Probably Diagnosable, But Medicated

'Roid Rage

2010-02-17T17:46:00.000-08:00

They start them young these days, I tell you. *sigh*

We've all the nasties the last few days. You know on House, how when the patient has a BRAIN BLEED SWELLING INFLAMMATION STAT! And they shave the head and drill through the skull to relieve the pressure? I want a Do It At Home kit. So, poor Baby A had the worst last few nights, just miserable and yesterday, his sinuses were so swollen that he actually had black eyes. I've never seen that actually happen, just read it in novels with ridiculously purple prose. He can't even nurse without popping off to take a breath. Poor thing. I am grateful, though, that he is older, because I remember what it was like to watch all three of them as newborns, struggling with RSV and not knowing how to breathe through their mouths. Oh so scary.

I couldn't stand to see him so miserable, so I finally took him to see our family doc, - he's a relative and a friend, his name is Phil, but was hastily rechristened Dr. Feel by a 20 month old Sir H upon our first visit to him - who saw a ridiculously inflamed ear infection. He prescribed an antibiotic and gave me a sample of something and said also Tylenol. I try to minimize the drugz, but this babe is miserable, so hells yeah I'm loading him up with whatever will help and get him to sleep and give him relief. When I got home from the pharmacy, I gave him the medicines, and that was awesome, because he likes taking medicine just as much as a cat.

As I was administering, I realize that the sample he gave me wasn't a decongestant as I thought it was, it's a steroid. I was in the middle of screaming bebe who hates everything and I'm KILLING HIM WITH BUBBLE GUM TASTING MEDICINE and so I went ahead and just gave him a dose. I crossed my fingers that he wouldn't turn into the feral Romulus or Remus that his brothers morph into when they've had to have a prednisone hit in the past, but alas. We have a feral baby.

Cute, but feral.

He spent today alternating between lunging out of my arms with all his strength, which is impressive for a 13-month-old, diving off the end of the couch onto the hardwood floor (thankfully, I caught him, since he'd been completely out of control all day and I was following him closely), DYING to nurse, nursing ravenously for 45 seconds, then shoving his body off the couch while still attached, racing away and smacking into a wall like it had suddenly appeared there and not been in the same place for his entire life, then pick up my iPhone and race off laughing MADLY and so hard that he could hardly breathe, while I chased him through the house and while I picked up my phone after he tossed it away, crashing into the dog and squealing into her ear while he flung himself on her like she's a throw rug...

ALL.

DAY.

No nap, no stopping.

At least he's pleasant about it. Unless he isn't getting what he suddenly decided he had to have RIGHT NOW, in which case he might just DIE and is going to scream and scream until he gets it.

Whew. Mama tired.

A conversation

2010-02-16T14:24:00.000-08:00

Thing 1: "Mom, may I use some scissors?"
Me: "Sure!"
Thing 1: "Yessss! Thanks!"
Thing 2 (to Thing 1): "Did Mom said yes?"
Thing 1 (to Thing 2): "Yeah."
Thing 2 (to me): "GOOD JOB, MOM! YAY!" "You get a sticker!"

Yum, yum, yum. Delisi-OH-so!

2010-02-05T17:55:00.000-08:00

Just finished cleaning up the crumbs from dinner - nothing left but a memory of what was the Katrina Cooks Puff Pancake! I have a cast iron griddle, but not a skillet, so I used a cake pan, preheated it and melted the butter in the microwave. I whipped the ingredients with some added Herbes de Provence in my KitchenAid standing mixer for about 5 minutes, while I shredded some cooked turkey breast and grated mozzarella.

Poured the butter into the heated round cake pan, then the batter, then sprinkled the turkey breast and cheese on top, popped that bad boy in the oven and 10 minutes later...golden deliciousness. It was fabulous! The cheese was bubbling on top, and just browning enough to know that you were about to bite into a warm mess of soft, thick, melty heaven.

What a great base recipe. I'm planning a arugula and Gruyere puff for early next week. Home run, and thank you to Katrina for the recipe, it was perfect! I dirtied 3 items, and it only took a max of 20 minutes including bake time. Thing 1 gobbled 3 pieces down, he's eating anything that isn't nailed down at this point in his life. Thing 2 puffed out his bottom lip and said, "Don't WIKE it!" and remained committed to his random hunger strike he's been on for a week, and Thing 3 signed "more more more more" frantically as he plowed through 2 giant slices. DPlayer and I both snarfed it down, too, and I was impressed that it looks akin to a souffle, so the presentation made me feel like a rock star, too.

Dinner WIN!

Sweet Boy Said WHA?

2010-02-03T11:58:00.000-08:00

I got all purty the other day, since I was dropping off some candles to the boutique. Have I mentioned that? That I have a fancy-pants boutique that buys my candles? Yeah. That's right. So, anyway, I had to take the whole circus into the boutique and I wanted to look vaguely professional. I put on one of my favorite tops, a fitted red light cashmere sweater with 3/4 sleeves, my perfect pair of jeans and my "kick yer ass" boots. I'm usually in yoga pants and clogs or something, so the kids were all, "*Gasp!* WHAT'S HAPPENING?! WHERE'S MY MOM?!" And I had to quickly explain that no, we weren't going to the museum or to go shopping for new clothes, we were going to a very important place where Mommy does her business and work and they needed to keep their hands to themselves and not argue or fight or race or touch or do anything that would MAKE MAMA LOOK BAD OR I WILL WHOOP YOUR ASS....*pop* Sorry, that was my Xanax bottle again...

Anyway, I was explaining to them about the boutique and how we behave in places where there are lots of "pretties", and Thing 2 piped up, "Mom! I wike your red shirt! You wook so pwetty!" I stopped in my tracks and felt tears spring to my eyes (YES I get teary a lot with my kids I'll fight you in the back alley if you have something to say about it) and I responded, "You sweet boy! Thank you! What a kind thing to say! I like your blue shirt!"

And then he lifted up one neon-green-Croclet-enclad foot and grinned his Dr. Eeeeevil grin that means he's about to do something brilliant and turrible and said, "I STOMP IT OFF YOU!" and almost fell out of his carseat he was laughing so hard.

I love that kid.

It's the 100th day!

2010-02-01T20:31:00.000-08:00

I blogged a couple weeks ago about the 100th day of school and this idea the school had to collect 100 things that can fit into a Ziploc bag, quart-size, and are to be sewn on a brand-new white t-shirt. I have had some random and serious butthurt about this assignment, due to the choking hazard issue to baby A, the collecting business (how the hell am I supposed to keep up with 100 small items when I can't even keep shoes on Thing 2?) and the whole gluing/sewing thing. Since he's - you know - SIX! I obviously will be the one doing it.

In my grousing, I received some great ideas, and we took one and ran with it. Behold my revenge:

My sweet little guy wanted his and his brothers' initials on it, so it reads "H B A" and then the pocket is outlined with bells, there are some on the sleeves and around the collar. I'm looking forward to hearing next year's plan for the 100th day of school.

These Things Just Happen

2010-01-31T20:58:00.000-08:00

Late last week, the Three Things and I made a trip to the WalMart (argh!) after picking up the H-Man from kindergarten. We walked in and I saw a table set up with a group I recognized from a few previous encounters. This is what I know about them: they sell wooden crosses and they have some organization for youth and they are Christians and they are aggressive and they REALLY want you to buy their crosses and they make LOTS of notes in a blue binder as they interact with people. So, I was predisposed to walk quickly but politely past them, not particularly interested in being harangued and noted in The Blue Binder OF DOOOOOOM!

Of course, the crowds parted as we walked by, and the three munchkins wanted to touch and see and HI HOW ARE YOU?! and I'm gritting my teeth and pulling them into the store while trying to stay polite and calm, and yes, we are the only people around. So, the whole time, I'm chatting with my guys, just visiting with them, since I had just picked up the H-Dawg and holding the little dude, since he's 13 months and too wee to walk in the parking lot, and we're just hanging and having a good time. So, playing, playing, talking, chatting and playing and ZOMG AVOIDING THE SOLICITORS!, we didn't slip the trap, and start talking to the women. They turned out to be remarkably nice and kind. There were two of them, and one in particular began complimenting me on what wonderful parenting I was doing with the boys. She remarked about how many families they see entering and exiting the store, and how loving and kind I was with the little guys. I was really taken aback, and to be completely honest, a little suspicious that they were just buttering me up to try to get me to buy or donate, but I was flattered and really touched no matter the motive.

I told her how much her words meant to me, and she said, with complete conviction and honesty, "I can just tell how much you love your kids. They are really blessed to have you." Tears sprang to my eyes and I thanked her again for her kindness and her words of encouragement and apologized for not having any cash to give to their cause, and made my way into the store. We got our cart, taking a moment to settle six hands and feet into their proper and safe positions, when I sensed a flurry of activity behind me. The second woman who had been tending the table rushed up to me, obviously making sure to catch me before I headed off, and handed me a small, simple and beautifully dark stained cross. She said, "We just wanted you to have this. Thank you so much for being such an inspiration."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I seriously cried.

Over the last 5 days or so, since this happened, this cross that was a symbol of my attitude of avoidance and negativity being turned into a blessing has been appearing in the hands of my children at random times, almost exactly at moments when I need an uplift. Suddenly, I will have Thing 2 appear with this little cross in his hands and he'll say, "Here, Mommy. Here's your cwoss. You weft it on da couch." Or Sir H will zip by and veritably toss it at me with a "Hey, you left this on the island Mom! I know it's your special!"

So, you tell me. What is it about life that makes these things happen? Just at the right moment.

Erp.

2010-01-22T21:46:00.000-08:00

So, Thing 2 started puking on Wednesday night. Then I started up in the middle of the night on Thursday. DPlayer apparently is Mr. Important Man At Work and hauled ass to his job and my saintly mother came and rescued poor Thing 2 from a day of television and cookie crumbs while I lay on the bathroom floor and in the bed with Thing 3, who also wanted in on the puking action. Every time this business strikes, I remember how awful it is, and then it fades into memory.

Pray that Mr. President (Thing 1) doesn't get it, he has escaped so far. Now I'm off to scour the house with bleach and since it's already spic-and-span from the ridiculous CPS overreaction I had yesterday (SO WHAT SHUT UP), it shouldn't be too difficult.

PANIC!

2010-01-21T15:16:00.000-08:00

Baby A and I have both been feeling nasty, so we've been at the ENT a few times in the last few weeks. I've seen this ENT since I was about Thing 1's age, so 6? 7?ish, and he knows my family like the back of his hand. He has a new Physician's Assistant, and we saw her last week for the first time. I loved her! She has four kids, and was really helpful and kind and thorough. When I called this morning, they fit us in with her again, and I was actually pleased.

During the exam, she noticed a bruise on Baby A's ear of all places, and I, in my exhaustion and sickness, responded mom-to-mom, "You know, who knows. He's at that stage where he toddles and loses his balance, you know how it is! HA!" She got all quiet and weird and I think I put my foot in it, people! I feel like such an idiot, like an airplane passenger who joked about sneaking a bomb through at security. So she made this note in his chart and then got all super sleuthy and now I'm convinced that CPS is going to show at my door tonight. I called DPlayer frantically, and he got home about an hour early and he whisked the kids out the door so I can clean and purge and be manic all over the house.

I may never sleep again. PANIC! PANIC!

Oh, and, apparently, I'm blogging instead of cleaning, but I just took out three bags of trash (I didn't even know we had three bags of stuff, much less three bags to throw away!), and I'm having dinner. SO THERE.

Also? I can't believe I'm actually posting this, and going to share this, but I'm firmly committed to talking about the things that "we" don't talk about because of embarrassment and are you KIDDING me? Having a CPS report is SO one of those things. Now off to clean and wait and wonder and wait and wonder and wait....

Day 100 of Kindergarten

2010-01-19T16:34:00.000-08:00

Apparently, there are so few holidays and celebrations and cupcakes and parties and cookies and money and fundraisers and pencils and treasure box items and Clorox wipes and box tops and receipts and Promised Land dairy caps and Capri Sun pouches that we need to collect/be aware of/donate/celebrate that we made a new one up a while back! The 100th day of school! WHEE!

They have to collect 100 things that all:

1) fit into a quart size ziploc bag (and apparently they hate my baby, because that automatically is a choking hazard for him)
2) can be gathered and NOT LOST by Feb 2nd
3) can be glued onto a white shirt...which OH BY THE WAY!...

They also need to procure a white t-shirt that is new ) and you "may want to" glue the 100 items ON the shirt because they're going to wear them to school with the items on them? But still, [b]make sure they wear their uniform pants![/b] Bolded theirs. Of course, all this "they" and "theirs" and "they're" means "you" and "yours" and "you're" because he's SIX.

To sum up:
100 things (BE CREATIVE! That sound? That was me popping open my bottle of Xanax.)
choking hazards
have to buy a new t-shirt that's thick and heavy
gluing on 100 small items on a shirt, which sounds HEAVENLY!
no one ever misplaces anything around here
uniform pants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :nono:

Give me something awesome and creative and fun to do instead of pennies, because I can see where this is headed right now. Pennies. The night before. With lots of wine and profanity. Or just Xanax. And profanity. Always profanity.

The Longest Day

2010-01-06T22:05:00.001-08:00

Remember how I was going to be blogging during homework time? Yeah. Well, see what had happened was? Life had come undone? And I had fallen down the rabbit hole along with it? So, the day after I posted the previous blog post, I couldn't get my laptop to boot up. I went to borrow DPlayer's laptop, and in the process of signing in, stumbled across an email from this girl. Long story short, inappropriate entanglement, not an affair, but too much investment outside the marriage, things improved a little, we coasted, then one random night, we just had this THING. And I never know where to draw the line with the oversharing, so for now, and since it's late, I'll just say that he blew up at me in front of the kids and dropped a few f-bombs. I immediately told him to leave, he refused, I got the baby and left, went to sob at my parents' house, fun times ensued.

Weeks passed, he dug in his heels, decided he was going to die on that hill, and with great sadness, we told the boys that Daddy was going to be moving into a new house and they would be visiting him there. That was awesome. I'll just step outside the story for a moment and say that seeing the look in their eyes at that moment, and seeing how they reacted to that - nothing makes you feel more like a failure at parenting than revealing to your 5 year old and 2 year old that Mommy and Daddy suck and that their firm foundation of family can fracture and break all around them. Thing 1 initially thought it was a great idea, thinking we were all going to have a second residence, Thing 2 got it immediately, and withdrew into his train table Thomas set. I kept trying to talk to him and see if he understood, and he acted like he couldn't hear anything I was saying. It was awful. And looking back, I'm feeling angry all over again that DPlayer put the onus on me to do it, and that I went ahead and did it, because he "just couldn't", and he got to sit there in suffering silence with tears while I did the Bad Guy Storytime.

Finally, after asking him lots of different ways about his feelings, I flat out asked Thing 2, "Are you feeling bad?" and he nodded, without looking away from his trains that he was making crash violently into each other. I said, "Oh, honey, so am I. I feel so bad and sad. I'm so sorry. This is very sad." He looked up, with a thunderous look on his face, and furiously said to DPlayer, "Mommy and me are sad. We feel bad!" And went back to wrecking the Island of Sodor. The effects on Thing 1 happened more over time, and as usual, manifested themselves in anxiety, a constant need to please and do everything and hoard toys and not throw anything away and always know where everyone is and what time it is and are we on time to school and did you sign my folder yet and what if A flushes my toy down the toilet and did you forget to start the washer Mom Mom MomMomMomMOMOMOMOMOMOMMMMMMMMMMMMM?!

My precious boys. I just don't deserve them.

Thankfully,I happened to have a maintenance appointment with my [s]drug pusher[/s] psychiatrist, and he was floored when he found out what was happening. He sees DPlayer for his ADD and has a separate relationship with him, and when he found out that D was moving out on the upcoming Friday, Dr. Drugs asked me to reconsider if he could come up with a plan that I felt comfortable with. I agreed, I told him that I would do anything and everything within healthy boundaries to save our relationship.

So, thanks to Dr. Drugs, we are seeing a new highly specialized and amazing psychotherapist who is highly adept. We don't see her nearly as often as we would like, due to childcare issues and DPlayer's work schedule, but the sessions with her, and our monthly sessions with Dr. Drugs have managed to extricate an actual marriage from what used to be a pile of ruins. It's hard work, but I am feeling for the first time in a very, very, very long time, as if DPlayer actually wants to be married and do what it takes to stay that way. I've missed him very much.

Because I am getting some affection and fulfillment from my marriage, I am again finding energy for things outside of simply treading water just enough to keep breathing. I no longer want to drive my car into oncoming traffic, and so, I look forward to blogging more often. No promises that I will do this every day, let's just call a spade a Danielle and realize that I am unpredictable. We will all be much happier.

I HATE SCHOOL! Update: WE LOVE SCHOOL AND HATE HOMEWORK!

2009-09-22T15:13:00.001-07:00

I'm wondering when kindergarten became the new third grade. This kid has about an hour-and-a-half of homework per night. I pick him up, we get home and he is Free Range Kid for about 30 minutes, then we get right to the work. He generally has two worksheets a night, I need to initial his accountability folder, we go over the letter he's working on and the memory verse that goes along with it, and BAM, it's 5:00. Time to start eating dinner for these guys. And I haven't even started making it yet. It's 5:30 now and he's finishing his number sheet and this has been the easiest day so far. Yesterday? And I'm NOT EVEN EXAGGERATING we had an epic homework battle. One of us was lying on the floor moaning, "I HATE KINDERGARTEN!" and the other one was on the phone with DPlayer, out of earshot, hollering, "I HATE KINDERGARTEN!"

You'd think that was the nadir, right? Well, you'd be wrong! From there, it actually devolved. It was ugly. There may or may not have been stomping, tongue-sticking, screaming and general mayhem. There were multiple time-outs and door-slams just as exclamation points at the end of tantrums. All in two hours! We're gifted in this house.

Today has been so much better. As I finish this, we just put away the folders and he rocked four worksheets in the same time it took to plod through 2 yesterday. Ohhhhhhhhh...I just realized yesterday was Monday. YAY ME! Note to self, and to those who will remind me - Mondays take extra patience and will usually be difficult as we adjust to a new school week. I really do love his school, I better, since we're paying for it. Extra, on top of taxes, that is. He's in a small private school this year, which we chose for a myriad reasons. Because you are just RIVETED, I will expound on that in another post, but for now I will just say - small. private. school. and leave you hanging. It's time to feed the zoo.

I promised!

2009-09-21T14:20:00.000-07:00

So my new resolution is to set aside the time that the kids are "doing homework" to update the blog. And by "doing homework" I mean that the 5-year-old brand-new kindergartener whines about having to scribble with crayons all over his coloring sheet that is apparently of überimportance in the formation of his formal schooling, while the 2-year-old chatters and colors his coloring book and the 8-month-old alternates between screaming, grabbing at the papers on the table and racing for crayons to eat as they hit the ground. Somewhere in there, I've also been trying to make dinner. And cure cancer.

Now, instead of getting grilled chicken with pie nut couscous and some edamame for dinner, the Dawgs are going to have to be content with frozen pizza and a carrot and a mom who has spent a few minutes doing something adult and that makes herself feel autonomous. Quelle horror! They're going to be thrilled.

O HAI!

2009-09-20T20:48:00.001-07:00

Dear blog,

I am sorry that I've neglected you. I'm sorry that I left you bereft. I thought of you many times, but as time passed, and distance grew, I became more and more convinced that what I had to say would be trite, meaningless, after such a long separation. I'm finally taking a deep breath, and typing these words in the hopes that you and I will manage to repair our breach, the chasm that has developed oh yea these many days. I look forward to visiting you often, to breaking free of the chains of fear that have kept me silent.

Until tomorrow (oh yes, I shall return tomorrow),
The One Who Missed You

Enjoying it while I can

2009-03-11T04:56:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, Sir H. informed me that in Finding Nemo, "their Danielle died". As my name is Danielle, I was surprised, because I usually remember when characters in movies or books share my name. I asked him to repeat what he said, and he told me again that "their Danielle died". When asked to elaborate, he said, "You know, Nemo's mom and Marlin's...um..." "Marlin's...you know, his Danielle." I asked, "Marlin's wife?" He said, "Yes! Marlin's wife. You know, their Danielle." I realized, he was talking about their - ME. Wife/Mother/Female = ME. I'm a generic now, like Kleenex. It made my heart swell an insane amount.

A few days after that, he drew a picture at preschool of our family. He told me that he drew me "like an angel". When I asked him why, he said "because angels are sweet and pretty". Y'all. Seriously. Could I be any happier? Also? Totally reminding him of this when he's 15.

PS

2008-11-12T17:53:00.001-08:00

It's mah birfday on Saturday. :)

Head Pats and Snuggles

2008-11-12T17:42:00.001-08:00

I give 'em all the time. I want some. Boo-hoo, me. Tonight, I did get a little petting. Baby Taz turned 2 on November 1st, and his big gift was a bunk bed that rocks my socks. We got Sir H the canopy for his top bunk, which, when the lights are out, reflects ambient light on the little white spots and makes it look like stars, or snowflakes. Y'all, it is heaven on earth. Sir H was coming into our room every night about 2-3 am, and as he prefers to sleep his-knees-to-our-kidneys, it was getting really old. He informed me that the canopy "doesn't let bad guys or bad dreams in", so he's all set, thank you very much. Taz (no longer Baby, fill in all those conflicted maternal feelings we feel as our babes grow up), has eschewed the awesome and comfy lower bunk (whose mattress sits directly on the floor, ergo, making me feel as if it is safe enough for him) in favor of sneaking up to Sir H's top bunk and entangling himself in Sir H's limbs, there dozing off into blissful sleep. Sir H loves it. Honestly.

Point being, my now 2-year-old, my almost five-year-old, my 33-week pregnant belly, and my 5'9" self were all crammed into the top bunk (yep, it's a twin size!) reading tonight. I turned the light out and as Sir H was juuuuuuust this side of sleep, I wanted to stay until he dozed off all the way. I was lying in between my precious boys, one mostly asleep and still, and the other just wiggling and humming and whispering stuff that I could NOT understand, but he didn't care, and I already felt blessed. Then, these tiny 2-year-old hands reached out for my face, and started patting my cheek. He sucks his thumb, so he was madly getting after his thumb with one hand, and with the other, rubbed and patted my hair and my face for a solid minute or two. I just about swooned. Then, his fingers wandered to the front of my face and he attempted to drive his pointer finger into my eye socket, so I figured that the patting and snuggling was over. I just love them.

Taking care of Mama

2008-11-05T17:06:00.001-08:00

I've been really struggling lately. I was reevaluating my medications, my sleep habits, my diet, all the things that can make one feel off or grumpy or just plain weary. Everything seems to be in order, and I'm not having any emotional or physical symptoms that would be red flags for depression or anything, so I was really confused for a few weeks, wonderful what the hell is wrong with me. It clicked a few days ago: I'm all tapped out. I'm touched out, I'm pregnant-ed out, I'm giving-ed out, I'm patient-ed out, I'm altrustically void. And guess what? That's.....OH-KAY! It was actually a really interesting (to me) way that it clicked, I kind of have to be smacked in the face to really get that I'm not taking care of myself. So many of us are other-focused, especially with young kids and a household to run, or a career, that we neglect our own care until we are in shambles. So, I needed a big old SIGN FROM THE UNIVERSE, apparently.

I was putting away some papers into my obsessive-compulsive outlet file folder that keeps me from going crazy, and I stumbled across a few pages of notes that I made about a year ago. It was the first meeting of my new group that I was heading up at our old church, which focused on praying for our kids. I really feel passionately about moms taking care of ourselves, so my whole first group meeting was focused on taking care of yourself so that you can take care of your kids. I sat on the floor and realized that for the last (how long have I been pregnant? Thirty-billion years?), I've been putting the oxygen mask on the kids over and over and not only putting myself last, but neglecting to put it on at all. You know, like in the event of an emergency, on a plane? No? Okay. Just me, then.

Rereading my notes, I rediscovered this story. I don't remember anything about the origin, I don't remember finding it, but I remember that it made me feel the same way then that it did today.

A few hikers in the forest came across a man attempting to saw down a tree. They offered to help, but he politely declined. Upon their return trek, five hours later, they saw the same man, at the same tree, still sawing, and not having made much progress. One of the hikers suggested, "Why don't you take a moment to sharpen your saw?" And the man frantically replied, "I can't! I'm too busy sawing!"

How many times have I sat there and tried to parent, tried to clean, organize, accomplish, change, and I am left feeling thwarted and frustrated? But if someone comes along and suggests that I shine up my parenting, cleaning, organizing, et. al, tools, my immediate response is one of shock and denial. I CAN'T go get a massage! I don't have the time! The money! The willingness! I can't get my hair cut! I don't have a babysitter! But when I plan ahead, and make those things happen, my tools are sharpened, and I think we all know how much better we feel and how things just seem to go much more smoothly. It doesn't have to be indulgent stuff like manis and pedis, either. I have given up feeling guilty for napping when Baby Taz naps, when I could be foldinglaundryvacuumingpickingupknittingmakinglistscooking the list is, literally, endless. I stop and play cars when Sir H asks me to. But guess what? If I really don't want to play cars? I don't. And I'm working on not feeling guilty about it.

A while back, I was talking to my daddy about the anxieties of parenting and the worry I carry around about screwing up my kids. Another common concern among mothers, I know, and because I already deal with an anxiety disorder, I can really allow myself to get bogged down in it. I was having a great conversation with my wise father about it, and I said something quite close to, "Because, you know, taking care of my kids is The Most Important Job I will ever have." He became quiet for a moment, thinking, then responded, "I disagree. I think your most important job is taking care of your kids' mother."

As if that weren't kick in the pants enough, I was talking to my mother last night about some difficulties, and she said, "It breaks my heart that I can't take care of your problems for you. So, will you do something? Will you take care of my daughter for me?"

Okay.

Okay.

I don't know how, but I'm learning.

The Pregnancy

2008-10-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

Well, if the Old Wives' Tales have any validity at all, this little sucker is not only a girl, but a really strong-willed one. This is most definitely our last baby, The Huz and I are in more than 100% agreement about that. There will be no Business Happening until someone gets fixed permanently, of that we both agree. Ergo, I'm doing all those things I always wanted to do. First, we're not finding out the sex of this baby, second, I'm committed to not getting an epidural barring unforseeable complications, and third...um, something else cool.

But, wow, how different this one has been. With the boys, I felt nauseated with them, fairly constantly for a few long weeks during the first trimester. With this one, I was chained to the toilet, or had to carry a plastic bag with me from week 6 until week 16. Now, that's what I call FUN. I had no trouble sleeping with either of the boys, I napped like crazy and slept 12 hours at night. This time, I'm plagued with insomnia and lie awake for hours at night, no matter how exhausted I am. I'm also carrying very differently, my belly is all out in front and straight and all my weight is in the belly, which is great, but with both boys, I got a little heavier everywhere, and I carried much further back in my body. I also have a fantastically uncomfortable umbical hernia, which is really becoming exacerbated now that the belly is getting bigger. Anytime I sneeze, laugh too hard or forget to tighten my (quickly vanishing) ab muscles, it pops out and oh, it hurts. It feels like a particularly sensitive bruise, and any time it is touched, even if I accidentally brush it against something, it radiates pain. Super comfy. Of course, the boys think it's really cool that my belly button (or "bey butt" as Baby Taz calls it) sticks out so far, so they're always randomly poking at it, and wow, it's almost always unexpected. Then, of course, it's high-LAR-ious that Mommy jumps that high when we stick our finger in her bey butt, so let's sneak up on her and do it again!

I'm coming through much of the ambivalence to a place of peace and excitement. I've had some really wonderful bonding moments in the last few weeks, and I hold on to the thought that each time I've been pregnant, I've been terrified. That pregnancy, for me, is definitely not the exciting thing. I'm not a woman that loves, or even particularly likes, being pregnant. I didn't particularly like being engaged. I was engaged for the purpose of being married, and I'm pregnant for the purpose of mothering my sweet babies. Now that I have two pregnancies under my belt, I can at least accept that even if it does make me cold-hearted, pregnancy doesn't do a thing to make me feel all warm and cuddly, but once that baby is born, I will sacrifice anything and everything (except my other babies) for that child, and nothing can come between us. I don't really believe it now, but I do know it will happen.

I wonder what the baby will look like? It's fun to postulate. For some reason, the sex isn't all that important to me anymore. I was so scared of having a girl that I could have fainted, but now, I can see all the wonderful attributes of having a daughter. When Sir H started his preschool year at the beginning of September, we had Annual School Haircut Day, and the big boys (The Huz and Sir H) lined up for cuts. I had just gotten a Mini Boden catalog in the mail, and had spent at least an hour poring through the pictures of the younger boys, trying to find a style that I liked that would work with Sir H's hair. I had it narrowed down to three, and the next night, I excitedly took the pictures into the dining room at dinner to show the Huz and Sir H. I sat down and told them that I had been looking through the catalog, had some pictures to show them, elaborated on each hairstyle and how it would work with his hair texture, and then asked them for their opinions and looked up as I waited for their responses. My eyes met a blank stare (Sir H) and a slightly frightened and overwhelmed wide-eyed look (The Huz). We sat in silence as about 5 seconds ticked by, and I finally sighed and said, "I need a daughter, don't I." Sir H recommenced shoveling food into his mouth and The Huz took a deep breath when he saw that he was off the hook and nodded his head emphatically, just happy not to have had to make a choice.

For the record, the haircuts turned out seriously kickass.

The Joys of Dorkiness

2008-10-15T19:20:00.000-07:00

So, I'm pulling out of the Chili's parking lot (the baby was demanding a molten chocolate cake), and I'm imagining telling The Huz about my doctor's visit and having the conversation in my head about what I wanted to tell him about my weight gain and how I'm getting close to my personal limit, and I was getting all worked up about my unhappiness about gaining 3 pounds this month, even though I know it's not that much, and I am totally talking out loud, as if The Huz is there in the car with me, because that's how I roll, right? So, I'm backing up, and I realize all at the same time that not only am I using facial expressions, emphasizing words and USING HAND GESTURES, but I'm also being stared at by a dude with his girlfriend/wife, whom, I realize, has been staring for longer than a second, and thinking that I have lost my damn mind. For some reason, I was so embarassed that I cared what Someguy thought that I TOTALLY put my hand up to my ear, as if I were wearing a Bluetooth, and kept talking, as if I WEREN'T crazy, and had been actually on the invisible phone the whole time and it was all cool and whatevs, dude, so quit staring. I'm pretty sure I even laughed breezily at something "The Huz said". I scare myself. Your turn. Please.

I've been avoiding putting up an update

2008-06-06T10:11:00.000-07:00

because not everyone knew about our news! However, my sweet mother is so excited that as of last week, pretty much everyone that would read this in my real life has been informed that we are expecting a third babe, and now that the shock and awe has (mostly) worn off, we are getting pretty excited! The Huz just got back from a three day trip out of town for work, and I got quite overwhelmed wondering how I would handle three small people all on my own in times like that. But, I remember two years ago, being terrified about adding a second child, and wondering how I could possibly be a good mom to two kids at the same time, and my boys seem fairly content, so I keep hanging on to the idea that we'll figure it out the same way.

Since this was quite the surprise, we don't have an exact date for the arrival, like we did for the boys, which is quite the challenge for a person who already struggles with anxiety. It's been a battle to let that go and remember that the baby will arrive when s/he is supposed to, and we do know within a few days, at least, when the conception happened, but I like to know Exactly When That Was, so I'm learning in this journey, too, as often happens. Funny how that is. We plan to find out the gender, but since I'm only 10 weeks along, we have time until then. I've been knitting tiny things like crazy, and my first pair of longies seem giant for a newborn, but may fit a one-year-old, so they may go in the drawer for a long while! Knitting newborn pants is much faster than knitting something for Baby Taz, that's for sure (pictures coming soon to show off my new yarn)!

Anyway, when we first went in to confirm the pregnancy and that it was viable and healthy, and get dates, it was just a few days too early to see a heartbeat, so all we saw was the embryo as a white spot inside of the gestational sac, so baby's nickname became Spot, and has stuck with him or her, ergo, when I reference Spot, it will be the little guy growing in there and making me sick all day long (hopefully not for much longer!). Spot's due on Sir H's birthday, on 12/31, and we'll see how that pans out when we get close, my best guess will be that the arrival will be a few days before that, because I think the conception was actually two days before, and I think I will follow the pattern I've set with the boys: Sir H was birthed at 40w6d, Baby Taz at 40w1d, and I think this one will be either 40w1d or 40w on the dot (or spot, heh).

Feel free to make gender and birthdate predictions, love to hear them!

Yarny Goodness

2008-04-21T05:26:00.001-07:00

I'm making some slippers out of this delicious yarn. I'm so not a slippers girl, but I have Reynaud's Syndrome, a fancy name for my-toes-go-numb-and-lose-feeling-at-random-times-mostly-when-cold. So, I fell in love with these little guys. You know you're jealous.

I've finished the actual shoes, and it took me about 4 tries to figure out the attached I-cord, but I finally got it. I ditched her directions and used my own, and we'll see...pictures will come when I am finished!

Stifling One's Laughter In Order to Appear Disciplinary

2008-04-19T18:07:00.000-07:00

I just had to tell Sir H to "go back to bed" for the forty-eleventh time tonight, and he walked away, kicked at the floor and muttered, "That's the most ridic-yee-lus thing I've ever heard."

April

2008-04-13T19:48:00.000-07:00

So I've been knitting like crazy, it keeps me from killing people. Or poking them with sharp sticks. So far, I have refrained from poking small people (or the large one) with the needles. Cross your fingers that I will continue in that successful vein.

In other news, I took my first pictures of my products for my Etsy shop, which is currently empty, but exists, at henryandco.etsy.com. I'm really looking forward to doing some business again. I've missed it.

Oh, and quick note - Sir H is still royalty, but The Bear has more than earned his new appelation...Baby Taz. As in the Tasmanian Devil from Looney Tunes. He is a whirling dervish, and makes quite the hilarious noises and "talking" that is remarkably like the baby version on the Baby Looney Tunes version.

Well, butter my biscuit and call me Sally...

2008-03-25T11:19:00.001-07:00

Uncle R. was only 64. That's just astounding. That's so young! The Huz is in Chicago for the wake and funeral. I was going to go, we were trying to figure out how to juggle the kiddos, maybe take The Bear, since I can still carry him as a lap child, and fly back the same day, but then I found out it was an open casket. *gulp*

I'm not skeeved out by death, I believe in a wonderful afterlife, and that death is merely the beginning of the rest of our eternity, but I'm not particularly interested in sitting in the same room with Uncle R's body for 6 hours for a wake. Uh-uh. That clinched it for me. So, The Huz is there, we're here and missing him, and hoping that the family is able to grieve and find peace in the joy of Uncle R's life.

Rest in Peace, Dear Uncle R.

2008-03-24T08:22:00.000-07:00

We lost a wonderful person on Saturday. The Huz's only uncle, to whom he felt very close, and his mother's only living relative besides a distant cousin, died after a few weeks of illness. He has lived for a long time with many different ailments, so his 72 years were truly a miracle, especially that he was able to continue to work, travel and do all the other things he loved. Uncle R. was truly a bright light in the world, and our lives will be a bit dimmer without his presence.

Wherever he went, he left a trail of smiles around him. He constantly poked fun at himself, but never joked at the expense of others. He always had a kind word to say to those around him. I literally cannot count the number of times he said my children were "lucky to have such a wonderful mother". How could you not love him? He was a handsome man, in a goofily endearing type of way. He had white grey hair, with a bulbous nose and a slight lisp, a heavily Chicagoan accent, and shuffled everywhere he went. He was extremely comfortable in his own skin, and it wasn't unusual to hear his feet shuffling into the kitchen at 10 pm for his midnight snack (since he went to bed at 6 pm), sneaking a sugary snack behind his sister's back (his personal food police), and then hearing a fart escape and him remarking, "Hmmm...must have stepped on a frog or something..." and then his feet shuffling back to the bedroom.

He was up for any adventure, and for his 70th birthday, he treated us to a vacation in Hawai'i, where we were able to enjoy a week of Uncle R's presence and geniality and good humor and leave relaxed and refreshed. Watching the close relationship between he and his sister, my mother-in-law, made me long for a brother, and reminded me of the importance to call my sister as soon as I got back home.

He was an avid collector of art, and since he was a humble man, I walked into his 3-story Riverside home, after knowing him for 6 years, to find that his walls were lined with original Picassos, Monets, Cassatts and numerous other works by Huge Names and local artists, just hanging on the wall in a home without any sort of special climate control or lighting. Around every corner was a new find, staying there was like living in the novel From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler for three days.

His life partner, T., not often spoken of in The Huz's family, due to their unspoken agreement to ignore Uncle R's predilection to The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name, was a kind and quiet man, and the two of them enjoyed decades of a fulfilling life of shared interests while allowing each other freedom to pursue their own travels and hobbies. It was truly a relationship to admire.

We will miss you, Uncle R. We love you very much, and will always remember your kindness, your humor and your smile.

Look What I Can Do!

2008-03-10T07:41:00.000-07:00

For the uninitiated, these are generally called longies, made from wool yarn. They are used as an all-in-one diaper cover and pant for those who cloth diaper. Since we only sporadically use cloth for the Bear, I made his out of a wool/cotton blend, and they are offically named his Easter Egg Longies. I am particularly partial to the navy and red fire truck top with the pastel colors. Heh. I knew that if I tried to change his top to get a picture of the pants with a matching shirt, there would be no pictures at all.

They are entirely too huge, so he will be wearing them into next winter, which is great, there's plenty of room to grow. I still need to add a waist tie, to be able to cinch it around the waist. It's necessary because as he was walking around in them last night, I walked into the kitchen to see his bare bottom with the pants around his ankles. Cute bootie, but not so much for public consumption. In fact, this is how much too big they are:

So, now Sir H wants a pair. He wants this pair, but the crotch hits at mid-thigh, so I'm knitting him some jammie pants from some delicious Loft yarn that is so soft and stretchy that I'm going to be jealous of his pants. I'm so proud of myself. Tell you what - it's a great anxiety reliever for me. I also don't snack at night much anymore, because my hands are busy, and my brain is engaged just enough to not think about anything else, but not so much that I can't veg to an old episode of King of Queens. Go knitting!

These Three Words

2008-03-07T06:24:00.000-08:00

So, I have this friend who has a blog inspired by a segment she saw on a talk show, about photographing yourself with three words that resonate with you. Fun, huh? Here's her blog:

http://those3words.wordpress.com/

These are my contributions so far:

Check it out, and send her your own masterpieces! Let your voice be read!

Thankful

2008-03-04T19:40:00.000-08:00

I was sitting here, knitting and watching a DVRed show when it hit me how incredibly happy I am at this moment. What a blessed life I lead, how many things I have for which to be grateful.

I have a great friend with whom I have a standing lunch date after we pick our big boys up from preschool 2x per week, after which I live in an area that has gorgeous, amazing weather, and I have the ability and health to walk with my boys while Sir H. rides his big boy bike (no training wheels since he was 3!), and my precious boys love to play together, and play outside and exercise and walk. The mountain laurels are blooming, so I was taking giant breaths of sweet grape scent with every step. We stopped and played in my parents' backyard, because I have parents who love my children only second to how much we love them.

Then, I was able to make a healthy, homecooked meal because we are able to not just buy, but also have easy access to organic and whole foods, and have children who are easy to please when it comes to food. I have friends who trust me to sit with their kiddos as they slept while my friends went to the primary caucus tonight, and when I returned home, I have one sick baby that is finally sleeping, which is a huge blessing, and a husband who had picked up the house, wanted to talk for a few minutes to connect with me, and a big boy who asked me to come snuggle with him and read a book and tell a story. Then, all three of my men go to sleep, and I'm sitting here, having found a medication that gets rid of my nerve pain, feeling physically good for the first time in a long time, knitting, and torn between deciding if I want to sit on our comfortable couch, in our comfortable and lovely and peaceful home, and continue to knit to my heart's content while I watch something fluffy on TV, or if I want to get in the bath and read my new books from the library that I'm completely pumped about, and go to bed early and snuggle up with my pillows and my big boy who is in our bed tonight.

Does life get any better? Wow, I'm literally tearing up. God, thank you for my precious family.

One Pot, One Pan, 10 Minutes = Healthful Dinner

2008-03-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm fudging a little bit, but let me break it down for you: I just spent about 7 minutes from start to finish making some fantastic healthy (yes, healthy) macaroni and cheese. Appeals to the shorties and the grown-ups alike!

Make ahead:

2 boxes elbow macaroni (I used one box of 100% whole wheat and one box of Barilla Plus)

When you have a few extra minutes on a Sunday, throw a big pot filled with water on the stove and boil these pastas, then drain them and rinse them in cold water. Toss them in a Ziploc and forget about them.

1 whole butternut squash

Some afternoon when you're taking the kids out to play in the backyard, halve the butternut squash length-wise. This can be a difficult task, as the skin is very tough, and that's why I say a silent thank you to hilarious Uncle Reggie for his surprise gift of a RonCo 52-billion-piece knife set! Shipped directly to our door! With a free flavor injector! and pull out the big cleaver. Drizzle some olive oil on the bottom of a pan and place squash open-face down, cover with foil and bake for about an hour. Or so. Because if you're outside playing with the kids and you come in 2 hours later and the house smells warm and yummy, the squash will be okay. I'm just sayin'. Scoop out the meat and put it in a tupperware container. Forget about it.

A few weeks later, do this:

Get out your big pot. Saute 1/2 a sweet onion in about 1/4 of olive oil. Sprinkle in about 1/8 c of flour and stir every few minutes until the flour is just beginning to brown and the onions are wilting. Add a dash of nutmeg or, if one is surprisingly out of nutmeg, you can pretend that the "allspice" bottle is actually labeled "nutmeg" and no one will be able to tell. Just a hypothetical. Pour in 4 1/2 cups of skim milk. I actually used 5 oz of evaporated milk to just get the damn thing out of my pantry. Bring to a slow simmer, stirring frequently. Scoop out ~2 cups of the butternut squash (oh yeah, that stuff I forgot about!) and mash it with a fork in a measuring cup. Should be nice and soft, so you're really just mushing it around. Add 4 cups of sharp cheddar cheese, shredded, and 1/2 - 1 cup of parmesan. Stir until cheese is melted in a stringy fashion, then dump in the squash. Stir for a few minutes, until everything looks evenly distributed.

Spray a casserole pan with cooking spray and pour the elbow macaroni (you know, the other stuff you forgot about) into it. Pour cheese mixture on top of macaroni, bake for 30 minutes at 350* and et, voila, cheesy, squashy, pasta-y goodness.

Srsly.

2008-02-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

So, I was driving home tonight, listening to The River radio station, and I'm singing along to "Your Love is Amazing" sung by Phillips, Craig & Dean, and we're on the words, "Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, Your love makes me sing," when all of a sudden, as radio stations are wont to do at night, it fritzed out with a small burst of static and another station came through, so what I heard was...

"Your love makes me sing,"
"Aww! Me so horny!"
"Hallelujah!"

Wouldn't have believed it had it not happened to me.

But I don't waaaaaaaaaanna blog

2008-02-19T12:58:00.000-08:00

It's been too long, though, so here ya go.

We had the MRI last week, and it was hell on wheels for me, The Bear did just fine. No anomolies, so we're clear on any organic issues. The EEG is set for tomorrow, and he has to only sleep from midnight to 4 am, so the Huz and I are pulling shifts.

Apart from that, Sir H is four and I love it. I love four, I LOVE FOUR! I want to shout it from the rooftops that I LOVE FOUR! He is so helpful, and sweet, and fun, and conversational, and opinionated (in a good way) and so...personable. He's amazing. My love bug. I've also started knitting. It's wonderful for anxiety. I really struggle with bouts of depression and anxiety, and sometimes, when the anxiety gets too big, I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. In comes knitting...my hands are moving, my mind is working just hard enough to not dwell on stuff, but not so much that I can't do other things. It's a wonderfully soothing hobby for the evening while I watch a fluff television show, or lie in bed with Sir H. I make killer scarves. They're the easiest thing to make, in case you don't know. I'm currently trying my hand at a hat. I'll share pics when I get somewhere.

EEG and MRI scheduled!

2008-02-04T13:40:00.000-08:00

It's a case of hurry up, see the doctor! Now wait! MRI is on 2/12 and EEG on 2/20. I feel confident in the testing, they will be sedating him for the MRI, which means we have to withhold food from him, the biggest eater and hungriest person in the entire world, seriously. I mean, the kid can polish off an entire enchilada kids' plate at El Ranchito and still want more from my plate. Then, the EEG requires him to be both awake and asleep in order to monitor both brain wave patterns, so he gets to sleep from midnight to 4 am the night before. Eek! Hopefully, The Huz will take the day off so we can take turns napping. After the EEG, we wait for three weeks and then go back to see the neurologist. I'm very confident in him, we had a quick but very informative visit, and The Bear is just growing by amazing leaps and bounds.

He follows Sir H everywhere and thinks he's just big. He loves to play, especially loves to throw balls and has terrific aim. He's picked up a bunch of new words and communication skills in the last few weeks, and it's amazing to watch him explode like this.

I'm also so excited that the neurologist may be able to help me with my migraines. He has some options for me when The Bear weans, so I feel better knowing there may be something we can do, even if it's in the future. Thank you all so much for your prayers, your thoughts, emails and phone calls. We truly wouldn't be able to make it through this without y'all.

January 31st

2008-01-14T19:19:00.000-08:00

The pediatric neurologist's office opened at 8:30 (so said his answering service when I called on Sunday night at 11 pm), so I spent an hour stalking the clock. I swear, that was the slowest hour of my life. I called at 8:28 am, and wouldn't you know it...still the answering service. I waited another 4 minutes, then called back. I spoke with a phone answerer, to whom I gave a brief synopsis. She informed me that "Dr. R. won't order an EEG until after he has a consult with you and the first opening we have is.............................March."

Yeah. That went well. I let her know, kindly, that we weren't going to wait until March, and I would be in there today. We compromised on January 31st. While I want with all my heart to rush in and figure out what's happening, I spoke with two other doctors for second opinions, and they both opined that there was no reason to rush into the test, that two weeks won't hurt anything. As always, in the meantime, we are supposed to head immediately to the Baptist hospital if he has another seizure.

I went to the gym today, hoping to get in my normal yoga hour, and for numerous reasons, I didn't get there until 2 hours after the class was over. I got on the treadmill and was going to walk/jog a mile or so and then do some deep stretching. I ran 4.5 miles. I guess I needed to pound the ground and let some tension out, huh? I can hardly move. Please pray that The Bear doesn't have a seizure tonight, or I may have to stay at home, paralyzed from the neck down.

Okay, don't freak out. He's OKAY, I promise.

2008-01-11T21:02:00.000-08:00

The Bear had two seizures yesterday. They were what are known as focal seizures, which means they affect a portion of the brain, rather than the whole brain as in a generalized seizure. This is how the day went down:

I heard him cry Thursday morning right around his usual time, but I immediately noticed that it was a really sad, quiet cry. He usually calls for me, babbling loudly, but this was a cry, like he was hurt or sad. I went in there, and he was sitting down at the end of his crib, all slumped over. I reached in, and he didn't move. I started gently patting his leg, thinking that maybe he had been woken up by a noise and was still drowsy and not quite with it yet...and he still didn't move. For five minutes - literally - I sat there and rubbed his back while he sat, slumped over, his head falling down toward the mattress and his eyes blinking slowly, like he was about to fall back asleep. Then, he would look up at me with a totally blank look on his face and his eyes wide open, just staring at me. No recognition. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring right through mine. It's like he was just turned off inside. It was scary. Then he would slowly lower his head again and do the slumping/slowly falling thing, then look at me with that look, then go back to slumping. Finally, he kind of raised his arms up and I lifted him out of the crib. He snuggled up on my shoulder, didn't put his thumb in his mouth (which is also really weird, as it's in there 24/7 unless he's eating), and just lay there, totally limp and heavy for another 5-10 minutes. He *always*, and I mean always, wakes up ready to go and play, and eat a billion pounds of food. He didn't want to eat, nothing, not a thing. I finally offered him some teething biscuits, and he uttered his first sound, like a "uh" with his mouth closed that he does sometimes, and he took them. After a minute on my lap, he started to "wake up" and finally, it's like he just clicked on, and took off to play with Sir H and acted totally normally from there.

Then, morning nap time rolled around, and when he gets tired, he won't slow down, I just have to keep my eye on the clock or watch him closely for an eye rub or a yawn, and it's time. Our routine is to take him to his room, swaddle him on Henry's bed, and put him in the crib with some water and put his blanket on him, turn on his aquarium, kiss his forehead and leave. He hasn't been able to go to cosleep since he was about 6 months old. This time, he just kind of wound down. I looked over and he was standing there, with his shoulders slumped, and his face had that blank stare again. His eyes were huge, and no expression on his face. His eyes watched me as I walked over, picked him up, and he slumped on my shoulder with that same limp, loose feeling he had in the morning. No thumb. I went to my bed and I lay down with him on my shoulder, and he stuck his thumb in his mouth and just lay there totally still and quiet, and in about 10 minutes, he was asleep. He slept for about an hour, and woke up alert and fine, and I put him in his crib and he went back to sleep for another hour. Awoke fine.

Since then, he's been rocking and rolling along like he always does. I talked to the developmental pediatrician today, and she diagnosed him as best she could, without having seen it, but said she was as certain as she could be that it was two separate seizures. We are supposed to call a pediatric neurologist on Monday, and she said he would most likely want to do an EEG. I have no earthly idea how they're going to get this kiddo still enough to stick sensors on his head and monitor his brainwaves!

I'm having a hard time not simply sitting there staring at him and watching him to make sure he's okay. She doesn't expect another seizure this weekend, since he had two so close together, but she instructed us to head to the hospital where he was born if he did have another one, or if he shows any change in his color, straight to the ER here or call 911. There's absolutely no way of knowing if this is an isolated occurence, or if it could happen again. Some kids have one seizure, then never have another. Some kids have them regularly until they grow out of them on their own at around five years old. Some kids continue to have them through adulthood and are then diagnosed with epilepsy.

I keep thinking of all of the autism-favorable traits he has, and now we have another one to put up on the board. I know I can't continue to think of that, I want to enjoy him and not worry, but that's what this blog is for, no? To spill my thoughts and share my joys and fears? So...there it is.

Oh, and ask not about

2008-01-05T12:48:00.001-08:00

how goes the remodel. We're still married. Everyone's still alive. The end.

Going Out on a Limb

2008-01-05T12:40:00.001-08:00

Well, I've decided - I'm going to start selling Henry & Co. products again. Eeek! Hold me! I'm a-skeered. The good thing is that I've found two sites that allow me to list the items I have on hand, instead of having my original http://www.purehenry.com/ site that listed all of my products and I never knew what orders would come in. This way, I can simply "stock" the site with what I already have made and ready to go out the door, and all I will have to do is package and ship. So much easier.

The two sites between which I'm trying to decide are http://www.etsy.com/ and http://www.hyenacart.com/ - both of them are quality, well-run sites, but they are slightly different in terms of pricing, customer base and looks. If you have any feedback or thoughts, lay it on me!

Guess What I Got For Christmas?

2008-01-01T14:10:00.001-08:00

A remodeling project! We've been living in a 3 bedroom, 1 bath 1942 ranch-style home for a little over 2 years now, and we love the place. It was almost completely redone when we moved in. The bathroom and kitchen were still in their original shape, and over the last 2 years, we have remodeled the kitchen, added on another room and enclosed part of the garage to make another 1/2 bath. I've been complaining about sharing my bathtub with two little grimy, squirmy mud-covered small people enough that The Huz finally gifted me with a brand-new tub, enlarged bathroom with two pedestal sinks and a new toilet. Sounds awesome, right? And bless his heart, the man tries. He really does. "Honey, we will start construction on Friday, and be done by Sunday night." Even I knew that was a lie, and I braced myself for a few weeks of disarray despite his insistance.

It's now Tuesday, we hosted a 4th birthday party for Sir H yesterday, and the bathroom is half-way completed. We finally have water again, but little did I know that in drawing up the floorplan for my new bathroom, in all its glory, he used the space that was my former hall closet, where I kept every cleaning tool, all my towels and other assorted odds and ends like gifts, wrapping paper, board games, puzzles, etc., and he also decided that it would be an awesome idea to use the closet space from our bedroom to make the bathroom bigger. Both closets. As in, our clothes have nowhere to hang. When asked for his idea about where our clothes will now hand, his creative solution was to buy an armoire and use it as a wardrobe. Great! Where the frick are we going to put it? And also, where the frick is it?

So, currently, my clothes are hanging in the laundry room, we've been living out of a suitcase sleeping at my parents' home, and my head is spinning around like Linda Whatserface from The Exorcist. So, just a piece of friendly advice. If you want me to remain a calm, civil human being, please don't ask me how my bathroom is looking, and aren't I so lucky to have such a handy husband who loves to work. Mmkay? Because I haven't slept in 3 days, seeing as a 4 year old and a 1 year old don't so much like to sleep in unfamiliar places, I haven't seen my husband since Wednesday, and I have no running water in my house. You'll get this response:

I'll let you know when it's safe to ask.

And I will share the beautiful day that was Sir H's fourth birthday when I can talk without using profanity every other word. It was gorgeous, and my boy is wonderful.

Did we have a good Thanksgiving?

2007-11-22T17:43:00.000-08:00

You tell me:

Yes, I made them. All of them, the kids and the desserts. Happy Thanksgiving. I am grateful for my husband, who is kind, loving, patient, gentle, sweet, loyal and who works like a dog to provide a wonderful life for his family. I am thankful for Sir H, whose stories, songs, ideas, enthusiasm, excitement for each new dawn make me remember the joy in being a child, and happily encourage me out of my rigidity; whose positive disposition, gentle, kind and sweet spirit shine from every part of him to those around him. I am thankful for The Bear, whose gigantic four-tooth smiles light up my heart with all the rays of the sun, whose giggles, screeches, growls and baby words make me melt. I am thankful for my wonderful friends, for their families and the beauty that they bring to my life. I am thankful for my parents, who drive me up the nearest wall, but who are also my best friends. Most of all, I am thankful for my God, one who gave His Son so that we can live in grace, abundance and forgiveness.

I Resign

2007-11-13T15:13:00.000-08:00

Today I'm have A Day. You know, those days where you can hold it together for .0623467 tenths of a second and then you turn into snappy, irritable mom whose children can't do anything right? A monkey could do this job better than I today. Instead of "SIR H! PLEEEEASE don't step on the flowers in the flowerbed! ARRRRRGH!" He would hear, "Eee ee! Ahh! Ahhhhh!" and that would be much less damaging. My kids can't do anything right today, and I absolutely loathe myself when I see that face that Sir H gets when I fuss at him for things that normally get an eye roll and a small chuckle while I get down and talk to him about why this decision blah blah blah. These are the days where the lizard part of my brain perks up when it hears the word Ezzo.

My Dear Friend

2007-11-11T21:57:00.000-08:00

Sweet friend, I know you're hurting. I wish I could help. I don't know the words that would take the pain away, but if I did, I would say them. I wish I could take the burden on myself and cry your tears and feel your hurt so you didn't have to. Your beautiful babies deserve a world where things like this don't happen to the family they love. Please know that, especially after seeing your hurt today, you are in my heart so fully, and my heart aches for you, and my prayers for you and your family are constant. I love you, A, and your precious half-dozen. I am praying for you and everyone else who is touched by this tragedy.

You know?

2007-11-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

You know how you start attending a church, really like the people who are in it, help to get it off the ground, since it's an emergent church? And then you get all settled in there and love it, and you start a moms' group that has been your heart's desire for over two years? And you've been praying literally almost every day for it to manifest? And then something happens, and there's a conflict, and you see into the heart of the church and it's not pretty? Yeah. That sucks.

Priorities

2007-11-06T08:27:00.000-08:00

It's funny how they change as you grow and have kids. Our anniversary was on Saturday, which was also the day of The Bear's first birthday party. I don't think I even mentioned it on here. I rolled out of bed at about 10 am, since The Huz was home, and started to get ready for the party. The Huz said, "Happy anniversary!" and I grunted back at him (hey, gimme a break, I hadn't had my morning caffeine yet!). That night, we were both lying in our bed with Sir H as he went to sleep, and were all three cuddled up together, Sir H in the middle. He fell asleep, and both The Huz and I were so tired we just lay there for a few minutes. He said, "So, when are we going to dinner?" I said, "For what?" He responded, "For our anniversary," and I just shrugged. We both cracked up, that it was just one of those things.

I cherish that I married a man who will lie in bed with me at 8 pm with our big boy and will gaze at him in wonder, and we both revel in the beauty and joy that our boys bring us. In the moments where I may spend a moment feeling nostalgic about my life before marriage and children, I have an unbidden flash of a moment like last night. The Bear was in bed with us, he starts out in his crib and still wakes to nurse a few times, so he ends up in our bed halfway through the night. Sir H had also woken and crawled into bed with us, and at some point, The Huz and I were both awake, and he reached over in our sleepy fogginess and just put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. Joy. Bliss.

Big ass airplanes!

2007-11-04T19:59:00.000-08:00

Airshow today. It was a ball! Sir H was rocking the house, he was racing from plane to plane and climbing in the cockpits and just generally livin' large. Unfortunately, the Thunderbirds were unable to fly, as they have stayed grounded since the sad incident at an airshow in Idaho. Although there were only minor injuries to the pilot, as he was able to eject (.8 seconds before impact, holy cow!), they are not flying right now, until there is a thorough investigation and they ~~cover their asses from the people who would love to use this against them and stop fighter plane exhibitions~~ reach a consensus as to the cause and a future safety plan.

Pictures to come, The Bear rode on my back most of the day, and toddled around when we let him loose, and Sir H was absolutely enrapt with the planes taking off and landing. It was actually quite cool, the focus was on historical planes and there were mostly WWII era planes flying, those things are massive compared to the newer, sleeker fighters.

Funny of the trip: my dad pointed and said, "There's the stealth bomber." I looked and looked, couldn't find it. It finally clicked, he was pointing at an empty space. Buttmunch. Thankfully, my mom got it after me, and The Huz, whose mind is full of figures and not so much global processing, finally had to have it explained. So, I felt better.

And big news that I haven't posted yet - The Bear turned 1 on 11/1, and we had his blast of a party on 11/3, so I'll be sharing a few pictures soon. I can't believe my baby boy is 1. A whole year since he arrived in this world, and I was able to reach out and touch him after waiting 40 long weeks and one day. We're so glad you are in our family, my sweet Bear.

BIG for $200

2007-10-31T13:35:00.000-07:00

What is: What size is The Bear? Correct, $200 to you!

His birthday is tomorrow. As in, he will be an entire year old. I'm speechless. Ergo, this will be short. He said "cracker" today. Just now. He's been saying, "Eh da?" for a while, which translates to, "What's that?" and it's his way of connecting. He like to grab things and point to them when he meets you, and that is his way of showing you that he is involved with you. He wants to share. And so he's had some words for a while, things that roughly translate to Pearl (our dog), kitty, mama, dada, etc. This morning, I told him we were going to pick up his brother, and I swear to you that he responded with a syllable that sounded just like Sir H's nickname.

So. The cracker. I was putting him down for a nap five minutes ago, and he was holding a cracker in his hand. He showed it to me and said, "Whu eh da?" I said, "Cracker. That's a cracker," and he fully said, "Drah-err!" I just. Just. My baby. Not so tiny anymore. Sweet baby boy, light of my life.

Sir H, on the way home from preschool today, was telling me something about Mrs. K. I told him that Mrs. K. and I had a conversation in the hall after I dropped Sir H off in his room. I relayed to him the sweet things she had said about him, and I said, "Mrs. K loves you." He responded, "I love Mrs. K." Then, as Sir H is wont to do, he spent a few moments in silence, and I could tell there was more to come, and then he eventually said, "I know what love feels like." I asked him, "What does it feel like?" He said, "Like I love Mrs. K." Sweet big boy, light of my life. I love you.

And my precious boys together, Dash Incredible and Jack-Jack Incredible:

Time Management

2007-10-29T06:40:00.000-07:00

I have been fighting against the knowledge that it's time to make better use of my life. This is all I get, this one pass through life. I've been in a rut for a while, really feeling like there are days where I simply waste the precious moments and hours that God has granted me with my gifts of my children. So, my new resolution is to change my focus. I'm going to be making some changes, primarily spending less time on the computer, more time face to face with my kids, and incorporating more projects like the lapbooks we've been doing.

So, if you see me online, or catch me at my computer, give me a finger wag and a raised eyebrow and exhort me to Go Play With Your Children, Woman!

Today I've already been other-focused, and I've done a load of laundry, put Benton down for a nap, made scrambled eggs and cleaned up all the corresponding pans and utensils and put them away, fed the animals and even petted the poor, neglected things. And it's only 8:45 am! Go me! It feels great. So, I'm going to keep it up, so that I feel even greater. :)

You cannot lose my love

2007-10-26T20:31:00.000-07:00

I subscribe to a music service where I can play unlimited songs from my laptop for some small fee a month, and I can make playlists of different songs for different moods. The Huz has a knack for envisioning the expansion of anything, and so has made it where I can broadcast my laptop music to the whole house where we have surround sound speakers, which is the living room, the kitchen and attached sunroom.

Yesterday, I was playing my "Sweet Baby Songs" playlist, which includes some beautiful songs that speak to me about the love a parent has for a child, anything from Tim McGraw's "My Little Girl" to John Mayer's "Daughters", (even though I have boys). We're having our 3rd Annual Pumpkin Carving Party tomorrow, so while The Bear slept, Sir H and I were very busy working in the kitchen. He was in charge of the KitchenAid stand mixer, lowering and raising it, locking and turning it on and off. Big job, and he certainly pulled it off with aplomb.

In the playlist, a beautiful song by Sara Groves came on, called "You Cannot Lose My Love," some of the lyrics are

You will lose your baby teeth, at times, you'll lose your faith in me.
You will lose a lot of things, but you cannot lose my love.
You may lose your appetite, your guiding sense of wrong and right.
You may lose your will to fight, but you cannot lose my love.

Obviously, it's a song that speaks to the depth and breadth of a mother's love for her child, no matter what that child does. I feel so fiercely about my boys that I know that no matter what they do, no matter what path they take, there is a visceral connection and emotion there that will never be broken, not even by death.

So, I was singing softly along as Sir H and I were working in the kitchen, me rolling out some cookie dough while he was in charge of ~~licking the dough from the bowl in handfuls~~ making sure the mixer was running correctly, and he nonchalantly started the following conversation, from a companionable silence:

H: "I can't lose your love."
Me: "Nope." [My heart leaping in my chest at the sweetness, but trying remain nonchalant to match his tone so as not to shriek in delight and knock him off his stool in fear]
H: "I can make badacisions (bad decisions) and I can't lose your love."
Me: "Exactly. No matter what, I will always love you."
H: "Yeah. You'll always love me."
[5 second pause while I found my voice]
Me: "So, where'd you learn that?"
H: "You. You teached me."

Wow. I will never, ever forget that. Ever. It is such a poignant exchange, because it says so many things to me. First, that I must somehow be communicating my great love for him in an adequate way. Second, that he's secure, as evidenced by his ability to state his certainty especially in such a casual way. To him, it's not news or really particularly interesting, it was just an observation. And third, that all of those times where I have screwed up, where I've been too harsh in my language, too rough in my handling, or too lax because I just don't want to hear. one. more. minute. of. whining., that all of those things are just things, they're just moments, and what Sir H knows and remembers and has integrated into his 3 (and 3/4) year old heart is that he can't lose Mommy's love.

What a blessing tonight. Thank you, God, for that beautiful moment.

Submission in Marriage

2007-10-25T07:44:00.000-07:00

**This conversation came up on a bulletin board I visit, so I thought I would add some thoughts here, it's random, but that's what a blog is for, hey?**

God is deliberate, and the words of Scripture have a purposeful placement. The first thing that the Bible instructs is that husbands love their wives as Christ loved the church, to be willing to give up his life. If one takes a snapshot of Christ's life, He was overall, a kind and loving man, with an intense drive for truth and justice. He was non-judgmental, but also stood up strongly for what He believed to be right according to God. When it came to His followers, His believers, he chose to be tortured, humiliated, and killed for them - slowly and brutally, which is the ultimate way of setting aside one's own desires and selfishness. Then and only then...God instructs us, as women, to respect our husbands. It is my firm belief that the order is right there, as it is presented in the Bible, that the husband is first responsible for being other-focused in his marriage, that he strives to lead by sacrificing. Not by making all the decisions, but by setting aside his selfish pursuits that might cause the marriage to be out of synch (for example, that he wants to go fishing all weekend, but he's a dad and husband and so chooses to spend the weekend with his family, or takes his kids fishing and then comes home early to take his wife on a date), and that a wife, in response, can respect this man that doesn't just declare his love with words, but lives a life of love by his choices and actions. The submission, in our interpretation, has zip to do with financial/household/familial decisions and everything to do with how we treat one another. It's about mutually respecting each other's gifts and abilities and empowering ourselves as a couple by combining those gifts.

This is an example from our marriage: I was attempting to do this kind of submission thing as taught by an old church of ours (that didn't last long - our church attendance there). One thing I did was always "let" The Huz drive. Because he's the man, right? And the man needs to be the driver of the home, and what a great opportunity to show him that I trust him and turn over my "need" to "drive" by a literal metaphor! Good stuff, right? Well, I remember about 2 weeks into it, after the fiftieth time he missed the exit, and the forty-seventh time he was going 45 in the 70 lane and I had bit my tongue and bit it and bit it and bit it and just stayed calm and smiling because I was submitting, dammit. Finally, I couldn't take it, when we ended up 30 minutes late because he drove past the exit we needed. We just both yakked it up about it, sparring back and forth and realized that both of us hated what we were doing. He hates to drive, he is not gifted in navigation, and he loves it when I say, "Turn here, turn there. The exit is in a mile. Now in a 1/2 mile. Exit here. HERE! EXIIIIITTTTT!" because he is not so much a GPS system.

I've since learned that that literal example is a great metaphor for other areas of our lives. I am better at directions, so I drive and navigate. Or he drives and I navigate. I am terrific at planning, so I make plans for us as a couple with friends and he's thrilled that we have things to do that he doesn't have to decide about. He's very, very gifted in finance, and so he is in charge of paying the bills and we both sit down to budget together. There are certainly things that I ask him to make the final decision on, if I'm feeling out of my league or too emotional to see straight. And there are things he asks me to decide, if he's too emotionally entangled or doesn't feel he has enough knowledge.The idea of "wifely submission" to me, is just off the mark of what Jesus intends for our relationship. My husband feels cherished, valued and respected even when I make decisions. As do I, when he does. Even if he disagrees with some of them, he also tells me that he trusts my judgment and he will agree to be on board, even if he doesn't understand why or how...because I'm a smart lady. For him to be the final decision maker in our marriage is just ... illogical. God doesn't sit up there and make all our final decisions for us, we have to take that responsibility on ourselves, so why should our husbands have that power?

For now...

2007-10-21T16:59:00.001-07:00

I will attempt to deconstruct this weekend over the following few days, since it was all parties, all-Crazy Bridezilla and right now, I just want to sleep and focus on stuff that makes my heart sing.

The Bear was in the tub tonight and held up a rubber duck and told me, "Duck." He's so fun, every time I pick him up, he points to something and says, "U's at? (What's that?)" I love this stage, I've forgotten how much fun it is. And he's walking everywhere. The crab crawl is so fast that I have to literally jog after him to catch up, so it's a welcome respite from having to chase him everywhere, since his walking is still slow and he wobbles every few steps. It's absolutely hilarious that this tiny little guy is just walking everywhere. You just want to laugh and say, "Okay, for real, you're just a baby, get down and crawl!"

My sweet Sir H comes up with the most amazing things to say constantly. He and his G.D. were out getting some takeout last night to bring back to the hotel to eat and he told G.D. that the way to get to Chili's was to "go to 12 and then 24 and then over the railroad tracks. A'ter that you go north, because north is always good." I mean. Really. Today, in the car on the way home, he asked me what would happen if someone didn't like him. We took some time talking about why he asked that, and I pray that I left him with some words of wisdom that will help navigate these previously uncharted waters of peer rejection and societal pressure. I never knew how my heart could break when my precious, perfect, wonderful son brought up the idea of someone not liking him. Not because I give a fig what people think of him, but because rejection hurts. And as mothers, we all want to shield our children from rejection and the sting that accompanies it. Thank God that at this age, rejection is limited to "Lily wouldn't let me play with her toy at preschool," or "Chandler said he wanted to play by himself and not with me today." What happens when the girl turns him down for a date, or when he doesn't make this or that group or team? Moms of older children, how do you keep from administering a (much deserved, obviously) beat down to those who reject your child?

On to happier thoughts...my dear, dear friends who came this weekend. My heart cannot thank you enough for being there. Lizzy, the banana eating? I'm still laughing about it. And Tracy and Kelly, it was such a blessing to see your smiling faces and know that there were a few people there who could see past the smiles to the sadness inside and offer a few well-placed, encouraging words. I love you guys.

At least I have this:

2007-10-18T09:54:00.000-07:00

So, the wedding's tomorrow, right?

2007-10-18T09:32:00.000-07:00

And this is how excited I am. I haven't packed, I haven't taken The Huz's shirt to the cleaners, I haven't ironed the boys' outfits, I haven't done anything. Not a thing. We leave for the rehearsal at 4:00 pm and it's 11:30 am and I'm just sitting on my ass messing around online and pretending this weekend isn't happening.

I have to give a toast tonight at the rehearsal dinner, and I am struggling so much. I want to just bury my head in the sand and pull it out on Sunday morning. Working on writing my speech has really brought these emotions of sadness, fear and anxiety for my sister all to a head. Trying to find words that aren't lies but that are loving and kind are is almost impossible. I am planning to talk about how as a child, my big sister was everything I always wanted to be, the one who was bold, who took chances, who jumped into new things, and how that relates to her taking this next bold step in her life, but how can I get through it without crying when I think it's a terrible mistake? I guess 99.9% of the people who are there will think that the tears are tears of joy and the normal wedding emotions, rather than sadness at what I fear is a mistake.

I pray that I am wrong, and that God knows that they are well-suited for one another and they will be the happiest couple on the planet. I would love nothing more than to be wrong.

2007-10-09T20:28:00.000-07:00

Today we had one of Those Days. Sir H had quite the difficulty making good decisions (which is an oft-heared phrase about our house), and it was such a difficult thing to keep my patience. I may have misplaced it a few times, in fact. Even so, we were walking into a store, I was holding The Bear, and holding Sir H's hand, and he looked up at me and said, apropros of nothing, "It's fun to have a mommy like you." My heart just melted.

The day, however, continued to spiral downward from there. So, after a day of battle, later that night, we were lying in bed, after The Huz had read a story and put Sir H to bed, and I went in there to just try to reconnect and end the day on a positive note. He started to play "I'm Mommy and You're Sir H," and I started whining and having a "tantrum". He put his hand over his eyes, and heaved this huge sigh. After a moment of silence, he said, "I just don't know what to do." I just about fell out of the bed laughing, all the while hearing Sir H berate me, "NO! You're not aposed to laugh! You're H, I'm Mommy! H, you're not making good acisions!"

It's official

2007-10-05T18:05:00.000-07:00

The Bear was officially diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder today, specifically, sensory seeking (hyposensitive). I'm really feeling mixed emotions about it. The developmental pediatrician we saw today is amazing. I trust her immensely. The Bear has always crawled in a hilarious way, instead of going on all fours in the traditional crawl, he will use his left foot or knee to push off the floor and pull his right leg through his hands, scooting on his bottom, pulling himself across the floor. The kid can make some time! We call it his "crabbing" style of crawling. Well, apparently, the asynchronious crawl is a typical SPD trait that was her immediate first signal that we're dealing with a sensory issue.

In and of itself, SPD is not something that intimidates me. I have my own sensory issues, as do most of us. For me, I'm hypersensitive to artificial light in particular, and I harbor some tactile issues. Touching wet paper makes me literally gag, and a number of other quirks with which I'm sure we can all identify. However, true, diagnosable SPD is often linked to autism. All children with autism, or Asperger's Syndrome, have SPD, but not all children with SPD develop autism. The wonderful news is that there are no signs of autistic spectrum behavior, and so as of now, we're clear in that area. However, there is a regressive form of autism that can hit generally around 18-24 months, and sometimes up to 3. Often, it happens without much, if any warning. So, the delightful part of parenting begins, the wait and see.

She took some family history, asking about both sides of the family. Interestingly (and frighteningly), the specific combination of my familial history, and The Huz's familial history is the most conducive combination of genetic conditions that contribute to the development of autism. Basically, you couldn't have matched two people with medical histories more conducive to create a child with autism than The Huz and me. Yay.

So, for now, we just pray and pray that The Bear continues to meet his milestones (although he has met all his milestones months ahead of time, because my kids are brilliant, as we all know), and we begin Occupational Therapy (OT) for the SPD. It will allow him to learn to integrate his senses more effectively, because if one looks at the process of learning anything - language, reading, writing, even simple ideas of safety issues - the base of the pyramid is comprised of one's senses taking in one's environment and integrating all the details necessary to learn. Moving up the pyramid, one learns gross motor skills, then fine motor skills, and it continues, each level becoming more complex. If the base, the sensory system, is unable to integrate effectively, it can cause learning delays in the brightest of children. The OT will serve to provide The Bear appropriate sensory input to allow him to integrate appropriately so that his brilliance won't be stymied by any sensory confusion.

I was so hoping that she would take a look at us, laugh so hard she fell off her chair, and call me a drama queen and send us home. I realize that in the world, people have so many more difficult challenges and tragedies, and it's hard to not feel guilty that I am afraid and concerned for what his future holds. Please God, let him develop as he has been, and not allow autism to stand in his way.

Hi, my name is H&B's Mama and I am a Gymboree addict

2007-10-05T17:58:00.000-07:00

I can stop at any time. I promise. I don't have a problem. Just because I've placed three orders in one month doesn't mean anything. So what if I put things in and take them out of my cart fifty-eleven times a day? That doesn't mean anything. What it means is that my kids are going to be dressed to the nines every day. Sort of like when I just splurged on some new clothes for me, because I decided it was time to stop wearing sweatpants and t-shirts every day with my crocs. And after a week of dressing in my cutie-pie clothes, I'm back to wearing sweatpants and t-shirts every day.

So, my ambition is to start dressing my children in clothes that match. I already have more clothes from Gymboree than they can wear in one lifetime. See, then, after they grow out of them, I can resell them on ebay. That's the word on the street. Ergo, I'm actually saving us money, and not simply spending. It's an investment vehicle. I'm available for financial advice for a minimal fee. I would do it for free, but I just found a hedgehog romper that The Bear must have or else I will die.

Two Blue Lines

2007-10-03T19:53:00.000-07:00

What's what was staring at me in the face yesterday morning. I was complaining to a friend that I was exhausted, falling asleep with Sir H at 7:30 pm and not waking until the next morning. Sunday evening I actually feel asleep with my church clothes on, fully made-up face. I was also confused because I had felt nauseated a few days in a row for no reason at all. A few more anomalies, and it hit me like a freight train. Two weeks before, we had enjoyed some adult activities without taking any precautions.

So, the next morning, I peed on that stick, and within 5 minutes, a second blue line popped up. I think my heart stopped. I almost fell down. I think I may have uttered a few profanities. I had a doctor's appointment already scheduled for Sir H, so I requested a blood draw to ease my mind. We spent the day talking through it, and in our weekly marriage counseling session, we worked through some of our apprehension, and the sweetest husband alive said, "You know, if we are, I'm actually kind of excited. The Bear is getting to that age where he's really fun, and Sir H is, well, he's Sir H, and he's the best ever, so I know it would be okay." Of course, at the time, instead of appreciating him for his sweet and kind heart, I hollered back, "You're not the one who has to carry it! You knocked me up, you asshole!" Things improved from there.

I got up this morning, took another test and it was full-on negative. Thirty minutes later, the nurse called with the results: also negative. Thank you Lord! I know that if we were to have conceived a baby, we would definitely know that God had intentions for that child beyond our understanding, but all I could think about was my shallow protestation, "But I just lost the last of the baby weight!"

What the experience did for me was cement my desire to have a third child (spaced three years apart from The Bear, so not to be conceived for another 2 years), and cement The Huz's desire to be finished with two. I have a feeling that mama can wear that silly man down. Seriously, he almost always defers to me when it comes to emotional issues like that, if, in 2 years, I am certain that our family would be completed with a third and last child, he would most certainly concede that I was right and we would happily start enjoying the process of making another baby.

Just NOT RIGHT NOW. Hallelujah!

Life is Gooooooooood

2007-09-29T14:42:00.001-07:00

Saturday mornings are my day that are all mama, all day long. I pretty much get to do whatever I want, and The Huz holds down the fort. Sweetie pie, huh? Well, today I woke up to The Huz putting The Bear in bed with me to nurse, and then when he was finished, called out for The Huz in my annoying fishwife voice. He came to retrieve him, and I blissfully faded back into sleep. I finally woke up to the sound of The Bear's crying as he woke from a nap, and rolled over to see the clock displaying 2:52. That's in the p.m. I figured it must be messed up from Sir H's tinkering, so after getting The Bear, I checked the clock in the living room, and guess what? I managed to sleep until 3:00 in the afternoon. Go me! I really have a gift.

I'm enjoying everyone in my family being well...The Bear is finally able to go more than 4 hours without a breathing treatment, The Huz is back on his Strattera, Sir H has only had one nosebleed and no other health issues in a week, and I finally was diagnosed with hypoglycemia, and when I knew what to do to handle it, I've never felt better! So, thankfully, we'll be falling into fall with good health and happy spirits.

Poor Bear, or why RSV sucks

2007-09-22T12:24:00.001-07:00

So, after I signed off last night, I went to get in the bathtub and get ready for bed. Right before I got out, I heard The Bear wake up. The Huz went to get him to calm him down until I got out of the bath to nurse him back to sleep, and he brought him into the bathroom. Immediately, I noticed that when he breathed, he could hardly get any air in. He sounded like his airway was about a pinhole large. I've never heard wheezing like that. It scared the pants off of me. On top of it, he couldn't cry, he would just crumple his face and emit a small, wheezing noise. He started arching his back to breathe, so we got out the nebulizer and immediately gave him a treatment of Xoponex. We hung around for about 20 minutes, but it was getting worse, so we called my mom, dropped Sir H off with her to spend the rest of the night, and took off for the ER in NB.

He was seen quickly, his O2 saturation level was okay, but not great (90%) and they ushered us into a room, took a nasal swab for RSV, took a chest X-ray and started him on a breathing treatment with three times the medicine we can give at home. The treatment took about an hour, and afterward, he showed some good improvement, and his O2 sat level was back up to 100%. The RSV swab came back positive, so they sent us on our way with a prescription for amoxicillian (he also has an ear infection), orders to give him a breathing treatment every 4-6 hours, and see our GP on Monday. We got home at 3:30 am and that was our wonderful date night. Now The Bear is in quarantine for at least a week, if not two, so that we don't infect any of our friends. "Happy birthday, here's a delightful respiratory illness!"

I forget how much adversity can bring a couple together. When something is wrong with one of our precious boys, nothing can come between us. I would never wish illness or pain on my children, but I can say that the silver lining is that it reminds me why I married my wonderful husband. It's so easy to get caught up in the day-to-day pettiness of arguing and housework and who isn't getting what need or want met, but when we face an obstacle as a couple, I would have no one else by my side than my strong, loving, kind, calm and steady husband.

I'm so ashamed

2007-09-21T21:19:00.000-07:00

Please don't judge me forever based on what you are about to read. I must confess something. I have two new crushes, based on some new songs I heard today. Ready?

Justin Timberlake - I can't stop bopping to his Sexyback song. And I watched him on Oprah (I tivoed it because of my next crush confession's appearance on the show, and ended up watching him before she came on), and he's one hilarious dude. Big fan.

Kelly Clarkson. She's my new girl crush. Um, I love her.

That is all. Now you may all point and laugh. In familial news, The Bear has a "baaaad cold", says the pediatrician, but thanks to the magical, wondrous power of mama milk, he has some fluid buildup in his ears which is causing him pain, but no ear infection! Poor baby, he can't breathe through his snotty little nose, though, so he snores all night and hasn't slept in about, oh, 3 days. O.o He has been walking more, instead of always crabbing around with that hilarious crawl that cracks us all up. He took 6 steps today, after taking 5 in a row earlier in the day. You can totally see his thought process, though...he'll step...step...stepstepstep, and then look at where he's headed and it's like it's written on his face, "Screw this, I can crawl over there in .32 seconds," and off he crabs.

Mark your calendars now for his first birthday party. Our house, November 3rd at 2:00, invitations will be arriving soon. FIRST BIRTHDAY! Who let my baby grow up already? I mean, he's busy chatting it up with mama, daddy, ball, buh-bye, and he knows a ton of signs and has other sounds that are unique to what he's communicating, and he's just so big! As for Sir H, he's beautiful and brilliant as always. He told me today that he met a boy with earrings and asked me tons of questions about why that boy was wearing earrings? Why he made a silly decision? We got into a discussion about growing up, and he insisted that he will grow up to be a mommy. When I gently told him that he will be the daddy, and how wonderful daddies are, and how special that would be, he started crying and said he didn't want to be the daddy, he wanted to be the mommy. I asked him why, and he said it was because all daddies do is work and he wanted to be with his kiddos. :( Saddest thing ever. I told The Huz, and he almost cried. Seriously. So, maybe The Huz will get home earlier than 7 pm more often now. Those two, they're just such precious two little peas in a P. pod.

Tomorrow is my day off, so I get to sleep as late as I can possibly manage to make my body stay in bed. Two weekends ago was my record - I made it to 1 pm! That's right. I could win any professional sleeping contest in the world. And reading. And bathing. I excel at all three of those in length, depth and complexity. I'm quite the gifted girl. Moral of this paragraph: DO NOT CALL my house tomorrow until 3 pm, I'm aiming for a record.

So excited!

2007-09-19T20:29:00.000-07:00

Sir H is finally getting in to see an amazing naturopath/MD! The date is getting close! September 24th - who wants to babysit The Bear? :)

And, I finally got a date with the developmental pediatrician in the city, on October 5th. So, who wants to babysit Sir H? :)

In other news, another of my bestestest friends, my cousin Tracy, just got engaged to a wonderful man. She has two delightful, brilliant and loving children and they deserve an amazing man to become part of their family. He just proposed, she accepted, and they're getting married in December! I couldn't be more excited. It just reminds me of the excitement of being engaged to The Huz, and how he swept me completely off my feet. I am so happy for the joy that J has brought to her life, and I can't think of anyone who deserves more happiness that Tracy and her children. We love you! :smooch:

ADD

2007-09-17T13:59:00.000-07:00

So, The H was diagnosed with ADD about six weeks ago, and started taking Strattera for his symptoms. I noticed an improvement almost immediately, and after a week, he was an absolutely delightful person to be with! He's been attentive and interested, listens to me, hears the boys, and does little things like make eye contact throughout an entire sentence. I had no idea how much I missed those things until I didn't have them for so long. Well, the insurance company has decided to deny coverage for the medication, since they want him to take Ritalin first. Our doctor refuses to even subject The H to trying it, so that's out, and the insurance is being really stubborn. The H started looking for some natural alternatives, and found an herbal blend of things like mushroom and some enzymes that have a completely hyped-up website that fear-mongers one into getting off prescription medication.

The deal we came to, with our marriage counselor mediating, is that he will be trying the herbal blend for a week, without any Strattera, and then, if I look at him and say, "Nope. It's not working," he will, without complaint or arguing, get back on Strattera. I'm all for natural solutions, and I think it would be wonderful had this stuff worked. However, we're on day three, and his eyeballs are about to flit out of his head. Sir H is back to having to ask fifteen times for something before Daddy hears him, and when I point these things out, he gets defensive and rude like he used to before he was on Strattera. So, I'm over this crappy herbal blend that doesn't do a damn thing, and four more days to go. Pray that we make it.

Out, out damned ... blister!

2007-09-11T07:10:00.000-07:00

I was so hoping, for poor H's sake that he wouldn't develop any blisters from the burn heard 'round the world, but to my dismay, one cropped up yesterday. That means instead of this being his last day of mummy hand, he has probably 7 more days of it. I don't mind a bit dressing and tending his sweet little chubby still-my-baby hand, but while he's so patient, he's getting a bit tired of having limited use of that hand. I keep finding little trails of gauze all over the house and he'll walk by me with half of the bandage off. What a goose.

On the shopping front, I finally picked my third print for the boys' room, I haven't agonized over decisions like this is ... well, I don't know how long. I don't even give this much thought to my clothes purchases! Anyway, the third print, which will go in the middle, to pull together the subtle colors of the giraffe and whale is this one:

I love finally getting things done to make this house a home. We've lived here for just a smidge over two years, and just now are getting around to hanging things on the wall. We've moved three times in the six years we've been married, so I think there's a little hesitation to really put roots down. But, I'm fairly confident that we'll be here a while (maybe forever!), and I want to start loving on my home.

What beauty!

2007-09-09T11:32:00.001-07:00

Look at these gorgeous prints I just bought for the boys' room! Stunning, aren't they? They are made by a wonderful mama who is managing (I know not how) to share her artistry with the world and parent at the same time. I can't wait to get them and hang them in their room, what beauty! They calm me instantly, just by looking at them. Here is her online store - go get you some gorgeous prints!

When will I learn?

2007-09-09T09:32:00.000-07:00

I keep waiting for things to "calm down" around here so that we can enjoy a respite from discomfort, sickness, crises and drama. HA! I think I'm finally getting it through my head that life, especially with two little guys, a husband that works 14 hours a day and an extended family full of its own issues, will never provide more than a moment of external peace.

On Friday, Sir H has a rash behind his ears that was itchy, and we went in to Dr. Jesus, Jr., who pronounced it a heat rash and gave us a topical cream. By Monday, it had spread to his forearms and elbows, his knees and lower legs, his lower back, his feet, including the bottoms of his feet and his fact - including into his ears. So sad. It was abundantly clear that it was eczema, and we haven't seen an outbreak of eczema since he was about 2 years old (he's 3 1/2 now). So, back we went to Dr. JJ. He's also been having spontaneous nosebleew (excuse me, The Bear is helping blog) nosebleeds for weeks, sometimes three in a night. On top of the seasonal allergies with which he's already struggling, the eczema was the proverbial straw. So, I made an appointment with a doctor who will, I hope, prove to be an ideal amalgam of allopathic and natural medicine. He is an MD, so is able to prescribe and has Western training, but also believes strongly in what has been termed "complementary medicine", a term that encompasses the best of herbal treatments, accupuncture, supplements and chiropractics, among other techniques.

The hardest thing will be changing our diet. From what I understand, the most common triggers of eczema and allergies are dairy, an overgrowth of candida (caused by many things, including too much added sugar) and wheat. Instead of getting terribly overwhelmed and trying to throw away all our food and start from scratch, my first step will be to phase out dairy, and cut back on sugar. I already try to be diligent about buying foods without high fructose corn syrup, so I'm hoping a gradual approach to our new diet will be relatively painless.

So, last night (Saturday), the family went into the city and when we got back, Sir H inexplicably decided to wrap his hand around the exhaust pipe. I think t'was the scream heard 'round the world, poor boy. After a few phone calls to Dr. JJ and the hospital nurse line, we decided to take him to the ER since the burn is on his palm. He's so brave, he sat and waited like a trooper. We took my laptop and watched movies while we waited for the doctors to help us. They were so sweet and complimentary and kind to my precious boy, and slathered him in some silver sulfadiazine cream and dressed his hand up in some gauze. We went to a 24-hour pharmacy to fill a prescription for some helpful pain medicine and cruised around the aisles, randomly picking things up in order to buy them while we waited. $40 of crap and fifteen minutes later, we were on our way home. Today, he's racing around like he's Superman, which is quite possible. Apparently, burning hot exhaust pipes and mummy hands are not his Kryptonite.

Gap, Old Navy and Banana Republic, you disappoint me.

2007-09-05T08:41:00.000-07:00

In response to this shirt, I wrote the following letter:

Hello,

I am a frequent customer of Gap, Banana Republic and Old Navy. I have enjoyed buying clothes for my entire family, including my husband and my two boys. I also often buy clothing from your brands as gifts for friends and their children. I have always thought that Gap. Inc. brands were a good fit for my family, due to varying price points and selections. However, when shopping online recently for my two young boys, I was extremely disappointed to see shirts for infants and toddler boys that promote materialism and misogyny. I enjoy reading witty sayings on shirts and have bought a few from Old Navy and Gap that state such things as, "100% Love", "My Dad is the Man", and "I Love Mommy", as well as other funny and sweet shirts that are positive and uplifting. In fact, your current "Leo's Artwork Graphic T" is exactly something I would buy for my boys. However, to see shirts that state, "I Love Mom, She's Got the $", "Ladies Man" and the most offensive, "Lock Up Your
Daughters", I am incredibly disappointed and disheartened.

I realize that popular culture is awash with graphic t-shirts, but to promote such blatant misogyny as "Lock Up Your Daughters" is irresponsible and pandering to
the lowest common denominator. I see that this specific shirt is sold out, so I realize that my words may mean nothing against the financial gain your brand enjoys from this item, but I hope that you read this letter and it gives someone pause, and that you examine the impact of that shirt on our youth. From the perspective of a mother of boys, I am overwhelmed by how difficult it is to fight the message that our society sends that success in malehood is tied to sexual prowess, whether it is explained away as simply intended to announce that the boy wearing such shirt is attractive to girls, or to admit that there is an undercurrent of sexuality in the shirt's saying that implies many things. First, it reinforces the idea that boys are predators. In order to "save" your daughter from my son, it is necessary to lock her away. Second, that the "daughters" are incapable of making mature decisions, and instead, are treated as incapable chattel that need locking up in order to protect their chastity. There are so
many levels of offensiveness to this saying that I could continue to list implications, but I think my point is clear.

It is my hope that instead of writing me off as a radical mother, you see me as a concerned parent who represents many other mothers and fathers that are becoming more and more aware of the state of our culture and determined to change the course of this generation.

Sadly, while you continue to manufacture, market and sell shirts that carry offensive sayings such as "Lock Up Your Daughters", I am unable to patronize any of your brands. Again, I know that my contribution to your bottom line may not mean much in your yearly data, but I am spreading the word to as many mothers and fathers I know that also express disappointment and discouragement at cultural phenomena such as your shirt represents, and I hope that they will do the same.

Sincerely,
Me

It is frustrating to know that my chances of being heard are slim, but it's what I can do. If anyone has any activist suggestions for how to be heard, feel free to let me know!

Hold me

2007-09-01T21:24:00.000-07:00

I was donating platelets today, which is supposed to take 1.5-2 hours, but they couldn't get enough from me, so I ended up only being there for 30 minutes. I was in a strip center, decided to hop over to the movies, and saw that Kevin Bacon was in an movie called Death Sentence that I hadn't seen trailered. I asked the ticket girl if it was a horror flick or what, and she said it was a crime thriller / drama. Yay! My kind of book, so my kind of movie, right?

Horribly, horribly wrong.

Do not, do NOT go see this movie. It. Is. Awful. Horrifyingly tragic, not at all redeeming, gruesome and terribly upsetting. I seriously cannot get the images out of my head.

This is my good deed for the day - warning you all to steer clear, especially those of you who have kids, or have kids you love, or even remotely think you may like kids a little bit. Or life. Or happiness. Or positivity.

I must have supernatural powers

2007-08-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

Within 12 hours of writing about The Husband's estrangement from his family, his mom called to see if they can come visit next weekend. E-freaking-eek.

More drama to come, I'll have to post the backstory when I have, oh, fifteen days to spare.

Mamas

2007-08-25T21:32:00.000-07:00

The family went swimming today, The Husband, Sir H, The Bear and I, and we came home just wiped out. There's something so clean and refreshing about getting in a hot tub after swimming late in the afternoon, and I was lying in our bed, nursing The Bear, him in a dipe, me in undies and nothing else, with The Husband lying there reading, and Sir H happily dreaming on the other side of our wall, and I was struck by how amazingly blessed I am.

I said, "I wish it could be this way forever," looking down at The Bear and stroking his soft skin as he nursed with his leg thrown over my waist, and his hand rubbing my hair. The Husband said, "Stay a baby?" I thought about what I was trying to capture, and I said, "No, not necessarily that he'll stay young forever, but I don't want to lose the feeling of closeness where we could all lie here, naked, the four of us, quietly and together. Nothing in between us, nothing to hide. And I love that he wants his mama. I love being his world. It goes too quickly, then they want you, just like Sir H." The Husband was quiet for a while and said, "That's not true, we still need our mamas."

We have been going through some estrangement with The Husband's parents and haven't spoken with them in a while, and I said, "You don't need your mama anymore." He responded, with a faraway look on his face, "I miss her. It makes me sad." And I could see the little boy peek through. I held his hand and told him I was sorry. We renewed our vow to never allow anything to drive us away from our boys, and to accept them for who and what and where they are, so that they never have to look at their partner and say, "I miss her. I miss my mama."

No, yes, yes, no, no, yes...

2007-08-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

Argh! I cannot seem to reach a place of peace about this SPD thing. The more I watch The Bear, the more he seems like a normal, busy, active 9 month old. So, The Husband and I have decided to go ahead with Dr. Development, and I am feeling pretty certain at this point that she'll look at us with her eyes rolled back in her head from being so frustrated at having her time wasted and say, "Go home and enjoy your perfectly developing child and quit worrying." Now I just wait for the phone call to say, "We had a cancellation, can you come in on-" "YES! Yes, I can. Oh, I'm sorry, when was that again?"

A Boy Named Sid

2007-08-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

My dad has affectionately nicknamed The Bear "Sid" for SID = Sensory Integration Disorder. Actually, the more accepted teminology is now Sensory Processing Disorder, to keep from SID being confused with SIDS.

We had our evaluation on Tuesday, and the occupational therapist (OT) concluded that Bear would benefit from therapy sessions. It was clear to her, based on her evaluation and our answers to her questions that he is a little sensory-seeker. Thankfully, the husband went with me, and he's been doing a great job trying to communicate and talk to me about feelings and the like. I've been saying for the last few weeks that the best news I could hear is that the OT would look at us and laugh and tell us to go home, that there were no problems here! Get outta here, crazy lady! However, when we left, and he asked how I felt, I told him that I was actually relieved that someone could see what I have been seeing, and that I felt validated and assured that I'm not crazy.

The OT, Katie, is a delightful woman. She was able to allay many of my worst fears and anxieties, and told us that she was going to do whatever she could to keep The Bear on her schedule (rather than the other OT) because he is "adorable" and we are "awesome parents". I mean, who wouldn't love her?

I asked for a recommendation for a developmental pediatrician, and received one, and have heard nothing but good things about her. I've been debating whether or not to take The Bear in, but after talking to The Husband, we're leaning toward getting an appointment. Why not, right? My bestest friend, whom I mentioned earlier, who is about to pop with her second baby, has worked with special needs kids for years. She is the most learned and educated and compassionate woman I know when it comes to kids of all shapes and sizes who have any kind of special need. She also advocates for early intervention, so I think we're going to go ahead with the developmental pediatrician.

In a fit of anxiety, brought on my a conversation with my mother, who, without actually saying it, makes it clear that she thinks I'm completely overreacting, I cried to The Husband.

Me: "What if I'm wrong, what if I'm totally overreacting and he's completely normal?"
TH: "What if you are?"
Me: "Then when he's 18 he's going to hate me for labeling him as something he wasn't and wonder what was wrong with him that we thought he had special needs and develop a complex and never be able to trust another woman all his life!"
TH: "You sweet, sweet girl. He's not going to care! Even if this is wrong, he gets to go to a cool gym and play with some rocking toys and have a blast!"
Me: "So, he won't hate me forever?"
TH: "Of course not. He'll just be glad you cared."

Awww.

HEY YOU!

2007-08-17T21:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, what do I have to do in order for you people to start responding to my posts? Hmm? I see you looking, and reading, but ain't nobuddy commenting. Am I just that boring?

Naoimi

2007-08-17T05:30:00.000-07:00

I was recently introduced to the Weathers family, who are in the process of adopting a beautiful six year old girl named Naoimi from Liberia. Naoimi is fed through a gastric feeding tube due to caustic ingestion of a lye solution in September. Naoimi requires PediaSure, or other specialized liquid food in her G-tube, which is often not available due to the expense and limited supply in Liberia. Because of the shortage of her specialized nutrition needs, Naoimi weighs only 22 pounds at 6 years old. I was particularly struck by her story, immediately picturing The Bear, who is already at 26 pounds at 9 months.

Because of her special needs, Naoimi's adoption into the Weathers family is being fast-tracked through the agency, and the family has been financially strained, attempting to gather the funds needed for her sudden adoption. After seeing Naoimi's picture on their websites, I just couldn't let this story pass by without doing what I can to pass it on to others whom I know would want to help. If you can donate any amount, from $1 up, please consider doing so. Please visit their website, which has more information and directions for donation, in case you decide to help this family bring their daughter home.

http://www.theweathers.onedollaradoption.com/

I'm sure that the family would also appreciate prayers, good thoughts and positive well-wishes from as many people as possible as well. Let's help bring Naoimi to her family!

No, seriously. I really do.

2007-08-15T20:33:00.000-07:00

Have shingles, that is. Yeah, that's right. Shingles. Turns out that the "coxsackie" virus I had a few weeks ago was a Herpes simplex (HSV-1) breakout (most commonly manifested as cold sores), and now this is a Herpes zoster flareup. Basically, it's an adult version of chicken pox.

Guess where the lesions are? Mah mouf. That's right. Mashed potates, broth and applesauce, here I come. Again. At least I lost 8 pounds a few weeks ago. Now I can lose the last five and be at my ideal weight. Yay! The Herpes diet!

Have a date!

2007-08-15T07:37:00.000-07:00

Our occupational therapy (OT) appointment is set. So, prayers and thoughts and well-wishes are welcome that they will take a look at him and laugh us out of the office. It's Tuesday at 11:15, and my challenge is to sleep between now and then. Argh.

Man, I love that kid.

My Perfect Bear

2007-08-14T08:52:00.000-07:00

So, off I went googling the other night, because of some quirks I noticed about The Bear, some things he needs in order to fall asleep. Little did I know that I would stumble upon a checklist that includes many of his behaviors that may indicate proprioceptive sensory issues. I'll blog later about the details, because I really need to go nap while he's sleeping, but suffice it to say that I'm absolutely terrified. I know there's nothing I can do to control the situation, but since I deal with a teeny anxiety disorder myself, not knowing and being able to predict the outcome brings out all my bad habits.

I spoke with a very helpful and knowledgeable occupational therapist yesterday, and after answering questions and discussing his behaviors for about fifteen minutes, she said that she would recommend an evaluation, just to see if there's anything there that can be helped with changes in behavior, modifications, etc. We're waiting for the occupational therapy center to call us back to set an appointment. I'm on pins and needles.

I don't know that any mom wants less for their child than to be the absolute shining star that he is. My biggest fear is that if there is something that would cause The Bear to manifest behavior that is outside the societal acceptance of normal, that people won't see how wonderful and beautiful and perfect he is. Life is hard enough, it breaks my heart to think that he may face struggles in addition to those that life will present on its own. More later, my brain is exhausted from worrying.

Oh, the triteness

2007-08-11T18:19:00.001-07:00

Usually, those goofy, trite bits of "wisdom" make me want to blech, but I read this today, and it's resounded. So, I share:

"If you want the greener grass, water your own."

I'm pondering on that this week.

Mei Tai (no, not a tropical drink)

2007-08-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

You know how when you find something that you love, you want to call all your friends and tell them, and just randomly stop strangers at the store and people you pass as you take a walk and also send an email to every single person on your contact list and be all, "OH MY GAH! My life is, now and forevermore, changed. You must run, not walk, and buy this." No? Just me? Huh.

Well, my newest "it's changed my life" item (sounds like a new category I need to have - TTHCML [Things That Have Changed My Life]):

My mei tai. What in the world is that, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did so. It is a baby carrier, which allows your baby to be carried on the front, tummy-to-tummy, or on the back, with his legs wrapped around your back. A most interesting history of the mei tai's origin and travel to Western culture I found on *blush* Wikipedia.

Traditionally, the Chinese mei tai was a square or nearly square piece of cloth with parallel unpadded straps emerging from the sides of each corner. It was tradtionally secured by bringing all the straps together in a twist with the ends tucked. The mei tai did not become well-known in the United States until 2003, when several designs that added padding, a longer body, longer top straps and a more "wrap like" tying method were created and made popular.

I have also read on the forums at The Babywearer that the origin of the name is Cantonese, and is more properly pronounced "bay die". So as to respect the cultural origins and soften the fairly obvious cultural appropriation that we have accomplished in coopting the mei tai and making it trendy, I often try to pronounce it in a somewhat mushy hybrid of "may tie" and "bey die". It's quite interesting to watch me do mouth gymnastics and have this whole narrative running through my head when a random person at the grocery store says, "Awww! That's cute, what are you holding him in?"

Okay, if you're still with me, this is the person to whom I credit my new obsession: Tina at Bean Slings. Tina is now the recipient of much of our hard-earned money. I used a pouch sling for The Bear when he was a newborn, but now that he is Mr. Very Busy and Important, he is insistent that he must not be contained by a pouch. After researching a great deal, it sounded as if the mei tai style carrier would work best for us, as it allows his arms and legs to be free, evenly distributes his weight across my back (which is absolutely necessary, as I have a pinched nerve root), and does not hang the baby by his hips - as do the ubiquitous Snugli and Baby Bjorn - which has been implicated recently in contributing hip dysplasia. Care providers who are attuned to this issue recommend optimizing positions in which the baby's legs are splayed, as they are when the baby's legs are wrapped around your waist. The mei tai allows you to hold your child on your front while the pressure of his body is concentrated on his seat, just as it is if you were holding him, or if he were sitting.

My first mei tai, and still my favorite, since it's been broken in and has that soft, mine thing about it, is this pattern. I recently ordered this pattern for one of my bestest friendes in the whole world, E, who will be having baby Owen imminently, and of course, I *had* to order an additional carrier for myself in this fab floral, if only to justify the shipping cost. Hey, it's reversible, so I really saved money by buying two slings in one, right?

Enterowhatnow?

2007-08-09T06:47:00.000-07:00

Well, thanks to my physician sister, I finally have a name for the Biblical plagues of Egypt that befell me last week: enterovirus. Most likely coxsackie, a.k.a., hand, foot and mouth. I mean, what am I, a mad cow? Well.......

Will he be nursing in college?

2007-08-07T19:13:00.001-07:00

Before I had children, I wasn't even sure that I would breastfeed. Now, as mother to a 3 1/2 year old and 9 month old, I find myself having transformed slowly into what's known as a "lactivist" - a breastfeeding activist. When I was newly married, and children were a distant idea on the horizon, I had a breast reduction. I knew the risks included a decrease in milk production, but I had so many body image issues relating to my disproportionate breast size that I couldn't imagine wanting to use them for anything worthwhile. I prepared my husband in the months prior to Sir H's birth that he was not to be pushy about my choice to breast or bottle feed. Having no personal opinion, he quickly agreed (I'm sure that a nine-months pregnant behemoth full of hormones, cycling quickly between crying and howling with laughter had nothing to do with his quick acquiescence).

Then, I birthed a miracle. The first thing I saw was a tiny, perfectly formed hand reaching toward the sky, fingers splayed, attached to a wiry arm locked tight at the elbow, and slowly starting to grasp, grasp, grasp. Everything else disappeared, it was just me and this person that I needed to touch, hold, feed, now, now, now. When he turned his head toward my chest, it was the most natural thing in the world to feed him from my breast.

Though my feelings immediately changed, and I became more than committed to breastfeeding him, our bodies had other plans. Between latching issues and destroyed nipples from terrible nursing advice from young nurses, we were presented with an immediate challenge. We supplemented from the beginning, with a few ounces of formula, after every nursing session, due to the fact of my breast reduction. We had no idea if my body was capable of making enough milk, and I was too afraid to wait and see. Then, when Sir H was ten days old, he contracted RSV. As a result, he was unable to breathe when nursing, which further heightened our troubles. I wanted nothing more than to feed this baby with the best food possible, and emotionally, I wanted to succeed at the first job I had ever had as a mother. Our struggles continued for months. I had to switch over to a hospital grade rented pump while my body healed, and could only pump enough milk to feed Sir H half the time, so he got formula the other half. My husband often found me, bent over breastfeeding books, trying to analyze what I was doing wrong. He would hear the sound of my sobbing down the hall and know it was time to come take the book away and reassure me that I was doing my best. My heart was breaking. When I fed Sir H a bottle, I actively loathed it. I hated touching the formula, I resented it with every fiber of my being. I couldn't feed him a bottle without tears dripping all over my sweet babe's face, so my husband had to take over bottle duty, while I sobbed and pumped downstairs.

The good news is that we perservered, and after going through pumps, bottles, formula and nipple shields, Sir H and I finally figured it out, and from 12 weeks on, he was exclusively breastfed. Yay! I still count that as the thing I am most proud of in my entire life. Forget college graduation, never mind the young people I counseled, I made my baby get FAT! When The Bear arrived, I prayed that we would have smooth sailing from the beginning, and wouldn't you know? That kid and I were made for this. He latched beautifully, and I was so much less anxious, and it's been a dream. The Bear is 9 months old, and while he's managed to grab a bite or two off our plates, he's still exclusively breastfed. If you wonder why we're delaying solids, it's a combination of things: allergy reduction, gut flora health, greater protection from illness, the list is long.

I tell you all this to give you a peek into my growth as a lactivist. When you work that hard for something that important, there's nothing that can or should possibly get in the way of seeing it to its completion. And for many mothers, the completion of the breastfeeding relationship doesn't simply end when the child can "ask for it", or when he gets teeth (another piece of "popular wisdom" which is neither wise nor particularly popular). It's when we decide. When the child and the mother are ready. Some moms are ready at a year. I certainly wasn't with Sir H. He decided to be finished at 16 months, and his decision was abrupt and final. Now, The Bear, on the other hand, has shown signs of breastfeeding into college. And after the literal blood, sweat and endless tears I put in to fight for my child's right to have superior sustenence, why would I turn off the tap before he was ready?

So, you people who give the wrinkled nose when you pass as I feed my child; you women who loudly comment, 'If he's old enough to ask, he's too old!' as you walk by, know this. My 9 month old can ask. He pulls at my shirt and loudly and sternly tells me, "EH!" Is 9 months too old to nurse? He just cut his third and fourth tooth. Is he too old to nurse? Is my friend's two-year-old who cuddles up to her breast at night to comfort herself at the end of a long day too old to nurse? What makes a child "too old"? I am most certainly not alone in my arduous journey to breastfeed. Many, many mothers have a much more difficult time than I. Who are you, who are we, to determine when enough is enough? Being a mother has its own set of overwhelming challenges and obstacles. Why not refuse to add another by judging the choices of breastfeeding mothers?

Here's something I guarantee will make the day of a nursing mama - smile, give her a thumbs up, and keep on walking.

To vaccinate or not to vaccinate, that is the question

2007-08-06T07:33:00.001-07:00

In the last few months, I have, for the very first time, been challenging myself as to my vehement and ardent beliefs that vaccines are necessary and good. I decided that if that is a fact, then I would have no problem reading the information written by those who are concerned about vax effects on our children. So, I'm just beginning the journey.

I have recently come across a Christian physician, Dr. Russell Blaylock, who is opposed to routine and mandated vaccinations. Although I have known some Catholics who are anti-vax due to the presence of fetal cells lines in many of the immunizations, I have not encountered anyone "in real life", as opposed to online, who has an ethical objection based on this variable. So, the information I'm discovering is fairly new to me, and there are no peers or mentors who have opinions with which I can discuss it. An interesting position, this, and one more and more common in this Internet age.

At this moment, I am absolutely, more than one hundred percent committed to continuing the vaccination for meningitis, brand name Prevnar, effective against pneumococcal bacteria. I've seen firsthand the devastation this disease has wrought on infants and children, and I'm committed to being as cautious as possible when it comes to meningitis. My task in the next month or two will be to evaluate the other routine vaccinations The Bear will be scheduled to receive, and thankfully, due to my time mismanagement skills, I have been given some grace time. At 9 months old, he has only received up to his four-month scheduled shots, so he's relatively vax-free at this point. I'll be posting my thoughts as I travel down this road of vax information and try to separate the agenda from the facts.

Sir H. was reading his "mazagines" earlier, and had some "growl-a" bars for breakfast. They used to be "ranogla bars", but time is too fleeting when it comes to precious mispronounciations. The Bear is now accustomed to falling asleep on me, as I lie in a half-coma, so I type this with him fussing at me from his bed while I sit in the chair next to it. He's a snuggle buggie, and I love it.

Sick sucks

2007-08-05T15:54:00.001-07:00

I've been sick quite a bit this year. I am sure, by now, that it is a result of having two kiddos under 4, a husband who works 14 hours a day, and not getting enough sleep. I am going to have to figure out how to take better care of myself. Any suggestions for immune-boosting ideas are more than welcome. So far, I'm taking probiotics (which haven't done much but give me...well, excessive bathroom time), trying to eat more fruits and veggies, and I was taking Airborne quite frequently, every time I was feeling cold or flu-like.

Unfortunately, this week I pretty much bottomed out. I was struck at around noon on Tuesday with a migraine unlike any I've had before. Thankfully, my dad was around, and he took me to the doctor and my wonderful doctor (we affectionately refer to him as Dr. Jesus, Jr. due to his ways of salvation when we feel so badly) gave me a elephantine shot of Stadol. I slept in a narcotic buzz through the next two days. On Wednesday evening, I felt well enough to get up and eat, and noticed, through the haze of narcotic, that my mouth was disturbingly painful as I ate some chicken strips. I dismissed it and went to bed.

On Thursday morning, I awoke to find that I had a mouth full of canker sores, ulcers, whathaveyou. I prefer to call them demon-pains-from-hell, but whatever. Again to the doctor, who gave me an anti-viral and some lidocaine. On Friday morning, I woke up with vomiting and diarrhea. Yep, the stomach bug had decided to pay me a visit, because I wasn't feeling badly enough. So, I feel human today, but still woozy.

Sadly, my nursling, Bear, isn't getting much nourishment at the breast, and that has caused me unending guilt and worry. My big boy, Sir H, is constantly asking me if I'm okay, so I know he's worried and hopefully, Daddy's pulling through on that front. I'm lucky if I can choke down 300 calories a day, and it's just not cutting it. Thankfully, the end is in sight. My mouth is better, my tummy seems to not be revolting after a meal of mashed potatoes and Gatorade, and I can cross my fingers and pray for a good night's sleep and a healthy day tomorrow.

Bear is nine months, on the 1st, and I can hardly believe it. He has been standing since he was 7 months old, just stands right up from a froggy squat, and recently, added clapping and "yayayayayayay!" to his repertoire as he stands. He loves to be snuggled, loves to sleep pressed up to you skin to skin, and nurses constantly.

Sir H is a very, very busy little guy who has a billion friends and makes new ones everywhere he goes. He is constantly on the look for "peelbugs", asks if we are driving on the "hivewave" to San Antoooonio, tells me, "Mommy, we don't say, 'shutup'", and sees "websites" (spiderwebs) everywhere we go.

Heh

2007-08-05T15:47:00.001-07:00

So, I finally have a place to post, to vent, to share. I'm way behind the 8 ball on this one. As in a decade. I have eschewed the idea of a blog for a great while, for the same reasons I abhore the endless rows of memoirs on the library shelves, and the reality television shows that dominate the airwaves. But, who am I kidding? I read the memoirs, the juicier the better. I watch the shows, I read the blogs.

Ergo, I succumb. Now the question is - will anyone read?