Opportunity Cost

Remember when you were little and people used to ask you what it was you wanted to be when you grew up? I aspired to many varied things, a teacher (but then, I think every little kid, or at least little girl, dreams of being a teacher at some point) an actress (I dabbled, but never professionally), a waitress (fait accompli!) , a lawyer and yes, a priest (not a nun mind you, a priest! - I have to settle for catechist until the Catholic church starts welcoming divorced women to take up the cloth). Truthfully though I spent a lot of my day playing with baby dolls. Being their "Mommy". I don't know if it was because I lost my own Mom when I was so young, or because I was always surrounded by my older sister's babies, but being a Mommy is all I ever truly wanted.

For the last nine and a half years I have had my dream job. I have never felt that I gave up anything for my kids, I have always known that I have been on the receiving end of this arrangement. I have looked at my "have tos" as "get tos". I don't "have to" get up with my crying baby 3 times a night, I "get to". I know that it won't last forever and so I cherish it. Of course, that is not to say that I don't have my moments (every day) when I want to scream and yell and pull my hair out, or that I don't wait each day for the moment when they finally "go the F**K to sleep" (as the clever book by Adam Mansbach is titled) , because believe me, I do. I am not about to paint any rosy fairy tale pictures of my dreamy June Cleaver life. It's messy, and ugly and loud and... I LOVE IT.

My daughter, all seven years of her, dreams of one day being married and having babies of her own. So sweet and familiar. Bittersweet though because I struggle with how to protect her, how to try and see that she not make the same mistakes in life that I did. But then, that's not really fair is it? To say that I made a mistake? My life is good. I have four amazing people that I "get to" guide on this journey with me. I wake up every day to their smiles and every morning I wrap them in my hugs. I send them off to school with the Sign of the Cross on their forehead and a wish that God will bless them, that they each have a "wonderful, beautiful, very good day" because, "I love them very much". But still...nothing in life is certain and I want my babies, my daughter especially, to be prepared. I have tried to plant the seed that marriage is not the goal, just part of the game. I have told her straight out that I want her to be able to take care of herself first. I have explained my situation, I don't have a career to fall back on. Nobody is hiring professional Mommies. If I could have done anything differently in my life it would have been to not be in such a rush. I would have taken my time getting married and having babies - I would have tried to trust that you can have a career and a family. I still would have stayed home with my cherubs, but at least I would have options better than the ones I have now.

Here's the crazy thing. I am smart. Really smart. I could have been anything I wanted to be when I "grew up". I still can, right? I have a degree in business. I started earning it while I was working full time and finished it when I was bouncing Firstson on my hip. One of the things I remember learning in business school was about "opportunity cost". That is, everything you do comes at the cost of not doing something else. I am at a place in my life right now that while it is so good, it is also fleeting. I feel very strongly that I have to figure out what I am going to be. I meditated on this for a while after I became a single stay at home mom. I want to take this opportunity I have been given, this time when my bills are still being paid and while my family is still so willing to help, to figure it out and make it happen. I desperately do not want to get stuck behind a desk doing some "job". Been there, done that, hated it.

I would be a great lawyer. I have always thought about it. I am a good writer, an excellent reader, I have an eye for detail and I am creative. I would love to feel like I was helping people and still be making a decent salary. (how awesome would it be to use child support payments to cover family vacations - in other words, be able to provide for myself and my children everything else) I waited for a sign and when I felt I had received it I jumped right in. I registered for classes at Empire State College to finish my bachelor's degree. Independent Studies. Not online courses, independent studies. As in, read this textbook, write a paper and give me a call to discuss.

Here's where that opportunity cost thing comes in...every time we say "yes" to one thing we are automatically saying "no" to something else. I have had a hard time with these classes, not the content, the time management. At the end of my day I am spent. I go full steam ahead from early in the am until those sweeties fall to slumber - which is usually after quite a battle. I have taken some incompletes in my classes, and I really don't know when or how to complete them. It's a mess, because I think I have to do something, time is running out!

I think to myself, if I can't handle this, how will I ever handle law school? Not to mention the fact that law school is expensive, and I am poor. There's the fact that jobs for new attorneys are hard to come by these days. The Niece's husband just graduated and passed the bar. Thankfully he had a job lined up, but apparently with his student loans now coming due they are actually netting less than they were before he became a lawyer and will be for the next ten years or so. Also, I think about all the sacrifices he made while in law school, and wonder if I would be willing to make the same ones. I have four cherubs who are my life. I am a Catechist and a Girl Scout leader. I am baby "G"'s favorite great aunt and thrice weekly caregiver. I make dinner. I do laundry. I decorate my house for all the holidays and I make cupcakes. All of these things are part of my job, remember my dream job? I am just temping, but I am giving it my all, I don't know what I could give up.

I remember when I was a teenager in HS and I wanted to be in every after school club that was offered, my father had an important conversation with me in which he said "you can't give 100% to one hundred different things, you need to pick something and be good at it." How could I know that some 20 years later those words would be so relevant? So, for now I am going to continue working hard at my job everyday. I am a good Mom (I am assured of this everyday when Paddy-boy yells that I am the 'wurst mommy evah!' ) I am going to live in the now as much as I can and heed the advice of my Heavenly Father to not worry about tomorrow. After all, the only thing that is guaranteed is today, right? So, I will continue hugging and blessing my babies each morning, packing their lunchboxes with carrot sticks and sandwiches, filling their drawers with clean clothes and pulling my hair out each night waiting for them to fall to sleep. I am going to give 100% of myself to this job, to this calling and have faith that God will provide.

Maybe someday I will go to law school, maybe someday I will weep proudly when Curly Girl calls to tell me that she passed the Bar Exam. All I know is that right now, I am going to pack up some snacks and pile the kids into the car for religion. It's Tuesday and the slow cooker is on. Life is good today, and today is all I've got.

Princess of Power?

On the infrequent occasions when I sit and consider myself in comparison to children's fictional characters I usually lean more towards She-ra Princess of Power than say, Little Miss Muffett. Usually. She-ra is known for her superhuman strength, speed, stamina, agility, reflexes, and durability. That's me. I take it all on, no fear. I even shop the cereal aisle with four children and emerge unscathed with my box of plain old "toasted oats" - if that doesn't demonstrate stamina, agility and super-human strength you probably use Peapod.

Since my husband left I have had so many people offering to help. Friends, neighbors. You know "please let me know if there is anything I can do" - "Thank you, I will". I am pretty self-sufficient, uncomfortable taking help. In the beginning I could barely function and so I did have friends and family here helping all the time, but only the people closest to me. They were here, helping with the kids, cleaning the kitchen, sorting through baby clothes, etc. Some neighbors have brought over groceries, flowers and even dinner on occasion, but still, they offer to help, "if I need it".

My therapist tells me that it is important to accept other's offers of help. It helps them feel helpful. In other words, my acceptance of help is actually a charitable act of my own. I consider myself to be a generous and charitable individual, so this view presents me with a bit of a conundrum. I feel compelled, but I don't know what to ask for. I don't know how to let these people help. In truth, I don't need that much, save for some magic potion to shake some sense into Uncle Dad and bring healing and restore trust in my broken marriage. Short of asking for black magic, I just don't know when the opportunity would present itself that I could help these people and allow them to help me. Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks back I was presented not just with an opportunity, but with an absolute dire need for neighborly assistance.

I was sitting in my living room on a lazy Saturday morning enjoying my Christmas tree and the company of my dear friend from Philfadelfia, DD. I was in my pajamas, sipping some hot tea, and she was relaxing on the chaise singing nursery rhymes to her godson Dexter (both in pajamas). All of a sudden we heard a "thud" (incidentally, I LOVE a good onomatopoeia, don't you?). DD declared that she definitely heard eight individual, yet synchronized thuds. Upon further investigation I found that she was indeed right...it was the biggest, huge-est, most insanely large arachnid I had ever seen.

She-ra: exit stage left. Miss Muffet: enter stage right. Cue girly screaming. Ew. Spider!

Damn it! Where is a man when you need him! Ugh. First Son, is unfortunately just as afraid of spiders as I am. Fortunately though, he is quite capable of dialing the phone. I screamed the neighbor's phone number and had First Son tell them that Mom needed a Man NOW!!! (hmmm...I am only now hearing just how..wrong that sounds...) I kept my eye on the creature while we waited for help to arrive. If we had lost sight of that ...thing, I would have had no choice but to put the for sale sign on the lawn and head to the Motel 8, cuz there ain't no way I be sleepin in the same house with a mutant arachnid. (That's right, I said "ain't")

So there I am in my living room, in my pajamas, on the verge of tears doing my charitable good deed for the sake of my neighbor down the block. I won't mention his 12 year old daughter who stood in my hallway watching the whole scene unfold and laughing her ass off, though perhaps there was charity even in that.

I can handle a lot. I have four little kids. I have seen poop, and vomit and temper tantrums that would make your hair stand up. I can tell you true life stories that the greatest writers of our time could not make up. I am not a lightweight, but to be fair, this spider was no Charlotte of Wilbur's "Some Pig" fame. This spider would have eaten your baby just like a dingo.

She-ra. Princess of Power. At the end of the day, still just a girl afraid of a spider.

Breathless

You are right. I must start writing again.

I feel like I have started writing this post a hundred times in my head. I just can't settle on an angle. It is so heavy, so laden with gut wrenching emotion, and I fear whether or not I will even be able to finish typing the words without short circuiting my laptop with torrential tears. There is so much going on, and I really should be writing about it, if only for therapy (though I kind of loathe the self-therapizing blogs that are out there and shudder to think that mine may become one. And, yes, I do realize that "therapy" is not a verb, thank you very much.) On the other hand I know there are many of you who are thinking about me, worrying about me and let's face it, miss reading my blog. So here I am. I am back. I must warn you though, it may not be pretty.

I do not know where to begin. I don't know how to sugar coat it, or make it humorous (though I am sure on the latter, I will find a way). My life has fallen apart. I feel like I am living a nightmare. I have never cried so much or prayed so hard - and believe me, I have cried and I have prayed before. My heart is broken. Shattered. I am changed forever.

A little over ten years ago, actually ten years and two weeks ago to be exact, I put on an exquisite white gown, elbow length gloves and a glittery tiara. My father walked me down the aisle in the most beautiful church named after our Blessed Mother, and gave me away to be married to my best friend. My husband and I took vows. We promised to be true to each other no matter what. In good times and bad. We walked out of that church hand in hand to start a new life together. I thanked my Lord God for sending this wonderful man to me, for I truly believed that he was the answer to a prayer. A gift from God, my husband.

Twenty days ago my husband left.

My husband packed a suitcase and went to go live in his mother's basement. We have four children. Four. Small. Children. He broke my heart, he broke their hearts. He broke his mother's heart and his father's heart. My sisters cry with me. My neighbors cry with me. Moms in the carpool lane and at the PTA meetings, they cry with me. My friends call me and text me and come over and sweep my kitchen floor for me. My niece has been here almost everyday it seems. There are angels watching over me, crying with me.

It is like someone died, only he didn't. He walked away. (WTF?)

I... can... not... breathe.



Here's the thing. I don't have that option. I can't crawl under the covers and pretend it is not happening. I can't decide that this life of mine just isn't what I thought I had signed up for and go run off and start over. I am not a coward. I am strong and I am courageous. I am a woman and, I am a MOTHER.

The English language is so inadequate. There are no words that can fully convey what I am or how I feel (I can think of a few that describe him though - see? it's coming back). I am angry. SO ANGRY. I am sad. Lonely. Frustrated. Resentful. Fragile. I feel helpless. I feel like a failure. I feel like an idiot. I feel like I am being called on to be super-human right now. Sometimes it is all just too much. I also feel grateful. I feel loved. I have so many friends and my great big family. I have my Lord and Savior, without whom I literally would not be able to pull myself out of bed in the morning.

I am bewildered. Devastated. I just do not understand. I can't grasp what is happening to me, to my family. We had a life. A family. I do not understand how you decide to throw that away. Our marriage was never perfect.(what is perfect?) It was also never hopeless. I can not "respect your decision" - because it is not respectable. I have values, we had values - and this goes against all of them.

I am not hopeless, that is, I have hope. I have faith. Thank God Almighty, I have help. There are tremendous betrayals that have been perpetrated, and yet I have hope and faith that trust can one day be restored. I do not believe in divorce. I will sign nothing. Ten years and two weeks ago I took vows, and I took them seriously. I am not giving up. Let me put that out there for all the world to hear and see: I AM NOT GIVING UP.

So, anyway, here I am. I am back in the "blogosphere". I am battered and I am bruised. You told me to write, if you think you can handle it, I'd love to have you read it. and, please, leave a comment. Thanks.

"out there"

It's tricky. This blog thing. It is a challenge to write from the heart and to talk freely about the emotions of my daily life, to self-edit without censoring. My writing can conjure up some strong reactions from readers. I have an effect on other people. I know this because they literally stop me on the street, call me on the phone or seek me out at parties to tell me so. Occasionally they even leave a comment here. I am always so flattered when I find out that someone is reading this here blog, and when I find out that they like it - whoa. I didn't start this blog with the idea that anyone would read it, really. It was sort of just an experiment, something to do, and I really didn't think about the implications of having readers.

The last post "It's MY Turn!" - generated a big response from readers. I guess it hit home with a lot of people. One reader went so far as to suggest that every mother of every age should read it, because it was so relatable. I believe that my writing was real and true and I think that what I had to say was important. I really do feel that I expressed my feelings in an open and honest way, and made myself vulnerable, and I am honored that so many of you connected with what I had to say.

My last post, well it left me shook. Although I try to be cryptic and protect the identities of my cohorts, it is not a fail proof system, and so sometimes, feelings get hurt. Man that sucks. I wrote the last post without thinking of the implications it would have on one reader in particular, "Q". In my post I labelled the actions of this family member as "passive aggressive". After some time and review I am left to wonder whether this was a case of the pot calling the kettle black? Is this blog a tool I use for my own passive aggression? I hope not, but, maybe.


It was never my intention to hurt any one's feelings, yet I should have realized that it was a possibility. I know that "Q" reads this blog. While my post wasn't so much about the transgressions of "Q", it wasn't not about them either. I can't go back and take away the words I wrote. I don't want to. As I said, they were real and they were true, and while they were not meant to hurt anyone -they did. They also did a lot of good though. I know this because you, my readers have told me so.


I haven't posted in a while because I am torn. I do not want my words to hurt the people I love, but I will not censor myself. I haven't taken a single journalism or writing class that would perhaps have taught me how to deal with the "you're never going to please everyone" issue that comes up in writing a "column" such as this.


I have apologized to "Q". I have explained how my intention was not to cause pain, and I have taken responsibility for not thinking through the possible outcomes of hitting the "publish" button on the bottom of the screen. I could have made a phone call, given a warning maybe.

I want to be writing. I want to write with reckless abandon, but ...it is hard. It is hard to put myself "out there". I am not a professional writer. I dabble. I am a dabbler.

As much as I do not want to offend or hurt anyone, I do not want to walk or write "on eggshells". I can't guarantee the "truthful and real" part that so many readers appreciate when I have to temper it with "be careful not to offend".

I have thought a lot lately about taking this blog to the next level, making it legit. I have thought about working on it, posting daily, increasing my readership, soliciting ads. There are people who believe in me. I guess the question is...am I one of them? Do I think I have what it takes? Do I have "the balls" to write and take no prisoners? Am I willing to put myself "out there"? At what cost?

Clearly I have some things to figure out.

It's MY turn!

There is a certain person in the family, "Q", who, shall we say, knows exactly how to "press my buttons". We are two very different people, who, if not for the fact that we love the same people, would never seek one another out as friends. We do our best to get along. And truth be told, in spite of our differences of opinion, we actually love each other too. That said, "Q" irks the "be-jaysus" out of me from time to time. I try not to dwell on it, I try not blog about it, but sometimes, like today, the steam pressure under my cap is just so tremendous that if I don't let some off I feel like I truly might lose my head.

This story however, is not so much about what "Q" said or did (it's almost always "said") to piss me off today. The story is about the great epiphany I had about the whole situation - because heaven knows, today was not the first time I have been pushed to the brink by "Q", and it certainly won't be the last.


There has been a particularly virulent strain of pestilence running through our estate this week. It's the flu...and no, so do not even say it or I may scream, it is not the swine flu. (do you think I would neglect to mention that I have the freaking swine flu?, really?) Anyway it hit me, it hit First Son and Paddy and it very sadly hit my sweet Curly Girl the hardest of all. She ran a fever of 104' for two days straight, and then followed it up with a day and a half of 102'. For three whole days she barely came out of her bedroom. She couldn't eat, she couldn't walk. She missed her last days of preschool, and we have had to postpone the sprinkler party playdate that we had planned for the whole class. Very sad right? I know. Now during this time, I have been recuperating myself from a bout with the same flu as well as an upper respiratory infection. I have also been taking care of my three other children who have all been touched by the illness, including one very active 2 1/2 year old asthmatic whom I have been feeding steroids in order to build up and heal his lungs. Do you know what a 2 1/2 year old on steroids is like? Good, now imagine that is what he is like all the time, and then give him steroids. Oingo Boingo...off the walls, and I can't leave the house. I am dealing with it as best I can. We manage, we have been through much worse, and "this too shall pass".

So, today comes and I can no longer put it off. I must go to the store. Supplies are running low. Sure, I probably could have made it through a few more days before I had to replenish the Cheerios (on second thought, they are a staple of Dexter's diet, so maybe not) but I absolutely positively could not go another hour without purchasing....diapers! Seriously. All clean nappies in our possession were secured to heineys. I had to go to the store. Also, I think there are serious health benefits in getting up, getting dressed and getting out. Sometimes mental health is quite neglected in the name of physical health. Curly's temp was only 100' this morning and she quickly perked up after a dose of Tylenol. She was happy to get dressed and excited to get out of the house. Steroid boy needed a change of atmosphere, and Dexter loves to see the sights.


We all got washed and dressed and so, to Costco we were headed! Then...the phone rang. I had purposely not called "Q" this morning because I knew that no good would come of it. The ringing persisted, so I picked up the phone and dutifully gave "Q" the rundown. Updated on all the symptoms, etc. I had no choice but to mention our outing, though I did so reluctantly. As expected, "Q" made all of the usual passive aggressive comments alluding to my parenting skills and I did my best not to be too snarky in return, but rather tried to coolly change the subject and quickly end the call. (I tried not to be too snarky - I didn't say I was a model of diplomacy)



In general, I don't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks of me. I am notoriously independent and sure of myself. However, you touch a nerve when you imply that I do not know what I am doing as a mother. When I feel that I need to defend myself for going out to buy diapers, (diapers people, not crack cocaine) when you try to make me feel like the decisions I make are at the expense of my children's well-being, I become slightly "on edge". Actually, I fly into a rage. I called dear Hubby and warned him that I needed to vent about "Q". I lit into the whole story, yelling and screaming at poor, innocent and extremely understanding Hubby. A few minutes later Aunt Tay called, and I told her the whole story with equal verve. My blood was boiling.


Nothing I could do about it, I needed diapers post -haste. We got in the car and headed off to procure the necessary items, and I continued re-hashing the whole thing over and over in my mind. Outwardly I was trying to calm down, but inside I kept replaying the entire episode in my head. I must say it irks me that I am so easily irked.


Now my sweet, precocious Curly Girl is quite concerned with her future as a mother and wife. (bear with me) She often starts sentences like this "When I am the Mom...." as in: "When I am the Mom I am going to let my kids watch SpongeBob, and I will watch it with them" or "When I am the Mom I will drive a mid-size car when I have just two babies, or one". It is cute and funny and endearing to listen to her. She doesn't know it, but she is figuring out her values, and she is forging a healthy separation from me. I love hearing her talk about when she is a grown up (even though I am still trying to broker a deal with the devil himself to keep her little).

Today as we were driving to Costco, my mind all a whir because of my earlier aggravating phone conversation, she started in on one of these tangents. I started thinking quite innocently that all kids at one time or another must make similar declarations, dreaming of the day to come when they get to make the rules. I know that First Son has declared that when he is the Dad he is going to let his kids buy any kind of sugar cereal they want and take them to Disney every single vacation, and I am fairly certain that Paddy boy is hatching some type of plan that involves all lollipops, all the time. Many of us adults, saddled with the realities of responsibility have lost touch with our idealist former child selves. We enforce sensible rules and probably never eat ice cream for dinner. We are...grown-ups. In thinking about this sad fact I tried hard to remember what types of things I was determined to do so well when I finally got to be the grown-up, and if I could remember something, anything, I was going to do it with my children just because I can, because I am after all, "the Mom".

That is when it hit me. I am "the Mom." That's it. It is my turn. Everybody else has either had their shot, will get their shot or is maybe in the middle of their shot right now, and so should leave me the heck alone and take care of their own business. It's true that one day my cherubs will get to be the grown-ups, and make their own rules, either for their kids or for themselves. Today is not their day, it is mine. Today is not "Q"'s day either, that was yesterday. Everybody gets their turn to make the rules, decide what is best. Today is my day, I earned it. I dreamed about it and planned for it since I was a little kid. When I was small and thought of the day I would get to be the grownup, the thing I wanted most was to get to be the grown-up, to be the Mom, and now my day is here. I am not going to let "Q" or anyone else make me feel like less of a mother just because I decide to go get diapers. I am the Mom, thank you very much. As "the Mom" I declare that when the diaper baskets run out of diapers, I will go get more. It is my prerogative to make that rule and no one else's.

It's my turn. You had your turn. Go home. I am too busy scooping the ice cream we are eating for dinner to talk to you anyway.

SmartMama LOVES McNeil

I think my Hubby, who loves to play the stocks as of late, should consider pharmaceutical companies. Why? Because our family is more well known by our local pharmacist than our parish priest! Really. (in my defense, the priest is new)

Since First Son started kindergarten we are sick all the time. We used to never be sick. First Son had one ear infection in his life...before kindergarten. Now, when I leave the pediatrician's office I just schedule myself another appointment like I do when I leave the hairdresser. I know I'll be back with someone...for something, so you might as well pencil me in. I can't buy enough children's Motrin and Tylenol. I can't keep it in the house. My grocery list is: Milk, Eggs, Bread, Drugs.

Three weeks ago I brought Paddy Boy to the doctor for a follow-up from when he was there two weeks prior with Bronchitis and an ear infection (oh, that was fun too - taking an 18 mos. old for a chest x-ray that carried with it a threat of hospitalization, and me just two weeks post -partum). While I was there I asked the doctor to take a look at Dexter's belly button. In my opinion it just wasn't healing right, in spite of her having cauterized it previously. She looked, determined that indeed it wasn't healing as nicely as she liked and so she once again brought out the silver nitrate. A quick swab and we were on our way, Dexter didn't even flinch. Paddy boy was proclaimed healthy (for now) and so we set off on our day...which was really busy. Mickey D and the Sunshine girl were scheduled to tie the knot two days later and with First Son and Curly playing the important roles of flower girl and ring bearer, and myself being the wedding lady that I am, I had a lot to do.

Aunt Mean had taken Curly for the day, so as to help free me up get some things done (because really, when you've got an 18 month old, a 4 week old and a full to-do list, the addition of a 4 year old could trip you up). Unfortunately, while in Aunt Mean's care Curly announced that she was sick and needed to go home, right now! Crap. She had been complaining of a stomachache lately, but wasn't showing any symptoms. I had figured that with the new baby and all she was just trying to get some attention, but now I was convinced she had another ear infection. I called the Dr's office, but they had already left for the day. The covering Dr. was the pediatrician I fired. I resolved to take Curly to the Dr. first thing in the morning and get her the necessary antibiotic, in just enough time for her to be back to her chipper self before she would have to walk down the aisle.

Later that night Mrs. V and I had transformed my kitchen into a wedding wonderland and we were working feverishly to complete 150 wedding programs which required printing, cutting, gluing and bow-tying. I am Martha and Mrs. V is my apprentice. We had a nice operation going and we had completed at least 10 pieces (that's right, 10 of 150) when I went to change Dexter's diaper and found...mayhem. Well, I didn't know for sure at the time that it was mayhem, I just thought it was irritation and maybe a little infection around his belly button from the day's earlier cauterization. It was decided that a quick trip to the emergency room would probably be the best course of action, what with the impending nuptials and all. I told Mrs. V to keep working, do as much as she could, but that I would help her as soon as I got back...three days later!

The ER doc took one look and told me that they would have to admit him for IV antibiotics. Okay. I remained calm. Here I was, alone in the ER (poor Hubby was already exhausted from life -working and taking care of 3 plus a newborn, that I had sent him to bed) and they are telling me that they are admitting my 4 week old. Okay. I can handle this. I asked the doctor if this would be a "24 hour" thing? 24 hours would leave me roughly 18 hours before the wedding. She said it was more likely a 48 hour course, but that our regular pediatrician would make that decision. Ok. I can handle this. It's just an IV. In those tiny hands...breathe.

I spent the night in a chair next to Dexter's crib, while nurses and residents came in and out, poking him and asking me all kinds of questions. In the morning they sent him for a sonogram of his belly. This looked pretty painful, as the wand kept digging into his already very sore tummy. Then we met with the pediatrician and I explained my predicament with the wedding. Dexter would be spending another night in the hospital, but it was likely that he could go home the next day, the wedding day. Well, since the wedding wasn't scheduled until 6pm, this would probably work. I don't know why I was so naive, but I just thought that if they could get the antibiotic into his little veins that would be that. It didn't dawn on me that the infection (which turned out to be staph, by the way) was only part of the problem, they wanted to find the cause of the infection, and therefore the sonogram.

I left Hubby at the hospital with Dexter and left to bring Curly to the pediatrician, yes, the same one I just saw in the hospital. After waiting for a long time in the waiting room (don't they realize I have a newborn in the hospital?) we were finally seen. The doctor kept asking about her belly, her eating and pooping habits, while I insisted she just look in her ears already. Finally the ear check and...ding, ding, ding, a raging ear infection. Okay, give me the prescription, and I am off to the pharmacy.

On the way to the pharmacy Hubby calls to tell me that they are going to repeat the baby's sonogram at 2:00, it's 1:30. Shoot. I don't like the idea of him having a painful procedure without me being there, so I say that I will try to make it, but I gotta go because call waiting is beeping. Hello? It's MIL who is at home with Paddy boy - he was just deemed healthy the day before, surely he can't be sick? NO, better than that..the school just called. First Son has pink eye, I need to go pick him up. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I wanted to. Back to the Dr. and then finally, to the pharmacy.

So then I dressed the cherubs up, and headed off to the rehearsal dinner. As I said, First Son and Curly were scheduled to tote flowers and rings, and also I had promised the Sunshine Girl that I would do a quick rehearsal with the wedding party. I needed to be there. We stayed long enough to eat, the kids got gifts, and we said hello to some out of town relatives, then I headed back to the hospital for "the changing of the guard". Hubby came down from the second floor "peds" unit and got behind the wheel of Rosie, and I headed up and took my place in the cold, hard recliner chair.

The next day the Doctor arrived nice and early to tell me that the sonogram was inconclusive. It looks as though there may be a problem requiring surgical intervention, but she wants to be sure. They were going to be doing a cat-scan with contrast. "With contrast" means that Dexter can't eat for a number of hours. He of course, just finished a bottle. So the procedure is scheduled for 1:30. Dexter gets another night in the hospital. Somehow, I don't have a nervous breakdown. My Aunt stayed with me while Hubby went home to try and get First Son and Curly to take naps before their big night. He also showered and came back to the hospital with his suit in tow. Then we all took Dexter for his procedure. He was a champ. He slept through the whole thing. The radiologist finally came in to tell us that yes, indeed there is a problem, and that we would need to consult with a surgeon next. Okay. We knew that might happen. It's not emergency surgery though. The doctors all assure us that we should go and enjoy the wedding. Yeah Right.

Well, we tried. I raced home to get First Son and Curly dressed and off in their limo. Then I was faced with the task of getting myself ready. (How does one cover up the bags under one's eyes from NOT sleeping in a chair in your child's hospital room?) Meanwhile MIL went and fed herself and her dog and then headed up to the hospital so that Hubby and I could both be at the wedding for the walk down the aisle. Amazingly, they all made it down the aisle with smiles, which the bookmakers said wouldn't happen. Hubby stayed through the toasts and then he headed back to the hospital.

The wedding was beautiful. Mickey D and the Sunshine Girl looked gorgeous, the day was balmy, the food was amazing and First Son and Curly danced the night away. To be honest I even had a little bit of fun.

The next day Dexter was released. We followed up with a top pediatric surgeon the next week, had a quickie Baptism, and the week after that the surgery was performed. Now all that remains is an ugly scar under his belly button and a patch of gray hair on my head.

This week things should be settling down, but let's get real. I have no less than three children with fevers topping out in the 102 range, and a case of conjuctivitis. I'd tell you all about it but... I have to go to the pharmacy.

Blue Horseshoe Loves Anacot Steel? HA!

You say it's your Birthday!!!

When I was a kid I went to a birthday party at Burger King. It was a boy's party and mostly what I remember about it was that I was handed a cheeseburger, even though to this day I do not like fast food cheeseburgers, but prefer hamburgers; and that my father commented that these types of parties were for mothers who were too lazy to have a party the right way, at home. Of course, I don't think dear old Dad ever did much in the way of planning and executing a birthday party for me or any of the others, but nonetheless, his comment seems to have stuck in my craw.

I cannot bring myself to host my children's parties "out". I thought about it, and even did a bit of research for Curly's Birthday this year. I thought it might be a good idea, since the day of her fourth would also be the start of my 38th week. Despite my best intentions, I just could not do it. I had to have it at home. The thing is though, I am not a one trip to the party store, order some pizzas and bash the pinata kind of partier. No, sir, not me. Party planning is my hobby, and I can take a theme to the extreme. Seriously, I live for my children's birthdays, and begin planning months, not even weeks, in advance. I am already thinking about Paddy boy's 2nd, and it's 7 months away! When my kids look back upon past birthdays they don't think in terms of "my third, my fourth, my fifth, etc." but rather, "My dinosaur birthday, my bulldozer birthday, my princess birthday, etc. "

I figure that I spend probably about as much as I would if I was hosting the party at some "venue", so it isn't about saving money (although if I factor in leftovers as part of the equation I could convince hubby that we make out on the deal) Hosting a party at home gives me so many more options to be creative, to have my kid's input, and to be flexible with dates, timing , and boy/girl appropriateness! I like being able to host the parents just as comfortably as the kids (rather than having a bunch of grown-ups standing around the perimeter of the room holding coats, and hoping for an extra half-slice of cold pizza to come their way); and I especially like the fact that no matter what the theme is, my kid's party will be completely different from anything any of their friends have. I can't tell you how many parties we have been to at the local ice cream shop, they all begin to blur and run into each other.

It is a lot of work putting together a fun kid's party, but I love it. This past week I have been up to my elbows in butterflies every night. I decided finally to compromise, have the party for Curly at home, but keep it small. Usually I have two parties for my kids, one with their friends and one with the family. This year I decided to have just one, invite the family and just the four or five friends that she plays with regularly. My intention of course, was to keep it "simple". The only thing is that my "simple" is most people's "elaborate". Listen, it's not Curly's fault that we're getting a new baby so close to her birthday, she still deserves to have a memorable "butterfly birthday" right? That's what I thought too.

Anyway, there was no giant cardboard castle, and although I looked into it, there was no live butterfly release, thereby keeping it "simple" according to my definition. There were butterfly games, butterfly hot dogs, butterfly cookies, and of course, butterfly cupcakes. There was "nectar" served in adorable butterfly cups, and a butterfly pinata, oh yeah - and there was beer for the grown-ups. (come to think of it, that is probably what Dad's chief gripe was about the Burger King party! LOL.) Now that the date has come and gone and the phone calls of congratulations are rolling in, I can sit back and relax. Well, I would like to get the butterfly thank yous in the mail before I have to start sending birth announcements, but other than that it should be smooth sailing.

I have been told, repeatedly that I have a special talent for these parties, and that I should try to make it a lucrative endeavor, but I honestly don't know if I could put all the work into it if I wasn't doing it for one of my sweet cherubs. No matter how tired I have been, and let me tell you, I am freakin tired these days, I find that when they need me, I am able to rally up the energy. I mean after all, they are what it's all about right? Plus, the great big hugs I get at the end of the day make it all worth while.

Well, first Son's birthday is quickly approaching in August, so I had better put on my thinking cap (yeah right, as if I don't already have a plan....)

Time on my side

Time. It is infinitely finite. The days on the calendar stretch on in perpetuity, but each one comes to it's fateful end, much too soon. 24 hours really isn't enough. Each day I awake full of hope and energy, yet each evening I inevitably lay my head on the pillow, exhausted, with only a portion of my to do list completed. Am I too ambitious? Maybe. Inefficient? Only sometimes. Nine months pregnant and therefore prone to bouts of exhaustion? Definitely.

I am a glutton. Everyone who knows me, knows that my plate is full. That's the way I like it. I run one book club, am a member of another, participate in a monthly Bunco circle, just recently stopped working one day a week, chair one or two PTA committees, conduct wedding rehearsals at my church, am planning Curly's birthday, teach a 2 hour religious ed class to ten 3, 4 and 5 year olds every Friday, and try in vain to maintain several friendships and familial responsibilities. Oh yeah - and I already have three kids, a house, and a husband. Once in a while, I write a blog, but that's not so much! It's life. My life. It's just that these past few weeks have been crazy. I actually had one friend call to see if I was ok, was I in the hospital maybe?, all because I haven't posted in my blog in such a long time.

Lately I just can't seem to cross enough off of an ever growing list, and time is running out. This baby is coming, whether I am ready or not. This is the first time in four full term pregnancies that I do not yet have a hospital bag packed at 36 weeks. In the past, my bag has been at the ready, hospital earrings and all, by 30 or 32 weeks. I haven't even looked at, much less washed, a stitch of baby clothes. In fact, I haven't even bought the Dreft! The bassinet is still in the basement. In the past, I had by now, stocked my freezer with 20 homemade dinners, to insure a smooth transition after we brought the newbie home (because seriously, if dinner is on the table, then things at least seem normal). My freezer today? Well, I did recently clean it, but it's full of mostly bread and french fries (french fry sandwich, anyone?) . I recently ordered the Big Brother/Big Sister t-shirts, I just hope they arrive in time. I did also have hubby get the car seat down from the attic, so we can bring our new baby home, even if he/she is naked. At least it's spring, right? Who needs clothes, ...I bought diapers.

Today we are off for the official meeting of Baby "D" who arrived in grand style on the "day of fools", foiling his Daddy's plans to be at Yankee Stadium for the season opener; then First Son has a soccer game. After that our day is quiet. (quiet being a very subjective term). Tomorrow I am off to Yankee stadium with Aunt Tay, as we were honored to receive the golden tickets necessary for entrance to the Papal Mass, and next weekend I am escaping to a rented house on the North Fork of this Island to catch up and relax with six of my closest girlfriends. First Son is off from school this week, but he does have two dentist appointments. I also have been invited to lunch sans kiddies with my good friend SBW. I will fit it all in, I am sure. And whatever doesn't get done...well, there's always tomorrow.

I am the Mom, I am the Mom, I am the Mom!

Dear Dr. Pediatrician,
I am the Mom. You are the Doctor. Sorry lady, but Mom trumps Doctor. Every time. Now I realize that you have gone through umpteen years of school and training, internships, residencies, etc. I respect that. I do. But here's the thing. While your area of expertise may be "children" my area of expertise is "my child". No one has put in more hours of research, intensive research, on this particular subject. I know this child inside and out. I know the meaning of every sniffle, cough and burp;the sound of every cry, the cause behind every bump and bruise and hive. As I said, I respect your level of training and expertise, now I demand that you respect mine. I will no longer put up with rushed appointments where you do not listen fully to my concerns, where you speak to me like I am an idiot. I am not an idiot, I am THE MOM. And you, ...are fired.
Sincerely,
The MOM

Seriously, I am so tired of my pediatrician's office. I have been saying this for months now, but it is definitely time for me to act on it and move on already. I am getting a new doctor. (Can't wait to see how my "lovely" insurance factors into this one)

I feel kind of sad, because these doctors have been with me from the very beginning. I mean, literally, Dr. S. was in the delivery room when First Son made his entrance into this world. Also, I really like the RN who works there (and yes, Aunt Mean, she is an RN), as well as the receptionist, who is the one who talked me off the ledge when the doctor I had first "hired" when I was expecting First Son turned out to be a major bone-head.
For most of the past 5 and 1/2 years I have been happy there, but lately, I just am not leaving there with a feeling of confidence. I think it is important for a pediatrician to inspire a parent's confidence, not only in the skills of the Dr, but in our own parenting skills. For the past few months I have been feeling frustration and disrespect. I feel like they are at times, pushing drugs unneccesarily, and at times witholding necessary prescriptions. (such as prophylactic antibiotiotics and nasal flu vaccines) They don't seem to want to take the time to discuss options or diagnoses. Dare I say they "blow me off"? Part of the problem, is that there are two doctors in the practice, but since they cover two offices they are never there at the same time. You never know which one you're going to get, and lately it hasn't been the good one. To be honest though, even the good one has, as of late, been a bit of a disappointment.
I am a smart Mom, thank God, and I do my research. I may have mentioned this before, but I don't take anyone's word without checking it out for myself. I walk into every appointment armed with knowledge. In 5 1/2 years I have never, not once missed an appointment. My children's immunization records read like a public health brochure. I am friendly, and polite at all times. I send Christmas cards and bring cookies. My children say please and thank you and clean up the toys they were playing with. I pay my co-pays! I am a model patient parent, but apparently not a good fit for this office. Well, some other doctor's office is going to be happy to have me and my brood, and our co-pay and cookies!

Deplorable

I don't like to get political but, I am a mother, and as such I have some responsibility for the world in which I am raising my children. I happened upon this on my friend Salome's blog this morning, and I was so disgusted that I felt I had to share. Please take some time and listen to this rant from Oklahoma State Legislator Sally Kern:
http://www.victoryfund.org/files/listening.html

I am a Married Catholic and Patriotic American mother of three, with one on the way, and I was brought to the verge of tears listening to this. It frightens me not only that there are people who live here among us, calling themselves Christian Americans, but it frightens me most that these people have a platform on which to stand and voice these deplorable thoughts. This woman truly believes herself to be a patriot! She is in a position to influence people. That is scary.

Here is the thing to keep in mind, we are all in a position to influence others. Especially those of us who are parents and teachers. Our world is flawed. We are not a perfect society. We must empower our children to think their own thoughts, to draw their own conclusions, to love one another and to judge not. And, we must teach them the importance of their own voice, especially when it comes to electing those individuals who are meant to represent us.

God Bless America - we certainly need it.

Sick Day

A Mom doesn't ever get a day off, and she certainly doesn't get any sick time, which unfortunately, is not to say that she doesn't get sick.

Yesterday, First son was home in honor of MLK, Jr. After a lengthy discussion about whether or not the esteemed civil rights leader was indeed a member of a royal family, we decided to embark on some important errands which are most easily accomplished with First Son home from school. Namely, a haircut, lunch with my niece (a teacher, and therefore also off from work), and a trip to the eyeglass store to mend the twisted arm of the famed spectacles.

About a half an hour before we were set to leave the house I was hit by a wave of acute melancholy. This feeling came over me, and I suddenly didn't want to go out. I didn't want to meet my niece for lunch, I didn't want to do anything but crawl into my bed, pull the covers up over my head and maybe...cry. I thought the sudden onset a bit strange but otherwise I figured it was a touch of depression, something which I simply cannot submit to, but which occasionally rears its ugly head. I decided to ignore the feeling as best as I could, and so I laced up my sneakers, made sure all of the cherubs had warm hats and mittens and we headed out the door.

Sitting in the barber shop watching as First Son lost most of his overgrown locks to a #3, #4 buzz combination, I felt myself sighing heavily. Curly girl was talking to me, being as charming as ever, and I had to make a gargantuan effort to stay focused and involved. I was zoning out big time.

My niece and I decided to head to Panera Bread for lunch, since it is a favorite, and conveniently located at the mall, the site of my final eyeglass errand. We sat at the table with scrumptious soups and salads and amazing chewy breads before us - and I just couldn't bring myself to eat any of it. I forced a few bites, but I just wasn't interested. This was strange for sure, because as I said, Panera is a favorite, and lack of appetite never seems to be a symptom of my moodiness. Nevertheless, I asked for my food to be packed up "to go". I mentioned to my niece that I didn't feel good, but I couldn't explain anymore than that. I just didn't feel right. I mean, my head didn't hurt, my throat wasn't sore, I wasn't nauseated or crampy, I just felt this overwhelming need to go home and get in bed. I decided to give in this one time, forgo the eyeglass store, and just head home. Boy am I glad I did.

We were just a few blocks from the mall when I needed to pull over to the side of the road and...get sick. That makes it sound a lot more neat and compartmentalized than the reality was, but I won't go into gory details. We all have our own data bank of personal experience with the stomach flu on which we can draw to fill in whatever colorful aspects of this story I might leave out. Suffice it to say that it was gross, and painful, and not a little bit scary for the three small people seated behind me. (Well, two of them anyway, Paddy boy was oblivious to what was happening, as he was entertaining himself by pulling his hat down over his eyes and laughing hysterically). At one point it became quite frightening as I took my foot off of the brake pedal for a moment only to realize that I had never had the chance to put the car into park, luckily I found the brake again, just before we crashed into a tree.

Curly girl announced that as soon as we got home I was to go straight to bed and let her take care of me. She then wondered aloud about exactly who was going to drive us home, as clearly I was in no condition and her feet don't quite reach the pedals. First Son helped out by locating the roll of paper towels that I always keep in my car for emergencies. Thankfully, I pulled myself together and was able to get us all home safely. I got Paddy boy into his crib and turned on a movie (Thank God for Baby Neptune) while the other two played nicely in the boys' room. I called hubby and begged him to come home from work and then I crawled into my bed and vowed to stay there. That lasted until about 1 AM, when Paddy boy started puking...followed by First Son at 5:30AM. Hubby has since spent almost the entire day either on the porcelain throne or passed out on the couch. Curly girl? Well, someone's got to take care of the rest of us.

All in all I am thankful that it was just a stomach virus. As much as it sucks to be taken down by a bout of violent vomit, there is a definite end, you know it won't, it can't, go on forever. Depression is much more daunting, and I have had enough of it. If you've never had the pleasure of experiencing a serious case of the blues, now you can imagine...it's kind of like the feeling you get right before you puke.

The weather here this morning was not so great, kind of like a monsoon. A good morning for sleeping in. Curly and I spent a good long while in the most delicious snuggle. We were wrapped up in down covers, entwined in a full body double hug. We laid there for quite a while just enjoying each other's company. I said to my Curly girl "do you know what I am?" She shook her head yes, so I said "what?" She answered "A genius!" I laughed and pulled her close as she went on, "a genius, and so pretty". I was going to say I was the luckiest Mommy in the world...

Daily challenge:

Think you're smart? Try this:

Teach a stubborn, snot nosed five year old to "BLOW your FREAKIN NOSE ALREADY!"

If anyone can do this, I wll give you Ten Bucks!

There's a new sheriff in town

I never had a playroom when I was a kid (I didn't have time to play, what with having to walk to school barefoot, in the snow, uphill both ways). When we found our house one of the big draws was a nice little room right off the kitchen and behind the living room which could serve as a playroom. A place for the toys to go, a place where they belong! So, I set to making it a darned cool playroom. I painted a border around the room and affixed bright primary colored wooden alphabet letters (I couldn't find a wallpaper that I liked, and I love copying things I see in Pottery Barn but paying 1/2 as much). We bought a table and 5 little chairs. I have labelled bins for every type of toy: Dinosaurs, Little People, Dress-up. There's a kitchen in the playroom, and a sit and spin, and all kinds of really cool stuff. When I was a kid I would have killed for a playroom like this. My kids? Not so much. It is a disaster area. It is so freaking messy that it gives me hives. Despite my careful mod-podgeing of labels, there are dinosaurs with little people, and little people in with the dress-up. Somehow, there's even dirty laundry in there. It makes me NUTS! I keep threatening that one day they will wake up and it will all be gone. I would do it too, if I could find the energy to pack it all up and put it all away after I struggle to get them in bed each night.
Hubby tries to help me keep it clean, but really, he just makes sure there is a clear path to the door in case of fire. Even he doesn't read my labels. So, every few weeks, MOMMY CLEANS THE PLAYROOM. This is a day that my children face with dread. One time I heard First Son say "Daddy, what IS she doing?" I get in there and dump every single container. I am a segregationist! NO Lego's with the matchbox cars! No princesses with the dinosaurs! And oh, there better not be crayons cavorting with anything but crayons!
Are my expectations too high? Do I ask too much? Well, at least for a few days after Mommy cleans up things tend to get put away correctly. I truly believe that kids need this kind of order. I find that when the playroom is clean, they play better. They play with toys and games that they haven't seen for a while. They make an effort to clean up. And, I am a nicer person when the playroom is clean. Well, Not that first day, because that day I am a bit sleep deprived, ya know?

Just a Mom

Today First Son's preschool invited parents to come in and talk to the class about their jobs. They stressed that it should be jobs that deal with people, in fact the class calendar titled today: "Community Helpers". This is why Hubby did not go in and talk to the kids about designing military airplanes and the tons of bureaucratic bullshit that go with it, it doesn't really fall neatly into the "community helper" category. No, they were looking for Doctors and Nurses, Policeman and Fireman, Trash Collectors and Postmen.
(Oh, who are the people in your neighborhood? In your neighborhood? In your neighborhood? Say, who are the people in your neighborhood? The people that you meet each day!)

Well, when First Son got into the car today and we were chatting about who came to his class today ( a nurse, and a construction worker) he said "Mom, I thought you were gonna come and talk about Winnie's". Hmm. I didn't give a second thought to talking about the 1 day a week that I pour coffee and sling eggs, I mean sure, a waitress is "in your neighborhood", but you know what? I don't identify myself as a waitress. I told first son, "sorry, maybe next time" ( he was just hoping I would have brought in grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone since the nurse brought in tiny baby diapers and construction worker dad gave everyone hard hats) But then I got to thinking about my "real job". I know that I have the most important job ever, being a full time, stay at home Mom. I also believe that the job I hold gets nowhere near the amount of respect it deserves, but what did I do about it? Absolutely nothing! I totally could have gone into that class and talked about my job! I could have done it in a way that would have had those 4 year olds really thinking! I could have been a trailblazer, demanding respect and dignity. I could have had no less than 23 other moms falling at my feet, thanking me. But what did I do? Oh I could kick myself!
I told First son that I didn't come talk about being a waitress because that isn't my real job, my real job is being a Mom. And he said - " Oh yeah, you're just a Mom." Boy do I have some work to do!