Teh Awesome

I keep thinking that I should be doing better by now. That somehow I should be able to make myself feel better, be less sad, stop feeling as if my life has completely crumbled. I am constantly reminded by others that it is okay. Okay to be sad, okay to cry, okay to grieve. It’s okay. It’s not been long. It’s really only been two weeks. Tomorrow.

It’s only been 6 days since I realized this is permanent. I didn’t know that for sure until then. Six days. I lost all hope that day. Not sure why I still had some, but I did. Six days isn’t long, it’s not even a full week.

I wanted today to be the day that I stopped crying the second my kids go to bed. Or the second I drop them off with their father. The day that I stopped wanting to cry all day. The day that I’d start feeling like I may be capable of doing this.

I wanted today to be the day that I didn’t dread my day from the second I woke up. The day that I could see something good in my future. I wanted today to be the day that I answered all of the sweet emails and comments from all of you.

I wanted today to be the day I started actually reading posts again and engaging on Twitter. Doing more than opening and closing Facebook. Emailing people again.

Today is not that day. I am just not there yet.

Instead, this is what I know I can do for today:

Today I will remind myself that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to not be okay. That there is no timeline on grief.

I will remind myself this afternoon, when my kids go to their dad, that they need him as much as they need me. That I will get used to this new schedule. That they will be home for bed.

Today I will rejoice in the fact that Bailey ate an entire donut and drank an entire glass of milk for breakfast, instead of worrying about the fact that she hasn’t eaten in a week. I will remind myself that she’s five and it’s been a week. They’ve only known for a week. That as long as she eats something, she will be okay.

I will call and un-enroll Harrison in toddler class. The last thing he needs right now is more change.

I will make more blueberry cobbler, because it made Morgan happy.

Today I will send you over to the Babble Top 50 Mommy Blogger list, which someone added me onto. Whoever did that, I adore you. To each of you who voted for me, I adore you too. Now, will you all do me a favor? Please go over and vote for Mamaspohr. Please. For me? Thanks.

Today I will thank each of you right here and now, for your sweet emails and comments. For offers to talk, for sending me your phone numbers. For text messages, Tweets and DM’s. Truly, you have no idea how much it means to me. I’ve read it all. I just haven’t found the energy to respond yet. Just know, you have made me feel so supported and loved and that is priceless.

Today, I will be realistic in my goals for myself.

-All in all we had a great Thanksgiving. However, there was some family drama as their always is. I have a cousin who believes the world revolves around her. She always seems to get her way. She is the biggest asshat. Even bigger than her mother, which we all thought wasn’t possible. She didn’t want me to see her daughter (long story, but her oldest kid lives with her dad and step-mom in Colorado, about five hours away from us, but they were in Texas visiting family as well) and made it impossible for me to see her while we were in Texas. (Until this time last year, the girl practically lived at my house and I miss her.) On the drive home yesterday though, we ended up driving behind them and they called us when they noticed it and we all stopped and had lunch together and I’ve invited them to my house for Christmas. Take that, cousin.

-My great-aunt passed away on Wednesday night. She’d had a stroke the previous Friday and I decided not to mention it. It just didn’t feel right. Anyway, we didn’t stay for her funeral, which was yesterday. I did help plan it. It put a slight damper of the holiday. We decided to celebrate her life by doing it all anyway. She would have wanted us too. It did change the mood of the week though.

-We saw the world’s smallest skyscraper. Seriously. See?

It’s four stories high. It’s all small and tiny and cute. The story is this: at some point, lets say 100 years ago, although it may not have been that long ago. What? It’s my story. Anyway, this great businessman came to town. He told the town that he could build them the greatest, highest skyscraper in all of Texas. They looked over the plans, which looked amazing. He told them it would bring people from all over the world to see it. They could charge admission. They agreed and paid him his rate. He built it. They were outraged at how tiny it was. He told them that they’d signed the contract, they’d approved the plans, it wasn’t his problem. He left town. Turns out, the plans were exactly how he said they were. However, the town folks had not noticed that he’d used inches instead of feet in his measurments. It was clear as day on there, but in the excitement, they’d failed to notice it.

-We took roses to put on my grandparents and great-grandparents graves. Took us about 30 minutes to find them. Good thing we did too, since my grandpa’s middle initial is wrong on there. Nobody had noticed it when grandma passed last December.

-Football is a fierce subject in Texas. Doesn’t matter if it is the NFL or college. They don’t care where you live, if you are in Texas, you are a Texas fan. The end. To have a little fun, I pretended not to know a thing about football. I like seeing that vein in my uncle’s neck pop out.

-As a family, we all went and saw Blind Side on Saturday. See that movie. Trust me. It is phenomenal. I am now a Raven’s fan. I had to ask where they played and I don’t even care that I’ve never been to Baltimore. I am now a Raven’s fan. Everyone had a favorite line of the movie. We spent the following two hours at dinner discussing it. My favorite line? Tim McGraw plays the dad and he turns to his wife, played by Sandra Bullock, and says, “who’d of thought, we’d of had a black son, before we’d met a democrate?”  Cracked me up.

-My youngest cousin is seventeen years old. He’s a great kid. Funny, sweet, easy going. His girlfriend made him go see the Twilight movie on Friday night. I guess there is a part where the one buff guy rips off his shirt, when the girl is bleeding? Anyway, D stood up in the theater and said, WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?? Then he said to his girlfriend, H, don’t worry ALL GUYS look like that. I’m not sure D still has a girlfriend. If so, he owes her big time. He’d already been texting his dad and my husband for scores to the Texas vs. A&M game. Ha. Then again, a smart girl would have gone with her friends, not her boyfriend. Seventeen year old boys don’t care which vampire is hotter.

-The twelve hours in the car on the way to Texas was not so bad. Girls played nicely, read books, watched movies and listened to music. The boy managed to notice every, single bird that flew by; he napped for hours; he watched Cars and was generally a happy little dude. The way home to Texas took thirteen hours, but it felt like twenty-seven hours. The girls fought; with me, with each other. Batteries in iPods died. Movies were toooooo boring. This song is stupid, I don’t like this candy. On and on and on, it went. At 7am, the questions about how much longer started. The answer of ALL DAY AND STOP ASKING was only met with tears. Instead of napping, Harrison screamed and hit people. We had Cars on constand loop, just hoping he’d stop for ten minutes at a time. Then the last three hours, he choose to sob. Non-Stop. For three hours.

-Mostly though, we ate too much, we slept too little and we had a great week. How’d you guys do?

Two years ago Logan and I decided to make a 24 hour rule about Halloween candy. The previous year had been an absolute nightmare. Morgan snuck candy at every possible chance. We found wrappers hidden for months. The girl managed to find it anywhere we hid it. She became this little sugar obsessed loony. Which wasn’t very pleasant in a four year old with ADHD. We swore never again.

We invented the 24 hour rule. Its very simple really. For 24 hours after trick or treating, they can have as much candy as they want. True to form, they ate a ton of it and by the end of yesterday, they were over it. Neither of them has looked at the bowl of candy since 6pm yesterday. It looses its appeal after a bit. From here on out, when I say, one piece of candy, neither will argue. Whatever is left in a week or two, I will throw away. Last year, I tossed more than half of their candy. Basically whatever is left by Thanksgiving is trash.

The downfall of course is that last night, we had to peel them off of the ceiling.

At 8pm, which was really 9pm, but isn’t anymore (I hate time changes), they were both still bouncing off the walls. They are normally asleep by 8:15pm. I couldn’t even get Bailey to put a shirt on. She couldn’t stay still long enough.

Logan and I just watched them dance around in circles for like 20 minutes and by then it was getting close to 9pm. Nothing we said, nothing we did was helping. I’d started thinking that the 24 hour rule was not a smart one.

We finally decided to separate them. I took Bailey into our room and he stayed with Morgan.

I climbed into bed, pulled her in with me and turned out all the lights. She fidgeted for a good ten minutes and then finally I felt her start to settle. Her words got slower and quieter. Eventually she fell asleep.

I considered getting up. I had laundry to do, dishes to clean, I needed to call my mother, I’d heard my cell phone beep three times which I knew were texts from Liz, and we had The Amazing Race on DVR to watch. But I didn’t. I stayed there with my baby girl. I stayed with her all cuddled into me. I listened to her breath and I played with her hair. I breathed in her smell: Gain on her clean PJ’s, melon scented shampoo, bubble gum toothpaste, and the smell of her. The smell of little girls, the smell of my little girl.

I stayed there. I fell asleep with my baby girl. Funny enough, Logan stayed with Morgan. Neither of us got up.

At 5 and nearly 8 years old, they always sleep in their own room. They never sleep with us. This was nice, a nice sweet change. Made me think that the 24 hour rule is not such a bad one.

Hey friends, one more thing, can you guys do me a favor? My evil plan worked and Liz started a new blog, called Lacking Super Powers. Would you mind going to visit her? It’s all pretty and shiny and new over there. Heck, she even posted. Give her some blog love for me? Thanks so much.

Yesterday, the dreaded note came home from school. Bailey handed it to me, after handing me her lunch box filled with half eaten food.

As an aside, do your kids bring home the half eaten food in their lunch box? Really, I don’t need a quarter of a sandwich back. I know for certain, that they have trash cans and recycling cans in the cafeteria.

The note was almost completely empty, except for the words: Please call me after 6pm this evening to discuss Bailey.

Um Noodle, did you get in trouble today? No. Are you sure? Yes mama. (Insert heavy sigh.)

Were you talking during quiet reading time? No.

How many stars did you have at the end of the day? Three. (Three is what they start with each morning.)

Hmmm, okay. I did what I always do, I freaked out. I called my husband and told him that either our kid was brilliant, or they were about to tell us how behind she is. I spent 20 minutes (at least) spazzing out in a chat with Liz. Both told me, oh she’s fine. You are worrying for nothing.

It’s hard though. I have a hard time not freaking out, first off, because it is my nature. Second, because a note with no info is not helpful. Mostly though, it’s because I’ve been worrying about Bailey lately. It’s hard not to compare the girls. There is no comparison though, in terms of academics. Morgan is so far advanced that it frightens me most days. When your first child has a huge IQ, you don’t know what is normal. What is average? What is considered behind? My girls are polar opposites, in every way imaginable. I don’t know what a normal five year old should be like academically. I don’t worry about Bailey in any other way. Or Morgan either. Academically however, I worry about Bailey. Have been for awhile. Comparing her to Morgan isn’t helpful. It’s impossible in fact.

Six rolled around and I called the teacher. Tried to breath and not freak out from the second she answered.

Turns out I had nothing to worry about. As I should have known, had I thought clearly for one solid minute. Which we know isn’t my strong suit.

At her table in class, Bailey sits with a girl who is deaf. The teacher is fluent in sign language and this girl was put next to Bailey, because Bailey is so easy going. (Gotta love a small school. Our teachers know the kids before they have them in class.) She made this girl, Bailey’s buddy. Each kindergartner has a buddy. The girl speaks and can hear some, as well as she reads lips and signs. None of this is the issue.

The teacher called to ask me if she could teach Bailey (as well as another girl) some sign language, during a free “activity table” time. Bailey and the other girl keep asking the teacher, what is the sign for this and what about that. They want to learn sign language and the teacher would love to teach them.

I was worried about nothing. Just another example of how my middle child is. A prime example of how amazing she is. I know this about her, but sometimes it still takes me by surprise.

Needless to say, Bailey and her friend are going to start signing lessons to be able to fully comminucate with their new best buddy.

Harrison:

He calls to me an hour before the alarm would go off. Mama, mama, mama. MAMA! He gets louder the longer I ignore him. What are the chances he’ll go back to sleep if you leave him, Logan asks? Slim to none, I say as I get out of bed.

MAMA, he squeals as I walk in his bedroom. Shhh baby, it’s quiet time. See, the sun isn’t up yet, I say, as I pick him up. (Anymommy, this sun shit doesn’t work. You got a better idea?) As we walk down to the kitchen for a bottle of milk, he jabbers constantly. This boy is a morning person, that I know for sure. Evey forth word is a word I know: milk, sissy, ball, wow, uh oh, goggie, dada. They don’t make sense yet, but he’s showing off his skills.

Mix the formula one handed, as he doesn’t like to be down in the morning. Why don’t we go see daddy, I ask him. Yeah, lets visit daddy. Dada, kak kak, he says back to me. Every morning, it’s the same thing. I get him and make the bottle, we go back to my bedroom and I basically hand him off to his daddy, as I try and hide under the covers for another half hour. They play some odd game involving duck noises as I try unsuccessfully to go back to sleep. When the alarm finally goes off, Logan goes to shower and I take back over. It’s at this point when I pull out the big guns. Namely the matchbox cars that I keep in my bedside table. Two cars, one for each hand and my boy is a happy boy.  Soon, it’s time to wake the girls.

Bailey:

I wake her first because she is easy. Simple as that, she is easy to wake. Easy to make get dressed. Bailey, wake up love, it’s time to get ready for school, I say as I sit on their bed (Yes, my girls share a bed. Swear it’s by choice though, as they both have beds.) She wakes up easily, rolls over and sits up. As she hugs me, she says, I get to go to kindergarten again right? Yes, you do. Okay, then. Can I have donuts for breakfast? Uh, no, you can have cereal for breakfast. Oh man, she says, laughing. We do this every day. Her just hoping for the day when I say, yes, we can have donuts for breakfast.

She gets up and heads towards the bathroom. Please wash your face and brush your teeth I tell her. She still needs to be told. When she’s done, she comes and sits on me for a few minutes. I tickle her and laugh at her jokes, play with her hair and then I hand her her clothes. Clothes that we picked out the night before, because I don’t deal with clothes issues in the morning.

She talks a mile a minute about school as we walk down the hallway toward the kitchen. I need coffee, I think to myself. Instead of saying it, I answer her nine million questions. She picks her cereal as I grab the specific Disney bowl she requested. She pours her cereal and I pour the milk. As she eats, she talks constantly. She stops to chew, because she knows better than to talk with her mouth full. Between bites, she tells me again how much she loves school. How she met so many new friends. Where her teacher sits during reading time, what book they read and how many times she had to be reminded that reading time is quiet time. I remind her again that today I’d like that number of reminders, to be a bit less. She agrees.

I make her lunch and then braid her hair. I ask her about ten times to pick her backback up off the floor in her room and put it by the door to the garage. Please find shoes that match I tell her. Strange child, I think as I shake my head.

On the way to school, we sing to every song that comes on the radio. Ooohhhh I like this one mama, turn it up, she says at least three times.

One kiss and a hug good-by at her door and she’s off. She doesn’t even look back to see me leave.

Morgan:

I wake her three times before she even acts awake. One day, I will leave this to her, but seven and a half is too young, right? I think this to myself each time I have to wake her up. She rolls over and glares at me. Mom, I’m tired. Yes, so am I, I tell her. You still have to get up and get ready for school. I’m ready for summer again, she says. Oh it’s going to be a long year, I think.

I wake her last, after her sister is out of the room for two reasons. One, she is a mean morning person and her sister being happy bugs her to no end. Two, she gets ready much quicker.

I poke and prod her. I sing to her. I tickle her. I finally tell her I will dump Harrison on her if she doesn’t get up. He’s too big for that mom, he’ll crush me, she says. Fine, I’m up. Are you happy now? Sure my darling girl, I’m thilled. Please get dressed and come eat breakfast.

I’m not wearing that, she says as she walks to the bathroom. That is the dumbest outfit ever. I have ugly clothes. I’d rather be nekkid than wear that. Whatever Morgan, I tell her. You picked it. At the store and last night you picked it. I don’t care what you wear, as long as you come to the kitchen fully dressed. I am not in the mood for this, I tell her.

We will do this for the next nine months. At some point, I know she will show up in the kitchen with no clothes on, or her PJ’s still on, just to argue with me some more. Today, her clothes are still brand new. They still have tags on them, which makes her happy. It’s no longer new, once the tags have been removed.

She comes into the kitchen fully dressed. Thank you, I say. I appreciate you doing what I asked. No response is given, although I didn’t need one. I hand her a breakfast bar and a glass of juice. I also hand her an Adderall. She drinks the juice and takes the pill and rolls her breakfast bar up in a napkin, to eat later. Like me, she’s not a fan of breakfast. She puts it in her lunch box. I didn’t want a mini-bagel today, she cries. I hate those. Well, you wouldn’t tell me last night, so that is what you got. Trade with Mackenzie (her bff), you know she loves those. Fine, that’s what I’ll do then. Auntie Kate makes better lunches anyway. I’d say something back, but it’s useless. Plus? I know my best friend is having the same arguement at her house right now with Mackenzie. There is a reason they are as good of friends as Kate and I are. Most likely, the girls will switch lunches and both be thrilled with it.

Head band on her head, flip-flops on her feet and she’s ready to go. Her back pack, neatly put by the garage door the night before is in hand.

She pushes Bailey out of the door and I yell at her. Why do you do that, I ask? Because she was in my way, is the response. I should say more, but I know it’s like talking to a brick wall this early in the morning. On the way to school, she warms up a bit. She tells me about her need to find a good book at the library today. She reminds me that I didn’t sign her reading slip from last night. No, I did after you went to bed. I put it in your Hannah Montana folder, I tell her. Oh good, thank you mommy. I smile at her. Might be the only mommy, I get all day.

As I drop her off, I get one quick hug, before she runs off to find her friends.

This is my new normal. I don’t mind it really. It’s comforting.