It’s late at night. We are in bed. Holding hands. Pondering quietly the reality that has smacked us squarely in the face. Neither of us speaks for nearly an hour. I listen to him breath. I play the evening over and over again in my mind. I wonder to myself, is this real. God, I hope this is real.
Finally he speaks. Well that happened fast, didn’t it?
Yeah, I guess it did, I responded.
So….we’re going to be parents then? Dam that’s rad.
Yeah, it is, huh?
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We were on vacation. 1992 maybe. I’d of been twelve that summer. Driving through Oklahoma. We’d stopped at Sonic, which he’d only mentioned about 73 times that day. Sonic. Jalapeno burgers. Cherry limeade. You could almost see it dancing in his eyes. His idea of heaven, if he were one to believe in such things.
We stopped at the first one we saw. We all ordered huge drinks and burgers. Chili cheese fries to share. We sat outside the car in the humid summer heat. The radio in the car was on. Turned to a silly country station, that he never would have normally made us listen too. Maybe it was Oklahoma that did it too him. Maybe it was Sonic. Who knows. My dad is an odd guy.
The moment was over before it really began.
He jumped up and started grabbing food and shoving it in the car in seconds. I didn’t recognize that look in his eyes. Get in the car now, he said. His voice was raised. He meant business. The man rarely raised his voice. We all got in the car. He drove away like a bat out of hell. He didn’t speak for 30 minutes.
We were all silent as well. No one said a thing, even though he was driving us back in the direction we’d just come from. Considering there were five of between 10 and 14 years old, this was a strange occurrence.
Eventually my step-mom broke the silence. What happened? Tornadoes, was his response. Headed our direction. The radio said tornadoes. More than one. Never again will I deal with tornadoes. Give me an earthquake any day.
It would have been funny, except it really wasn’t. On a vacation once, in Texas, my dad almost lost my mom because of tornadoes. She happened to be out shopping and she nearly died in a storm drain. It was about six months before they got pregnant with me. The town my grandparents lived in was over a third gone, after the tornadoes that day. Three major ones.
We will be going around Oklahoma today, was all he’d say.
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Family dinner. My family. His family. We’d ordered in. Mexican food. What? It wasn’t like I knew how to cook. Our new condo. It was the first time we’d had everyone there. There wasn’t enough seats for everyone, so a lot of people ended up sitting on the floor.
They believed it was to celebrate the condo. They’d brought us gifts. As we finished opening them, I got up and said, there is actually two more. Hold on one second. I went into our bedroom and came out with two gifts.
White satin wrapping. Purple and green ribbon. I remember that I’d spent an hour at some specialty shop in Beverly Hills, finding the prettiest paper I could find. I even made my friend Kate wrap them for me, because I wanted it to be perfect. One gift for his parents, one for my mom. Two picture frames.
Our butter bean in a frame. Ten weeks. Her first fuzzy photo. The frames said first grandchild.
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Same vacation. 1992. We’d been in Albuquerque the day before and had gone to Water World. I’d managed to step on a lit cigarette butt and had a blister the size of a fist on my foot. I have always been known for this type of thing. They should have just named me clumsy.
We were camping in Carlsbad. Had been swimming the night before. Every one told me to pop that blister, but I decided limping around was a better way to go. I didn’t want to miss walking down Carlsbad Caverns. I knew if I popped it, I’d not want to walk for days. See, I’d heard a rumor the night before, that Mario Lopez would be filming something at the bottom of the caves the next day. I wanted to meet him. Oh how I loved Saved by the Bell.
I was determined. I didn’t care how much it hurt. I did it anyway. Not because I cared about a silly cave. National monument? Who cares about that? I was twelve. I’d of rather been in a mall. Or at home, spending my days boogie boarding with my friends.
I could have cared less that it had an actual cafeteria at the bottom. I didn’t want to see bats. Or ride the weird elevator back to the top. Nope. I did it too see some cute famous boy.
Saw him too. Somewhere I even have a signed autograph. Totally worth the foot pain.
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You think you mow what you will do. You spend months, sometimes years telling yourself what you will do. What you won’t do. How you will be. How they will be. You are so sure of it.
Private school. Soccer. No sugar cereal. No TV except on weekends. No video games. No yelling. No fast food. Your kid will never act like that. They’d never sleep with me. I’d get rid of binkies at one. They’d potty train at two. They never wear mismatched clothes in public.
Man I was dumb. Deluded too. Nearly nine years later and I laugh at the woman who believed that. If I could, I’d go and flick myself on the back of the head, for ever believing that to be true.
No, that’s not really it. I wanted what we all want. Perfection. Happy. Beautiful. Everything wonderful. We want them to have better than us. No drama. No hatred. No heartache. Nothing that can’t be fixed quickly. I wanted to give my kids a life that only exists in Disney movies.
Here I sit, nearly nine years later. Three kids. No perfection in our lives. Public alternative school. Dance and gymnastics. We eat whatever is easy most of the time. I *may* have let them have cookies after breakfast, because I couldn’t think of a reason why not in the moment. I currently have one kid sleeping with me. Harrison very likely may take his Binky to college and I’m not even considering potty training him until next summer, when he’ll be nearly three. We watch TV and play video games. We play apps and taunt each other with our scores. And I know, this is just a small portion of our life. In fact, its the things that don’t truly matter. This I have learned.
Then comes the harder stuff. The explaining of life issues. Disease. Death. Divorce. Birds and the bees. *shudder* All things you don’t want to have to explain. Things you didn’t think about when picking out names and buying wee bitsy little socks. Which is okay. If we thought about those things, how hard it would be to explain those things, maybe we’d of not had children. I would have….but it would have given me pause. Yet, I didn’t think about it. I don’t think I thought much past kindergarten. There are good reasons for it.
I’ve managed to get through some of the hard conversations. They get it logically. Or Morgan does at least. The real hard part? Watching them hurt. Knowing I can’t do anything about it. Man, no one and nothing can prepare you for that. How do I stop that? Her hurts? I can’t seem too. Even small things are now beyond my control. She’s almost nine.
She wants to read a book. A great book. A hard subject book. Number the Stars. It’s about the Holocaust. She wants to read it, because it’s on a list. A list of great books that everyone should read. She’s in an accelerated reading program and they hand out these lists. But she’s eight.
The Holocaust. How do I explain the Holocaust to an almost nine year old? She still sleeps with a blankie. She has an arm full of Silly Bandz on at all times. She drinks out of crazy straws as much as humanly possible. She’s still so innocent. How do I explain this topic and not take away her innocence?
It’s not as simple as a novel. For our family, it’s real. How do I explain that for our family, or at least my dad’s side, it’s not just a story of once upon a time? That there is a reason there is no family on that side. How do I explain that my great grandma, great-great grandpa and two tiny little boys (one of whom was my grandpa. he was only 5 at the time) escaped with their lives, never to see another family member again? That our name was changed and our religion discarded, as a way to protect what little they had left? How do I explain how entire countries let Hitler kill 6 million Jews? That no one stopped him. I remember the exact day this was explained too me. I do feel like I lost something that day. How can I do that to her? I know I can’t protect her forever, but eight seems too young.
This is the same kid who cries if a dog or cat gets injured in a movie. How do I explain dead children? Dead families? People burned? Starved? I can’t hide it from her. It’s part of history. Part of our history. I’m just not sure I’m ready to explain.
This parenting gig is hard. It was much easier to worry about what I was possibly going to do with all those wee little socks.
Yesterday was brutal. I am so thankful that it’s over. YAY TUESDAY!!!!! Ahem.
-We have one tooth!!!!! Only what, three more molars to go? Whatever, he slept and I in turn, slept too.
-The sleeping thing was really good. I tend to get a bit too spazzy and emotional and down right dumb with my thinking when I don’t sleep for days at a time. See above: yesterdays brutal comment.
-I am completely unimpressed by new television shows this season. Hopefully No Ordinary Family will be good tonight. The girls and I are really hoping. Luckily, the returning shows seem to be good.
-Did you guys see The Amazing Race? The watermelon catapult part? We were watching that on Sunday and Bailey says, look mama, it’s like they are playing Angry Birds in real life. I am still laughing at that. She’s a funny girl.
-We may have a serious Angry Bird addiction in my house.
-Every time I type the word are, on my iPhone, I first type ate. Then I have to go back and fix it. I don’t know if I just have fat fingers, or what the freaking problem is. But it annoys me. Mostly because it happens every single freaking time. In other news, I use the word are, a bit too often.
-My middle child, the oh so lovely Bailey, can’t seem to decide what she wants to be for Halloween. Every day she has a new idea. Some of them are completely off the wall. I am not capable of making her into an iPhone. Or a candy corn. Sorry baby girl, but mama only does store bought costumes. The rate she’s going though, she’ll get whatever is left at Target on October 30th.
-When I asked you all last week about cell phones, it was because I’ve been thinking about when to get Morgan one. Most of you said 13 or 14, which wasn’t really surprising. I used to say 12. Yet life has changed and we’ve had a few things happen, where I wished she had one now. That being said, I’ve decided to wait another year. Will I wait until she’s 10? Unlikely. Her dad and I are on a family plan. When his contract is up next summer, she will get his number and a phone. But for her 9th birthday, she’s probably getting the skateboard she wants.
-I was in line at Starbucks this morning, when a guy heard the barista say, you want the usual? After I told her yes please, he says man that must be embarrassing that they know your drink. My response was, no it’s nice and helpful actually. It makes me wonder about people though. I find it odd that he would think that somehow that is embarrassing. That they know my drink. Yet he seemingly finds nothing wrong with his 55 year old self, flirting with a 19 year old cashier. I’m the one who should be embarrassed? Yeah, I don’t think so. I’ve gone to the same Starbucks for years. They know my drink. They also know my kids names and their favorite drinks. That? Is just called good service.
-So? How’s your Tuesday going?
-The way he looked at me and said: mama, I pway wain? He cocked his little head and gave me the dimple smile, just hoping I’d say yes. Sure bubs, I said. Go play in the rain. He took off outside, running and jumping and kicking a soccer ball in the pouring rain. After a bit he came in. You wet enough yet smoosh, I asked? He patted his shirt, his shorts and his cheeks before saying: no, I pway moar wain and running off again. All boy. This kid is all boy. He likes to be dirty. He like to throw balls. Play with trucks. Run in the rain. I adore him.
-The way she comes in at 2am. I hear her coming from down the hall. (Oh the joys of being a light sleeper.) She comes in my room, lifts up the cover and sneaks in. She gets as close to me as possible, some nights even lifting my arm up over her. I listen to her breath. I wait as she falls back asleep. I kiss her head and play with her hair. I smell her shampoo mixed with the smell of little girl. She won’t always want this. She won’t always want me. She will one day decide she is too big to come into bed with me at night. For now? I enjoy it.
-We went and played mini-golf, just the two of us a few weekends ago. She kept writing down one less number for herself than she should have. Most days I won’t let her cheat. I know for her, being called on it, is generally the way to go. Her competitive nature gets the best of her. That day though, I let her cheat. That day, I played worse than I would have on purpose. We laughed and told each other jokes. I watched her watch the teenage girls in front of us play. I watched her listen to their conversations. Watched her watch them joke around with each other. I silently thanked them for being seemingly nice, polite, well behaved girls. When Morgan said on the way home, when I’m big, I’ll be like those girls, I said, yes my love, I’m sure you will. Then I stopped and bought her a Slurpee at 7-11. Just because. At the check out, since she didn’t ask, I offered to buy her a bag of Silly Bandz. Just because.
I admit, I stole this idea from my friend Emily at Wheels on the Bus.
I received this text yesterday from my friend’s phone:
“Mommy wuld u like to go to Gepolte with us? Luv ur dauter Morgan.”
After I died laughing, I called my lovely first born to see what location she thought she was saying. Chipotle. They were going to Chipotle for dinner and wondered if we wanted to join them. Yeah. I’m still laughing.
National spelling champ, she is not.
I really wish I was still in the mountains. We drove up there on Friday afternoon/evening. I went and took Morgan out of school an hour early, mostly to make it easier on her father when he picked up Bailey. See, we decided to just not tell any of the kids that I was doing this. It did make it easier for all involved. The look on her face, when I told her why I’d come to get her early? Priceless.
It was a five hour drive; through: rain, sleet, hail, snow and a pretty impressive thunder and lightening storm. Oh and the fog was insane. I tend to have issues on mountain passes. However as we climbed up to the major one we had to drive over, it was so foggy, I couldn’t see over the edge of the mountains. It made it easy to pretend I was just driving on any random highway.The roads were just wet, so it wasn’t ever a problem. I just had to drive slower than I normally would have. It was only a four hour drive home.
Morgan talked pretty much the entire way up there, which was no different than any other waking second of her life.
It was interesting, but the farther I drove, the more relaxed I got, despite the insane weather. I am pretty sure I needed this trip as much as my girl did. Maybe more. We had fun, drove around the entire town (Which only has two major intersections. Major being, one three way stop sign and one four way stop sign.) and saw a ton of the outer areas as well. It’s a ski resort town and we were staying in a family members vacation home. Their vacation home? I could fit my house into it twice. It was gorgeous. Breathtaking views, out of every single window. There was a hot tub on the deck, where we spent a bunch of time.
We played a cut throat game of Monopoly, where I realized that my kid cheats as much as I do. I finally let her win, not because she or I cared who won, but just to end the game already. We played for two hours on Friday night and by hour three of the same game on Saturday, I was just over it.
We ate out. I let her have more candy and treats in three days than she normally has in two weeks. We sat in the hot tub and talked for hours. She told me silly jokes and I told her silly stories about when she was a crazy toddler. We discussed the reality that is our life. The fact that her dad and I aren’t getting back together. Which sucked. That conversation just sucked. I’ll just leave it at that. We took turns reading a book I’d downloaded onto my Kindle. One she’d been wanting to read. We took six walks. We met tons of nice people.
Everyone we came across was friendly. Too friendly. I only say that, because I could seriously see the draw of living up there. Which scares me a little. I am the last person who could ever make it in a town of 2,000 people. I am the last person who could survive 7-8 months of winter. After this past weekend? I can see the draw. I can see how it would be a great place to raise my kids. I have mentioned I’m crazy, right? I mean, there is no Starbucks in that town. Or a Target within 200 miles. Or any single fast food restaurant. None. At all. I’d have to learn to cook to live there.
I’m not ready to be home. I didn’t honestly want to come home yet. I have tons of things planned this summer, which is a good thing. Because I, like my daughter, don’t really like the reality that is my life right now. All I can do though, is keep making baby steps and moving forward. I’m finding that weekends spent elsewhere, tend to help with this.
And that’s what I know. Well that and the fact that I didn’t sleep well the entire time (Hard beds. impressive lightening storms at 3am. Sleeping with a snoring child.) and my brain is still on vacation. Which is why it took me until 11am to remember that neither of my best friends were going to be working, or online today. Also why I went to put gas in my car this morning and parked on the wrong side. Which is awesome, considering I’ve owned this car for nearly five years now.
My brainz? They are still on a mountain somewhere.
Usually take one last pass through town, Stop the car and touch the ground, Watch those streetlights swayin’ in the breeze, Decorated store fronts, Rusty old gas pumps, Try to fill my mind up, With somethin’ before I go, Picture postcard memories, You know they always make for good company. –Turning Home, David Nail
Picture Postcard Memories. Somehow that line has stuck with me for days. Just a silly line in a song, but I can’t get it out of my head. In a lot of ways, I think like that. In postcard memories. Have you ever seen the movie, Elizabethtown? The girl, played by Kirsten Dunst pretends to take photos of people, of places, just to remember. When I saw that movie, I realized I’ve done that my entire life. Although, I do it in my head, so as not to end up in a round padded room, being asked to find the corner.
I have been thinking a lot about this lately. When I’m having a bad day, I try to search through my mind for happier times, simple times, just memories that make me smile. I’d like to write some of these memories down. For me to remember, for my kids maybe one day. Just so I never forget. Thought I’d try a few today. Maybe I’ll keep doing it. We’ll see. You all know how I say I’m going to do something and then I never bring it up again. But it’s a thought.
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We told Morgan for months that she was going to have a baby brother. Each time we told a random person and that person said anything to her, she’d say: nopes, no baby bruder. We thought she was just having trouble adjusting. Turned out she was right. Bailey, despite the doctor being SO SURE she was a boy, was born a girl.
She was born near midnight and it was around lunch time the next day, when my mom brought Morgan in to meet her new baby sister. I can picture her little eyes sparkling and her screechy voice when she came in the room and saw me. HI MOMMY!!!! All decked out in a new outfit from my mom; red shorts and a red striped Dora shirt. She suddenly seemed like a full grown child, compared to her teeny tiny, new baby sister.
She got up on the bed with me and held her baby sister. This Ian, she asked, because we’d told her for months that would be her brothers name. No baby, it’s not, I said. This is…well she doesn’t have a name yet, but she’s your baby sister. No brother. Sorry honey. No Ian? Okay.
A little bit later, she got off the bed and started looking around. She looked under the bed, in the bathroom, heck, she even looked in my bag that was by the bed. When she walked out of the door, I called her back in the room and asked her what she was looking for. I looking for Ian mama. He’s lost. I will find hims for you.
She thought we’d misplaced him. Like he was a shoe or something. A missing item to find.
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The pool was shaped like a kidney bean. We were in Waikiki, Hawaii on the last day of our vacation. In the deep end there was a weird window, about two feet down. We’d been going down and making faces at it for a good hour. My step-mom was in the room with her eighth migraine of the week. My dad was somewhere.
I bet my brothers to moon the window. Told them, I’d pay them a dollar each. I could have offered them a piece of gum, they were easy marks. Eight year olds are easily buy-able. At ten, I could pay them next to nothing, or just dare them to do anything and they’d do it.
They each took a turn, going underwater and mooning the window. Seconds later my dad showed up. He rarely yelled, but he yelled loudly that day. Get out of the pool right now. Come with me.
Turns out, it was a bar. With a window. To the deep end of the pool. Weird, huh?
He made us apologize to a bar full of hysterically laughing people. The bartender gave us each a Shirley temple. Even added extra cherries. Little tiny boy butts are nothing. I’ve got kids at home. You have no idea the things I see, he told my dad. Whoever thought of putting this window in, was smokin something crazy.
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Our last night in Las Vegas. We’d been there for three days. Three fun filled, easy days. Neither of us really wanted to go back to the hotel. It was admitting the end of our trip.
Sitting at the Bellagio. In a back hallway, in comfy chairs, eating gelato for an hour and a half. Talking about nothing and everything. Being shocked that we couldn’t hear a single sound, except the few other people doing the same thing. We could have been anywhere. In fact, from the second we went into that hotel, until we left it, we never heard a casino. It was a perfect end, to a perfect trip.
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I was fourteen. Summer. Camping. Half Moon Bay. I got up at dawn to go to the bathroom. It was cold and foggy and the sun hadn’t even considered coming out yet. I knew I couldn’t get back in the pop-up trailer without waking everyone else up, so I decided to go on a walk. I walked and then sat and watched the fog roll off the ocean. Listened to the waves crash. Peace. I felt more at peace in that moment that I had in years. I sat there alone and watched the sun come up. Then I walked back to the camper, where no one had even gotten up yet.
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Morgan being held by my Grandpa on his 80th birthday. She was only six days old. Perfection she was, full of that newborn awesomness. I can picture everything he wore that day, her too. If I think hard enough, I can even smell them both. I ignored his words that he might not be strong enough to hold her and placed her in his arms. He was pale and shaky, one of the last few times I’d see him standing and walking around. She’s barely six pounds Grandpa, I said. She won’t break. I watched him take a finger and gently run it on her nose, watched him kiss her head. Angel kisses, he whispered. What, I asked him? Those red strawberry marks on her eyelids. Oh those will go away in a few weeks, I said. Or that’s what her doctor said.
Angel kisses, he repeated. This child was kissed by angels.
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I can’t live these memories a second time. I wish I could, but it’s just not possible. But the stories in my head? Are something I’ll never forget.
She’s always done things her way, in her own time. Generally earlier than most kids too. She was walking at the same age, her younger siblings were just getting the hang of crawling. She spoke in complete sentences by 14 months old, where my other two were content to point, sign the words for more and milk and say quack at the ducks, at that age. People used to ask me if she was a dwarf. No, I’d say, she’s just advanced. Gifted. Special. Choose your pick of words and feel free to roll your eyes. I would too, if anyone else said it about their one year old child. Didn’t make it any less true though.
At two years old, we knew she had ADHD. It’s one of the many challenges facing us with her. One that we’ve learned to deal with pretty well in the last three years. There were a few years there where it was extremely hard, but we’ve come a long way. She’s come a long way. Some of that is age, some of it time, some the Adderall she takes every day. I don’t and won’t apologize for that.
The other major challenge in being her parent, is balancing her intelligence, with her…well I’ll call it social immaturity, maybe? I don’t know it that’s the right wording, but it’s what I’ll use. Not to say she isn’t a natural born leader, nor that she doesn’t have a ton of friends. Or even that she is lacking in social skills. Just that her intelligence makes it where she can understand things way beyond her age level, but she can’t really handle the knowledge. She has a high IQ. If I told you her IQ, you’d swear I was lying. Even people who know her are sure I’ve made it up. Mostly because only a handful of people will ever know someone with this high of an IQ. She can comprehend more than some adults. But she’s still eight and a half years old. Being able to handle change and being able to deal with the things she knows? Well it’s harder for her to deal with that, then it is for her five and a half year old sister.
My kid? She’s an enigma. She’s amazing. She’s special. She wants to be a Supreme Court Judge one day. If you ask her why a Supreme Court Judge, instead of a regular judge, she’ll tell you, well the Supreme Court Judge, always gets the final word. She’s sweet, loving and kind. She adores animals. She’s artistic and creative; writing stories that always delight me, because I love to hear what’s inside of her head. She’s smart, athletic, funny and extremely bossy. She likes things her way. She’s weird. She does math problems, that she creates herself, for fun. She can play Majong for hours, but can’t sit still in her chair for dinner. She’s an absolute joy. She’s also my hardest child. She’s never been what one would call easy. Never will be either. I can picture myself watching her one day spouse roll his eyes at her, saying what can I say, she’s just her.
She’s anxious about changes, always has been. She doesn’t like small changes, much less big ones. This is the kid, I had to give a run down of her entire day too, each day at breakfast, for the first seven years of her life. You will brush your teeth, find your shoes, we’ll go to school, you’ll read, eat lunch, blah, blah, blah. On and on and on. Just to make her feel more secure. Changing her cereal used to take two weeks to talk her into. We had to start talking about anything major weeks or months in advance, just to help her transition. It didn’t always help. We taught her relaxation techniques as a four year old, which helped in some ways. She still, at eight, wears days of the week underwears, just because it’s an order thing and it makes her happy. She’s a little OCD.
Out of my kids, she wasn’t the one I thought would be easy to deal with, in regards to the divorce. She’s taken it surprisingly well. Her sister became needy and stopped eating for weeks and was prone to crying at absolutely nothing for months. Her brother became needy and whiny and very tantrumy at everything. They both still sleep with me at least half the night when they are here. She became helpful and easy…or well easy-ish. She started doing more around the house, to help me. She told funny stories to cheer me and her sister up. She helped her dad with her siblings when with him. She read stories to Harrison, to entertain him in the car. She seemed to be fine. To be handling things okay.
Then a few weeks ago, the night before I left for my vacation, she had a major tantrum. The likes of which, I hadn’t seen since she was five years old. One that started in a parking lot and ended three hours later, after she’d screamed and then sobbed herself out. She threw things, she hit the wall, it was bad. It took me a long, long time to calm her down. At her dad’s house. The night before I left for vacation. Fun times. The next day, she told me on the phone, she didn’t know why she did it. I kinda figured that I did.
Since then, she’s been full of attitude. Back talking me. Whining non-stop at her dad. She’s mean to her sister and rude to just about everyone else. She’s crying at nothing and is prone to screaming fits, making me wonder if she’s suddenly become a 15 year old with raging PMS.
She’s stuffed her feelings. Five months of stuffing her feelings is now barely staying inside. She’s angry and sad and really, a big mess. Frankly it is worrying me to death. I’ve made an appointment for her to see someone this week. I’m also going to take her out of town this weekend, even though it’s her dad’s weekend. I think she needs some one on one time. Some time to talk. Some time to be. Maybe then, she’ll start to let some of those feelings out a bit at a time, before they eat her up.
This is where parenting gets hard. Sure we all think it’s hard when they are babies and toddler. It is too, I’m not saying it’s not. But at the end of a day, when they are babies, if they were fed, changed, played with and loved, you did your job. Now? The feeding and loving and clothing comes a bit easier. It’s the making sure they are okay emotionally that is hard. Because there’s no easy answers now. A kiss on boo-boo’s, doesn’t work when your child is in emotional pain. God, I wish it did.
I just hope I’m doing the right thing. That I’m not too late. That I can help her deal with something that I still don’t understand for myself.
This is a hard time in my life. Very hard. In my trying to make it through each day, I find that I’m forgetting things. Small things. Things like, I’ve needed to buy more Tums for a week. (Can someone explain to me why I still get heartburn when the boy is nearly 16 months old?) Things like, my printer has needed ink for three weeks. Have I been places where I could buy these things? Oh yes, many times over. But I forget when I’m there, because my brain is on overdrive trying to figure out things, that it just doesn’t understand yet.
Where is my plug for my iPod? Why can’t I find my 2008 taxes? Did I give Morgan, Bailey’s lunch today? All very good questions. Things I’d normally be able to give you answers for. Right now though? You guess would be as good as mine.
Anyway, I have a few things that I wanted to remember. In case I forget later. I thought it may be good to write them down here.
-I’ve been having trouble getting Bailey to eat. It’s slowly getting better. She’ll eat for me, but she’s still not eating much when she’s with her dad. It’s the stress, it just makes her un-hungry. Also, she’s a complete mama’s girl. However, when you are only in the 4th percentile for weight, you can’t afford to miss many meals.
Anyway, last Thursday she came into my bedroom in the morning and we had this conversation:
Bailey: Mama, guess what?
Me: noticing that she is butt nekkid. Um, I don’t know, you forgot how to put clothes on?
Bailey: No.
Me: An alien ate all of your clothes while you were sleeping.
Bailey: NO MAMA.
Me: It’s nekkid day at school and I missed the memo?
Bailey: laughing. No silly.
Me: I give up love. What?
Bailey: I’M HUNGRY. Like super-dup really hungry mommy. I NEED pancakes.
Me: cries.
I took them to ihop for breakfast and then took them to school an hour late. Sometimes, it’s just the right thing to do.
- Harrison does this thing where he makes you get up from where you are sitting to follow him. He pulls on your finger and makes you follow him around. Sometimes it’s to retrieve his Mater car from someplace where he can’t get it. Sometimes it’s to show you the fridge. Or the mess he made of the dog food again. Sometimes, he wants you sit somewhere else. Like two spots over on the couch. Or on the other side of his train table. It’s very adorable. We call it, Harrison’s adventures. He’s taking us on an adventure. When he’s done with you, he lets go of your finger, but not until he is done. He’s a very cute little dictator.
-The girls and I have been watching American Idol. Although I’m a mean mom and I make them watch it the next night. I can’t handle watching it live. Commercials and I don’t really get along. I also need to able to fast forward during some of it. The other night, we were watching the second episode from last week. Morgan and I were both covering our face and plugging our ears at the same things. Go past this mom, she kept saying. It’s too painful. This person shouldn’t be on the show. Agreed baby girl. Agreed. Last year, she made me suffer through it all. This year? She’s come over to the dark side. The, I can’t stand to watch people make fools of themselves on TV side. It’s about dang time.
-I have posts that I’ve written. Posts that I’m unsure if I’ll post. Or if I do, I will try to give you guys some other stuff to read as well. I adore you all. But I know, that you worry. That I worry you. I know that I’m depressing to read these days. That honestly may not change for awhile. But I need you to know that I am okay. This space is my outlet. It always has been. I write things here, that I’d only say out loud to my mom, my best friend and my shrink. I promise you all, I am okay. Not great, not even good, but okay. I am taking care of myself and my kids. We are surviving. One day, we will get used to this. We’re not there yet. But we’re all taking the right steps.
-In other news, I’m going to be working on my blogroll for the next few days. It will be on the page marked friends. Right now if you hit the friends button, it just has the post I wrote about 31 unknown bloggers in it.
If you’d like to be on my blogroll let me know and I’ll make sure to add you.
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.
Grab My Button!
I’m a joiner
