Snow Days With Lydia

 

 

 

Braces. And She Couldn't Be More Excited.

When a dentist tells a parent their kid might be a contender for braces, the parent usually sees dollar signs flash before their eyes.

 

 

Kids see sparkly awesomeness being stuck to their teeth while reclining in a chair watching Rio play on the TV screen on the ceiling. 

 

 

Parents see repeated visits to orthodontist offices two and a half hours away.

 

 

Kids see regularly scheduled visits with their friends, two and a half hours away.

 

 

Parents see fun contraptions shoved into their children's mouths to shut them up for thirty solid seconds.

 

 

Kids see free movie time without having to ask Mom's permission.

 

 

Parents see food restrictions, broken wires and impending doom.

 

 

Kids can't stop licking their teeth for the cool new feeling in their mouths.

 

 

Parents see this helping two impacted teeth straitening themselves out, hoping to prevent further trouble down the road.

 

 

Kids see a mouth so full of awesome they can't wait to bounce up and down with glee, while screaming at unsuspecting friends and family, "LOOK!  I HAVE BRACES!  I JUST GOT BRACES!  DO YOU LIKE MY BRACES?  I LOVE MY BRACES!"

 

Happy, healthy kids.  Its all we're really after.  I guess teeth have a little something to do with that from time to time.  If they make her happy and help her mouth stay healthy, well...

This and That

Jeremy has managed to catch the Creeping Crud while I seem to remain untouched.  What cracks me up, though, is that while he was all, MMmmm.... I'd rather go to bed, lets wait until the morning, when Lydia was laying all pathetic and feverish in my bed... Jeremy sniffs and snuffs and sleeps and snores and then comes home with two different pills and a nose spray for his head congestion. 

I have to hand it to him, he hasn't whined that he's dying and he's not woe-is-me'ing his way all through the house, but the fact that he sought out his doc on the boat to get medicine for himself, yet was too tired to willingly take his kid to the doctor is a stark contrast.  Its a little hysterical. 

*****************

Ruby is using only four to five diapers a day.  The beginnings of potty training have started. 

We've pulled out the seat that sits on the toilet and let her spend one hour naked from the bottom down.  She managed to pee on the floor three or four different times in that hour but each time she stopped herself and allowed us to sweep her into the bathroom to finish her business. 

She certainly hasn't learned to do her thing on cue, yet, but that's why I do this prep work.  Soon enough she'll figure out how to make herself go, then its all a matter of spending a week or two training her how hold it... and then go on cue. 

So, every so often, when I have a couple extra dirty towels laying around, I'll probably also have a half naked baby running around for an hour at a time. 

Potty training.  It excites me.  Which might make me the weirdest person, ever.

Creeping Crud: The Aftermath

The Creeping Crud, for Ruby took its shape with lots of moaning, groaning and whining while simultaneously laying listlessly on my lap for 16 hours at a time.  Her fever and head congestion were relieved with both medicinal and aquatic approaches. 

Meaning: We drugged her and stuck her in the shower from time to time.

For Lydia, it took shape in head congestion, burning, watery eyes and extremely high fevers.  We combated her issues with the same medicinal and aquatic approaches we took with Ruby, while even throwing in full day movie marathons. 

This approach totally worked for a day and a half, until her fever was all, You can take your Motrin and playtime baths and suck it. 

It was at this point I called a very good friend of mine to see if Jeremy was crazy or maybe it was me.  After all, Lydia was running a 104.4 fever, two hours away from her next scheduled dose of medicine and she lay there, woefully leaking water from her eyes and claiming she thinks they might be on fire.  I was all, Mmmmm..... I think it's time to take her to the ER.  Jer was all.... MMmmm.... I'd rather go to bed, lets wait until the morning.  Thank God for Joelle.  Her tie-braking opinion was to take her to the ER.

One hospital visit later, Lydia is doing fine and well.  She has neither an infection, nor the flu.  Her fever was high enough that Jer said they whisked her off to a room before they even had an ounce of information in the computer.  She was shivering, despite her high temperature, and was starting to break out in a heat rash to add to the fun. 

The new trick we learned this visit is when one medicine isn't working, to alternate Motrin with Tylenol.   Why this is more effective, I don't know.  But you can bet it'll be a trick I won't soon forget. 

As of today, Lydia's on the mend with nothing more than lingering congestion and cough.

Kyra started a low fever yesterday and I feared the worst for her in the coming days.  Turns out that's as bad as it's probably going to get for her.  Thank you, God.

This morning everyone woke up fever free, though all three had noses leaking like a loose pipe.  Kyra's cough is the worst, Lydia's intermediate and Ruby's hardly had a cough all day.

Its funny how one virus can cripple two children, hardly touch one and leave two parents completely unscathed.  All that's left now is the lingering aftermath.  Its not so bad.  Not welcomed, but not so bad.

The Creeping Crud, 2014

Ruby has brought home the first plague of the new year.  I'm not sure why she felt the need to lick a shopping cart or cover someone else's mouth and then insert her finger into her own nose, but she must have thought it necessary because now she's suffering from The Creeping Crud.

 

 Thanks to a fever, lots of sneezing, exploding snot and hacking coughs, she spent her day whining.  A lot.  Just listen to that scratch cry, she sounds awful.

 

 

She insists on sweet cuddles, to which I happily oblige.

 

 

She demands food, only to hold onto it.  Actually eating the food highly over rated.

 

And she spends her naps sleeping on Mommy's chest.

 

Ruby's lots of things, but a cuddle bug is not one of them.  She's spent more time in my arms and on my lap over the past two days than she has in the last 6 months.  Part of me is relishing in this sweetness.  The other part of me feels guilty for enjoying this side effect to her misery. 

 

She's pitiful.  There's no way around it. 

 

My nose is now starting to stuff up, there's a scratching tickle in my throat and as much as I've tried to keep the big girls occupied upstairs for the last two days, both of them are sniffling and sneezing in their beds tonight.  Both humidifiers are running full blast with menthol strips in the girls room.  I'm questioning why I don't have one for my own room.

 

These next two weeks will probably be some exceptionally fun ones. Which probably means I should stock up on tissue boxes to combat all the snot that's going to fly, and restock the fridge with lots of chicken and veggies to make soups. 

 

Jewish penicillin, its good stuff.  The Creeping Crud, not so much.



Closing of Chapters

The past 16 months have probably been some of the worst for me.  I haven't felt such sadness, despair and anger in a really long time.  Sure, I've had great days.  Great weeks and an occasional great month but, overall, I'd rather forget most of what came to be. 

That last comment, though, "I'd rather forget most of what came to be," is a hard thought to swallow.  Even for me.  Ruby is 16 months old.  And while its not her fault or doing that I came to such a depressing state of mind, its the only thing I know from her short little life. 

Between the birth, the breast feeding, the deployment, the isolation, traveling alone, the criticism from people I love....

From nursing children back to health alone (asthma, upper respiratory yucks, food intolerances, auto immune diseases, stomach bugs and a round of the flu--times 3), homeschooling, church participating and extra curricular chauffer...

From deployment homecomings, "vacationing", underway managing, Are-we-staying-in-or-getting-out? tug-of-waring, moving, setting up house and routine, holidaying....

I'm ready for this period of time to be over.  I'm done moaning, groaning and crying about this chapter of my life.  I'm done feeling the total, crushing guilt I now carry for resenting my baby for most of her first year.  I'm done trying to hold myself together for the general public's viewing pleasure. 

I'm done.

At the close of 2013, I found myself telling Jeremy he's going to come home one day and find a note saying the girls and I have gone to set up home at a stable location... Call me when he retires. 

Does that mean I want to leave my husband?  Absolutely not. 

But things were not working for us.  For this family. 

It's hard to include him in our lives when he's never home.  He works on the boat, lives on the boat, eats, breathes and sleeps the boat.  He may come home most nights, but I'm convinced it was only to pick up a change of clothes and catch a few hours of sleep to prove he still has a spot in our family.  Its hard not to include him in our lives when he keeps showing up at the most inopportune times. 

The ball dropped in Times Square, 2014 began as I lay alone in my bed, Jeremy on duty.  I closed my eyes and fell deep into sleep.  I'm not sure what's happened, but this last week has been a blissful dream. 

My girls are happy, healthy and growing in mind, body and spirit.  My love and devotion for them couldn't be any stronger.  And while Jer still comes home at the most odd schedule, somehow its not grating on my last nerve. 

I love my family.  Even when I, myself, am nothing more than a giant thunder cloud hanging over our family, casting the darkest of shadows, I love them.  And I want a life with them for as long as the good Lord allows. 

So here's to 2014.  May this new light in my eyes last beyond this past week and into this next year.  And may my family know this light shows for them, because of them. 

Jeremy included.  Awful work schedule and all.

Stargazing

Through my careful scrutiny of the big girls' allergy symptoms versus the times of the year when asthma attacks seem to strike the most, the pediatrician and I have decided what the big girls have is a really fun roller coaster ride of seasonal allergies with an extra fun bodily response of asthma to go along with the invading pollen. 

All of that said.... Guess who was trying really, really hard to have a full on asthma attack all night long, last night.  Go on, guess.

Nooope.  Not Kyra.  Though Kyra's inhaler was put to good use!

Lydia was up three times last night, all wheezy and barking coughs and freaking the fuck out over the lack of oxygen movement going on in her lungs and the funny sounds coming from her throat.

We tried to do everything right.  Jeremy gave both girls their nightly doses of allergy medicines... Lydia got an extra shot of Nasonex up her nose... I turned the humidifier on in their bedroom....We took her outside to look at the stars in the 40 degree night air to both calm her down and open her airways....

By midnight I was having her puff on Kyra's inhaler and by 3:30 I was dosing her up with Benadryl to calm this allergic reaction because the last thing I needed was to be sitting in an emergency room while my lovely husband is leaving on a fishing trip aboard a submarine two hours later.

The timing!  Couldn't be better!

It all started with the girls spending a few hours, yesterday, playing in piles of leaves.  A fun, Fall pastime that as a southern kid, I never really came to appreciate.  Today?  I offered them the chance to go have fun outside.  I silently rejoiced when they both said they wanted to play in their room.

Lydia woke up from her three hour nap, this afternoon, coughing and sputtering, again.  But, so far, we've made it three hours into sleeping tonight with nary a sound. 

Kyra hasn't had a full asthma attack in, almost, a year.  Her pediatrician says we either have her on the right combination of allergy medicines to prevent it or she's starting to outgrow it.  Lydia, on the other hand....

There's nothing more fun, I can promise you, than waking up to the sound of your kid's barking coughs and rasping breaths in the dark of the night.  And the cold shock of sitting outside, stargazing, in ass-freezing temperatures with an arctic breeze for good measure.  It makes me appreciate having a furnace of a husband in the bed when I get to climb back under the covers.

Another Example of Excellent Parenting

Sooo.....

Yesterday I finally determined that it was probably her 4 molars causing all the woeful trouble with Ruby.  After all, 4 erupting molars would explain the extra special scream sessions she's bestowed upon us all day and throughout the night, with regular intervals.  Four erupting molars should also explain the extra fun, open sore rash she's sporting on her hind quarters even though she's not eaten anything new and her poop looks entirely normal.  Four erupting molars would also explain why all thought Mass, yesterday, I noticed the way she was cramming her thumb to the very back regions of her pie hole and chomping on it. 

"IT'S HER TEETH!" I ecstatically told Jeremy, as if I were solving a prize winning puzzle. 

Enter barrette, stage left.

I found a barrette in Ruby's poop today.  I was completely unaware we were even missing a barrette. 

This new find leads me to question how much of Ruby's extra efforts exerted in the cranky and crying department has to do with having eaten a barrette. 

Hmm...

Mama Says If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say...

Go tell your Mama to suck it.

Its been two weeks and, apparently, I still have nothing nice to say.

I'm still stressed.  To the MAX.

I have one particular email I keep trying to respond to but it seems the only words that come from my fingers stem directly from Chicken Little's overly dramatic tendency to scream THE SKY IS FALLING, THE SKY IS FALLING! except with a heaping helping of bitching thrown in for good measure. 

And there is something seriously wrong with my internal monologue because every time I think maybe I could pick up the phone to call them, instead, all I do is second guess whether or not said person has either the time or desire to speak to me.  Probably because all I seem to do lately is sigh dramatic exasperations while letting my head fall into my hands and how exactly do you parley that over the phone?  I can see it now, they'd be all, "Oh, you've got problems?  Ha ha ha!  What first world problems you have!  Let me tell you about what's been happening over here while I'm busy saving your pretty world..."  And there'd be the town drunkard in the corner, holding up his frothy beer, pounding his fist on the table while shouting, "HERE HERE!"  Because, yes, even in my inner monologue, the town drunkard must be against me.

Self Deprecation 101.

I had a front row seat my entire childhood and, oh my word, do I sound like my mother, lately!

The move is happening during the exact same week Jeremy will be out to sea.  Can you guess who planned it that way?  Go ahead, guess!

I specifically asked.... "Hey!  Can you not plan the movers to come at the same time you're away?  It'd be super great if we could tag team the kids to keep them either occupied or out of the house those three days.  Plus, when I get overwhelmed, I'll have you here." 

So.... he calls up an hour later saying, "The movers are coming on these dates and I asked that they drop off our stuff just over a week later."

Oy!  Those crickets.  Such deafening bastards. 

In that moment all I heard were crickets chirping, drowning out life as, once again, I lay my face in my palm.  I'm thankful for the crickets in that moment because usually my first impulse would be to ask, the kindest way possible through gritted teeth, if he could walk right back into so-and-so's office and change those dates to something less stupid.  But I didn't ask.  I wrote the dates on the calendar like a good little wife and here I continue to stress.

I know I have friends who will jump up and wave their hands, offer to take the girls.  That's what I would do, too.  But somehow the thought of someone coming to rescue me, again, after all I went through this past year.  I'm over it.  Somehow having someone virtually stroke me on the head on this here internet while purring out soothing comments is much less damning to my ego then when it's done in person.  In person I have the knee jerk reaction to pipe up, Oh! I don't need help, I'm okay! in my most chipper voice, because having someone both think I need help, AND THEN ACCEPTING IT, just makes me feel even more pathetic.

Then.  THEN! After the movers come, I can choose to turn my keys in the next day and live in a hotel for a week!  Or I can pull out the sleeping bags and the pack-n-play and camp out in an empty house for 5 days and hotel it for 2.  The bitch about either scenario being enjoyable is RUBY!  My sweet babe who has me up already tonight at 1:30, 2:30 and 3:30. 

[The first two times I gave her Bunny, laid her back down and walked away.  The third time I tried bringing her into my bed because its been a while since she's woken up every hour like this and all I have are flashbacks of Lydia refluxing and I never knew.  So I brought her into my bed.  Where she decided it was play time.  Up until I continued to make her lay back down, which only made her scream some more.  This time in my face! I tossed her back into her crib at 4:00 and decided to type up this here rambling while leaving the dear babe to work it out for herself.  YOU'RE WELCOME!]

Can you imagine my sweet Ruby?  Cast away into the perils of sleeping in a pack-n-play?  WOE IS THE BAYBAY!

If we camp it up at home, I get to listen to her screams echo though out the bare walls.  But at least she'll be in a separate room!  With doors between us!  If we stay in a hotel, I may have a comfortable bed to sleep on, but (1) who's going sleep with all that screaming going on and (2) who's to stop me from the full fledge meltdown that will definitely follow trying to sleep in the same room with that monster child?  Clearly it ended well the last time we tried.

So.  Ya.  That's what's going on in my life...  and in my head... and don't you wish you could have all those minutes back that you wasted away reading that nonsense?

Me, too.

In Through the Nose, Out Through the Mouth

I'm cranky, stressed and disappointed.  All at the same time. 

How's that for a follow-up to Perfection?

I'm cranky because Ruby STILL is not sleeping through the night.  For no reason whatsoever.  She's waking two to three times a night just so I can walk into her room, saying nothing while laying her screaming head back onto the mattress only to turn around and leave.  She cries just long enough as she maneuvers Bunny-Bunny's bow back into her mouth before quickly falling back to sleep. 

Letting her cry it out doesn't work because The Huz will either (A) ignore her entirely and return to snoring or (B) go into her room, pick her up, and rock her back to sleep.  So instead I run in, two to three times a night, to lay her back down. 

When I brought it up to The Huz tonight that, "Hey!  Remember that email I sent you underway that explained how I was going to try to let her cry it out and if you'd jump on the same train with me THAT WOULD BE FABULOUS!"  That attempted, Lets Work This Out, conversation went over like lead weight over a cliff because, "Pfft... Fine.  Whatever.  You yell at me when I go in there, you yell at me when I don't." 

He's right.  For only a millimeter.  I've asked him to, you know, HELP OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE.  To which, he has.  All of thrice.  Twice he rocked her back to sleep.  The third time he plucked her out of her crib and was on his way to shower with her.  {She loves the shower.  You wash.  She plays.  Win-win.  Except..} It was 5:30 in the morning.  What was his plan after the shower?  After he's left for work...? 

Exactly.

There has been another couple of occasions in which he rolled over and said, "Want me to go get her?"  I replied, "No.  See if she'll cry it out."  And then he rolls over and starts snoring, leaving me to do the dirty work.  Alone.  Again.  Because clearly I am the only one who can try to wait these things out even when we both know it. will. fail.  She cries.  He snores.  I pray. 

Usually for the strength NOT to smother my husband because I truly do love the motherfucker.

I'm stressed because we're moving in about a month.  We're moving to somewhere we've yet to live and comes with nothing but glorious compliments to describe the place. 

The fact that we're moving, though.  Ugh.

Now I'm purging, organizing, rethinking and reorganizing again.  The worst thing, for me, is to have the movers come in and be all, What the fuck is wrong with these disorganized hoarders? 

In all of our moves, none of them have actually ever said those words to me, but that doesn't take away my fear that one day they will.  Until then, I purge what we haven't used, organize what we do use and then head to the kitchen to cook the shit out of whatever's in the fridge or cupboards.  The less food we have to move, the better. 

Purge.  Organize.  Rethink.  Reorganize.  Cook.  Stress.

Who wants to take a peek in my head?

I'm disappointed because Jeremy FINALLY had some leave time approved to dance off to The Land of the CornHusker to baptize our third Godson... and this move has put the very quick kibosh on that idea.  We pick up the keys to our new house in the middle of what was going to be our trip.  If we turned the house down, we didn't know when a new unit would open up.  Since we accepted the house, we can't take leave. 

Sigh.

I desperately want to hold the new baby.  Coo and cuddle and fawn over another sweet being in this world.  I want to bat my eyelashes at Jeremy and playfully wish for another one.  But, as of tonight, that doesn't look like it's going to happen until 2014.  And that disappoints me.  A lot.

I miss my best friend.  I miss being there to fuss over her, cook her meals, vacuum her floors and help tend to her kids when she's fresh from the hospital.  She may not need me.  She may be able to do it all on her own.  But someone needs to look her square in the eyes and tell her she's insane for taking a newborn to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and really, wholeheartedly mean it. 

She has a Mama who comes to help out.  But I've met her Mama.  She's a very lovely and sweet woman who is just too nice.  I've never once seen an ounce of mean in that woman.  She might very well be a Saint, I'm convinced. 

Its hard for me to wag my finger over the phone, trying to tell her to sit her ass down she has a husband MAKE HIM DO IT! Its hard for me to know she has five birds in her nest who all need a home cooked meal and that's right up my alley and WHY DID YOU MOVE SO FAR AWAY?  Its hard for me to know that my only talent in life is cooking for families and caring for children in times of need and I can't be there to do either one.

My best friend finds and sends perfect gifts from afar to let you know she's thinking of you. Or your kids.  And, frankly, my vacuum cord doesn't reach that far to let her know I'm here for her, I'm thinking of her. 

I'm disappointed I can't be there with her.  For her.

Life is good.  But I'm still cranky, stressed and disappointed.  I'm sure once the move is finished, I'll level out again.  We'll be back to a waking toddler and trying to plan another leave schedule and I'll quit snapping at my husband and kids.  Until then...

Breathe.  Just breathe.

Perfection

I have never, in my life, seen three siblings get along as well together as these three do.

 

Okay, I've seen it once. And they were homeschooled, too. It was their mom who told me that it was a common thing for homeschooled siblings to get along this well.

I'm glad she was right.  At least, so far...

No Longer a Little Girl

My girl.  My budding artist.   Friday you turned 8.  I'm at a loss to see how you've slipped through my fingertips.  Once, my only child.  Now, my oldest beauty.  You are no longer a little girl.  You've long since passed that stage this year.  You're all big girl, now, and your maturity, kindness and grace are, by far, your biggest and best assets in life.

You celebrate your excitement with a quick intake of breath and a broad smile.  You hide your sadness by burying your head to cover the tears.  You watch, observe, think, mull over and internalize everything you see and hear.  You're an old soul.  A wise soul.  A tender soul.

This time, last year, your life's ambition was to be a veterinarian.  This year, you want to be a bird watcher and an artist.  You say you'd like to travel the world, watching birds. 

You want to study them, take notes on the behavior and sketch pictures, all to submit to scientist so they can learn more.  You want to find new types of birds so you can have the privilege of naming them.  Such big ideas and big ambitions you have!

You had your well-check on Friday, as well.  Still "long and lean," as your pediatrician says.  She asked you what grade you're in.  2nd/3rd was your response.  She asked what was your favorite subject.  Science.  Your least?  Journaling.

You told her you disliked journaling because when you're trying to think, Mommy yells at you saying, "Come on, just write.  Lets go, Kyra, get your school work done.  Why are you just sitting there, Kyra, get it done."

The exaggeration, yet still spot on mimicking, nearly threw the pediatrician and I into fits of giggles.  When I chimed in that it didn't help that you'd sit there for five minutes "thinking", as well as balancing a pencil on your nose, inspecting your fingernails or staring off into space.  Yes.  I get exasperated and try to move you along.  And not always with the kindest tone.  Though I'm sure exasperated and yelling sound the same to an 8 year old.  At least it did when I was 8.

Your pediatrician suggested in those moments we reset your brain by making you do a repeated physical activity.  She called it by a specific name that I can't recall, but described it as in asking you to do a certain number of jumping jacks, moving a set of blocks from one side of the room and setting them up on the other side of the room or running a loop or two around the house before coming back to school work.

You and I both found that suggestion quite funny.  But you know what?  I'm willing to try it.  Just so you don't have to feel like I'm always yelling at you to get your school work done... even when I haven't raised my voice. 

You are growing up, whether I like it or not.  My only goal is to be the best Mommy to you I can be.  The best Mommy to help make the best Kyra.  I'm proud of you.  You're growing up to be a wonderful sister, daughter, friend and Big Girl.

Happy Birthday, Kyra Shea.  I love you.  And your duck.

If Not for Sunday...

We arrived just in time for supper, Saturday evening, and left before lunch Monday morn.  Twenty four hours earlier than planned.  I sighted safety reasons.

The Rubies is known, to me, for her often shitty and unpredictably-predictable sleeping habits.  Most of the time, now, she sleeps through the night.  But if she does wake up, its always between 11 and 1.... or after 3..... or anywhere between the hours of 5:30-9.  For some reason, she's never up at the 2AM and 4AM time frames, which is about the only prediction I can make with sound confidence. 

What I can also confidently predict is that anytime she is not asleep in her own bed, in her own room, all by herself, she will let you know her severe displeasure.  All. Fucking. Night. Long.

She was not happy in the pack-n-play.  She was not happy in the bed, snuggled with me.  Or in the bed, on her own side.  Or in my arms sitting up, rocking.  Standing up, swaying.  She was not a happy camper, Sam-I-Am.

By 8AM, Monday morning, I called ENOUGH! and had the bedroom picked up, folded up and placed by the front door, ready to leave.  With Kyra sobbing through her tears, Lydia looking sullen and distressed, I had to tell our hosts we were leaving.  They didn't ask why.  They'd heard all the wails and frustration from both the Rubies and myself.  They understood, as I tearfully apologized while saying, "I just can't do this anymore!  She's not happy [pointing to The Rubies], I'm not happy and we're disrupting everyone else's nights."

The nights were rough.  Absolutely.  But Sunday, the one full day we were in the Arctic Tundra, it was a perfect day.  Mass in the morning.  Lunch with friends.  Home for naps... which Lydia easily took and The Rubies refused.  [Kyra spend nap time climbing the pear tree, fetching fresh fruit to share.] And, just before supper, the big girls got to ride and feed horses before taking turns mucking out stalls. The Rubies pranced around, acting like she owned the joint. 

The two awful, no good, horrible nights were worth the single, full day we got to spend with friends we so very much miss.  I'm glad we went.  But I'm also not so eager to repeat it any time in the immediate future. 

I left, reassuring George, Ruby and myself that The Rubies will get better.  One day she'll figure out we're not making her sleep atop the fires of hell.  One day we'll get to spend a decent amount of time enjoying each other's company.   

But when all I can think of, night 2 of no sleep, is to cover her mouth with my hand and force her face into my chest to muffle the screams... its time to go home.  Its time to call it a good.  Tried and failed.

Sunday.  Sunday was worth the effort.  Thank you, Sunday.

I am pleased to report, though, that last night The Rubies slept peacefully through the night.  And tonight she's on par for a repeat.  Sweet Ruby.  My homebody.

For the Ones I Love

Suffice it to say, I must really, truly, hate myself in such a way that torture is the only way to appease the masochism. 

All that to say, I'm traipsing off with the kids tomorrow morn to visit Ruby and George in the Arctic Tundra.  Three kids, two dogs, two (extra on the opinionated, less on the actually listening to what you have to say) sweet elderly grandparents and myself.  In a two bedroom, single wide trailer. 

I do this because I truly do love these people.  Though I wish there were a hotel room close by that I could actually, you know, afford. 

The thing is....  I didn't make the chicken patties I wanted to bring for Lydia.  Nor did I roast the potatoes nor the beets.  The diapers are currently on the drying rack and only one of four loads of clothes has finished drying-- though I haven't actually taken them out and folded them, yet.

Kyra and Lydia are awful bed partners and Ruby wants no one in the bedroom with her, lest she feel the need to scream and cry throughout the night.

I always like the idea of going to visit friends and family, but often find my self short on both sleep and temper. 

I rarely enjoy myself, is what I'm trying to say. 

And, yet, here I am, eve of a three night stay away from the gloriousness that is my home, with virtually nothing prepared and even less packed. 

Lydia fell out of a tree in the back yard about 7 o'clock this evening, not a long drop, but a painful one, and I couldn't help that one of the first thoughts out of my head, after the initial, "Oh, shit!" was, "Oh, please have broke something so we don't have to leave, tomorrow!" 

I kid you not.

This makes me either an ungrateful bitch or a horrible mother.  Probably both, truth be told. 

I'm excited to go because it's a chance to see people I really want to see.  I'm dreading the trip for the lack of sleep and escapism I so desire.

Onward and forward.  Or so they say.

Age Old Question:

Am I doing enough?

I remember, what seems so long ago, when Lydia was still a baby, I used to walk through my day, observing the unfolding of each and every new blog post that was my life.  Sometimes comical, sometimes frustrating, sometimes typical.  It was there, all laid before me to type, write and document most days of the week. 

Now I seem to find it harder and harder to write.  I take pictures on my cameras, intending to tell the story to compliment the snapshot later on that night.  And then it never gets done.  I intend to document all the crazy words that come out of Lydia's mouth.  And then it never gets written.  I intend to tell you all about Kyra starting dance class this week and her favorite thing was learning how to do Jazz Hands, or how Ruby thinks its HI-larious to get caught trying to climb something, swipe something, sneak somewhere she's not supposed to be only to squinch her nose and giggle incessantly, all with that twinkle in her eye that only draws me to swoop her up while simultaneously pretending to nibble parts of her neck and belly as a form of punishment.  And then it never gets told. 

I want to say what wonderful things we're doing on the homeschooling front, but all I can think is I'm not doing enough.  Lots of things I want to do and accomplish with the girls, though I never seem to get past the thought phase.  Maybe I'm asking too much of myself?  Maybe I'm not trying hard enough?

I find I want to sit down and sew, cross stitch and learn to knit or crochet with Kyra.  I've promised her sewing lessons for a while, fully intending to teach her the basic of the basic, since that's all I know, and watch her practice, invent and create her own works of art, far better than I could have ever dreamed.... and then the table is always aclutter.  Her cross stitch we started is somewhere, lost, for the time being, in the land of the forgotten.  I'm sure its sitting close to the hope of taking up a new yarning skill. 

I'd love to sit with Lydia and read all day.  That girl loves to read.  She also loves to play board games, card games, pretend games.  She's a lover of all things fun and togetherness.  She is a glue to this family, much like her father.  Lydia and Jeremy both force my loner tendencies to be a part of this family. Still, I want to make myself do more for her, with her.

Ruby has turned into a little tyrant.  A tiny dictator.  She tells me where to be and when.  Sometimes she's off in her own world, exploring and finding trouble the way only a toddler would, sometimes she's pulling at my skirt for attention, demanding I hold her just for the sake of holding her.  Its hard not to indulge.  She's working on perfecting the art of her tantrum; the slow, intentional set down of her forehead to the floor, butt still raised in the air.  She then manipulates herself on to her side, then her back, whining the whole time.  Then she uses her feet to slide herself up as her gaze catches my smiling face.  Honestly, how could anyone not think that tantrum is the cutest. thing. ever? 

Sweet Ruby is about the only one in this family I feel like I'm not cheating out of my full attention.  Probably because she's the most forceful in demanding everyone's attention. 

Someone sent me an article this spring or summer that read something like, "Having three children is found to be the most stressful number."  I don't know how much truth is behind that, but what I do know is three children is kicking my butt.  That fact, alone, baffles me since Ruby is such an easy kid... sans the current Tiny Tyrant phase we're in, right now. 

For Kyra's school work, I bought her a journal and told her I wanted her to try to write in it, every day.  Partly for a writing exercise to practice penmanship, partly as practice in writing out a complete thought.  Mostly, though, to give her the chance to start writing her life; give her something to look back on when she's old and gray.

Maybe I should try the same tactic, myself, in internet form.  Get myself back in the habit of documenting our days.  My thoughts.  My life.  It'll have to start next week, though.  We've got a busy weekend ahead of us that is to include a quick trip away. 

Until then, enjoy these pictures.  They were all taken a month or so ago, when Kyra and Lydia decided to dress Ruby up in a "Queen Costume!"  The pictures are all courtesy of my iPhone.  Another form of technology I suck at, sigh.  Still, its the memory that resonates when I look at those pictures, and that's what counts. 

ONE

 

It absolutely happened.  And without my written, notarized, permission.

Are golfers the only ones allowed a mulligan?