Let's Read!

DC appears to be dyslexic. No great surprise, given that I am (and, of course, the spell checker doesn't work on this site on this device). It's no big deal to me: dyslexia comes with a host of advantages to offset the disadvantages, so where's the harm? However, DC's difficulty with letter recognition landed her in reading lab. Again, fine with me, especially as both her teacher and the reading lab teacher are willing to change how they teach to fit each child. So DC is learning a bit of phonics and a LOT of word recognition. It's how I learned to read before anyone realized I had a problem.

As I see it, we have just one wee problem left: her gift of language and memorization has quickly pushed her PAST first grade level, and she's starting to get bored. I challenge her with everything I can, but when she's reading "Will We Win?" at school, there's not much help I can offer. She read one of her cheesy little books the other day, frowned in her oh-so-eloquent way and announced "There was no STORY to that story!"

Why do I sometimes feel like I'm raising myself?

One Down, One to Go

Big, end of year holidays, that is. There was some chaos with sorting out where one of the kids was supposed to be this year, but we made it. I am exhausted with all the nonsense, though.

Now we're dealing with a situation that I suppose isn't really so strange: how do we celebrate holidays when we don't always have all the children? Does Santa make a stop early (and ohhhhh how I hate "doing" Santa! But that's a whole 'nother blog post)? Do we have our family celebration early and then let the fat man make an appearance on the day, current child population of the house be hanged?

I don't know. I wish... Well, I wish a lot of things. But mainly I wish Tyrannosaurus weren't the only child of "ours" here. I find that I already miss the twins most with the thought of Christmas. I wish they would be here for Tyranno-Manz to share those every-other holidays with. And I wish them for me, too.

Everyone from Mumbai, everyone in Mumbai, everyone with friends or family there now, facing the fear and confusion, everyone with a heart: I am so sad for you. My own city was hit (but only once, I grant) by a terrorist. I was several hundred miles away then, and it was the most frightening day of my life. I cannot fathom what has happened, and is happening, there right now. The use of destruction and fear, death and pain as a weapon on the human spirit is beyond my comprehension.

I can't politicize this. I can't make some grand moral statement. All I can do is watch the coverage, read the articles and weep. I am so very, very sad for you. And so very, very sad for us all.

on being a bad mother... **Updated**

Question: was Bob the Builder created by someone on acid?

Observation: when making up one's own lyrics to the Thomas the Tank Engine theme, "masturbate" rhymes much too easily with "eight." And, no, *I* have not been the one singing that...

While I agree in theory with all concepts of no television for the mini set, I also don't believe in punting them like footballs. So, tonight, when I am so tired from cooking and cleaning, and so frazzled from the kids and husband and animals all going bonkers over tasty food or smells (we celebrated Thanksgiving today, since pesimst has to work tomorrow), I have switched on children's programming for a bit. Bob the Builder, which Tyrannosaurus doesn't particularly like and Thomas the Tank Engine, which he LOVES! Thank goodness for commercial-free television that airs 15 minute segments, rather than 30 minutes...

*update*
So, after two poopy diapers (and one bad dirty baby event that reslted in a bath), snack time all around, tooth brushings and pj time, and, of course, the aforementioned tv time, I think we're all going to make it. The big kids were sent off to bed with hugs and kisses, the baby is settling in for sleep, and pesimst, well he's been crashed on the couch since the whole mess began. I'm already in MY pajamas, and have decided to put off the last load of dishes until tomorrow.

Ah. Domestic bliss!

belated, but beautiful

It's been nearly nineteen months since the event that permanently sealed the raging individuals in this house into a solid family unit. In a moment, we went from being a group that was learning to love and live together to a family, bonded by blood and a mutual goal and concern. That moment was the (beautiful, perfect, magical) birth of the Tyrannosaurus.

I have put off writing his birth story for several reasons. One is a lack of time. Two is not wanting to be "that woman," who seems to be saying something about doctors and hospitals and women who use them. In spite of being some loony, hippy nut-job, I'm not really :)

When I found out I was pregnant, I was a bit shocked. The timing was... awkward at best. But it was okay and the problems could be worked around. I hoped.

As I saw it, there was one problem: I did not want to go back to a hospital unless there was a real need. But I didn't know how pesimst would feel about that. We had never discussed birthing options, as we each had had one child and figured our family was complete. So I was hesitant about bringing up a homebirth. I decided to ease him into it. First I said "midwife," which, since he's not big on doctors, he was cool with. Then I said "not at a hospital." And he was fine. But then he asked me where.

"Wait, WHAT?!" he said. "Like in this house?"

Yeah. That part didn't go too well. But he listened. He did his own reading. It was at our first midwife appointment that he first told me he was not just okay with the idea, but quite in favor of it. Whew. One obstacle down.

The second battle came over hypnobirthing classes. He was fine with them, until he found out he had to go, too. And then our first real fight ensued. He considered it "hippy bullshit." I was so mad, I threw the only thing close at hand: I was sitting in the bathtub, so I flung a handful of water. Yeah. It was that bad.

I screamed at him, finally admitting that I was afraid of labor. Homebirth was not my first perfect option, but there are no birth centers nearby, so it was hospital or home. I wasn't afraid of some catastrophic emergency, as my midwives are all very skilled and there's a hospital minutes away. I was afraid of not being able to handle labor and birth with no out. This was the straw I was grasping to try to avoid the fear and the pain and the fear of the pain that could land me in the hospital. And he was angry at getting wet and at my shouting, but he listened, and he began to understand how important it was. And he agreed to go.

By the end of the first class, he began to see the point. He found that it wasn't not quite as "loopy" as he had feared, and I was very soothed.

Flash forward a few months to April, a week or so before my due date. I was in labor. The surges were coming steadily, about 12 minutes apart. Getting a bit stronger. There was some last-minute catbox scooping by pesimst and some dishwasher filling by me. I picked up the phone and carried it with me to the bathroom, where I curled on the fluffy bathmat and waited to time a few surges.

And they stopped. Completely. Not faded. Just stopped. Drat.

It happened a few days later, with only four or five STRONG surges. And then it stopped.

My edd crawled around. I labored that day, too! For about three hours. And it stopped. Again.

That week, pesimst and I had our last "new baby battle." He called home while driving to work to say he had just thought to ask, if this was a boy, who was going to circumcize him. To which I replied with a snap:

My son? No one.

He had just heard that bunk study saying that circumcision prevented AIDS. So I went online and researched and sent him links and an email stating my opinions and a few more links. He sort of agreed, but mostly he just dropped it.

My 41 week appointment rolled around. I was starting to get nervous. Would they keep me past 42 weeks? My first pregnancy went to nearly 44 weeks. Would I end up in the hospital for having a slow-cooker instead of an oven?

My heart sang when I found out that all my midwives needed was a post-date ultrasound and a non-stress test. It was also suggested that I start pumping. So I bought a new hand pump on the way home and used it that afternoon.

I had twitchy little surges all evening, but nothing "real." My sister called to see if I'd be at a meeting the next morning, and I told her "sure, unless I'm in active labor" hahaha

At 4 the next morning, I woke up in labor. Remember, I'd been there before. Three times. So I didn't get my hopes up. I sent pesimst on to work and rested until the big kids got up. I got Van off to school and settled in to wait. I called my sister, finally, and told her I wouldn't be coming, but not to get her hopes up. She squealed :)

About 10 am, they surges died down a bit, and I curled in the recliner to take a nap. At 11, I woke up, got lunch for DC and myself, and then, minutes after I finished eating, it started up again!

I called the school to tell them DC wouldn't be there, as I couldn't drive, owing to being in labor. Then I called Van's school to have him put on the bus in the afternoon.

pesimst got home a bit before Van, and my surges tapered off again, so I went back to bed to nap. When I woke up, I fixed supper for the others, but didn't feel much like eating. When the kids came to kiss me goodnight (pesimst had kept them out of my hair all evening), I told them they'd probably have a new baby brother or sister before long, and I promised we'd let them know, quickly, which it was. They both actually went to bed and went right to sleep.

Which was good, because things got a bit more intense after that. The baby's head was so low, I couldn't empty my bladder. Not a drop. And I HAD TO GO!!!

I called my midwife to let her know it was getting close, but not there yet. I managed to lift the baby's head enough to "go." And then I tried to get the bed ready.

Moments later, I was curled on the floor, crying, because I could not do this. It hurt, and I was scared, and I COULD NOT DO THIS THING!!!

I called my wonderful CM back and told her to send her assistant, and perhaps to hurry.

The asst, Y, arrived, got me off the toilet and onto a comfortable nest she had made on the bed to check me. Her phone rang, and it was G, the midwife. Y advised her to hurry a bit more...

Y and pesimst got the birthpool filled with Y stopping to soothe me through each surge. I relaxed and calmed, and it didn't hurt. pesimst put in my thunderstorm cd, and I went to sleep, only vaguely aware of waking enough to relax further through each surge.

My labor slowed, but kept moving forward. Before G arrived, I started to feel "pushy," but I kept relaxing, waiting. pesimst curled onto the bed behind me, holding one hand above my head and resting his other hand on my shoulder. We both dozed, although I squeezed his hand after each surge and received his squeeze back to tell me he was there with me. G noticed and commented on how we were truly laboring together.

I dreamed while I was in labor. I dreampt I was in the swamps of Florida, riding a fan-driven swampboat, looking for a flower. Moments before each surge, I would stop the boat to examine a flicker of color, and, when the surge was over, I would sadly conclude that was not my rare flower. But I knew I would find it.

Then, in one moment, I woke up and was ready. Pushing felt GOOD! I breathed down the baby, literally feeling it slide lower, deeper. The surges were powerful. They no longer caused pain, because they were working for me, and I wasn't working against them at all.

I roared. I growled. I shouted down the baby. There was a moment, and only a moment that lasted an eternity and was still gone before I knew it that burned and ripped a scream from my throat. And I knew. I knew it was over, and I knew I HAD made it. The pain disappeared, but, instead of numbness, I felt energy. I reached down to pat the small, damp head. That moment, feeling the scalp and the delicate skull is carved in the nerves of my palm. I will feel the sweetness of that head for the rest of my life.

There was no pain as the baby turned and slipped out.

My arms were already reaching, clutching, desperate to hold this one who had been held so close for so long. I hugged the wet little form to my stomach (very short cord) and turned to scream over my shoulder to pesimst, who was grinning and weeping and reaching to stroke the baby and me, "I DID IT!!!"

Then, when asked what the baby was (by G who could see quite well), I clapped my glasses on my face... and went even more blind: my lenses had fogged from the heat of my face! LOL

So my first discovery of gender happened as a grabbed handful of boy bits. A son! I had another son, this time a baby, and this time, mine all mine.

By the time the kids came in to see the baby, I had been to the bathroom, Y had made the bed, Tyrannosaurus had nursed to full and happy, and I was starting to get sleepy.

Van and DC crawled up with me to touch nose and toes. They each hd their pictures taken with the wee one, and they both had the stuffing hugged out of them by me. DC got past her disappointment of not having a girl as soon as she kissed his peach-fuzzed head. Van was in heaven! And I? I was thrilled. My children were all connected by blood and love, and they were all mine all mine.

What Joy! What Bliss!

Tonight, Van, who is in the fourth grade and had a "rough" first semester, brought home his five week grades. I had my hands in soapy water, and, as he held it in front of me, I closed my eyes and held my breath. When I opened my eyes, I nearly cried. The boy who cam thisclose to failing social studies and science had an A in one, and a B in the other. The rest of his grades were pretty fab, too. Four As and 4 Bs. I was so proud! I know he's really buckled down to work and study. I have always known he was capable. BEYOND capable. He's quite smart.

But...

He has some very serious hyperactivity going on. When things are settled in his life, he is pretty good at controlling it. Things have been so haywire for him lately, though, and his head is twisted up so tightly in worrying about things much too big for a 9 year old to worry about, he has had changes happening all around him that are beyond his control, some of his core beliefs and foundations have been shaken. And he's been WILD! I've tried to offer shelter and security. I've tried to offer firm boundaries and unwavering love. His dad tries to offer the same. But there's only so much life we can protect our children from.

But his grades weren't the happiest part of the day:

Tonight, as we worked on his math homework, something magical happened!

When he's working on something that is difficult for him, I get out paper and work beside him, so we can "learn it together" and "check each other's answers." The first problem was division. He is still struggling with multiplication, so I knew we'd have a time with it. I had him work it as a picture problem, and he finally found the answer. And, all of a sudden, he GOT IT. I watched the light come up in his eyes. His shoulders lifted, and his chin came up proudly. He KNEW THE ANSWER.

He understood division, and multiplication became easier. He really, really saw the reason behind the facts. That moment, the strength and confidence I saw in him, the glow to his gorgeous, exotic dark-hazel eyes, the triumph that hovered around his lips like a victorious war cry - it's all stuck in the photo album of my heart and mind.

How I love that boy! He has added so much to my world, broadened and deepened every experience in so many way in the (almost) three years he has been "mine."

Sure, there were some rough spots at the beginning. He was such a shock after quiet, self-sufficient DC! We had some mutual suspicion and hesitation, of course. But, when I opened my heart to him as a part of his father (to whom my whole heart belonged), he responded to it with a welcoming friendship. And, as I got to know him and love him for being his own unique (soooooo very unique!) person, he came to love me for loving him and for showing him love and caring.

And now he is mine. He is my child as certainly as DC and Tyrannosaurus. His father has never been stingy with sharing Van's early years, until I know his stories nearly as well as DC's. I am always thrilled when he refers to me as "my mom" at school, and I'm also glad that he willingly makes the distinction between his mother and me at school.

But, today, I am happiest that I got to be there, to see his eyes light up, to watch his face transform, as he developed a love and excitement for my own favorite part (and, in fact, the only part I like at all!) of math.

Congratulations, Van. I am SO PROUD OF YOU!!!

the wind comes sweepin'

It's a cold, blustery day here in Oklahoma. There's a stripey, grey-on-grey cloud cover hanging so high in the sky that birds flying below it are as tiny as fleas. The nearly-empty tree-branches are groaning against each other as if they are being tortured by the gusty, cold wind that has rushed in to drop our temperatures from a fairly comfotable 60 to a bitter-seeming 45. And, of course, as it gets colder through the night, I have to go out in it and take the children with me.

Van, the eldest, has basketball practice tonight. DC, Tyrannosaurus and I will go perch ourselves on hard folding chairs or a rather grubby floor while he runs around and attempts to learn the basics of the sport as if through osmosis, since, goodness knows, he's too busy running and squealing to actually listen to the coaches. On Tuesday night, I had a merry laugh at his expense, watching him run laps around his half of the gym. Dear boy! There's such a rather lot of motion for so little forward progress. His elbows fly around him, and his knees don't bend, his head flops up and down like a shaken ragdoll, and his back pops from ramrod straight to a funny, humpbacked curve and back. I simply MUST make the time to take him for a few runs with me some evenings and teach him a more comfortable method of moving.

I hope Tyranno-Manz is willing to settle down for a bit tonight, so that I might get another chance to read a chapter or so to DC. She so loves to be read to, even though she is doing quite a good job of reading for herself, now. When pesimst is with me, I can leave the baby to him for awhile and sneak in at least a few pages. It's vastly satisfying! I sometimes jealously miss the days of just DC and I, when we had hours to fill with nothing but one another. She was the best friend I ever had, from the very minute she was born, and I sometimes feel that closeness has been banged around by all the changes and the addition of two siblings with whom she must share my attention. That said, I'm also convinced she wouldn't trade her brothers for the crown and adoration of the entire Universe. The three are best friends, and I don't believe they would long survive without each other.

I think I see a sleeping babe, curled into the corner of his playpen. I've taken him out to let him run and play, but he keeps tossing a toy into it and trying to climb back in. So, I've let him roll around on its soft, cozy floor while I've worked the afternoon away. I was never a fan of the pen when DC was a baby, but she did prefer to spend every moment attached to my hip. Tyrannosaurus is content to play quietly where he can see me, and then burn his energy off chasing the big two when they return from school. I first put him in it one afternoon to keep him safe in the garage room while I began to get it put in order as play space (it's still not done, but it has a setback every time I clear out one of the other rooms. When the rest of the house is done, it'll be doable). He LOVED it. It became his very own space, where no one but the cats could follow him. He naps in it during the day and goes into it at bedtime (and is taken to his bed beside mine at my bedtime). When he's too tired to cope, he'll tearily grasp the edge and say sadly "halp!" And I lift him in with a toy or book and his blanket. He'll reach up to give me a hug and a kiss, and then settle down against the mesh to relax. Eventually, he flops over and pulls his blanket across his belly or tucks onto his belly with his diapered bum in the air. And then he sleeps and dreams, and all is right with his world.

And now, after a ridiculously long, rambling post, I'm going to carry myself back in to do some dishes and begin a healthy, filling supper for my "little athlete" and my professional observers. May you all be warm tonight and full inside of the quiet joys of home and family, whether your family consists of two-legged creatures or four or a delightful combination of both.

Ah! Peace!

pesimst returned to work today after 9 days off for vacation. It was so good to have him here. And it's so nice to have my schedule back.

This has been an odd week for me. I've gotten to sleep in for at LEAST an extra 30 minutes each morning, as pesimst has gotten the kids up for school, dragged the toddler off my head and let me rest until time to pack lunchboxes. And I've had a cold. Nothing major, but irritating. And I've accomplished so much nothing. Ah well.

Add to that the euphoria of the election, the frustration with my mother, the aggravation of prop 8 (we passed that same shit several years ago, and it just makes my blood boil!), some frustration with non-custodial parentage, allergy meds that have left me groggy, a non-napping baby, and you have all the ingredients to leave me out of it.

Oh, lovely. Tyrannosaurus is waving a diaper cover at me and growling, so I'd best go see to his needs and then start helping the house recover from having a man in it all day, every day for a week :)

Happy Monday, all right!

ouch

This is a hard thing to write.

I am hurting a lot right now. Yesterday morning, my mom called me in hysterical tears. She is "so afraid" of what's going to happen now. She is afraid of the coming of "Socialism," and she's worried about their explosion of taxes. She told me that she and my stepdad are considering moving their money offshore and moving overseas. She told me that "we will live to regret" the outcome of this election (and I managed not to reply "does that mean we'll survive Bush?").

First, if they have so much income, why is she always moping over how broke they are and how she just doesn't know how they're going to afford to survive? Second, she told me she would read Obama's platform and listen to his policy speeches. She obviously hasn't, since she keeps going on and on about how we don't know what we're getting. Third, she, rather obviously, only watched Fox news for the entire election season. And fourth, she showed very plainly that she doesn't give a rat's ass about her grandchildren's future. Or mine.

When I pointed out that we have no health insurance, she told me that we shouldn't have three vehicles.

pesimst's truck is paid off. The gas mileage on it sucks, but we can't afford to take on another car payment, and his work hours require that I have transportation of my own. So we're stuck with it for now. His motorcycle and my car payment together are quite small. He has the bike to help with the mileage issue for his truck. The insurance on all three for 6 months is less than one month of insurance premiums. So, if we had no cars, we STILL wouldn't have enough to pay for insurance. By about $4000 a year. Really.

And that doesn't take into account that the benefit caps out at $500 more than it costs a year. So it doesn't pay for itself. At all.

The only place we could cut nearly that much out of the budget is by selling the house and living in a cardboard box. Seriously. The premiums are just over $100 less a month than our house payment.

The problem is that his work pays nothing toward insurance. Not one penny. It's "cheaper" because of its "group policy" status, but it's still miles out of reach. That's not right.

And yet she considers US irresponsible for not having insurance. The insurance company and my husband's employer are absolved of guilt, because to require coporate responsibility would be "Socialism." And she's in favor of the bailout (so am I, and for the same reaons, but she doesn't see the double standard).

As long as she gets what she feels is owed to her, the rest of the country can fuck off, apparently. And she doesn't trust Obama because he's biracial. Seriously, she has more bigotry over that than anyone of any single race. Huh?

Her other problem with Obama? In his speech, he said he would be President to gays and straights. And tolerance will make God mad. "He's not finished with America yet!" she scramed into the phone.

Oh, and we're going to be attacked. We're not safe now. The infidels will be allowed to attack us, because Obama is a wuss and God won't protect us anymore. Because of the gays. And because we let just any damn religion into government.

I have never heard her spout such hate and vitriol. I didn't know that woman, and I don't want to know her. I wanted to just hang up the phone, keep my children away from her and never speak to her again.

I feel bereft today. It's like I lost my mother. I knew she could be close-minded and backwards. I knew she had some simmering racism in her heart. I knew she found homosexuality repugnant. But to hear it boil over, to be told I'm wrong for being the fair, open-minded, tolerant person that SHE raised me to be, it was too much. The woman who I have always credited with one major thing, intentionally raising me to be more tolerant than herself, is gone. In one show of ugliness, she has pushed me so far away that I can't ever get back to her. I don't even want to...

WOW

He won. My candidate, who I have been supporting since BEFORE he announced his candidacy. The first man I have ever voted for, for and for, instead of voting for, but partially just against the other guy. This time I owned a part of this. I have worked. I have donated. I have campaigned. I have fought and believed. I trusted and hoped.

And he won.

But it's not over. There's still work to do. There are people in my family who are afraid, AFRAID of him. And there are so many unpopular decisions to be made. So many hard choices ahead.

And I will do my part. He is my president, not because he was my candidate, but because he won the election. So I will do my part. I will support him. I will argue for him. I will continue to hope and continue to believe.

I'm ready for change. I'm ready for healing. I'm ready for the future.
Will you join me? No one can do this alone. Are you ready? Let's get to work.

YES WE DID. YES WE WILL! YES WE CAN!!!

am I alone here?

Is it Wednesday yet? I've been waiting for next Tuesday for 2 (more like 8) years now. I have thought that, if I could just survive a wee bit longer, I'd make it. But now I'm not so sure Tuesday is going to bring any relief.

For starters, my son's first basketball practice is 6 to 7 that night. And there's a parents' meeting, so I can't just dump him out and run home for the latest poll-closings. And, although I have internet on my phone (which I'm using to type this, so please forgive spelling or punctuation errors, as it's impossible for me to thumb-type and watch the screen at the same time), I really shouldn't carry booze into the school to either keep me calm or to celebrate. It's so not fair...

Second, this thing is such a nail-biter, I am not being optimistic. At the very least, I expect a long night. At worst, I sort of expect a long month... Again...

pesimst starts his vacation tomorrow. I'm trying to decide if that's a good thing. On the one hand, it'll be nice to have my husband home for a week. On the other, we're both so invested in this election that we're sort of feeding on each other's neurosis.

Everybody, go vote. Just do. On Tuesday, if not earlier (I am forsaking early voting in favor of being able to have pesimst with me to help wrangle the children; they HAVE to be with me for this one. I want them to know and remember). Besides, the lines won't be too long out here where I am. I really wish they would, but they won't be.

I think the baby dinosaur has fallen asleep, so I'd best get go check. If he has, I'm going to follow his lead. This migraine is getting worse, no matter how much I try to ignore it...

the thing about the Kitchen Cat

I'm starting to worry about the ancient, terrifying beast that lurks beneath the edge of my table cloth, waiting to chomp firmly upon the buttocks of any unsuspecting diner. That monster is the smallest adult cat, with soft fur, a tiny pink nose, and delicate grey marks that trail into kohl lines around her wide, innocent-looking green eyes. I'm, obviously speaking of the Kitchen Cat.

For those who don't know, the Kitchen Cat was inherited from my former grandma-in-law. Grandma and I bonded over our mutual love for bad-tempered, ornery, seemingly misbehaved cats. A long time ago, I had a cat that was often refered to as P.M.S Kitty From Hell or just Church. He was a nightmare and my best friend. He used to sit on the back of the toilet and smile at male visitors.

Her cat, who she called "Princess" in a falsetto Okie twang, introduced herself to my ex's uncle by dropping on his head out of a closet in the hall. Grandma had marks on her arms where Princess would occasionally get irritated with grooming, or messing about, or random petting...

So when Grandma was admitted to a nursing home with Alzheimer's disease, I, naturally took on her cat. My primary reason was that my former in-laws had decided to have the cat put down. Their reasoning was that "there is something wrong with that cat. She'll never be normal."

Well, all cats are "not normal." It's a natural part of being a cat. But Princess had been a faithful companion, determined caregiver, and the only being who seemed to notice that anything was really, really wrong with Grandma. For that, she deserved a chance at life and love and a happy retirement.

When she first lived with me, she moved into a kitchen cabinet and flatly refused to come out. After a year or so, she finally moved out of the cabinet to occupy the rest of the kitchen. And the kitchen is where she lived. When she moved here with me, she moved into the kitchen, and that is where she lives.

Princess, whose name has been changed to something much more appropriate, has proven me right, over and over. In the wee hours of the morning, when I can't sleep, she will sit in my lap at the kitchen table and purr. The rest of the day, she grumps, growls and hisses at everone who comes near.

But she is beginning to fail. She is old. Grandma told me that Princess was 7 years old in 1999. She continued to say Princess was 7 years old until her own death in 2005. Yeah.

Her fur has taken on old cat softness, and her joints are losing their flexibilty. She is crosser than ever on cold or rainy days, when she aches, and, I think, when she misses Grandma most. She is drinking more water, and spending more time in the litterbox. I would take her in for tests, but she would likely die if she were gone from home comforts overnight. She hates strangers, and I won't put that stress on her ancient heart. I have lowered the protein in her diet, and I keep her well-watered. I try to give her warm, comfy places to sleep, but she insists on the kitchen chairs (at least they're padded, and the tablecloth keeps off most of the drafts) or the windowsill.

At this point, I think her problems are all related to age. So all I can do is love her, from a safe distance, so the teeth can't get to my ankles, give her all the care I can, and try to make her life as pleasant as possible for as long as I have with her. I wish cats lived longer...

GET MOVING!!!

***UPDATE***

Okay, I'm talking to myself here. I am suffering from a near-critical lack of motivation today. I spent the last two days getting the kids' room thoroughly cleaned - cleaning carpets, sorting out broken-to-the-point-of-useless toys, washing bedding, vacuuming mattresses. Then, yesterday evening, I asked for some help to get the rest of the house tidied. And got no takers. Gee, family. Thanks.

So today, after not enough sleep, I'm grouchy. I don't want to work. No one else cares, so why should I? Of course, a scattered house contributes to my depression. So that might be part of the problem.

But right now, I vow to get off my duff and do some work. I will get the kitchen cleaned, do two loads of laundry. Get the rest of the clean put away, and scoop the cat boxes.

Can we fix it? Yeah, sure, ya betcha...

Edit:
Two loads of dishes, one load of laundry, put away half the clean laundry from everywhere, the front bathroom, and feeding kids lunch down!

Edit # 2:
Library cleaned and sweetly scented, clean laundry put away, living room half cleaned, another load of laundry

free time?

My big kids are gone. I dropped them off with my parents yesterday, and they won't be home until tomorrow. And I can't tell you how happy I am about this!

Now, if I can only finish the floors, the laundry and their rooms before they come back...

I was cleaning Demon Child's room a few minutes ago. Now, DC is a sweet, quiet, gentle little thing. Yes, prone to drama and saying really weird things for being such a mite, but her room! I swear, it's the most horrible mess I've ever encountered. She wrote all over her furniture, shoved ALL of her socks behind and under the bed, and hid underwear in any space not occupied by a Princess or a Pony! What frightens me is that she's usually tidier than Van, and his room is next on my list...

Can't Fall Break last a month or two?!

waxing political

I don't usually "go there" on this blog, but I'm relaxing my rules this time. Why? This time, it's personal. This time, my vote is going for a candidate, rather than voting against someone or against an ideology. This time, I'm voting for Barack Obama.

There are quite a few issues where I have a difference of opinion from that held by Senator Obama. In the main, however, I agree with his policy ideas, and I do believe in him as a man. He very much wants to be one of the "good guys," and, rather than assuming he knows best, he is willing to seek out those of thoughtful discourse and cool counsel to advise him. He asks "what do you disagree with?" and then tries to find ground where everyone does agree. And that is something I respect.

My mother pointed out his liberalism. I told her that was one of the key points in his favor. I'm tired of conservatism that isn't. The right in this country aren't conservative, they're mean, petty and selfish. I'm tired of policies that sound like they offer a chance for personal responsiblity, when they trump basic human decency and generosity. The poor are always with us, and it's time we were with the poor.

I read an article earlier where some loon was blasting the "liberals" for wanting to pay for everything for the poor. The writer accused the poor of "expecting" taxpayers to pay their bills. Give me a break!

Why should we help the less fortunate? Because there are more of them than the rich. If the poor have basic needs met, they have a chance to become productive. They don't catch and carry diseases that sweep through the population, regardless of class. They don't further drain the economy by needing critical care when an ounce of prevention would have kept the worst from happening. They have options other than crime or starvation. They are allowed to pursue life and happiness, just like everyone who is not wallowing in poverty.

And the best reason to offer socialized support to the poor, ill and "the least of these" in our society? The mighty beast of capitalism runs on having money to spend. And, as I said, there's more of them.

Another reason for my vote this year is basic human decency. We've let our government and the major coperations rape the American public for years. It's time for that to change. It's time for morals to apply to more than religious belief.

And there's a bit of selfishness mixed in. I am middle class. pesimst makes a good living at his horrible job. It has provided us with a comfortable home, food, transportation and the ability to keep life and limb together - so far. Because the things it doesn't provide are health insurance, a chance for further education for us or our children, or a very solid safety net should something desperate occur. That is not right. That is not fair. And I am voting to see that change.

Obama's healthcare plan is not perfect, but it is better than the pittance McCain is offering (which would pay less than 4 months insurance premiums for us). His education plan is daring and would turn out a generation that is educated and responsible. His tax breaks would ease our burden and let us save more. And his hand on the wheel of our economy would be solid, steady, and give me a bit more faith in our retirement policies that are festering in the current uncertainties.

I have a belief in the man behind the politics, and that makes all the difference.

so long

So it appears Steve Fossett died in a horrible plane crash on the side of a lonely mountain. I mean, well, we "knew" that, but still, proof and all.

There was part of me that kept hoping he'd just gotten fed up with fame and planned to vanish. Another part of me hoped he wouldn't do that to his family.

You see, Steve was one of my great heros. He was a fairy tale adventurer in a modern day world. He quested for dragons and grails in a time that such things held no credibility. He marched to the beat of a medieval drum, and he dared to dream that there was another horizon beyond that which modern thought acknowledged.

His many triumphs, in finance, mountaineering and ballooning, in flight and on skis, sparked my imagination. His daring even led to the creation of one of my favorite characters who has appeared in at least twenty short stories of mine. For all the ways his life touched mine, even though we never met, I thank him.

Steve, I'll miss you. My heart goes out to your family, and I'm grateful they may find closure. May time bring them peace and may memories bring joy and laughter. And I hope, wherever you are, there are still dragons to slay and grails to find. So long, my friend.

My Perfect Life

I was told something yesterday that I found absolutely delightful, and a bit funny. I was told I have the perfect life. Now, obviously, I would never claim any such thing for myself. But, you know what, in a lot of ways, she was right. My blessings far outweigh the negatives in my life, and I am, overall, very content.

Thinking about it made me want to ask, and answer for myself, a question: in detail, what three ways is your (my) life perfect. And the flip side is, in what three ways does it lack.

So, if there's anyone who still reads after the whining I've done lately, consider yourselves tagged.

My three perfects:
1. My children. My children are my reason to get out of bed every morning. Yes, that's in large part to insure they don't burn down the house while I'm lying in bed, but still... LOL

They're all bright and creative, funny, independent, willful and curious. They love each other, even when they seem to be trying their level-best to kill each other, and they try to spend every waking moment together.

They love me, even when I'm "Mean Mom," and they forgive my impatience and lack of perfections. They make every triumph sweeter with their grace in cheering for me, and they make every failure easier with their hugs and unconditional, unquestioning love. Without them, I would not live and my existence would be dull, indeed.

2. My husband, confidant, lover, partner, best friend, soul mate and the reason I can face anything, pesimst. He is the foundation of my world. It takes my breath away, the frightening, enervating, inspiring, peaceful way I love him and he loves me.

I have never really believed in that whole story of "true love" before. I thought only the weak could lose themselves in the heart of another. And when I loved him, I lost my heart and found my soul. I never knew that giving myself completely to another person could give me so much freedom and power. When I suceed at anything, the extra gust of his joy helps me soar even higher, and when I screw up and flop, the tenderness and understanding, the unshakeable strength of his love gives me a safe place to land. The richness of having someone who freely shares life allows me to see the world through two pairs of eyes, and that makes so much room for discovery.

3. A real, true home. I have never known a home before. I am a wild gypsy at heart who has always just drifted around, home simply being the place my cat lived. But this place is home. And it's not just the house that I've spent so many hours personalizing. It's not our quiet corner of land with its broad terraces, protective trees and rickety old barn. It's the way I feel here, peaceful and centered and belonging. This place feeds my soul. It is safe and welcoming. It is home.

My three imperfects
1. My mess. I never have the time, drive or energy to keep the house and yard to the standards my mother tried to instill in me. I try to get organized, but I can always find something I'd rather do.

2. My lack of personal security. Until I finish college, my earning potential is very limited. Having three children, I MUST change that. If I should need to support them on my own, I must be able to do so. Having a husband who drives at night and has a job with a certain amount of risk who also rides a motorcycle in sometimes heavy traffic, it would be foolish to not have a plan b in place. This is my biggest worry and the thing I most desire to change.

3. Influences on my children over which I have no control. I cannot, in this forum, explain this very much. But there is a specific instance where this is a big problem. And I am helpless to do more than offer a safe haven from it at home and hope it all comes out in the wash.

Well, what do ya think?

The first pic, about 15 minutes after my appointment. Yes, I am every bit as high as I look. This time I remembered to take a pain pill BEFORE having any work done. Good thing, too. Not so much pain, and I really didn't notice what Uncle Dentist was doing to me. But, boy, did he give me some pretty toofers!

My hair wouldn't cooperate for pictures tonight. Oh well, ignore the hair. Check out those teeth!

They look a LOT like my teeth did after I got my braces off, only whiter and smoother and prettier. I am enchanted! I have had this weird tooth fetish for the last, oh, eight years or so. I stared at the mouth of anyone with nice teeth, feeling jealous and humiliated. I seem to still have that fascination, but now it's my own teeth I'm staring at. They're amazing, and I can't believe it's ME! I haven't smiled, like this, a real smile, in public for at least the last five years. I practiced in a mirror to learn to smile without showing my teeth. It always killed me, because, before all the dental problems, I ALWAYS had a smile on my face. I am starting to feel like ME again!

Okay, they're not really green. The only place I could get decent light and have a mirror to see where I was aiming the camera was in the bathroom where I just painted the walls a lovely bamboo-ish color. Good news: pretty bathroom. Bad news: not good for complexions or teeth.

I continue to be amazed by this. Unless you've been there, you can't imagine what ecstasy, what joy I feel right now. To get up yesterday morning feeling ugly, disgusting, scared and worn out with worry and, after about 15 short, not-too-horrible minutes, to walk out feeling like a real human being. To actually WANT people to look at me, at my teeth. How incredible!

I'm still not entirely certain how I feel about my dental nightmares for the past fourteen years. Sometimes I felt like I was living behind a one-way window, where everyone out there could see me, could judge me or be disgusted by me, but I could only see a reflection of myself with every flaw amplified at least ten times. There were people I knew didn't notice, because they were too busy looking past my teeth to see me. But I could never convince myself that they didn't SEE, because I saw it as if through their eyes. My entire opinion of myself was wrapped up in the condition of my ugly, horrible teeth.

When I was trying to lose weight after DC weaned, I had a hard time focusing on my health and overall fitness. It didn't matter to me that I was slimming down, getting healthy, feeling better. All I saw was that, no matter how thin I got, no matter how fit I became, I was still ugly because of those teeth. What man would ever want me with teeth like that? Who wants to kiss trailer-trash mouth? Even with so much evidence that pesimst loves me and adores me and thinks I am beautiful, good teeth, bad teeth or no teeth at all, I was always afraid he'd be turned off and turned away by my frightening teeth or fake smile. How healthy would I ever be, weight-be-damned, while I fought infection after infection in my mouth?

We still don't know exactly what caused all the problems. There are so many factors that play into it, and it could be one or all. The odd thing is that, although my teeth were SO BAD, the bone was and is still very healthy. That may (and probably will) change, now that I have all my top teeth out, but that is something I'm willing to deal with later.

I'm having a hard time coming to terms with myself with no teeth in. Tonight, while rinsing my plate after supper, I stared myself down in the mirror until, if not coming to peace, exactly, I at least began to accept that this is me. Yes, I do look like that. But, thanks to the marvel of modern materials and a highly-skilled denture sculptor, I don't HAVE to look like that. My mouth is no different than my eyes; without contacts or glasses, my eyes are worthless. Without my denture, my mouth is, well, it's just weird. But I have contacts and glasses to give me vision, and I have a denture to make my mouth normal.

Normal, something I never thought would sound so wonderful! Yes, I think my teeth are beautiful. Yes, I am thrilled beyond belief that they look so nice. Honestly, though, the part that I like the best, the part that has me grinning at everyone that walks past, is that I feel like they DON'T stand out. The carnival mirror is gone, and I am free to be just another smile in the crowd.

Drat and Blast!

Can a girl catch a break around here? Saturday, my beloved Sidekick pooped out on me. I don't know what happened, but it's not working. So I'm without my cell phone and my usual internet connection. Hopefully, I'll have my replacement by the end of the week, but I'm not holding my breath. For one thing, I'd turn blue and pass out...

Anyway, the next horrible dentist appointment is tomorrow. Urgh. I'm veryveryveryvery nervous about it. Not much longer, I hope.

And there's some truly fun and frolicsome legal nonsense happening in my world. I wish I could go into detail on here, but right now, I just can't. Suffice it to say that I'm not worried, just amused.

Well, I'm off to the store to fetch allergy medicine for DC, who came home sneezing and blowing with runny eyes and a tickling throat. She went on to school, as she had no fever, but she will need another dose in the morning, I'm sure. I think the allergy attack started while visiting her paternal grandparents, who live in the middle of an evergreen forest. Hey, it's fall in Oklahoma!

There were two other things that I HAD TO HAVE from the store, and now I can't remember what they were. Hmm, well, time to go check the cabinets and supplies and see if I can figure it out!

Hope you all have a great week, and I'll be back to check in when I can either sit up without falling over (time for more good pain meds), or internet surf lying down (when my new phone comes in). 'Bye!

Root Root Root?

Sometimes it can be embarrassing to be a Cubs' fan. Now, don't get me wrong; I'd never abandon them. I will never forsake them. But, damn! I'd really love to see them win a World Series!

100 years. That's how long it's been since we won. we've been since then, and, please don't make me talk about it. Suffice it to say, even my mother doesn't remember that one.

So this year, with this team, they have a chance. They're good. Really, really good. They're scrappers. They keep on fighting.

So days like today are even more painful by contrast. It's only the bottom of the fifth inning (in Chicago), and the score is (oh yay! Another run for the Cubs) 11-2. And to whom are we losing? The Cards. The freakin', suck-so-bad-this-year, our very worst enemy Cardinals.

Two wins. We're just two short wins away from the play-offs. Seriously. So close. Do I think it's all wrapped up? Am I certain that, with such a small magic number and over a week left, we're in? Am I positive, hopeful and excited about our chances for an appearance or win at the Series?

No. Because I am a Cubs' fan. They may be the best team in baseball (which is arguable, I grant). They may have fantastic pitching (well, obviously not today). Their batters may swing with power and precision (again, not today). But they're the Cubs. I have seen them lose a game in the bottom of the 9th after leading by 8 runs. I'm convinced of their ability to lose anything, at any time.

Now, before you jump on me for being pessimistic, you have to remember, I have been a Cub fan for a long, long time. I'm not negative, I'm just a realist.

(And, for emphasis, the Cards just made it 12-2. Do I have to watch the last three and a half innings?!?

the fascination starts so early

Tyrannosaurus has a new word. It's perhaps the clearest word in his vocabulary (well, it might be a toss-up with "BarackObama"). And, of course, it's one he likes to use at odd moments when we're out in public.

That word is "penis."

You see, I was changing his diaper one evening when he grabbed a handful of boy parts and announced "Bum!"

"No, honey," I said. "That's your penis."

"Penis!" he said.

"Yes, penis."

"Penis! Penis! Peeeeeee-nis!"

"Yes, dear. Indeed."

"Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-nis!"

Oh boy, I thought. Now I've done it.

Ever since that evening, during diaper changes and baths, or if he's feeling bored, or when he wants to show off, he slaps a hand to his crotch and says a carefully enunciated "pee-nis!"

I do hope he grows out of this one soon, but I'm not holding out too much hope. After all, the fascination starts so early and doesn't seem to fade just because a little time passes. What's a decade or nine to an obsession like that?

Frustration!

So I'm not going to school in the Spring, and, very likely, not going back at all. There just isn't money available for it. I can't work and go to school, since that would go against all my parenting philosophies. I'm not going back at 50, because I don't want to. So there's another little dream for the future gone. Well, time to make new plans.

Someone Save Me

from the overly passionate advances of a Siamese cat!

The cross-eyed little cat has been quite worried about me lately. He spent the better part of the last two days curled into my arms, sleeping with me. Right now, he's draped across my throat, making it hard to type with my thumbs, and even harder to breathe.

Love and dedication are all well and good, but does anyone have a shoehorn I can use to remove this cat?

ouch.

Had my first dental appointment. Well, the first of the big badda work they're doing now, not the first ever. It hurt. A lot. I am seriously wishing we hadn't ever started. This is worse than I expected, and I am not sanguine about the end result.

Okay, so when I posted earlier, I was in horrible pain and feeling very low. The pills have kicked in, and I'm brighter now.

Tyrannosaurus's appointment yesterday was not pleasant, but it wasn't too bad. Dr. Baby-Dentist was his usual fabulous self, and he took good care of the poor lil guy. He's very gentle and slow during the exam, and really deft and fast during procedures. So the bad part lasted about five minutes, and then we were done.

Today for me was just horrible. And I wish I could say it was over, but it's not. I still have two or three more really unpleasant appointments before I'm done.

When I am done, though, the result should be beautiful, and, if it is, I'll post pictures :)

Positive Thoughts, Please

I can't remember if I posted this before, and I'm too lazy to go look, so if you've heard this story, feel free to let your attention wander for a paragraph or so.

Tyrannosaurus fell and broke a top front tooth and chipped a bottom front tooth when he was right around a year old. Nightmare day. Absolute nightmare. It was a Sunday, of course, so there was no dentist open, and pesimst's uncle, who is our family dentist, has no emergency number. After a flurry of phone calls, we finally found pesimst's mom at his sister's house, and she gave us a cell phone number to reach Uncle Dentist. He passed us a number from a guy he went to school with who specializes in pediatric dentistry and HIGHLY recommended this guy. So we called. Dr. Baby-Dentist met us at his office, on a Sunday afternoon, to treat the poor lil guy. WONDERFUL man. Absolutely marvelous.

There wasn't much he could do, as Tyrannosaurus was so veryvery young; there aren't a lot of good anesthetic options for bitty ones, not for something like a tooth, anyway. So he cleaned out the hole in the worst tooth (the root core was exposed), slapped some filling material over the top and sent us home with orders to bring him back in two weeks. When we went back, everything looked fine, so he sent us back home to wait for six months.

Flash forward to last night. It's only been three or four, or maybe even five, months since the accident. I went to brush Ty's lil toofers before heading to bed, and the broken one started bleeding; the filling appears to have fallen out. Cute.

So, an emergency phone call later, I called this morning and have an appointment in about an hour. The last one was absolutely awful. I am dreading, dreading, DREADING this one. There's just so little they can do to make it not hurt, and he's so sensitive about his mouth (after the crash-landing). pesimst can't come with us, as he's stuck at work (Mondays, he just can't miss. Ever.). So I'm on my own. With a baby that's going to hurt.

I wish it were me, instead.

motivation

As evidenced by yesterday's list, I'm in go-go-go mode. I feel some better from my nasty coldy-virusy thing, and I only have a couple of days to get things into a self-maintaining mode. Tuesday morning, I'm having the first of three very unpleasant dental adventures which will all leave me pretty much incapacitated for the month. I am glad to be having it all done, but I am NOT looking forward to this in any way, shape or form. Gurgh.

As I mentioned yesterday, school just isn't I the cards for pesimst right now, and he is veryvery down. So down, in fact, that, for the first time since we met, he is really and truly depressed. And he's off work today and being very much an energy suck.

So I have a question: does anybody know a way to wedge a pessimistic pesimst from the livingroom couch? I've offered food, beverages, and even turned the television to obnoxious children's programming to try to budge him. But he's unbudgeable (how's that for making up fun to say words on the fly!). Urgh.

I just have a feeling this is going to be a loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong month.

Today: a list

(NOT IN ORDER)

1. nine loads of laundry (if you don't count the one still in the dryer, waiting to be folded)

2. Two loads of dishes (and even the hand-wash only like the iron skillets and the tray for the highchair)

3. Vacuum the carpet

4. Scrub the counters

5. Sweep the kitchen

6. Accept the big dissappointment of pesimst not being able to go to school (finances. Blah)

7. Write two checks to the school so I don't have to pack lunches today.

8. Change 5 diapes, two of them really icky

9. Check the time for The Dog Whisperer. I have a date with a DC

10. Finish typing this list so I can get my youngest two kids and curl up on the couch for our (every other) Friday Night Date!

the weekness in me

In the days and weeks following the birth of my youngest son, I was invincible. My astonishment at the power of birthing that beautiful creature, my way, made me feel mighty, sexy, dazzling. I did that. I rode the waves of labor. I grunted him into the world. My memories weren't clouded by drugs or fear or orders I didn't want to follow or procedures and medications I wasn't allowed to refuse or even discuss. My body was mine, and I had learned to trust it fully.

Now, I hate this body. It failed. It lied, it was broken, and I don't know what any feeling means, anymore. Am I thirsty? Hungry? Tired? Sick? I don't know. Is it any surprise I have had three viruses in two months?

Will it always be this way? Will I ever trust myself again? Will I wake up one day and own this flesh and no longer feel like I'm just wearing a Pixie-shaped suit? That plays into my hunger for another baby, I'm sure. Can I ever get past this without giving birth ever again?

bumma!

No dentist appointments today. DC and I are both rather sick. She threw up breakfast, and I can't breathe and have no voice. Ew.

So I am giving up and going back to bed while I have a pesimst here to watch the baby. Good night

GROUCHY!

I am in a bad mood. Everything I was hoping to accomplish today did not happen. Things that looked like might work out did not, and none of my fondest dreams are going to come true. I don't feel like being optimistic tonight. I'm tired and discouraged and very much feeling like the most unimportant person in the world. I can't do anything right or get anything I want. I hate the world, and I don't like my life.

Or maybe I just have a broken heart and pms...

hope at last?

Sometimes it seems impossible to have hope. The world as it is becomes too discouraging, too overwhelming, too stuck in its own, gloomy rut. But hope is something in which I have always believed.

Growing up as a pastor's daughter, I was taught that there is a hope for a better place for believers. But I always rather took issue with that concept. You see, I find the world a dazzling place, full of wonder and possibility. The turning of the seasons, the growth of a single seed, the might of a crashing thunderstorm are as magical as any deed done by a bespeckled boy wizard and his kind. I never needed a musty-seeming story read by a fat lady in a bad dress at Sunday School to tell me miracles existed. Ever witness the birth of a kitten? Ta-da! New life! Magic!

Lately, my belief in the future and my desire to believe the best will happen has been sorely tried. I have been surrounded by sadness and death, by defeat and grief. My husband, who is not noted for sharing my optimism (hence the name pesimst), has even noticed the downturn. If any would have expected it, you'd think it would've been him. But not so much.

His job has been horrible. Really, really horrible. There is no stability left there, and there doesn't seem to be any place left to go with it. He was facing a future of simply marking time for a couple more decades and then retiring to a few decades of boredom. And this was the best-case scenario, provided he didn't get canned for circumstances beyond his control!

But lately, things are starting to look up a bit. You see, he might be able to find a way to go to school in January to go into a profession he would be passionate about where the sky's the limit on advancement and opportunity. All this for only big heaps of debt and several years of hard work!

There are a couple of big pluses for me in all of this. One is that he would be finishing about the time I want to go polish up my degree. It'd be nice to be able to afford some help instead of doing it all myself while going to school. Two is that he would gain an understanding of what I was facing by going back. Last time, he had no idea and didn't realize there was slack to be picked up. Three is the possibility of having a happy, fulfilled husband, instead of the grouchy, nervous facsimile that his current job sends home to me each night. And, lastly, is the likelihood that this could make some of my fantasies (those that would have remained forever beyond my financial means, or outside my capabilities as a housewife) actually become possible.

The only dark spot on my horizen is that, should all this work, it puts another baby forever out of reach. That is something I am struggling to accept. Life is all about choices, and sometimes there so much harder than we ever thought they could be.

Nonetheless, I have hope. I can see a way to dream again. I can see a future.

a day in the life of a pixie

Or "welcome to hell, here's your accordion"

No, seriously, my life's not that bad. Sure, it starts about three hours earlier than I'd like with my phone singing Flogging Molly's peppy tunes and vibrating around my nightstand so much that I usually just get up so it won't fall and break. And, sure, the mad scramble to get lunches in bags and backpacks on backs before the big yellow bus pulls up can get the pulse racing and tempers flaring. And the mad shrieks of an angry Tyrannosaurus can cause temporary deafness and make the dog pee on the floor. But it's not TOO bad...

At least, it's nothing I'd trade for money, power or fame. Because, you see, it's me that gets to make those lunches, rather than trusting to the processed garbage the school likes to pretend is healthy. And I am the one who gets to play goalie when the baby is throwing his little round cereal bites and laughing like a hyena. When my kids have a program during the day, I get to go and take pictures certain to embarrass them in years to come.

Now, that's not to say that there aren't times I don't want to chuck it all and have my own work schedule for other people to work around. There is always a mess in my livingroom floor from having cats and a dog and a baby playing there all day long. And there are always dishes and laundry and the grocery store and bathrooms to clean and meals to cook, and if I get bored, I can strip beds to wash sheets, or go hunting for that missing library book. And, being the only stay-at-home parent out of five parents (including exes and steps), I get all the fun of appointments and practices and meetings with teachers. I like to say that the only present I want for any gift-giving occasion is one day OFF.

But my afternoons, when the baby takes a nap, in the few minutes before my husband and big kids get home, I have a second to catch my breath, put off thinking about supper, ignore the lunch dishes in the sink and just enjoy it: it's busy and messy and loud and runs entirely on the loosest, most fluid schedule. But it's my life, and I wouldn't give it up for anything.

in the interest of fairness...

Did I spell that right?

So, to be fair, and as a result of feeling more like my perky old self today, I thought perhaps I should list the things that went right this summer.

Since our wireless phone service expired in July, pesimst got us each new phones, to go with our new provider. And he got me a Sidekick. I am in love. With the phone. Well, and, obviously pesimst, too. However, this thing is the device I have been searching for all my life! I have email, a great little writing program, the internet, my calendar, my address, plus games and fun, and, of course, conversation, all at my fingertips. No more trying to get the kids settled to run to the back room so I can fire up the computer. Well, okay, rarely. And the unlimited data service is dreamy! pesimst, my older sister, a friend in Texas, and a cousin of mine can all be reached, any time of day, free. If something funny happens, a quick text to my sister, and she'll have a laugh on lunch break. Need something from the store? Text pesimst any time, and he'll check it when he has time, no work interruptions. LOVE it!!!!!

Another good thing that happened is that I got all of my appointments set up to get my dental problems fixed. It's going to take a month (next month), but I'll be able to really smile again. I am so giddy!

The kids are healthy and happy. Van, the oldest, is in fourth grade. He has the only male teacher in the school this year, who is the one he was hoping to get. The guy is really cool, very nice, and has really inspired good behavior and hard work, so far. DC is in first grade, and taking some time to adjust. She's not great at the follow-through on her work. But her teacher is patient and kind, and seems more interested in cooperation than obedience, and DC loves her. Tyrannosaurus is 15 months old, and a SCREAM! He has a delightful sense of humor, and a spicy-hot temper. When he's happy, he's very, very happy, and when he's not, he's loud. Of course, he's loud when he is happy, too...

Tyrannosaurus still has his bad habit of beating his head when frusterated. Right now, he has one big bruise on his forehead from walking into the corner of a table. The other four bruises were self-inflicted, when he just got mad.

The other good news is that he doesn't appear to have food allergies, although he's a bit sensitive to dairy. But I have reason to hope he'll outgrow that. Thank heaven, since I cannot live without cheese! LOL

Last June, pesimst and I took part in a charity poker run. Now, for those of you who, like me before we signed up, have no idea what that is, we took the motorcycle out to five different places and got five sealed envelopes with a playing card inside. We then returned to the park we started from, got another card for a small donation, and then made the best poker hand we could out of our cards. The best part of the day was getting to spend it tucked on the back of the bike with pesimst, just being together for several hours. The second best part was winning the grand prize! :) All of the burly biker guys thought it was hysterical that the tiny girl on the bike with the skinny, very non-biker boy won a $500 Harley-Davidson gift certificate! And I had the perfect Father's Day present for pesimst! He was thrilled to finally get a luggage rack and bag, plus lots of decorative accessories for Doreen (the Harley), so he didn't have to wear the backpack that was hurting his back to work anymore. And he got me a cool new diaper bag!

We're planning on another afternoon out on the bike in a week or so. I really can't wait. There's something so liberating about riding. There's just not room on there for emotional baggage. Not to mention the fact that it uses so little gas and has such low emissions! I also love the togetherness we get from curling up on her seat and just being.

Oh yeah, and I'm going to be an aunt again :) That's the happiest part of all for me. My younger sis, who has had her own summer of hell, is pregnant, after not being sure it would ever happen again. She's a great mom, and she's always wanted a busy family. I'm so excited. Some days, it's a little hard, but mostly, it's just very healing to have another baby coming into the family. Especially since she uses the same midwives as me, will nurse well into toddlehood, and gently parents in an attached fashion. It's nice to get excited, know I won't have to bite my tongue a la "why are you doing THAT to that baby?!" and knowing this baby is an answer to a dream and a prayer. What a blessing!

So life is never all bad, even on the days it feels like it is. There are little things like new phones, fun things like big, expensive prizes, and awesome, magical things like children and new babies to be celebrated. And today I celebrate, and I am humbled and grateful.

They're Baaa-aaaaaack!

Hi all. I'm back. It's been a rough summer. At this point, I'm just glad it's over, trying to pick up the pieces, and trying to find a new definition of normal and just get on with life.

To catch everyone up: I was cat-sitting three cats for someone who was out of their home for MONTHS due to a flood and insurance issues and bank issues and a work crew that was all crew and no work. Their lives sucked. The cats, however, pissed. And pissed. And pissed. One of these days, I'll quit finding tinkle spots, and my nose can come back to life. I hope. LOL

Just before my birthday, I found I was unexpectedly pregnant. However, before I had even really begun to process it, I miscarried. On my birthday. Each year, I tentatively begin to celebrate my birthday figuring it just can't be THAT bad, can it? And it is. Every year. This past May, a friend called me to wish me happy birthday. After she said it, she asked "It is a happy one, isn't it? Yours get weird." Yes, they're really like that. So I'm done now. I have learned my lesson. From now on, it's a day. Just an ordinary day, although, it will probably be an ordinary day which I will spend in bed with a mixed drink in one hand and a few bottles of wine under my pillow, just in case it should be one of THOSE again.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the house began to fall apart: a glass door got broken, and our carpenter has gone MIA, so we don't know when it'll get replaced. The front porch post came down due to a dog. The drain in the bathtub broke. The hot water heater has begun to act weird. The house filter assembly (we're on a well) is acting screwy and keeps trying to spray water around the utility closet. The un-stretched carpet has gone from beginning to wrinkle to HORRIBLY wrinkled - like don't walk across the livingroom in the dark, for fear of tripping and dying. We had to replace the couch, the baby's mattress, his playpen, several items of clothing from everyone, shampoo all three of the other mattresses, shampoo the chairs, the chaise, the carpet, the carpet and the carpet, find a gentle way to clean the felt on the pool table, and throw away more than half of my shoes from cat pee. The two outdoor dogs got into a huge fight, leaving one of them pouring blood onto my kitchen floor and the other with a roughed up neck and a hole in the skin of his chest that nearly killed him. One of my cats was bitten on her back, which led to an abscess and a very sick kitty. One of the cat-sat cats was allergic to something in the house and ended up half-bald on her neck and legs. I still don't know what it was that got to her, but I felt SO BAD! And then we hit the middle of an Oklahoma summer, and started to have to fight fleas. Urgh.

In June, I began to feel strange. I figured, no way. We've been SO CAREFUL. No way. Well, yeah, way. I was again pregnant. I wanted to sit on it and not tell anyone, but I started showing really early. So I started to tell people, started to get happy, started to feel hopeful. And then, the day pesimst first referred to my pregnancy with the words "The Baby," I started to bleed. It was twins, and I lost them. I was 8.5 weeks along.

At this point, I've come to the conclusion that we won't be having any more children. We had tentatively begun discussing the possibility of trying in a year, and then pesimst's job went rather south. Things there are not good, not stable, very frustrating and very frightening. Plus, I need some serious dental work done. We had planned on doing it a year ago, but we had a baby, instead. So we're planning on it before too long, but I honestly don't know if it'll happen, what with the job problems and the cost of gas and groceries (amended: and the phone just rang. It was pesimst, and we're going to the dentist tomorrow to schedule the first part of the dental fix!). So, since I want to go back to school to finish a library degree, and I don't want to wait too long, since pesimst wants to retire early, and I don't want to work through his retirement. When he retires, I wouldn't mind working a bit longer, but I want time with my husband. We never had time with "just us" in the beginning like so many people have, we came into this marriage with kids already in tow. So we're planning on, and working towards that as a goal.

Anyway. I'll stop rambling now. Long story short: the summer sucked. It's over. School is back in session, and I like both kids' teachers. I'm back at the keys on this blog. Hope to "see" you all back here soon, too!

Please come visit!

Most of you are aware of my sweet baby boy, born one year ago. Well, my sweet baby boy is growing up so quickly. He even has his very own show in which I am but a bit player. ;)

Come visit us at

The Mr Manz Show!

Well, obviously...

Sorry, folks. I've been lax. Now I'm officially putting this blog on an extended hiatus. My life just isn't here right now. I've been so busy with everything else, that I don't usually get on the computer more than three times a month lately.

So, when I have the "other" project up and running, I'll come back by and put up a link. Until then, be well, take care, and feel free to email me sometime!

Mewwiage...

Is what brought us together a year ago today. I never thought it would happen. I never thought I would want it to happen. But it happened, and I wanted it, and I have been glad ever since!

Last night, when I saw it was midnight, I ran to pesimst and told him, "Happy Anniversary!" He swooped me up in his arms, swung me around and squeezed the stuffing out of me.

I asked, "Did you ever think we'd be celebrating and saying 'Yea! It's out anniversary! We're so happy we got married!?'"

And we are. We both are. I love him like mad, which is an abnormal state for me. There are days he makes me so mad, I could thump him with a shovel. And an hour later I am so excited that he's coming home from work that I am actually giddy and giggling. I carry on a running conversation with him in my head. I filter so many things through his eyes. I'll see something bright and pretty and feminine that I like and I'll picture the look of horror on his face at anything "girly" and laugh and laugh. I know he does the same, since he calls throughout the day to talk for about 45 seconds, just to report something he saw, heard or thought of. And I adore him for it.

My love, my darling, my pesimst, thank you for the last year. Thank you for holding me during the birth of our son. Thank you for backing me up with the difficult bits involving the school. Thank you for sometimes seeing things my way and sometimes sticking to your guns. Thank you for laughing with me lots, fighting with me a little and loving me every minute. May every anniversary see us celebrating a year that, no matter how hard on each of us individually, was so wonderful for us together.

I (still) do.

I'm not supposed to write this post

Quite obviously, since the baby has woken up every single time I've sat down to write it today. Of course, he also didn't nap this afternoon, which is why I'm trying to write this now, when I'm supposed to be at my sister's theatrical-type function (sorry, that's all the detail I can give you. Yes, I know the rest of the details, but you only know if you know who my sister is). He hasn't napped today. He took a beautiful nap this morning before his daddy left. You know, when I still had help and had someone I could have given him to for the time it would take to fold that last load of freakin' laundry or maybe eat a sandwich. Since then, he's fallen asleep for about 5 minutes at a time, just long enough for me to be CERTAIN he's asleep so I can wander off to prepare food (I put it in the microwave for 2 minutes. It sat for about an hour before I remembered it). My face is literally bleeding from where he's clawed at me in his frustration. My eardrum hurts from having him scream in it for an hour.

I got him to nap at 5 (only two hours later than he usually does), and I decided to dye my hair very quickly so I'd be ready to leave here by 6:45 to make it into the city by 7:30. He woke up the moment I put the first swipe of dye on my hair. And screamed. The whole eight minutes it took me to coat my hair. Then I set him on the floor in front of my chair and patted him with my foot (hey, give me a break, I didn't want to hold him by the dye). I put him in his swing while I went to rinse the color. And he screamed the whole time. Again. But I wasn't left much of a choice.

When I picked him up after that, he just twisted and clawed at me for some time, until I got irritated and had to put him down. I offered him some banana (which he spent more time squishing into his fat rolls than eating) just to make him not scream. I tried about three different foods, wondering if he was hungry for something other than milk (and my supply is down thanks to hormones). No. He was not. Just ask my carpet.

I'm so tired right now just from having to wrestle him all night long that I could honestly lie down on the floor and go to sleep, even with the idiot dog climbing over me, the baby pulling my hair and the possibility of being peed on by a cat. Hey, the baby isn't screaming. He's not sleeping, but at least he's standing on his bed and not screaming. Oh. Wait. He's trying to eat the stuffing out of my comforter. Guess I should put a stop to that. So maybe you'll get the heartfelt, tender, loving post I was getting ready to write a little later on...

A Love Letter

Dear Van, DC and Tyrannosaurus,

Do you know how proud I am of you? Do you know how amazing I find it that you're all growing into the people you are? There's not a dud in the bunch, and you are my very favorite people.

Van, you're learning how to work so hard, so hard on your school work. I'm proud of you for learning how to get your homework together and get it all home. It's hard to break sloppy work habits, and you're trying very hard. I just know you're going to have great successes in these last nine weeks. Just look at how far you've come on reading. I am dazzled by the way you have caught up and surpassed everything you were expected to do. You can do it!!!

DC, you're becoming quite the little lady. You're room looks just lovely, and that's thanks to you. You have really learned what it means to be clean and organized in your belongings. You're reading so well, and your writing is really starting to look better. When you take the time to watch what you're doing, you make beautiful letters and numbers. Good job!

Tyrannosaurus, you are one cool baby. You know so many words, and learning how to argue is quite a skill for one so little. I hope I never forget the "Bite?" "No bite!" conversation. How precious you are! These days with you by my side or at my breast are rare and wonderful and gone much too quickly.

Kids, I love you. I love all so much more than I ever thought I could love ONE person, let alone three! You fill my life and my heart and make everything I do special. I hope I can be the kind of mother that encourages you, builds you up, gives you a safe place to come when life gets rough, and the kind of mother who helps you go at the world with gusto. There's so much out there I want you to see and know. I promise to try to give you the foundation you need to achieve any goal, reach any prize and know how to try again should you fail.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will always be your
Mother

The Guilt Trips

I am suffering from a big old helping of Mother Guilt. First and foremost, I am feeling very down that I can't spend a week cleaning out the garage, another week preparing for a birthday party and ANOTHER week painting the Birthday Girl's bedroom (Can you believe it? DC turned SIX last Thursday!) and STILL KEEP THE HOUSE CLEAN. I mean, let's be reasonable, Pix. You've worked your butt off and you're moping over a pile of laundry and a few dirty dishes? Really?

Yes. Really.

Somehow, I feel like I'm supposed to be Superwoman (thanks, Mom. She really DID believe I was supposed to be Superwoman. I was once grounded for leaving a penny on the coffee table... after having cleaned the whole damn house). No one around here helps much with housework. pesimst really sucks at housework, so, even when he tries to help, he's not. The kids are... well, the kids DO keep their rooms pretty well. That's how DC's room is getting it's fresh coats of bubblegum pink and grapalicious purple, plus pretty princesses and a castle on the wall.

Both kids had a deal with me to keep their rooms clean for a set amount of time, and then, because they had obviously learned to care about their rooms' appearance, I would paint them. The rooms, I mean. Not paint the children. Van didn't quite make it after three months, so he was given five months to work on it. Right now, as he has very few toys for screwing around so much with school work, you'd think it'd be pretty easy for his room to stay perfect. Not so much. He's on strike two, and he has until May...

The rest of my guilt comes from being a stay at home mom. "Momming" is all I accomplish in a day. I would like to get my business up and running, but I don't have time. I have thought about when I'd like to go back to school, but that's so far off that I can't see that far right now.

Sometimes I feel like I'm selling myself, and therefore my kids, short by not working. The main reason I stayed home in the beginning was that I couldn't afford to work. With no college degree and no decent work experience, I couldn't make enough to pay for childcare. So I stayed home. I'm glad I did: I do believe in staying home with babies, if it's at all possible. But now my last baby is nearly a year old, and I just don't know how I feel about working.

I want to be one of those women who has it all, but right now, I feel like a woman who only has all the laundry.

Where's the magazine for women like me?

Sick

For the second time in my life, I have had to walk away from a movie. Sure, there have been times I've gotten up here at home to fix supper or picked up my book in boredom at whatever pesimst is watching. But tonight I stood up, walked away, and turned on the computer to write this post. The movie is No End in Sight. It's about how badly we fucked up in Iraq.

The part that finally made me leave the room, bawling, was our lack of protection for national sites in Iraq. The fact that we, yes, WE (even though I didn't vote for the guy in the White House, and even though I have been adamantly against the invasion and occupation of Iraq from the moment it was suggested we might go there, I still consider the mess created there to be Ours), allowed the destruction of so much of human history by ignoring the looting and desecration of the Iraq National Museum and in the burning of the national library. Books, people. Books and manuscripts dating back thousands of years. History of so much of human existence. Gone. Ash. Fragments, crushed to powder. It makes me physically ill.

I am so tired of war. I am sick to death of violence and the sight of dead bodies and anger and
hatred. I am worn by the pain of desperation that would lead someone to strap explosives to their chest, walk into a crowded building and die, just to convince an uncaring, faceless nation to remove their troops from the streets. I mean, how much must they have lost to be willing to sacrifice so much more? They're people. They're people just like me, who have grandmothers who are aging and not well, who have mothers and fathers that they worry about, have children and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and cousins and aunts and uncles that they love and wish only the best. And they're watching those relatives and their friends die. They see a city demolished by bombs and abject poverty everywhere. They have jobs that no longer exist because their office or factory or school is a heap of rubble. What do they have left but anger and hatred?

I've said it before: it's hard enough for the human race to survive without trying to kill each other. I just wish everyone realized that and cared for the rest of humanity as they care for themselves and their families. I wish there was an end to war.

And, since I haven't posted pics in a while, here's a quick glimpse of my main reasons for wanting peace. Look at these faces and tell me you don't wish the same: