I awoke a little while ago, and lay awake thinking for a time before it struck me I had wakened right at the time that Asher was born a year ago. I didn't know why I was lying there, feeling angry that my son has a terrible dairy allergy, and one or two medical personnel have implied that this may well be because he was given dairy formula even though I wanted to breastfeed, when his whole system was under attack and he was on the hardest-core antibiotics one can find...
How can Asher's birthday be happy? We celebrated on Saturday, and I was happy, but the day of his birth was awful. The birth: too fast, too hard. And then we almost lost him. The next few days were this whirlwind of fear, anger, tears. I wasn't allowed to hold him because they told me he was too unstable, and they told me he probably wouldn't want to be touched anyway, since he felt so awful. In truth, when I put my hand inside his incubator, he always calmed, always. He couldn't learn to breastfeed, in part because they insisted on feeding him unnatural amounts so he'd grow before any baby ever grows, while most babies still lose weight, but also because he always fell asleep the moment I took him to breast; he was so, so stressed and tired, and when I held him, the comfort overtook any desire to feed.
My baby boy, when will your birthday be a time of joy? When will I not think of you hooked up to tubes? I both can't remember what happened and can't forget. But I don't think I knew I would be awake at 3 a.m. and so sad on your special day. You are the happiest baby I've ever known, the happiest baby lots of people we meet say they've encountered. You are funny, and beautiful, and you make kissy noises to call our cat. I can't believe how close we came to losing that.
Forgive my terrible, middle of the night post, but I just don't know what to do with the surprise of this grief and anger.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Okay, not doing a stellar job of keeping up the ol' blog
I have been putting off adding to my blog as if it were homework someone assigned to me, but that's more or less true of everything I want to do other than work or do dishes: see friends, get organized, spend meaningful time with my spouse...
This last month and a half or so has pretty much been a fiasco. I took on an online teaching position, which is a blessing in that it is consistent, but it greatly added to my workload, especially starting out, as I have had a fairly steep learning curve. I was also trying to finish up editing a (good) book manuscript written by a lady in Idaho, and juggling all of my tasks seems to have been more than my social life and sanity can bear.
However, I am done with my editing project, and I think this second school module will be easier, now that I (sort of) know what I am doing, so now I need to start remembering how to live again. And gosh darn it, I am going to do a better job of posting to my blog!! Now, your job is to hold me to it.
This last month and a half or so has pretty much been a fiasco. I took on an online teaching position, which is a blessing in that it is consistent, but it greatly added to my workload, especially starting out, as I have had a fairly steep learning curve. I was also trying to finish up editing a (good) book manuscript written by a lady in Idaho, and juggling all of my tasks seems to have been more than my social life and sanity can bear.
However, I am done with my editing project, and I think this second school module will be easier, now that I (sort of) know what I am doing, so now I need to start remembering how to live again. And gosh darn it, I am going to do a better job of posting to my blog!! Now, your job is to hold me to it.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Blood, sweat, gears, and tears
You know those ideas that start out sounding like good ideas? Ones like, I think I'll take the kids on a little bike ride? I'm thinking that instead of going to the gym, I'll pack my four year old and my nearly one year old into the trailer and just take a nice flat ride around the Toro Park neighborhood not far from my parents' house.
It has been a while since I rode around Toro Park. I know I used to do it when I lived here, and was about 23, and childless. My memory clearly does not serve, because I think I can just bike on a relatively flat trail straight around the smallish suburb, which sounds just about right with a 40-pounder and a 20-pounder in the trailer.
Things start off well; I bike away from the road and my parked car, heading down a dirt path next to nice golden hills and the occasional oak tree. Okay, so it is really windy. And the kids are really heavy.
Right about the time I think the trail is going to head back toward the front of the neighborhood, it suddenly veers the other way, heading straight up a very steep, gravelly hill. I bike my darnedest until I realize that no matter how low the gear, I am not going to be able to get up the hill. I'll just walk.
About 1/3 of the way up the hill, the bike starts frantically trying to bike itself out of my hands and backward down the hill, and I realize I probably only outweigh the bike, trailer, and kids by about 15 pounds. I leap my bare legs out of the way of its threatening chain, still maintaining my grip so as to avoid letting my children plummet to the bottom of the hill without me.
I finally make it to the top. Whew! At least the ride back down will be fun. Glad we're almost there! Except we aren't. Before my heart has recovered from the first climb, I'm upon another. And another. Selah keeps asking me nearly inaudible questions, and Asher occasionally cries. I try to ignore them all so the din doesn't drive me to commit suicide.
When I finally get to coast downhill a little, the bike gives a sudden lurch, which I don't really understand, but I keep going. To the next hill. Boy, I can't believe how much farther this has gone than I thought! Can't wait 'til we finally go downhill again! Which we don't, not for a while. I look back down the hill at the neighborhood, wondering if there's another way out, one other than turning back and having to go back uphill again, other than continuing on for who knows how long. The neighborhood presents a wall of houses, presenting their own solid backyard wall. I have to keep going. I fight the wind, try to use my abs, try to just get to the top of this friggin' hill. Asher is crying in earnest at this point; his tiny bike helmet is smushed down over his tiny face, covering his eyes. I look back, but feel helpless to do anything about it.
I finally reach a curve. My exhausted eyes are greeted with a familiar sight. They have seen this sight before when I saw that movie, Alive, about the soccer team that crashes in the Andes. They reach the top of their mountain, and just see more mountains, and more mountains. The path curves on ahead. I consider calling my dad, asking how far the trail goes. I realize it doesn't matter, because I have to keep going.
Finally, downhill! I have a few scares in sand-puddles, when my bike careens from side to side, but I don't want to lose any of my precious, precious momentum. I nearly shoot past what I have been looking for all this time--a tiny path leading back into the neighborhood! I turn around and walk my bike down it. At this point, I realize I have pulled my groin. I hear Selah trying to pacify Asher and fix his helmet, and I mentally bless her little heart. I do so again when I'm trying to squeeze the bike and the trailer uphill between a fence and a bush, and she says, "I'm making it easier now, Mommy!" while leaning forward. I hardly hear her over my grunts; I am trying to force the bike trailer around a corner on this path that is maybe 10 inches wide.
I finally see road ahead of me. Blocked by a wooden fence with a bike-sized--not trailer-sized--hole in it. I look around wildly, but no helicopters are looming yet. I kneel down, wincing from pain, and try to take the trailer off of my bike. I can't; the lurch I felt earlier was the trailer's safety belt unhooking itself and winding inextricably around the axle. I yank, twist, and turn until I unhook it, and ten minutes later I succeed in unraveling the deteriorating belt. Asher sits quietly, still mostly covered by his helmet, and I wonder if he's sleeping, injured, or just frightened by his half-dead, crazed mother. Selah looks interested and hopeful.
Spotting some passers-by, I frantically wave and gasp, "Will you help me?" They lift my trailer over the wall and look like they want to get the hell away from me when I exhaustedly mutter something about being tired, going too far. I hook the stinking heavy thing back onto my bike--would it be wrong to just leave them here--and start pedaling slowly back toward the car, still through the wind. Why is this still uphill? I wonder.
I make it back to the car, at long last. Selah says, "Whew! I am TIRED!" I don't know whether to laugh or cry. But I made it! Now I just need to get the bike and trailer and children back into the car. It sounds impossible. I manage. I drive home, blurry-eyed and wondering what's for dinner.
It has been a while since I rode around Toro Park. I know I used to do it when I lived here, and was about 23, and childless. My memory clearly does not serve, because I think I can just bike on a relatively flat trail straight around the smallish suburb, which sounds just about right with a 40-pounder and a 20-pounder in the trailer.
Things start off well; I bike away from the road and my parked car, heading down a dirt path next to nice golden hills and the occasional oak tree. Okay, so it is really windy. And the kids are really heavy.
Right about the time I think the trail is going to head back toward the front of the neighborhood, it suddenly veers the other way, heading straight up a very steep, gravelly hill. I bike my darnedest until I realize that no matter how low the gear, I am not going to be able to get up the hill. I'll just walk.
About 1/3 of the way up the hill, the bike starts frantically trying to bike itself out of my hands and backward down the hill, and I realize I probably only outweigh the bike, trailer, and kids by about 15 pounds. I leap my bare legs out of the way of its threatening chain, still maintaining my grip so as to avoid letting my children plummet to the bottom of the hill without me.
I finally make it to the top. Whew! At least the ride back down will be fun. Glad we're almost there! Except we aren't. Before my heart has recovered from the first climb, I'm upon another. And another. Selah keeps asking me nearly inaudible questions, and Asher occasionally cries. I try to ignore them all so the din doesn't drive me to commit suicide.
When I finally get to coast downhill a little, the bike gives a sudden lurch, which I don't really understand, but I keep going. To the next hill. Boy, I can't believe how much farther this has gone than I thought! Can't wait 'til we finally go downhill again! Which we don't, not for a while. I look back down the hill at the neighborhood, wondering if there's another way out, one other than turning back and having to go back uphill again, other than continuing on for who knows how long. The neighborhood presents a wall of houses, presenting their own solid backyard wall. I have to keep going. I fight the wind, try to use my abs, try to just get to the top of this friggin' hill. Asher is crying in earnest at this point; his tiny bike helmet is smushed down over his tiny face, covering his eyes. I look back, but feel helpless to do anything about it.
I finally reach a curve. My exhausted eyes are greeted with a familiar sight. They have seen this sight before when I saw that movie, Alive, about the soccer team that crashes in the Andes. They reach the top of their mountain, and just see more mountains, and more mountains. The path curves on ahead. I consider calling my dad, asking how far the trail goes. I realize it doesn't matter, because I have to keep going.
Finally, downhill! I have a few scares in sand-puddles, when my bike careens from side to side, but I don't want to lose any of my precious, precious momentum. I nearly shoot past what I have been looking for all this time--a tiny path leading back into the neighborhood! I turn around and walk my bike down it. At this point, I realize I have pulled my groin. I hear Selah trying to pacify Asher and fix his helmet, and I mentally bless her little heart. I do so again when I'm trying to squeeze the bike and the trailer uphill between a fence and a bush, and she says, "I'm making it easier now, Mommy!" while leaning forward. I hardly hear her over my grunts; I am trying to force the bike trailer around a corner on this path that is maybe 10 inches wide.
I finally see road ahead of me. Blocked by a wooden fence with a bike-sized--not trailer-sized--hole in it. I look around wildly, but no helicopters are looming yet. I kneel down, wincing from pain, and try to take the trailer off of my bike. I can't; the lurch I felt earlier was the trailer's safety belt unhooking itself and winding inextricably around the axle. I yank, twist, and turn until I unhook it, and ten minutes later I succeed in unraveling the deteriorating belt. Asher sits quietly, still mostly covered by his helmet, and I wonder if he's sleeping, injured, or just frightened by his half-dead, crazed mother. Selah looks interested and hopeful.
Spotting some passers-by, I frantically wave and gasp, "Will you help me?" They lift my trailer over the wall and look like they want to get the hell away from me when I exhaustedly mutter something about being tired, going too far. I hook the stinking heavy thing back onto my bike--would it be wrong to just leave them here--and start pedaling slowly back toward the car, still through the wind. Why is this still uphill? I wonder.
I make it back to the car, at long last. Selah says, "Whew! I am TIRED!" I don't know whether to laugh or cry. But I made it! Now I just need to get the bike and trailer and children back into the car. It sounds impossible. I manage. I drive home, blurry-eyed and wondering what's for dinner.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Nanny 911
Picture the scene: two parents, a mother sitting in the dining room at the table, a father in the kitchen. Dinnertime is about to start. The mother is attempting to nurse a baby.
Mother: [over baby's head] Selah? Have you finished picking up the toys?
A cat speeds down the hallway, followed by a seemingly sweet four-year-old girl, who is wearing a shirt and a pair of underwear around her knees. The child waddles, as the panties are restricting her movements. She throws a pair of shorts at the cat, as hard as she can. Panicked, the animal [which has already been deemed off-limits for the day] runs. The child waddles away, back down the hallway.
Mother: HEY! Get back here!
The smiling child returns, but when it is clear that Mother has discipline on her mind, appears wary.
Mother: Give me your hand. I am going to swat it because you hurt Mr. Darcy.
Child: NO! NO! [She makes to run off, knowing Mother is trapped with the baby.]
Mother: Honey, would you do it? I can't reach her.
Father: I don't want to do this, but you can't hurt the cat. [reaches over and swats child's hand]
Child: EARGH! [She charges at Father, clearly going to attack him. She kicks her toe on a toy schoolhouse, which, surprisingly, lies on the kitchen floor.] AAAAAAA! MY TOE! MY TOE!
The baby, finished with its meal, looks surprised, then smiles and wiggles.
Father: [Struggling to contain emotions: amusement? horror? It is difficult to tell] Selah, are you going to need to go to your room?
Child, still weeping from traumatic toe injury, hobbles quickly away, perhaps to her bedroom. Father and Mother look at each other.
Mother: That was like something out of the Jerry Springer Show!
Father: Or more like that nanny one.
Mother: [over baby's head] Selah? Have you finished picking up the toys?
A cat speeds down the hallway, followed by a seemingly sweet four-year-old girl, who is wearing a shirt and a pair of underwear around her knees. The child waddles, as the panties are restricting her movements. She throws a pair of shorts at the cat, as hard as she can. Panicked, the animal [which has already been deemed off-limits for the day] runs. The child waddles away, back down the hallway.
Mother: HEY! Get back here!
The smiling child returns, but when it is clear that Mother has discipline on her mind, appears wary.
Mother: Give me your hand. I am going to swat it because you hurt Mr. Darcy.
Child: NO! NO! [She makes to run off, knowing Mother is trapped with the baby.]
Mother: Honey, would you do it? I can't reach her.
Father: I don't want to do this, but you can't hurt the cat. [reaches over and swats child's hand]
Child: EARGH! [She charges at Father, clearly going to attack him. She kicks her toe on a toy schoolhouse, which, surprisingly, lies on the kitchen floor.] AAAAAAA! MY TOE! MY TOE!
The baby, finished with its meal, looks surprised, then smiles and wiggles.
Father: [Struggling to contain emotions: amusement? horror? It is difficult to tell] Selah, are you going to need to go to your room?
Child, still weeping from traumatic toe injury, hobbles quickly away, perhaps to her bedroom. Father and Mother look at each other.
Mother: That was like something out of the Jerry Springer Show!
Father: Or more like that nanny one.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
April Showers Bring May Flowers
I don't know where that is really true, but it certainly hasn't been true anywhere I've lived. Growing up near Monterey, California, I was often perplexed by seasons in children's books. We got no snow, if March came in like a lion, it was a tame, fuzzy lion, and February showers tended to bring late February flowers. Then, in Portland, I finally learned about colder winters, mostly that I wouldn't want to live anywhere truly snowy (I am far too thin-blooded), and still, February showers tended to bring March flowers--which were smitten with a frost immediately afterward, and died. So I don't know where all those descriptions came from.
I miss Portland a lot--partly the people, partly the culture, and partly just the city itself. Days like today, though, I remember why it was that I physically had to leave. I just hate the rain. It's not the rain itself, it's the gloom. I kind of like the rain, in that I like taking rain walks and such, but when the house is dark or when I'm driving on cloudy days, I just feel so tired and miserable. I think, "Did I feel this way all the time when I lived there?" It's hard, though, because I really don't love Sacramento. I do love where I grew up, my parents' house in Corral de Tierra, but that's not really a possible place for us to live right now. So here I am, in just-a-place California, but at least it hardly ever does this. And it has been so amazing getting to live right next to my nephews and niece, getting to go to their birthday parties and give them hugs more than once a year.
I guess what it comes down to is just figuring out where you have the best shot at being happy and healthy, and maybe it just won't be in a city with a pretty skyline and great concerts (that I never went to anyway, as a mom). But I do miss Portland.
I miss Portland a lot--partly the people, partly the culture, and partly just the city itself. Days like today, though, I remember why it was that I physically had to leave. I just hate the rain. It's not the rain itself, it's the gloom. I kind of like the rain, in that I like taking rain walks and such, but when the house is dark or when I'm driving on cloudy days, I just feel so tired and miserable. I think, "Did I feel this way all the time when I lived there?" It's hard, though, because I really don't love Sacramento. I do love where I grew up, my parents' house in Corral de Tierra, but that's not really a possible place for us to live right now. So here I am, in just-a-place California, but at least it hardly ever does this. And it has been so amazing getting to live right next to my nephews and niece, getting to go to their birthday parties and give them hugs more than once a year.
I guess what it comes down to is just figuring out where you have the best shot at being happy and healthy, and maybe it just won't be in a city with a pretty skyline and great concerts (that I never went to anyway, as a mom). But I do miss Portland.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Bunny Brawl
Jeremy's mom gave the kids each an Easter bunny; Selah's talks about Easter when you press a button.
I witnessed Selah playing with the two bunnies just now. I imagine normal children playing nice Easter games with such stuffed toys, hiding eggs or something. Instead:
Smaller talking bunny tells its story in an electronic voice, closing with "Happy Easter!"
Larger bunny: [Selah affects deep voice] It's not Easter! It's Christmas!
Smaller bunny: It's not!
Larger bunny shoves smaller bunny, who falls over.
Smaller bunny: I died!
He sits back up. Larger bunny hits him with a toy hammer.
Smaller bunny: Aaaaa!
Larger bunny: You have a time-out!
He picks up smaller bunny, who cries out.
Smaller bunny: Nooo!
I try to tell myself that I have a deeply imaginative child, instead of a severely disturbed one. I also try not to worry about the fact that after Larger bunny has hit Smaller bunny with a hammer, he gives him a time-out. What exactly is Selah's perception of us as parents?
Okay, I have to go feed dinner to a bunch of people who are going to hate it now. But if anyone doesn't eat, I will hit him or her with a hammer before handing out a time-out.
I witnessed Selah playing with the two bunnies just now. I imagine normal children playing nice Easter games with such stuffed toys, hiding eggs or something. Instead:
Smaller talking bunny tells its story in an electronic voice, closing with "Happy Easter!"
Larger bunny: [Selah affects deep voice] It's not Easter! It's Christmas!
Smaller bunny: It's not!
Larger bunny shoves smaller bunny, who falls over.
Smaller bunny: I died!
He sits back up. Larger bunny hits him with a toy hammer.
Smaller bunny: Aaaaa!
Larger bunny: You have a time-out!
He picks up smaller bunny, who cries out.
Smaller bunny: Nooo!
I try to tell myself that I have a deeply imaginative child, instead of a severely disturbed one. I also try not to worry about the fact that after Larger bunny has hit Smaller bunny with a hammer, he gives him a time-out. What exactly is Selah's perception of us as parents?
Okay, I have to go feed dinner to a bunch of people who are going to hate it now. But if anyone doesn't eat, I will hit him or her with a hammer before handing out a time-out.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Further adventures in motherhood
I am aware that most of my posts have to do with showers. Perhaps this is because showering is one of those beautiful remnants of the past, back when I had "me" time, and nobody bothered me, and how they tend to play out now in comparison to those days is traumatic at best.
As I near the end of my pregnancy (less than two months left!), I increasingly need and crave relaxation, but where would one find such things? I was taking a shower, hurrying as usual, and right as I had a head full of shampoo, Selah jerked the door open, and shouted, "I need you to wipe my bottom!" Closing my eyes, I decided I could hope that all had gone well on the potty (just outside) for the moment, at least while I was taking a shower, and just clean up if need be later. Shampoo dripping into my eyes, throwing water all over the bathroom, I performed the requested/demanded duty, and then leaned back in to rinse.
I didn't realize that Selah left the door open when she left--until the smoke detector right outside the bathroom went off, as it always does when steam leaves the bathroom. I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to ignore its shrill shrieks, as I was unable to reach the door knob to shut the door. Of course Selah was frightened by the noise, too, so started running around the house screaming, "Aaaa! Aaaaa!" The volume of her screams competed with that of the smoke detector's, and I finally gave up my quest for a complete, full bathing experience and got out to make everyone shut up.
I wasn't even mad; all you can do is laugh.
As I near the end of my pregnancy (less than two months left!), I increasingly need and crave relaxation, but where would one find such things? I was taking a shower, hurrying as usual, and right as I had a head full of shampoo, Selah jerked the door open, and shouted, "I need you to wipe my bottom!" Closing my eyes, I decided I could hope that all had gone well on the potty (just outside) for the moment, at least while I was taking a shower, and just clean up if need be later. Shampoo dripping into my eyes, throwing water all over the bathroom, I performed the requested/demanded duty, and then leaned back in to rinse.
I didn't realize that Selah left the door open when she left--until the smoke detector right outside the bathroom went off, as it always does when steam leaves the bathroom. I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to ignore its shrill shrieks, as I was unable to reach the door knob to shut the door. Of course Selah was frightened by the noise, too, so started running around the house screaming, "Aaaa! Aaaaa!" The volume of her screams competed with that of the smoke detector's, and I finally gave up my quest for a complete, full bathing experience and got out to make everyone shut up.
I wasn't even mad; all you can do is laugh.
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