Rooms of Forgiveness

Last night for the first night in days I slept hard. I felt drugged but was not. My husband tried to wake me up about a weird smell, but if I HAD to converse about this smell or had there been a fire I could not have done so.
I was wiped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically empty from the past few days. I haven't been a good wife, good friend, good employee or good mother in days. I've phoned it in, I've paid attention to the things that were must do and the rest were simply done on autopilot.
At around 6 am yesterday I looked at my phone, glowing beside me with a message. It was my brother. Mom had fallen, 911 had been called and he was five hours away.

That meant my sister in law had three kids to get to school and one mother in law to see to at the hospital. That meant my mother was possibly hurt, or in worse shape than she had been before.

It turned out to be the latter.

I have known for a year that my mother was terminally ill but I had been holding out hope for the miracle of transplant. Even when she didn't want it, I held it as a candle in the darkness of the prospect of a world without my mother. When that hope died, part of me went with it. I didn't know how strongly I was leaning on it until it was gone and then I was lost.

Yesterday she went to the hospital for the visit that wasn't going to end. Hospice was discussed at length until my brother (having hauled ass to get there) was brain weary and mentally beaten. End of Life rules in terms of insurance are tricky and scary things. There are rules for the ending of life, and apparently you don't have to like them.

Mom said no to dialysis when they said she should have some of that. She's done. She doesn't want anything, she wants to go now. Maybe she doesn't want to go so much as she just doesn't want THIS anymore and there isn't anything on Earth left for her EXCEPT this.

After much stress it was arranged that she would actually go to the same facility where Dad is, which is a blessing and a curse. Dad's dementia being what it is, we just weren't sure he could handle it. But it was our only option and part of me was glad they could be together. As crazy as he drove her for 46 years, I hoped that despite that they would find some comfort being together.

Matt did the much dreaded duty of talking to Dad, and telling him what was going on. And then Mom was moved in to be with him - different room but Dad can be there with her.

Somehow in the course of my day yesterday I stopped being mad. Maybe that's not it. Because I AM STILL MAD AS HELL. And I'm soul crushingly sad. But I am not so mad at all the medication that probably caused this. I'm not so mad that none of us realized "fatty liver disease" was going to cause her hell on Earth and that we could've done so much more early if only we had known. We didn't know. I'm not so mad at my Dad for feeding her only fast food when she got too weak to cook for him, the worst possible thing for her to eat with her condition. I'm not so mad at myself for not being there enough. I don't know if I forgive, or if my mad just faded because it's pointless.

Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. The universe doesn't play favorites.

I got to talk to both of my parents today. Mom was a little incoherent because of all the stuff building up - end of life with liver failure isn't a coherent place. Yesterday she was seeing cowboys with white hats. I figure that was Gene Autry or Roy Rogers - her favorites. She was also seeing cats. Dad was very nonverbal, a few words. I know that stoic version of my dad, he can't handle what's happening so he has nothing to say.

Today my family got to celebrate my niece's birthday, a bright happy spot in a week that has been anything but. I was glad to see so many smiles on Facebook, so much joy taking place in a house that hasn't been that joyful lately.

I slept in, and woke feeling calm. I didn't wake up and grab my phone in a panic. I guess maybe this is acceptance. I don't accept it, I want to throat punch someone. But maybe, just maybe, moving past the point where you feel like you can't breathe and every single part of your life is burning to the ground, is where acceptance is.

Maybe that's what they mean, it's just the place where you can deal with it in your way.

I don't know what my is yet. I guess I'll find out.

This is about 5 or 6 years ago my Aunt Suzie with my Mom.

Yes, it was Christmas.
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Rooms of Forgiveness

Last night for the first night in days I slept hard. I felt drugged but was not. My husband tried to wake me up about a weird smell, but if I HAD to converse about this smell or had there been a fire I could not have done so.
I was wiped out. Mentally, emotionally, and physically empty from the past few days. I haven't been a good wife, good friend, good employee or good mother in days. I've phoned it in, I've paid attention to the things that were must do and the rest were simply done on autopilot.
At around 6 am yesterday I looked at my phone, glowing beside me with a message. It was my brother. Mom had fallen, 911 had been called and he was five hours away.

That meant my sister in law had three kids to get to school and one mother in law to see to at the hospital. That meant my mother was possibly hurt, or in worse shape than she had been before.

It turned out to be the latter.

I have known for a year that my mother was terminally ill but I had been holding out hope for the miracle of transplant. Even when she didn't want it, I held it as a candle in the darkness of the prospect of a world without my mother. When that hope died, part of me went with it. I didn't know how strongly I was leaning on it until it was gone and then I was lost.

Yesterday she went to the hospital for the visit that wasn't going to end. Hospice was discussed at length until my brother (having hauled ass to get there) was brain weary and mentally beaten. End of Life rules in terms of insurance are tricky and scary things. There are rules for the ending of life, and apparently you don't have to like them.

Mom said no to dialysis when they said she should have some of that. She's done. She doesn't want anything, she wants to go now. Maybe she doesn't want to go so much as she just doesn't want THIS anymore and there isn't anything on Earth left for her EXCEPT this.

After much stress it was arranged that she would actually go to the same facility where Dad is, which is a blessing and a curse. Dad's dementia being what it is, we just weren't sure he could handle it. But it was our only option and part of me was glad they could be together. As crazy as he drove her for 46 years, I hoped that despite that they would find some comfort being together.

Matt did the much dreaded duty of talking to Dad, and telling him what was going on. And then Mom was moved in to be with him - different room but Dad can be there with her.

Somehow in the course of my day yesterday I stopped being mad. Maybe that's not it. Because I AM STILL MAD AS HELL. And I'm soul crushingly sad. But I am not so mad at all the medication that probably caused this. I'm not so mad that none of us realized "fatty liver disease" was going to cause her hell on Earth and that we could've done so much more early if only we had known. We didn't know. I'm not so mad at my Dad for feeding her only fast food when she got too weak to cook for him, the worst possible thing for her to eat with her condition. I'm not so mad at myself for not being there enough. I don't know if I forgive, or if my mad just faded because it's pointless.

Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. The universe doesn't play favorites.

I got to talk to both of my parents today. Mom was a little incoherent because of all the stuff building up - end of life with liver failure isn't a coherent place. Yesterday she was seeing cowboys with white hats. I figure that was Gene Autry or Roy Rogers - her favorites. She was also seeing cats. Dad was very nonverbal, a few words. I know that stoic version of my dad, he can't handle what's happening so he has nothing to say.

Today my family got to celebrate my niece's birthday, a bright happy spot in a week that has been anything but. I was glad to see so many smiles on Facebook, so much joy taking place in a house that hasn't been that joyful lately.

I slept in, and woke feeling calm. I didn't wake up and grab my phone in a panic. I guess maybe this is acceptance. I don't accept it, I want to throat punch someone. But maybe, just maybe, moving past the point where you feel like you can't breathe and every single part of your life is burning to the ground, is where acceptance is.

Maybe that's what they mean, it's just the place where you can deal with it in your way.

I don't know what my is yet. I guess I'll find out.

This is about 5 or 6 years ago my Aunt Suzie with my Mom.

Yes, it was Christmas.
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On Any Other Day

Saturday started out with a trip to the Farmer's Market with my Sister in Law.  It was a little weird, this tiny little hamlet that I grew up in, that I couldn't wait to get away from my entire childhood has grown into this interesting little place with lots to make it not only palatable - but actually enjoyable.

She bought me a raspberry tea that was fresh and amazing. I bought some cake balls that were equally amazing. I got mom a carrot cake one that she never felt well enough to eat while I was there. 

It's weird how when someone you love is deathly ill, you can still go out and do things like the world isn't ending. Mom was really looking forward to some Cinnamon twist things, she grinned and licked her lips like a little kids when she was promised them. We acquired those, and eggs, and treats for the kids before we left. 

Back home Mom was still Mom. Not well at all. But my Aunts came and visited and we all sat and told stories and laughed for a long while. Mom talked about her funeral with them, just casually, like she was talking about a gathering she was planning. Well, I guess that is exactly what it is. She made sure they also knew that she wants Spirit in the Sky played loudly, and everyone has to sing. Matt and I laughed about how that song has been ruined for us forever. Mom got worn out very easily by so much talking, and we decided to go out for a couple of hours to let her sleep.

The Beer and Bluegrass festival was going on in downtown Franklin so Matt & I took the girls and met up with the Aunties. 

The town I grew up in was uptight. We didn't walk around downtown and drink beer. In fact, you didn't drink in bars downtown. You joined private clubs and drank there so you didn't have to drink with the Riff Raff.  Listening to music while trying new to me beers from various beer trucks on the courthouse square was both surreal and a sort of amazingly therapeutic. I was home, in a home that never was, and I was with lots of people I love. There was music and beer and for a while nobody was sick, it was just a small town full of people who's last names I know and quietly judge them for.

Sorry I can't help that - that habit was bred into my bones.

My mom wasn't great when we got back. Too tired, drifting when we talked, hands bouncing - a sign of ammonia building up due to her stupid liver not doing it's job. 

You had one job, liver. You asshole.

I laid down in bed and surfed the net and thought about the fact that despite the reality that I wanted to go home, I also never wanted to leave. I wanted to go into Mom's room and talk nonstop. I was sorry I moved away. I missed so many years. I should've been there, with my parents as they aged. 

Except that isn't who they raised me to be. 

When I was 7 my mom nearly died giving birth to my sister, who did die during delivery. My mom says that while she was bleeding out, and they were hanging more and more blood trying to save her, she looked over in the corner of the delivery room - knowing her baby was dead, thinking she was about to die, and she saw my grandfather standing there in the corner.

She said she wasn't scared, she wasn't even worried. She said she knew I was strong and smart, and that I would be just fine. She said she wasn't sad that the baby was dead because she believed Grandpa would take the baby and that if she died she'd go with them and it would all be ok.

She didn't die, but she truly looked like she was nearly dead when next I saw her two weeks later. 

It seems wrong to consider that it's only been 39 years since that happened. Almost exactly 36 years, as it was August 16th - they day she almost died. I can't get my mind around the idea that my mom is going to die soon, and she only lived another 39 years from the day she almost bled to death. Is 39 years a long time in those terms or not? I don't know. It seems too small to me. 

I didn't take any pictures of my mom or my dad when I was home, which seems weird if you know me. But I don't want to remember them declining and dying. I want to remember them full of life - my parents who weren't being betrayed by biology.

But I have probably one of the last great pictures my mom took before her illness took such a grave toll on her, and even then she wasn't well at all.

It was last year in September that we rushed home, because my mom's condition had become so serious. 

I feel like I wasn't prepared for what serious is. 

Now we're in it. I'm still not prepared.

On Any Other Day

Saturday started out with a trip to the Farmer's Market with my Sister in Law.  It was a little weird, this tiny little hamlet that I grew up in, that I couldn't wait to get away from my entire childhood has grown into this interesting little place with lots to make it not only palatable - but actually enjoyable.

She bought me a raspberry tea that was fresh and amazing. I bought some cake balls that were equally amazing. I got mom a carrot cake one that she never felt well enough to eat while I was there. 

It's weird how when someone you love is deathly ill, you can still go out and do things like the world isn't ending. Mom was really looking forward to some Cinnamon twist things, she grinned and licked her lips like a little kids when she was promised them. We acquired those, and eggs, and treats for the kids before we left. 

Back home Mom was still Mom. Not well at all. But my Aunts came and visited and we all sat and told stories and laughed for a long while. Mom talked about her funeral with them, just casually, like she was talking about a gathering she was planning. Well, I guess that is exactly what it is. She made sure they also knew that she wants Spirit in the Sky played loudly, and everyone has to sing. Matt and I laughed about how that song has been ruined for us forever. Mom got worn out very easily by so much talking, and we decided to go out for a couple of hours to let her sleep.

The Beer and Bluegrass festival was going on in downtown Franklin so Matt & I took the girls and met up with the Aunties. 

The town I grew up in was uptight. We didn't walk around downtown and drink beer. In fact, you didn't drink in bars downtown. You joined private clubs and drank there so you didn't have to drink with the Riff Raff.  Listening to music while trying new to me beers from various beer trucks on the courthouse square was both surreal and a sort of amazingly therapeutic. I was home, in a home that never was, and I was with lots of people I love. There was music and beer and for a while nobody was sick, it was just a small town full of people who's last names I know and quietly judge them for.

Sorry I can't help that - that habit was bred into my bones.

My mom wasn't great when we got back. Too tired, drifting when we talked, hands bouncing - a sign of ammonia building up due to her stupid liver not doing it's job. 

You had one job, liver. You asshole.

I laid down in bed and surfed the net and thought about the fact that despite the reality that I wanted to go home, I also never wanted to leave. I wanted to go into Mom's room and talk nonstop. I was sorry I moved away. I missed so many years. I should've been there, with my parents as they aged. 

Except that isn't who they raised me to be. 

When I was 7 my mom nearly died giving birth to my sister, who did die during delivery. My mom says that while she was bleeding out, and they were hanging more and more blood trying to save her, she looked over in the corner of the delivery room - knowing her baby was dead, thinking she was about to die, and she saw my grandfather standing there in the corner.

She said she wasn't scared, she wasn't even worried. She said she knew I was strong and smart, and that I would be just fine. She said she wasn't sad that the baby was dead because she believed Grandpa would take the baby and that if she died she'd go with them and it would all be ok.

She didn't die, but she truly looked like she was nearly dead when next I saw her two weeks later. 

It seems wrong to consider that it's only been 39 years since that happened. Almost exactly 36 years, as it was August 16th - they day she almost died. I can't get my mind around the idea that my mom is going to die soon, and she only lived another 39 years from the day she almost bled to death. Is 39 years a long time in those terms or not? I don't know. It seems too small to me. 

I didn't take any pictures of my mom or my dad when I was home, which seems weird if you know me. But I don't want to remember them declining and dying. I want to remember them full of life - my parents who weren't being betrayed by biology.

But I have probably one of the last great pictures my mom took before her illness took such a grave toll on her, and even then she wasn't well at all.

It was last year in September that we rushed home, because my mom's condition had become so serious. 

I feel like I wasn't prepared for what serious is. 

Now we're in it. I'm still not prepared.

Less Stressed Mommying

My Mom will tell you that Matt had a better Mom that I did. I would disagree with that a lot, because I think my Mom was an AWESOME Mom. But I think now that I have kids with a big span between them (8 years in my case, 10 in hers) I realize she means that she FELT more confident and comfortable in her mommying. 

The little stuff that you sweat and cry about with #1 - we all do it so it's ok, by #4 you don't bother so much, you realize how much it matters or doesn't and don't lose sleep. You never worry that the baby will hate you if you don't breastfeed X weeks by the time you get to #4.  

Exhibit A is above. I am pretty sure I never once let Louis ride like this at the store. It would've been accompanied by "We do NOT act like that at the store." First child hears a lot about what we should act like, or do not act like in this instance. Julia says "Wait a moment, I need to steer." I watch her mount the top of the cart, have the thought then let it go and start through the store. She was my navigator and said hello to all the people. She's declared to me once at the store "Mom, think of all the people I will get to say HELLO to in my life!" I can hardly be the one to ever discourage such enthusiasm for the human race, can I?

Another example is games. She LOVES to play games, constantly begging to play games with us. I give myself a B here. Sometimes I just want to play a video game by myself and if I won't play a board game with her she comes to sit by me and we talk about what I'm playing. So I do have my own personal cheering section while questing in Azeroth which is awesome. But I quit being selfish from time to time and we play various board games. This weekend OPERATION is hot.

I was always raised to believe that you don't let kids win. I learned to play most games by playing with two girls who were a LOT older than me and kind of jerks about beating the crap out of me at games. I had to learn to be good enough to beat THEM. So I did. However, I've rethought this strategy. I definitely don't let LOUIS win. He's 12 and he needs to get it for himself. But she's 4. And so yeah I'll let her dig the pieces out of OPERATION with her fingers when her hand eye coordination fails her. 

The difference is, I DO make her try but I don't sweat it when she fails. Sometimes I try to force the rules gently and if we get off track from the rules I guide us back, even if just a bit. But the most important thing is that we're taking turns, and we're spending TIME together. That's what she actually WANTS anyway. She wants my attention and to do this thing she thinks is fun. I don't have to make her a game rule fanatic at the age of four. We can just play and have fun. 

So I get what she means. It's not about having less rules or being more or less structured, it's just about being comfortable in your own skin in this most important role. It's about knowing what actually matters vs. what a book said mattered, or what your friends said mattered, or what ANYONE said. It's what matters to you and your family that should drive the bus. 

It's nice to be in that spot.

Less Stressed Mommying

My Mom will tell you that Matt had a better Mom that I did. I would disagree with that a lot, because I think my Mom was an AWESOME Mom. But I think now that I have kids with a big span between them (8 years in my case, 10 in hers) I realize she means that she FELT more confident and comfortable in her mommying. 

The little stuff that you sweat and cry about with #1 - we all do it so it's ok, by #4 you don't bother so much, you realize how much it matters or doesn't and don't lose sleep. You never worry that the baby will hate you if you don't breastfeed X weeks by the time you get to #4.  

Exhibit A is above. I am pretty sure I never once let Louis ride like this at the store. It would've been accompanied by "We do NOT act like that at the store." First child hears a lot about what we should act like, or do not act like in this instance. Julia says "Wait a moment, I need to steer." I watch her mount the top of the cart, have the thought then let it go and start through the store. She was my navigator and said hello to all the people. She's declared to me once at the store "Mom, think of all the people I will get to say HELLO to in my life!" I can hardly be the one to ever discourage such enthusiasm for the human race, can I?

Another example is games. She LOVES to play games, constantly begging to play games with us. I give myself a B here. Sometimes I just want to play a video game by myself and if I won't play a board game with her she comes to sit by me and we talk about what I'm playing. So I do have my own personal cheering section while questing in Azeroth which is awesome. But I quit being selfish from time to time and we play various board games. This weekend OPERATION is hot.

I was always raised to believe that you don't let kids win. I learned to play most games by playing with two girls who were a LOT older than me and kind of jerks about beating the crap out of me at games. I had to learn to be good enough to beat THEM. So I did. However, I've rethought this strategy. I definitely don't let LOUIS win. He's 12 and he needs to get it for himself. But she's 4. And so yeah I'll let her dig the pieces out of OPERATION with her fingers when her hand eye coordination fails her. 

The difference is, I DO make her try but I don't sweat it when she fails. Sometimes I try to force the rules gently and if we get off track from the rules I guide us back, even if just a bit. But the most important thing is that we're taking turns, and we're spending TIME together. That's what she actually WANTS anyway. She wants my attention and to do this thing she thinks is fun. I don't have to make her a game rule fanatic at the age of four. We can just play and have fun. 

So I get what she means. It's not about having less rules or being more or less structured, it's just about being comfortable in your own skin in this most important role. It's about knowing what actually matters vs. what a book said mattered, or what your friends said mattered, or what ANYONE said. It's what matters to you and your family that should drive the bus. 

It's nice to be in that spot.

Songs of Mommyhood

The day he was born, I went to McDonald's on my way to the hospital. No lie I did. So we started out his twelfth birthday at the McDonald's near us. We listened to opera and enjoyed their new ultra modern decor. It almost felt like we weren't eating at McDonald's at all.

Watching him while he ate, and listening to him prattle on endlessly about the video game he didn't know he was getting later in that day, it occurred to me that it's only been 12 years since I've changed who I was. Twelve years ago I was pretty deeply into the NOW WHAT stage of being a MOM.
Everything changes when you are a Mom. For instance, music.

There is so much now that is LOU music to me. For instance, while Scott Stapp may be one of Sarah and my favorite jokes of a human, he had this stupid song that was popular while I was pregnant and I would cry my eyes out every time it came on.

To this day I will sing my lungs out when that song comes on. JUDGE ME I DON'T CARE.
Also this one.

Because I was pregnant when this was huge too. And I was marking time every day - worried that it wouldn't work out, as they'd said they didn't think we could have children. (Joke's on THEM eh?).

Then there are songs that are more about him than me, such as this one that he would sway and sing all the time when he was one and two. We actually bought him the CD he loved it so much. Now of course he thinks we're crazy when we tell him this.

Shortly after he loved Kelly Clarkson, he also loved THE SCISSOR SISTERS and would say to us "Play Lou's song Take You Mama Out !"

Yeah, odd choice for a two year old but he loved that song.

Then school events get you as a parent, and for his first assembly, listening to all the little faces sing this one now means I cry when I hear it, remembering how little and cute they all were.
Seriously yes, Miley Cyrus can make me cry.

I will say it's improved over the years. There are less songs I have to cry to. In fact, he's been known to say "Can we listen to some KISS? I want to rock." These words are reassuring.

But 12 years later, some very silly songs have the power to bring me to sobbing, snot faced tears. All because of a little boy they told me I would never have.

It's worth crying over stupid songs.

It's worth every minute of it.
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Songs of Mommyhood

The day he was born, I went to McDonald's on my way to the hospital. No lie I did. So we started out his twelfth birthday at the McDonald's near us. We listened to opera and enjoyed their new ultra modern decor. It almost felt like we weren't eating at McDonald's at all.

Watching him while he ate, and listening to him prattle on endlessly about the video game he didn't know he was getting later in that day, it occurred to me that it's only been 12 years since I've changed who I was. Twelve years ago I was pretty deeply into the NOW WHAT stage of being a MOM.
Everything changes when you are a Mom. For instance, music.

There is so much now that is LOU music to me. For instance, while Scott Stapp may be one of Sarah and my favorite jokes of a human, he had this stupid song that was popular while I was pregnant and I would cry my eyes out every time it came on.

To this day I will sing my lungs out when that song comes on. JUDGE ME I DON'T CARE.
Also this one.

Because I was pregnant when this was huge too. And I was marking time every day - worried that it wouldn't work out, as they'd said they didn't think we could have children. (Joke's on THEM eh?).

Then there are songs that are more about him than me, such as this one that he would sway and sing all the time when he was one and two. We actually bought him the CD he loved it so much. Now of course he thinks we're crazy when we tell him this.

She Still Asks Why

The girl child still asks why. WHY? WHY everything. None of the boys ever did this. Perhaps Louis wasn't that interested, I don't know. The twins for obvious reasons. Why isn't a word they conceive. Everything is or is not, without reason, from what I can tell.

But the girl. WHY? WHY she asks. Why do you drink this coffee? Why did you get my yogurt (you asked for it). Why did you get this shirt? Why is your hair long? Why is this show on? Why do we have milk? Why is there chocolate? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why is this a helmet?  Why is this a tv?

I don't ask why, but it doesn't trouble me that she does.

I figured out a long time ago, that asking WHY is asking for heart ache, a lot of the time.

There isn't really a why because some things just happen because they do.

In the course of 24 hours, my mother was rushed to the hospital in serious condition, my grandfather began the process of dying, and my cat died.

Why?

Well it could be because I'm being tested. But I'm pretty sure I'm not JOB and I'm also NOT religious and let's take it one step further, if I were, I'd be a pretty arrogant ass to presume my deity had time to test me.

No, I'm not being tested. This past weekend was a big old heaping dose of the thing called life. Maybe life itself is the test. I freely admit I cried a lot and probably failed a lot. But I realized while out Christmas shopping that it didn't matter if every single thing in my life exploded at once, I had to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Life isn't convenient and it doesn't work on a schedule that coincides with my sleep and work plans.

Time passed. We played Chutes and ladders, and had a tea party, and made hot chocolate. My husband buried the cat in the pouring rain today. There were tears. A lot.

My mom is getting better 48 hours later. My grandfather is still leaving us slowly, but in his own time.

Why? Because those things are also life. My mom got a good medical team, so we move forward with progress. My grandfather is strong and didn't go as quickly as they thought.

I was angry at the universe for these helpings of tears and worry coinciding at such an close interval, until I got my mind around the idea that no one ever gets sick or dies when it's convenient. Babies also tend to come when it suits them, so there is some cosmic symmetry there.

My son cried copiously when he realized Chilli's stocking is still hanging, and wondered what we should do with it. The girl cried because Chilli can't be her best friend anymore. They both crawled into bed with me and cried last night until they were quiet.

When it was quiet, and they were both sleeping snuggled against me, I laid there and cried too.

I didn't even wonder why.

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She Still Asks Why

The girl child still asks why. WHY? WHY everything. None of the boys ever did this. Perhaps Louis wasn't that interested, I don't know. The twins for obvious reasons. Why isn't a word they conceive. Everything is or is not, without reason, from what I can tell.

But the girl. WHY? WHY she asks. Why do you drink this coffee? Why did you get my yogurt (you asked for it). Why did you get this shirt? Why is your hair long? Why is this show on? Why do we have milk? Why is there chocolate? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why is this a helmet?  Why is this a tv?

I don't ask why, but it doesn't trouble me that she does.

I figured out a long time ago, that asking WHY is asking for heart ache, a lot of the time.

There isn't really a why because some things just happen because they do.

In the course of 24 hours, my mother was rushed to the hospital in serious condition, my grandfather began the process of dying, and my cat died.

Why?

Well it could be because I'm being tested. But I'm pretty sure I'm not JOB and I'm also NOT religious and let's take it one step further, if I were, I'd be a pretty arrogant ass to presume my deity had time to test me.

No, I'm not being tested. This past weekend was a big old heaping dose of the thing called life. Maybe life itself is the test. I freely admit I cried a lot and probably failed a lot. But I realized while out Christmas shopping that it didn't matter if every single thing in my life exploded at once, I had to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Life isn't convenient and it doesn't work on a schedule that coincides with my sleep and work plans.

Time passed. We played Chutes and ladders, and had a tea party, and made hot chocolate. My husband buried the cat in the pouring rain today. There were tears. A lot.

My mom is getting better 48 hours later. My grandfather is still leaving us slowly, but in his own time.

Why? Because those things are also life. My mom got a good medical team, so we move forward with progress. My grandfather is strong and didn't go as quickly as they thought.

I was angry at the universe for these helpings of tears and worry coinciding at such an close interval, until I got my mind around the idea that no one ever gets sick or dies when it's convenient. Babies also tend to come when it suits them, so there is some cosmic symmetry there.

My son cried copiously when he realized Chilli's stocking is still hanging, and wondered what we should do with it. The girl cried because Chilli can't be her best friend anymore. They both crawled into bed with me and cried last night until they were quiet.

When it was quiet, and they were both sleeping snuggled against me, I laid there and cried too.

I didn't even wonder why.

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Potty Training In Hell

It was going so well. I think that's the trick of it you see. We were using the potty. Yes we were in pull ups too but, the potty - we were using it.

But then something happened. I don't know what but suddenly, the girl doesn't want to use it. She tells me she's a baby. She tells me she's too little. Then we move on to discussions like "But don't you want to play with your leap pad? Only BIG GIRLS get to use a leap pad!" So then, she's a BABY big girl.

Over the past few days, she's gotten progressively more insistent that no, she's NOT using the potty. Then, she'll use it. Then, she won't. OMG MAKE UP YOUR MIND CHILD.

Yesterday I decided I was going to handle this like a parent of a typical child WHICH SHE IS. I was going to go COLD TURKEY into panties and by GOD we'd have progress. I was going to be positive and supportive and take her on a schedule. My first thought was, every 45 minutes to an hour.

30 minutes in, she pees in her panties.

We run frantically to the bathroom and talk about how we can't pee on the princesses! OH NO! We have to use the potty! I sit her on the potty and cheer her on.

Fail.

We change panties and I think, ok every twenty minutes. We'll go every twenty minutes.

15 minutes in, wets her panties.

By the time we'd gone through every pair of little girl panties we own she'd broken me. 

We're back in pull ups. Apparently SHE USED THE POTTY FOR DADDY TODAY! 

There is another phase to this process. Right now I'm in the I don't know what's next phase. 

But we'll figure it out.

Everyone always does.

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Potty Training In Hell

It was going so well. I think that's the trick of it you see. We were using the potty. Yes we were in pull ups too but, the potty - we were using it.

But then something happened. I don't know what but suddenly, the girl doesn't want to use it. She tells me she's a baby. She tells me she's too little. Then we move on to discussions like "But don't you want to play with your leap pad? Only BIG GIRLS get to use a leap pad!" So then, she's a BABY big girl.

Over the past few days, she's gotten progressively more insistent that no, she's NOT using the potty. Then, she'll use it. Then, she won't. OMG MAKE UP YOUR MIND CHILD.

Yesterday I decided I was going to handle this like a parent of a typical child WHICH SHE IS. I was going to go COLD TURKEY into panties and by GOD we'd have progress. I was going to be positive and supportive and take her on a schedule. My first thought was, every 45 minutes to an hour.

30 minutes in, she pees in her panties.

We run frantically to the bathroom and talk about how we can't pee on the princesses! OH NO! We have to use the potty! I sit her on the potty and cheer her on.

Fail.

We change panties and I think, ok every twenty minutes. We'll go every twenty minutes.

15 minutes in, wets her panties.

By the time we'd gone through every pair of little girl panties we own she'd broken me. 

We're back in pull ups. Apparently SHE USED THE POTTY FOR DADDY TODAY! 

There is another phase to this process. Right now I'm in the I don't know what's next phase. 

But we'll figure it out.

Everyone always does.

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Snuggletime Roulette

I guess you officially call it attachment parenting. I don't even care. I kind of thumb my nose at the term and call it stupid hippie crap. Everyone parents differently. What works for me doesn't work for you, and so on. If attachment parenting includes the fact that I love to sleep with my kids then yeah, guilty as charged.

 

The challenge then becomes the logistics of four snugglers and one mother. 

The girl child has it easy. I'm not ashamed to admit she still sleeps with me. We go to bed together, and we read stories by the light on my iPhone, and make shadow puppets on the wall (mostly bunnies and dinosaurs RAWR). Eventually we settle down into ONE last drink, and some cudly kisses and we're asleep. If I don't move her shortly thereafter, her daddy moves her when he comes to bed. She usually returns some time in the 5 am hour. Toddles back to bed, taps me on the arm and says "mommysnuggle" which is all one word if you're doing it right.

Usually, like today, Miles shows up about 6 or 7am. He rests a hand on my arm if the girl is in his spot. I will move her to her toddler bed and then it's snuggling with Miles and Mommy. Usually though, unless it's VERY early, Miles is UP for the day. He indulges me in some cuddling and kisses, and then as I drift back to sleep he pulls a book out of nowhere and sits and reads. Sometimes he brings two or three books and piles them on me. I don't even care.

Charlie is the X Factor. Some mornings, he beats Miles to the snuggle spot. However Charlie can rarely be quiet, so he giggles and carries on until mom gets up. Or he comes in, once Miles is in the snuggling spot, and asks for drinnks of water, and hops around the room making various noises.Today I decided at 7:30 am that I wasn't getting more sleep and that coffee and writing were calling, so here I am. When I got up, Charlie spent a full 10 minutes on my lap hugging and cuddling like a little tiny boy. Have I mentioned that he is not a little tiny boy? He's giant.


It is my sweet Lou that gets the shortest stick in terms of cuddles these days. He admittedly spent the most number of years tucked under my right arm but most nights, I make him go to his own bed. Last night he wanted so badly to sleep with me and Julia. I made him a deal that he can sleep with us tomorrow and that appeased him. But I know as well as anyone else that he's at the age that he really doesn't need to be sleeping with me.

So I transitioned it as a treat, like a sleepover, fun and cuddles once in a while and most of the time he sleeps in his own bed.

People will say things like "You'll never get them out of your bed." Really? They gonna go off to college and come home to sleep in my bed every night?

I won't ever get these days of childhood back, nor will my children. I will never regret one night of elbows in my back or someones little head laying on mine like it's a pillow. When I die, if they only thing anyone ever has to say about me is that I gave my children years worth of cuddles, then I'm ok with that.

I will never apologize for our snuggletime roulette. It's one of the best things ever.

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Snuggletime Roulette

I guess you officially call it attachment parenting. I don't even care. I kind of thumb my nose at the term and call it stupid hippie crap. Everyone parents differently. What works for me doesn't work for you, and so on. If attachment parenting includes the fact that I love to sleep with my kids then yeah, guilty as charged.

 

The challenge then becomes the logistics of four snugglers and one mother. 

The girl child has it easy. I'm not ashamed to admit she still sleeps with me. We go to bed together, and we read stories by the light on my iPhone, and make shadow puppets on the wall (mostly bunnies and dinosaurs RAWR). Eventually we settle down into ONE last drink, and some cudly kisses and we're asleep. If I don't move her shortly thereafter, her daddy moves her when he comes to bed. She usually returns some time in the 5 am hour. Toddles back to bed, taps me on the arm and says "mommysnuggle" which is all one word if you're doing it right.

Usually, like today, Miles shows up about 6 or 7am. He rests a hand on my arm if the girl is in his spot. I will move her to her toddler bed and then it's snuggling with Miles and Mommy. Usually though, unless it's VERY early, Miles is UP for the day. He indulges me in some cuddling and kisses, and then as I drift back to sleep he pulls a book out of nowhere and sits and reads. Sometimes he brings two or three books and piles them on me. I don't even care.

Charlie is the X Factor. Some mornings, he beats Miles to the snuggle spot. However Charlie can rarely be quiet, so he giggles and carries on until mom gets up. Or he comes in, once Miles is in the snuggling spot, and asks for drinnks of water, and hops around the room making various noises.Today I decided at 7:30 am that I wasn't getting more sleep and that coffee and writing were calling, so here I am. When I got up, Charlie spent a full 10 minutes on my lap hugging and cuddling like a little tiny boy. Have I mentioned that he is not a little tiny boy? He's giant.


It is my sweet Lou that gets the shortest stick in terms of cuddles these days. He admittedly spent the most number of years tucked under my right arm but most nights, I make him go to his own bed. Last night he wanted so badly to sleep with me and Julia. I made him a deal that he can sleep with us tomorrow and that appeased him. But I know as well as anyone else that he's at the age that he really doesn't need to be sleeping with me.

So I transitioned it as a treat, like a sleepover, fun and cuddles once in a while and most of the time he sleeps in his own bed.

People will say things like "You'll never get them out of your bed." Really? They gonna go off to college and come home to sleep in my bed every night?

I won't ever get these days of childhood back, nor will my children. I will never regret one night of elbows in my back or someones little head laying on mine like it's a pillow. When I die, if they only thing anyone ever has to say about me is that I gave my children years worth of cuddles, then I'm ok with that.

I will never apologize for our snuggletime roulette. It's one of the best things ever.

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Bento Boxes Are My New Crack

I'm not sure why. It started with someone on Plurk getting one. And loving it. Then other people on plurk got them, and people started talking about them and posting pics of them.
And I am kind of addicted to the idea of getting one now.

In terms of portion control they're a win. But, there is something about them that just says LUNCH CAN BE FUN.

I love the idea of filling it with something tasty and good and making it a challenge to see how much goodness can go inside.

It is entirely possible that I only want them because they are cute.
Is that wrong?

I am ordering one that I've painstakingly picked out from all the choices available on the web.

I will let you know if this is actually enough food to feed a 42 year old American mother of 4!
I'm totally excited to find out.

I can't remember the last time I was this fascinated with something. Bizarre, eh?

Bento Boxes Are My New Crack

I'm not sure why. It started with someone on Plurk getting one. And loving it. Then other people on plurk got them, and people started talking about them and posting pics of them.
And I am kind of addicted to the idea of getting one now.

In terms of portion control they're a win. But, there is something about them that just says LUNCH CAN BE FUN.

I love the idea of filling it with something tasty and good and making it a challenge to see how much goodness can go inside.

It is entirely possible that I only want them because they are cute.
Is that wrong?

I am ordering one that I've painstakingly picked out from all the choices available on the web.

I will let you know if this is actually enough food to feed a 42 year old American mother of 4!
I'm totally excited to find out.

I can't remember the last time I was this fascinated with something. Bizarre, eh?

The New Mandatory - 2 Kids or No Kids

Okay I've decided that, after consuming beers with Sarah and raving on about the things and people we hate (and love).............that I think there should be a rule.
It's about your reproduction.

You need to have at least two kids, or none.

Now, stay with me, I've got a reason. It's a good one.

When you just have the ONE kid, well - you're a freak. You worry about shit that doesn't matter, you flip out over the littlest stuff, you're ridiculously over protective - because you have the luxury of being so.

And well, it isn't productive. Or even reasonable.

Example? Oh, ever see those people who completely cover up the baby carrier if there is the slightest wind? Or, just a light rain? Because we all know human babies can't HANDLE a little bit of rain or a slight wind on them - it might DAMAGE them in some way that is irreparable.

Or the people who FLIP STRAIGHT OUT if their kid eats some sugar. Unless your kid is a diabetic or has some wild food allergy - well, ummm.....your kid is fine. Don't let them live on sugar. Be a parent. I'll even admit this - I WAS GUILTY OF THIS SIN.

That's right. When I had the luxury of being a singleton's parent (I didn't know they called a baby born on it's OWN a special name but they do,it's a singleton) - I once about STROKED OUT because my best friend spooned some cake with icing into my 9 month old son's mouth. Inside myself I about SCREAMED "HE'S NEVER HAD SUGAR OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" and felt all righteous about my incredibly brilliant and superior parenting and she obviously had NO FUCKING CLUE what she was doing because MY BABY DIDN'T EAT SUGAR.

Sigh.

As Sarah so aptly put it, now I'm more of the "Yeah my kids are outside licking dirt and then we'll be hitting the McDonald's - later."

When you have more kids, you have to become more practical. Okay licking dirt is bad most likely but in the grand scheme of things, you learn to prioritize. IS THIS GOING TO KILL THEM being the big distinguisher. If it's not going to kill them, you just learn to deal with it differently and are less MANIC and PARANOID - and it's a little easier on you even if it's more hectic.

I think that there are a lot of really NORMAL parents out there who have just one kid, I think it's responsible to look out for what you perceive to be your kids best interest - example, you kid isn't feeling well and you can't put your finger on it - so you say you're gonna be cautious/protective with them.......that's LOGIC. That's a good time not to play with other kids and we other parents appreciate it. We don't want your germs or the possibility of your germs.

But covering up your 8 month old with 3 blankets over their FACE so the WIND doesn't blow on them - well that borders on the insane.

I promise you, evolution has equipped us with the ability to handle WIND. Or, if you like - YOUR LORD GOD has also given you this gift. He also made the wind, so you know, really - enjoy the wind. It's a gift.

OK rant over. I'm having another beer now.

Shut Up - my kids are in bed.

The New Mandatory - 2 Kids or No Kids

Okay I've decided that, after consuming beers with Sarah and raving on about the things and people we hate (and love).............that I think there should be a rule.
It's about your reproduction.

You need to have at least two kids, or none.

Now, stay with me, I've got a reason. It's a good one.

When you just have the ONE kid, well - you're a freak. You worry about shit that doesn't matter, you flip out over the littlest stuff, you're ridiculously over protective - because you have the luxury of being so.

And well, it isn't productive. Or even reasonable.

Example? Oh, ever see those people who completely cover up the baby carrier if there is the slightest wind? Or, just a light rain? Because we all know human babies can't HANDLE a little bit of rain or a slight wind on them - it might DAMAGE them in some way that is irreparable.

Or the people who FLIP STRAIGHT OUT if their kid eats some sugar. Unless your kid is a diabetic or has some wild food allergy - well, ummm.....your kid is fine. Don't let them live on sugar. Be a parent. I'll even admit this - I WAS GUILTY OF THIS SIN.

That's right. When I had the luxury of being a singleton's parent (I didn't know they called a baby born on it's OWN a special name but they do,it's a singleton) - I once about STROKED OUT because my best friend spooned some cake with icing into my 9 month old son's mouth. Inside myself I about SCREAMED "HE'S NEVER HAD SUGAR OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" and felt all righteous about my incredibly brilliant and superior parenting and she obviously had NO FUCKING CLUE what she was doing because MY BABY DIDN'T EAT SUGAR.

Sigh.

As Sarah so aptly put it, now I'm more of the "Yeah my kids are outside licking dirt and then we'll be hitting the McDonald's - later."

When you have more kids, you have to become more practical. Okay licking dirt is bad most likely but in the grand scheme of things, you learn to prioritize. IS THIS GOING TO KILL THEM being the big distinguisher. If it's not going to kill them, you just learn to deal with it differently and are less MANIC and PARANOID - and it's a little easier on you even if it's more hectic.

I think that there are a lot of really NORMAL parents out there who have just one kid, I think it's responsible to look out for what you perceive to be your kids best interest - example, you kid isn't feeling well and you can't put your finger on it - so you say you're gonna be cautious/protective with them.......that's LOGIC. That's a good time not to play with other kids and we other parents appreciate it. We don't want your germs or the possibility of your germs.

But covering up your 8 month old with 3 blankets over their FACE so the WIND doesn't blow on them - well that borders on the insane.

I promise you, evolution has equipped us with the ability to handle WIND. Or, if you like - YOUR LORD GOD has also given you this gift. He also made the wind, so you know, really - enjoy the wind. It's a gift.

OK rant over. I'm having another beer now.

Shut Up - my kids are in bed.

What is that? The 80s Or Something?

ME: Sigh. NO THAT'S NOT THE 80s! That is the 50s!

The boy: Well it looks really old like the 80s.

GAH!

What is that? The 80s Or Something?

ME: Sigh. NO THAT'S NOT THE 80s! That is the 50s!

The boy: Well it looks really old like the 80s.

GAH!