted. I think this is a side-effect of chaos. There is no order to anything we do right now. The houses are both in total disarray. Thank goodness we have people doing the work on the new house or we wouldn't be able to move in until NEXT fall.
I keep telling myself this is all temporary. Once we move into the new house (which is HUGE) we will have plenty of room for everything and it will be easier to stay organized. We also have some money now, which will also help in that regard. Overall, the changes we are making should have a very positive effect on our lives. It's just that right now I feel we've only done worse by ourselves by layering even more stressors onto an already dire situation.
Athena keeps scratching her head. I checked, and I didn't see any bugs, but there are some places on her head that seem raw. I'm hoping that it's just summer sweaty head making her itch, but I am of course very worried that it's yet another visit from the lice. If it is, I'm taking a week off work and I'm just dealing with that only. Nothing else. Obviously, they are not happy with the attention I've already given them, so I will do away with them once and for all.
And of course, the only reason I am paranoid that it's lice again is because we are about to move and I have no time to deal with this.
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Year That Needs to Die
So I have been away from blogging for a while. There have been several factors involved in my separation... many of which involve personal introspection that even journaling would not help with. But I must admit that I feel guilty that these last couple of years are completely now outside the scope of this blog and therefore they will be non-years in effect when I read back over my writing or when my children read back over it. The reason I've never felt that I'd abandon blogging forever, in truth, is my children.
This has been reinforced as I now troll through my mother's things and find lots and lots of junk with little tiny treasures sprinkled in. There is a picture of my grandmother while she was on vacation at a place that inspired one of the Disney resorts I have patronized. There is the furniture that my father made for my mother to display her shadowboxes in. And there is the typed up collection of letters that my grandmother sent to my grandfather daily when he was away during World War II and she was home with my mother and her infant brother. These remind me how important it will be for my children to have my writing in order to get to know me better and to learn more about themselves as well.
Most of the time I've been away from blogging has been simply due to writer's block brought on by several different factors. During that time, I was reexamining my life and my priorities. I still haven't quite got it figured out, but a path seems to be emerging for me to take.
But since November of 2009, when we took our 10th anniversary vacation, life has simply been too extreme to really keep up with it in writing. We had a one month battle with lice that we seem to have picked up on the cruise. That was followed by Christmas, which was then closely followed by my mother's diagnosis with cancer. She died a month later and I feel very fortunate that my job allowed me to spend so much time with her. Not just my job, really, but my immediate family too. Chris was exactly the support I needed through that time, and I had some very good friends who also propped me up and carried me through it.
One month after my mother's death, one of the members of my staff died suddenly of a stroke. One cannot really appreciate the loss this coworker's death brought to me and the people I work with. She was an extraordinary human being, and I don't say that lightly.
On the heels of that, Chris was furloughed indefinitely, slashing our income by more than half, just as we happened to begin receiving inheritance from my mother. To say that the timing was extremely important devalues how lucky we really are. As Chris looked for work, I learned that the libraries were restructuring. This restructure resulted in an intense interview process in which I was successful and earned a promotion of sorts. This promotion moved me to a new library, but one I am very happy to be a part of. Soon after I learned I got the job, Chris also got a job, and we began to look for a house. The market is good for buying and we figured we would see what was out there.
In July, we found a house in distress and made an offer. We had knowledge of a mold problem in the home, which is not unusual in foreclosures, so we made an offer that was contigent on the mold being remediated. Two months later (one month after the original close date) we have just learned that the mold is absolutely remediated and on top of that, we got a beautiful new bathroom out of the deal. The bank has been very generous in fixing this house to make it safe for my family and we are so grateful to be moving into a beautiful home within two miles of my work and significantly closer to Chris' job as well.
Over the summer, we also battled lice again and this time, the fight was drawn out because of policies at our day care that I was unaware of. Suffice it to say, the lice are gone and I don't expect them to be back. But we are checking regularly now. Not taking any chances.
We should be moving by mid-October, although the process will begin almost as soon as we close on the house. We then need to sell this house and although we have a buffer in place, I am very nervous about selling in this market.
Still, that said, I am giving myself until the end of the year to expect the stress level to be high, and then 2010 needs to go away and never be heard from again. I have no idea if anyone is even really reading blogs anymore with Facebook and so many other venues available to them, but for me, I hope to really return to saving our lives in writing for my children. I now know how much they will value it.
This has been reinforced as I now troll through my mother's things and find lots and lots of junk with little tiny treasures sprinkled in. There is a picture of my grandmother while she was on vacation at a place that inspired one of the Disney resorts I have patronized. There is the furniture that my father made for my mother to display her shadowboxes in. And there is the typed up collection of letters that my grandmother sent to my grandfather daily when he was away during World War II and she was home with my mother and her infant brother. These remind me how important it will be for my children to have my writing in order to get to know me better and to learn more about themselves as well.
Most of the time I've been away from blogging has been simply due to writer's block brought on by several different factors. During that time, I was reexamining my life and my priorities. I still haven't quite got it figured out, but a path seems to be emerging for me to take.
But since November of 2009, when we took our 10th anniversary vacation, life has simply been too extreme to really keep up with it in writing. We had a one month battle with lice that we seem to have picked up on the cruise. That was followed by Christmas, which was then closely followed by my mother's diagnosis with cancer. She died a month later and I feel very fortunate that my job allowed me to spend so much time with her. Not just my job, really, but my immediate family too. Chris was exactly the support I needed through that time, and I had some very good friends who also propped me up and carried me through it.
One month after my mother's death, one of the members of my staff died suddenly of a stroke. One cannot really appreciate the loss this coworker's death brought to me and the people I work with. She was an extraordinary human being, and I don't say that lightly.
On the heels of that, Chris was furloughed indefinitely, slashing our income by more than half, just as we happened to begin receiving inheritance from my mother. To say that the timing was extremely important devalues how lucky we really are. As Chris looked for work, I learned that the libraries were restructuring. This restructure resulted in an intense interview process in which I was successful and earned a promotion of sorts. This promotion moved me to a new library, but one I am very happy to be a part of. Soon after I learned I got the job, Chris also got a job, and we began to look for a house. The market is good for buying and we figured we would see what was out there.
In July, we found a house in distress and made an offer. We had knowledge of a mold problem in the home, which is not unusual in foreclosures, so we made an offer that was contigent on the mold being remediated. Two months later (one month after the original close date) we have just learned that the mold is absolutely remediated and on top of that, we got a beautiful new bathroom out of the deal. The bank has been very generous in fixing this house to make it safe for my family and we are so grateful to be moving into a beautiful home within two miles of my work and significantly closer to Chris' job as well.
Over the summer, we also battled lice again and this time, the fight was drawn out because of policies at our day care that I was unaware of. Suffice it to say, the lice are gone and I don't expect them to be back. But we are checking regularly now. Not taking any chances.
We should be moving by mid-October, although the process will begin almost as soon as we close on the house. We then need to sell this house and although we have a buffer in place, I am very nervous about selling in this market.
Still, that said, I am giving myself until the end of the year to expect the stress level to be high, and then 2010 needs to go away and never be heard from again. I have no idea if anyone is even really reading blogs anymore with Facebook and so many other venues available to them, but for me, I hope to really return to saving our lives in writing for my children. I now know how much they will value it.
Friday, February 12, 2010
What I Said Today About Mom
Describing mom is no easy task. She is unique. One of a kind. Truly, in a word, indescribable. My husband plays hockey, and at his game this past week, his teammates offered condolences. When he relayed that to me, I asked him if he told them anything about her and he replied quite honestly, “I would have no idea where to start.”
And this is my challenge today. To tell you something about this woman who defies description. To reminisce over a life that was incredibly full, incredibly busy, and incredibly generous.
So when attempting to meet a challenge like this, it’s best to break it into smaller pieces. Maybe I could speak to you about one or two aspects of her life. But what do I pick? Over her life she has accomplished so much and her talents are so numerous, it is difficult to choose one area to talk about. However, anyone who knows her knows that of all the roles she has had – Garden Council President, DAR Regent, Forest Oaks Community Association newsletter editor – (the list is really too huge), the one she valued most… and the one that is dearest to me, is the role she played as “mom.”
As a child, I had no idea how impressive mom’s juggling act was. After all, she was mom, and that’s what moms do, right? So the fact that over the first 18 years of our lives she managed the household, dealt with our school work and associated activites, got us to music lessons, swim team practice, Girl Scout meetings and activities, art lessons, dance lessons, and theater practice while still managing to feed us, get our hair cut, and get us to the doctor and the dentist just seemed effortless to me. Let’s then throw in that during that time she painted hundreds of ceramic pieces, made dozens of beaded Christmas trees, designed, created and furnished over 25 shadow boxes, played tennis regularly, and stayed active in garden clubs and the DAR (among other things), it’s enough to set any reasonable adult’s head spinning. And she did all of this without mobile phones and computers to keep her organized. She kept it all in her head and on a little paper calendar.
But she didn’t just shuffle us from activity to activity either. She took on important roles in our activities. She became a Girl Scout leader despite the fact that she really had never had any previous interest in the Girl Scouts or the activities associated with it. She freely admitted that her idea of roughing it was a Holiday Inn with no room service and a b/w television. But she was a good Girl Scout leader. She was an instant hit with the troop. She didn’t do it only halfway either. We earned dozens of merit badges under her leadership, and I picked up skills and hobbies I carry with me to this day. And she did take us camping. I am not making this up. She forded the stream to get to the campground in her Cadillac DeVille and she wore her mink coat to keep warm.
When I was a younger child, mom would hint at those upcoming “teenage” years. Every now and then, she’d express that fear that I now understand all mothers have… that once their children hit the magic age of 13 (or maybe 12 or 11, realistically), they will suddenly hate their mothers and turn into rebellious little demons. I actually became anxious about my 13th birthday. What sort of evil monster would I become? Would I get ugly and hunched over? More importantly, would it hurt?
But the weirdest thing happened. I woke up on my thirteenth birthday, and lo and behold, I thought mom was just as cool as I always did. Maybe even a little bit cooler. Other kids could go hate their moms if they wanted (and in fact, some of my friends did choose to go that route.) I, on the other hand, got to bond with my mom during my most emotionally turbulent and physically awkward years. And I wasn’t the only one…
My friends loved my mom too. Even the ones that didn’t like their own moms so much. They loved to hang out at my house and chat with her. They loved to eat her magically amazing grilled cheese sandwiches. They loved to admire her dollhouse and shadow boxes. And they loved to just chat with her. My mom was, dare I say it… HIP! And again, I’m not making this up… one of our neighbors sent me a note this week that said ever since he met her in 1976, he always thought of her and my dad as “hipsters of the day.” Who knew?!
She supported me through every difficult time in my life. Even when I made choices she wasn’t so sure were best for me, she would support me. She would offer me her opinion and advice, of course, but there was never any pressure from her to change my mind or behave differently. She let me learn my own lessons. And to her surprise and delight, once or twice it turned out that I was actually right.
I must say that when I was 27 and I announced to mom and Linda that I was planning to get married, they were shocked. And had good reason to be. After all, up until then, I had not been great at maintaining a meaningful relationship more than a few months, and my intended was a man whom I had known for about two months and had only been dating for about two weeks. I put myself in her shoes and imagine she must have been, for lack of a better word, completely freaking out inside.
But she remained outwardly calm, asked me some questions (including the ever-reasonable, “Can I perhaps MEET this young man?”) and expressed her nervousness over the short courtship. However, by the end of the conversation (and assurances that she COULD meet him, absolutely), she told me that she supported any decision I made and that her main interest is that I should be happy.
She remained cautious and nervous through the whole engagement and wedding planning, although she never really shared that with me. Linda got an earful, as I understand it, but she was sure to always show me strong support and love. It wasn’t until my wedding reception eight months later that mom pulled me aside and said, “I wasn’t sure about this whole thing… it was all terribly fast, but it is clear to me that Chris loves you very much and he is a wonderful match for you.”
And then, over the last ten years, she frequently took his side in any disagreement he and I would have. When I would call her on it, she would say, “What? He is right!”
Now I’m a mom. And I hold myself up to the “mom” standard constantly. When I talk to my children, I am almost always simultaneously thinking “Is this how mom would handle this situation?” She has set the bar very high. But she raised me to get it right.
When my father passed away, I read a passage from a children’s book that spoke quite eloquently about the circle of life and how death works into it. For mom, I felt it more appropriate to simply read you the lines of one of her favorite songs. It was sung at her high school graduation, and it remained special to her throughout her life. I believe it also speaks well about her death:
When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don’t be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm is a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark
Walk on through the wind
Walk on through the rain
Tho your dreams be tossed and blown
Walk on walk on with hope in your heart
And you’ll never walk alone
You’ll never walk alone.
Monday, January 11, 2010
A Cure For Writer's Blcok
So I'm in the hospital watching over my mother. Her diagnosis has changed several times over the last 24 hours, and we will have a more definitive answer tomorrow after a biopsy. But it's not looking good. She is very uncomfortable and practically immobile with pain.
The hospital has wifi "for our convenience," but I am finding that most sites I use on a daily basis are blocked. I would not really be updating my Facebook status with the icky and highly personal aspects of her stay here, but I would like to be able to watch my friends live their lives on the outside. I can't clear out my Google reader because half of the blogs I follow are blocked here in the hospital and I can't even finish setting up my Goodreads account because it is also blocked. (Oddly, LibraryThing is NOT blocked here, so if I had just been willing to pay them their blood money, I could be finishing that task up easily).
And so, I blog.
Mom is just shy of turning 68. She has never really been the healthiest person I know... she has been a smoker since the ripe old age of 12 and although she knew they weren't good for her, she has clung to cigarettes as her main vice. Her other is chocolate, and we all know that chocolate is healthy, so I don't begrudge her that at all.
So we knew this day would arrive. All we've been able to do is hope that it isn't too painful and difficult for her. It looks like those hopes will not come true. She is in for a painful ordeal that may or may not yield positive results.
Watching her, I am reminded of all she has been to me and to all of her friends and family. She is loving and stern, funny and truthful, and conservative and generous. She has been a role model and a rock of support to me and has spoiled me in ways I will never be able to spoil my own daughter. She has ensured I live a full, open and happy life and has guaranteed my comfort and safety, even when I didn't really deserve it.
She is being well taken care of here at the hospital, and yet I find it almost impossible to leave her side. I take pleasure in watching her simply breathe and I enjoy joking with her and making her smile. Work, hobbies, and life's mundane tasks have taken a back seat and at this point, I have a hard time even acknowledging they exist. My sister will be here tomorrow from Hong Kong and Mom is very excited to see her again. It has been almost a year since we last saw her, and just the prospect of her showing up lights up my mother's eyes.
And I suddenly understand yet another aspect of motherhood. I see in her what it means to raise children and set them out in the world. I see the joy she takes simply in knowing that her children "are." And I want my children near me now with a passion I have never before felt.
But right now is her time. She needs to have her girls back just as her girls right now. And she shall have that. For she is why and what we "are."
The hospital has wifi "for our convenience," but I am finding that most sites I use on a daily basis are blocked. I would not really be updating my Facebook status with the icky and highly personal aspects of her stay here, but I would like to be able to watch my friends live their lives on the outside. I can't clear out my Google reader because half of the blogs I follow are blocked here in the hospital and I can't even finish setting up my Goodreads account because it is also blocked. (Oddly, LibraryThing is NOT blocked here, so if I had just been willing to pay them their blood money, I could be finishing that task up easily).
And so, I blog.
Mom is just shy of turning 68. She has never really been the healthiest person I know... she has been a smoker since the ripe old age of 12 and although she knew they weren't good for her, she has clung to cigarettes as her main vice. Her other is chocolate, and we all know that chocolate is healthy, so I don't begrudge her that at all.
So we knew this day would arrive. All we've been able to do is hope that it isn't too painful and difficult for her. It looks like those hopes will not come true. She is in for a painful ordeal that may or may not yield positive results.
Watching her, I am reminded of all she has been to me and to all of her friends and family. She is loving and stern, funny and truthful, and conservative and generous. She has been a role model and a rock of support to me and has spoiled me in ways I will never be able to spoil my own daughter. She has ensured I live a full, open and happy life and has guaranteed my comfort and safety, even when I didn't really deserve it.
She is being well taken care of here at the hospital, and yet I find it almost impossible to leave her side. I take pleasure in watching her simply breathe and I enjoy joking with her and making her smile. Work, hobbies, and life's mundane tasks have taken a back seat and at this point, I have a hard time even acknowledging they exist. My sister will be here tomorrow from Hong Kong and Mom is very excited to see her again. It has been almost a year since we last saw her, and just the prospect of her showing up lights up my mother's eyes.
And I suddenly understand yet another aspect of motherhood. I see in her what it means to raise children and set them out in the world. I see the joy she takes simply in knowing that her children "are." And I want my children near me now with a passion I have never before felt.
But right now is her time. She needs to have her girls back just as her girls right now. And she shall have that. For she is why and what we "are."
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
And So It Begins...
Athena and I had an altercation tonight. We've already had plenty. And I'm sure we have plenty more in store. But for some reason, this one seemed really IMPORTANT.
I don't know why. It is just a gut feeling. Like tonight will actually set a tone for us.
Athena is not a very good listener. She, like her mother, is very selfish about 80% of the time. The other 20%, she would literally offer a stranger one of her kidneys. It's black and white with us... no gray. Give or take... no compromise.
It took me a very long time to learn to think more of others, and I still suck at it compared to many people I know. But I do know it about myself now and can monitor my behavior accordingly. Athena, on the other had, has no idea.
So naturally, I feel very strongly about teaching Athena how important it is to listen, be respectful, and freaking share a toy once in a while. We are also in a bit of a money pickle at the moment, so when she destroys something or wastes something, it sends me over the edge.
Tonight, I gave her one of the expensive little character Band-Aid tattoos because Marcus needed one and she wanted one too. She has been VERY good about not asking for Band-Aids for every little scrape, so I coddled her and gave her one. While I was putting Marcus to bed, however, she went in and took another one and applied it herself.
I noticed the open, out-of-place box and asked her if she'd taken another. She admitted it. This is where it gets hard for me. Do I punish her for directly disobeying me and taking the Band-Aid? Or do I reward her for telling me the truth and not trying to cover it up. I chose the former, with a little of the latter thrown in.
There was much fussing and crying. Only her... I assure you. But I did finally sit down with her and have yet another talk about listening and respecting. The conversation seemed to actually click with her for once, though I'm not placing any bets on that. I do like that she's getting old enough that we CAN have a conversation. Hopefully I don't completely damage the relationship before she enters Kindergarten.
I don't know why. It is just a gut feeling. Like tonight will actually set a tone for us.
Athena is not a very good listener. She, like her mother, is very selfish about 80% of the time. The other 20%, she would literally offer a stranger one of her kidneys. It's black and white with us... no gray. Give or take... no compromise.
It took me a very long time to learn to think more of others, and I still suck at it compared to many people I know. But I do know it about myself now and can monitor my behavior accordingly. Athena, on the other had, has no idea.
So naturally, I feel very strongly about teaching Athena how important it is to listen, be respectful, and freaking share a toy once in a while. We are also in a bit of a money pickle at the moment, so when she destroys something or wastes something, it sends me over the edge.
Tonight, I gave her one of the expensive little character Band-Aid tattoos because Marcus needed one and she wanted one too. She has been VERY good about not asking for Band-Aids for every little scrape, so I coddled her and gave her one. While I was putting Marcus to bed, however, she went in and took another one and applied it herself.
I noticed the open, out-of-place box and asked her if she'd taken another. She admitted it. This is where it gets hard for me. Do I punish her for directly disobeying me and taking the Band-Aid? Or do I reward her for telling me the truth and not trying to cover it up. I chose the former, with a little of the latter thrown in.
There was much fussing and crying. Only her... I assure you. But I did finally sit down with her and have yet another talk about listening and respecting. The conversation seemed to actually click with her for once, though I'm not placing any bets on that. I do like that she's getting old enough that we CAN have a conversation. Hopefully I don't completely damage the relationship before she enters Kindergarten.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
The Dreaded Question; or Mommyfail
Athena asked the dreaded question Thursday morning as we were getting ready. The conversation started simply enough. Athena informed me that it would be very helpful if she had an older sister to help her get ready in the morning so I wouldn't have to. (Mind you, she really doesn't need help in the morning... she was just being clingy that particular morning).
I tried to explain how it would be impossible to provide her with an older sister, as she is the oldest and that cannot be changed. Before you knew it... there is was...
"Well do you GET a baby in your tummy, Mommy?"
I am so ashamed to say that no matter how many times I had thought about this moment, I still stumbled, stammered, and even started with the dreaded... "Well, honey... when a man and a woman love each other..."
Fortunately, I stopped there and restarted. But with all my good intentions and even my desire to be as honest as possible, it's pretty apparent that an almost-five year old girl is not prepared to hear these things. When I got to the part about how a boy and girl fit together, she had clearly heard a little too much. So I backed up and simplified.
"Together, a man and a woman can make a baby. They each have part of what is needed."
Ugh.
We're looking into getting a book for her.
I tried to explain how it would be impossible to provide her with an older sister, as she is the oldest and that cannot be changed. Before you knew it... there is was...
"Well do you GET a baby in your tummy, Mommy?"
I am so ashamed to say that no matter how many times I had thought about this moment, I still stumbled, stammered, and even started with the dreaded... "Well, honey... when a man and a woman love each other..."
Fortunately, I stopped there and restarted. But with all my good intentions and even my desire to be as honest as possible, it's pretty apparent that an almost-five year old girl is not prepared to hear these things. When I got to the part about how a boy and girl fit together, she had clearly heard a little too much. So I backed up and simplified.
"Together, a man and a woman can make a baby. They each have part of what is needed."
Ugh.
We're looking into getting a book for her.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Entourage
We lovingly refer to Marcus as "Young MC" or "MC MC." This is not because we have aspirations of him becoming the worlds next great white rapper -- though if he wants to make millions and support us for the rest of his life, I'm totally down with it. But honestly, it's just cute, because his initials are MC. However... it seems that at least part of the rapper lifestyle has become his hallmark. He has an entourage.
Young MC is fond of his zebra. For several months, he carried Zebra everywhere. So I bought him a second, with the idea that while one is in the wash, he'd still have one. Unfortunately, about two weeks into having two Zebras in the house, he discovered the second, and he then began insisting on having TWO Zebras with him at all times. As time marched on, he added random stuffed toys to this group... most notably, Mickey Mouse, Tigger, and various and sundry bears.
But it couldn't stop there. As his hockey fixation grew, so did his fixation with "hockey blanket"--a quilt-type blanket one of my mom's friends made for him when he was born. And of course, where there is a blanket, so must a pillow go.
Every morning, when Marcus wakes up, he totters into our room with full entourage. Sometimes it takes two trips, mind you, but before he will climb into bed with us, he assaults me with pillow and blanket, then adds Zebra one and Zebra two... then whatever other hangers on he has deemed worthy to start the day with him. Only then will he climb in and settle down, pressing his ice cold toes against my warm back.
The entourage also must watch television with him, and occasionally even makes it downstairs for breakfast. Explaining that his entire entourage cannot join him at school today is just another hurdle we have to jump in our daily routine.
It will be interesting to see how this plays out as he gets older. Will he have a gang of friends that he is ALWAYS seen with? Along with a few stragglers who sometimes make the cut and sometimes don't, depending on Young MC's mood? We'll be watching.
Young MC is fond of his zebra. For several months, he carried Zebra everywhere. So I bought him a second, with the idea that while one is in the wash, he'd still have one. Unfortunately, about two weeks into having two Zebras in the house, he discovered the second, and he then began insisting on having TWO Zebras with him at all times. As time marched on, he added random stuffed toys to this group... most notably, Mickey Mouse, Tigger, and various and sundry bears.
But it couldn't stop there. As his hockey fixation grew, so did his fixation with "hockey blanket"--a quilt-type blanket one of my mom's friends made for him when he was born. And of course, where there is a blanket, so must a pillow go.
Every morning, when Marcus wakes up, he totters into our room with full entourage. Sometimes it takes two trips, mind you, but before he will climb into bed with us, he assaults me with pillow and blanket, then adds Zebra one and Zebra two... then whatever other hangers on he has deemed worthy to start the day with him. Only then will he climb in and settle down, pressing his ice cold toes against my warm back.
The entourage also must watch television with him, and occasionally even makes it downstairs for breakfast. Explaining that his entire entourage cannot join him at school today is just another hurdle we have to jump in our daily routine.
It will be interesting to see how this plays out as he gets older. Will he have a gang of friends that he is ALWAYS seen with? Along with a few stragglers who sometimes make the cut and sometimes don't, depending on Young MC's mood? We'll be watching.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Family Values
Today, Athena went shopping with me at the local warehouse store. As we were leaving, she noticed a young man with dreds pulled back in a ponytail. She commented to me, "Mommy, he has a ponytail!"
"Yes, he does, honey!"
"But boys can't have ponytails! That's silly!"
At this point, I explained to her that boys can have long hair OR short hair... whatever they prefer. Just like girls can have long or short hair.
She thought about this, and started noticing people around us... how they all had different lengths of hair. Somehow, this led into some musings on how to tell boys and girls apart. This transitioned into a conversation that I've been waiting for... but not the conversation you THINK it turned into.
She said something about how people always have a mommy AND a daddy. I told her that actually, sometimes people have two mommies or two daddies. And some people only have a mommy or a daddy. All of those different families are still families... but they all love each other just as much.
She said, "Yes. I have a mommy and a daddy though."
"Yes, you do."
"And you love me."
"I love you so much."
"All mommies and daddies love their kids."
"Yes. All kinds of families all love each other."
"I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, sweetie."
"Yes, he does, honey!"
"But boys can't have ponytails! That's silly!"
At this point, I explained to her that boys can have long hair OR short hair... whatever they prefer. Just like girls can have long or short hair.
She thought about this, and started noticing people around us... how they all had different lengths of hair. Somehow, this led into some musings on how to tell boys and girls apart. This transitioned into a conversation that I've been waiting for... but not the conversation you THINK it turned into.
She said something about how people always have a mommy AND a daddy. I told her that actually, sometimes people have two mommies or two daddies. And some people only have a mommy or a daddy. All of those different families are still families... but they all love each other just as much.
She said, "Yes. I have a mommy and a daddy though."
"Yes, you do."
"And you love me."
"I love you so much."
"All mommies and daddies love their kids."
"Yes. All kinds of families all love each other."
"I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, sweetie."
Friday, September 19, 2008
Past, Present, and Future
Forgive me... this may ramble a bit.
Facebook has put me in touch with some people from my past who, in many cases, I had never expected to hear from again. It has made me reflect a great deal on my past lately--who I really am, and how I became that person. I've often wondered if I made good decisions in my life, and if those decisions really led me down the right path. Honestly, more often I've wondered how I got so freaking lucky that I DID make the right decisions, and I didn't end up married to evil emotionally destructive boyfriend from my mid-twenties or Navy guy from my college days. And I really love looking back at events in my life and seeing how they shape decisions I make today.
It takes many women a long time to come to terms with who they are and actually love themselves. I've been fortunate, in that I've been surrounded my whole life by friends who are supportive and real. I have managed to avoid a large amount of backstabbing, catfighting, and mudwrestling. (Sorry... but I wanted to be sure my male readers were still with me).
Anyway, as I reconnect with people who I have known for a TERRIBLY long time... who knew me before I learned to love myself and before I had really formed my own identity... I am amazed at how well they actually do know me. My inner core really hasn't changed that much. And as I am prodded to remember a moment from first grade (which I still remember SO clearly it's frightening)... just one moment when I first met someone... I marvel at how I can recall my little six-year-old mind processing what was happening, and my ability to realize that this person I was meeting... this was a good person. And this person would mean something to me later in my life. Even though I had no concept of what my life would be.
I see it in my kids too. I see their inner core. I watch them process new information and explore the world to figure out where they fit in. It's magical. And the perspective it gives on my own life... it's hard to explain. I am so excited to see what they choose. I'm fearful, yes, but I see their hearts right now... their true selves. And I love what I see. With hearts like theirs, I know it is all going to be just fine.
Facebook has put me in touch with some people from my past who, in many cases, I had never expected to hear from again. It has made me reflect a great deal on my past lately--who I really am, and how I became that person. I've often wondered if I made good decisions in my life, and if those decisions really led me down the right path. Honestly, more often I've wondered how I got so freaking lucky that I DID make the right decisions, and I didn't end up married to evil emotionally destructive boyfriend from my mid-twenties or Navy guy from my college days. And I really love looking back at events in my life and seeing how they shape decisions I make today.
It takes many women a long time to come to terms with who they are and actually love themselves. I've been fortunate, in that I've been surrounded my whole life by friends who are supportive and real. I have managed to avoid a large amount of backstabbing, catfighting, and mudwrestling. (Sorry... but I wanted to be sure my male readers were still with me).
Anyway, as I reconnect with people who I have known for a TERRIBLY long time... who knew me before I learned to love myself and before I had really formed my own identity... I am amazed at how well they actually do know me. My inner core really hasn't changed that much. And as I am prodded to remember a moment from first grade (which I still remember SO clearly it's frightening)... just one moment when I first met someone... I marvel at how I can recall my little six-year-old mind processing what was happening, and my ability to realize that this person I was meeting... this was a good person. And this person would mean something to me later in my life. Even though I had no concept of what my life would be.
I see it in my kids too. I see their inner core. I watch them process new information and explore the world to figure out where they fit in. It's magical. And the perspective it gives on my own life... it's hard to explain. I am so excited to see what they choose. I'm fearful, yes, but I see their hearts right now... their true selves. And I love what I see. With hearts like theirs, I know it is all going to be just fine.
Monday, September 15, 2008
And Then One Day It Happened
Athena was put under a fair amount of pressure to move up to her big girl bed. We did everything we could to make it enticing. Painted the walls purple... got a new bedroom set... the list goes on. But it was several months after the room was completed (about five) before she finally said she wanted to go there. Now, she was between 18 months and 2 years old at the time. But we needed her to make the change to free up the crib for Young MC. He was born in March, and she moved into her bed around May. Fortunately, it was just before we really felt we had to put Mr. Man in his own room. So everything went swimmingly, and both kids loved their new digs.
Marcus is now approaching 2 1/2, and until last night, he showed no interest in the toddler bed we assembled opposite his crib in his room about six months ago. He is a burrower... loves to be snuggled down in many blankets and with every stuffed animal he possesses (which is a truckload, I assure you). He has not really attempted to climb out of the crib except once or twice when he was feeling particularly brave, bold, and not-so-bright.
Then, last night, out of nowhere, he told Daddy he wanted to sleep in his big boy bed. And that was that. I suspect that Seneca, our babysitter, had been talking to him about it earlier that day because I noticed a lot of his stuff was already moved over there. But sure enough, he hunkered down and slept... almost all night.
He got up at 4am and wandered toward our room. Unfortunately for him, he left his toy broom in the floor and tripped on it, causing himself great pain. I only wish that the cause/effect lesson would sink in, but I'm sure he will leave it lying out tonight too. The funny thing is, since I never think that Marcus might be walking the halls at night, I assumed it was Athena. I went in to offer to get some cough medicine for the awake one, and almost barged into Athena's room thinking that's where Daddy was doing all the comforting. Fortunately, Chris appeared just before I made that error and we avoided having TWO sleepy but awake and grumpy children.
So now we start talking about converting the crib into a bed, and buying a mattress and boxspring. Right after I had the A/C repaired today. And we still have to deal with the roof and subsequent interior repairs.
Perhaps I should have taken that other job. *sigh*
Marcus is now approaching 2 1/2, and until last night, he showed no interest in the toddler bed we assembled opposite his crib in his room about six months ago. He is a burrower... loves to be snuggled down in many blankets and with every stuffed animal he possesses (which is a truckload, I assure you). He has not really attempted to climb out of the crib except once or twice when he was feeling particularly brave, bold, and not-so-bright.
Then, last night, out of nowhere, he told Daddy he wanted to sleep in his big boy bed. And that was that. I suspect that Seneca, our babysitter, had been talking to him about it earlier that day because I noticed a lot of his stuff was already moved over there. But sure enough, he hunkered down and slept... almost all night.
He got up at 4am and wandered toward our room. Unfortunately for him, he left his toy broom in the floor and tripped on it, causing himself great pain. I only wish that the cause/effect lesson would sink in, but I'm sure he will leave it lying out tonight too. The funny thing is, since I never think that Marcus might be walking the halls at night, I assumed it was Athena. I went in to offer to get some cough medicine for the awake one, and almost barged into Athena's room thinking that's where Daddy was doing all the comforting. Fortunately, Chris appeared just before I made that error and we avoided having TWO sleepy but awake and grumpy children.
So now we start talking about converting the crib into a bed, and buying a mattress and boxspring. Right after I had the A/C repaired today. And we still have to deal with the roof and subsequent interior repairs.
Perhaps I should have taken that other job. *sigh*
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Twinkle Toes
Athena had her first ballet class today. I was hoping to post millions of pictures of little 4 and 5 year-olds in pretty pink ballet dresses and tights and shoes, but alas. I carefully chose a "serious" ballet school where Athena could learn really good technique and form, and they frown on parents ooohing and aaahing over the wee ones. The windows all had sheer drapes on them so we really couldn't see in very well. Many times, I wasn't even sure which kid was mine.
She will not normally take class on Wednesdays. Today was a make-up day for last Saturday. This "serious" ballet school apparently got scared of the rain that fell because of Hanna, so they cancelled morning classes. It's kind of too bad too, because Athena really liked this teacher. If it turns out that she doesn't like the Saturday instructor, I will probably move her to the Tuesday morning class... same instructor as Wednesday.
I didn't get to see everything they did, but she learned to plie... they went through all the foot positions, and she walked with a beanbag balanced on her head. Well, it was balanced MOST of the time.
I was overjoyed to see her enjoy the class. When I asked her what her favorite part was, without hesitating, she responded, "All of it!"
Now I just have to get myself back into it. Still need to shed some more weight before considering it though. I like my knees just the way they are, thank you very much. No need to go and tear them up.
She will not normally take class on Wednesdays. Today was a make-up day for last Saturday. This "serious" ballet school apparently got scared of the rain that fell because of Hanna, so they cancelled morning classes. It's kind of too bad too, because Athena really liked this teacher. If it turns out that she doesn't like the Saturday instructor, I will probably move her to the Tuesday morning class... same instructor as Wednesday.
I didn't get to see everything they did, but she learned to plie... they went through all the foot positions, and she walked with a beanbag balanced on her head. Well, it was balanced MOST of the time.
I was overjoyed to see her enjoy the class. When I asked her what her favorite part was, without hesitating, she responded, "All of it!"
Now I just have to get myself back into it. Still need to shed some more weight before considering it though. I like my knees just the way they are, thank you very much. No need to go and tear them up.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
I Rest My Case
It's not that I don't like housework. I'm just doing what's best for my kids.
Overly Clean Homes May Up Risk of Bowel Disease
Overly Clean Homes May Up Risk of Bowel Disease
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Yucky Cavities
Athena had to have three cavities filled today. Yeah, yeah... bad parents... blah blah blah. For the record, the dentist said that it was clear the cavities were caused in part by weak enamel, which is not bad parenting, but bad genetics. Related, but not the same.
We had to be there at 7am, which in and of itself, sucked. But she was excited to be headed out on an adventure, mainly because she had no idea what was in store. (Muahahahahahaaaaaaa)
They gave her a cocktail that helped her relax (made her drunk as a skunk) and then they kicked us out of the operating area. We heard the screams from the novacaine shots (mommy isn't cool with those either, so I was on her side), and then she was fairly quiet for the rest.
She was pretty doped up and was seeing double on our way home. It was, I am a little ashamed to admit, quite amusing. She also had a couple of freakouts... mainly caused by the drugs. My favorite was as she was leaving the office, when she became hysterical because the "goody bag" they gave her was not COMPLETELY full of toys and crap. That was awesome. Warmed the cockles of my heart with her selflessness, that did.
Within a couple of hours, she was back to her normal self. Chris spent the whole day with her, and she apparently ate constantly. Mostly crap too, which should be great for further cavity development. Fortunately, the ordeal is over for now. Let's hope she's willing to go back for her normal cleaning in September. They say she won't remember much of the morning. Here's hoping!
We had to be there at 7am, which in and of itself, sucked. But she was excited to be headed out on an adventure, mainly because she had no idea what was in store. (Muahahahahahaaaaaaa)
They gave her a cocktail that helped her relax (made her drunk as a skunk) and then they kicked us out of the operating area. We heard the screams from the novacaine shots (mommy isn't cool with those either, so I was on her side), and then she was fairly quiet for the rest.
She was pretty doped up and was seeing double on our way home. It was, I am a little ashamed to admit, quite amusing. She also had a couple of freakouts... mainly caused by the drugs. My favorite was as she was leaving the office, when she became hysterical because the "goody bag" they gave her was not COMPLETELY full of toys and crap. That was awesome. Warmed the cockles of my heart with her selflessness, that did.
Within a couple of hours, she was back to her normal self. Chris spent the whole day with her, and she apparently ate constantly. Mostly crap too, which should be great for further cavity development. Fortunately, the ordeal is over for now. Let's hope she's willing to go back for her normal cleaning in September. They say she won't remember much of the morning. Here's hoping!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
A House Divided
The Universities in North Carolina have a really long history, and along with that, an incredibly strong fan base. This is particularly true with our ACC schools here in the Triangle Area. UNC, Duke and NC State are all within thirty miles of each other, and this leads to strong rivalries, and, oddly enough, marriages.
Chris and I have such a marriage. He went to NC State (boooooooooo) and I went to UNC (yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay). We are a House Divided.
Just to give you some idea of how big a deal this can be... I'll tell you a story of when Chris and I first started dating. He had made it quite clear that he was very interested in me. We were on our first date after we had been chatting at game nights and online for a few weeks. He was at my house, sitting on the couch, and we were watching Return of the Jedi. We were chatting... and our schools came up.
I am a little bit older than he is. I already knew he was at NC State in grad school, and I had just finished grad school in Greensboro. So I had already adjusted to the idea that he was the enemy, academically speaking. He, however, did not know where I had done my undergrad. When I told him, his eyes widened and his expression was easier to read than a large print copy of Good Night Moon. He was making a decision... can I actually date a UNC grad? Can we have a future together? Can she be half as awesome as I think she is if she bleeds Carolina Blue?
Obviously he came to his senses and our relationship moved forward. But, there are still issues. One of the major ones is the kids.
We had to make a pact when I learned I was pregnant with Athena. Neither of us were allowed to buy any of our own school's merchadise for the kids. Others could buy for us, but we could not. Soon, the NC State stuff started coming in from Brant, but Jason followed up with a healthy dose of UNC. We both have good friends, apparently.
Which brings us to today. Recently Marcus picked up one of Chris' NC State ball caps. He wore it around, which was terribly cute as it's way too big for him. But he loves it, so Chris adjusted it to as small a size as he can, and Marcus wears it all the time.
Naturally, this has been bothering me. So Mom and I were in dear old Chapel Hill on Friday, and she learned that Marcus was in need of a Carolina ball cap. She purchased a very cute one that is actually in his size.
I gave it to him yesterday.
He wore it for ten minutes.
He tossed it aside and last night, he slept with the NC State hat.
I have failed.
But there is still hope for Athena.
Chris and I have such a marriage. He went to NC State (boooooooooo) and I went to UNC (yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay). We are a House Divided.
Just to give you some idea of how big a deal this can be... I'll tell you a story of when Chris and I first started dating. He had made it quite clear that he was very interested in me. We were on our first date after we had been chatting at game nights and online for a few weeks. He was at my house, sitting on the couch, and we were watching Return of the Jedi. We were chatting... and our schools came up.
I am a little bit older than he is. I already knew he was at NC State in grad school, and I had just finished grad school in Greensboro. So I had already adjusted to the idea that he was the enemy, academically speaking. He, however, did not know where I had done my undergrad. When I told him, his eyes widened and his expression was easier to read than a large print copy of Good Night Moon. He was making a decision... can I actually date a UNC grad? Can we have a future together? Can she be half as awesome as I think she is if she bleeds Carolina Blue?
Obviously he came to his senses and our relationship moved forward. But, there are still issues. One of the major ones is the kids.
We had to make a pact when I learned I was pregnant with Athena. Neither of us were allowed to buy any of our own school's merchadise for the kids. Others could buy for us, but we could not. Soon, the NC State stuff started coming in from Brant, but Jason followed up with a healthy dose of UNC. We both have good friends, apparently.
Which brings us to today. Recently Marcus picked up one of Chris' NC State ball caps. He wore it around, which was terribly cute as it's way too big for him. But he loves it, so Chris adjusted it to as small a size as he can, and Marcus wears it all the time.
Naturally, this has been bothering me. So Mom and I were in dear old Chapel Hill on Friday, and she learned that Marcus was in need of a Carolina ball cap. She purchased a very cute one that is actually in his size.
I gave it to him yesterday.
He wore it for ten minutes.
He tossed it aside and last night, he slept with the NC State hat.
I have failed.
But there is still hope for Athena.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
A Tribute to All Moms, But Mostly My Own*
*The title of this post is an obscure reference for most people indeed. First one to post the correct answer to what it references will get a prize (probably an adult beverage... and I probably know who will guess it.)
So here we are... Mother's Day. I actually don't encourage my family to celebrate Mother's Day, and I would have been at work today if not for the strep (it's official! Woot!) It's another Hallmark Holiday like Valentine's Day, that is set aside for something we should really do all the time. So I say "Bah, Humbug... I love my mom and don't need anyone to force me to say it."
Still, since we're here and having this little chat, I'll go ahead and say it. I think my mom is the shizzle.
Having kids of my own was, like it is for so many people, the turning point for me. I had always appreciated my mother, no doubt. She makes a fabulous grilled cheese sandwich that the neighborhood kids would clambor to our house for. She put up with my A-TI-TUDE when I was pubescent, and she is still very loving and caring and looks out for my best interests... sometimes without me even knowing.
Although we have certainly had our issues, and we still do not agree on politics at all, we have always gotten along. I always respected her opinions, even when she didn't respect mine. But now that I have kids of my own, I have learned a whole new world of information about what her life has been and what she has really done for my sister and me.
I have been blessed with amazing opportunities for travel. Many of those doors were opened by my father and his international company, but they were facilitated by my mother. She made sure I was well-rounded and sought out all sorts of opportunities for me. I'm even glad she forced me to take piano when I was five, even though I thought I had no interest. (I do wish, however, that she had chosen a better teacher).
She is pretty good with a computer, which I KNOW is rare for her generation. She taught herself a lot and has taken a couple of courses. Her biggest strength is probably Maj Jongg, but it's not her only strength. I'll be teaching her a little more about blogging this weekend, as I make my first attempt to post pictures live from Disney World. So, Mom... here is my blog entry about how awesome you are. Thanks for the trip! And thanks for everything. Really. I mean... everything. I love you.
So here we are... Mother's Day. I actually don't encourage my family to celebrate Mother's Day, and I would have been at work today if not for the strep (it's official! Woot!) It's another Hallmark Holiday like Valentine's Day, that is set aside for something we should really do all the time. So I say "Bah, Humbug... I love my mom and don't need anyone to force me to say it."
Still, since we're here and having this little chat, I'll go ahead and say it. I think my mom is the shizzle.
Having kids of my own was, like it is for so many people, the turning point for me. I had always appreciated my mother, no doubt. She makes a fabulous grilled cheese sandwich that the neighborhood kids would clambor to our house for. She put up with my A-TI-TUDE when I was pubescent, and she is still very loving and caring and looks out for my best interests... sometimes without me even knowing.
Although we have certainly had our issues, and we still do not agree on politics at all, we have always gotten along. I always respected her opinions, even when she didn't respect mine. But now that I have kids of my own, I have learned a whole new world of information about what her life has been and what she has really done for my sister and me.
I have been blessed with amazing opportunities for travel. Many of those doors were opened by my father and his international company, but they were facilitated by my mother. She made sure I was well-rounded and sought out all sorts of opportunities for me. I'm even glad she forced me to take piano when I was five, even though I thought I had no interest. (I do wish, however, that she had chosen a better teacher).
She is pretty good with a computer, which I KNOW is rare for her generation. She taught herself a lot and has taken a couple of courses. Her biggest strength is probably Maj Jongg, but it's not her only strength. I'll be teaching her a little more about blogging this weekend, as I make my first attempt to post pictures live from Disney World. So, Mom... here is my blog entry about how awesome you are. Thanks for the trip! And thanks for everything. Really. I mean... everything. I love you.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Oh, Yeah. We're Having Fun Now.
So the nebulizer got an extended engagement through Sunday night. We were a little concerned that it still wouldn't be enough, but he was off it all day yesterday and today, and he seems okay. I returned the evil machine this morning and I'm damn glad to be rid of it. I really hope it was nothing. The doctor gave us some antibiotics on Marcus' follow up appointment last Thursday for a possible sinus infection and he loves to take that medicine.
While he's on the mend, we had some horrible times with Athena over the past week. Daycare called me late Thursday morning and suggested I get her to a doctor. She was basically in the bathroom non-stop, screaming her head off, yet had still managed to have four accidents. Long story short, she was constipated... in a major way. On Miralax since then, she is no longer backed up, but it took three full days for that to happen. Fortunately, her misery seemed to lessen after 24 hours... and now it's completely gone. She is once again our happy, tempestuous, giggly, goofy little girl. Actually, she even seems to have an improvement. Two days accident-free now. And there shall be much rejoicing... yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Speaking of Monty Python, we are going to see Spamalot! on Friday. Chris and I are going, that is. Grandma is watching the wee ones. I'm in the process of choosing a nice restaurant downtown for us to enjoy a little grown-up time. Raleigh's downtown is rejuvinating, but the area down near the theater still has a way to go. Most of the best restaurants are on the other side of downtown, and a bit far to stroll. I'll let you know where we end up. (And suggestions from folks in the area are welcome).
While he's on the mend, we had some horrible times with Athena over the past week. Daycare called me late Thursday morning and suggested I get her to a doctor. She was basically in the bathroom non-stop, screaming her head off, yet had still managed to have four accidents. Long story short, she was constipated... in a major way. On Miralax since then, she is no longer backed up, but it took three full days for that to happen. Fortunately, her misery seemed to lessen after 24 hours... and now it's completely gone. She is once again our happy, tempestuous, giggly, goofy little girl. Actually, she even seems to have an improvement. Two days accident-free now. And there shall be much rejoicing... yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.
Speaking of Monty Python, we are going to see Spamalot! on Friday. Chris and I are going, that is. Grandma is watching the wee ones. I'm in the process of choosing a nice restaurant downtown for us to enjoy a little grown-up time. Raleigh's downtown is rejuvinating, but the area down near the theater still has a way to go. Most of the best restaurants are on the other side of downtown, and a bit far to stroll. I'll let you know where we end up. (And suggestions from folks in the area are welcome).
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Potty Training Hell
We are currently in Potty Training Hell. Apparently, my worst fear is coming to fruition. I have this terrible concern that I will be unable to ever completely potty train my children. And Athena apparently believes it too.
But why do I even have this terrible paranoia? Oddly, it's my dog.
When I got Murphy, I asked the nice, pimply-faced pet store employee (yes, I bought her at a pet store, and yes, I feel guilty about that) how easy it was to housebreak a dog. I asked this because I had never had a dog and didn't have a clue about the best way to do it. He assured me, in no uncertain terms, that it was very easy. He explained crate training to me, I listened, and I obeyed.
Murphy, unfortunately, did not.
So I took her to a K-9 trainer in a sort of desperation. Murphy learned to sit, stay, lie down, and heel. She was brilliant! They recommended she enter advanced training for things like obstacle courses and frisbee catching. I said I'd enroll her as soon as she was housebroken.
What? Not housebroken? They seemed puzzled. So they offered something really special. They knew I was going to Europe for a couple of weeks that summer. So they offered to board her and housebreak her while I was gone. The cost was reasonable, and their work was guaranteed.
I went to Italy, Greece, and France, and dreamed of returning home to a really well-trained dog. And once again, Murphy crushed my dreams in her cute little paws.
I was told that despite their best efforts, they could not housebreak my dog. These were professionals. They train police dogs to sniff out drugs and take out bad guys. Yet my little princess would look them in the eyes and pee squarely in the middle of their kitchen floor.
They returned my dog to me, tore up my bill, and made me promise to never return.
I will say, this story does have more of a happy ending than you might think. When Murphy grew ill a few years ago, they began to medicate her for her liver issues. Suddenly, and without warning, Murphy ceased to have accidents in the house. She was 13. That's 91 in dog years.
Athena had three accidents at school today. She was doing beautifully last week. This week has simply fallen apart. I am at a loss. I don't have a K-9 school equivalent. And with my track record, it wouldn't matter if I did.
Let's just hope that it doesn't take medication and/or 87 more years for this to stick.
But why do I even have this terrible paranoia? Oddly, it's my dog.
When I got Murphy, I asked the nice, pimply-faced pet store employee (yes, I bought her at a pet store, and yes, I feel guilty about that) how easy it was to housebreak a dog. I asked this because I had never had a dog and didn't have a clue about the best way to do it. He assured me, in no uncertain terms, that it was very easy. He explained crate training to me, I listened, and I obeyed.
Murphy, unfortunately, did not.
So I took her to a K-9 trainer in a sort of desperation. Murphy learned to sit, stay, lie down, and heel. She was brilliant! They recommended she enter advanced training for things like obstacle courses and frisbee catching. I said I'd enroll her as soon as she was housebroken.
What? Not housebroken? They seemed puzzled. So they offered something really special. They knew I was going to Europe for a couple of weeks that summer. So they offered to board her and housebreak her while I was gone. The cost was reasonable, and their work was guaranteed.
I went to Italy, Greece, and France, and dreamed of returning home to a really well-trained dog. And once again, Murphy crushed my dreams in her cute little paws.
I was told that despite their best efforts, they could not housebreak my dog. These were professionals. They train police dogs to sniff out drugs and take out bad guys. Yet my little princess would look them in the eyes and pee squarely in the middle of their kitchen floor.
They returned my dog to me, tore up my bill, and made me promise to never return.
I will say, this story does have more of a happy ending than you might think. When Murphy grew ill a few years ago, they began to medicate her for her liver issues. Suddenly, and without warning, Murphy ceased to have accidents in the house. She was 13. That's 91 in dog years.
Athena had three accidents at school today. She was doing beautifully last week. This week has simply fallen apart. I am at a loss. I don't have a K-9 school equivalent. And with my track record, it wouldn't matter if I did.
Let's just hope that it doesn't take medication and/or 87 more years for this to stick.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
The Terrible Twos
There are many common myths about parenting and parenthood. Today, I wish to talk about the widespread myth known as “The Terrible Twos.” This myth is quite unusual in that it is mostly true. But the NAME of it is the myth part. The Terrible Twos have very little to do with the Twos. They actually start around 18 months (or in some highly developed youngsters… 14 months). This is the time when toddlers begin to gain more independence, and the result is a series of temper tantrums and battles of will that we refer to as Terrible.
And they are.
We have been seeing more and more independence from our little pumpkin. She has been running around the house opening and closing things (including her diaper pail), sorting and rearranging things (including the contents of her diaper pail), and screaming uncontrollably when she doesn’t get what she wants (like getting to play in her diaper pail).
Today, however, we knew we had officially entered the Terrible Twos. Starting in the early afternoon, we began to see a rash of tantrums, complete with ear piercing screams and head thrashing. It has been exhausting and, when the tantrums occur in public, embarrassing. However, I never cease to be amazed at the patience of my husband and the kindness of strangers. My better half held her and soothed her and made her giggle. And the strangers in the grocery store didn’t seem bothered at all as the baby tossed a peach at the floor with the arm of Roger Clemons.
In fact, I should take this moment to comment on exactly how unfazed the strangers in the grocery store were. I went to the new Harris Teeter that was built just across the street from my old favorite – Lowe’s Foods. I decided today that I would try the new store, as they provide special parking for mothers with young children and I wanted to feel special. (Heaven help you if you are a father with young children. Guess you just have to hoof it.)
However, I felt anything but special once inside. Athena was in the middle of a rollicking temper tantrum when I hit the register. So I had to hold her, to prevent her from gnawing off her own arm in frustration. As the clerk started ringing up my $200 worth of groceries, no one came to bag the stuff, so I headed to the bottom of the counter and started cramming stuff into bags as best I could with one hand. I was thinking that surely once the clerk finished, or hopefully, as soon as someone like a manager noticed that I was struggling, a pimply-faced high school kid would show up with a kind smile and rescue me from my awkward situation. But it didn’t happen. FINALLY, as I paid for my haul, someone DID show up and offer to help me to the car. At which point, Athena was calm, collected, and angel-faced. I accepted the help anyway. Better late than never.
So if you call or come by in the next… oh… year or so… just prepared for a mommy who only knows how to say “NO! Sweetie! NO! Do NOT open the diaper pail!”
And they are.
We have been seeing more and more independence from our little pumpkin. She has been running around the house opening and closing things (including her diaper pail), sorting and rearranging things (including the contents of her diaper pail), and screaming uncontrollably when she doesn’t get what she wants (like getting to play in her diaper pail).
Today, however, we knew we had officially entered the Terrible Twos. Starting in the early afternoon, we began to see a rash of tantrums, complete with ear piercing screams and head thrashing. It has been exhausting and, when the tantrums occur in public, embarrassing. However, I never cease to be amazed at the patience of my husband and the kindness of strangers. My better half held her and soothed her and made her giggle. And the strangers in the grocery store didn’t seem bothered at all as the baby tossed a peach at the floor with the arm of Roger Clemons.
In fact, I should take this moment to comment on exactly how unfazed the strangers in the grocery store were. I went to the new Harris Teeter that was built just across the street from my old favorite – Lowe’s Foods. I decided today that I would try the new store, as they provide special parking for mothers with young children and I wanted to feel special. (Heaven help you if you are a father with young children. Guess you just have to hoof it.)
However, I felt anything but special once inside. Athena was in the middle of a rollicking temper tantrum when I hit the register. So I had to hold her, to prevent her from gnawing off her own arm in frustration. As the clerk started ringing up my $200 worth of groceries, no one came to bag the stuff, so I headed to the bottom of the counter and started cramming stuff into bags as best I could with one hand. I was thinking that surely once the clerk finished, or hopefully, as soon as someone like a manager noticed that I was struggling, a pimply-faced high school kid would show up with a kind smile and rescue me from my awkward situation. But it didn’t happen. FINALLY, as I paid for my haul, someone DID show up and offer to help me to the car. At which point, Athena was calm, collected, and angel-faced. I accepted the help anyway. Better late than never.
So if you call or come by in the next… oh… year or so… just prepared for a mommy who only knows how to say “NO! Sweetie! NO! Do NOT open the diaper pail!”
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
My Daughter's Pain
Athena has hand, foot, and mouth disease. This is a sentence I never imagined I would say (or write). After all, I never thought I would own a horse, and I thought this was something only horses got. Turns out, that’s a whole OTHER disease. “What is this disease?” you ask. I’m glad you asked.
I have absolutely no frigging idea. There are some articles on the web about it here, here and here. However, I am still a bit mystified about it. Basically, it’s a virus, and it may or may not manifest itself as a fever, sore throat, mouth ulcers, and/or skin rash. Apparently, Athena only has the mouth ulcers, which – if you ask me – would be the worst part to get. She has no fever and she doesn’t seem to have a sore throat. But there are some nasty blisters in her mouth, one of which popped while we were in the doctor’s waiting room. Blood trickled out of her mouth like she was a vampire. And her body kept going rigid with pain. I almost couldn’t bear it.
But the mommy instinct is strong, and it seems my logical brain is taking over. Before, if there was blood anywhere on Athena’s person, I would basically pass her off to Chris. He has a stomach for these things. And although it pains him as much as me to see her hurting, he deals with it very smoothly while I nearly faint dead away.
However, I am a single parent tonight, and for the next two days, while Chris is at Origins. I was nervous about this status anyway, as it’s been basically a year since I was alone with her for any great length of time. Then, only hours after I left her at daycare, I get the call. A cold I was ready for. Even a fever; I’m all set. But mouth ulcers?! Pain in her mouth that is not even comparable to the teething pain she already knows and loves? What on earth am I going to do?
And let me tell you… it hasn’t gotten any better as the day wears on. I have given her ice chips and I’m plying her with Tylenol every 4 hours… but she is trying valiantly to sleep and is only partly succeeding. Every now and again, she awakens with pain, and has to cry herself back to sleep. Nothing I do seems to help. She just hurts. It has been almost two hours since I gave her the last dose, and I can’t tell you how tempting it is to give her more. I’m ready to try the old Jack-Daniels-on-the-gums trick, but I’m scared I will kill her. I’ll give her too much and she will pass out and her heart will stop. Fortunately, I don’t have any of that fairly-new-mom paranoia I hear so much about, eh?
I’m afraid I’m in for a sleepless night. I thought those were past me… but it looks like I was wrong. However, this whole experience has taught me one very important thing. I am a GOOD mom. I am tired as hell, and I want nothing more than to collapse into a 12-hour coma, but I know that I will be up several times tonight administering Tylenol and rubbing a tiny little back. And I can truly say that I love this job.
Although, my husband is never allowed to go on a trip without me again.
I have absolutely no frigging idea. There are some articles on the web about it here, here and here. However, I am still a bit mystified about it. Basically, it’s a virus, and it may or may not manifest itself as a fever, sore throat, mouth ulcers, and/or skin rash. Apparently, Athena only has the mouth ulcers, which – if you ask me – would be the worst part to get. She has no fever and she doesn’t seem to have a sore throat. But there are some nasty blisters in her mouth, one of which popped while we were in the doctor’s waiting room. Blood trickled out of her mouth like she was a vampire. And her body kept going rigid with pain. I almost couldn’t bear it.
But the mommy instinct is strong, and it seems my logical brain is taking over. Before, if there was blood anywhere on Athena’s person, I would basically pass her off to Chris. He has a stomach for these things. And although it pains him as much as me to see her hurting, he deals with it very smoothly while I nearly faint dead away.
However, I am a single parent tonight, and for the next two days, while Chris is at Origins. I was nervous about this status anyway, as it’s been basically a year since I was alone with her for any great length of time. Then, only hours after I left her at daycare, I get the call. A cold I was ready for. Even a fever; I’m all set. But mouth ulcers?! Pain in her mouth that is not even comparable to the teething pain she already knows and loves? What on earth am I going to do?
And let me tell you… it hasn’t gotten any better as the day wears on. I have given her ice chips and I’m plying her with Tylenol every 4 hours… but she is trying valiantly to sleep and is only partly succeeding. Every now and again, she awakens with pain, and has to cry herself back to sleep. Nothing I do seems to help. She just hurts. It has been almost two hours since I gave her the last dose, and I can’t tell you how tempting it is to give her more. I’m ready to try the old Jack-Daniels-on-the-gums trick, but I’m scared I will kill her. I’ll give her too much and she will pass out and her heart will stop. Fortunately, I don’t have any of that fairly-new-mom paranoia I hear so much about, eh?
I’m afraid I’m in for a sleepless night. I thought those were past me… but it looks like I was wrong. However, this whole experience has taught me one very important thing. I am a GOOD mom. I am tired as hell, and I want nothing more than to collapse into a 12-hour coma, but I know that I will be up several times tonight administering Tylenol and rubbing a tiny little back. And I can truly say that I love this job.
Although, my husband is never allowed to go on a trip without me again.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Insanity is Hereditary
There is a little joke in our family (I'd say it was a private joke, except it's not, because I tell everyone about it) about how overprotective my mother was. It is this joke that let's me know that I am going completely insane. Let me explain...
There was an old "Highway" (Old 421) that ran between my neighborhood and the little shopping center at its entrance. This shopping center housed such wonders as a Little General convenience store and a video arcade during my formative years. And you could pretty much see said shopping center from my house... it was a really short bike ride away. Consequently, I wanted to go there. I mean... video games and Ho-Hos conveniently available in such close proximity?! What pre-teen could resist that sort of temptation? Oh... and the drug store next to the video arcade had the latest best-selling LPs for sale. It's where I bought Blondie's Autoamerican and Men at Work's Business As Usual . But I digress...
The point of this story (oh, yes... there is a point, dear reader) is that I was not allowed to ride my bike up to this shopping center. After all, it was a "Highway" and I would certainly be smooshed by a car if I attempted to cross, according to my mother. Perhaps now would be a good time to describe Old 421 to you...
Old 421 was so named because it, indeed, used to be 421... the highway that joins Greensboro to something south of Sanford. I'd tell you where, but I've never needed to go any further south on it than Sanford. In fact, it's hard to believe I ever needed to go to Sanford for anything, now that I think of it. But I digress again...
New 421 is a four-lane highway that runs parallel to Old 421 and it is the actual road anyone who wants to go more than 45 MPH would take if that person wanted to travel between, say, Greensboro and Sanford. Old 421 was renamed "Liberty Road" because it now connected some houses just north of my own to Liberty, North Carolina -- a pleasant little community that boasts a diner so greasy the rats wear protective headgear. However, to my mother, it was still Old 421, even though it had not been 421 since before we moved to Greensboro in 1973.
It was laughable enough that I was not permitted to cross this road at age 15, an age when I was very capable of looking both ways before pedaling. In fact, this was even before my Diet Coke habit, so I still had all those brain cells that Nutrasweet has since killed. But what made it even funnier, is that my mother DID permit me to fly from Milan, Italy to JFK Airport in New York alone when I was 15... only a couple of years after terrorists opened fire in Rome airport, which isn't Milan, but which is pretty darn close. Yet at that time, I STILL was not allowed to cross Liberty Road... uh... excuse me... Old 421.
So I have always sworn never to be irrationally reactionary and overprotective. However, the old adage that you become your mother seems to be coming true.
I came home from work the other day and was hit pretty hard emotionally when a friend of mine cancelled our trip to Carowinds. I know that seems silly, but let me just say that we have been planning this trip for, like, two years or more, and he also cancelled on me last August. Both times were for his work and were totally out of his control, but it still was a huge disappointment. Right after that, my husband asked me if I had seen the news about the boy who died at DisneyWorld on Mission Space. I hadn't, so I immediately went to the computer and looked up the story. Remember, I was not in a good emotional state when I did this.
As I finished reading, I found myself thinking, "So now we can never go to DisneyWorld again. Athena might die on one of these rides. I might strap her into the seat of Dumbo, and by the time the ride stops, she'll be gone." I'm not kidding, folks... that's what I thought. This is ME... I actually thought I would never go to Disney again. It only took me another few seconds to remember Old 421 and shake myself of the thought, but it was there... that thought... that instinct.
I have just stepped into my mother's brain and for a split second, I saw the logic. And I'm not sure what part of that frightens me more. I believe that I have started walking that mile in Mom's moccassins. And it's not easy.
There was an old "Highway" (Old 421) that ran between my neighborhood and the little shopping center at its entrance. This shopping center housed such wonders as a Little General convenience store and a video arcade during my formative years. And you could pretty much see said shopping center from my house... it was a really short bike ride away. Consequently, I wanted to go there. I mean... video games and Ho-Hos conveniently available in such close proximity?! What pre-teen could resist that sort of temptation? Oh... and the drug store next to the video arcade had the latest best-selling LPs for sale. It's where I bought Blondie's Autoamerican and Men at Work's Business As Usual . But I digress...
The point of this story (oh, yes... there is a point, dear reader) is that I was not allowed to ride my bike up to this shopping center. After all, it was a "Highway" and I would certainly be smooshed by a car if I attempted to cross, according to my mother. Perhaps now would be a good time to describe Old 421 to you...
Old 421 was so named because it, indeed, used to be 421... the highway that joins Greensboro to something south of Sanford. I'd tell you where, but I've never needed to go any further south on it than Sanford. In fact, it's hard to believe I ever needed to go to Sanford for anything, now that I think of it. But I digress again...
New 421 is a four-lane highway that runs parallel to Old 421 and it is the actual road anyone who wants to go more than 45 MPH would take if that person wanted to travel between, say, Greensboro and Sanford. Old 421 was renamed "Liberty Road" because it now connected some houses just north of my own to Liberty, North Carolina -- a pleasant little community that boasts a diner so greasy the rats wear protective headgear. However, to my mother, it was still Old 421, even though it had not been 421 since before we moved to Greensboro in 1973.
It was laughable enough that I was not permitted to cross this road at age 15, an age when I was very capable of looking both ways before pedaling. In fact, this was even before my Diet Coke habit, so I still had all those brain cells that Nutrasweet has since killed. But what made it even funnier, is that my mother DID permit me to fly from Milan, Italy to JFK Airport in New York alone when I was 15... only a couple of years after terrorists opened fire in Rome airport, which isn't Milan, but which is pretty darn close. Yet at that time, I STILL was not allowed to cross Liberty Road... uh... excuse me... Old 421.
So I have always sworn never to be irrationally reactionary and overprotective. However, the old adage that you become your mother seems to be coming true.
I came home from work the other day and was hit pretty hard emotionally when a friend of mine cancelled our trip to Carowinds. I know that seems silly, but let me just say that we have been planning this trip for, like, two years or more, and he also cancelled on me last August. Both times were for his work and were totally out of his control, but it still was a huge disappointment. Right after that, my husband asked me if I had seen the news about the boy who died at DisneyWorld on Mission Space. I hadn't, so I immediately went to the computer and looked up the story. Remember, I was not in a good emotional state when I did this.
As I finished reading, I found myself thinking, "So now we can never go to DisneyWorld again. Athena might die on one of these rides. I might strap her into the seat of Dumbo, and by the time the ride stops, she'll be gone." I'm not kidding, folks... that's what I thought. This is ME... I actually thought I would never go to Disney again. It only took me another few seconds to remember Old 421 and shake myself of the thought, but it was there... that thought... that instinct.
I have just stepped into my mother's brain and for a split second, I saw the logic. And I'm not sure what part of that frightens me more. I believe that I have started walking that mile in Mom's moccassins. And it's not easy.
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