I was just rereading a previous blog entry from July...I had just started a new cluster period the month prior within my cluster headache condition, and was wondering how long it would last. Well...six months later it is still here.
Preventative meds were keeping them away for a while. But the problem with preventative meds is that you never really know if your cluster is done or if it's just the meds keeping them at bay. So you have to go off the meds to test it. Which I did. After about 3 months of no headaches, I went off my meds. Had a hopeful two weeks with no headaches, med free, and then HELLO! They were back. There is sort of a desperation that comes over you when you think the malady is gone and then you find out it's not. One starts to wonder if it will ever end and you are faced with the possibility that it may not.
I have had them every night for the last two weeks, sometimes two a night. I actually got to the point last night where I thought it might be better to not even go to sleep. The attacks are largely triggered in the hypothalmus, which regulates your sleep. If I don't go to sleep, I won't awake in that intense pain. I got through nearly two full -bad - movies last night, till about 3:30AM, with this mentality. I couldn't stay awake anymore and of course I awoke around 4:30 with another headache. Which only underscores my point. If I hadn't slept, would I still have had the headache?
My exercise-triggered headaches are back also. I am finding that when I do very high-intensity cardio (e.g. running) I will get a heacache within an hour of stopping. So let's see...two things I enjoy a lot, sleeping and working out. Both are triggers. Sucks bigtime.
I hate that my kids are witnessing this now. My husband has been through many boughts of this with me he knows it's temporary but this is a little new and scary for my kids. My son recently witnessed me in a full-blown attack. I was sobbing and wailing and I think I also yelled at him, I don't quite remember. But I'm sure he remembers that his mother was a screaming lunatic the other night. One of my treatments is to suck on an O2 tank for about 15 minutes and it helps the headache go away. But it really scares my 4-year-old daughter to see me on the tank. I'm not sure what she thinks it is or what she thinks is happening, but she cries the entire time I'm on it. I don't need her to see that or feel that way. And I don't want my kids to worry that this will happen to them.
The last week or two, my 7-year-old son has complained a lot of headaches. I think there are probably a few causes for this, maybe even combined: he hears me talk about headaches and thinks they are common; he is not getting enough sleep; he is not getting enough water; or he is literally getting a headache. But I am terrified that he may someday have the same cluster attacks that I do. I will feel horrible that I may be responsible for passing on some gene that causes one of my children such pain and discomfort.
As I write this, the date has turned from Christmas Eve to Christmas day. I prayed to God and Santa that all I want for Christmas is for all this to stop. That the two headaches I had yesterday will be the last. I want that more than new shoes or jewelry or some kitchen appliance. Is that in your bag, Santa? And at 1:30AM, I am again contemplating the "no sleep" thing, even though I know in five hours my kids will be awake and want presents. I really don't want the bags under my eyes in the Christmas pictures.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Saying Good-bye
I understand that our family dog is dying. Bacchus hasn't lived with us for a few years and has been keeping my dad company for a while now. I want to tell his story.
I was never much of a dog person. Growing up in New Jersey, we had two vicious German Shepherds that lived behind our house - Big Mama and Spike. I was terrified of them. Turned me off to dogs for a long, long time. We didn't have any of our own. In my teens, my dad married a woman with dogs and I lived with them all. Dad and his wife got me a puppy, Arielle the Golden Retriever. Not entirely sure why - a distraction? I didn't really know how to care for a dog but they did - better than how to care for me. I'm pretty sure those dogs got a lot more attention than I did in that household. I recall having to ride my bike to a basketball game in the winter, while I was coming down with strep, because my dad couldn't take me since he had to take the dog to dog school instead. Yet another reason I decided dogs weren't for me. I wasn't ever going to play second to one again. I remember my dad and his wife used to send Christmas cards with pictures of them and the pets. Not once did we ever send a Christmas card with pictures of the kids. When their marriage was struggling, they kicked me out...and kept the dogs (including my Arielle).
When Steve and I first married, we had a great house in San Diego with a huge yard that screamed "I need a dog." I couldn't deny it. Steve was dying to get a dog. He even knew what he wanted to name it - "Chucho." We weren't actively looking, but one day we were out hiking and wine tasting and came across an unknown winery with a sign out front that said, "Free Puppies." Steve convinced me to look at the puppies. SUCKER! There was one black one in the litter, a little quiet. We were meant to find him, and he was meant for us. And since he came from a winery, we named him Bacchus, after the Roman god of wine. The punchline is that he is half German Shepherd. Irony. We tried to train him, I swear. I still have video of the circle from dog training class. Bacchus was supposed to cross the circle to his owner. He unceremoniously stopped mid-circle to relieve himself on a pile of leashes. That's my boy!
Steve and I moved to Temecula the day I went into labor with our first child. In fact, we called a friend to meet the movers at the new house to unload one delivery while I went to the hospital for another delivery. Poor Bacchus spent his first day at his new home surrounded by nothing and no one he knew. He must have felt awful. I gave birth at 6:34 PM, and after we knew everyone was going to be OK, I sent Steve home so that Bacchus wouldn't have to spend his first night in his new house thinking he'd been abaondoned. Steve came to visit his new baby during the days, and spent his nights with his canine baby.
Bacchus made friends in his new home. But wow, that dog was loud. While he was making friends, I was making enemies. New neighbor compliained about the barking. And of course everytime the doorbell rang, there it was: WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF. Always seemed to happen during baby's naptime - bye bye nap! We soon bought a bark collar. I hated to do it but I planned to live in our new house for a long time with those neighbors, and I needed my babies to nap, so Bacchus had to play second fiddle.
We probably should have taken more time to make Bacchus more kid-friendly. We assumed he was because he was always terrific with our kids (two of them at the time) but we didn't anticipate a few things. Once he tried to bite a neighbor kid who was extricating food from Bacchus' mouth. Another time he snapped at a neighbor kid who tried to wake him while he was sleeping, from behind. Provoked? Maybe. But in a neighborhood with 25 kids you can't risk having your neighbors be afraid of your dog, or that your dog will again react inappropriately. We had to give Bacchus away. We were heartbroken. How do you give away a part of your family?
Irony strikes again. My father was now divorced from his second wife and living 20 minutes from me. He had recently lost his own dog, Susie, a few months prior (Arielle had died in an accident some years earlier). I remember when Susie died. My dad is not known to show emotion, but he was choked up when I was on the phone with him about Susie. My dad agreed to let Bacchus live with him. Since dad watches my kids once a week, we still get to see Bacchus all the time because Bacchus comes with him. My third child, whom we did not have when Bacchus was living with us, still formed a unique bond with Bacchus and clearly called out Ba-Ba in reference him early on. And even when she could say "Bacchus," it morphed into "Ba-Ba-cchus" in deference to those first words. It was even funnier when she started calling him the nickname my dad had given him, "Bubbula." I will be forever grateful to my dad for taking Bacchus in and saving us the torment of having to place him in an unknown home. My dad and Bacchus are great together, really companions. I think Bacchus is perhaps his favorite housemate, more than his wives or kids.
About two months ago, my dad told us Bacchus had cancer. This is the first my kids can really remember dealing with major illness. They were too young to remember my mom having breast cancer. So we talked about it a lot, because we knew there was a chance he might not recover well, if at all. He had a splenectomy and they thought the prognosis was good. Next time he was back at our house, he seemed nearly good as new. The kids understood Bacchus was sick and they recognize where his fur was shaved for the operation, but I think that because he's been so active with them on his last few visits, they didn't know the situation was still pretty bad - could have fooled me too!
Today my dad called to report that Bacchus had taken a turn for the worse. Vet says the cancer has spread, he has a lot of internal bleeding, and may not make it through the night. He has pain meds now. Dad says Bacchus is acting oddly - choosing to lay down in uncharacteristic places, and staying outside when it's still in the 90s and the house is much cooler. Dad thinks Bacchus is looking for a place to die quietly.
I have tried to explain this to my kids, that it's OK if Bacchus dies, and it's OK to be sad about it, and to know that if Bacchus passes, it will be because that's what God needed to do to take away Bacchus' pain. My dad is in pain too, I can hear it in his voice. It's disturbing a bit, to see my dad put so much emotion behind a dog when he spent so many years ignoring relationships with his kids. Maybe I am jealous that he never cried over me. But I don't want to see Dad hurting either; I am still so grateful that Dad took in Bacchus when we needed him too. A little payback, I think, from him to me.
Bacchus - be well and be safe and be happy. We love you, Ba-Ba-cchus. All the kids said a prayer for you tonight and they understand if you don't come visit this week.
I was never much of a dog person. Growing up in New Jersey, we had two vicious German Shepherds that lived behind our house - Big Mama and Spike. I was terrified of them. Turned me off to dogs for a long, long time. We didn't have any of our own. In my teens, my dad married a woman with dogs and I lived with them all. Dad and his wife got me a puppy, Arielle the Golden Retriever. Not entirely sure why - a distraction? I didn't really know how to care for a dog but they did - better than how to care for me. I'm pretty sure those dogs got a lot more attention than I did in that household. I recall having to ride my bike to a basketball game in the winter, while I was coming down with strep, because my dad couldn't take me since he had to take the dog to dog school instead. Yet another reason I decided dogs weren't for me. I wasn't ever going to play second to one again. I remember my dad and his wife used to send Christmas cards with pictures of them and the pets. Not once did we ever send a Christmas card with pictures of the kids. When their marriage was struggling, they kicked me out...and kept the dogs (including my Arielle).
When Steve and I first married, we had a great house in San Diego with a huge yard that screamed "I need a dog." I couldn't deny it. Steve was dying to get a dog. He even knew what he wanted to name it - "Chucho." We weren't actively looking, but one day we were out hiking and wine tasting and came across an unknown winery with a sign out front that said, "Free Puppies." Steve convinced me to look at the puppies. SUCKER! There was one black one in the litter, a little quiet. We were meant to find him, and he was meant for us. And since he came from a winery, we named him Bacchus, after the Roman god of wine. The punchline is that he is half German Shepherd. Irony. We tried to train him, I swear. I still have video of the circle from dog training class. Bacchus was supposed to cross the circle to his owner. He unceremoniously stopped mid-circle to relieve himself on a pile of leashes. That's my boy!
Steve and I moved to Temecula the day I went into labor with our first child. In fact, we called a friend to meet the movers at the new house to unload one delivery while I went to the hospital for another delivery. Poor Bacchus spent his first day at his new home surrounded by nothing and no one he knew. He must have felt awful. I gave birth at 6:34 PM, and after we knew everyone was going to be OK, I sent Steve home so that Bacchus wouldn't have to spend his first night in his new house thinking he'd been abaondoned. Steve came to visit his new baby during the days, and spent his nights with his canine baby.
Bacchus made friends in his new home. But wow, that dog was loud. While he was making friends, I was making enemies. New neighbor compliained about the barking. And of course everytime the doorbell rang, there it was: WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF. Always seemed to happen during baby's naptime - bye bye nap! We soon bought a bark collar. I hated to do it but I planned to live in our new house for a long time with those neighbors, and I needed my babies to nap, so Bacchus had to play second fiddle.
We probably should have taken more time to make Bacchus more kid-friendly. We assumed he was because he was always terrific with our kids (two of them at the time) but we didn't anticipate a few things. Once he tried to bite a neighbor kid who was extricating food from Bacchus' mouth. Another time he snapped at a neighbor kid who tried to wake him while he was sleeping, from behind. Provoked? Maybe. But in a neighborhood with 25 kids you can't risk having your neighbors be afraid of your dog, or that your dog will again react inappropriately. We had to give Bacchus away. We were heartbroken. How do you give away a part of your family?
Irony strikes again. My father was now divorced from his second wife and living 20 minutes from me. He had recently lost his own dog, Susie, a few months prior (Arielle had died in an accident some years earlier). I remember when Susie died. My dad is not known to show emotion, but he was choked up when I was on the phone with him about Susie. My dad agreed to let Bacchus live with him. Since dad watches my kids once a week, we still get to see Bacchus all the time because Bacchus comes with him. My third child, whom we did not have when Bacchus was living with us, still formed a unique bond with Bacchus and clearly called out Ba-Ba in reference him early on. And even when she could say "Bacchus," it morphed into "Ba-Ba-cchus" in deference to those first words. It was even funnier when she started calling him the nickname my dad had given him, "Bubbula." I will be forever grateful to my dad for taking Bacchus in and saving us the torment of having to place him in an unknown home. My dad and Bacchus are great together, really companions. I think Bacchus is perhaps his favorite housemate, more than his wives or kids.
About two months ago, my dad told us Bacchus had cancer. This is the first my kids can really remember dealing with major illness. They were too young to remember my mom having breast cancer. So we talked about it a lot, because we knew there was a chance he might not recover well, if at all. He had a splenectomy and they thought the prognosis was good. Next time he was back at our house, he seemed nearly good as new. The kids understood Bacchus was sick and they recognize where his fur was shaved for the operation, but I think that because he's been so active with them on his last few visits, they didn't know the situation was still pretty bad - could have fooled me too!
Today my dad called to report that Bacchus had taken a turn for the worse. Vet says the cancer has spread, he has a lot of internal bleeding, and may not make it through the night. He has pain meds now. Dad says Bacchus is acting oddly - choosing to lay down in uncharacteristic places, and staying outside when it's still in the 90s and the house is much cooler. Dad thinks Bacchus is looking for a place to die quietly.
I have tried to explain this to my kids, that it's OK if Bacchus dies, and it's OK to be sad about it, and to know that if Bacchus passes, it will be because that's what God needed to do to take away Bacchus' pain. My dad is in pain too, I can hear it in his voice. It's disturbing a bit, to see my dad put so much emotion behind a dog when he spent so many years ignoring relationships with his kids. Maybe I am jealous that he never cried over me. But I don't want to see Dad hurting either; I am still so grateful that Dad took in Bacchus when we needed him too. A little payback, I think, from him to me.
Bacchus - be well and be safe and be happy. We love you, Ba-Ba-cchus. All the kids said a prayer for you tonight and they understand if you don't come visit this week.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Balancing Act
I am sad that my son is getting an award tomorrow.
Let me rephrase that...my son is getting an award at school tomorrow and I will not be able to be there, and that makes me sad.
I knew this would happen someday. I said that my job wouldn't keep me away from important events in my children's lives. And here I go, already messing that up. I know every parent, especially a working mom, goes through this. That guilt feeling that you're not a good mom because you weren't at the game or the assembly or when the nurse called from school. And then you try to make it feel better by telling yourself he won't remember this or it won't send him to therapy when he's an adult. And it probably won't. But you still don't feel better anyway.
There are 200 people who are expecting a presentation from me at the same time. And then there is one little boy three blocks away who wonders if mommy saw what he did. I can picture it, I can feel it, I can imagine the look on his face when he hears his name. And then I can imagine a little disappointment on his face because I wasn't there.
Oh, good, I just made myself feel worse.
Daddy will be there. That helps and I know he likes daddy better anyway. But does he like daddy better because daddy has more time for him? Chicken and egg? What comes first? I tried to interject a little mom in there. There is a special note I wrote and placed in his lunchbox, in a bag with a special treat. What are the odds he actually reads the note?
Little man, just know how proud mommy is of you, how much I love you, and how much I would change things if I could. You may be student of the week this week, but you will be my firstborn, my only son, for our lifetimes. You made me a mom.
Let me rephrase that...my son is getting an award at school tomorrow and I will not be able to be there, and that makes me sad.
I knew this would happen someday. I said that my job wouldn't keep me away from important events in my children's lives. And here I go, already messing that up. I know every parent, especially a working mom, goes through this. That guilt feeling that you're not a good mom because you weren't at the game or the assembly or when the nurse called from school. And then you try to make it feel better by telling yourself he won't remember this or it won't send him to therapy when he's an adult. And it probably won't. But you still don't feel better anyway.
There are 200 people who are expecting a presentation from me at the same time. And then there is one little boy three blocks away who wonders if mommy saw what he did. I can picture it, I can feel it, I can imagine the look on his face when he hears his name. And then I can imagine a little disappointment on his face because I wasn't there.
Oh, good, I just made myself feel worse.
Daddy will be there. That helps and I know he likes daddy better anyway. But does he like daddy better because daddy has more time for him? Chicken and egg? What comes first? I tried to interject a little mom in there. There is a special note I wrote and placed in his lunchbox, in a bag with a special treat. What are the odds he actually reads the note?
Little man, just know how proud mommy is of you, how much I love you, and how much I would change things if I could. You may be student of the week this week, but you will be my firstborn, my only son, for our lifetimes. You made me a mom.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
The Beast
This is the story of a beast. Not a hairy, scary monster, but a different beast that visits me while I sleep. I picked up the "beast" moniker for this visitor from a website I saw a few years ago. I never thought of it that way, but that's exactly what it is. It attacks me with little notice, violates my head, and then goes away till the next night.
My beast is more commonly known in the medical community as "cluster headaches." I have been getting these headaches since I was 15. They come in clusters - you get one attack daily for a period of weeks or months, then you get a remission period of years. Then they attack again. The last one I had could be the last one I'll ever have. Or I could have one tonight and the next night and the next.
The beast will wake me up from a dead sleep with a stabbing pain in the right side of my head. I sit upright, fully awake, and realize it's happening. Then the Horner's Syndrome sets in - swollen, closed eye, stuffed nose, sting jaw. Numbness on the side of my face. And a knife shooting through my head. On websites they say it's the worst pain you can experience, worse than childbirth. Having had two of my three kids without drugs, I can attest - the description is accurate. They call these "suicide headaches" as people (not me) sometimes what to kill themselves from the pain.
Left untreated, the attack can last for up to an hour. Then it just goes away as abruptly as it comes on. When I have an attack, I will start wailing. Last night it was, "Go away, go away, go away" over and over and over. You can't lay down. You bang your head against the wall. You punch things. You are agitated. I cry loudly. I scream. There are meds I can take, and they work in about 15 minutes. It's the longest 15 minutes of my life. Every night.
Most clusters I have had in my lifetime have lasted about a month or two. The last one I had, two years ago, lasted more than six months (doctors called it "chronic"). So when I started my newest cluster about a month ago, you can imagine the anxiety that sets in. How long will this episode be? Will I have another attack tonight? I go to bed with that anxiety every night. Then the beast wakes me up in pain, I take my meds, cry for 15 minutes, and go back to sleep.
Messing with my sleep does not make me happy. But I feel guilty complaining about this. I am healthy. My family is healthy. I am not in constant pain. I have all my faculties about me. I have access to great medical care. Really, this is an inconvenience. A nightly, painful as hell inconvenience. I can make it go away. But I can't stop it from coming back.
As I enter my second month of this cluster, I find I get angrier and angrier about this condition. It empowers me to want to do something about it. Hence my blog. If you see me tense and sleepy in the mornings, now you know why.
My beast is more commonly known in the medical community as "cluster headaches." I have been getting these headaches since I was 15. They come in clusters - you get one attack daily for a period of weeks or months, then you get a remission period of years. Then they attack again. The last one I had could be the last one I'll ever have. Or I could have one tonight and the next night and the next.
The beast will wake me up from a dead sleep with a stabbing pain in the right side of my head. I sit upright, fully awake, and realize it's happening. Then the Horner's Syndrome sets in - swollen, closed eye, stuffed nose, sting jaw. Numbness on the side of my face. And a knife shooting through my head. On websites they say it's the worst pain you can experience, worse than childbirth. Having had two of my three kids without drugs, I can attest - the description is accurate. They call these "suicide headaches" as people (not me) sometimes what to kill themselves from the pain.
Left untreated, the attack can last for up to an hour. Then it just goes away as abruptly as it comes on. When I have an attack, I will start wailing. Last night it was, "Go away, go away, go away" over and over and over. You can't lay down. You bang your head against the wall. You punch things. You are agitated. I cry loudly. I scream. There are meds I can take, and they work in about 15 minutes. It's the longest 15 minutes of my life. Every night.
Most clusters I have had in my lifetime have lasted about a month or two. The last one I had, two years ago, lasted more than six months (doctors called it "chronic"). So when I started my newest cluster about a month ago, you can imagine the anxiety that sets in. How long will this episode be? Will I have another attack tonight? I go to bed with that anxiety every night. Then the beast wakes me up in pain, I take my meds, cry for 15 minutes, and go back to sleep.
Messing with my sleep does not make me happy. But I feel guilty complaining about this. I am healthy. My family is healthy. I am not in constant pain. I have all my faculties about me. I have access to great medical care. Really, this is an inconvenience. A nightly, painful as hell inconvenience. I can make it go away. But I can't stop it from coming back.
As I enter my second month of this cluster, I find I get angrier and angrier about this condition. It empowers me to want to do something about it. Hence my blog. If you see me tense and sleepy in the mornings, now you know why.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Conflicted
I was invited to a party. But I'm not sure I want to go. Hard words for me to say, I usually am always up for a party, especially a girls' night. But the purpose of this one has me conflicted.
The party is to celebrate an event in a friend's life. A "blessed event" you might say. I don't necessarily approve of how she got there, however. And I know it's not my place to approve or dissapprove. She doesn't need my approval, and she doesn't deserve my judgement either. She's a great woman; but I don't agree with some of the choices she's made.
So I am finding it hard to be excited about her party. That's not the kind of friend I should be or that she needs. I should just go to the party and shut up and be happy for her. That's what she needs. She doesn't need someone judging her choices. And let's not forget there's a baby here...who did nothing wrong and isn't deserving of my judgement either.
And who am I to judge anyway? I'm not perfect, I don't even try to be. I've done some stupid and regrettable things. So why can't I find it in my heart to see past a friend's transgressions - which she doesn't see as such anyway - and just pull it out and support her?
Excuse me as I get down off my high horse.
The party is to celebrate an event in a friend's life. A "blessed event" you might say. I don't necessarily approve of how she got there, however. And I know it's not my place to approve or dissapprove. She doesn't need my approval, and she doesn't deserve my judgement either. She's a great woman; but I don't agree with some of the choices she's made.
So I am finding it hard to be excited about her party. That's not the kind of friend I should be or that she needs. I should just go to the party and shut up and be happy for her. That's what she needs. She doesn't need someone judging her choices. And let's not forget there's a baby here...who did nothing wrong and isn't deserving of my judgement either.
And who am I to judge anyway? I'm not perfect, I don't even try to be. I've done some stupid and regrettable things. So why can't I find it in my heart to see past a friend's transgressions - which she doesn't see as such anyway - and just pull it out and support her?
Excuse me as I get down off my high horse.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Why do holidays always equal family drama?
Seems like you hear about this every holiday, and I think there have even been numerous movies made about this...why do family holiday gatherings always seem to incite drama? Take this Easter, for instance...
Maybe I was the instigator this time. Subject to interpretation, I guess. Who is the instigator...the person who commits the injustice, or the person who calls them on it? In this case, I was the latter...on the receiving end of yet another self-centered act commited by a family member with a pattern of doing such. The difference this time is that I called her on it. I was mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.
On this particular occasion, we were denied having a family gathering at our house, for reasons that ended up not being true. Then we found out the family who couldn't make it was going to be in Southern Cal anyway for that holiday, not an hour from our house. Tell me how I'm not supposed to take that personally.
When confronted about it, the real reason ends up being (apparently), "I don't want to come to your town." And that is supposed to make me feel better? You mean, when I come to your suburb, you think it's because I like to watch you shuttle your kids to birthday parties and sporting events? I have enough of that on my own, thank you. I come to your neck of the woods because that's where your family lives, and we want to see you. I don't care what town it is or what your per capita income is (something else that seems to matter to the perp). I would expect the same consideration from family.
I take blame for some things here...I have given her too much control. When we had to reschedule our daughter's baptism because she couldn't make it due a planned trip (that she ended up not taking), we should have drawn the line there and not scheduled around her, but we did. We are more considerate that that. When she planned her mom's 60th birthday party (a moveable event) the same weekend as my neice's graduation (a non-moveable) event, we were forced to split the family and tag team events, since that weekend worked best for her and she didn't check it with other people. When she spent the weekend I miscarried my first pregnancy flaunting her own pregnancy, I pretended to be happy for her.
Those things won't happen anymore. I am taking my control back. Her world has (at least) one less citizen.
Maybe I was the instigator this time. Subject to interpretation, I guess. Who is the instigator...the person who commits the injustice, or the person who calls them on it? In this case, I was the latter...on the receiving end of yet another self-centered act commited by a family member with a pattern of doing such. The difference this time is that I called her on it. I was mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.
On this particular occasion, we were denied having a family gathering at our house, for reasons that ended up not being true. Then we found out the family who couldn't make it was going to be in Southern Cal anyway for that holiday, not an hour from our house. Tell me how I'm not supposed to take that personally.
When confronted about it, the real reason ends up being (apparently), "I don't want to come to your town." And that is supposed to make me feel better? You mean, when I come to your suburb, you think it's because I like to watch you shuttle your kids to birthday parties and sporting events? I have enough of that on my own, thank you. I come to your neck of the woods because that's where your family lives, and we want to see you. I don't care what town it is or what your per capita income is (something else that seems to matter to the perp). I would expect the same consideration from family.
I take blame for some things here...I have given her too much control. When we had to reschedule our daughter's baptism because she couldn't make it due a planned trip (that she ended up not taking), we should have drawn the line there and not scheduled around her, but we did. We are more considerate that that. When she planned her mom's 60th birthday party (a moveable event) the same weekend as my neice's graduation (a non-moveable) event, we were forced to split the family and tag team events, since that weekend worked best for her and she didn't check it with other people. When she spent the weekend I miscarried my first pregnancy flaunting her own pregnancy, I pretended to be happy for her.
Those things won't happen anymore. I am taking my control back. Her world has (at least) one less citizen.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Shoes
I don't know what it is about me and shoes. Shoes have always had a transformative effect on me. They can create a mood, change an appearance, lift one up or take one down. And, like I always said, no matter how fat I feel, I can always get a great pair of shoes.
They don't have to be fancy or expensive either. I have had times where I've walked into Payless or Target and bought a cute pair of something trendy that I wasn't sure I've wanted to buy, and have it be the most cathartic $15 I've spent all years (right up there with an eyebrow-wax).
When I was in 6th grade, my first year in California, I remember having a dress-up day in my Catholic school. I wore white patent-leather dress shoes. I was teased all day for their "little-girl" appearance. That was not fun. I quickly realized that shoes make quite an impression (and I don't think I would even let my 4-year-old wear a pair of white mary janes now, for fear that she won't look like a big girl).
About 15 years ago, I bought a pair of Doc Martens (blogged about previously). I had recently divorced and I felt incredibly empowered by those shoes. That was not a "dainty" time for me. I wanted to stomp on a lot of things, feelings, people, wanted to be a tough chick. I still have those shoes, and I still feel really strong when I put them on. But I do know better than to wear them with baby-doll dresses like I used to.
Shortly after that, I went through a "career girl" shoe phase. Stacked heel, square-toed loafers or pumps - are they considered pumps if the heel is high? I must have had every career girl color - black, dark brown, navy blue. I must have thought those shoes said, "I am serious." Those are not sexy shoes and they make me look like I have cankles. I do not have any of them anymore.
Maybe six years ago, I realized shoes were fun. I have a pair of red suede loafers that are tremendous fun. How can you not feel fun in red shoes? I also have a pair of purple slingback heels. I'm not sure what I thought I would wear them with when I bought them, but I loved them so much I still plan outfits around them.
I remember when I bought my beloved Isaac Mizrahi slingbacks. Finally, he marriage of "career girl" shoe with a rockin' stiletto heel. I bought them to go with a specific suit. When I got them home, I tried them on with the suit. They didn't go well together. I tried to return them the next day. It was painful -not the shoes, the thought of having to return them! So I didn't. I wore those freakin' shoes till the foundation cracked and the cobbler told me they couldn't be repaired anymore. I miss them. Sniff Sniff.
The high-heel has been a wardrobe staple for me. Don't get me wrong, I love flats too, love the comfort of my running shoes, the freedom of flip-flops, but heels are what make me feel terrific. I remember running from one terminal at San Jose airport clear to the other terminal in heels, with no problem. I recently busted tail over a guy in the airport while I was wearing 3-inch stilettos - he commented that he didn't know how I did it. Practice, my dear.
Last year, I had a little bit of an awakening, where I just kinda took a look at my closet and said, "If it doesn't make me feel good wearing it, I don't want it." I was determined to wear clothes that make me feel good. Shoes too. I happened upon a gift card and bought a pair of silver t-strap sandals with rhinestones. I don't know why I bought them. How frequently do you think I wear those shoes in my life as a suburban working mom (who works from home, BTW, and makes most outings to a park or to a store that involves "aisles")? I don't care. I put those shoes on and I feel GREAT. And I wear them with jeans, to dinner. Probably not what they were intended for, but I don't own a stripper pole.
This weekend, I happened upon another gift card plus an amazing couple of sales. I ended up buying a bunch of clothes for my family...and two pairs of really fun shoes for me!
They don't have to be fancy or expensive either. I have had times where I've walked into Payless or Target and bought a cute pair of something trendy that I wasn't sure I've wanted to buy, and have it be the most cathartic $15 I've spent all years (right up there with an eyebrow-wax).
When I was in 6th grade, my first year in California, I remember having a dress-up day in my Catholic school. I wore white patent-leather dress shoes. I was teased all day for their "little-girl" appearance. That was not fun. I quickly realized that shoes make quite an impression (and I don't think I would even let my 4-year-old wear a pair of white mary janes now, for fear that she won't look like a big girl).
About 15 years ago, I bought a pair of Doc Martens (blogged about previously). I had recently divorced and I felt incredibly empowered by those shoes. That was not a "dainty" time for me. I wanted to stomp on a lot of things, feelings, people, wanted to be a tough chick. I still have those shoes, and I still feel really strong when I put them on. But I do know better than to wear them with baby-doll dresses like I used to.
Shortly after that, I went through a "career girl" shoe phase. Stacked heel, square-toed loafers or pumps - are they considered pumps if the heel is high? I must have had every career girl color - black, dark brown, navy blue. I must have thought those shoes said, "I am serious." Those are not sexy shoes and they make me look like I have cankles. I do not have any of them anymore.
Maybe six years ago, I realized shoes were fun. I have a pair of red suede loafers that are tremendous fun. How can you not feel fun in red shoes? I also have a pair of purple slingback heels. I'm not sure what I thought I would wear them with when I bought them, but I loved them so much I still plan outfits around them.
I remember when I bought my beloved Isaac Mizrahi slingbacks. Finally, he marriage of "career girl" shoe with a rockin' stiletto heel. I bought them to go with a specific suit. When I got them home, I tried them on with the suit. They didn't go well together. I tried to return them the next day. It was painful -not the shoes, the thought of having to return them! So I didn't. I wore those freakin' shoes till the foundation cracked and the cobbler told me they couldn't be repaired anymore. I miss them. Sniff Sniff.
The high-heel has been a wardrobe staple for me. Don't get me wrong, I love flats too, love the comfort of my running shoes, the freedom of flip-flops, but heels are what make me feel terrific. I remember running from one terminal at San Jose airport clear to the other terminal in heels, with no problem. I recently busted tail over a guy in the airport while I was wearing 3-inch stilettos - he commented that he didn't know how I did it. Practice, my dear.
Last year, I had a little bit of an awakening, where I just kinda took a look at my closet and said, "If it doesn't make me feel good wearing it, I don't want it." I was determined to wear clothes that make me feel good. Shoes too. I happened upon a gift card and bought a pair of silver t-strap sandals with rhinestones. I don't know why I bought them. How frequently do you think I wear those shoes in my life as a suburban working mom (who works from home, BTW, and makes most outings to a park or to a store that involves "aisles")? I don't care. I put those shoes on and I feel GREAT. And I wear them with jeans, to dinner. Probably not what they were intended for, but I don't own a stripper pole.
This weekend, I happened upon another gift card plus an amazing couple of sales. I ended up buying a bunch of clothes for my family...and two pairs of really fun shoes for me!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
You Just Can't Be Too Cautious
I worry about my kids. I will always worry about my kids. I always thought my mom worried too much about us, but I get it. I will personally hurt whomever intentionally hurts my child.
I took a class at church this past weekend about creating safe environments for children. I just watched the news this week as a family lost their 17-year-old daughter who never came back from a run. And I was reminded that there is a registered sex offender who lives in my neighborhood. If there is an open house on my street any weekend, cars come whipping around the corner. So forgive me if I don't let my little kids play in front of the house without me or another capable person watching them.
And if you do allow that for your little kids? Well, I just don't get you. If I can't see or at least hear my kids at all times when it's my watch, then I'm not doing my job. I even struggle letting my 6-year-old son use the public men's room by himself (but I do it...if I am standing right outside). And, sorry ladies, he is coming into the public ladies room with me. I don't live in the deep woods, I don't live in the city. Most of my neighbors are good, safe people. But - and I can't believe I am quoting my mother - there are a lot of weirdos out there.
My kids wear helmets when they ride their bikes and scooters. It just takes seeing a cracked bike helmet one time to convince you how worthwhile that is.
So, forgive me if I freak out when my husband tells me that he's agreed to let the 6-year-old go home from school with one of his classmates. I am sure his parents are fine, decent people. But I have never been to their house. I don't know if they have vicious dogs. I don't know if they have guns. I don't know if they have an unsecured pool. I don't know that they don't have a dirty house (and my standards on that are pretty low, but still, don't know!). I had to put my foot down.
Am I over-reacting? Maybe. But if my kids are ever in harm's way in a situation I have allowed, then it's no one's fault but mine. It will be on no one's conscience but my own. I still have nightmares about the time I totalled our car with two kids in it, and I was six months pregnant. I know it was an accident. I tried like hell to avoid it. Maybe I did keep them from getting hurt but it could have been worse and it would have been on my watch.
I do not keep them wrapped in plastic. They get hurt. Two of my three kids have been in the ER for xrays for stupid things that happened right in front of me. I know I can't prevent everything and I have to give them some element of freedom.
I also know it's only gonna get worse as they get older. 10 years from now, they will be doing things I don't know about and not telling me. They willl lie to me about where they've been probably (and the odds of them having as many "broken watches" as I had are pretty low). I can only hope I give them the knowledge to keep themselves safe. It starts with the parents.
I took a class at church this past weekend about creating safe environments for children. I just watched the news this week as a family lost their 17-year-old daughter who never came back from a run. And I was reminded that there is a registered sex offender who lives in my neighborhood. If there is an open house on my street any weekend, cars come whipping around the corner. So forgive me if I don't let my little kids play in front of the house without me or another capable person watching them.
And if you do allow that for your little kids? Well, I just don't get you. If I can't see or at least hear my kids at all times when it's my watch, then I'm not doing my job. I even struggle letting my 6-year-old son use the public men's room by himself (but I do it...if I am standing right outside). And, sorry ladies, he is coming into the public ladies room with me. I don't live in the deep woods, I don't live in the city. Most of my neighbors are good, safe people. But - and I can't believe I am quoting my mother - there are a lot of weirdos out there.
My kids wear helmets when they ride their bikes and scooters. It just takes seeing a cracked bike helmet one time to convince you how worthwhile that is.
So, forgive me if I freak out when my husband tells me that he's agreed to let the 6-year-old go home from school with one of his classmates. I am sure his parents are fine, decent people. But I have never been to their house. I don't know if they have vicious dogs. I don't know if they have guns. I don't know if they have an unsecured pool. I don't know that they don't have a dirty house (and my standards on that are pretty low, but still, don't know!). I had to put my foot down.
Am I over-reacting? Maybe. But if my kids are ever in harm's way in a situation I have allowed, then it's no one's fault but mine. It will be on no one's conscience but my own. I still have nightmares about the time I totalled our car with two kids in it, and I was six months pregnant. I know it was an accident. I tried like hell to avoid it. Maybe I did keep them from getting hurt but it could have been worse and it would have been on my watch.
I do not keep them wrapped in plastic. They get hurt. Two of my three kids have been in the ER for xrays for stupid things that happened right in front of me. I know I can't prevent everything and I have to give them some element of freedom.
I also know it's only gonna get worse as they get older. 10 years from now, they will be doing things I don't know about and not telling me. They willl lie to me about where they've been probably (and the odds of them having as many "broken watches" as I had are pretty low). I can only hope I give them the knowledge to keep themselves safe. It starts with the parents.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Found and Lost
I hope I am not losing a friend.
One of my friends is going through a tough time right now. I assume. She won't really tell us. We're doing a lot of guessing. She's somehow shut down on us. I understand that this is how she deals with things. She just wants to hibernate and figure it out. And when she does that, she shuts us all out. We're not supposed to take it personally - but how can you not?
There's such a delicate line sometimes - when you want to help someone but at the same time you want to give them their space. You surely don't want to offend them by insinuating they need help, yet you want to let them know you care. Women are awful at this, by the way. We always read too much into things. But is it better to just ignore them?
My friend, and maybe a lot of women in general, have trouble letting others in. Afraid to show weakness. Maintaining their independance. Finding it hard to ask for help. It sure would make it a lot easier if she did. Just like a lot of women find it hard to clearly communicate what they want. Why do we do this to eachother?
I don't know if she's going to come out of this. I hope she will. But somehow when she does, I don't think our friendship is going to be the same. I would like it to be, but in her tough time, she's done some hurtful things. Can she go back to how she was? Can I pretend that nothing happened when she shut the door on me?
I'm trying not to make this about me. She is the one having issues. But since I can't control how she feels, and only how I feel, then I guess I can choose to be hurt or not to be. Right now I'm choosing to be patient. I hope she comes around.
One of my friends is going through a tough time right now. I assume. She won't really tell us. We're doing a lot of guessing. She's somehow shut down on us. I understand that this is how she deals with things. She just wants to hibernate and figure it out. And when she does that, she shuts us all out. We're not supposed to take it personally - but how can you not?
There's such a delicate line sometimes - when you want to help someone but at the same time you want to give them their space. You surely don't want to offend them by insinuating they need help, yet you want to let them know you care. Women are awful at this, by the way. We always read too much into things. But is it better to just ignore them?
My friend, and maybe a lot of women in general, have trouble letting others in. Afraid to show weakness. Maintaining their independance. Finding it hard to ask for help. It sure would make it a lot easier if she did. Just like a lot of women find it hard to clearly communicate what they want. Why do we do this to eachother?
I don't know if she's going to come out of this. I hope she will. But somehow when she does, I don't think our friendship is going to be the same. I would like it to be, but in her tough time, she's done some hurtful things. Can she go back to how she was? Can I pretend that nothing happened when she shut the door on me?
I'm trying not to make this about me. She is the one having issues. But since I can't control how she feels, and only how I feel, then I guess I can choose to be hurt or not to be. Right now I'm choosing to be patient. I hope she comes around.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Soundtrack of My Life
I heard a song today that reminded me of my old roommate. Best roommate I ever had (husband not withstanding). He used to be in a garage band, and he sang that song with them and he would rehearse it around the house. It made me happy.
I have always had an emotional connection to music. Maybe it's because I'm somewhat musical myself. I have played, I have sung, I have danced, I have enjoyed. And through music, I have lived. I can remember what song was playing or popular for most of the watershed moments of my life.
I think it started with Springsteen - which makes sense because I'm from New Jersey. My older brother and sister were very into Springsteen and I soooo wanted them to like me, so I idolized him as well. I still know all the words to "Thunder Road." I recall singing that song, with my brother and sister, around the dinner table one night, as a big "FU" to our dad (to whom none of us were very close), when he complained that no one could understand the words to Bruce's songs. There you go, dad.
I remember the song that was ubiquitous on the radio when I was starting college. And fitting too - "Anything, Anything" was just about what I would have done back then. Ready for change, independence, no more uniforms. So what if we never heard from Dramarama again (though ironically, I heard that song today also).
The Grunge era defined an entire period of my life. It was emerging just as my first, brief marriage was failing. All of the angst that bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam were expressing, I was feeling, as two kids were making the decision to stop hurting each other, and grow up - even if we'd have to do it apart. I think that's why I like the Foo Fighters so much. Dave Grohl survived the Grunge era and came out a different person, and so did I. And every so often I will put on my Docs (original, thank you) and think about that music and how it got me past all the damage.
I have always had an emotional connection to music. Maybe it's because I'm somewhat musical myself. I have played, I have sung, I have danced, I have enjoyed. And through music, I have lived. I can remember what song was playing or popular for most of the watershed moments of my life.
I think it started with Springsteen - which makes sense because I'm from New Jersey. My older brother and sister were very into Springsteen and I soooo wanted them to like me, so I idolized him as well. I still know all the words to "Thunder Road." I recall singing that song, with my brother and sister, around the dinner table one night, as a big "FU" to our dad (to whom none of us were very close), when he complained that no one could understand the words to Bruce's songs. There you go, dad.
I remember the song that was ubiquitous on the radio when I was starting college. And fitting too - "Anything, Anything" was just about what I would have done back then. Ready for change, independence, no more uniforms. So what if we never heard from Dramarama again (though ironically, I heard that song today also).
The Grunge era defined an entire period of my life. It was emerging just as my first, brief marriage was failing. All of the angst that bands like Nirvana and Pearl Jam were expressing, I was feeling, as two kids were making the decision to stop hurting each other, and grow up - even if we'd have to do it apart. I think that's why I like the Foo Fighters so much. Dave Grohl survived the Grunge era and came out a different person, and so did I. And every so often I will put on my Docs (original, thank you) and think about that music and how it got me past all the damage.
Madonna's "Ray of Light" - the album and the single - also provided a cathartic backdrop. The album came out, and was receiving rave reviews, and I considered buying it. I was reading about it on the porch of the house where my then-boyfriend summarily dumped me the very next day. But I bought it anyway. I played it all the time, with the top down on my convertible all summer, driving by the beach. It was in my car a few months later, the first weekend I spent with my new boyfriend, who turned out the be the love of my life I was waiting for (and he liked it too). We played it at our wedding.
Each of my kids has a theme song too. I had a very hard time getting pregnant with my son, my firstborn. I remember driving home from the fertility clinic, after what I thought was my third unsuccessful treatment, crying all the way. I heard Jimmy Eat World's "The Middle," and prayed the words were true. "It just takes some time, you're in the middle of the ride, and everything will be just fine." And it was. And I was pregnant a month later.
My first daughter required a few treatments too, but it didn't take as long to get pregnant with her, and her delivery was a whirlwind. I was only in the hospital one rainy day with her, and there was nothing on TV except MTV, and Natasha Beddingfield's "Unwritten" was in heavy rotation. She and I must have heard that song 15 times that day. But can you think of a better song to be born to? "Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten."
My third child was a blessing. No treatments, no planning, just Valerie choosing us to be her parents. That's how I know "Valerie Loves Me." And that's her song, the 80s classic by Material Issue. And even though it has some sad parts - it's ultimately about a faded party girl- it's also about the joy she brings to the boy who loves her, and how much she loves to dance. And that's my little girl. When we hear that song in the car, all the kids know it. They wait for the guitar riff, then scream at the top of their lungs, "Valerie Loves Me!" and we all laugh.
There have been lots of other meaningful songs too, but I think the most recent one that stands out for me is "Forever" by Chris Brown. Of course, he's not my favorite person due to recent events, but I loved this song before all that. The first time I heard it was while watching "So You Think You Can Dance," where two hip hop dancers performed it in "their style." They were in their element, they danced with abandon. I heard that song many times since, but it stood out again one night when we went out to a club with some friends to celebrate someone's birthday. I was stressed, needed a night out, but I was little tired and ready to go. My friends convinced me to stay for one more dance, and it ended up being this song, and I enjoyed dancing to it so much. I listened to the words and decided that I needed to really start seizing moments, clearly communicate things I wanted, break some rules, because sometimes you've really only got one chance. Although my friends might say I danced like an idiot, I'd like to think I danced with abandon too. It's only me, you and the dance floor.
I really want to instill this "music as memory" mentality in my kids. My life has been so much richer because of the music that has been its soundtrack. I can already tell they have songs they remember from when they were much smaller. I play music for them all the time; they like to sing and dance. Music can make moments come alive for them. I hope I can pass this on and get all new memories with them.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wake-up Calls
For some god-awful reason, my kids have decided this week that 5AM was a perfectly good wake-up time. I disagree. "Dark Outside" is never a good wake-up time.
Perhaps their little bodies have accelerated the circadian rhythms - they are ready and waiting for it to be 6AM now instead of a few weeks from now when we change our clocks. Perhaps I should embrace this as an opportunity to spend a little more time with them. But when I hear a DS playing "Star Wars: Battlefront" at 5AM, I am wondering how one can secretly dismantle a DS, not feeling joy at seeing their little faces.
We've always tried to have a rule that they can come into mom and dad's room as soon as it's light out, and I'm the enforcer. Hubby, on the other hand, could care less (if he wakes up for it, that is). It's not that I'm opposed to them crawling into my bed for a snuggle, but that's not what happens. As soon as they are in our room, sleep is over. 6-year-old G brings in his DS and I have to tell him to turn down the volume (why did we get him that?). 4-year-old E will give some good snuggling, but we are struggling with her thumb-sucking and I cannot relax if I am constantly saying, "No thumb." And 2-yead-old V wants to be a mountain climber. She is all over the bed, her newfound voice constantly chattering. Which is cute any other time than 5AM.
So I drag myself out of bed to shuffle them back to their rooms. I show them the window - see? No sun! Back to bed! And as I walk back to my room, I get the dreaded, "I have to go potty" from V. Since this is a new skill for her, she needs a little assistance. Again, the ambivalence. So happy she's out of diapers but wow, a pull-up would have been helpful right about now. By the time we are back in her room, and everyone's back in bed, it's 5:15.
I should be able to go back to sleep but I can hear them talking. Chit chat. Tinkerbell-Star Wars-babydolls-fort building-plotting chatter. I can make them go back to their rooms, but I can't make them go back to sleep. And I can't sleep knowing they are awake. I am plotting - spike tonight's milk with benedryl? Eye shades for toddler? They don't care though...ready to start their day, they are.
Today, I think I was able to grab about 10 extra minutes sleep before I gave up on it. And when I encountered them all for the first time today, I must say...that fort was pretty impressive. Now if only they would sleep in it.
Perhaps their little bodies have accelerated the circadian rhythms - they are ready and waiting for it to be 6AM now instead of a few weeks from now when we change our clocks. Perhaps I should embrace this as an opportunity to spend a little more time with them. But when I hear a DS playing "Star Wars: Battlefront" at 5AM, I am wondering how one can secretly dismantle a DS, not feeling joy at seeing their little faces.
We've always tried to have a rule that they can come into mom and dad's room as soon as it's light out, and I'm the enforcer. Hubby, on the other hand, could care less (if he wakes up for it, that is). It's not that I'm opposed to them crawling into my bed for a snuggle, but that's not what happens. As soon as they are in our room, sleep is over. 6-year-old G brings in his DS and I have to tell him to turn down the volume (why did we get him that?). 4-year-old E will give some good snuggling, but we are struggling with her thumb-sucking and I cannot relax if I am constantly saying, "No thumb." And 2-yead-old V wants to be a mountain climber. She is all over the bed, her newfound voice constantly chattering. Which is cute any other time than 5AM.
So I drag myself out of bed to shuffle them back to their rooms. I show them the window - see? No sun! Back to bed! And as I walk back to my room, I get the dreaded, "I have to go potty" from V. Since this is a new skill for her, she needs a little assistance. Again, the ambivalence. So happy she's out of diapers but wow, a pull-up would have been helpful right about now. By the time we are back in her room, and everyone's back in bed, it's 5:15.
I should be able to go back to sleep but I can hear them talking. Chit chat. Tinkerbell-Star Wars-babydolls-fort building-plotting chatter. I can make them go back to their rooms, but I can't make them go back to sleep. And I can't sleep knowing they are awake. I am plotting - spike tonight's milk with benedryl? Eye shades for toddler? They don't care though...ready to start their day, they are.
Today, I think I was able to grab about 10 extra minutes sleep before I gave up on it. And when I encountered them all for the first time today, I must say...that fort was pretty impressive. Now if only they would sleep in it.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
For the Love of Laundry
Anyone who know me knows my housekeeping skills are subpar. I pretty much dust when I can't find things, and I think the easiest part of giving away our dog was knowing I could vacuum less. I clean things when they are so dirty I fear for the safety of my children. But there's something about doing laundry that I just love.
My husband actually does most of the cleaning around the house. He's really good at it and seems to like it, so I happily relinquish the tasks to him. But don't get in the way of my laundry. Occasionally I may let him start a load for me, but I am anxious until I can get in that little room and take over. Only I possess the knowledge of the hidden stain (although I haven't yet garnered that skill I thought was automatic once you became a mom - to be able to actually remove any stain). Only I know what has to be turned inside out before it goes in (as if the items weren't already inside out). And only I know what can't go in the dryer (just ask the Irish fisherman's sweater that used to fit my husband).
And God forbid anyone else should try to fold it. Because no one else can fold it the way I like it folded.
I think it goes back to my "control" issues, but when I get to fold my laundry, I am in my little kingdom. I am very particular. I dump it all out in my bedroom floor. I sort it into piles by person. Sometimes I let my kids help me sort it and we turn it into a game -I read somewhere that sorting helps with math skills, so if we can get a little learning in there, so be it. And we practice colors with the 2-year-old. But that's as far as it goes. Once it's sorted, it's all me.
The laundry has to be folded by person, and placed in piles based on what room and what drawer it goes in. When you consider that I have a family of 5, plus towels, that's a lot of floor space. In fact, I don't think I can buy anymore bedroom furniture as that would seriously disrupt my hustle-and-flow. Once it's all folded, the piles get stacked one-on-top-of-the-other in order of the way the drawers are in the dresser for each person. No one can do that but me. No one else cares about it the way I do.
A few weeks ago, when I was really overloaded, I let my mom fold my laundry. Wow, is she good at it. She puts stuff back in the dryer if she thinks it's too wrinkled. Did you know you could do that? She puts creases in things. Corners line up. It's neat and impressive. But there's boy stuff mixed with the girl stuff. 4-year-old stuff with the 2-year-old stuff. And - gasp -LONG-SLEEVED SHIRTS WITH THE SHORT-SLEEVED SHIRTS! Total chaos. And then I have to re-sort it all. And I lose her perfect creases. So I decided not to waste her time and get my control back.
So forgive my messy, dirty house. I do not know where the clean spoons are. I could not tell you where the Pledge is. But I do know who has the Elmo panties and who has the Tinkerbell panties. I have just come from a three-load laundry retreat in my bedroom. I am happy and at peace.
My husband actually does most of the cleaning around the house. He's really good at it and seems to like it, so I happily relinquish the tasks to him. But don't get in the way of my laundry. Occasionally I may let him start a load for me, but I am anxious until I can get in that little room and take over. Only I possess the knowledge of the hidden stain (although I haven't yet garnered that skill I thought was automatic once you became a mom - to be able to actually remove any stain). Only I know what has to be turned inside out before it goes in (as if the items weren't already inside out). And only I know what can't go in the dryer (just ask the Irish fisherman's sweater that used to fit my husband).
And God forbid anyone else should try to fold it. Because no one else can fold it the way I like it folded.
I think it goes back to my "control" issues, but when I get to fold my laundry, I am in my little kingdom. I am very particular. I dump it all out in my bedroom floor. I sort it into piles by person. Sometimes I let my kids help me sort it and we turn it into a game -I read somewhere that sorting helps with math skills, so if we can get a little learning in there, so be it. And we practice colors with the 2-year-old. But that's as far as it goes. Once it's sorted, it's all me.
The laundry has to be folded by person, and placed in piles based on what room and what drawer it goes in. When you consider that I have a family of 5, plus towels, that's a lot of floor space. In fact, I don't think I can buy anymore bedroom furniture as that would seriously disrupt my hustle-and-flow. Once it's all folded, the piles get stacked one-on-top-of-the-other in order of the way the drawers are in the dresser for each person. No one can do that but me. No one else cares about it the way I do.
A few weeks ago, when I was really overloaded, I let my mom fold my laundry. Wow, is she good at it. She puts stuff back in the dryer if she thinks it's too wrinkled. Did you know you could do that? She puts creases in things. Corners line up. It's neat and impressive. But there's boy stuff mixed with the girl stuff. 4-year-old stuff with the 2-year-old stuff. And - gasp -LONG-SLEEVED SHIRTS WITH THE SHORT-SLEEVED SHIRTS! Total chaos. And then I have to re-sort it all. And I lose her perfect creases. So I decided not to waste her time and get my control back.
So forgive my messy, dirty house. I do not know where the clean spoons are. I could not tell you where the Pledge is. But I do know who has the Elmo panties and who has the Tinkerbell panties. I have just come from a three-load laundry retreat in my bedroom. I am happy and at peace.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Why Are Curls a Curse?
The other day my daughter said to me, "I wish my hair was straight." She is 4.
My tiny, pixie girl has beautiful hair. It's grown halfway down her back, and we are trying to grow out her bangs for the third time (after attempts thwarted first by her and most recently by her 2-year-old sister). It is a deep brown color with golden-honey highlights most women, mom included, pay good money for. And it is not straight.
It's not exactly curly either. It's got a distinct wave and little curls on the end. It can be straightened with a hair dryer if I can get her to sit still long enough. But it's curly enough to get very tangled, flippy, and bird's-nest-like.
So what brought about this comment? Mom's fault. She caught me with the flat iron. She inherited her waves and curls from me, except years of processing, blow drying, and flat ironing have left me with a tinge (OK, more than a tinge) of frizz that make my hair, in it's curly state, look like a cross between "attempted sexy bed-head" and "light socket victim." And on the occasional days I have to go into the office, or her dad and I have date night, or some other public occasion, she will always catch me straightening it. And on school picture days, first day of school, or some other photo-op day, I will straighten hers too.
I don't want her to ever think that her curls are less than beautiful. I know I have given her the wrong impression. I have a neighbor with gorgeous curly hair, and her 4-year-old inherited her mom's gorgeous curly hair. They are beautiful. They embrace their curls. I'll bet they even appreciate their curls. I need to have my daughter hang out with them more. Show her how beautiful curls are.
Of course I also worry that one I-want-to-change-this-about-myself comment made at 4 is a precursor to personal-image issues and body-dismorphic foreshadowing. I will freak the first time she makes a "this makes my [bottom] look big" comment (no, she is not allowed to say "butt"). I realize that her learning to be comfortable with herself the way she is, is to set the example myself and surround her and her sister with the same. I need to make sure she knows she does not need to change anything about herself to please anyone.
I think tomorrow, after her bath, I will get out the diffuser and make her hair really fluffy and big and show her how pretty it is. And then I will hand her the blow dryer, diffuser attached, and have her do the same to me.
My tiny, pixie girl has beautiful hair. It's grown halfway down her back, and we are trying to grow out her bangs for the third time (after attempts thwarted first by her and most recently by her 2-year-old sister). It is a deep brown color with golden-honey highlights most women, mom included, pay good money for. And it is not straight.
It's not exactly curly either. It's got a distinct wave and little curls on the end. It can be straightened with a hair dryer if I can get her to sit still long enough. But it's curly enough to get very tangled, flippy, and bird's-nest-like.
So what brought about this comment? Mom's fault. She caught me with the flat iron. She inherited her waves and curls from me, except years of processing, blow drying, and flat ironing have left me with a tinge (OK, more than a tinge) of frizz that make my hair, in it's curly state, look like a cross between "attempted sexy bed-head" and "light socket victim." And on the occasional days I have to go into the office, or her dad and I have date night, or some other public occasion, she will always catch me straightening it. And on school picture days, first day of school, or some other photo-op day, I will straighten hers too.
I don't want her to ever think that her curls are less than beautiful. I know I have given her the wrong impression. I have a neighbor with gorgeous curly hair, and her 4-year-old inherited her mom's gorgeous curly hair. They are beautiful. They embrace their curls. I'll bet they even appreciate their curls. I need to have my daughter hang out with them more. Show her how beautiful curls are.
Of course I also worry that one I-want-to-change-this-about-myself comment made at 4 is a precursor to personal-image issues and body-dismorphic foreshadowing. I will freak the first time she makes a "this makes my [bottom] look big" comment (no, she is not allowed to say "butt"). I realize that her learning to be comfortable with herself the way she is, is to set the example myself and surround her and her sister with the same. I need to make sure she knows she does not need to change anything about herself to please anyone.
I think tomorrow, after her bath, I will get out the diffuser and make her hair really fluffy and big and show her how pretty it is. And then I will hand her the blow dryer, diffuser attached, and have her do the same to me.
I Wish I Was a Better Gift Recipient
I received two gifts this weekend for which I was less than gracious. It's so hard for controlling types like me to get excited when something doesn't exactly match one's expectations. But that's no reason to be less than gracious. Complete and total personality flaw.
Someone went through the trouble of getting me something I needed. They spent a lot more on it than they needed to. Not the first time that's happened. But instead of saying "Thank you" and looking past it, I think I said something really callous, like, "Do you still have the receipt?" What horrible thing to say! All I could think was, "How do we recoup the $30?" instead of, "What a sweet and thoughtful thing to do." Backpedaling a "Thank you" in there I'm sure did nothing to assauge the disappointment the giver felt with my initial reaction.
And to add insult to injury, I did it again. The very next day. Upon receiving a second gift, from the same giver, that was a different model from the one I wanted. Giver got a half-hearted "Thank you" and half smile that was a weak attempt to recover from yesterday's faux pas. How does one make up for something like that? And see the thoughtfulness and generosity in the heart of the giver and the intent of the gift? And realize how hurt said giver must have been at my reaction?
I know giver will recover but that doesn't make me feel less awful about it. And what if it had been one of my kids who was the giver? How crushed any one of them would be if they got a reaction that was like the one the original giver got. I'd like to think I would never do that to one of them. I'd also like to think I would never do that again to the giver. I have full intent to try to improve this flaw. I love giving gifts, I like getting gifts, but I'm sure not making it easy for certain people to give them to me. Wouldn't blame them if they stopped trying.
I hope next time to be the GIVER of deep and heartfelt appreciation.
Someone went through the trouble of getting me something I needed. They spent a lot more on it than they needed to. Not the first time that's happened. But instead of saying "Thank you" and looking past it, I think I said something really callous, like, "Do you still have the receipt?" What horrible thing to say! All I could think was, "How do we recoup the $30?" instead of, "What a sweet and thoughtful thing to do." Backpedaling a "Thank you" in there I'm sure did nothing to assauge the disappointment the giver felt with my initial reaction.
And to add insult to injury, I did it again. The very next day. Upon receiving a second gift, from the same giver, that was a different model from the one I wanted. Giver got a half-hearted "Thank you" and half smile that was a weak attempt to recover from yesterday's faux pas. How does one make up for something like that? And see the thoughtfulness and generosity in the heart of the giver and the intent of the gift? And realize how hurt said giver must have been at my reaction?
I know giver will recover but that doesn't make me feel less awful about it. And what if it had been one of my kids who was the giver? How crushed any one of them would be if they got a reaction that was like the one the original giver got. I'd like to think I would never do that to one of them. I'd also like to think I would never do that again to the giver. I have full intent to try to improve this flaw. I love giving gifts, I like getting gifts, but I'm sure not making it easy for certain people to give them to me. Wouldn't blame them if they stopped trying.
I hope next time to be the GIVER of deep and heartfelt appreciation.
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