We are down to one dog-- Bishop.
I now have a 9 year old-- Kyra.
I have a 6 year old-- Lydia.
I have a 2 year old-- Ruby.
Tomorrow I'll have a 4 month old-- Jude.
We have a new edition to our family-- Larry the Cat.
We are officially home owners. Yesterday we closed on my grandparents property.
We are currently residing in the North Eastern most part of these United States.
My newly purchased property is located in the South Eastern part of the United States.
My husband's boat is supposed to relocate to the South Western part of the United States early next year.
I am still homeschooling Kyra and Lydia.
Ruby still rules the roost.
Jude is a carbon copy of infant Kyra in the categories of looks, appetite and disposition.
Lydia might well be one of the happiest children to ever grace this earth.
Kyra now begins some of her stories with, "When I was little..."
I frequently get asked if we're done having kids now that we have a boy.
I find myself sucked into the baby name game already.
I live my life day by day. Learning to plan ahead less and less.
I am happy, most days, to not have a plan.
I have found out what it means to live in the moment.
I have found living in the moment leaves little time to write.
Not writing doesn't mean I don't wish to write. I'm just too busy. Or tired. Or distracted.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Turkey Boy St Nicholas
The bun in my oven still remains nameless.
He is constantly referred to as Turkey Boy, much to my mother's chagrin. She keeps insisting we need to find a real name lest he be made fun of for the rest of his life. I keep insisting "Turkey Boy" might be the cutest nickname I have ever heard of; the fact that Lydia named him this makes for an even better story and memory!
Jeremy and I have come up with a handful of first and middle name combinations we both like but I, myself, can't seem to bring myself to say THATS THE ONE! Each name has meaning and a thoughtfulness behind it. I can't seem to drop one over the other. I'm beginning to wonder if only royalty can use three middle names.
************
We once knew this man named Simon, many years ago. He was a really, really good friend of ours. Jeremy and he were both in A School together when they first joined the Navy. We stayed in touch and even, somehow being on different boats, managed to follow each other from state to state for many years.
I remember when Jeremy was on his first deployment and I was pregnant with Kyra, Simon would come over to our house just to hang out with me or take me out for supper. As painfully shy as I was, he was the only friend I knew in town and I cherished his kindness.
I remember when he first held Kyra. She a baby whose age was still being counted by weeks and, once again, Jeremy was out to sea. I was lonely and in need of company and Simon was almost magnetically drawn to my front door when I needed a friend the most.
He sat in our recliner, balancing this tiny thing in his lap, clearly a foreign object to him. I cooed to my infant that this was her Uncle Simon who does stupid things like jump out of perfectly good airplanes for fun, and he bounced her lightly until she spit up on him and started crying.
We've lost touch over the years. Last we spoke with him, I was pregnant with Lydia and we had all, somehow, managed to move to yet another state and lived not terribly far from each other. We made plans to get together for supper and then I got sick. A cold, virus or what have you, plans were cancelled and we haven't seen Simon since, other than on Facebook for the short period I was on it.
St Simon and St Jude share a feast day together. It happens to be 6 days before my due date. If plans work out the way I want them to, I will be on an operating room table waiting to hear the first cries from my baby boy on that feast day.
Jeremy has brought up the name Jude both when I was pregnant with Lydia and Ruby as a possible boys name. I rejected it both times for no other reason than I liked it for other people's children, just not my own.
Until I find out the feast day coincidence. Suddenly I like it. A lot.
Ruby has an obsession with Jeremy, right now. He is her version of Santa Clause every evening when he walks through the door and nothing could light up her day better or faster than Jeremy's sudden appearance. Except for the little boy across the street. To everyone else he is Joseph, or Joe. To Ruby he is JOJO! JOJO! JOJO! JOJO! JoJo is the only one to rival the excitement my dear Ruby reserves only for her father.
One morning we were sitting in the front pews of the church when Ruby spotted Joseph walking through the doors in the back. Excitement abound, JOJO! had just entered the room. And then it hit me, all those prayers for a sign, what in the world should I call my new boy....
If Ruby gets this excited over Jeremy and JoJo, maybe she'll get equally as excited for Jude. After all, they all start with 'J'. Maybe this was confirmation why I am suddenly drawn to the name Jude?
{I never said my reasoning's were sane...}
Baby boy will forever be referred to as Turkey Boy. Its a name that even friends are referring to him as with a smile and air of fondness.
Kyra came up with St Nicholas, wanting to honor good old Santa Clause himself, but the name has all but been dropped as a nickname. I feel guilty for it, too. Probably an overly emotional pregnancy guilt, but I feel like Lydia's name choice will be used for years to come while Kyra's will be forgotten.
I like Nicholas. Mostly as a middle name. It's been on my radar for all three of my children. It also probably doesn't hurt that one of my favorite uncles is a Nicholas. Clearly I'm drawn to names that associate with good people.
Jeremy has thrown the name Luke out for several of our children. Its another name I've rejected over the years. Until the name Jude came to the forefront of my brain, one Sunday...
Jude is the patron saint of lost and hopeless causes...
Luke is the patron saint of doctors....
It wouldn't be so bad if maybe we had a doctor in the family. One that took on the really difficult cases. And who knows, maybe a name can influence the profession...?
Still, Luke is too short of a name to go with Jude, isn't it? Maybe we could go with Lucas, instead?
************
Simon Jude- Amazing friend; a shared feast day.
Jude Simon- A 'J' name for the Ruby; a shared feast day.
Jude Nicholas- A 'J' name for the Ruby; a name picked by my Kyra Shea
Jude Lucas- A doctor in the family
Jeremy says he likes all of them, but his favorites are Simon Jude and Jude Lucas.
I am equally torn between all 4 of the name combinations and, in my hormonal state, keep trying to attach meaning to the name even though my other children's names were picked simply because we liked them. Meaning played little influence.
But for this child.
Probably our last child.
Naming him a name that carries weight seems to be important to me, which only makes it harder to choose.
At this point Jeremy would probably agree to the name Peter Pollywog. He'd just like to have a name so people will quit asking him what are we going to call our child. Meaning means very little to him. He's sticking with our original plan of, Do we like it? Works for me, here's the name.
Two months to go. Two more months to hem and haw. Two more months to drive my husband nuts.
Maybe we should just stick to Turkey Boy St Nicholas. Everyone seems to like it... except my mother. :-)
He is constantly referred to as Turkey Boy, much to my mother's chagrin. She keeps insisting we need to find a real name lest he be made fun of for the rest of his life. I keep insisting "Turkey Boy" might be the cutest nickname I have ever heard of; the fact that Lydia named him this makes for an even better story and memory!
Jeremy and I have come up with a handful of first and middle name combinations we both like but I, myself, can't seem to bring myself to say THATS THE ONE! Each name has meaning and a thoughtfulness behind it. I can't seem to drop one over the other. I'm beginning to wonder if only royalty can use three middle names.
************
Simon
We once knew this man named Simon, many years ago. He was a really, really good friend of ours. Jeremy and he were both in A School together when they first joined the Navy. We stayed in touch and even, somehow being on different boats, managed to follow each other from state to state for many years.
I remember when Jeremy was on his first deployment and I was pregnant with Kyra, Simon would come over to our house just to hang out with me or take me out for supper. As painfully shy as I was, he was the only friend I knew in town and I cherished his kindness.
I remember when he first held Kyra. She a baby whose age was still being counted by weeks and, once again, Jeremy was out to sea. I was lonely and in need of company and Simon was almost magnetically drawn to my front door when I needed a friend the most.
He sat in our recliner, balancing this tiny thing in his lap, clearly a foreign object to him. I cooed to my infant that this was her Uncle Simon who does stupid things like jump out of perfectly good airplanes for fun, and he bounced her lightly until she spit up on him and started crying.
We've lost touch over the years. Last we spoke with him, I was pregnant with Lydia and we had all, somehow, managed to move to yet another state and lived not terribly far from each other. We made plans to get together for supper and then I got sick. A cold, virus or what have you, plans were cancelled and we haven't seen Simon since, other than on Facebook for the short period I was on it.
Jude
St Simon and St Jude share a feast day together. It happens to be 6 days before my due date. If plans work out the way I want them to, I will be on an operating room table waiting to hear the first cries from my baby boy on that feast day.
Jeremy has brought up the name Jude both when I was pregnant with Lydia and Ruby as a possible boys name. I rejected it both times for no other reason than I liked it for other people's children, just not my own.
Until I find out the feast day coincidence. Suddenly I like it. A lot.
Ruby has an obsession with Jeremy, right now. He is her version of Santa Clause every evening when he walks through the door and nothing could light up her day better or faster than Jeremy's sudden appearance. Except for the little boy across the street. To everyone else he is Joseph, or Joe. To Ruby he is JOJO! JOJO! JOJO! JOJO! JoJo is the only one to rival the excitement my dear Ruby reserves only for her father.
One morning we were sitting in the front pews of the church when Ruby spotted Joseph walking through the doors in the back. Excitement abound, JOJO! had just entered the room. And then it hit me, all those prayers for a sign, what in the world should I call my new boy....
If Ruby gets this excited over Jeremy and JoJo, maybe she'll get equally as excited for Jude. After all, they all start with 'J'. Maybe this was confirmation why I am suddenly drawn to the name Jude?
{I never said my reasoning's were sane...}
Nicholas
Baby boy will forever be referred to as Turkey Boy. Its a name that even friends are referring to him as with a smile and air of fondness.
Kyra came up with St Nicholas, wanting to honor good old Santa Clause himself, but the name has all but been dropped as a nickname. I feel guilty for it, too. Probably an overly emotional pregnancy guilt, but I feel like Lydia's name choice will be used for years to come while Kyra's will be forgotten.
I like Nicholas. Mostly as a middle name. It's been on my radar for all three of my children. It also probably doesn't hurt that one of my favorite uncles is a Nicholas. Clearly I'm drawn to names that associate with good people.
Lucas
Jeremy has thrown the name Luke out for several of our children. Its another name I've rejected over the years. Until the name Jude came to the forefront of my brain, one Sunday...
Jude is the patron saint of lost and hopeless causes...
Luke is the patron saint of doctors....
It wouldn't be so bad if maybe we had a doctor in the family. One that took on the really difficult cases. And who knows, maybe a name can influence the profession...?
Still, Luke is too short of a name to go with Jude, isn't it? Maybe we could go with Lucas, instead?
************
Simon Jude- Amazing friend; a shared feast day.
Jude Simon- A 'J' name for the Ruby; a shared feast day.
Jude Nicholas- A 'J' name for the Ruby; a name picked by my Kyra Shea
Jude Lucas- A doctor in the family
Jeremy says he likes all of them, but his favorites are Simon Jude and Jude Lucas.
I am equally torn between all 4 of the name combinations and, in my hormonal state, keep trying to attach meaning to the name even though my other children's names were picked simply because we liked them. Meaning played little influence.
But for this child.
Probably our last child.
Naming him a name that carries weight seems to be important to me, which only makes it harder to choose.
At this point Jeremy would probably agree to the name Peter Pollywog. He'd just like to have a name so people will quit asking him what are we going to call our child. Meaning means very little to him. He's sticking with our original plan of, Do we like it? Works for me, here's the name.
Two months to go. Two more months to hem and haw. Two more months to drive my husband nuts.
Maybe we should just stick to Turkey Boy St Nicholas. Everyone seems to like it... except my mother. :-)
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Ruby Dooby Danders
Two.
Where did ONE go?
This last year has been a blur. An absolute up and down, whirl wind blur.
I've hardly chronicled Ruby's life at all. Here I am, two years in and I feel like when I look back at this blog I'm going to wonder what in the hell happened after Ruby was born.
Here's a brief glimpse of what I haven't written about:
Ruby is ALL. GIRL. The child loves having her hair brushed and wearing copious amounts of shoes in a single day- whether they're hers or not makes no difference. She still cherishes her bunny, loves her babies and fully insists on pampering them with her hand-me-down cloth diapers, swaddling them in her baby blankets and bouncing them in the infant bouncer all while laying on top of them, full weight, to shower them with kisses.
Ruby is an absolute spit-fire through and through. She reserves the right to stand her ground, no matter how shoddy the platform. She also reserves the right to change her mind... and change it again... and no, she is not going to tell you why she's changed her mind, just that she doesn't want whatever she had just pleaded for and you'd better get that shit out of her sight post haste!
I can't say where she gets this last character trait from...
The sweet, darling child is constantly complemented on about her beauty and cuteness. A trait that, on some of her more difficult days, is her saving grace.
She has no problems bossing around her older sisters and then rearing her hand back to smack the snot out of her unassuming victim when she doesn't get what she wants. After a round of timeout and a stern correction, she whimpers the most sincerely pathetic apology before getting back to business as usual-- directing the world to circle around Ruby and Ruby alone.
Ruby sees Kyra as a means to help get things accomplished. Kind, patient Kyra, who sits to play babies, reads a book or forty, lifts her up to reach objects on upper shelves or grabs her by the hands only to swing her around in a circle, feet lifting off the ground, broad smiles across both faces. Kyra is attentive and sweet, and Ruby knows this.
Ruby sees Lydia as a partner in crime. The two of them are often found in the throws of uproarious laughter, high energy games and are frequently found in the midst of trouble. Lydia, who's mission in life is to make sure everyone around her is having a good time, is the perfect person to have around if you want to thoroughly enjoy life. Lydia is our very own Patch Adams, and Ruby knows this, too.
As demanding and insistent as Ruby is, she's also observant and sweet. She'll do anything for you to hold her and love her. She sees the good people for who they are and shies away from those she hasn't had a chance to figure out, yet.
She loves animals of all shapes and sizes. Ducks and birds are by far her favorite, but cats and dogs come in a very close second.
Animal loving, free spirited and a girl who knows how to use what she has on hand to get what she wants. This is my Ruby. My 2 year old Ruby.
Happy Birthday, Danders.
******************************
Something of note for me to remember when I'm 80 and forgetful:
Where did ONE go?
This last year has been a blur. An absolute up and down, whirl wind blur.
I've hardly chronicled Ruby's life at all. Here I am, two years in and I feel like when I look back at this blog I'm going to wonder what in the hell happened after Ruby was born.
Here's a brief glimpse of what I haven't written about:
Ruby is ALL. GIRL. The child loves having her hair brushed and wearing copious amounts of shoes in a single day- whether they're hers or not makes no difference. She still cherishes her bunny, loves her babies and fully insists on pampering them with her hand-me-down cloth diapers, swaddling them in her baby blankets and bouncing them in the infant bouncer all while laying on top of them, full weight, to shower them with kisses.
Ruby is an absolute spit-fire through and through. She reserves the right to stand her ground, no matter how shoddy the platform. She also reserves the right to change her mind... and change it again... and no, she is not going to tell you why she's changed her mind, just that she doesn't want whatever she had just pleaded for and you'd better get that shit out of her sight post haste!
I can't say where she gets this last character trait from...
The sweet, darling child is constantly complemented on about her beauty and cuteness. A trait that, on some of her more difficult days, is her saving grace.
She has no problems bossing around her older sisters and then rearing her hand back to smack the snot out of her unassuming victim when she doesn't get what she wants. After a round of timeout and a stern correction, she whimpers the most sincerely pathetic apology before getting back to business as usual-- directing the world to circle around Ruby and Ruby alone.
Ruby sees Kyra as a means to help get things accomplished. Kind, patient Kyra, who sits to play babies, reads a book or forty, lifts her up to reach objects on upper shelves or grabs her by the hands only to swing her around in a circle, feet lifting off the ground, broad smiles across both faces. Kyra is attentive and sweet, and Ruby knows this.
Ruby sees Lydia as a partner in crime. The two of them are often found in the throws of uproarious laughter, high energy games and are frequently found in the midst of trouble. Lydia, who's mission in life is to make sure everyone around her is having a good time, is the perfect person to have around if you want to thoroughly enjoy life. Lydia is our very own Patch Adams, and Ruby knows this, too.
As demanding and insistent as Ruby is, she's also observant and sweet. She'll do anything for you to hold her and love her. She sees the good people for who they are and shies away from those she hasn't had a chance to figure out, yet.
She loves animals of all shapes and sizes. Ducks and birds are by far her favorite, but cats and dogs come in a very close second.
Animal loving, free spirited and a girl who knows how to use what she has on hand to get what she wants. This is my Ruby. My 2 year old Ruby.
Happy Birthday, Danders.
******************************
Something of note for me to remember when I'm 80 and forgetful:
Ruby Dooby Danders where shall I wander,As a baby, and even today, I frequently sing this to Ruby while rocking her vigorously back in forth like a baby before tossing my giggling girl on a couch or bed. It's the nursery rhyme Goosey, Goosey Gander made just for my girl. This is where her nickname "Danders" comes from.
Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber
There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers,
I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Catching Up on Life
Ruby is running around naked, back and forth from my room to the big girls' room showing me the latest toy she's playing with. She's at that age and stage where she likes and feels very important playing in the same place as the big girls' without still quite knowing how to pretend along with them. She calls Lydia, "Yeeh-ya", while referring to Kyra as "Dear-wa". Both names are two syllables.
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Jeremy and I are expecting baby #4 this fall. This time God decided to shake things up and give us a boy! What to do with a boy?! My first thought, and comment, when the ultrasound didn't show three lines but a protrusion instead was, "Nooo! We don't make those!" Now to come up with a name....
Three children in and we've never once agreed on a boys name.
The girls are angling for us to call him Turkey Boy St Nicholas. Of all the names Jeremy and I have tossed into the ring so far, we're still referring to him as Turkey Boy.
We're still living amongst the moose and other flannel wearing natives. We still really, really like the area. Our housing situation, on the other had, we completely despise. The houses are all smacked together with nothing more than a 4x4 square of yard for the girls to play. And although our neighbors no longer bang on Ruby's wall when she wakes up 30 times throughout the night screaming, we still feel a great deal of resentment towards them. Turns out Ruby was suffering from a case of reflux. For more than a month, now, she's been sleeping soundly and through the night.
I'm pretty sure with Turkey Boy's arrival, I'm just going to ask for a two year supply of Zantac. Just to save us all from having to play the all too familiar game of, "Who wants to guess why that baby's screaming for no reason, again?"
Kyra and Lydia are spending their summer alternating between school work and riding their bikes outside with the neighborhood kids.
Lydia's become the one all the kids her size flock to when she whips out her bug hotel contraption. It's a series of bubbles and tubes all connecting that the kids all dump dirt and leaves into each afternoon and then run around looking for various, tiny life forms to torture by trapping then in the bug hotel. Each night I require they release all the wildlife back into the bushes and grasses to find their way homes again.
Kyra is trying to find her way, socially, around the neighborhood. There was a period of a month or so where, right behind our house, there was a vacant house. Kyra and several girls her age decided to make this their princess club where they, essentially, colored with chalk all over the brick walls and cement driveway while giggling incessantly. When new people moved in, all the girls Kyra's age ran off to various other hidey-holes around the neighborhood. Kyra, the poor child, is regulated to stay out of the road, on the sidewalk and within my sight while the other girls get free range to run three blocks in any direction at any time. And so they do. And Kyra watches with yearning eyes, hoping they might come back to play with her.
This is the part in parenting where I continuously ask myself if I'm doing the right thing, keeping her within a boundary line where she can run free for a block but, past that, out of sight is out of bounds.
Everyone here is still here. A little older. A little busier. But we're here, as a family. Some of us run around naked {yea for habits picked up during potty training!}, several of us collect and torture bugs in the name of learning, and others of us work and feed the masses.
All my love to all of you.
Jeremy and I are expecting baby #4 this fall. This time God decided to shake things up and give us a boy! What to do with a boy?! My first thought, and comment, when the ultrasound didn't show three lines but a protrusion instead was, "Nooo! We don't make those!" Now to come up with a name....Three children in and we've never once agreed on a boys name.
The girls are angling for us to call him Turkey Boy St Nicholas. Of all the names Jeremy and I have tossed into the ring so far, we're still referring to him as Turkey Boy.
We're still living amongst the moose and other flannel wearing natives. We still really, really like the area. Our housing situation, on the other had, we completely despise. The houses are all smacked together with nothing more than a 4x4 square of yard for the girls to play. And although our neighbors no longer bang on Ruby's wall when she wakes up 30 times throughout the night screaming, we still feel a great deal of resentment towards them. Turns out Ruby was suffering from a case of reflux. For more than a month, now, she's been sleeping soundly and through the night.
I'm pretty sure with Turkey Boy's arrival, I'm just going to ask for a two year supply of Zantac. Just to save us all from having to play the all too familiar game of, "Who wants to guess why that baby's screaming for no reason, again?"
Kyra and Lydia are spending their summer alternating between school work and riding their bikes outside with the neighborhood kids.
Lydia's become the one all the kids her size flock to when she whips out her bug hotel contraption. It's a series of bubbles and tubes all connecting that the kids all dump dirt and leaves into each afternoon and then run around looking for various, tiny life forms to torture by trapping then in the bug hotel. Each night I require they release all the wildlife back into the bushes and grasses to find their way homes again. Kyra is trying to find her way, socially, around the neighborhood. There was a period of a month or so where, right behind our house, there was a vacant house. Kyra and several girls her age decided to make this their princess club where they, essentially, colored with chalk all over the brick walls and cement driveway while giggling incessantly. When new people moved in, all the girls Kyra's age ran off to various other hidey-holes around the neighborhood. Kyra, the poor child, is regulated to stay out of the road, on the sidewalk and within my sight while the other girls get free range to run three blocks in any direction at any time. And so they do. And Kyra watches with yearning eyes, hoping they might come back to play with her.
This is the part in parenting where I continuously ask myself if I'm doing the right thing, keeping her within a boundary line where she can run free for a block but, past that, out of sight is out of bounds.
Everyone here is still here. A little older. A little busier. But we're here, as a family. Some of us run around naked {yea for habits picked up during potty training!}, several of us collect and torture bugs in the name of learning, and others of us work and feed the masses.
All my love to all of you.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Literary Surprises
I'm still reading The Alchemyst. I've now advanced to page 46. I'm on a roll, I tell ya!
At what point do you look at something and decide to scrap it? I can put a difficult book down and months later come back to finish it just so I can move on to something else. Why I must finish one before moving on to another, I don't know. Jer's also since informed me that this book is part of a series.
Fabulous.
In other news, Lydia knows how to read. Did you know this? Because, I did not.
She hopped up on the couch one morning and instead of pushing a book in my hands, asking if I'd read to her, she skipped over and asked if she could read me Dick and Jane.
"WELL, OF COURSE!" I said, cheerily, waiting for her latest rendition of what's happening in each picture. Instead of explaining the illustrations, she took her index finger and ran it along the words reading each word with accompanying dramatic pauses, exclamations and proper inflections to go along.
I shit you not, I said, "When did you learn to read?" and she quipped back, "In my bed when I read with my flashlight."
....???
That's right.
Kyra I've been dragging along, kicking, screaming and dramatically passing out while trying to climb brick walls made from compound words and multiple syllables.
Lydia gets the same 20 minutes a night her sister does, to sit in her bed, wind down and "read" books by flashlight.... and she teaches herself to read.
Lydia's repeated this trick several more times with several more books. Today, she even brought me a book I know beyond a shadow of a doubt neither Jeremy nor I have read this book to either of the kids before (because, yes, we have that many books), and the sweet child happily plodded along, reading the whole way.
All her reading, so far, are of the basic nature. Simple, sound out words. Still. It'll be nice to be blessed with a child who doesn't fight me the whole way with this reading business. I know Kyra's difficulties are neither her fault nor of her own doing, but an easier path the second time around with the second kid will be a nice reprieve.
So here I have Kyra tearing through all of the Spiderwick Cronicles, Lydia loving every Dick and Jane she can get her hands on, and I'm barely pawing through The Alchemyst.
Even the kids are showing me up!
At what point do you look at something and decide to scrap it? I can put a difficult book down and months later come back to finish it just so I can move on to something else. Why I must finish one before moving on to another, I don't know. Jer's also since informed me that this book is part of a series.
Fabulous.
In other news, Lydia knows how to read. Did you know this? Because, I did not.
She hopped up on the couch one morning and instead of pushing a book in my hands, asking if I'd read to her, she skipped over and asked if she could read me Dick and Jane.
"WELL, OF COURSE!" I said, cheerily, waiting for her latest rendition of what's happening in each picture. Instead of explaining the illustrations, she took her index finger and ran it along the words reading each word with accompanying dramatic pauses, exclamations and proper inflections to go along.
I shit you not, I said, "When did you learn to read?" and she quipped back, "In my bed when I read with my flashlight."
....???
That's right.
Kyra I've been dragging along, kicking, screaming and dramatically passing out while trying to climb brick walls made from compound words and multiple syllables.
Lydia gets the same 20 minutes a night her sister does, to sit in her bed, wind down and "read" books by flashlight.... and she teaches herself to read.
Lydia's repeated this trick several more times with several more books. Today, she even brought me a book I know beyond a shadow of a doubt neither Jeremy nor I have read this book to either of the kids before (because, yes, we have that many books), and the sweet child happily plodded along, reading the whole way.
All her reading, so far, are of the basic nature. Simple, sound out words. Still. It'll be nice to be blessed with a child who doesn't fight me the whole way with this reading business. I know Kyra's difficulties are neither her fault nor of her own doing, but an easier path the second time around with the second kid will be a nice reprieve.
So here I have Kyra tearing through all of the Spiderwick Cronicles, Lydia loving every Dick and Jane she can get her hands on, and I'm barely pawing through The Alchemyst.
Even the kids are showing me up!
Friday, February 21, 2014
A Moment to Myself
I have two kids down for naps and one doing her school work at the kitchen table. The dogs are snoozing beside me on their bed and the husband is working another tediously boring day on the boat.
That last part is total assumption. Only because I think his job must be boring. He claims to enjoy what he does. So, yaaa.
The rain outside is drizzly. The mountains of snow are slowly dissipating. What was a mountain of white, as high as the roof of my Suburban a couple of nights ago is now only up to the bottom of the windows. We, along with the rest of this half of the country, are on a "warming trend" in which our temperatures raise to a balmy 40 degrees for a day or so and then we'll plummet back into the 20s and all that snow that didn't quite melt fast enough? Now a deceptively slick sheet of snowy looking ice.
I'm currently reading The Alchemyst because Jeremy stuck it into my hands a few days ago and said it might be something I'd enjoy for an easy read. I've only made it to the 38th page. I'm not sure if its entirely because its not my style or if its because I've wasted precious nap times on silly things like cleaning the kitchen, destroying the kitchen or piddling on this here computer.
Hard to say.
But I'm determined to trudge through it. I have two book shelves worth of books I've gathered over the last couple of years and haven't had time nor motivation to read them. We've run out of room for more books, for either the children or the adults in this house. I've managed to read a good number in the last few months and either ship them back to their previous owners or donated them to the local library.
My favorite, I can't put it down forthelifeofme book, so far, has been The Memoirs of a Geisha. Aside from just being an incredible story on the whole, two quotes have stuck with me a month after having finished the book:
Another book I'm anticipating picking up is The Outlander series. My mother sent me the first of the series with a preface that she really enjoyed the fist and was headlong into the second and thought I would enjoy them, as well. After The Alchemyst, I tell myself. As it is, I have no room for Outlander on my bookshelf so it sits, stuck in the door in my truck, waiting for it's turn.
I forget, sometimes, how much I enjoy books. I read them to the kids all day. Some of them wonderful, some of them not. But a book that is for me is like a holy treasure, sometimes.
That's typical of us mother's, though, isn't it? Do for the kids, forgetting about yourself?
"All too soon," the older generations warn us young'uns, "the kids will want nothing to do with ya." Then will be our time to ourselves. Until then, I'll enjoy their naps for what they are, a small break in the mayhem, and I'll enjoy my bits of reading when can get them.
Life right now seems all about the story. Sometimes its an easy read, sometimes its thought provoking and sometimes you're too busy to notice the pictures on the page, right past the words you've just read.
Life goes on. And so do our stories.
That last part is total assumption. Only because I think his job must be boring. He claims to enjoy what he does. So, yaaa.
The rain outside is drizzly. The mountains of snow are slowly dissipating. What was a mountain of white, as high as the roof of my Suburban a couple of nights ago is now only up to the bottom of the windows. We, along with the rest of this half of the country, are on a "warming trend" in which our temperatures raise to a balmy 40 degrees for a day or so and then we'll plummet back into the 20s and all that snow that didn't quite melt fast enough? Now a deceptively slick sheet of snowy looking ice.
I'm currently reading The Alchemyst because Jeremy stuck it into my hands a few days ago and said it might be something I'd enjoy for an easy read. I've only made it to the 38th page. I'm not sure if its entirely because its not my style or if its because I've wasted precious nap times on silly things like cleaning the kitchen, destroying the kitchen or piddling on this here computer.
Hard to say.
But I'm determined to trudge through it. I have two book shelves worth of books I've gathered over the last couple of years and haven't had time nor motivation to read them. We've run out of room for more books, for either the children or the adults in this house. I've managed to read a good number in the last few months and either ship them back to their previous owners or donated them to the local library.
My favorite, I can't put it down forthelifeofme book, so far, has been The Memoirs of a Geisha. Aside from just being an incredible story on the whole, two quotes have stuck with me a month after having finished the book:
“Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.”
“I dont think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it.”I have a friend and a sister having a baby on the Any-Minute-Now timeline and I can't help but think of the horrible, crippling postpartum depression I suffered after Ruby. At the time I tried to rationalize and explain away every feeling I had but in the end, now that I'm no longer enduring it, I can see it for what it is. What it was.
Another book I'm anticipating picking up is The Outlander series. My mother sent me the first of the series with a preface that she really enjoyed the fist and was headlong into the second and thought I would enjoy them, as well. After The Alchemyst, I tell myself. As it is, I have no room for Outlander on my bookshelf so it sits, stuck in the door in my truck, waiting for it's turn.
I forget, sometimes, how much I enjoy books. I read them to the kids all day. Some of them wonderful, some of them not. But a book that is for me is like a holy treasure, sometimes.
That's typical of us mother's, though, isn't it? Do for the kids, forgetting about yourself?
"All too soon," the older generations warn us young'uns, "the kids will want nothing to do with ya." Then will be our time to ourselves. Until then, I'll enjoy their naps for what they are, a small break in the mayhem, and I'll enjoy my bits of reading when can get them.
Life right now seems all about the story. Sometimes its an easy read, sometimes its thought provoking and sometimes you're too busy to notice the pictures on the page, right past the words you've just read.
Life goes on. And so do our stories.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Friday, January 31, 2014
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...
Thursday, January 23, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
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.
Thursday, January 09, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, October 21, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, October 14, 2013
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...
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...
Saturday, October 12, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
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...
Monday, September 16, 2013
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.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
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.
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.
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