Tate is onto my and Turner's game. She figured out that he isn't napping anymore, he's only in his room playing. So Ms Priss decided not to nap either yesterday. She came out of her room when Turner did.
Oh but no! We are not giving up nap for her too. So I marched her back in and did the only thing I knew would make her go to sleep, I laid down with her. I know a lot of parents love laying with their children, but mine are with me 24/7 with no Grandpa's or Grandma's near for a break. Their nap time is my time to recharge and get ready for round two. But desperate times call for desperate measures. So in her bed I crawled and wrapped an arm around her tiny body. She was asleep with in five minutes, but to my surprise, I wasn't ready to get up.
Tate is by far the more difficult of my children to deal with. She's loud, she's bossy, she's demanding, she's...me. Yesterday was great. I needed to hold my three year old and remember what it was like to hold her as a baby. I needed to spend time with her being quiet so I could hear her soft breathing. I lay with her for half an hour and stared at her round checks and long lashes. I smelled the wonderful scent of Johnson's Lavender Shampoo mixed with the smells of outside. For half an hour yesterday I had a baby again.
I won't make a habit of laying down with Tate. I relish my hour and half of quiet everyday. But next time she refuses a nap I won't be so irritated to have to lay down with my sweet lil devil to make her rest. It may just be the re-charge I need too.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
It's been a while, and I missed you.....
I have missed you oh blank canvass! The voices in my head have had no medium in which to hold discussion. I miss archiving the mundane wonderfulness that is my life. The last we spoke I was pursuing you thru MySpace. But alas you were out shined by my new friend FaceBook. Thru FaceBook I can keep up with who is working out, tired, hungry or having a great Monday. It's probably too much false closeness, but I love it. The new phone Brad got me has Twitter all ready to go, all I have to do is join the Twitterverse. But I am reluctant, can my life be summed up in 160 characters?
Sometimes I question why I write, it comes in spurts and often leaves me frustrated. But then I look back and realize I have journaled in one form or another for 15 years. I'm scared this go round won't have the sweet retrospective feel it did on MySpace. Now Tate is the terror that rules my life. Now I battle with the urge to run out the door into the night in hopes that Brad would marry a woman capable of raising Tate to fulfill her destiny of world domination. I never thought a three year old would be the force that brings me to my knees.
I know I am cut out for stay at home motherhood. My house is well kept, my children semi well behaved on occasion, and I feel like this is my place in the world. But the mommy doubt is creeping in more and more. How can I have two children raised exactlly the same, yet so differnt? I always thought if you put the same ingeidents in to two difernt pots the outcome would be the same, welll boy was I wrong!
Goodbye for now. I'll beback again in a day or two when I need the therapy of clicking keys and semi-cohearant thoughts.
Sometimes I question why I write, it comes in spurts and often leaves me frustrated. But then I look back and realize I have journaled in one form or another for 15 years. I'm scared this go round won't have the sweet retrospective feel it did on MySpace. Now Tate is the terror that rules my life. Now I battle with the urge to run out the door into the night in hopes that Brad would marry a woman capable of raising Tate to fulfill her destiny of world domination. I never thought a three year old would be the force that brings me to my knees.
I know I am cut out for stay at home motherhood. My house is well kept, my children semi well behaved on occasion, and I feel like this is my place in the world. But the mommy doubt is creeping in more and more. How can I have two children raised exactlly the same, yet so differnt? I always thought if you put the same ingeidents in to two difernt pots the outcome would be the same, welll boy was I wrong!
Goodbye for now. I'll beback again in a day or two when I need the therapy of clicking keys and semi-cohearant thoughts.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Sweetness
Life around here has been pretty exciting as of late. I am ready for it to get back to boring personally. About a month ago my right arm started swelling and turning blue. After a couple doctor's visits and a second opinion I was referred to a vascular surgeon. Brad took off on a Friday afternoon to come with me for a veinogram.
I got to the surgical sweet and they cut my arm at the elbow and inserted dye in to my vein to track it. Well it went right in and stopped. I had a 100% blockage with a blood clot. Shock turned into fear as they admitted me to the ICU. I was lucky enough to have found all this out before the clot broke loose and moved. It was caused by my top right rib being too close to my collar bone. I know, who in the heck knew this could happen.
I spent two days in the cardiac critical care unit. I had to lay still because they left a catheter in my arm running through my chest giving me clot buster medication and high dose blood thinner. Then they went back in the vein a couple more times before they could actually remove the clot. After that I went into the cardiac step down unit and awaited another surgery.
I had my fist rib removed on a Tuesday morning. I am not going to sugar coat it, it hurt like a mother when I woke up. Brad was right there the whole time. My parents drove in the first night I was in the hospital and kept the kids the whole time. After the rib was out the surgeon went back into the vein to do a balloon and hopefully open the vein. All this seemed to go well. But a couple days after the rib removal I was howling and sweating. I had a hematoma. Just blood draining collected under the incision. They had removed my first chest tube/drain a little too early. I was in really bad pain. I had emergency surgery to remove the hematoma and put in a second drain. I had to have three units of blood and was now attached to what I affectionately called my "Cootie Tank".
I can't really remember most of the stay in room 709. I was hooked up to a pain pump for a couple days because chest tubes suck. Then I was doped up on percocette and morphine a lot too. But the whole thing lasted twelve days. Brad was with me almost every night. He bathed me. He helped me on and off of a bed pan while I was in ICU. He never once made me feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, he's my hero.
I was home for five days. I got the second drain taken out a couple days after I got home. I started feeling really good. I started helping with the kids and house work again. I thanked my mom and dad profusely and told them I thought I was fine and they could get back home. We got up on Sunday morning and got the kids and ourselves ready for church. We went and dropped the kids off in their rooms and went to service. In the middle of the choirs special I had to get up and walk around. I was really hurting and couldn't get comfortable. I started loosing my breath. This went on all day until it became unbearable at about five that night.
Off to the local ER we went. My best friend Laura(aka Supper Nurse) works there and came in for support. I had a chest X-ray and thanks to Laura some pain medicine. Well, there was blood in my chest cavity. So into the ambulance I went for the ride to Kennestone hospital.
That night was the worst pain I have ever felt. I hurt so much I puked and gagged for fourteen hours while waiting to go into surgery. There was Brad, wiping my face and trying to make me less scared. The rest is a blur. I know I had surgery, they found a bleeder. They removed 2.5 liters of blood from me, I got a real chest tube, and I got another transfusion of four units of blood. They hooked me up to the cell saver and also pumped my own lost blood back into me.
When I say a "real chest tube", what I really mean is a garden hose. The tubes were as big as 1" PVC pipe. They are inserted between you lower ribs and sewn in place. They hurt. I had a pain pump for five days that go round. I was on oxygen that go round too. I thought I may not get to come home. I cried and told Brad I didn't want to go to sleep because I thought I may not wake up. I asked him to please let my family still see the kids if I died and to go ahead and get remarried. I have never been so scared or so weak in my life.
I stayed five days the second time. I had the chest tubed pulled on a Friday afternoon and I was released. I have pneumonia in my right lung and am very weak but I am home. I have been home a full week now and I am getting back to myself. I can finally walk up the stairs without stopping to pant. I have been playing with the kids and doing laundry.
My parents have been great. They have been here for a month. They have kept the kids, cooked, cleaned and done what ever I needed. But the real MVP is Brad. He kept me every night in the hospital. He came home and kept the kids during the day and reassured them. My parents came and sat with with me while Brad had the kids. Brad slept every night on a hard pullout couch. He never complained about getting up with me at 3 a.m. to unhook me so I could go to the bathroom. He held my hand, he washed my hair, he dressed me, he walked with me, he helped with everything I had to do. But most important, he was there. I was so scared and the only person I wanted was Sweetness. Brad has jumped in at home and done so much extra work. He planned Tate's birthday party. He is the man all husbands should be.
I hope I never have to have another surgery again for as long as I live. I hope my hospital stays are over, but should I land back in I know Brad will be by my side. He may not be affectionate, but he shows more love and devotion than any amount of cards and flowers ever could. My brother and sister in law want to know why I call him Sweetness. They only see his outside. His a big stern man who is serious and removed. I see his inside, the unfailing love and devotion his has for his wife and children. Any man who will get you on and off of a bedpan and never once make you feel ashamed is a real man. A man who keeps better track of your medication than the nurses do is a real man. Any man who jokes and makes you feel like a person instead of a grotesque science experiment while giving you a bath is a real man. The man who stayed by my side for three weeks in the hospital with out complaint, I call him my Sweetness.
I got to the surgical sweet and they cut my arm at the elbow and inserted dye in to my vein to track it. Well it went right in and stopped. I had a 100% blockage with a blood clot. Shock turned into fear as they admitted me to the ICU. I was lucky enough to have found all this out before the clot broke loose and moved. It was caused by my top right rib being too close to my collar bone. I know, who in the heck knew this could happen.
I spent two days in the cardiac critical care unit. I had to lay still because they left a catheter in my arm running through my chest giving me clot buster medication and high dose blood thinner. Then they went back in the vein a couple more times before they could actually remove the clot. After that I went into the cardiac step down unit and awaited another surgery.
I had my fist rib removed on a Tuesday morning. I am not going to sugar coat it, it hurt like a mother when I woke up. Brad was right there the whole time. My parents drove in the first night I was in the hospital and kept the kids the whole time. After the rib was out the surgeon went back into the vein to do a balloon and hopefully open the vein. All this seemed to go well. But a couple days after the rib removal I was howling and sweating. I had a hematoma. Just blood draining collected under the incision. They had removed my first chest tube/drain a little too early. I was in really bad pain. I had emergency surgery to remove the hematoma and put in a second drain. I had to have three units of blood and was now attached to what I affectionately called my "Cootie Tank".
I can't really remember most of the stay in room 709. I was hooked up to a pain pump for a couple days because chest tubes suck. Then I was doped up on percocette and morphine a lot too. But the whole thing lasted twelve days. Brad was with me almost every night. He bathed me. He helped me on and off of a bed pan while I was in ICU. He never once made me feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, he's my hero.
I was home for five days. I got the second drain taken out a couple days after I got home. I started feeling really good. I started helping with the kids and house work again. I thanked my mom and dad profusely and told them I thought I was fine and they could get back home. We got up on Sunday morning and got the kids and ourselves ready for church. We went and dropped the kids off in their rooms and went to service. In the middle of the choirs special I had to get up and walk around. I was really hurting and couldn't get comfortable. I started loosing my breath. This went on all day until it became unbearable at about five that night.
Off to the local ER we went. My best friend Laura(aka Supper Nurse) works there and came in for support. I had a chest X-ray and thanks to Laura some pain medicine. Well, there was blood in my chest cavity. So into the ambulance I went for the ride to Kennestone hospital.
That night was the worst pain I have ever felt. I hurt so much I puked and gagged for fourteen hours while waiting to go into surgery. There was Brad, wiping my face and trying to make me less scared. The rest is a blur. I know I had surgery, they found a bleeder. They removed 2.5 liters of blood from me, I got a real chest tube, and I got another transfusion of four units of blood. They hooked me up to the cell saver and also pumped my own lost blood back into me.
When I say a "real chest tube", what I really mean is a garden hose. The tubes were as big as 1" PVC pipe. They are inserted between you lower ribs and sewn in place. They hurt. I had a pain pump for five days that go round. I was on oxygen that go round too. I thought I may not get to come home. I cried and told Brad I didn't want to go to sleep because I thought I may not wake up. I asked him to please let my family still see the kids if I died and to go ahead and get remarried. I have never been so scared or so weak in my life.
I stayed five days the second time. I had the chest tubed pulled on a Friday afternoon and I was released. I have pneumonia in my right lung and am very weak but I am home. I have been home a full week now and I am getting back to myself. I can finally walk up the stairs without stopping to pant. I have been playing with the kids and doing laundry.
My parents have been great. They have been here for a month. They have kept the kids, cooked, cleaned and done what ever I needed. But the real MVP is Brad. He kept me every night in the hospital. He came home and kept the kids during the day and reassured them. My parents came and sat with with me while Brad had the kids. Brad slept every night on a hard pullout couch. He never complained about getting up with me at 3 a.m. to unhook me so I could go to the bathroom. He held my hand, he washed my hair, he dressed me, he walked with me, he helped with everything I had to do. But most important, he was there. I was so scared and the only person I wanted was Sweetness. Brad has jumped in at home and done so much extra work. He planned Tate's birthday party. He is the man all husbands should be.
I hope I never have to have another surgery again for as long as I live. I hope my hospital stays are over, but should I land back in I know Brad will be by my side. He may not be affectionate, but he shows more love and devotion than any amount of cards and flowers ever could. My brother and sister in law want to know why I call him Sweetness. They only see his outside. His a big stern man who is serious and removed. I see his inside, the unfailing love and devotion his has for his wife and children. Any man who will get you on and off of a bedpan and never once make you feel ashamed is a real man. A man who keeps better track of your medication than the nurses do is a real man. Any man who jokes and makes you feel like a person instead of a grotesque science experiment while giving you a bath is a real man. The man who stayed by my side for three weeks in the hospital with out complaint, I call him my Sweetness.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Turner and his pee
Thank you first for all of you keeping my boy in your prayers. We went to the urologist today and found out pretty much nothing. They did an ultrasound of his bladder and kidneys. They all look healthy. So they don't know why there is blood in his urine. The urologist wants me to chart his potty habits over the next four weeks, then come back and repeat the tests. If at that point there is still blood in his urine they will send him to the nephrologist.
I wish they would have just sent us to the nephrologist in the first place, but we must follow the chain of command. We went through this same series of steps with Brad. So keep thinking of Turner B. Hey, who doesn't want a happy thought during the day anyway, right? I will still be reminding God that I am down here with the world's sweetest boy and asking Him to protect my baby. thank you all again and I will keep you posted. I may leave out how many times a day he potties, unless you really want to know----T
I wish they would have just sent us to the nephrologist in the first place, but we must follow the chain of command. We went through this same series of steps with Brad. So keep thinking of Turner B. Hey, who doesn't want a happy thought during the day anyway, right? I will still be reminding God that I am down here with the world's sweetest boy and asking Him to protect my baby. thank you all again and I will keep you posted. I may leave out how many times a day he potties, unless you really want to know----T
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Something eated it all gone
You just never know when you kids may say something profound, so keep yours ear open. Now last night, Turner didn't say anything profound, but he sure was funny.
We were winding up our nightly routine of baths etc. I got Turner out of the shower and he stood around wrapped in his towel while I finished lotioning Tate and putting her PJ's on her. When it was Turner's turn he dropped his towel and looked down. His face got all serious and he said "Mom there must have been something in that shower that eated my peepee. Look it's all gone!" I promptly fell to the bed and laughed myself silly. I tried to regain my composure and assure my sweet boy that nothing "Eated his peepee". Shrinkage happens.
Ahhh, the life lessons are always rolling in. I'm so glad some of them are light hearted and funny as hell.
We were winding up our nightly routine of baths etc. I got Turner out of the shower and he stood around wrapped in his towel while I finished lotioning Tate and putting her PJ's on her. When it was Turner's turn he dropped his towel and looked down. His face got all serious and he said "Mom there must have been something in that shower that eated my peepee. Look it's all gone!" I promptly fell to the bed and laughed myself silly. I tried to regain my composure and assure my sweet boy that nothing "Eated his peepee". Shrinkage happens.
Ahhh, the life lessons are always rolling in. I'm so glad some of them are light hearted and funny as hell.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Very weeeee!
I am trying to be very "present" with my kids. No, I'm not in to new age trippy spirituality, just trying to appreciate the moments as they happen. While paying attention to the every day tasks that my time is flooded with I have witnessed the extraordinary.
My daughter is only nineteen months old. She can string together a couple three word sentences at best. So philosophy discussions with her are a bit out of the question. Even with a limited vocabulary she gets her point across with an eloquence that escapes most adults. Today after leaving the gym Tate and I ran into the library to grab a new book for me. There are decorative brick half walls at the library's entrance. Tate pointed and grunted. I knew she wanted to walk along the top of them. I have let her do this many times. At one foot wide and three feet tall the brick wall is the equivalent of a tight rope to a toddler. I imagine she feels adventurous and free while walking across something taller than she is. I picked her up and let her walk the length of the wall, then she jumped off into my arms. The smile on her face was beautiful. I asked her if it was fun, she nodded and said "Very weeeeee!". I don't think there are any other two words that she could have said to sum it up. Very weeeee, so simple and so perfect.
Very weee is how I feel about my life. Yes, to others it may be just walking a well worn path. To me it is fun and full of adventure. What goes on in our daily lives could be construed as boring to an outsider. The monotony of nap time, bath time, bed time, and the endless chores. But what an outsider can't see is the weeee stuck in between the ordinary. No one else can see the little side ways glances and share in the wonder that my children make possible.
I am by no means a perfect mom. Did my kids clean their supper plates? Not even close. Is the house spotless? Don't I wish. But today I got to see what very weee could be. So I can let the sweeping and mopping slide for a day. The towels will still need to be folded tomorrow. Maybe I'll get it done tomorrow while T n T nap. I don't want to miss a second, you never know what magic might happen when they are awake.
My daughter is only nineteen months old. She can string together a couple three word sentences at best. So philosophy discussions with her are a bit out of the question. Even with a limited vocabulary she gets her point across with an eloquence that escapes most adults. Today after leaving the gym Tate and I ran into the library to grab a new book for me. There are decorative brick half walls at the library's entrance. Tate pointed and grunted. I knew she wanted to walk along the top of them. I have let her do this many times. At one foot wide and three feet tall the brick wall is the equivalent of a tight rope to a toddler. I imagine she feels adventurous and free while walking across something taller than she is. I picked her up and let her walk the length of the wall, then she jumped off into my arms. The smile on her face was beautiful. I asked her if it was fun, she nodded and said "Very weeeeee!". I don't think there are any other two words that she could have said to sum it up. Very weeeee, so simple and so perfect.
Very weee is how I feel about my life. Yes, to others it may be just walking a well worn path. To me it is fun and full of adventure. What goes on in our daily lives could be construed as boring to an outsider. The monotony of nap time, bath time, bed time, and the endless chores. But what an outsider can't see is the weeee stuck in between the ordinary. No one else can see the little side ways glances and share in the wonder that my children make possible.
I am by no means a perfect mom. Did my kids clean their supper plates? Not even close. Is the house spotless? Don't I wish. But today I got to see what very weee could be. So I can let the sweeping and mopping slide for a day. The towels will still need to be folded tomorrow. Maybe I'll get it done tomorrow while T n T nap. I don't want to miss a second, you never know what magic might happen when they are awake.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Forced Meditation
When it's quiet where does your mind wander? Do you sit and fret about the audit you're having to get together for the beeping Utah State Tax Commission? Do you worry about the blood in your four year old's urine? What about his ears and the tubes he'll be getting soon? Not me, none of that is eating away slowly at what mind I have left. Nope the next two weeks will sail by and I will be stress free, then pigs will fly right out of my butt.
I am trying my hardest to not "stress" in the traditional sense. When my chest gets tight and I feel like the walls are closing in I try to turn to God. I am not good at remembering the scripture but I know there is a verse in Philippians about petitioning God repeatedly and doing it humbly that will get your prayers answered. So I am repeating my prayers. Sometimes it makes me feel better, sometimes it makes me want to yell.
I have been noticing just how great my kids are while I sit and watch them play. While I sit praying for them, I see God in each of them. I see Turner's giving heart and his willingness to please others. I see great strength (and maybe a little stubbornness) in Tate. I am thanking God for letting me see the little moments my kids share every day. I am relishing standing just out of sight and listening to their conversations. I am watching the brother sister bond grow each day.
We'll be going to the pediatric kidney specialist in two weeks. I will let all of you know what we find out. Hopefully it will be blessedly uneventful and all I will have nothing to report but "Turner is fine".
I am trying my hardest to not "stress" in the traditional sense. When my chest gets tight and I feel like the walls are closing in I try to turn to God. I am not good at remembering the scripture but I know there is a verse in Philippians about petitioning God repeatedly and doing it humbly that will get your prayers answered. So I am repeating my prayers. Sometimes it makes me feel better, sometimes it makes me want to yell.
I have been noticing just how great my kids are while I sit and watch them play. While I sit praying for them, I see God in each of them. I see Turner's giving heart and his willingness to please others. I see great strength (and maybe a little stubbornness) in Tate. I am thanking God for letting me see the little moments my kids share every day. I am relishing standing just out of sight and listening to their conversations. I am watching the brother sister bond grow each day.
We'll be going to the pediatric kidney specialist in two weeks. I will let all of you know what we find out. Hopefully it will be blessedly uneventful and all I will have nothing to report but "Turner is fine".
Monday, January 12, 2009
Nothing witty
I got a call today from Turner's doctor. She called me after office hours from her home number-this made me think something was up. Well, Turner had some blood in his urine at his check up so now he's being sent to a Nephrologist(kidney specialist). I am worried to say the least. Brad has mild kidney disease, so maybe that has something to do with it.
I hate feeling helpless. I hate wondering if something is wrong with my sweet little boy. I have nothing witty to say, nothing insightful. What I have is raw unfiltered fear. Yes my "right mind" knows this could very well be nothing. Yes my "right mind" knows it could be something benign. But my mommy mind is reeling out of control and bringing me to my knees.
Say a prayer for Turner B. I know God will be tired of hearing my voice. I'll let you know what we find once we get in to the specialist. Thanks--T
I hate feeling helpless. I hate wondering if something is wrong with my sweet little boy. I have nothing witty to say, nothing insightful. What I have is raw unfiltered fear. Yes my "right mind" knows this could very well be nothing. Yes my "right mind" knows it could be something benign. But my mommy mind is reeling out of control and bringing me to my knees.
Say a prayer for Turner B. I know God will be tired of hearing my voice. I'll let you know what we find once we get in to the specialist. Thanks--T
Friday, January 9, 2009
Hello you Ok, good, bye
I am a little special. No I don't mean that I am so cute and really sweet (although I am). I mean I am a little bit goofy. I had the faintest memory of some foggy terrible dream that something happened to Brad. So I called him this morning. He answered "Hello"
I said "OK you're alright, bye"
Sweetness knows that I am weird and he didn't ask what the hell was wrong with me, he just said "Yep I'm fine, bye". I love that man for not questioning my insanity. I love him for not pointing out that I am nutty. He doesn't care that I get up five times a night to check on the kids and make sure they are safe in their beds breathing like normal.
I am happy to have found a person that ignores my craziness. Seven years and counting, it'll only be weirder from here on out. Maybe my resolution for the year should be to worry less. I just don't see me keeping it even for a day much less a whole year. I am a hundred percent without a doubt type A control freak. Mine manifest itself in many different ways, but a big one is worrying. Or am i just an normal mom? That could be a toss up.
Well here's to no more dreams where my husband gets mauled by a tiger, here's to not quite so much worrying. Happy 2009.
I said "OK you're alright, bye"
Sweetness knows that I am weird and he didn't ask what the hell was wrong with me, he just said "Yep I'm fine, bye". I love that man for not questioning my insanity. I love him for not pointing out that I am nutty. He doesn't care that I get up five times a night to check on the kids and make sure they are safe in their beds breathing like normal.
I am happy to have found a person that ignores my craziness. Seven years and counting, it'll only be weirder from here on out. Maybe my resolution for the year should be to worry less. I just don't see me keeping it even for a day much less a whole year. I am a hundred percent without a doubt type A control freak. Mine manifest itself in many different ways, but a big one is worrying. Or am i just an normal mom? That could be a toss up.
Well here's to no more dreams where my husband gets mauled by a tiger, here's to not quite so much worrying. Happy 2009.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
My new and improved diet plan
We have had the best morning. I got up at five when Brad left to go hunting. I came down stairs and got to work on my Christmas sewing uninterrupted for a couple hours. My kids got up and we had breakfast and got dressed. We went to the gym where I got an hour of clearing my head and the kids got to play with their gym friends.
After the gym we did a little grocery shopping at Publix. For anyone who doesn't know, Publix has the coolest shopping carts in town. They are space ships and have two steering wheels. I got to talk tot he kids the whole morning and enjoy both of them. My kids are funny, smart and of course they get it all from me.
After we got back home it was time to start making lunch. I had the bread and peanut butter out when I noticed Tate acting like she needed to potty. So I stripped her down and plopped her on the potty. We talked for a few minutes but she didn't act like she had to go. I left her bare bottomed and went back to making sandwhiches. She ran off to go play. She came back to me a minute later trying to hand me a fist full of peanut butter. I bent down to take it from her, but it wasn't peanut butter. Oh no, my baby girl handed me a fist full of poop. So gross. I had to scrub her down before she got it all over her. Once Tate was clean I had to find the rest of her deposit. There in my living room on Turner's little wooden rocking chair was a huge pile of terds. My daughter had stood in the chair, squatted down and crapped. She's so dainty and lady like huh?
I disinfected the entire down stairs. I Lysoled everything. I scrubbed poop off of the chair. When all was said and done strangely, I had no appetite for my peanut butter sandwich. This is my new diet plan. I will let Tate crap all over the house and it will deter me from eating chocolate, Reese's Peanut-butter cups and anything else i can think of.
I could not help laughing the whole time I was cleaning. Turner was gagging and asking why Tate had to poop on his chair. The glamorous life of a stay at home mom is always exciting.
After the gym we did a little grocery shopping at Publix. For anyone who doesn't know, Publix has the coolest shopping carts in town. They are space ships and have two steering wheels. I got to talk tot he kids the whole morning and enjoy both of them. My kids are funny, smart and of course they get it all from me.
After we got back home it was time to start making lunch. I had the bread and peanut butter out when I noticed Tate acting like she needed to potty. So I stripped her down and plopped her on the potty. We talked for a few minutes but she didn't act like she had to go. I left her bare bottomed and went back to making sandwhiches. She ran off to go play. She came back to me a minute later trying to hand me a fist full of peanut butter. I bent down to take it from her, but it wasn't peanut butter. Oh no, my baby girl handed me a fist full of poop. So gross. I had to scrub her down before she got it all over her. Once Tate was clean I had to find the rest of her deposit. There in my living room on Turner's little wooden rocking chair was a huge pile of terds. My daughter had stood in the chair, squatted down and crapped. She's so dainty and lady like huh?
I disinfected the entire down stairs. I Lysoled everything. I scrubbed poop off of the chair. When all was said and done strangely, I had no appetite for my peanut butter sandwich. This is my new diet plan. I will let Tate crap all over the house and it will deter me from eating chocolate, Reese's Peanut-butter cups and anything else i can think of.
I could not help laughing the whole time I was cleaning. Turner was gagging and asking why Tate had to poop on his chair. The glamorous life of a stay at home mom is always exciting.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Pass the sutures
Last night a tragedy occurred at my house. Brad and I had just tucked Turner in bed and come down stairs to watch TV. We snuggled up on the couch when we heard a pained scream. Turner was panicked because his bear, the beloved Brisco, had a hole in his head.
Brisco has been with our family since the day Turner was born. When he arrived he, much like Turner, was new, so soft, and smelled so good. After four years of being drug around the house, to Walmart, on cross country plane trips, and every other place Turner goes he's looking worse for wear and smells a little. Brisco isn't as plump as he once was. I guess following a busy little boy around is the perfect diet plan. He has been loved nearly to smithereens.
I walked upstairs to see Turner laying in his bed hugging Brisco with big unfallen tears in his eyes. He asked if Brisco would be OK and if I could fix him. I told him of course I could stitch Brisco up and it wouldn't take very long. I came down stairs and did the best job I could performing brain surgery on a VIP bear. Once he was hole free I returned him to a very happy little boy.
Life would be perfect if I could solve all of my children's' future problems as easily as sewing up a toy. I know that soon I will have to sneak bear out of Turner's bed and put more stuffing in him. As he is now, he's little more than a bear skin with no filling. I thank God the He starts everything out small for me. My children were small and easy to handle when I was first blessed with them. Their only problems were poopy diapers and hungry bellies. But as they grew new issues had to be dealt with, but I think I handled all that came my way. I just hope I can keep growing with my kids and always be able to give them the help they need. Even if the help they need means that one day I will have to stand back and watch instead of jumping in.
Brisco has been with our family since the day Turner was born. When he arrived he, much like Turner, was new, so soft, and smelled so good. After four years of being drug around the house, to Walmart, on cross country plane trips, and every other place Turner goes he's looking worse for wear and smells a little. Brisco isn't as plump as he once was. I guess following a busy little boy around is the perfect diet plan. He has been loved nearly to smithereens.
I walked upstairs to see Turner laying in his bed hugging Brisco with big unfallen tears in his eyes. He asked if Brisco would be OK and if I could fix him. I told him of course I could stitch Brisco up and it wouldn't take very long. I came down stairs and did the best job I could performing brain surgery on a VIP bear. Once he was hole free I returned him to a very happy little boy.
Life would be perfect if I could solve all of my children's' future problems as easily as sewing up a toy. I know that soon I will have to sneak bear out of Turner's bed and put more stuffing in him. As he is now, he's little more than a bear skin with no filling. I thank God the He starts everything out small for me. My children were small and easy to handle when I was first blessed with them. Their only problems were poopy diapers and hungry bellies. But as they grew new issues had to be dealt with, but I think I handled all that came my way. I just hope I can keep growing with my kids and always be able to give them the help they need. Even if the help they need means that one day I will have to stand back and watch instead of jumping in.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Estrogen and why it sucks
I have been having some "female troubles" as of late. So I went to my OB/GYN. He declared me devoid of estrogen and put me on a temporary hormone replacement therapy. Let me tell you about the devil called estrogen and why it sucks.
For the last fourteen months or so I have only suffered from normal worries: Pollution, the ozone eroding, the looming election, the ever rising cost of gas etc etc... I can handle all of these and file them away in the not so important to keep me up at night category. But now, no now I have a whole new host of things to keep me up at night.
I have a sweet life. I have a husband who loves me, two kids who are as perfect as any God has ever created and a life the queen of England would envy. But estrogen is ruining everything. I hate being overly emotional. For two days now I have gotten my daughter out of bed from nap and been almost in tears for an hour. She is so sweet and perfect. Every inch of her oozes sweetness. This is not new to me, but it's never knocked me over quite like this. My son wakes up and is my ever present companion from 6 a.m. to 8p.m. He was in bed tonight when I noticed the magnets on my picture board. He had pulled all of them off today. I saw him in the act and told him I wished he hadn't done that, then went on about my business. Well low and behold I look up after he is in bed and notice that every picture is put back in close to it's original place. Now folks, this isn't a small board, there are thirty pics up there and he put everything back the way I had it. So what happens? I tear up while watching my Tivoed Eli Stone episode like a big baby. He wanted to make me happy and put everything back the way he found it, can you say perfect son?
Once my husband gets home, life is only more complicated. My hormones soar at the mere sight of him. I'm always happy to see him but the past week has been ridiculous. He walks in and I swear birds sing and he twinkles, yes he actually sparkles in the late afternoon sun. My children run up to him and he is a fairy tale in motion. He helps set the table, gets the kids ready to eat and I fall hopelessly to the floor in a puddle of mush. Now mind you that I stay composed, I go on about my routines like nothing is different. We eat supper and I am amazed the whole time that I have found someone who I share 90% of my political views with. Then it's off to the bedtime races. We go upstairs and Brad bathes my children. He hugs Tate and gives her undivided attention before she is put to bed. She hangs on his every word and kisses everyone goodnight. Then Brad and Turner leave me to have a bath by myself, what a luxury. After my bath they come upstairs and Brad reads a bedtime story. I love this part of the day. Brad, Turner and I lay in my bed and read together. Then for thirty minutes Turner and Brad wrestle. It is hilarious if you are not reeling from the effects of the Satan spawn that is called estrogen. I used to just laugh and think is was funny to watch Brad and Turner wrestle. Not this week. This week I think of all the children in the world who don't have a Papa like Turner does. This week I think of all the children in the world who can't defend themselves from evil pedophiles. This week I think how unfair it is for any child to be born with out a man like Brad to look up to. How do I keep a straight face and then smile at the two most wonderful men in the world?
Then my husband and I go down stairs and watch TV. Well there is not a damned thing good on TV these days. But I sit every night with my head in Brad's lap trying to act like a normal human being and not the slobbering weeping mess that I am inside. We go to bed at nine and the most wonderful man in the world hugs me. Now my usual routine is to fall asleep laying on Brad's arm. I usually feel safe and happy and warm. This week I feel hot, full of anxiety and self doubt. Did I do enough today that Brad Turner and Tate know how much they mean to me? If I pray hard enough will all the sweet babies in the world be taken care of? Can I protect everything in my world if I lock all the doors and buckle all of the seat belts? If I never let them eat anything bad can I keep everyone I love alive forever? No, I can't. My logical mind knows this and accepts it. My estrogen poisoned mind reels all night long thinking of ways to protect all that is mine: The husband you read about, the kids you pray to have, the parents who you want to talk to every day, and all the best kinds of friends who get me through each day.
I can't take the worry. I know it's there, but usually I can let got of it long enough to breathe. Estrogen make me feel like I am treading water holding a fifty pound weight. The last time I felt like this I had a miscarriage. I swam through that without drowning, but barely. That was a loss I wish for no one. But these damned hormones make me feel that emotional again. I have two more days of this blue pill induced torture. Then hopefully my body will return to normal and I will be able to breathe without worrying. It would be good if I could get my hormones balanced. But given the choice, I would take no estrogen and female troubles over being overly emotional and teary any day. So if my eyes water tomorrow when you tell me about your dry cleaning that wasn't ready on time ignore me, my body has turned traitor and I can't help my tears. Check back in a week and I may tell you to suck it up you big sissy, it's just a damned pair of pants and you can live without them.
For the last fourteen months or so I have only suffered from normal worries: Pollution, the ozone eroding, the looming election, the ever rising cost of gas etc etc... I can handle all of these and file them away in the not so important to keep me up at night category. But now, no now I have a whole new host of things to keep me up at night.
I have a sweet life. I have a husband who loves me, two kids who are as perfect as any God has ever created and a life the queen of England would envy. But estrogen is ruining everything. I hate being overly emotional. For two days now I have gotten my daughter out of bed from nap and been almost in tears for an hour. She is so sweet and perfect. Every inch of her oozes sweetness. This is not new to me, but it's never knocked me over quite like this. My son wakes up and is my ever present companion from 6 a.m. to 8p.m. He was in bed tonight when I noticed the magnets on my picture board. He had pulled all of them off today. I saw him in the act and told him I wished he hadn't done that, then went on about my business. Well low and behold I look up after he is in bed and notice that every picture is put back in close to it's original place. Now folks, this isn't a small board, there are thirty pics up there and he put everything back the way I had it. So what happens? I tear up while watching my Tivoed Eli Stone episode like a big baby. He wanted to make me happy and put everything back the way he found it, can you say perfect son?
Once my husband gets home, life is only more complicated. My hormones soar at the mere sight of him. I'm always happy to see him but the past week has been ridiculous. He walks in and I swear birds sing and he twinkles, yes he actually sparkles in the late afternoon sun. My children run up to him and he is a fairy tale in motion. He helps set the table, gets the kids ready to eat and I fall hopelessly to the floor in a puddle of mush. Now mind you that I stay composed, I go on about my routines like nothing is different. We eat supper and I am amazed the whole time that I have found someone who I share 90% of my political views with. Then it's off to the bedtime races. We go upstairs and Brad bathes my children. He hugs Tate and gives her undivided attention before she is put to bed. She hangs on his every word and kisses everyone goodnight. Then Brad and Turner leave me to have a bath by myself, what a luxury. After my bath they come upstairs and Brad reads a bedtime story. I love this part of the day. Brad, Turner and I lay in my bed and read together. Then for thirty minutes Turner and Brad wrestle. It is hilarious if you are not reeling from the effects of the Satan spawn that is called estrogen. I used to just laugh and think is was funny to watch Brad and Turner wrestle. Not this week. This week I think of all the children in the world who don't have a Papa like Turner does. This week I think of all the children in the world who can't defend themselves from evil pedophiles. This week I think how unfair it is for any child to be born with out a man like Brad to look up to. How do I keep a straight face and then smile at the two most wonderful men in the world?
Then my husband and I go down stairs and watch TV. Well there is not a damned thing good on TV these days. But I sit every night with my head in Brad's lap trying to act like a normal human being and not the slobbering weeping mess that I am inside. We go to bed at nine and the most wonderful man in the world hugs me. Now my usual routine is to fall asleep laying on Brad's arm. I usually feel safe and happy and warm. This week I feel hot, full of anxiety and self doubt. Did I do enough today that Brad Turner and Tate know how much they mean to me? If I pray hard enough will all the sweet babies in the world be taken care of? Can I protect everything in my world if I lock all the doors and buckle all of the seat belts? If I never let them eat anything bad can I keep everyone I love alive forever? No, I can't. My logical mind knows this and accepts it. My estrogen poisoned mind reels all night long thinking of ways to protect all that is mine: The husband you read about, the kids you pray to have, the parents who you want to talk to every day, and all the best kinds of friends who get me through each day.
I can't take the worry. I know it's there, but usually I can let got of it long enough to breathe. Estrogen make me feel like I am treading water holding a fifty pound weight. The last time I felt like this I had a miscarriage. I swam through that without drowning, but barely. That was a loss I wish for no one. But these damned hormones make me feel that emotional again. I have two more days of this blue pill induced torture. Then hopefully my body will return to normal and I will be able to breathe without worrying. It would be good if I could get my hormones balanced. But given the choice, I would take no estrogen and female troubles over being overly emotional and teary any day. So if my eyes water tomorrow when you tell me about your dry cleaning that wasn't ready on time ignore me, my body has turned traitor and I can't help my tears. Check back in a week and I may tell you to suck it up you big sissy, it's just a damned pair of pants and you can live without them.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Indulge me
My little baby girl isn't a baby any more. Sad, but true. She's now 16 months old and considered a toddler. But every once in a while I get a moment with her where she's still a baby. One of those moments happened tonight, my heart is full.
Tate and I have the same routine for her bed time every night. Read a book, brush her teeth, let her hug and kiss the boys, and then off to bed. I always ask for about eight more kisses and then I put her in bed. Tonight I was hugging her and heard air roll around in her belly. I began patting her on the back just like I've done so many times before. But before she was a baby and it was just another part of eating- getting the burp out. Tonight she laid her head on me like she remembered being held like a baby. She burped but we just sat in the middle of her floor and rocked and patted each others backs.
Tate is so busy that I rarely get to hold her. It's not because I don't try, she is just too busy to stop and be held. In the mornings she snuggles for a couple minutes after the oatmeal is eaten. She sits and finishes waking up, but it's never enough for me.
Tonight she indulged me. Maybe she was just stalling to postpone bed time as long as possible. I don't care the reason. I will never out grow wanting to hold my children, even when they are bigger than me. I know they will start to shy away from the hugging and sitting in my lap all too soon, so I am soaking up every second that I can. I'll breathe in as much of their scent as I can. I'll keep these memories for when they won't just sit with me.
I am thankful for my children. Thankful they show me what fun is. Thankful they show me what in life is really important. Thankful they show me everything good that's in my husband. Thankful that they have made me slow down and realize how truly wonderful our life is. Thanks for indulging me kiddos, you'll never understand how much you mean to me.
Tate and I have the same routine for her bed time every night. Read a book, brush her teeth, let her hug and kiss the boys, and then off to bed. I always ask for about eight more kisses and then I put her in bed. Tonight I was hugging her and heard air roll around in her belly. I began patting her on the back just like I've done so many times before. But before she was a baby and it was just another part of eating- getting the burp out. Tonight she laid her head on me like she remembered being held like a baby. She burped but we just sat in the middle of her floor and rocked and patted each others backs.
Tate is so busy that I rarely get to hold her. It's not because I don't try, she is just too busy to stop and be held. In the mornings she snuggles for a couple minutes after the oatmeal is eaten. She sits and finishes waking up, but it's never enough for me.
Tonight she indulged me. Maybe she was just stalling to postpone bed time as long as possible. I don't care the reason. I will never out grow wanting to hold my children, even when they are bigger than me. I know they will start to shy away from the hugging and sitting in my lap all too soon, so I am soaking up every second that I can. I'll breathe in as much of their scent as I can. I'll keep these memories for when they won't just sit with me.
I am thankful for my children. Thankful they show me what fun is. Thankful they show me what in life is really important. Thankful they show me everything good that's in my husband. Thankful that they have made me slow down and realize how truly wonderful our life is. Thanks for indulging me kiddos, you'll never understand how much you mean to me.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
You give me fever
I need to be in bed, but I'm not. I am downstairs having a conversation with myself and typing to no one. Turner is sick and I can't sleep. Well, he's not really sick, he has a high fever and I don't know why. He is otherwise not sick. No runny nose, no cough, no vomiting, no cold like symptoms, just a fever.
I have given him Motrin and laid in bed with him til he fell asleep. Of course while I laid by my precious boy I wracked my brain to figure out what is causing the fever. Drawing a blank, I turned to a higher authority. God why does Turner have a fever? I feel oh so blessed. I also feel like I have such a good life that something bad has to happen. Why am I such a damn pessimist? Why does a simple fever put me in a panic? I wish I knew. Why don't I just give the boy some medicine and go to bed? I don't know.
As my mother says worrying is pointless, it changes nothing. Well I wish it were that easy for me. I am a worrier by nature and I can't change the nature of my worry.
I am a true control freak. I wish to run every little detail of my day, and your day too. I do a pretty OK job of filling my children's days, making up a schedule and what not. But when one of them gets sick I feel like I am in a tailspin. I have no say-so over a fever, damn it. I can not take it away. I can not diagnose it. I can only sit and wait.
So here I am typing, trying to clear my head. It isn't working. Why doesn't God have a call in line especially for parents? I know we can pray to Him when ever we want to, but I need something with more feedback. I want a 24 hour help line for mothers. I want to call and have a cherub answer the phone, listen to beautiful harps while on hold, then speak to a head honcho angel who can tell me if this is cause to worry or not.
I can hear it now: "Hello, heaven's parent help line how may we assist you?"
"Yes, I'm Turner's mom. I hate to bug you, but he has a fever. I've given him some medicine and he's resting peacefully. I would just like to know if he'll get sicker, is this the beginning of some cataclysmic illness, or is it just some run of the mill day long bug?"
"Hello again Tiffany, didn't think we'd hear from you so soon. How is Tate after falling out of the crib last week?"
"She's fine, thanks for asking, but about the fever.."
"Well not to worry, this should pass in about 36 hours. I have run it past The Boss and He assures me Turner will be good as new before supper tomorrow."
"Thank you so much! Please tell God how much I appreciate this help line. Please send me a comment card so I can commend you Gabriel on the fine job you do."
"I will send the card right out. We'll also be sending a book on patience to you door free of charge. We send it to all the parents who call in on a weekly basis."
"I didn't realize I called so much. I'll try to read the book if I have time. Thanks again bye-bye."
Wouldn't that be glorious? I think it may just let me sleep through the night if such a thing existed. But I am sure I could conjure up something else to worry about. I am feeling a little sleepy, so maybe just thinking and praying about it worked. I'll rest with one eye and ear open. I'll hope tomorrow my boy wakes up and has no fever, no aches or pains, and is ready for his bowl of oatmeal.
I have given him Motrin and laid in bed with him til he fell asleep. Of course while I laid by my precious boy I wracked my brain to figure out what is causing the fever. Drawing a blank, I turned to a higher authority. God why does Turner have a fever? I feel oh so blessed. I also feel like I have such a good life that something bad has to happen. Why am I such a damn pessimist? Why does a simple fever put me in a panic? I wish I knew. Why don't I just give the boy some medicine and go to bed? I don't know.
As my mother says worrying is pointless, it changes nothing. Well I wish it were that easy for me. I am a worrier by nature and I can't change the nature of my worry.
I am a true control freak. I wish to run every little detail of my day, and your day too. I do a pretty OK job of filling my children's days, making up a schedule and what not. But when one of them gets sick I feel like I am in a tailspin. I have no say-so over a fever, damn it. I can not take it away. I can not diagnose it. I can only sit and wait.
So here I am typing, trying to clear my head. It isn't working. Why doesn't God have a call in line especially for parents? I know we can pray to Him when ever we want to, but I need something with more feedback. I want a 24 hour help line for mothers. I want to call and have a cherub answer the phone, listen to beautiful harps while on hold, then speak to a head honcho angel who can tell me if this is cause to worry or not.
I can hear it now: "Hello, heaven's parent help line how may we assist you?"
"Yes, I'm Turner's mom. I hate to bug you, but he has a fever. I've given him some medicine and he's resting peacefully. I would just like to know if he'll get sicker, is this the beginning of some cataclysmic illness, or is it just some run of the mill day long bug?"
"Hello again Tiffany, didn't think we'd hear from you so soon. How is Tate after falling out of the crib last week?"
"She's fine, thanks for asking, but about the fever.."
"Well not to worry, this should pass in about 36 hours. I have run it past The Boss and He assures me Turner will be good as new before supper tomorrow."
"Thank you so much! Please tell God how much I appreciate this help line. Please send me a comment card so I can commend you Gabriel on the fine job you do."
"I will send the card right out. We'll also be sending a book on patience to you door free of charge. We send it to all the parents who call in on a weekly basis."
"I didn't realize I called so much. I'll try to read the book if I have time. Thanks again bye-bye."
Wouldn't that be glorious? I think it may just let me sleep through the night if such a thing existed. But I am sure I could conjure up something else to worry about. I am feeling a little sleepy, so maybe just thinking and praying about it worked. I'll rest with one eye and ear open. I'll hope tomorrow my boy wakes up and has no fever, no aches or pains, and is ready for his bowl of oatmeal.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Glutton for punishment
Why do I do it? Why do I stand outside of Tate's door and peek through the crack to watch her cry? I know she's not in pain, scared, or panicked. No, she just cries a bit to wind down to fall asleep. Turner did this too, but not as much.
I pride myself on the fact that my kids are good sleepers. Sleep has always been something I have battled with. I'm not the girl who can just put head to pillow and drift off to la la land. I have never been a good sleeper. I slept in my parents bed til they gave me a sister who would sleep in my bed. I don't sleep when Brad's gone. I lurk downstairs til midnight or one then I go upstairs and stare at the walls. I can go to sleep in cool weather with Brad. Winter is wonderful: Cold sheets and a warm body to snuggle up next to. Summer nights aren't my thing. It's too hot to lay next to my clean smelling man mountain. I roll, toss, and turn without his arm on top of me to hold me still.
I don't want this for my kids. I want each of them to embrace sleep. I want them to be able to fall asleep by themselves and stay asleep. Turner is my golden boy. After a rocky first eight months of life he "cried it out" for a week and has been a gold star sleeper ever since. Turner merely needs a story read to him before nap or bed time, a hug and kiss, then he goes to sleep. If he wakes up to potty, he goes right back to sleep.
Tate is another story. I have been putting her in her own bed for months now. She has always napped in her own bed. She now goes all night with out nursing (not by her choice). But every single time she cries for ten minutes or so. I know this is not a travesty. I know that it's how she settles down. Now, ask me if it bothers me non-the-less? Yes it does. I try to play it off, but I hate the sound of either of my kids crying. I do it for her own good. Wow, did I just channel my mother for a second? I want her to learn how to sleep.
I don't want her to dread going to bed like I do. I wonder if our sleep habits are passed down father to son and mother to daughter? If so, I am so sorry Tate. I hope you learn to drop into bed and be asleep before the sheets settle, just like your Papa. Of course I want only good things for my two babies. So I wish to Turner and Tate sweet dreams, calm, and peaceful rest. I will be awake to watch over you, so rest my lovelies....
I pride myself on the fact that my kids are good sleepers. Sleep has always been something I have battled with. I'm not the girl who can just put head to pillow and drift off to la la land. I have never been a good sleeper. I slept in my parents bed til they gave me a sister who would sleep in my bed. I don't sleep when Brad's gone. I lurk downstairs til midnight or one then I go upstairs and stare at the walls. I can go to sleep in cool weather with Brad. Winter is wonderful: Cold sheets and a warm body to snuggle up next to. Summer nights aren't my thing. It's too hot to lay next to my clean smelling man mountain. I roll, toss, and turn without his arm on top of me to hold me still.
I don't want this for my kids. I want each of them to embrace sleep. I want them to be able to fall asleep by themselves and stay asleep. Turner is my golden boy. After a rocky first eight months of life he "cried it out" for a week and has been a gold star sleeper ever since. Turner merely needs a story read to him before nap or bed time, a hug and kiss, then he goes to sleep. If he wakes up to potty, he goes right back to sleep.
Tate is another story. I have been putting her in her own bed for months now. She has always napped in her own bed. She now goes all night with out nursing (not by her choice). But every single time she cries for ten minutes or so. I know this is not a travesty. I know that it's how she settles down. Now, ask me if it bothers me non-the-less? Yes it does. I try to play it off, but I hate the sound of either of my kids crying. I do it for her own good. Wow, did I just channel my mother for a second? I want her to learn how to sleep.
I don't want her to dread going to bed like I do. I wonder if our sleep habits are passed down father to son and mother to daughter? If so, I am so sorry Tate. I hope you learn to drop into bed and be asleep before the sheets settle, just like your Papa. Of course I want only good things for my two babies. So I wish to Turner and Tate sweet dreams, calm, and peaceful rest. I will be awake to watch over you, so rest my lovelies....
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Just like riding a bike
Hello, any one out there? I have been sadly missing typing all my thoughts and clearing out my head. Yes, it's been months. No, there's no excuse. Life just seemed to be happening so fast I could barely keep up, much less write about it.
Tate is now almost a year old. I have found that my post-partum mindset is amazingly the same with each of my children. I don't loose it immediately, right when they are born(shout out Becky, holla if you hear me ;-). No, I let the mid part, when my babies are 6-12 months, pull me under the fog. I don't pretend to know what it is that shapes my moods or balances my brain chemicals. I am thankful as hell for sympathetic doctors and for the antidepressants they dole out.
I haven't had an inkling to write, or do much else that's extracurricular, in a few months. Typing this now feels like getting on a pair of roller skates after leaving the rink for a few years. But wobbly, shaky, hear I come.
I have been trying to absorb every last minute of Tate's soon ending "babiness". Brad and I are done, no more babies for us. How sad to never again to hold a small soft newborn that came from me. How painful to know that this is it. I will admit that the first few months are my favorite. They are so small and I feel like I can protect my sweet new babes. It's the falling in love period for me. All filled with wonder and amazement at every corner.
Now life is fast. Tate is climbing out of her crib, into cabinets, and out of my protective abilities. Turner is smart, argumentative, and able to test all of my limits. Yet still, still I long for the these days to last longer. How to stretch the time? I take the kids to the pool where the sun seems to set a little slower. We hug a little longer. And with all the fun I pray a little harder for the days to keep being so simple.
I guess I am back, at least for today. I'll try to keep out of the fog, the sunshine feels so much better anyway. I'll try to write down all the fun stuff I want to remember. In thirty years I want to remember the day I told Turner that "We're going to the pool sucker!" My boy, ever witty, replied "OK lollie pop". Those little perfect moments are what I need, what I live for.
Tate is now almost a year old. I have found that my post-partum mindset is amazingly the same with each of my children. I don't loose it immediately, right when they are born(shout out Becky, holla if you hear me ;-). No, I let the mid part, when my babies are 6-12 months, pull me under the fog. I don't pretend to know what it is that shapes my moods or balances my brain chemicals. I am thankful as hell for sympathetic doctors and for the antidepressants they dole out.
I haven't had an inkling to write, or do much else that's extracurricular, in a few months. Typing this now feels like getting on a pair of roller skates after leaving the rink for a few years. But wobbly, shaky, hear I come.
I have been trying to absorb every last minute of Tate's soon ending "babiness". Brad and I are done, no more babies for us. How sad to never again to hold a small soft newborn that came from me. How painful to know that this is it. I will admit that the first few months are my favorite. They are so small and I feel like I can protect my sweet new babes. It's the falling in love period for me. All filled with wonder and amazement at every corner.
Now life is fast. Tate is climbing out of her crib, into cabinets, and out of my protective abilities. Turner is smart, argumentative, and able to test all of my limits. Yet still, still I long for the these days to last longer. How to stretch the time? I take the kids to the pool where the sun seems to set a little slower. We hug a little longer. And with all the fun I pray a little harder for the days to keep being so simple.
I guess I am back, at least for today. I'll try to keep out of the fog, the sunshine feels so much better anyway. I'll try to write down all the fun stuff I want to remember. In thirty years I want to remember the day I told Turner that "We're going to the pool sucker!" My boy, ever witty, replied "OK lollie pop". Those little perfect moments are what I need, what I live for.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Pee stains on toilets, come on sing it with me
I know Christmas is long gone, but I can't get this tune out of my head "Rain drops on roses and wiskers on kittens..." But here's my version:
Pee stains on toilets
and scum in my tub
Pre-treating poop stains
and tile floors I should scrub
Brad's shirt collars have nasty rings
These area few of my most hated things
Too many shirts to press
and not enough time
Dust on every shelf
and my kitchen's full of grime
Yellow work gloves on my hands and I can't wear my bling
These are a few of my most hated things
When I get hugs
When the babes smile
When I'm feeling glad
I simply remember why I do all the work
and then I don't feel so bad
If my mind didn't work on such trivial, silly things I may be able to accomplish something once in a while. There is a sneaky idea thief reading this somewhere. Just watch, the new Broadway musical "Pee stains on toilets.." will be wining Tony awards in a year or so. Then it'll go on to star Patricia Heaton in a movie adaptation and bring in eighty million it's opening week. Well you heard it here first, it's what on my twisted mind. Now off to scrub some floors.
Pee stains on toilets
and scum in my tub
Pre-treating poop stains
and tile floors I should scrub
Brad's shirt collars have nasty rings
These area few of my most hated things
Too many shirts to press
and not enough time
Dust on every shelf
and my kitchen's full of grime
Yellow work gloves on my hands and I can't wear my bling
These are a few of my most hated things
When I get hugs
When the babes smile
When I'm feeling glad
I simply remember why I do all the work
and then I don't feel so bad
If my mind didn't work on such trivial, silly things I may be able to accomplish something once in a while. There is a sneaky idea thief reading this somewhere. Just watch, the new Broadway musical "Pee stains on toilets.." will be wining Tony awards in a year or so. Then it'll go on to star Patricia Heaton in a movie adaptation and bring in eighty million it's opening week. Well you heard it here first, it's what on my twisted mind. Now off to scrub some floors.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
I want my money!
I am going on strike. Yes you heard me, strike. I refuse to come up with another fantastic idea until I am being paid royalties. The people at Apple owe me(this is a loose estimate) seventeen million dollars. I have had music playing in my head since birth. I am the original IPOD. My brain has been set to shuffle for years. I am only seeking seventeen million dollars because I never sent in any formal proposals. I assume that one of their sneaky idea stealing techs was behind me in line at Albertson's and heard me sing eleven different songs in three minutes. I want my money Apple, don't make me get the lawyers after you.
As sure as I am that I am the original IPOD, I am equally sure that the resurgence of American Gladiators is due to me and my kids. No one person was sitting around and came up with water obstacles, giant Q-tips, and Battle Royals. No, the slimy TV idea men sat outside my window and watched my obstacle course. First round, baby jumping. This consists of me trying to sweep one-handed. Then I set Tate on one side of the room and grab my mop. My goal is to mop around her while luring her to the already dried areas. Sounds easy? Bring your A game. I'll put money on Tate any day against any mopper. The Gladiators run up a cushy padded slope while squishy foam balls are gingerly rolled at them, please. Let them try to climb the stairs at my house(which are not padded) while Turner and his friends throw cars, trucks and buckets at you. Come on Saber, only real men compete here.
I am also delusional enough to think that the whole Survivor craze was inspired by babies. Now mine weren't born yet so I know there's some poor mom out there who's been cheated out of her money. So if it was your baby scooting around on the floor surviving off eating three year old Cheetos, army crawling through mud, and testing your will at stare downs go get your money.
Today Tate got into a sticky mouse trap. I bet that in it's opening season there will be a sticky type challenge on Gladiators. I am not kidding NBC, I'm pissed. I really do think I'm on to something here. Or maybe I'm on something and delusional. Which ever the case may be I'm all fired up with no one to bitch to. I am off to retrieve the Siren of the Second Floor. I'm starting to take notes today, so I'll have proof that it's my ideas that make the world go round. No more freebies go get your own genius ideas.
As sure as I am that I am the original IPOD, I am equally sure that the resurgence of American Gladiators is due to me and my kids. No one person was sitting around and came up with water obstacles, giant Q-tips, and Battle Royals. No, the slimy TV idea men sat outside my window and watched my obstacle course. First round, baby jumping. This consists of me trying to sweep one-handed. Then I set Tate on one side of the room and grab my mop. My goal is to mop around her while luring her to the already dried areas. Sounds easy? Bring your A game. I'll put money on Tate any day against any mopper. The Gladiators run up a cushy padded slope while squishy foam balls are gingerly rolled at them, please. Let them try to climb the stairs at my house(which are not padded) while Turner and his friends throw cars, trucks and buckets at you. Come on Saber, only real men compete here.
I am also delusional enough to think that the whole Survivor craze was inspired by babies. Now mine weren't born yet so I know there's some poor mom out there who's been cheated out of her money. So if it was your baby scooting around on the floor surviving off eating three year old Cheetos, army crawling through mud, and testing your will at stare downs go get your money.
Today Tate got into a sticky mouse trap. I bet that in it's opening season there will be a sticky type challenge on Gladiators. I am not kidding NBC, I'm pissed. I really do think I'm on to something here. Or maybe I'm on something and delusional. Which ever the case may be I'm all fired up with no one to bitch to. I am off to retrieve the Siren of the Second Floor. I'm starting to take notes today, so I'll have proof that it's my ideas that make the world go round. No more freebies go get your own genius ideas.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Happy Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.
Every day my children are on this earth I learn something new about my own parents. Odd paradox, but true. This was Turner's first Christmas really "getting" the whole Santa thing. In turn, this was my and Brad's first Christmas being the real Santa.
As I argued with my son last night that bedtime was indeed a good idea and necessary, I smiled. I remember very clearly being on the other end of this argument. I still can recall the extreme excitement, lying awake trying to hold myself back from waking my mom and dad too early. I wasn't concerned that they would miss too much sleep, I was worried they'd say go back to bed.
This is my most favorite Christmas of all time. I suspect that next year will hold the same title. We put out milk and donuts for Santa(it's Turner's favorite snack and he wanted to share with St Nick). Then we set out magic reindeer food in the yard. We all laid in bed and read "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house..." Even with having to threaten calling Santa to get Turner to lay down it was incredible fun. Setting out gifts and putting together toys put a big stupid grin on both Papa and my faces last night. Brad said he would be too excited to sleep. Part of the good time was knowing what excitement was in store for Turner. Another unexpected perk was being in on a secret with my husband. Knowing glances and suppressed giggles are pretty fun when shared with the man of your life.
After last night I realize that my parents weren't lacking excitement on the Christmas mornings of my childhood, they were pooped. I always wondered how they could just sleep on the most important night of the year. Well, they had put together toys, elfed and Santa'd, and made my perfect Christmas morning- it just took them all the night before to get it ready.
Now that I get to elf around on Christmas Eve night it has become even more magical than it was when I was Turner's age. Now I get to remember all the perfect touches my parents put on Christmas: The eaten cookies, the sleigh bells off in the distance, the beautiful display of my most wanted toys. Now I hold all those memories close as I make new ones for my kids. Being able to give my kids memories like my parents gave me is Christmas magic. Sharing a night of sneaking around, being quiet, full of excitement with my husband is about the most romantic thing I can imagine. I can't wait til next Christmas, only three hundred sixty four days to go...
As I argued with my son last night that bedtime was indeed a good idea and necessary, I smiled. I remember very clearly being on the other end of this argument. I still can recall the extreme excitement, lying awake trying to hold myself back from waking my mom and dad too early. I wasn't concerned that they would miss too much sleep, I was worried they'd say go back to bed.
This is my most favorite Christmas of all time. I suspect that next year will hold the same title. We put out milk and donuts for Santa(it's Turner's favorite snack and he wanted to share with St Nick). Then we set out magic reindeer food in the yard. We all laid in bed and read "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house..." Even with having to threaten calling Santa to get Turner to lay down it was incredible fun. Setting out gifts and putting together toys put a big stupid grin on both Papa and my faces last night. Brad said he would be too excited to sleep. Part of the good time was knowing what excitement was in store for Turner. Another unexpected perk was being in on a secret with my husband. Knowing glances and suppressed giggles are pretty fun when shared with the man of your life.
After last night I realize that my parents weren't lacking excitement on the Christmas mornings of my childhood, they were pooped. I always wondered how they could just sleep on the most important night of the year. Well, they had put together toys, elfed and Santa'd, and made my perfect Christmas morning- it just took them all the night before to get it ready.
Now that I get to elf around on Christmas Eve night it has become even more magical than it was when I was Turner's age. Now I get to remember all the perfect touches my parents put on Christmas: The eaten cookies, the sleigh bells off in the distance, the beautiful display of my most wanted toys. Now I hold all those memories close as I make new ones for my kids. Being able to give my kids memories like my parents gave me is Christmas magic. Sharing a night of sneaking around, being quiet, full of excitement with my husband is about the most romantic thing I can imagine. I can't wait til next Christmas, only three hundred sixty four days to go...
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I know how wonderful you are, now leave me alone!
When I am with my kids in the pre-dawn hours I feel a wonderous-ness coming from the both of them. I don't know if either of them will one day be president, but they they will be great human beings.
I am just getting to know Tate. She has a very defined sense of humor. Her personality is really starting to blossom. She loves being outside. The two things she clearly adores are the men in our lives, Papa and Turner B.
Turner has so much personality and a caring nature that makes me tear up more often than I like to admit. He genuinely cares for his friends and mine. He is inquisitive, insightful, and and he's my best friend. I love that little boy with all that I am, but he is driving me insane!
How can I, his maker, love him so totally and still have him make me loose my mind? The "Terrible Two's" have nothing on the stubborn, argumentative three's. He has contested every single thing I have said or done for the past week. I know that he is just a preschooler making sense of his world and testing his boundaries, but I am a middle aged mom hanging on to sanity by a thread.
I often wonder what exactly happens to my time. I look up at the end of the day and it's six o'clock and the house is destroyed. By the time Brad gets home I have picked up the living room three times, folded laundry, put laundry away, Turner pulls it all out of his closet and I put it away a second time, feed the kids breakfast, lunch and snack, clean up behind breakfast, lunch and snack, get groceries, iron work clothes, change seven diapers, wipe one big boy poop booty, sanitize the bathroom when someone (who will remain nameless) pees on the wall while not paying attention, wipe snotty noses eight times, make about twenty-seven trips up and down the stairs, change sheets, cook supper, struggle to get some food in Tate's mouth, rock a baby, make up some type of activity for after nap, and all the other things that wear away a day. While all this is going on I answer an on-slot of questions: What do bears eat? Why are you doing that? When will Tate get teeth? Is Pop coming home soon? Can I play with Play-Doh? Why can't we go swimming? Where's Becky? Can we go to Tyna's house? What's Ridge doing? Where is North Carolina, is it far away? Can I call Booyah? Where's my transformer? Are there monsters in my room? And on, and on, and on...
I think that the daily chores and barrage of questions mixed with bouts of crying baby and sleep deprivation are making me insane. Yesterday Turner got up from nap and went to the bathroom. He wanted to put lotion on his face, so he got two huge fist-fulls of Vaseline and proceeded to smear himself with petroleum. Those are the days that the Valium ferry should stop by.
I am torn between holding my children in a loving embrace and running away to join the circus. Why am I guilty about it? I have no clue, but I bet it was in the small print when I decided to be a mom. Maybe I have split personalities. 99.9% of me loves and adores both my children. It's that damn pesky .1% that makes me want to go lock myself in the bathroom and have a moment of peace. But it's just .1%, besides Turner would be screaming questions under the door anyway.
I have so many things to be thankful for this Christmas: Brad, without him I would have no Turner or Tate, he's my love and the only man I could stand to live with(I mean that in the sweetest way possible). I am Thankful for both of my kids. They are why I smile, laugh and breathe. And I am thankful for the Vietnamese lady who put on a strong set of nails for me. With out tough nails I might loose my tenuous grip on sanity and not be able to appreciate all I have.
I am just getting to know Tate. She has a very defined sense of humor. Her personality is really starting to blossom. She loves being outside. The two things she clearly adores are the men in our lives, Papa and Turner B.
Turner has so much personality and a caring nature that makes me tear up more often than I like to admit. He genuinely cares for his friends and mine. He is inquisitive, insightful, and and he's my best friend. I love that little boy with all that I am, but he is driving me insane!
How can I, his maker, love him so totally and still have him make me loose my mind? The "Terrible Two's" have nothing on the stubborn, argumentative three's. He has contested every single thing I have said or done for the past week. I know that he is just a preschooler making sense of his world and testing his boundaries, but I am a middle aged mom hanging on to sanity by a thread.
I often wonder what exactly happens to my time. I look up at the end of the day and it's six o'clock and the house is destroyed. By the time Brad gets home I have picked up the living room three times, folded laundry, put laundry away, Turner pulls it all out of his closet and I put it away a second time, feed the kids breakfast, lunch and snack, clean up behind breakfast, lunch and snack, get groceries, iron work clothes, change seven diapers, wipe one big boy poop booty, sanitize the bathroom when someone (who will remain nameless) pees on the wall while not paying attention, wipe snotty noses eight times, make about twenty-seven trips up and down the stairs, change sheets, cook supper, struggle to get some food in Tate's mouth, rock a baby, make up some type of activity for after nap, and all the other things that wear away a day. While all this is going on I answer an on-slot of questions: What do bears eat? Why are you doing that? When will Tate get teeth? Is Pop coming home soon? Can I play with Play-Doh? Why can't we go swimming? Where's Becky? Can we go to Tyna's house? What's Ridge doing? Where is North Carolina, is it far away? Can I call Booyah? Where's my transformer? Are there monsters in my room? And on, and on, and on...
I think that the daily chores and barrage of questions mixed with bouts of crying baby and sleep deprivation are making me insane. Yesterday Turner got up from nap and went to the bathroom. He wanted to put lotion on his face, so he got two huge fist-fulls of Vaseline and proceeded to smear himself with petroleum. Those are the days that the Valium ferry should stop by.
I am torn between holding my children in a loving embrace and running away to join the circus. Why am I guilty about it? I have no clue, but I bet it was in the small print when I decided to be a mom. Maybe I have split personalities. 99.9% of me loves and adores both my children. It's that damn pesky .1% that makes me want to go lock myself in the bathroom and have a moment of peace. But it's just .1%, besides Turner would be screaming questions under the door anyway.
I have so many things to be thankful for this Christmas: Brad, without him I would have no Turner or Tate, he's my love and the only man I could stand to live with(I mean that in the sweetest way possible). I am Thankful for both of my kids. They are why I smile, laugh and breathe. And I am thankful for the Vietnamese lady who put on a strong set of nails for me. With out tough nails I might loose my tenuous grip on sanity and not be able to appreciate all I have.
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