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.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
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.
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!
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!
Monday, November 24, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, November 21, 2008
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!!!
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!!!
Friday, November 14, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, November 10, 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
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...
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...
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
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!!!
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!!!
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