ADVENTURES IN MOTHERHOOD

Adieu

2011-01-09T20:58:00.000-08:00

After more than two years and 555 posts (556 counting this one!), I'm saying goodbye to Adventures in Motherhood. I'm ready for a change, and I've started a new blog here:

Life As I Know It

I'm going to leave this blog up because it means too much to me not to. Feel free to still leave comments, as they will be forwarded to me.

I hope to see you at my new digs!

Questioning Faith

2011-01-07T21:11:00.000-08:00

Do you, oh devout faithful, ever question your faith? Pick it apart, analyze it, explore it? do you ever grapple with whether it actually makes sense or if it's just a safety net you don't think you can do without? Do you just blindly follow?

It seems to me that anything in life - including faith - is more valuable, more deeply meaningful, if it stands up to the rigors of being doubted and questioned.

A friend of mine has started a new blog, The Tentative Christian. She's a wonderful, warm, funny, intelligent woman and writer, so this promises to be anything but dry reading. I invite - challenge, even - you to follow it from its inception and see where it goes. Believers and non-believers alike.

Me

2011-01-06T13:06:00.000-08:00

Being in a reflective frame of mind lately, I revisited a series of interviews I did on the blog Abberation Nation about a year an a half ago. Ever wonder what/where I come from, and what makes me tick? Well, here it is - or at least partly. It's interesting how life's experiences can shape us so profoundly, and how yet, at the same time, we can feel so removed from our histories. I know these things happened, and I remember it all vividly. I carry the battle scars, and yet . . . I feel like I've come so far; it's almost like watching a movie about someone else.

Interview - Part I

Interview - Part II

Interview - Part III

Hula Hoop

2011-01-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

And now for some levity . . . May I present . . .

Annabelle, Daisy, and The Hula Hoop

In Michael's Words

2011-01-04T11:56:00.000-08:00

It's completely coincidental that Michael and I both decided to write about this today - we didn't at all collaborate on this. I guess it says a lot about what we are currently experiencing. He posted the following on Facebook, and in a rare instance of disclosure, he has given his consent for me to share it here:

***

My wife usually does these types of posts, these "Michael" updates, but I'm going to do one instead. I don't like to disclose, or whine, or complain, but I need to let my friends know where I'm at. A few weeks ago I posted the following on Facebook:

"From my aunt's kitchen: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." It starts now. I am told I don't have cancer. My body's damaged; I've changed, but I will not let the fear of what may lurk grip me and my family for one more day. Fuck that. You get no more of my time. I've given you your due. If you show up again, that's fine, we'll deal. But until that day--which may never come--I'm letting go. I'm free."

I still don't have cancer, which is great, and after I posted that I felt so empowered. And now, in a rare moment of disclosure hopefully worthy of one of my wife's posts, and hopefully somewhat cathartic, I have to say that being on the other side of cancer treatment is somewhat more difficult than the treatment itself. I need to disclose this because everybody thinks you just beat cancer and move on. It's fucking hard. The whole world has moved on and I haven't yet. And my wife is doing her best to move on, but can really only move as fast as I can, and that's pretty slow.

So many things change for you during treatment and recovery. One that's had a huge impact for me is this: I learned that for some people, even though my family and I were going through what I hope will turn out to have been the roughest time in our lives, some people are unable to subordinate their own needs, and whatever drives them, for yours, even when they are clothed in the disguise of support. Not that they don't start out with the intent to be helpful. It just turns into something else, about them. Because of this, my relationships with the only two people I've known my entire life are nearly non-existent, and superficial with one of them at best, and I don't know that they'll ever be the same. And I don't even know that I want those relationships to revert to what they were--that's what ultimately led to their downfall anyway. I can't operate like that anymore.

So, here I am struggling to move on and while my wife has been wonderful, dealing with my own issues and her own issues, and sacrificing herself to a large degree, I otherwise do not have the support of who were the two most important people to help me through, and to help us through, and to ease and share the burden. And because they have not been part of the support system, and have distanced themselves (although it has become mutual) they are unaware of the after-cancer struggle, and the demise of these relationships, and the fact they're not around, have added to the fall out.

Then, I landed in the hospital a few weeks ago for something probably related to the surgery I had for cancer. That was a reminder, and it took two trips to the emergency room and an appointment with a specialist, all in one day, before somebody fucking realized I needed to be in a hospital. Thankfully, I am now OK, but it just sent me into a tailspin and I just realized this morning that it was a setback that was affecting me.

While this experience and even the past few months and weeks have brought my wife and I very close together, I have also been inexplicably more emotional, somewhat afraid of losing everything I have, and working very hard to keep it together. And trying to raise 6 children and hold down a very demanding job that requires a lot of concentration.

Yeah, we still laugh a lot, and love, and have wonderful times, but I'm here to tell you that the letting go part, and the being free part, has been work for me and my family. I haven't let go yet. I'm not free yet. And because of that neither is my family. But I hope to mostly be one day soon.

Fallout

2011-01-03T21:01:00.000-08:00

Back in 2009, I spent a great deal of time wishing the year away. It was the year Michael was diagnosed with cancer, very early in the year, and he spent the entire year going through cancer treatment, and our family was put through the wringer. Michael dealt with the awful effects of chemo and radiation and surgery, while still holding down a job to support his family. I watched my husband's spirit erode and his body diminish, and was utterly helpless to bear any of it for him or to lessen the impact for any of us, all the while still having a house to maintain and six children to care for. Over time, the kids began to respond to Daddy being sick and Mommy being depressed with their own high emotions. It was a very, very difficult time, and I wanted nothing more than to put the year behind us so we could get back to life as we knew it before we had a relationship with cancer.

The truth is, though, that there is no going back. Life does not return to "normal" after cancer. Yes, life goes on, and we engage in most of the same activities that we used to, and our day-to-day routine is the same as before. But we are changed. Forever.

Some of the changes are good, and some unsettling. I remember when Michael was going through treatment, one day I ran into a mom at the kids' school whom I was acquainted with. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked about her husband, who I knew was in the military. She told me that he had been deployed to Iraq. And I remember thinking, "Yes, that's what it feels like. It feels like my husband is off to war." And like the men and women who come back from war with physical and emotional scars, so, too, do people who fight cancer.

Cancer, it never goes away. Even when the scan is clear and the blood work looks great, it's there, with its hooks in you, holding on, trying to take your peace of mind and your sense of safety and your ability to believe that there is still a whole life ahead.

I won't attempt to speak for Michael, as the experience of being the one who actually has cancer and goes through treatment is a unique experience in itself, and one I am not arrogant enough to think I understand. But speaking for myself, as the spouse of someone who fought cancer, I know the experience has wrought changes in me and my whole family.

I am filled with gratitude for all that I have . . . and an ever-present fear of losing it all. In some ways, everything about life feels more vivid . . . the highs are higher, and the lows are lower. I now live with the conviction that I will one day have cancer, that there is no escaping it - cancer is everywhere, lurking, silent, waiting to take everything away. Often I feel sapped from being swallowed by other people's needs, without having a proper, conventional safety net of support for myself.

I am angry - very angry - that the people who should have been saying, "What can we do to help you guys through this?" - if only by virtue of the obligation that is born out of the love, commitment, and loyalty they profess - have all along been unable and/or unwilling to put their own feelings and needs aside, leaving us adrift without proper support. That those people think they can speak for me and my kids in telling the world that we are all so very happy that Michael's recent scan was clear, when in truth, they have no fucking idea what we are feeling or what we have gone through, or what we continue to go through, because they can't seem to see beyond themselves. I am angry and bitter that I have stood by my husband through thick and thin, through the joys of good times and the ugliness and horrors of bad times - purely out of my love for and commitment to him and our kids - and yet I am still barely acknowledged as anything more than an incidental nuisance by the people who profess love and loyalty to him. I am angry that we are still trying to heal, after all this time, and those people don't have a clue.

I am scared that we are never going to heal completely. I am scared that cancer, in the end, has won, and has stolen something from us permanently.

Life goes on, and for the most part I purposefully go with that and am grateful for it. But every once in a while, the fallout is brought sharply into focus.

Goodbye 2010, Hello 2011

2011-01-01T20:49:00.000-08:00

Can you believe that we just said goodbye to not just another year, but another decade? How can it be 2011? Wasn't everyone just freaking out about Y2K?

Last night, for the first time in all the years Michael and I have been together, we actually had big plans for New Year's Eve. It was quite exciting! We and two other couples who are very good friends of ours got all dolled up, piled into a limo ( a limo!) and went to dinner at one of Michael's and my favorite restaurants, Orange Hill Restaurant.

The restaurant sits high on a hill, and the view is amazing. We started out having cocktails on the patio, sitting around one of the fire pits. It was chilly!

Sitting down to dinner -

A lemon drop for me, of course.

Dessert. Isn't that clever?

Back on the patio, where we toasted, kissed, etc., etc. at the stroke of midnight.

On the way home, back in the limo (those are Michael's and my tootsies).

It was a super fun night!

I have to say, I have not been as eager to see the end of 2010 like I was 2009. This past year was a wonderful year for our family, and I am filled with gratitude for our health and happiness, among other things.

But there's no stopping the march of time. Here we are, and already the first day of 2011 is fading into night. I'm not super big on making New Years' resolutions . . . but I do have hopes for the coming year, and things I'd like to strive for:

. . . to be healthy by whatever means necessary
. . . to reflect and be grateful regularly
. . . patience
. . . to nurture the relationships in my life, including those with my husband, my kids, and my friends
. . . to live more frugally (now that we sent 2010 out with a big, expensive bang!)

Happy New Year!

Let's Discuss Gifts From Spouses and Body Image

2010-12-30T13:22:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, right before Christmas, I wrote a post here about Christmas gifts from Michael - about how once, several years ago, he gave me sweats for Christmas a few months after Joey was born, and how that made me feel, and about how I knew that he had gotten me something from Victoria's Secret this Christmas because I stumbled upon the charge when I was doing our online banking, and that I was not happy to know that there would be something under the tree for me from Victoria's Secret. I took the post down because Michael was understandably hurt by it - mostly by my criticism of a gift from him that I hadn't even received yet. The sweats he gave me that long-ago Christmas have become something of a joke - I know he meant well; after all, I do like to wear sweats! But his giving them to me for Christmas just made me feel frumpy and unattractive. What was he thinking?!

Anyway, so you would think that in light of that - of complaining about getting sweats for Christmas and feeling unattractive because of it - I would be happy to receive something from my husband from Victoria's Secret. After all, shouldn't it elicit the opposite response from the sweats? You would think so, huh?

But, sadly, that is not the case. As soon as I discovered that charge to VS and realized that he had gotten me something potentially sexy, I was bothered. Upset. Why? Because I know I'm not built for anything from Victoria's Secret anymore. Michael clearly disagrees. I should just run with that, shouldn't I? It bothered me, though, that even knowing full well the body image issues I have, he would get me something that he should know I'd never feel comfortable wearing.

(And this brings up a question: when giving a gift to someone, is it better to give them something you know they would like to have, or to give them something you, the giver, want them to have?)

About a year ago, I wrote this post: A Mother's Body. I wrote about the changes my own body has gone through in the course of having six kids, and just in getting older. I vowed to make peace with what my body has become, and let go of the self-loathing I've developed.

I've failed. Utterly and completely.

It's funny, because in some ways, I like myself better than I ever have before in my life. I like the person I am; I know I have good qualities, that I am worthy of the people who care about me (it's taken me almost a lifetime to get to this point), that I do good things and make other people feel good. I also recognize my shortcomings and try very hard to be honest with myself about them.

So in that sense, I'm good, I'm square with myself. But this whole body image thing? Eh. I don't like the way I look. I don't like that I have such a hard time finding clothes that fit and sufficiently camouflage my flaws - most notably my tummy. I am at an ideal weight for my build, so it's not the weight. It's just the fact that five pregnancies have pretty much ruined my belly. It sticks out and sags and I hate it. Despise it. It's become a habit of mine to check out other moms' figures - does her tummy stick out like mine? How does she carry herself? Does she seem as self-conscious as I feel? And how does that bitch have such a flat stomach when I know she's got four kids? I have become more and more fixated on the idea of getting a tummy tuck - well, really, a "mommy job" - a tummy tuck and a boob lift, because these boobs are in pretty sad shape as well.

I try to analyze this whole thing with a rational mind. Where do these feelings come from? Is it fed by our culture and the ever present quest for perfection? Is it just me having a hard time watching my youth fade?
And then there's the guilt. Why the hell am I so preoccupied with this? What place does such silly vanity have in my life when considered in the context of real medical issues that have become a part of reality for our family? And it's not like we have several grand laying around just waiting to be spent, nor is it realistic to think that what I understand would be quite a grueling recovery from such a surgery would be something our family could deal with.

So, I'm stuck. Obviously the most practical option is to just find a way to be okay with myself as I am. So far, I haven't discovered the key to doing that.

And I hate this post. Because it sounds whiny and shallow. But there you have it. One of the many topics that resides in my head.

Blood Pressure

2010-12-29T10:15:00.001-08:00

One of my commenters left this link on my post yesterday about my blood pressure: http://www.highbloodpressureinfo.org/benefit-of-celery.html

I am very intrigued. It's worth a try! After all, what do I have to lose?

I forgot to mention that in the doctor's office yesterday, my bp was 155/95. Insert frownie face.

Off to buy celery! Will report back in a few days . . .

Update on My Scary Blood Pressure

2010-12-28T14:46:00.001-08:00

Following up on that doctor appointment from a few weeks back, I went this morning and met my real doctor for the first time. He was nice. Patient. Thorough. Came across as competent. We talked about my family history, my health history, my current lifestyle. He deduced that it's most likely got very little to do with lifestyle (so I don't have to curb my drinking - yay!) and very much to do with heredity.

I've resigned myself to going on medication - probably permanently - for this. I'm not thrilled about it, but I realize that stubbornly hanging onto my little aversion to medication is not going to preserve my health. So it's time to suck it up, put on my big girl panties, and do what I gotta do. People are counting on me, damnit!

So I explained to him that I am currently (still) breast feeding, and that I need a medication that is safe to take whilst suckling the little one. He did not balk at this (score one point for the doctor!). He confidently wrote me a prescription for Norvasc.

. . . and I came home, looked it up, and saw that it is specifically contraindicated for breast feeding women! Hello!?!? Is anybody out there listening to me??

So, apparently, I am back at square one. Or maybe square two. I just sent a fax to his office explaining my quandary to him and asking him to please prescribe a different medication for me after confirming that said medication is safe for me to take.

Meanwhile, here I sit, with visions of my heart sweating its little heart out, and my arteries stressed to their limits.

Maybe a drink would help.

Fondue

2010-12-27T12:52:00.001-08:00

Someone asked for the recipe for the cheese fondue we had on Christmas, so I decided to devote a whole post to fondue!

I'm not exactly sure how fondue became our family's traditional Christmas dinner. I have memories of having cheese fondue when I was a little girl in the 70s - fondue was big back then. I know when I joined my local MOMS Club shortly after Joey was born, they were doing a yearly Mom's Night Out around the holidays where one mom would host a fondue party at her house; she would make several different kinds of fondue and the guests would bring bread, veggies, etc. to dip (I hosted one year!). Then The Melting Pot opened here in SoCal, and I was hooked.

We've been doing fondue on Christmas in our house for several years now. What I love about it, aside from the fact that it's so decadently yummy, is the communal aspect - it's the ultimate in sharing and being together, and that makes it a perfect holiday meal in my book.

There are a million different fondue recipes out there, using all kinds of different cheeses, broths, sauces, and sweets. The fondue I've made on Christmas for the last couple of years is Pub Fondue from The Everything Fondue Cookbook.

In addition to sourdough bread cubes and Granny Smith apple chunks, for dipping I like raw mushrooms and baby red potatoes quartered and cooked. There's really no end to foods you can use for dipping in cheese fondue: carrots, broccoli, celery, tortilla chips, crackers . . .

If you've never made cheese fondue, you should know that it's a little tricky. It's hard to get just the right temperature once it's in the fondue pot; too hot and it bubbles and burns, not hot enough and it solidifies and turns into a big hunk of rubbery cheese. You can't use a simple fondue pot with a candle for cheese fondue - you have to use a pot that gets much hotter than a single candle, but preferably with an adjustable temperature control. I use an electric fondue pot for cheese, like this one:

Even with this, I have a hard time getting the temp right. One of these days I'll get a fondue pot with a Sterno heating element.

Basic chocolate fondue is very simple. Take a small carton of heavy whipping cream (not whipped cream) and heat over low-medium heat in a small saucepan. Gradually add an entire package of chocolate chips, stirring until melted. Voila! That's just a basic foundation; you can add all sorts of different things: a splash of vanilla or liqueur, a heaping spoonful of peanut butter, some marshmallow cream, whatever. You can also use white chocolate chips instead of milk chocolate, or dark chocolate, or butterscotch chips, or peanut butter chips. Some great dippers for desert fondue are sliced bananas, strawberries, angel food cake cut into chunks, Nilla Wafers, jumbo marshmallows, and graham crackers.

And there you have it!

Christmas Redux in Photos

2010-12-26T18:33:00.000-08:00

'Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring . . .

. . . except Mom and Dad who stayed up extra late to make sure the kiddies were all fast asleep so they could retrieve the holiday loot from the basement where it was hidden (said basement about which they boldly lied to the kids and told them it was flooded from the rain, so as to keep the curious hooligans from snooping), and hauled it upstairs, taking several trips to do so, all so Santa could receive glory and credit.

Christmas morning the kids were up at some godforsaken hour - I don't even know what time. I just know it was barely light out. We tortured them for a good hour, making them wait until a slightly more reasonable hour until we were ready to get up. Mean parents, eh?

In this photo, the kids are smiling, but if you look closely, you may be able to see the glitter of madness in their eyes. In truth, they were practically coming unglued with anticipation and impatience to open their presents.

Joey's favorite gift was a 2011 World Almanac. Yes, that's right, an almanac. He's been getting a new almanac for Christmas every year since 2007, and it's usually his favorite gift. This is what he reads for fun. Mostly baseball stats.

Pillow Pets were a big thing this year! Because you know, it's a pillow. It's a pet. It's a Pillow Pet.

The damage -

After opening presents, we had our traditional big Christmas breakfast, this year featuring Cinnabons, eggs, bacon and sausage. I had two Cinnabons. I couldn't help it.

For dinner, we had what has become our unconventional traditional Christmas dinner: filet mignon grilled to bloody perfection ala Michael, and cheese fondue with plenty of dippers, ala moi.

Mmmmm.

And for desert, chocolate fondue, also a Christmas tradition in our house.

And now that I've managed to double my weight in one day, I am officially swearing off crap for my New Year's resolution.

It was a good Christmas. The kids were all thrilled with their gifts, and we were all together, happy and healthy. Speaking of which, Michael is doing mucho better. He did spend the morning last Thursday having testing done to gauge the extent of the medical issues he's been having, but that same day he seemed to have a turnaround and has been feeling a lot better since then. We haven't gotten the official report from his doctor, but all signs at this point indicate that things are resolved. Phew!

And now, big plans for New Year's Eve! What to wear, what to wear . . .

Rain Clouds

2010-12-22T13:55:00.000-08:00

Last year as I slogged through the Christmas season, muttering "Bah humbug . . ." I swore to myself that next year would be different. Once we got through Michael's cancer treatment, a new chapter would start for us, and I was determined to let go of my long-held dislike of the holiday season, which has mostly been based on a feeling of loneliness because of my lack of extended family, and on allowing the stress and materialism of the season to overshadow everything.

It ended up that I didn't even have to try very hard to make the holiday season feel different - better - this year. We've had so much to be thankful for, and for the first time in a long time, I have felt utterly content with the little family Michael and I have created; that feeling that something is missing is gone. I cheerfully shopped for Christmas presents for the kids, and we decorated for Christmas inside and out. I was feeling positively festive, full of goodwill and good cheer.

And then the rain clouds rolled in, literally and figuratively.

It's been raining almost nonstop here in sunny Southern California for days and days and days. Everything is gray and wet and soggy and muddy and dismal out. The kids are all on winter break from school for two weeks, and have been locked up in the house the entire time so far because of the weather. They all have cabin fever, and I'm spending a lot of time breaking up fights and listening to tattling and tears. I'm pretty much letting them watch TV all day long because there's not much else to do. I think Joey and the girls went for four days without bathing and spent those four days and nights wearing the same pajamas. And while I know they all brushed their teeth every day, I can't swear that they changed their underwear during that time. I finally bathed them all yesterday, but the weather is still completely shitty and I have a feeling they will remain in the jammies (and underwear?) they put on last night for the next few days.

I did manage to spend two days baking, and I'm glad for that. I gave away most of the stuff I baked. As for what's left here, I've thrown moderation to the wind and am doing some serious comfort eating.

We did manage to buy a Christmas tree last weekend, but it was bought in the rain, so we couldn't bring it in the house right away because it was soaking wet. So it stayed outside for several days where it continued to get rained on. Michael finally dragged it into the garage a couple days ago to dry it out, and brought it in the house last night (four days before Christmas . . . sigh). The kids and I decorated it this morning.

Michael has not completely recovered from the ordeal that landed him in the hospital last week, and it is looking more and more likely that he is going to need surgery after all. This is a complication resulting from the cancer surgery he had a year and a half ago. He is scheduled to have some testing done tomorrow, and that will determine what the next step is. I'm bracing myself for the possibility of him being in the hospital very soon for a few days, and, yeah, I guess I'm feeling down about it. Worried about him, resentful of being dealt another shitty card, and, yeah, kind of feeling a little sorry for myself.

So, yeah, quite a damper has been cast over things recently.

But we'll deal. What other choice is there? Eventually the rain will pass, right?

Holiday Dance Recital 2010

2010-12-18T14:34:00.001-08:00

Today was the big day - the girls' dance recital, featuring a Holiday Showcase of ballet, tap, and hip-hop dancers from the dance academy they've been attending for about a year now.

Like the Land of Oz production they participated in last June, this recital required full regalia of costume, makeup and hair for all the dancers. Remembering the saga of getting them into makeup for the Oz production, I was not looking forward to this morning's preparations, and it was, in fact, a nightmare. First came Annabelle, who began crying hysterically right after I put her eyeliner on, thereby turning her face into a mess of black, runny streaks. I sent her to her room and moved on to Daisy. Daisy cooperated fully, infusing me with the confidence to move on to Lilah, who went into complete meltdown mode halfway into her makeup application. No amount of reasoning, threatening, guilting, or bribing her with treats would convince her to get on with it. Michael was unable to convince her either.

She's been squirrelly about dance (and preschool) for a while, but all along she's insisted she wanted to be in the show, so I've continued to drag her little butt, sometimes in tears, to dance class every week, swearing that once the recital was over, that would be it for dance. But alas, it finally became clear this morning that she just was not going to budge, so I threw my hands up in surrender. I'm still pissed. I know it's only money and time, but a lot of it was invested in this on her behalf because she said this was what she wanted to do. I'm not a pushy stage-mom, and I've never pushed any of my kids to participate in anything that they weren't eager to participate in, but damnit, once they commit to something, I expect follow-through. I'm disappointed . . . but maybe, after all, mostly in myself for not realizing that at four years old, Lilah is just not mature enough to understand commitment and follow-through.

After spending some time alone in her room, Annabelle agreed to come out and go on with the show, so I got her makeup on, got her and Daisy into their costumes, and we were off.

The show was held in a church, and upon entering and seating myself in a pew, lightening bolts did not, in fact, obliterate me.

Here is Michael showing Joey a bible:

The show was spectacular. In all, there must have been a couple hundred kids and young adults performing, ranging in age from three to twenty-two. I am seriously amazed by the talent of every single dancer there. I honestly see some real talent in Daisy and Annabelle, and think they could really progress with it if they choose to stick with it. We'll see.

Lilah would have been in this piece (in a green costume):

Daisy and Annabelle with their class:

Daisy wants to try t-ball in the spring, so for now we are taking a break from dance. I'm looking forward to the respite.

The Other Shoe

2010-12-14T20:20:00.000-08:00

Less than a week after rejoicing in the wake of Michael's clear post-cancer CT/PET scan, he developed a very serious - potentially life-threatening - condition and ended up in the hospital after two trips to the emergency room. The problem appears to have resolved without surgery, but it was touch and go for a good part of the day today as to whether he would need surgery. As of now, we are hopeful that he'll be home by tomorrow night.

I am reminded once again of several things . . .

. . . that none of us ever gets to say "I've paid my dues." Just when you think you've had all the rotten in life that you should have to bear, life has a way of throwing just one more curve ball at you. And you rise to the occasion, because what else are you going to do?

. . . life is short. And precious. And fragile. Anything can happen, at any time.

. . . the human body is a wondrous thing! Appreciate all the parts that work properly!

. . . I am so very fortunate to be surrounded by caring friends who actually want to go out of their way for us. I am truly thankful.

. . . I love my husband with everything I have, and I miss him like crazy when he's not here.

. . . and last but not least, I'm really not crazy about doctors all that much.

Inked

2010-12-12T13:50:00.000-08:00

Michael and I got inked last night, and photographed the event for posterity:

This was not a first tattoo for either of us, and we've both talked about each getting another for a while. Trying to decide what to get and where took a lot of time and thought. We finally decided on matching peace signs, symbolizing peace in our love for each other - which is especially meaningful to us with everything we have been through together - and our wish for peace in life in general. We wanted something matching, also, to symbolize the unity between us.

The chosen spots

Me first . . . signing my life away

In another lesson of not judging a book by its cover, the guy who did our tattoos, John, had the look of a carny - completely tatted out from neck to ankles, giant holes in his ear lobes, shaved head, and just a vaguely inbred look. He was extremely polite and well spoken, however, and completely won me over when this oddball guy who apparently hangs out at the shop pretty frequently started talking about Howard Stern and how funny it is when he makes fun of "handicapped people," and John said, very seriously, "It's not funny. I don't like it."

The outline is done

My tattoo took about an hour, and it hurt! The inside of the wrist is a very tender area, and it's still very sore today. I'm very happy with it, though - he did an excellent job. Look at all the detail. Isn't it beautiful?

Michael was next. His tattoo didn't take as long, as it had much less detail. It's basically the same peace sign as mine sans the vines and flowers.

Interesting fact that I learned last night: there is no licensing of tattoo artists, and there is no governing body regulating tattoo artists or tattoo studios. Tattoo artists learn generally by apprenticeship, and there are no set requirements for becoming a tattoo artist. All one needs is a business license. This came as a huge surprise to me, given that the girls who do manicures and pedicures are required to complete a certain number of hours of schooling, pass a written test as well as a performance test, are required to be licensed to practice, must follow stringent regulations having to do with sanitation, and are subject to random site checks by the State Board of Cosmetology. And yet, tattoo artists, who deal with tissue and blood, have none of these requirements. Kind of shocking! Really makes this whole tattoo thing seem like even more a leap of faith. I saw their autoclave in the back last night, which made me feel a little better.

My Other Tattoos

All of my tattoos symbolize something to me. It goes beyond body art for me - I haven't set out to just decorate myself with images that look pretty or interesting but don't mean anything. Each one represents something deeply important and meaningful to me.

I got my first two tattoos eleven years ago, shortly after my first marriage ended and my first husband died. They are two butterflies, and they are located on my right hip. Getting a tattoo in the first place represented a sort of statement of independence for me; I had wanted to get a tattoo for a long time and my first husband, being the controlling bastard he was, always told me he'd leave me if I got one. Butterflies, to me, represent metamorphosis or transformation, and these butterflies represent me and Kevin who, at that time, were undergoing a huge change and transformation - beginning a new life, a fresh start, my hope being that we would grow together (and did). They are also something of a tribute to my dad, who had a butterfly tattooed on the back of his shoulder.

This tattoo is on my left shoulder. The two intertwined hearts represent me and Michael, and the six flowers, our kids. I got the hearts and the first five flowers shortly after Lilah was born, and had the sixth flower added after Finn was born.

In a sort of twist of irony, the guy screwed up the sixth flower.

As you can see, it's irregular and not lined up properly. Fitting, though, that it represents my "irregular," imperfect boy. I think this actually gives it more meaning for me.

Holiday Trauma Brought to You By Elf On the Shelf

2010-12-09T20:57:00.000-08:00

The holiday season is upon us, and with it come my usual threats to the kids to behave and be nice because Santa is watching. I don't know if it's that they don't believe me that Santa is watching, or if they are all gamblers at heart and just choose to play the odds, realizing that no matter how naughty they've been in years past, somehow Santa never forgets them. Today I had my fill of the whining and bickering and refusal to be cooperative as I tried to move through the Witching Hour. I brought out the Big Guns: The Elf on the Shelf.

Are you familiar with this? I learned about it last year during the holiday season when several friends were talking about it. It sounded like such a brilliant idea, a fun way to keep the kids in line during the buildup to Christmas, with the added bonus of a new holiday tradition. In the box are a doll (heretofore referred to as "The Elf") and a book you read to your kids which explains The Elf's purpose and adventures. You, the parent, are supposed to find interesting, out-of-reach places for The Elf to sit from whence he can watch the children and make note of their behavior, and said children can tell The Elf (from a safe distance; if they touch The Elf, its magic powers are lost. Of course.) what they'd like Santa to bring them for Christmas. Each night after the kiddies are asleep, The Elf flies back to the North Pole, makes his report to Santa, and returns the next morning in a new location in the house. (This requires diligence on the parents' part; you have to remember to move the damn thing every night. I failed miserably last year.)

Anyway, so this evening as the girls were in the tub screaming and being general pains in the ass, I suddenly remembered The Elf, which I had not yet pulled out of the drawer I stuffed it into after Christmas last year. I quickly stole from the bathroom and stealthily placed The Elf on a high curtain rod in the girls' room, thinking when they got out of the tub, they'd go in their room to get their PJs on, see The Elf, exclaim in awe and wonder, and immediately shape up.

What ensued, instead, was utter hysteria. I got Annabelle out of the tub and dried off first, and sent her scampering into her room to get her jammies on. Roughly nine seconds later, a blood-curdling scream emanated from her room, and in a couple more seconds, she was back in the bathroom, howling in terror, and trembling - literally trembling. "THERE'S AN ELF IN MY ROOM!!!" she screamed over and over with tears and snot running down her face. This got Daisy immediately worked up and within seconds, she, too, was completely unglued, and she hadn't even seen The Damned Elf yet. Lilah was clearly on an adrenaline buzz from all the excitement, but so far she wasn't crying. Joey heard the ruckus and came running. "THERE'S AN ELF IN MY ROOM!!!" Annabelle wailed for the nineteenth time. Joey's eyes grew big and his breathing came a little faster, and he went to see for himself. "Wow, this proves Santa is real! I knew it!" he came back to report breathlessly.

Finally, after much cajoling, I convinced the girls to go into their room with me to check out this troublemaker, The Elf. Daisy and Annabelle refused to speak directly to The Elf and insisted I tell him on their behalf that they were scared and wanted him to leave.

(It was now coming back to me, vague memories of a similar scene last year . . .)

This continued all through dinner. Sitting at the table, Annabelle cried the entire time and positioned herself so that her back was towards the door to her room, as she didn't want a chance glimpse of The Freak Elf through walls and around three corners. Every noise she heard, she would jump and cry and go, "What was that?" thinking it was Satan Elf coming to get her.

I couldn't take it anymore, so finally I got up and said I was going to talk to The Home Invader Elf and ask it to leave. I chucked the damned thing back into the drawer where it spent the last year. And peace ensued.

All this over a doll.

Michael vs. Cancer

2010-12-08T20:12:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a very emotionally charged couple of days - weeks, really. Anxiety was building to alarming levels over Michael's upcoming scan, and it culminated in a rather surreal and very draining day yesterday - what with it being the anniversary of my dad's death, and then my doctor appointment in the morning and the worry over my blood pressure, and then dropping Michael off late yesterday afternoon at the outpatient center where he would spend a couple hours for his full body CT/PET scan.

I have to say that I had no idea until recently that this scan would be such a huge emotional issue. When Michael was going through treatment last year, it was horrible and awful in so many ways, but at least we had the comfort of knowing we were being proactive. He and his doctors were actively fighting the beast, and Michael was being constantly watched and monitored. When he had his scan immediately following the end of treatment, there was definitely a huge relief factor, but it happened so quickly after treatment I just don't think we had an opportunity (or I didn't anyway) to dwell much on the possibility of a bad outcome.

But now it's been a year since treatment ended, and only recently has it begun to sink in for me the feeling that we've somehow been cut loose. A whole year for one mutant little cell to have escaped the clutches of chemo and radiation and surgery, maybe multiplying its little heart out deep inside Michael, with us none the wiser. It happens. It's exactly why there are follow-up scans and checkups.

I don't know how either of us managed to sleep last night. Today we were both bundles of nerves. And what to say to the kids? They know that Dad went in for some kind of test last night, but Kevin is the only one we actually told that it was a test to make sure the cancer is still gone. I feel terrible now because I know I was Yelling Screeching Mom today - every last nerve in my body was on edge and my patience was at about -100. The kids went to school, Michael went to work, and I spent the morning at a friend's house (thank you, Jen!), Michael and I just trying to get through the day as we waited for a phone call from his doctor that very well could change everything for us once again.

We finally got the call late this afternoon. The report from Michael's scan states "No evidence of disease." Michael remains in remission. His oncologist said he's see him in a couple months for a regular checkup.

To say that we are thankful and relieved seems almost trite. I want to jump for joy. I want to hug everyone I love. I want to live and love as hard as I can. I don't want to leave anything unsaid.

Life. I am thankful.

Doctor Appt. Update

2010-12-07T12:30:00.000-08:00

So I went to the doctor this morning to get the low-down on my blood pressure (get it? low-down? har har). I kind of feel like it was a big fat waste of time.

Okay, so I admittedly have a deep-seated prejudice against doctors. So it's unlikely that I would come away from any doctor's office with rave reviews.

This is my PCP. I've never met him before, as we changed family doctors after our previous one missed Michael's cancer (that's right!), or rather, failed to refer him to a specialisit until SEVEN MONTHS after he first brought alarming symptoms to her attention. Yeah. So after that we kind of decided maybe she wasn't the doctor we wanted to entrust our care to. So this is a doctor new to us. Highly recommended, actually, by Michael's oncologist - who is actually a doctor I very much like. Anyhow, this new doctor, however, happens to be out of town currently, so I saw some ~~quack~~ doctor filling in for him.

On the plus side, when I arrived, the waiting room was pretty crowded, but they were moving patients right along and I didn't have to wait long at all. I filled out the requisite paperwork and then was called back.

(Kind of a funny aside: on the wall was hung a sign that said "A FEE OF $25 IS CHARGED FOR FILLING OUT FORMS." I shit you not. I almost laughed out loud at this. Seriously? They're going to charge me to fill out forms pertaining to me? I mean, isn't clerical stuff part of the office staff's job? I love when they ask you for your insurance card so they can make a photocopy of it, then give you a form to fill out that asks you for your detailed insurance information. Dude, you have my freaking insurance information! And don't bother asking me for my driver's license number or social security number, because the only reason for you to have that information is for collection purposes, but I have insurance so you don't need to worry your pretty little heads about collecting anything from me!)

Anyway, so I go back and the nurse weighs me and measures my height (apparently I've shrunk an inch over the last few years) and takes my blood pressure. It was high. 162/96. A few minutes later the stand-in doctor comes in. I explained to him about the stress and anxiety I've been under with my husband's health, and also that my bp always tends to be noticeably lower (though still on the high side) at home than in the doctor's office. In a nutshell, here's what he told me:

Stress does not cause high blood pressure (this after admitting that there is such a thing as "white coat syndrome" - a particular stress having to do with being in a doctor's office that causes some people's bp to elevate);
Caffeine plays very little in the role of blood pressure
My alcohol intake is most likely the biggest culprit and I need to seriously cut back.

That last one is the one that has me throwing my hands up. I am NOT a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. I like to joke about drinking, but the honest truth is I have the equivalent of ONE drink 4 - 5 nights out of the week. Once in a while when I go out I might have two or three drinks. That's it.

He said that he could give me a prescription for a bp med today, but when I told him that I'm still breastfeeding he informed me that he's not sure if any bp med is safe while breastfeeding. "Probably," he said. But, he said, it would probably be better if I just stopped breastfeeding. And that got under my skin too. As if it's that simple, that cut and dried. I have a toddler with Down syndrome who does not drink out of a cup yet. Yes, I need to work on that, but I guess what bugs me is just the black and white perception.

What we finally decided is that I will work at making certain lifestyle changes - eat better (less salt - I do love my salt!), try to get more exercise (though, seriously, with all the running around I do, I hardly live a sendentary life, and at 5'4" and 128 pounds, I am not overweight), I don't know about the alcohol . . . whatever . . . and monitor my bp at home for the next few weeks and see. And then go back and see my new real doctor for a follow-up.

So basically I feel like I am left standing here, still at square one. I don't know if I actually have chronic high blood pressure, or if it's situational, or even if it's hereditary. My dad had high blood pressure, but he also had a terrible lifestyle - he was grossly overweight, he was a heavy smoker, a severe alcoholic - so his hypertension could very well have been totally lifestyle induced and not genetic.

Blah.

Monsters

2010-12-06T14:17:00.000-08:00

I just took my blood pressure at home, wondering if my sky-high reading the other day had anything to do with my White Coat Syndrome. (I have a blood pressure monitor at home that I used to monitor my bp when I was pregnant with Lilah.) It read 182/86. Not great, but not nearly as high as it was in the doctor's office the other day.

I have an appointment with my GP tomorrow morning. And I'm having some anxiety about it - which I'm sure isn't helping. High bp, worried about high bp, which probably elevates it more . . . ah, it's a circle jerk.

Anxiety has been running extremely high in our house lately. It's not something I've talked a lot about, in the interest of privacy, but I need to put it out there now. We are scared. Michael is due for an annual PET scan, and in a way, it feels very much like we're reliving the period right after he was diagnosed, when we were trying to wrap our heads around the fact that he had cancer, but we didn't yet know how bad it was or what the treatment plan and prognosis were going to be. Emotions have been heightened by the fact that some people Michael has become acquainted with who had the same type of cancer he had have died recently. It throws you for a loop, that's for sure.

Until very recently, I've been operating under the assumption that everything is going to be okay. Of course it is! Of course his scan is going to be completely uneventful. Of course it's just going to confirm that he's completely fine. Very naive of me, but I think it's just been a defense mechanism. I can't let myself go there. I can't let myself think about the other possibility, because I might lose my mind if I do. The only way I can hold it together is to convince myself that of course everything is going to be fine.

Only now that naivete is crumbling, and reality has wormed its way in. All it takes is one rogue little cancer cell to have not shown up on his scan immediately following the end of his treatment. One little cell that could pull the whole fucking rug out from under us once again.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: people think that once a person is finished with cancer treatment and their follow-up scan shows "NED" (no evidence of disease), that's it, the beast has been beaten and everyone can heave a sigh of relief and get on with life. And to some extent that's true, but it's also true that cancer never leaves you (or your loved ones) completely. The fear - and the chance - of recurrence is always there. It's not an easy thing to live with. The hardest thing is figuring out how to not let the fear control you and steal your life.

Michael saw his oncologist this morning for routine bloodwork, etc. (which went fine), and in the interest of putting all this waiting and wondering behind us, scheduled his scan for tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully we will get good news within a day or two and can move forward. In the meantime, one foot in front of the other.

Fourth Annual Book Club Holiday Extravaganza

2010-12-05T20:30:00.000-08:00

For four years running now, my book club (which has been going strong for over seven years now!) has forgone a December book discussion and instead we've gotten together for a holiday dinner and gift/book exchange. This year's dinner was hosted by the lovely Audrey (at the head of the table in the first photo below) who went all out.

This is an event I look forward to every year, and every year it gets better and better. I feel so fortunate to be a part of this group of intelligent, fun, opinionated, stimulating women.

Thrown For a Bit of a Loop

2010-12-03T14:14:00.000-08:00

So this morning I went in to my old OB/GYN's office for my annual well-woman visit (no photos, so sorry). My midwife did my last well-woman, which was very cool, especially because it took place in my own little Home Sweet Home (convenient!) and because it involved cocktails beforehand - imagine how much more relaxed every woman would feel were she served an ice cold screwdriver before she was served a speculum! Anyhow, I had an inkling that this year I might be in need of some referrals to other doctors (for a mammogram, which at 43 I have yet to have; and possibly to a urologist to address the damage birthing six babies has done to my holding power), so I went back to the OB/GYN whose ship I jumped mid-pregnancy four years ago. I actually saw his Nurse Practitioner, so I didn't have to face him.

After filling out an inch-thick stack of paperwork, I was called back where the nurse weighed me, asked me a bunch of questions about my health history, and took my blood pressure.

And there was the kicker: it can no longer be denied that I have high blood pressure. The first time she took it, her eyes got big, she whistled and said "190 over 104." Seriously. She waited a few minutes, told me to try to relax and took it again. 178/100. Not good. Not good at all.

The fact is, I've had high blood pressure in the past. It first came to light when I was pregnant with the twins, and at that time it was diagnosed as pregnancy-induced hypertension. By the end of my pregnancy, I was in the throes of pre-eclampsia, and my blood pressure was so high while I was in labor (exaccerbated, I am convinced, by the on-call motherfucker obstetrician who spent a very long time trying to bully me into a completely unnecessary c-section) that they were afraid I was going to go into a seizure, and put me on a magnesium sulphate drip.

At that time, I thought it was just the pregnancy with twins that did that to me - it was just a lot for a body to handle, growing two babies at once. But when I got pregnant with Lilah my blood pressure also revealed itself on the high side. Same with Finnian. My midwife was able to help me control it with a high protein diet and various supplements, but on the sporadic occasions I've been to the doctor for various ailments between pregnancies over the last few years, my BP has always been on the higher side, though never as high as it was this morning. So I don't think I can chalk it up to pregnancy-induced anymore. There is a hereditary factor, as well. My dad had chronic high blood pressure and died from a massive heart attack at the age of 51 (which is less than ten years older than I am now). He was overweight and had several decades of hard living, hard drinking, and heavy smoking under his belt, which no doubt were the main contributors to his death, but still, I can't help thinking . . . I'm not overweight, I don't smoke (anymore, but I did for a loooong time), and I'm only a moderate imbiber, but there's the high blood pressure. Which at this point looks chronic.

So then the nurse stuck me in a little exam room giving me the usual instructions to get undressed and put that ridiculous paper robe on, and a few minutes later the NP came in and right away told me that my blood pressure "needs to be addressed as soon as possible," and I started crying. Fool. Ninny.

It's just that in the wake of Michael's ordeal last year, I feel so incredibly fragile and mortal.

You know, you go through your twenties and thirties feeling kind of invincible - or at least like, all that decline and health stuff that comes with age? It's so far off in the future that it's hardly worth thinking about. And then you find yourself in your forties, and especially if any kind of devastating illness has visited itself on your family or anyone you are relatively close to, and suddenly you feel so vulnernable. And it's terrifying at times, knowing that there might be invisible things going on inside your body that you have no knowledge of, no control over. And you have visions of your children being left motherless or fatherless. And everything you have to lose suddenly becomes so tangible that you can touch it.

Michael's battle with cancer has done a whole head trip on me. Every little ache or pain these days makes me stop for at least a second or two and wonder what it means. Is it something horrible hiding inside me, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself and fuck my whole family over? The feeling usually passes pretty quickly by great effort on my part. And really, despite this burgeoning hypochondria, there is also a sense of utter procrastination. I can't deal with any of my potential issues right now because I have too much other stuff going on with Michael and the kids. My stuff can wait. I'll deal with it later. And there is a certain bliss in remaining ignorant.

But after this morning, I am no longer ignorant of my state of health, or at least not completely so. And now I have to address it. I left the doctor's office this morning feeling a little like a walking time bomb. Is my heart on the verge of giving out? Is there a vessel in my brain about to burst at any second?

I have an appointment with my family doctor early next week to address this blood pressure issue. The NP this morning told me that they'll probably put me on medication to control it, and maybe even baby aspirin. Gah. Is this the start of being old and lining up my prescription meds on the counter every day? How depressing.

Gotta do it, though. Take care of yourselves, people. Just do it.

Hair: The Long and the Short of It

2010-11-29T14:13:00.000-08:00

It's recently hit me how much time and emotion are invested in hair in our house. Seriously.

There is Annabelle, of course, with her unofficially diagnosed trichotillomania. Which breaks my heart. And which I thought we had so well under control, and which lately we clearly do not have under control. Her hair had grown out so nicely from last spring through the summer until school started, and since then she's been on a twirling/twisting/pulling frenzy that no amount of reasoning, ignoring, or fidget-toys seems to be helping. It recently got to the point where one whole side was so noticeably shorter than the other that she looked positively lopsided. I consulted with a girlfriend who also has a daughter with a penchant for pulling and asked her, "Should I trim her hair to even it out? Or should I just leave it since she doesn't seem to care?" I was advised to leave it, and I did for a while, but I couldn't take it any longer and this weekend I trimmed it. (And I'm still asking myself, is it fair or right to impose my vanity on my six-year-old daughter? And I still haven't come up with an answer.) The truth is, Annabelle is a beautiful little girl - I'm not just saying that - and she looks adorable with a little pixie cut. It's not the short hair that bothers me, it's the reason it's short, and it's people asking her why her hair is short while her sisters' both have long hair, and watching how she kind of folds up in shame when the question is posed to her.

Then there is Joey. He's been letting his hair grow for almost a year now. And really, I swear he has the most gorgeous, to-die-for hair . . . wavy and thick with natural golden highlights . . . I'm telling you, he has the kind of hair that women pay big bucks to simulate. Anyway, and I really like the long hair on him. But quirky little Joey . . . I started thinking this was becoming some sort of Howard Hughes thing with him, that if we didn't make him go in for at least a little trim, he might go the rest of his life without allowing scissors to touch his hair. So with the aid of some good old fashioned bribery, we got him to agree to go in for a little trim this weekend. It's still long, and it still looks great, and now it's cleaned up and hopefully we've broken whatever hair-head-trip he was on.

Kevin also grew his hair out over the summer, and I have to say it looked awful. He's got straight, fine hair like me, and it just hung in his face. But it was almost like he was competing on some level with Joey - we were letting Joey grow his hair out, and Joey gets all this attention for his gorgeous hair (from family and strangers alike), so it seemed like Kevin wanted a piece of that too. Which is a little sad, that Kevin at 13 feels like he needs to compete with his 8-year-old brother for whatever reason. Anyway, we pushed and pushed for Kevin to get his hair cut when school started back up, and he did, and was very upset about it. And since then, we've made him get his hair cut a couple more times, and it's always with a fight. He looks so handsome with short hair, but I'm not sure I feel like anyone has won. I guess he's at that age when self-expression is rearing its head, and we have to let out the reins some, right?

Lilah's hair is down to her butt. Like Joey, she has the most wonderful, gorgeous hair. Curly, thick, honey-colored, cascading down her back. Hair that I'd kill for. She announced to me yesterday after her bath that she wants me to cut her hair, that she wants it like Daisy's (which is a little longer than shoulder-length). She started crying and begging me to cut it. I have no doubt that she hates how I have to comb and tug through it after washing it to detangle it (and no amount of conditioner seems to do the trick). But I can hardly bear the thought of cutting those tresses! Plus, she's so fickle these days that I just know I'd cut it and she'd be shrieking that she wanted her hair back. So it stays for now, but I know at some point . . .

Finn's pretty easy. I just stick him in the kitchen sink about once a month and take Daddy's electric trimmer to his head and give him a faux hawk. The only downside is that Michael doesn't like the faux hawk. Well, you know the saying - you can't please everyone.

I think Daisy is the only one who is happy with her hair the way it is, and whose hair everyone else seems to have no complaints about either.

Thanksgiving 2010

2010-11-26T17:05:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving this year was the best in recent memory.

I have to say, usually I find myself becoming depressed when the holiday season hits. It's usually when I feel the absence of extended family the most, and it's always a reminder of my dad's untimely death right before Christmas in 1998. This year everything feels different though. I guess it boils down to the feelings of gratitude I wrote about in my last post. This family of mine - my husband and my kids - it's enough for me. It's the family I always wanted, and there's nothing to pine for anymore. I miss my dad - I always will - but he'd want me to be happy and to bask in the present.

Anyway, it was a pretty low-key, no-stress day. Michael and I spent the day getting all the food ready, and we had dinner on the table by 5:00.

The turkey was fabulous - and I'm not a big fan of turkey. It was super moist, tender and very flavorful. To achieve this, Michael had to establish relations with the bird three days in advance according to these instructions my friend Robin sent me. Seriously, bookmark it and try it next year - you won't be sorry.

I am feeling positively in the holiday spirit now - me, the Humbug. Might even get some Christmas decorations put up before the weekend is over.

I close with a little Thanksgiving animation my brilliant son, Kevin, made with clay and Legos. Enjoy!

Thankful

2010-11-24T15:51:00.000-08:00

Although I'm not a fan of holiday-forced gaiety, I must confess that I am feeling downright thankful of late, and compelled to express it and put it out there. And perhaps Thanksgiving is, after all, a good reminder to acknowledge the ups on this roller coaster of life.

A year ago, we were being held hostage by Michael's cancer. It was a very dark time in our house. I just went back and read what I wrote around Thanksgiving last year, and it seriously brought tears to my eyes. We had made it through almost an entire year of chemo and radiation and surgery and recuperation from surgery and multiple trips to the ER (as well as the Swine Flu - remember that? - sweeping through our house), and there we were, Thanksgiving week. It was a chemo week, so Michael was bedridden for much of the week. We were existing in our bleak, insular little world, isolated and afraid, painfully putting one foot in front of the other, trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It was a hard, hard time.

A year later, Michael appears to be in robust good health. Cancer treatment is months and months behind us, but not so far behind us that it doesn't still hurt. The fear, we have learned, will probably never go away completely. Michael is due for an annual scan soon, and anxiety is mounting. Cancer is a fucker. It's wily and unpredictable and it doesn't care that we have six children who desperately love and need their father, or that here is a truly good man whose wife feels like she would not be able to face life without him.

But I don't mean for this to be a post about the dark, scary things. What I mean to say is that existing right alongside the anxiety over Michael's health is a gratitude that often overwhelms me. Not just that he's here, alive and well, but what we gained from the ordeal. We figured out what really matters and what doesn't, and that life is really short and really precious, and it's a criminal waste to spend much time or energy focusing on petty annoyances in a marriage. We know now what we're made of, and that's a gift. We know that those words we spoke at our wedding, "In sickness and in health, in good times and bad . . ." are really, really true for us. We meant them, and we know that now, because we've been put to the test.

Hard times afforded me the opportunity, too, to shed relationships that were more negative than positive. It was like separating fresh milk - the cream rose to the top, and I am left with a handful of friends who continue to enrich my life on so many levels.

And of course there are my kids. Six little vessels in whom I can pour all the love that went so untapped in me for so much of my life.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I know now that nobody ever gets to say "I've paid my dues." I have no doubt that life probably still has a few more curve balls in store for me, and I hope I can weather them. And although I'm certainly not wishing for more hard times, I respect the lessons and opportunities the hard times have afforded me. Without rain, you can't appreciate the sunshine. Right now, my life is filled with sunshine, and I am thankful.

NOT Enjoying the Small Things

2010-11-22T21:13:00.000-08:00

A rant:

I know this is going to make me sound bitter and jealous and petty and a plethora of other not-so-pretty things, and maybe it's true, maybe I am those things sometimes. Image be damned, I must purge.

It's that blog. You know the one. Everyone seems to know it. And almost a year after the birth story that went viral, people are still freaking forwarding it to me and telling me "You have to check out this blog! It's amazing!" And now all over Facebook, everyone (well, not everyone, but a lot of people!) in the Down syndrome parenting community are encouraging everyone to vote that blog as The Best Blog (of what, I'm not sure).

Gah. I'm weary of her and her blog and all the attention it gets. Or really, whatever. I don't care. But why do people keep encouraging me to get sucked into her vortex of Beauty and Perfectness and Positivity?

Kelle Hampton and I have exactly ONE thing in common: we both have a child with Down syndrome. That's it. I can't relate to her. I read her birth story when it first made its way around the internet early this year, and I could not relate to it at all. Who wears full makeup while giving birth? Who has tasteful, handmade parting gifts (or was it party favors?) for her room full of birth attendees? Who has a professional (or at least extremely skilled) photographer capturing her in all her contracting and pushing glory with just the right lens and lighting? It looked like something out of a high-end magazine for crap's sake. And on every sporadic occasion that I have visited her blog just to see if I could find something - anything - to identify with, that's what I saw: perfect, glossy, magazine-worthy.

Maybe that really is her reality. Maybe her life really does look like that. I have no idea, but I do know that I just can't relate.

And how did she become the Poster Child for parents of children with Down syndrome anyway? She's been on Oprah for crying out loud! And in Parenting magazine! And I believe she has a book deal in the works. Seriously? The truth is, while I think that her portrayal of a beautiful, photogenic life has probably served the general population well by showing that having a child with Down syndrome isn't the horrible, ugly burdensome thing so many people believe it to be (if anyone outside the Down syndrome community is even following her - again, I have no idea), I actually think she's doing a disservice to a lot of parents who have children with Ds, because the truth is, the vast majority of us don't find instant nirvana like she apparently did. For most of us, coming to terms involves a somewhat lengthy process, during which there is much crying, ranting and fist-shaking. I think for a lot of parents with kids with Ds - especially new parents who are still in the throes of getting a grip - Kelle's portrayal of her recent life has the potential to make them feel like, well, shit, actually. That's kind of how it makes me feel when I occasionally visit her blog, just to see. It's like looking at an issue of House Beautiful, knowing you're never going to have a gorgeous, immaculate, well-appointed, tastefully decorated house like that. Or it's like looking at super models, knowing you just can't compete.

I have nothing against Kelle. Obviously, I don't even know her, and I'm sure if I met her, I'd think her a perfectly delightful person. I don't know if her blog is an honest portrayal of her experiences, or if it's all (or mostly, or somewhat) staged, or if she fell into internet superstardom completely unintentionally but now has an Image to maintain. All I know is I can't relate! Her perfect life spread out on her perfect blog doesn't resonate with me, and it kind of makes me feel crappy.

So, uh, yeah. That's it I guess.

On Fickleness, Separation Anxiety, and the High Emotions of Four-Year-Olds

2010-11-20T14:07:00.000-08:00

We are having quite the time with Lilah lately. Sweet, giggly, good-natured Lilah - the one of the bunch that's always been the most easy-going and the least trouble. Suddenly over the last couple of months she's tapped into this inner reserve of emotions, and it's been very trying, to say the least.

In addition to becoming far more uncooperative in general than she's ever been before, and crying big fat tears that ooze down her chubby little cheeks when she feels slighted or when Mommy or Daddy get mad at her for something (like being uncooperative), these new found emotions seem to be manifesting mainly in her not wanting to go to preschool, and not wanting to go to dance class.

Although I worried about how Lilah would do on the first day or two of preschool, having never spent any sort of extended time away from her parents or siblings, I really thought she'd quickly take to school. I've always known her to be a gregarious, fun-loving little girl, and I thought she'd quickly make new friends and look forward to each day's new activities and adventures. That hasn't been the case. I was actually surprised at how smoothly things went in the beginning - she separated from us and willingly went into the classroom in the first few days of school without any drama or tears. It's sort of gone downhill from there, though.

It started in the first couple of weeks where she started telling her teacher that she missed her mommy and her Finn. I thought this was very sweet. We came up with the idea of giving her a snapshot of me and Finn for her to take to school with her that she could look at whenever she got to missing us, and for a while that was enough. But it's gradually dissolved into her crying before school and wailing that she doesn't want to go, she just wants to stay home. I've talked to her teacher about it (in fact, her teacher actually approached me recently and told me that Lilah often seems "down" at school), and her teacher thinks it might have something to do with Lilah being dumped for the first time in her life. She had her first ever best friend, but alas, it was short lived, as the other girl, in the teacher's words, seems to have "moved on." I can see that this has hurt Lilah, but I don't think it's the crux of it. She's made some other friends, so she does realize there are other fish in the sea.

I think she just wants to be home with me and Finn.

As Michael has pointed out, at home she's had four years of being The Baby Girl, and I won't deny that she's been coddled to a degree. Not spoiled, but certainly adored - it's hard not to adore that girl with her long golden tresses, her sidelong glances, her sweet giggle, and her prancing around like a little pony when she's happy. She's kind of everyone's pet here at home, and she's probably gotten used to that attention and admiration at home, and I'm guessing that maybe it's a bit of a rude awakening for her to realize that the world outside of our house doesn't necessarily have her on the same pedestal.

Then there's dance class. We signed her up for dance when she was three. She wanted to do it because both of her sisters were doing it - and really, they're a threesome. She was very happy and willing until recently. She happily went to class every week and participated, she took part in the big spring recital the school did, and it was great. After the recital, I gave all three girls the opportunity to stop taking dance if they wanted, or to take a break. No, they all wanted to continue. So I re-enrolled them. They all said they wanted to be in the winter recital coming up, after I made it clear to them that they didn't have to if they didn't want to, but if they wanted to, they couldn't change their minds. Lilah insisted she wanted to be in the winter show, so I paid the fees, bought the costumes, and now it's all changed. Now she doesn't want to be in the show. Now she cries and wails every week when it's time to get ready to go to dance class.

It all seems to boil down to some sort of separation anxiety. Just like with her resistance to going to preschool, I suspect that her new resistance to going to dance class (and for the record, once she gets there, she's fine) has to do with her just wanting to be at home where everyone loves her and everything is comfortable and familiar.

And I'm torn. What do I do? Obviously preschool is non-negotiable. She's four - she needs to be in preschool. And despite her not wanting to go, she is getting something out of it. But what about dance? Do I make her keep going for the next few weeks until the winter show is over because she insisted she wanted to be a part of that? Is it ridiculous or unfair to expect a four-year-old to fulfill a commitment they made? Is this a teachable moment, an opportunity to instill the principle of following through in her? Or would it be easier for everyone and more reasonable to just write off all the money we invested in all the classes before the show, the show itself, and her costume, because suddenly she no longer wants to do it?

I don't know, I don't know.

Lighter

2010-11-17T16:13:00.000-08:00

So I unfriended 80 - yes, EIGHTY - Facebook "friends" today. It was harder than I thought it would be; I actually had to do it in phases, scrutinizing my Friends List several times at intervals throughout the day. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings (though I acknowledge that I may be flattering myself by thinking anyone would even care), and it was not any kind of statement - I just wanted to whittle my list down to people I actually communicate with and have some sort of relationship with. Even after the purging, I am left with 130 friends on my list which still seems excessive because I don't think I even know 130 people in real life. I think in the future I will be a little more selective about which friend requests I actually accept.

I also returned two of the four shamefully expensive bras I bought at Nordstrom last week. This was something of an ordeal in itself. I know that Nordstrom is famous for its customer service and accepting returns no questions asked, but my stomach was still aflutter at the prospect of returning the bras. I should say that I'm not really a Nordstrom girl - it's always felt a bit out of my league (I'm not worthy!). And after all the time and trouble Olivia the Bra Fitter spent with me, well, I just felt kind of bad. And I was afraid, despite Nordstrom's reputation for accepting returns, that I was going to have to explain myself, and then maybe they'd try to talk me out of returning them, and then my resolve would crumble and I'd be just one more sucker, suckered into buying expensive Nordstrom bras.

So I skulked into the Nordstrom lingerie department this morning, hoping that Olivia the Bra Fitter wouldn't be there (yeah, like she'd even remember me), with the two bras that I had resolved to part with. Lucky me, nobody was in line at the checkout, and it was a different girl working. Yay! "I'd like to return these," I said. "They didn't work out for you?" she asked. "Umm, no, I guess not," I said. "Sure, no problem." And then? Olivia the Bra Fitter is suddenly approaching. I busy myself digging through my purse, hoping my hair will obscure my face so I'm not revealed.

She didn't notice me. Or if she did, I meant nothing to her. Gosh, after all we went through together . . .

And I'm now $140 richer!

November 17 is National Unfriend Day

2010-11-16T13:39:00.000-08:00

That's right - in case you haven't heard, late night talk show host Jimmy Kimmel has deemed tomorrow, November 17, National Unfriend Day for Facebook users. His reasoning? That Facebook friending has gotten out of control and is diminishing the value of real friendship. I tend to agree.

Even I have found myself in the position of being something of a Facebook whore, willing to accept friend requests of nearly anyone who sends me one. Why? Because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. The vast majority of my Facebook friends are people who found me through one of my blogs, and although a small number of the people I've "met" via the blogosphere I've developed actual relationships with, the majority of them I have not and, chances are, won't. And while I'm flattered that anyone reading my blog liked what they read enough to want to friend me, the fact is that most of us really are probably just taking up space on each other's Friends Lists.

I think Facebook started out as a means to keep in touch with people we actually cared about, but it's evolved into something much, much bigger and more impersonal - and to some, I'm sure, it's an extension of the popularity contest we all took part in (or at least tried to, or dreamed of trying to) in high school. Maybe it's time to just stick with the people who actually matter to us.

Nobody likes being "unfriended," but let's put it into context: yeah, it hurts to be unfriended by someone you actually did consider a friend, but to be unfriended by a stranger? By someone whose status updates in your newsfeed never meant anything to you anyway? Eh, big deal.

So I'm ready to purge my list tomorrow. I think. Maybe. Probably. What about you?

Adventures in Bra Buying

2010-11-12T13:11:00.000-08:00

Did you know that 80% of women wear the wrong size bra? I didn't know this either until I was informed by a good friend of mine recently. I've heard vague references from different friends over the years to getting professionally fitted for a bra. It was always something that kind of went in one ear and out the other for me; on some level I guess I assumed that getting professionally fitted for a bra was for women who took their breasts very seriously because they were either very well-endowed and/or had something to show off. I don't fit into either of those categories. These puppies have been work horses for the past NINE years. The days of showcasing anything are long, long behind me, and my bra criteria has pretty much been comfort and functionality, period.

Still, when my girlfriend told me recently that most women wear the wrong size bra, and then shared her own bra-sizing revelations with me, and finished up by showing me her beautiful new boobs in a beautiful new bra that had been professionally fitted, my curiosity was piqued. Hmmmm . . . have I been wearing the wrong size bra like millions of my breast-owning sisters? I had to find out.

Not being eager to actually go somewhere and have somebody knowledgeable measure me (which would involve revealing at least a little naked flesh to them, which makes me shudder with insecurity), I figured I could probably figure it out myself with the help of the internet. I took my iPad into the bathroom (see how convenient that is?) along with a handy-dandy seamstress tape measure and Googled "bra sizing" and was directed to many, many different sites which all confirmed that there is, indeed, a wrong-bra-size-wearing epidemic, and which each gave a different method and formula for measuring and determining Your Correct Bra Size. Some advised that I needed to measure around my ribcage under the sisters, and depending on if I came up with an even or an odd number, round to the nearest something-or-other, while other sites instructed me to measure around higher up under my armpits and then subtract from that number the age of my dog's mother, while still other sites asked me to measure my left leg and divide that by the last four digits of my social security number. Okay, I kid. But seriously, there were several formulas, and each one gave me a different Correct Bra Size.

Let me back up and just say straight out that I've been wearing a 34C bra, but doing so with the knowledge that it's not the right size (even before my friend enlightened me). During the height of nursing when I was proudly milk-filled, I filled out a 34C to perfection. But nursing has dwindled, as have the size of the girls, and somewhere in the back of my mind I've figured that I am, at this point, probably more like a 34B (which is almost hysterically funny because I come from a long line of natural-born DDs).

Anyhoo. So according to these different sites, my Correct Bra Size is anything from a 30A (ha!) to a 36C. This was not helping to solve the big mystery. It was clearly time to bite the bullet and get professionally fitted for a bra. Ugh.

So I strode confidently into the Nordstrom lingerie department this morning, trying to disguise my insecurity and bra-sizing ineptitude, and smiling at the first twenty-something-cute-as-a-button-firm-bodied-girl-who-clearly-has-never-had-one-let-alone-SIX-babies-literally-suck-the-life-out-of-her-breasts who approached me and asked if she could help me, I said, "I'd like to get fitted for a bra." She was very nice. She took me back to the fitting rooms and asked me to take my top off, whereupon I was immediately overcome with the need to inform her that I've had SIX kids and even my husband doesn't get to see me with my shirt off. She just laughed (in a nice way), and I did as she instructed. She measured me and announced that my Correct Bra Size is . . . (drum roll, please) . . .

34B.

So much for the big revelation.

Anyway, she had me try on about a dozen different bras. Some of them I didn't like, some I did (I LOVED the Bra-llelujah by Spanx - super comfortable). I ended up buying four bras and spending a shitload of money on them, which I now feel completely guilty about and am already considering returning two of. I also got suckered into buying a $6.50 bottle of special detergent to hand wash my new bras in, because apparently anything else - even Woolite - will ruin the elasticity of these pricey brassiers, and apparently special Nordstrom scientists have developed the one and only exact detergent formula to maximize the life of them. Yeah, like I'm actually going to hand wash my bras. Come on.

All in all, I would summarize the experience as ~~humbling~~ humiliating, and very expensive. I am left feeling even more depressed about my body than I was before.

Oh, and I think I will be buying my 34Bs at Target from here on out, thank you very much.

Unfriended: A New Way to Snub

2010-11-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

It's sort of a strange thing to find that you've been unfriended by someone on Facebook. When an unfriending occurs, there is no proclamation or announcement or notification; the unfriended is just quietly removed from the unfriender's Friends List, and the unfriended will never know until such time that they go searching through their own Friends List and find someone's name mysteriously missing.

I've done it, I admit it. I've unfriended people who were complete strangers to me from whom I didn't know why I accepted friend requests to begin with. I've unfriended a few people who I had actual fallings out with, or people on the other side of an actual friendship that just ran its course and petered out mutually. In those cases, why bother with the pretense of a Facebook "friendship"? The unfriending seems like a logical step.

But when it's a person you've actually known for a very long time - say, since junior high school (hypothetically, of course), a person with whom you may no longer be close practically speaking but have had no falling out, no disagreement or words - nothing over the last year or so except pleasant Facebook exchanges - well, then it's just weird. Or maybe not weird. It's obviously a statement of some sort which boils down to "I don't want to be friends with you anymore." You think everything is fine, then you realize you haven't seen this person's status updates in your newsfeed for a while, so you go through your Friends List to pull up their Facebook page so you can check up on them and see how they're doing, and poof! They're gone from your list. Was it something you did? Something you said? Was it your radical atheist views? And your husband might say to you, "Why don't you just get in touch with her and ask what happened?" (Hypothetically, of course.) But you think, no, what's the point in getting an explanation? It's only bound to lead to hurt feelings. And you're left to conclude that they just don't like you anymore, for whatever reason. Which makes you sad. (Hypothetically, of course.)

It's just interesting how Facebook - and electronic communication in general - has changed the face of relationships. We can now sit comfortably behind the cover of our computer screens and tell people off - say things we'd never dream of having the nerve to say face to face. We can profess undying friendship to people we've never met and likely never will. The people we love and hate are only a text or email away. We don't even have to think about what we're going to say - we don't have to measure our responses or carefully weigh our words - instant communication and constant availability has done away with much of that. And now we can even dump friends impersonally and anonymously. Maybe divorce will become that easy eventually.

Isn't technology great?

TKO

2010-11-08T20:09:00.000-08:00

After discovering her very first loose tooth just a few days ago, this one came out easy as pie. The kids were horseplaying after dinner tonight, and somehow or other Joey accidentally hit Daisy in the mouth as he ran past her and the next thing we knew, there was her tooth on the floor and quite a bit of blood in her mouth. Not a tear was shed, though - she laughed! Happy to suddenly be a bigger girl, I'm sure, and happy to know the Tooth Fairy will be paying a visit tonight in her honor!

Parenting: Not For the Faint Hearted

2010-11-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

Out to dinner with a couple of girlfriends last night, my friend Lisa made a statement so fundamental and yet profound, that I am inspired to write about it and explore it in all its truth and glory. She said, "The hardest part of parenting, the most exhausting part, is the constant, never ending, twenty-four hours a day of standing your ground and backing up your bullshit." Bullshit being whatever principles you hold dear, and whatever values you endeavor to impart on your offspring.

God, isn't that the truth.

Before you have kids, you hear the stories of sleepless nights with colicky babies, of nursing troubles, of tantrums in grocery stores, of playdates gone bad, and of that mysterious but apparently frightening Teenage Stage. You know parenting isn't going to be a cakewalk, but until you are in it, elbow deep in the blood, sweat, and tears of actual parenting, you just don't know how hard it really is.

In all the wisdom experienced parents try to pass along to new parents, nobody talks about the relentlessness of it all. Of the absolute stamina parenting requires. About how one challenging childhood phase evolves into yet another, and that raising your kids is years and years and years of exhausting effort.

The truth is, kids are born at odds with us grownups. It's us against them, from the moment they come squalling into the world, imposing their demands on us while we impose our wills on them. Kids are needy and dependent and willful and determined all at once, and they employ strategies like whining (has ever there been a more tortuous device than whining? seriously.), and tears, and dramatic threats, and wheedling, and optional hearing, and spontaneously lying-down-because-every-muscle-in-their-body-has-turned-to-Jello-because-they-are-not-getting-their-way, and ignoring our advice, and bending our rules, and pushing our buttons, and trying, trying, trying, always trying to see how far they can go. And we the parents are required to stand firm in the face of all this and take the blows as they come without breaking. For years and years.

I mean, we do break from time to time. I know I do. I yell too often. Sometimes I hear myself, from a distance, screaming at my kids, and I am horrified and ashamed. Sometimes I close myself in the bathroom for five minutes and release a deluge of tears and frustration, and emerge, swollen-eyed but resolute, ready to go back into the trenches. Because that's what you have to do, you have to summon up the fortitude to keep going, to keep being the grownup even when you wish someone else would come in and be the bad guy for you so you can just go take a nap for crying out loud. Giving up isn't an option. Surrendering on a large scale can be disastrous.

I don't mean to say that it's not worth it. I love my kids so much that it's often a physical ache I can feel in my core, and I would not trade this gig of motherhood for anything ( . . . okay, sometimes I'd like to trade it - just temporarily - for a trip to Hawaii, or, you know, five minutes of peace and quiet). There are rewards along the way: sloppy kisses, strangle-hold hugs, glimpses of your children showing kindness to others, occasional moments when it feels as though all the stars and planets are aligned exactly right and you and your kids are in perfect harmony for a short while. The big payoff doesn't come until much later, though. Not until they're all grownup themselves. Only then will you get to stand back and know if all your hard work - your stamina and exhaustion - paid off in the form of a happy, well-adjusted, productive adult who doesn't hate his or her parents.

It ain't easy. And it's a long row to hoe.

Namecalling

2010-11-05T09:58:00.000-07:00

Here's a little tidbit I've learned through experience: as a parent, you lose cred with the kiddos when you can't keep their names straight.

Example:

Me: "Daisy! Get down from there right now!"
Annabelle: "I'm not Daisy."

It has nothing to do with the fact that those particular two are twins; they are not identical and are easily told apart from one another. It's just that I can't seem to keep their names straight. Not just the twins, but any of the kids. Or the dog, for that matter.

The fact is, I rarely get any of their names right on the first try. Daisy probably thinks her name is Aunt Daisy, because I can't seem to blurt out her name without accidentally first starting to say her sister's name. It comes out like this: "Ann-Daisy!" Which sounds a whole lot like Aunt Daisy. There are also the following common combinations:

Deh-Ann-Lilah!
Deh-Ann . . .
Lilah-Finn . . .
Joey! Uh, I mean, Kevin. Did I just call you Joey?
Li-Annabelle!
Finn! I mean Twinkle!

Yes, even the dog often gets called by the wrong name.

Finn sometimes gets called Lilah, not because the two of them look anything alike or are even close to the same size, but because, I guess, somewhere along the line, I got used to calling the youngest "Lilah." And even though Finn has been the youngest for over two years now, my brain clearly hasn't completely processed this fact. And Twinkle is sometimes mistakenly addressed as Finn because on some deep level, my brain knows that the newcomer was Finn at some point, and has yet to completely assimilate Twinkle as the latest newcomer (over a year later).

Sometimes I resort to "Umm, you," or "What's your name again?" or "Which one are you?"

I'll never forget the time Michael addressed Joey as "Boy." I looked at him quizzically and asked, "What was that about?" He said, "I swear to God, I totally blanked on his name for a second!" We got a good laugh over that one.

It's no wonder they don't take us very seriously. I'm sure we come across as complete kooks to our kids.

Maybe name tags are in order?

Just Write a Check

2010-11-04T13:27:00.000-07:00

Within the first couple weeks of the new school year, the flyers and catalogs start coming home with my kids. It's Fundraising Season, and it lasts all school year long.

I detest school fundraisers. It's not the giving that I mind - I don't. I know full well that our schools have been sucker punched time and time again by budget cuts. I know that our schools are being forced to cut programs along with spending, and that they're operating with almost the bare minimum. Any extras, and indeed, even a lot of the necessaries, have to come straight out of the community's individual wallets at this point.

What I mind is the crap we are asked to sell, and the marketing to the kids themselves. Who needs more overpriced wrapping paper or cookie dough or See's Candy? I understand the concept of giving people something in return for their money, but the truth is, I'm not going to go forth in my neighborhood and try to sell the same stuff that all the other families in the neighborhood are also trying to sell, and had I an extended family to hit up, I'd like to think that they'd be willing to just give up some moolah for a good cause and not have a need for some candles or stationary to show for it.

As for marketing to the kids, I say leave the kids out of it. I don't like having to deal with my kids' emotions when I refuse to sell cookie dough or take the family to dinner at Islands on Tuesday night because they've been led to believe that the fundraisers are mandatory. It's almost like the kids are a tool in the whole marketing ploy, exploited to play on the parents' guilt. I think fundraising should be a matter strictly between the schools and the parents.

Someone else recently wrote about this topic here, much more eloquently than I have. It definitely struck a chord with me.

A long time ago, when Kevin was a mere tot and just embarking on his school career, an older, experienced mom told me, "Forget the fundraisers. Just write a check." Some of the best advice I ever got.

Good Morning . . . ?

2010-11-04T09:11:00.000-07:00

I think I finally put my finger on it this morning, on what makes the mornings so challenging and often unpleasant around here: there is just no warm-up period for the kids. Let me explain.

See, I'm admittedly not much of a morning person. I need some time after I wake up to slowly rejoin the world of consciousness (and to decide if I'm happy to be there or not), to get my thoughts in order, get a handle on my mood, and so forth. A transition period from sleeping to waking to functioning.

The kids, on the other hand, have no apparent need or desire for any such warming-up period in the morning. They go from dead sleep to wide awake and raring to go in about one-ninth of a second. Often they are up before my alarm even goes off in the morning, standing by my bedside announcing that they have to go potty (so go already! why the announcement?!) and demanding breakfast. Even when I manage to beat them to it and get myself up before them and creep into the kitchen and start processing, the moment they're up, it's instant GO! NEED! DEMAND! BICKER! DANCE! CHASE EACH OTHER! SING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS!

And there are six of them! (I know, I know, I asked for this. I know. Shut up.)

Armchair Psychology

2010-11-01T15:35:00.000-07:00

We all know certain people who could be described as self-centered, self-involved, and/or self-important. We've heard the term "narcissistic." Did you know, however, that there is actually a clinical condition called Narcissistic Personality Disorder? I guess I'm not surprised to learn that this is yet another category of diagnosable illness in this age of pathologizing just about every quirk or flaw of human behavior. Without going into that issue at length, though (except to say that it has long bothered me that there no longer seems to be just quirky, or just shy, or just high energy, or just an asshole, and that every human behavior these days seems to potentially fall under some diagnosis), I have to say that I find myself fascinated by this Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Mayoclinic.com generally defines NPD as ". . . a mental disorder in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance and a deep need for admiration."

According to mayoclinic.com, NPD symptoms may include:

Believing that you're better than others
Fantasizing about power, success and attractiveness
Exaggerating your achievements or talents
Expecting constant praise and admiration
Believing that you're special and acting accordingly
Failing to recognize other people's emotions and feelings
Expecting others to go along with your ideas and plans
Taking advantage of others
Expressing disdain for those you feel are inferior
Being jealous of others
Believing that others are jealous of you
Trouble keeping healthy relationships
Setting unrealistic goals
Being easily hurt and rejected
Having a fragile self-esteem
Appearing as tough-minded or unemotional

Its causes tend to be rooted in childhood, resulting from abusive parents, over-praise from parents, or overly critical parents.

This particular personality disorder raises an interesting question: how does one deal with a person like this? The very nature of their so-called illness outfits them with an inability (or unwillingness?) to see or acknowledge their own shortcomings, as well as a generally obnoxious demeanor to go with it. So any suggestion to them that they have "issues" which need to be addressed for their own good as well as the good of the people around them is an exercise in futility. Because it is classified as an illness, does this require one to deal compassionately and tolerantly with said repugnant behavior, or is it okay, for one's own emotional well-being to draw clear boundaries, even to the point of generally steering clear of said narcissistic person as much as possible?

Halloween 2010

2010-10-31T21:53:00.001-07:00

We survived. Have I mentioned that Halloween isn't my favorite holiday (refer to Halloween 2009)? Despite this, our family was hit with a strange, last minute bout of Halloween fever today which caused us to carve pumpkins, deck out our yard with tombstones and a decaying skeleton emerging from the ground, and outfit the windows with strobe lights and a track of evil sounds to scare the bejeezus out of the li'l trick-or-treaters. The neighborhood was the usual scene of throngs of people fighting their way up and down the sidewalks, but the kids had fun, so there's that. Oh, and gotta love the neighbor who was handing out candy to the kids and Jello shots to the grownups. Now, there's my kind of treat.

Nonsense

2010-10-28T12:20:00.000-07:00

Even the Christians can't agree. Yes, homosexuality is a sin. No, it's not a sin, it's just the way some people are born. God hates fags. Jesus loves everyone. Jesus is God. The bible says, hate the sin, love the sinner. No, that's not even in the bible, that came from somewhere else. The bible says a man who lays with a man shall be put to death. But that's the Old Testament, so it doesn't count. Well, it sort of counts. Wait, I'm not sure . . .

If even the Christians can't agree, then how are the rest of us supposed to take them seriously with regard to their beliefs?

If the bible is the One Universal Truth, then why is it so damned cryptic and confusing and open to interpretation? One would think that if something were meant to be The One Universal Truth, a guide by which the average person is supposed to live, then it would be crystal clear and devoid of contradictions or ambiguity. It wouldn't be so hard to understand - so hard, in fact, that apparently only scholars and preachers really understand it, and the average Joe has to attend bible study classes in order to try to figure out what it all means (and really, what they're getting in bible study is a spoon-feeding of their particular sect's interpretation of hand-picked bible passages; go to a bible study for a different denomination, and you're likely to get a whole other interpretation). If it were the One Universal Truth, it would not have spawned a thousand different religions. One would think.

Here's another thing: Christian selfishness. I am sick to death of signing onto Facebook and seeing threads, or overhearing conversations at school as I wait for my kids to be let out, centered around requests for prayers for the most selfish, trivial things. And yes, even your husband's job loss, or your daughter's upcoming surgery - even my husband's cancer - are extremely trivial things if one looks at them in the context of a worldview. And isn't that what we should all be doing, looking at things from a worldview, and not just telescoping in on the things immediately surrounding us? If there are people who really and truly believe that there is power in prayer, that there is some All Powerful Entity out there listening and taking an interest in the human race, then shouldn't those people be putting their prayer power to more altruistic use? How about praying for an end to hunger, an end to violence and war, an end to babies dying of horrible diseases, an end to catastrophic "acts of God"?

My theory is that people tend to pray for things that are, in the end, safely in the hands of fellow humans. They pray for new tires for their car, or money to cover Jimmy's braces, or that their dog Spot's broken hind leg heals, or that Susie's surgery goes smoothly, or that mortgage interest rates go down, because really, they know that these are all things potentially controllable by human forces. It's safe to assume that those things will work out, thanks to human involvement (and if they don't, it's all part of God's plan). Does anyone actually pray that there be no more deadly earthquakes or hurricanes? I doubt very many people do, because they probably realize the futility of it, and that just might shake their faith a little.

I know, I sound pissed off, don't I? I guess I am. It's a constant irritant to me, this whole religion thing, this whole god thing. People who live their lives according to some ambiguous book, by principles they can't even fully explain - all in the hopes of scoring enough points to get into Heaven in the afterlife. I mean, if you're going to adhere adamantly to certain principles, at least be able to back them up - the whys and wherefores - in a concise manner. Otherwise, your credibility just goes pretty much to the dogs for me.

And the picking and choosing. The self-proclaimed "Cafeteria Catholics" (and I'm sure there is an equivalent in every religion). If you're just going to go with what works for you and forget the rest, why bother with religion at all? I am here to testify that one can be a good person of high morals and values for its own sake, and not for the sake of any religion.

The afterlife - now there's a golden carrot if I ever saw one. I'm thinking there is no afterlife. And therefore, we should take the utmost care of the here and now. We should be taking care of one another, taking care of the planet, loving and accepting one another, reaching out, accepting. Gosh, just imagine a world like that! Sounds like Paradise, doesn't it?

Standing Up To the Headshrinker, Take II

2010-10-21T11:27:00.001-07:00

Well, I hate to leave anyone hanging - I'm sure everyone's been on the edge of their seats wondering what happened last night when I was going to tell my therapist buh-bye.

So, as expected, I had nothing pressing to talk about. So for an hour we just talked about my kids in general terms.

When the hour was up, she pulled out her smart phone, my cue to pull out my own so that we could set the next appointment. I swallowed the lump of nervousness and said, "I'm going to take a break." She said that she was going to suggest this (hmmmm, really? Okay, I'm being cynical. Maybe she really was going to). She did, however, convince me to make an appointment for early December, "just to check in."

Eh, whatever. I can always call and cancel.

Standing Up To the Headshrinker

2010-10-20T16:05:00.001-07:00

I'm going to tell my therapist tonight that I'm taking a break.

Okay, so I see a therapist. So what? People seem to be so open about the drugs they take to cope, so why shouldn't I be just as free to cop to my non-pharmacological efforts to deal with life's messiness?

I've been seeing therapists on and off since around the time Kevin was born. When Kevin was a newborn, I joined a little Mommy & Me group for new mothers through the hospital where Kevin was born. We'd meet once a week with our infants and sit around a big table in a conference room, sipping coffee, looking haggard, and talking about the ups and downs of new motherhood. The facilitator of the group picked up on the fact that I was in the throes of some pretty heavy-duty postpartum depression, so I began seeing her privately.

Then there was the guy I saw for a few years, beginning shortly after my dad died, when my first marriage was in its final descent, and continuing through the first year or so of Michael and I being married.

Now there's M. Michael and I actually started seeing her jointly because, in all honesty, the first couple years of our marriage were, shall we say, full of adjustments. I totally credit her with giving us the tools to build a strong foundation and a happy marriage.

I began seeing her on my own this past Spring when I received a certain letter from my estranged mother, which sent me into something of a tailspin.

And now it's been six more months of therapy since then, and I need a break. Obviously, I'm all for therapy - I'm all about self-awareness and growth and endeavoring to heal from the things that wound us. But I'm not in crisis at this point, and I haven't been for a while. That's not to say that I have it all figured out, or that I've grown as much as I ever will. It's just that things are going pretty smoothly at the moment; there is, of course, the daily ups and downs, but I'm doing fine. I don't take it as a good sign when I dread going to see M because I don't really have anything to talk about. I don't take it as a good sign when I sit in her office for an hour and listen to her regale me with stories about her in-laws (whom she loathes) and her grown son, and then hand her a check at the end of the hour.

Last time I saw her, a couple weeks ago, she ended the session in the usual way: "See you in two weeks?" I replied, "Do I need to?" "Every session is an opportunity for growth," she responded. A little cowed by this, I went ahead and made the appointment, feeling kind of resentful about it.

Why do I feel anxious about the prospect of telling her that after tonight, I'm not making another appointment? That I'll call her when I need to? Why am I afraid to stand up to her? It's kind of ironic, isn't it? I mean, I'm supposed to have learned assertiveness, among other things. And I'm not knocking her, I'm really not. She's great, she's helped me a lot.

She likes to tell me that she's been seeing her own therapist every two weeks for fifteen years. Holy shit. I don't know . . .

There is a passage in a book I am currently reading:

"'Psychiatrists seemed to feel anyone could be cured by psychoanalysis if one stuck with it and was cooperative. So one went year after year. One year, two, three, four, five and six.'"

While she's a marriage and family therapist (MFT) and not a psychiatrist, this really struck a nerve with me, and really was the fuel I needed to resolve to tell her tonight that I'm going to stop for now. See, I don't want to be one of those people who continues to go year after year, who begins to believe that they need it year after year. I don't want it to become my crutch, like I can't deal with the ups and downs of life without the constant guidance of a therapist. I think often the best growth comes from just dealing honestly with one's life.

Ack. We'll see how it goes.

How I Was Duped By a Baseball Junkie

2010-10-18T14:27:00.001-07:00

Joey is a baseball junkie. It's serious. If he could somehow mainline baseball, I have no doubt that he would.

The funny thing is, he only first picked up a ball and glove this past February. He was determined to play Little League, which he did in the Spring. It was difficult because most of the kids on his team had already played a year of Little League, so Joey was behind most of them in skill level. Sometimes it was painful to watch, because he wanted so much to do well, and overall, he didn't exactly have a stellar first season. Sometimes it made him sad. I think a lot of kids might have thrown in the towel and decided maybe baseball wasn't for them, but Joey was determined and dedicated.

He made baseball his main pastime. Every day over summer break, and every day after school since then (and sometimes before school), Joey's been out in the front yard practicing his batting, his throwing, his catching. Whenever he can, Michael is out there with him, pitching to him, throwing grounders and fly balls for Joey to catch, and catching the fly balls and grounders Joey throws.

Joey has worn out a spot on the front lawn.

It's not just playing baseball, though. It's watching baseball, too. Live games, old games, commentary, replays. He's adopted a true pitcher's form, and he has a beautiful swing, thanks in large part to watching the Big Guys.

The kid is good.

It's funny to listen to Joey and Michael have these very in-depth discussions about baseball - the standings, the teams, the players, batting averages, records, injuries - all of it - and I have to remind myself that Joey's only 8! Michael may as well be talking baseball with an old guy who's been a fan his whole life.

He's playing Little League Winter Ball right now, and what a difference from the Spring season. Joey is now one of the better players among his peers. The other boys often vie to have Joey as a catching partner during warm-ups and practices. And the best part of all of this is just seeing how good it makes him feel about himself - to do well at something he is so passionate about.

He's got stars in his eyes, that's for sure. A few weeks back, he was upset one night, and it came out that, "I'll miss being with my family when I travel all the time when I'm in the major league." Gotta love the boy's confidence.

This morning Joey didn't want to go to school. He's got a very minor cold, barely worth mentioning. But he insisted he didn't feel well and wanted to stay home. Well, Joey's always loved school, to the point that he thinks there should be MORE homework, and that school should run all year round. He's never faked sick before, so I figured he must actually not be feeling well. So I let him stay home.

It wasn't long after we got all the other kids to school that I began to have a sneaking suspicion that Joey's wanting to stay home had something to do with baseball. "Is there a game on today?" I asked him. "Yeah," he said. Aha! But I looked at the baseball schedule and discovered that the game wasn't on until 5:00, so that wasn't it. Before long, though, Joey headed out to the front yard like he always does. "Not so fast," I said. "You're sick, remember?" "But I feel fine now," he said. Uh huh.

We had to run a couple of errands, and there was Joey, running up and down the grocery store aisles, catching imaginary fly balls and announcing the imaginary World Series game he was starring in. As usual. He was fine.

He's going to school tomorrow.

So Much Excitement!

2010-10-15T20:11:00.000-07:00

So this afternoon I had a friendish over - my kids call her The Cupcake Girl because she made the cupcakes for the girls' tea party a couple weeks ago - to help her set up a blog to showcase her cake designing talents. She's a young mother of one deliciously cute toddler, and I'm sure that after witnessing my hooligans run wild for a couple hours, she's probably rethinking her plans to expand her family.

Anyhoo, at one point, Annabelle was getting carried away with her antics, as she is wont to do, so I took her into her room to give her a stern talking-to. While in there, she suddenly starts crying hysterically, and I'm thinking, "Great, Cupcake Girl probably thinks I'm in here beating the daylights out of her. " Turns out, Annabelle suddenly, out of the blue, realized that she had a loose tooth! Her very first! She was freaking out about it, and finally, I just had to walk away because Annabelle isn't calming down and the only way to stop her is to disengage. So I come back out and explain to Cupcake Girl that no, I was not beating my child, that she's upset because she just discovered that she has her first loose tooth. Meanwhile, Annabelle has closed herself in the bathroom, and is holding a tissue to her barely-loose tooth, crying, and refusing to come out and eat. "I can't eat dinner!" she wailed. "I can never eat dinner with a loose tooth!" "Honey," I told her, "that tooth isn't going anywhere for a week or two probably, and you can't go a week or two without eating. So come on out and eat." She refused. So I left her in the bathroom.

Not fifteen minutes later, she comes resolutely out of the bathroom and hands me a Dixie cup. Inside? Her tooth! I about fell over. "I had to get it out so I could eat," she explained very seriously to me.

Not long after, I got up from the table for a minute to tend to one of the kids, leaving my plate holding a good-size slice of pepperoni pizza on the table. I come back to the table and find Finn with my pizza in his pudgy hands, going to town on it. He ate the entire slice of pizza, all by himself. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is! While he has been making huge strides transitioning to table foods, I still have to be choosy about textures and consistencies. He's never had pizza! He ate a whole slice of it, all by himself. By himself!

I may swoon from all the excitement!

Kids.

2010-10-13T20:42:00.000-07:00

I was going to get on here and regurgitate. Just upchuck about how awful the afternoon was, how the moment the kids get in the truck after school, it starts - the whining, the complaining, the bickering, the unending demands. I was going to write about how lately the afternoons have been such a battle, how I am feeling completely overrun by the kids, how sometimes it feels like if they sense the slightest chink in my armor, they take full advantage of it. I wanted to say how awful that makes me feel, knowing how much it makes me sound just like my own mother, and how I detest that in myself. I was going to talk about how, after spending two hours repeatedly chasing the girls downstairs where they are supposed to stay when Finn naps because they can't be quiet upstairs, I remembered just in the nick of time that Kevin had an orthodontist appointment, so I rushed all the kids into the truck and made it there by the skin of my teeth, and how we spent an hour sitting out in the truck waiting for Kevin, and how it was non-stop with the kids - whining, and bickering, and not keeping their hands (or their feet) to themselves, and how when Kevin finally came out of the orthodontist office, it was too late to make dinner so we went through a drive-through, which made me feel guilty because I really don't like feeding my kids crap, and how the minute we got to the ordering microphone, Finn started screaming and was inconsolable for the rest of the way home, and how we got stuck in a huge traffic jam with Finn screaming bloody murder and how I felt like I was going to come apart at the seams. I was going to post about how I yelled way too much today and made my kids cry, and how awful it feels to complain about my kids because, after all, I chose this.

I was going to write about all that.

But then, Joey, my wise, tender-hearted 8-year-old boy, asked me to help him print the poem he wrote for school:

Kinda puts things into perspective.

Tricks and Treats: Where To Draw the Line?

2010-10-09T13:53:00.000-07:00

Now that Halloween is almost upon us and Kevin is fast approaching fourteen (in January), I am giving serious consideration to the question of what is too old for trick-or-treating. Of course he still wants, and plans, to go out trick-or-treating this year, though he's at the age, and has been for a couple of years now, where, rather than canvasing the neighborhood with Mom and Dad, he trolls the neighborhood with a friend, sans supervision. (Holy run-on sentence, Batman!) It's not the lack of supervision that weighs on me, it's just that I've never been a fan of teenagers showing up at my door with their hands out for candy, offering me a surly "Trick or treat" with an accompanying eye-roll (you can actually hear the eye-rolling in their voices, I swear you can!), with nary a costume save for maybe a silly hat. Really, you want a treat for that?

I don't know . . . Halloween - at least the trick-or-treating part - seems like it oughta be reserved for the tykes. You know, say, the twelve-and-under set. Teenagers out trick-or-treating almost seems like taking your teen to the mall at Christmas to pose for pictures on Santa's lap.

Still, Kevin wants to go trick-or-treating again this year. I'll probably let him. At least he's still willing to do actual costumes - that's the least a kid can do if he wants a handout, don't you think? But I'm really thinking this may be the last year for Kevin. Am I being too much of a hardass, a party-pooper? Where do all you other parents stand on this? Share your thoughts, and feel free to answer my poll.

Battening Down the Hatches

2010-10-04T17:05:00.000-07:00

There's a storm brewing over here, and we've had a few squalls lately. I'm bracing myself for worse to come.

I'm talking about the fact that I have a teenager on my hands. And I'm here to tell you that teenage girls don't have a monopoly on PMS. Holy shit.

Okay, I don't want to overstate things and make Kevin out to be a problem kid. He's not. He's actually a really great kid in all the ways that count: he's loving and protective of his siblings, he's pretty responsible and is learning a good work ethic, he's a good student, and his values seem to be in place. But his moods? Oh. My. God.

You'd never know it today, because today he's just as pleasant and sociable as can be. But yesterday was awful. I was fighting the urge to throttle him for most of the day. All day he was mopey and sulky and snotty and just looking for an opportunity to have a problem with every little thing. Just walking around with a big stinkin' attitude, making everyone miserable. And it all finally came to a head last night around dinner time and he and I ended up in a screaming match that called up memories of screaming matches I had with my own mother as a teenager. I was never going to be that kind of parent, but there I was, screaming at him to "Get the FUCK in your room!" and him screaming back at me, "I HATE YOU!!"

Ugly. I hate it. Not that he said he hates me - really, I kind of laugh that off. It's textbook, right? He's supposed to say that. And I know he doesn't really hate me - well, maybe in the moment he does, but that's okay. What I hate is that I lost my temper, that he got the best of me, that I exposed my white-trash roots, that I lowered myself to responding in such a completely emotional and non-productive manner. What I hate is the attitude he exhibits more and more lately, and the fact that I have no idea how to deal with it.

My biggest fear is him coming to the conclusion that we're the enemy - Michael and I (he and his dad butt heads plenty, and that opens a whole other can of worms for me). But what do I do? Ignore the bad behavior, and focus on the positive behavior? While I can see that working for younger kids, at almost 14, Kevin seems beyond those kinds of simplistic parenting techniques. Or maybe I'm wrong. Or do I call him out on every wrong move he makes? I know I'm hard on him, I know I expect a lot from him. Am I being unfair in my expectations? Another fear I have is not staying on top of my kids' behavior and losing control of them. Maybe I go overboard?

But what is really unsettling for me is that I just don't know. I don't have the answers. I'm totally winging it here. I went into this whole parenting gig with one main goal: to not be the kind of parent my parents were. Although I am now able to sympathize with a lot of things my mother, in particular, dealt with as a mother, I still see so many wrong turns and bad choices she made that I am determined not to replicate. And yet, to some extent, I'm at a loss as to what to do.

After some cooling-off time last night, I forced myself to go talk calmly with Kevin, because it's important. I told him that I know it's tough being 13, that I remember being 13 and sometimes being in a rotten mood and not even understanding why, and sometimes feeling angry and not even being sure at what or whom. And I apologized for screaming at him, and for what I screamed at him - even though, in all honesty, I didn't feel like apologizing, because he really pissed me off - because I think it's important to model humility. I asked him if he wanted to talk about anything that might be on his mind, and I got a few grunts in response. That's okay. I'm pretty sure he was listening.

Ack. This parenting thing. Not easy.

Four Years Old

2010-10-03T13:49:00.000-07:00

Four years ago today, Lilah graced our family with her grand entrance in the world. Here is the epic story of my labor and her birth. Our fifth baby, she was the first of my two home births. When I read her birth story now, I clearly see how I brought so much of the misery of a long and protracted labor on myself by being such a control freak and trying to bring about her birth before she was ready. Live and learn! She was nine days late, and I was mighty impatient; she was the only one of all my babies to come after her due date. When I tell her the story of how she didn't want to come out of my belly, she tells me, "I couldn't come out, Mommy. It wasn't my birthday yet!" And such is Lilah: clever and precocious and often surprising us with her astuteness.

While she certainly has her moments and meltdowns, Lilah is probably the most good-natured of all our kids. She's affectionate and sweet, a real charmer, and a total Daddy's girl - she has him wrapped around her little finger.

Lilah was a complete surprise. Michael and I were trying to decide if we were going to go ahead and try for another baby, and had this big, serious discussion about it. The twins were just about 16 months old at the time, and I remember we decided to wait until they turned two to make a decision. Just a week or so later, I found out that I was already pregnant. (I remember going to Target and buying martini glasses for a gathering I was hosting at home that evening, and a pregnancy test. Nice combination! It still makes me laugh.) I cried at first, because although I was seriously leaning towards wanting another baby, I like to plan things - I don't like being taken by surprise. What a wonderful surprise she turned out to be, though!

Happy birthday, my sweet girl.

Birth

One Year

Two Years

Three Years

Four Years

Tea Time!

2010-10-02T20:48:00.001-07:00

Today was the big day, the day I've been preparing for for the last couple of weeks: a tea party to celebrate Annabelle, Daisy, and Lilah's birthdays.

The invitations went out about three weeks ago (of course I masked our address and phone number before uploading here; can't have everyone showing up at our house now can I?). I invited all the girls from Lilah's preschool class, and all the girls from the twins' first grade class, plus a couple of additional special friends. And honestly, I really thought maybe three or four girls from each of their classes would decide to attend, so that we'd have about a dozen girls. We ended up with TWENTY-SEVEN girls here (including my three)!! I ended up having to rent tables and chairs - this was going to be some party!

And of course I was stressed and worried about how it would go - I've never thrown a shindig like this before. Yesterday was going to be a day crammed with preparing food and tea party accoutrements, but thanks to a freak thunder storm yesterday morning that downed some nearby power lines, our power was out all day yesterday. From 9:30 a.m. until 10:30 p.m. I did as much as I could without power, including making finger sandwiches last night by lantern, I kid you not.

Anyway, all's well that ends well. I was up early this morning finishing everything up with Michael's help, and voila, a tea party for twenty-seven girls:

Okay, let me just stop a minute and present an ode to my good friend, Caryl (who happens to be Daisy and Annabelle's first grade teacher, and was Joey's first grade teacher as well). As soon as she heard we were having a tea party, she jumped up waving her arms to help. And let me just say, I never could have pulled this off without her help. She was AMAZING. In addition to coming early to help me set up the food and place settings, she also loaned me teacups and saucers, took charge of keeping all the kids orderly (she is an expert at keeping large groups of kids orderly, after all), she helped serve and washed most of the dishes afterwards. I LOVE YOU, CARYL!!

And while I'm at it, I'd like to send a million thanks out to my friends, Karen and Meghan, too, who also loaned me teacups (I had about a dozen of my own, but did I mention that we had twenty-seven girls here?), and to all the wonderful moms who helped out at the party, too. Thank you, thank you!

I served the leftover sandwiches from the cut-outs to the moms.

Aren't the girls darling? Ohhhhh, I was overdosing on cuteness today!

Me and Caryl. Michael has a knack for getting these really bad candid shots of me. Just had to share.

After lunch, which consisted of finger sandwiches of two varieties - pb & j, and turkey and cheese - fruit-kebobs, bunny crackers, chocolate covered strawberries, and of course tea . . . well, really, raspberry lemonade or apple juice, we decorated picture frames which the girls each took home along with a photo of themselves.

And a group photo :)

And cupcakes! I wish I could say I made these gorgeous cupcakes myself - which, I don't know if you can tell, but had edible glitter and hand-molded chocolates on them in the shapes of flowers and teapots - but I didn't. They were made especially for us by a wonderful aspiring cake designer. So good!

And that was it. The whole party lasted about two hours, and moved right along from one activity to the next. Nobody got bored, everyone got along, the girls all put on their best manners for the occasion, and everyone seemed to have a really good time. It was perfect!

A Little Prayer

2010-10-01T13:49:00.000-07:00

Hey God,

It's me, Lisa. You may notice that I'm composing this on my iPad. That's because I can't use my computer, because the power is out. Been out most of the day. Ever since your little song and dance this morning - you know, the hellacious thunder storm that sounded like the house was about to crash down around us. Yeah, you got my attention, okay?

So listen. All that atheist stuff? I was kidding! I mean, you can take a joke, right?

Anyway, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor. Make the power come back on. Like, now. Or really soon. Because I'm having this big tea party tomorrow for my girls, you know. Of course you know ... you know, since you're a mind reader and all seeing, blah blah blah (kidding!). So I have all this food here that's going to go bad, plus I have 11,000 cute little finger sandwiches to make, and I really need my fridge back on.

Think of the PR value. You'd get all the credit, you know. People will be saying things like, "Praise the Lord! The power's back on!" And honestly, God? Your image could do with a little improvement, what with all the wars and famine and catastrophic earthquakes and whatnot. This could really be a win-win sitch for me AND you. Think about it.

Oh, and while you're at it? How about you do something about these three zits on my face. I'm 43, God, not 14. Cut me a little slack here, would you? I said I was kidding about all that atheist stuff, okay?

Thanks, big guy.

Silver Linings

2010-09-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

Sunrise this morning:

Sometimes you just have to appreciate the beauty of things.

Links and Passages

2010-09-28T12:45:00.000-07:00

I got a call this morning telling me that someone from my old life, someone very special to me, passed away this weekend. She was the mother of my first husband's best friend. They were like a second family to my first husband, and consequently became like a surrogate family to me as well during the years I was married to Kelly. When he and I split up, and then he died shortly thereafter, that family never wavered in their support and love for me. They understood that Kelly had struggled with demons for years and years, and unlike my own family, never held me responsible for his downward spiral or his death. Marsha, the mom, celebrated my new marriage, along with all our other loved ones, at Michael's and my wedding reception, and she was never anything but genuinely happy that I had found happiness. Before I lost touch with her, she told me more than once to "thank Michael for me for being so good to you and to Kevin."

But as these things often go, we gradually lost touch over the years. She and I used to periodically talk on the phone, and I think as I moved on with my life, I made an effort to put my old life, and all its trappings, behind me. The phone calls petered out, though I did continue to send Christmas cards with letters, updating her on our goings-on and asking her for news on her end. But after a while, the responses stopped coming.

After several years of no contact, I found one of her daughters on Facebook, and she put me back in touch with her mom. I got a surprise phone call from Marsha one night this past May, and she and I spent over an hour catching up. It was wonderful to talk to her again.

Sadly, though, she had been battling pancreatic cancer for the last couple of years. In a rare ocurrence, she actually went into remission for a while (pancreatic cancer is extremely aggressive and usually terminal). When I spoke to her in May, she was in remission. After catching up, we promised to stay in touch and to get together when the stars aligned properly. But we never did.

And this morning I got a phone call from her other daughter. I haven't talked to her in ten years, probably, but as soon as she said who it was, I knew what she was calling about.

I don't feel like I'm really entitled to grieve; this wasn't my family, and I failed to make a better effort to stay in touch. And yet I feel very, very sad. A person who gives of themselves, who offers kindness and love and encouragement without judgment, without strings, is an extremely rare person in my experience. Marsha was one of those rare people.

They are having a memorial service for her in a couple of weeks which I and my little family have been welcomed to. I have very mixed feelings about it. Am I prepared to handle all the emotions it will bring up, these people being such a strong tie to the past I've tried so hard to put behind me? Particularly my first husband's best friend, one of Marsha's sons, who for many years was like a brother to me. I just don't know. It's putting my stomach in knots just thinking about it.

I don't know what I'm going to do. But I do feel like the world is now absent a really wonderful person.

A Liberated Woman? Tracing the Path of My Life

2010-09-26T12:34:00.000-07:00

This month's selection for my book club was When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present (which I reviewed here). I loved this book. It sets forth an engagingly written history of the women's movement, and consequently has had me examining my own life's path as a woman - as a modern woman. At the heart of this mental analysis I've found myself undertaking of my life is the question: have I lived up to everything the women who fought so hard for women's rights wanted? More specifically, have I let them down by deciding to be "just" a housewife, a fate so many of those women of the previous generation fought against?

A Brief History of How I Got Where I Am

At my book's club's discussion of When Everything Changed one evening this last week, our members were invited to bring along their mothers; these are the women who belong to the generation that lived through the women's movement as adults, whereas most of our book club members (the daughters) were only babies or young children through most of it and so have no actual experience of having lived on both sides of it. It was fascinating and wonderful to hear these older women's experiences and perspectives.

Were I not estranged from my own mother, it certainly would be interesting to pick her brain about these issues and her experiences. Her experience was much different, I think, than most of the members' mothers who were present at our book club discussion. Most of those women were college educated and had pursued some kind of career before settling down to raise families. My mother is a bit younger than most of the mothers there that night - she was born in 1946 and I'm guessing graduated high school in '64. She never went to college (neither of my parents did; they both came from blue collar families, and I don't believe any of my grandparents went to college either). Instead, she went to beauty school and was a beautician for a year or so out of high school, then got knocked up by my dad (at a time when getting pregnant out of wedlock was still very shameful) and had a shotgun wedding. I'm pretty sure my mother never aspired to anything beyond getting married and having kids anyway; it was just the expected path. So she and my dad were very young when they got married - my dad was 18 and my mom 19, they had three kids in three years. They had very little money, and my mother ended up going into the workforce when I was 4, out of necessity. She started in an entry-level position for an insurance company and was able to work her way up over the years, despite having no college education. She and my dad were divorced by the time my mom was 26. They were part of that explosion of the divorce rate of the early '70s, and suddenly my mother was a single mother raising three kids. What I remember growing up is that she always felt she was nothing without a man - this was a constant theme, and one she openly lamented about. After she and my dad split up, she very quickly got a boyfriend and moved us all in with him - within a year of her splitting up with my dad. And that, of course, didn't work out in the long run, so we were always moving around, she and my dad got back together for a while, then split up again, then my mom got remarried to some other guy for a short time - eh. Always looking for happiness and thinking some man was going to provide it for her. So in some ways, although my mother did enter the professional field and did well, I don't think she ever had the mindset of a "liberated" woman.

So, raised in that environment, I don't think any aspirations were ever instilled in me. My mother always seemed to be in survival mode and looking for her own happiness, mostly in the wrong places and at the expense of her kids. The subject of college was never brought up, but my brothers and I were told from a very young age that once we turned 18, we were expected to either move out or start paying rent to live at home. I somehow did develop my own aspirations, but I think they were more influenced by my peers having aspirations than anything that was instilled in me by my parents. I very much wanted, and fully intended, to go to college. I enjoyed school and did well (until I started drinking and smoking pot, that is). I had big dreams! For a while I wanted to be a veterinarian, and eventually I started dreaming of being a doctor (which makes me almost laugh and almost cry when I think back on it; it seems so lofty and nearly ridiculous now). But my life took a series of detours, which I take full responsibility for, and I never made it to college. Instead, in a desperate attempt to escape the unhappiness and abuse I lived with at home, I dropped out of high school in my senior year and ran away from home at the age of 17, leaving the state with the first boyfriend I ever had. In a big way, my mother all over again: looking for happiness and salvation in a man (really, a boy). So at the age of 17 I left my dreams of higher education behind and set up housekeeping and got a job.

I followed my mother's example of getting married very young, too. That boyfriend and I got married when I was 19 and he was 21, though not because I was pregnant (in fact, we didn't have a child until we had been married for nearly ten years). Eventually I did home study and earned my high school diploma, but my dream of going to college seemed long gone. Working full time and bringing in money to pay the bills was a necessity.

After a series of transitional jobs, including cashier at a Greek restaurant, microfilm camera operator, receptionist, and manicurist, I went to a vocational college for a year and got my paralegal certificate and landed a job in a small law firm. Finally, a bona fide career! Still, thoughts of having a family of my own were always on my mind, and as the years passed (and my then-husband and I were faced with fertility issues) I became more and more desperate to have a baby.

Finally it happened, and everything changed for me. I saw the world through a whole new lens, and suddenly everything I did outside of taking care of this little creature who had grown inside me seemed meaningless. I had to return to work when Kevin was nine weeks old - I had no choice, we depended on two incomes to pay the bills. I will never forget how hard I cried when I had to drop Kevin, practically still a newborn, off at a babysitter's house so I could go back to my job with the law firm, which suddenly seemed utterly unimportant and trivial. I was a mother now, for god's sake! Who cared who was suing whom or for what? And I found myself suddenly caught in this awful tug-of-war, with a boss who was generally pretty unsympathetic to my new status as a mother and who still expected me to give the 110% of myself I had been giving before having a baby, and these horrible feelings of desperately missing my baby and feeling like a limb had been severed or something. I remember I cried every day for months after I returned to work, my inner voice screaming, "THIS ISN'T RIGHT! IT ISN'T NATURAL TO GROW A BABY FOR NINE MONTHS, GIVE BIRTH TO HIM, AND THEN HAND HIM OVER TO SOMEONE ELSE TO TAKE CARE OF!"

Still, I continued working until Kevin was 5 1/2 years old - until a few weeks before Joey was born. Somewhere in there, my first marriage, founded on abuse, lies, alcoholism and drug addiction, finally imploded, and I eventually got married again, to Michael (and the rest, as they say, is history). I worked as a paralegal for 11 years before I quit to stay home with my ever-growing family. And I was really good at what I did working for that law firm.

When I left on maternity leave with Joey's birth approaching, my intention was only to take an extended leave. Michael and I scrimped and saved to fund a six-month leave of absence, but during that time, with Michael getting a raise and our refinancing our house, we discovered that we actually could make it on Michael's income alone. I remember when I officially told my boss I wasn't going to return, he told me that he'd have a place for me in a year or two when I got bored at home. I remember it bothered me - he clearly looked down upon my deciding to be "just a housewife."

And Here I Am

And here I am, eight years out of the workforce now, and with a whole house full of kids. I never dreamed I'd end up with six kids, but I found I had a hard time stopping. I don't think it takes any kind of expert to figure out that under it all, I've tried (and succeeded, I think) to build the family I never had. Maybe not the best reason to have kids, but there seem to be all kinds of reasons people have kids, and who knows which are the right ones and which aren't?

Growing up, I never pictured myself one day being a stay-at-home mother. It was instilled in me from a very young age that You Have To Get A Job And Work To Earn A Paycheck. So, although I wasn't sure exactly how I was going to achieve that, I never questioned that having a job of some sort outside the home was my fate. And truthfully, until I had my first baby, I quietly ridiculed women who stayed home to be mothers. It seemed like they were copping out in some way, taking the easy way out. (And I don't think I was alone in having those feelings; I think there's been an almost complete reversal of the old standards. What used to be expected of women - to stay home and be mothers and wives - is now held in pretty low regard among a large part of today's society.) Then I had my first baby and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be able to stay home and take care of him. And until I actually quit working to stay home, I had no idea how hard it really is to be a stay-at-home-mother. I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone reading this that being a mother is a 24-hour a day, 365-day a year job. You may love it, and you may find the ultimate fulfillment in it (or not), but it is grueling, often tedious, lonely, and almost completely thankless.

And to a large degree, I feel like I've lost, or sacrificed, a big part of myself. "Mother" has become almost my whole identity and sense of self. I'm not sure anymore who Lisa is outside of being a mother. I try to nurture some of my own interests, like my book club, and writing, that have nothing to do with my kids in order to not completely lose myself, but I often feel a distant feeling of panic when I think about all of my kids one day leaving the nest. I fear that I will be one of those women who goes off the deep end when all her kids are grown and gone, living their own lives. I adore my husband and truly enjoy his company, but I honestly have a very difficult time picturing it being just me and him.

And then there's the issue of work. Will I or won't I return to the workforce in some capacity eventually? Michael has remarked plenty of times about my going back to work part-time when all the kids are in school, and this calls up feelings of fear and resentment in me. With at least a couple more years before all the kids are in school, I will by that time have been out of the workforce for at least ten years - what the hell will I be qualified for? And even when all the kids are in school, there's still after school to consider, and summer breaks and winter breaks and spring breaks, and sick kids, and doctor appointments, and . . . what kind of job does he think I'm going to get that will accommodate all of that? And to be perfectly frank, I've become very comfortable, with all its pitfalls and downsides, being a stay-at-home-mother. I like being my own boss - that's one of the best perks of the whole deal!

Anyway, I think this is something many people don't think about when a mother quits working to stay home and raise a family. How long will she stay home? Will she be qualified to go back into the workforce at some point? Will it be practical for her to do so, even if it becomes necessary? I know we certainly didn't ask ourselves any of those questions.

Back to my original questions: have I lived up to everything the women who fought so hard for women's rights wanted? More specifically, have I let them down by deciding to be "just" a housewife, a fate so many of those women of the previous generation fought against?

I guess it all boils down to having choices, which previous generations of women did not have. They stayed home and raised families because they had very few alternatives. If they needed or wanted any kind of career, it was most likely as a nurse, a teacher, or a secretary, and even in those jobs, once a woman got married, and certainly when she got pregnant, she was let go. Today, women have choices. They can pursue higher education at the same schools as their male counterparts; the professional field is wide open to women, and women can now expect equal pay for equal work. Women can choose to have children or choose not to, they can choose how large or small their family will be, they can choose to work outside the home while raising their families, and they can choose to stay home to raise their families based on their individual circumstances and desires, and not on what society expects or allows.

I have chosen to stay home to raise my family not because women belong at home raising families, but because it's where I feel I belong. I had a career while raising a child for a number of years (and that was only with one child!), and it didn't work for me; I couldn't do it all - not without great cost. I couldn't give my best to anyone - not my family or my employer - and it cost me a lot of happiness. I believe my kids benefit from having a mother who is here at home with them. And despite my sense that I've lost a part of my identity in immersing myself almost solely in motherhood, I nevertheless believe that I'm finding more happiness and fulfillment in staying home to raise my kids than trying to maintain a job outside the home as well as raising my family. I feel that I'm doing the right thing for myself and for my family; but this is a personal choice, not something foisted on me. Therein lies the difference.

What do I hope to instill in my own kids? I'd like my kids to expect to go to college. I'd like to instill in my kids that they can be anything they aspire to be with hard work and determination, regardless of their gender. I hope that being raised by a stay-at-home-mother does not instill in my daughters that they shouldn't aspire to anything else, though if they themselves become SAHMs, that's a fine life to choose if it works for them. I'd like to instill in all of my kids, boys and girls alike, that although it's wonderful to have a partner to share one's life with, they shouldn't expect someone else to provide their happiness and meaning to their life, that those things need to be found and nurtured within themselves. I'd like to instill in my kids enough confidence, self-respect, and love for themselves that they'll never tolerate abusive relationships.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had I made different choices. What if I had gone to college? Where would I be now? Sometimes I feel like I passed up what might have been a really wonderful and enlightening experience, but mostly I don't have regrets. All the choices I've made have led me to where I'm at now, and I'm pretty content with where I've landed. And thankful to have had choices to make.

Twins at OneTrueMedia.com

2010-09-22T09:24:00.001-07:00

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Here's the story of the twins' grand entrance into the world.

Alone With My Thoughts

2010-09-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's easier to sit on my ass. Today I chose to get moving instead. Even though it takes extra effort to put on my ~~running~~ walking shoes, load the jogging stroller with Finn, water and cell phone, and even though as I'm doing the getting-ready stuff I'm thinking of all the things I could do if I stayed home, once I get out and walking it feels good.

I wouldn't call it a real workout by the standards of anyone who actually works out, but I push myself to walk at a brisk pace, get the heart pumping and the sweat flowing. And while I'm doing this for my body, I'm always reminded how good it is for my mind, too.

With no distractions except the forward motion of my feet, I am alone with my thoughts. I replay conversations in my head, often seeing them in a new light. I play out conversations I'd like to have but probably never will. I unravel things that have been bothering me, and although I can't say I necessarily come to any resolution, I often see things with a new clarity. I think about things I am especially thankful about. I make lists and resolutions, and forgive myself for not succeeding at all the resolutions I set for myself the last time (like walking at least four times a week!). And every so often I pass someone else out walking, and a friendly nod or smile or "Morning" passes between us, and there's that feeling of goodwill that's so nice.

I need to do this more often.

Observe: My Skin Is So Thin

2010-09-15T09:35:00.001-07:00

I periodically submit things I've written to Mamapedia.com. I don't think they're especially picky about what they accept for publication on their site (everything I've submitted has been accepted), and there's no pay involved, but it's a way to gain visibility for my blog, and in the bigger picture, it's a way to gauge a larger audience's reaction to things I write. Because I have this niggling fantasy (that I've yet to really pursue, mostly because I'm afraid, and also because, let's be honest, I'm already juggling 89 plates at any given time) of being a real writer. You know, a freelance writer for parenting publications. Don't laugh.

Anyway, so most of the stuff I've submitted to Mamapedia, and which they in turn have published on their site, has gotten mostly positive feedback. Which boosts my confidence, naturally. Then there was my most recent submission, The Princess and the Hot Dog Bun, which I originally posted here on my blog, and which Mamapedia published on their site recently here. Look at all the comments! And the vast majority of them are positive, I-can-relate-type comments.

Isn't it funny, though, how the less-than-positive comments, no matter how few, tend to stick out far more than the positive ones?

Several commenters found themselves up in arms over my referring to my daughter as "Princess." Really? And quite a few seemed to take away from my little anecdote that I have accomplished nothing but teaching my daughter to throw a tantrum in order to get what she wants. Wow. And one commenter critiqued my word-usage in my bio. Geez.

Anyway, I guess I feel compelled to assure anyone who might wonder that I'm not raising a little diva. I do, in fact, on occasion, address Lilah as "Princess Lilah" because it makes her giggle. This in no way reflects an intention to raise a daughter who will sit back helplessly awaiting the arrival of Prince Charming. I'm actually fairly nauseated by all the Disney Princess crap, but I figure my girls will outgrow it soon enough. And tantrums in our house usually land the offender in his or her room by her- or himself to think things over and cool down. Isn't it obvious that I embellished my little story a little in order to make it amusing and relatable? My point was that sometimes I just get stuck in the "rules" as a parent, and that particular morning, I had something of an epiphany: who made up these rules anyway? Why can't she have a hot dog bun for breakfast? And who says that a parent should never back down when they realize they're sticking to their guns just for the sake of sticking to their guns, even if it's unreasonable?

And really, why do I care so much what other people think? Ahh, the insecurities of motherhood. Do we ever feel we're doing a good enough job? Do we ever feel immune from the judgmental eyes of other mothers?

The truth is, though - and I realize this - is that I need to grow a thicker skin. If I'm going to put stuff out there, I have to be able to take the good with the bad, right?

Kids At Upscale Restaurants?

2010-09-13T16:45:00.000-07:00

Friday night Michael and I went out for a post-birthday celebratory dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.

Let me just say that we make a point of going out on fairly regular "dates" sans kids - at least on a monthly basis. When Michael and I are able to corral a sitter and go out, just the two of us, we generally like to do it up nice, meaning we like to get a bit dressed up and go eat at a nice place - someplace we wouldn't ordinarily go to (i.e., with the kids). Someplace with a view of some sort, a full bar, and servers who wear bow ties. We do go out to dinner with the kids, too, fairly often, but in those instances, we go to "kid-friendly" places - places that serve chicken strips and give out crayons and paper activity menus.

So we went to one of our favorite restaurants Friday night - a place on top of a hill with a gorgeous view of the city lights below, a place with a full bar and servers wearing bow ties. And I was, not for the first time, very surprised to see quite a few families there. With kids. Little kids. There was one couple who came in with an infant in a stroller (this is most definitely not a stroller-friendly restaurant).

It's not that it bothers me to be in the company of kids (when I've gone to such effort and expense to get away from my own for an evening!); all of the kids who were there seemed very well-behaved. It's really that it just baffles me. Why would anyone want to bring their kids to a place like that? A place where they don't even have a kid's menu, and where there's nothing on the menu under $25. And so late! Our dinner reservations were at 8:30, and by the time we were served our food (after a delicious appetizer of calamari and a round of cocktails), it was around 9:30. Who has their kids up that late eating dinner? It baffles me.

I'm curious, though, where do you stand on this? Feel free to comment or respond to the poll in the sidebar.

Remembering 9/11/01

2010-09-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

Everyone's talking about it today. All over Facebook you see "I'll never forget," and "What were you doing on 9/11/01?"

As for me, on September 11, 2001 I was scheduled to have surgery to repair a hernia. I remember waking up very early that morning to get ready to go to the hospital. When I came out of the bathroom, Michael had the TV in our bedroom turned on and the news was replaying a scene of a jet crashing into a skyscraper. It was confusing - I remember thinking at first that it was fake; was it a special effect scene from a movie or something? Then somehow it registered that it was real, but of course then, for those few brief moments, we, like everyone else, thought it was a horrible accident. Then we watched on the television screen as the second plane flew right into the second tower. And it was really difficult to wrap your head around it. What . . . ?? Another accident?? What a horrible coincidence, two planes flying into two buildings, one right after the other . . . ??

The details are murky, but of course it wasn't long before everyone realized that it was no accident, and talk of terrorism took root. And even though it was all happening way on the other side of the country, it suddenly felt very unsafe even to be 3,000 miles from it.

We still had to go to the hospital, and I remember lying on a gurney in pre-op where there was a small television mounted from the ceiling, and of course that's all that was on every channel - news about the terrorist attacks, the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, the mass death and destruction.

The surgery was awful - or rather, the recovery was. It was an outpatient surgery, so I was sent home that afternoon with a three-inch incision in my sternum and a drainage tube snaking out of my abdomen. I was in terrible pain, and for a week all I could do was lie on the couch or in bed watching TV, and all that was on TV was post-attack footage and news. It was completely surreal. All planes were grounded and the airspace closed - across the entire nation! - and it was one of those weird things where the absence of something is palpably noticeable. For days, you didn't hear the faint drone of an airplane or helicopter - sounds that were so mundane that you barely registered them in their presence - and the silence was eerie. Occasionally there would be the distant roar of a military aircraft, which added to the feeling of unease.

And now every year on the anniversary, people talk about it, they remember. It's one of those horrific bookmarks in time that seem to come along every generation: while people from my parents' generation will forever remember where they were when President Kennedy was shot - and feel they were changed by the event - my generation will always remember where they were when the Twin Towers went down, and feel that they were changed by the event.

Have we changed, though? I think people would like to believe so, in order to make such a catastrophic tragedy mean something. It's hard to accept that it was utterly senseless. I'm sure good has come out of the events of 9/11 on a personal level for many people - surely those who were there, or who lost loved ones, or who had loved ones who made it out alive - have been profoundly affected. But those are individuals. Has the world changed? Has humanity as a whole learned anything from it worth knowing, and applied that new knowledge in ways that make the world a better place?

I don't see it.

At the heart of it is an inability and/or unwillingness to accept and love our fellow human beings. The attacks of 9/11 that left so many dead, wounded, widowed, and orphaned, were orchestrated and carried out by religious zealots, written off by most "rational" people as nut-jobs. Yes, they were extremists, but everyday people carry out attacks on their fellow human beings every day on a smaller, but insidious, scale, born out of their beliefs. Regular people sit in judgment of other people, deeming them destined for eternal damnation, actively seeking to strip them of basic rights, judging them morally inferior, unworthy of common decency and kindness, all the time. All in the name of religion and faith.

No, aside from beefing up security and making it more of a pain in the ass to get anywhere by plane, I don't think the world has changed much since 9/11. And as for End Times? Yeah, it'll come at some point, but at our own hand, not the hand of some omnipresent figure.

Bill Maher says it better than I ever could.

Ruminations of an Aging Birthday Girl

2010-09-09T10:16:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are again, another year passed, and me sitting here wondering how the hell I got to be the age I am now. Geez. I swear I was just 18, like, last week. Okay, maybe not 18, but 34 (which is the age I've settled on to stay, in case anyone's counting). The funny thing about getting older is that in your head, you really kind of remain the same. I mean, sure, you (hopefully) gain wisdom and maturity as you get older, but I haven't found that I feel much differently than I did when I was . . . younger.

It's the body that changes, the body that sort of screws you over. It used to be that I could eat anything I wanted, and as much of it as I cared to, and I was still lucky enough to remain svelte. That all changed when I hit my 40s, though. Not that I'm overweight, but now I can't seem to lose that last five pounds that's been stubbornly sticking to me since I lost most of the pregnancy weight from Finn. Now I actually have to watch what I eat. Up until three or four years ago, people would be shocked when I told them how old I was, and they'd insist that they really thought I was several years younger. People aren't shocked anymore when I tell them how old I am! The sagging and bulging continues to progress (I want a tummy tuck . . . I desperately want a tummy tuck), I'm not as limber as I used to be, I have stress incontinence, and the other day I sneezed and my back went into spasms!

Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It goes by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

Yeah.

I have to say I'm not loving being in my 40s so much. That's not to say that I'm not happy with my life (I am!), or that I sit here and think, "Wow, I really thought I would have done such and such by now, and I haven't." It's more just this sadness at knowing such a large part of my life is behind me now instead of in front of me.

I woke up this morning bright and early at 5:45, and Joey came bounding into my room, threw his arms around me and said, "Happy birthday, Mom." That was wonderful to wake up to - man, I love that kid. That was followed by hugs and birthday wishes (and demands for cake) by all the other kids. Michael wished me a happy birthday, kissed me, and said, "You don't look forty-three." It must be the gigantic zit that has been sprouting on my chin for the last several days. What is up with that, anyway? Wrinkles and zits? It humbles me.

Facebook has a wonderful way of making your birthday seem like The Most Important Day of The Year. I've gotten about a million birthday wishes from my FB friends, which is very, very cool. One of my best friends sent me the sweetest card yesterday (thanks, Jen!), and this morning my friend Caryl presented me with two jars of homemade jam and a Starbucks gift card :) Caryl is also Daisy and Annabelle's first-grade teacher, and she gave me a copy of yesterday's Morning Announcements:

Anyway, no big plans today. The older you get, the less of a party birthdays are. On today's agenda is just the usual stuff. I think I'll order pizza tonight so I don't have to cook, though. Tomorrow night Michael and I will go out to dinner.

Happy birthday to me!

Life Lessons: Teaching Kids the Value of a Dollar

2010-09-07T12:59:00.001-07:00

I'm no financial wiz or guru, but I have some very definite opinions about the values we, as parents, instill in our kids about money - and therefore, about a lot of other things.

I grew up not having much in the way of material things. My mother was a young, single mother supporting three kids on what I'm sure in that day and age was a paltry income, as well as the paltry child support from my dad. We got basic necessities and very few extras. Although my brothers both played Little League, that was the extent of our extra-curricular activities; there were no music lessons, no dance, no trips (with the exception of a cross-country drive to Illinois when I was 8 for my dad's brother's wedding), and no trendy clothes. My brothers and I all desperately needed braces on our teeth, but we didn't get them until long after most of the other kids our age had gotten them - not until my mother married her second husband who had insurance through his employer that would pay for orthodontia.

All this has led to a consciousness on my part as a parent of all the things I did without as a kid, and a tendency to want to make up for that in the way of overcompensating. It's a tendency I've worked hard to resist, though, because I've seen the effects of kids who grew up not ever experiencing much deprivation. I can completely understand the desire, as a parent, to grant our kids instant gratification. Of course we want to make them happy, and if a new Dora doll, or a new pack of Pokemon cards is going to make them happy, what's the harm?

The harm is that kids who are handed everything they want - and worse, who even as adults are allowed or encouraged to see their parents as safety nets they can fall back on when the going gets rough - become adults who still expect instant gratification, who tend to never feel they have enough, who have very little self-restraint when it comes to acquiring things, who are selfish and irresponsible. In the long run, these qualities do not make for a happy adulthood.

I am very glad that I am in a much better financial position raising my kids than my parents were in when they were raising me and my brothers. I'm glad that we are able to provide our kids with enriching activities and experiences like sports, music lessons, and dance. When Kevin got braces on his teeth at 10 years old, I cried because I remembered how I longed for braces as a kid and had to wait so long for them, and it felt really good to be able to provide my kid with something so basic and necessary.

That said, I feel very strongly about my kids learning that money doesn't grow on trees, and that there are certain things they might want that they will have to find ways to pay for themselves. When Kevin was 9, he wanted a Nintendo DS. Santa had already brought him a Gameboy a couple years before that, so I told him if he wanted a DS, then he'd have to save his money and buy it himself. And he did. For a year, he saved his allowance as well as birthday money, and he bought that DS himself, and I am convinced that he values it much more for having done that (he still plays it at age 13, and pays for any new games he wants for it). I am happy to buy books for the kids if they are enriching, but "junk" books they want, they have to buy themselves. Even Kevin's upcoming eighth grade class trip to Washington DC we expect him to help pay for - and over the summer, through allowance, babysitting, tutoring, and a couple of lemonade stands, he raised well over the amount of money we told him he had to contribute to the cost of that trip.

I have no plans to run out and buy any of my kids a car when they turn 16 (and I am fiercely leaning towards making them wait to get their drivers' licenses anyway, as I just don't think 16-year-olds belong on the road); I don't intend to pay for any expensive weddings (I'd rather impart to my kids that it's the quality of the marriage that counts, not the wedding - elope for goodness sake!); and here's a shocking confession: we're not saving for our kids' college educations. We have retirement to worry about; I see nothing wrong with their working their way through college, taking out student loans, and/or striving for scholarships.

Giving your kids everything without ever teaching them what it feels like to work for something they want, to wait for something they want - while that may put a smile on their shining little faces now, it really only enables them to become irresponsible grown-ups. Likewise, agreeing to be your adult child's financial safety net may make you feel good, but it only enables them to remain in a stunted, immature state of never really taking full responsibility for themselves. It's one thing to be there for your kid in times of hard luck, but to repeatedly bail them out of their own bad choices doesn't do them any favors in the long run.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Product Review: Petsafe Bark Control Collar

2010-09-05T17:13:00.000-07:00

I was serious about getting a shock collar for Twinkle in an attempt to curb her sometimes incessant barking. The Bark Off was a joke; I suspected that if I had taken it apart, I would have found it to be nothing but an empty plastic box. However, I tossed it in the garbage before I ever got around to proving what a scam that product is. Oh well, live and learn.

Anyway, her barking is a problem. Since she's an inside dog, it doesn't bother the neighbors as far as I know, but it drives us crazy. She barks when she wants attention, she barks when she hears a car outside, she barks when we're trying to have a conversation anywhere in her vicinity, and she barks nonstop when someone comes to the front door. The thought of a shock collar seems a little cruel, but I've had friends report quick success with them, so I decided to shell out the $60 and try this Petsafe Bark Control Collar, which purports to use "static correction," which supposedly feels like an "annoying tingle." They told me at Petsmart that I could return it if it didn't work, so really, I had nothing to lose.

Here's our trial run today:

As with the Bark Off, we tested it by having Joey go ring the doorbell, because she usually goes nuts when someone rings the doorbell.

It's definitely working. Interestingly, there seems to be an added bonus to this besides curbing her barking: it seems to be making her more calm overall. The truth is that at a year old, she still spends the majority of her time gated in the kitchen because she's so hyper and destructive. After she had been wearing the shock collar for a while this afternoon, I let her out of the kitchen and she has been playing with the kids out in the living room for about an hour without being a complete maniac or destroying anything. I think we've effectively broken her spirit!

Thank You

2010-09-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, someone leaves a comment here that deserves responding to by me. I read somewhere recently something about the comments left on a blog being what makes a blog a dialogue and not a monologue, and that really resonated with me. I guess that's what it all boils down to for me, this need to write publicly about the ups and downs of my humble life, and the sometimes mundane, sometimes crazy, shit that goes on in my head. It's about connecting to other people, you know? So the comments make me feel like someone's listening, someone out there can relate on some level.

When a comment is left that really strikes some chord with me, I look for a way to respond directly to the commenter, usually by clicking on their profile and seeing if they have a blog or an email address. Often, there is neither, just an anonymous profile with no mode of direct contact. I always feel slightly deflated when that happens, because I'd really sometimes like to just say a quick "Thank you!" or "Wow, you said some really meaningful things, let's talk about this some more." But if you don't have contact info listed, I can't do that.

Right now I am thinking of "Mumofone." Thank you so much for the comment you left yesterday regarding cancer. I wish I could talk to you about your experience more. I really appreciate everything you said, and thank you for your kind words.

I'd also just like to say a general thank you to everyone who reads my humble little blog and, for whatever crazy reason, is interested in the stuff I write. Thanks!

Cancer

2010-09-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

As time goes on, Michael's cancer and the whole nightmare of treatment last year become more and more of a distant memory, ever more removed from our present reality. It's difficult to look at Michael now - who is probably in the best shape, and the best health he's ever been in - and reconcile the knowledge that last year, he was literally fighting for his life.

For all intents and purposes, we've moved on; we've put it behind us. Yes, there are still lingering effects from the cancer itself and the treatment that have become a part of his, and therefore our, daily lives - none of them especially pleasant. Still, we live in a state of relief and gratitude, and we dare to dream about the future, take it for granted even.

But sometimes it all creeps back in, the fear, the knowledge that this is all really out of our hands. Hardly a day goes by that I don't hear about cancer touching someone's life in some way. It almost seems as though there is no getting away from it. Michael has been bringing stories to me lately of people he became acquainted with on an online cancer support message board - people with the same type of cancer he had who have had a recurrence. People who have suddenly died.

People die from cancer. Even in this day and age of wildly advanced medicine and technology, people die from cancer.

It stops me cold. My insides seize up and I feel panic set in. It is such a completely helpless feeling, knowing that there is really no rhyme or reason to it, no justice. It doesn't matter how much "bad" you've already had in your life. It doesn't matter how good or bad a person you are. There are no checks and balances when it comes to cancer. And really, my husband's life is in the hands of medical professionals whom we have no choice but to trust.

Sometimes I become superstitious despite myself and I wonder if we are tempting fate by moving on and embracing life. Living in fear is no way to live, to be sure, but sometimes I picture the Cancer Gods (who look like horrific monsters in my mind) watching us and deciding to take us down a notch or two by spreading a little cancer dust on our family again.

The truth is, it never really goes away, not completely.

Back to School

2010-08-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

Here were the troops this morning:

Just for a little perspective, here were Joey, Daisy and Annabelle one year ago, as they started second grade and kindergarten, respectively.

I really thought Lilah would cry when we left her this morning for the first time, but I was wrong on that one. We got there a few minutes early and her teacher did a wonderful job of enlisting Lilah's help to get her warmed up. It worked. By the time it was time to say goodbye, she barely noticed us.

Here's Joey parked dutifully at his new desk in his new third grade class. He seemed a little nervous and even forlorn, and I got more teary saying goodbye to him than to any of the other kids for some reason. I've begun to worry about him; he's always been sensitive and lately has been showing a definite anxious side, and he tends to keep things bottled up a little.

And Daisy and Annabelle. Daisy was raring to go; Annabelle was feeling a little scared - scared of a new class, of new kids, and of playing on the big kid playground.

All in all, the morning went off without any major hitches, save for a mini-meltdown over the wrong color lunchbox - geez. The house was very quiet, and Finn and I went for a nice long walk and then just chilled at home for a while. Before I knew it, it was time to pick Lilah up from preschool. She presented me with this:

Her very first school art project :) She had fun, but was clearly tired.

Later we picked the other kids up from school. Daisy proclaimed, "I had a GREAT day!" Annabelle said, "The only thing I don't like about first grade, Mommy, is it's just work, work, work." Sigh. I will tell you what I think about Annabelle: she is a very bright little girl, but I think she's always going to be one of those kids who doesn't particularly like school. She has a lot of trouble with self-discipline, and she doesn't like doing anything that takes effort. Which is not the best way to be wired when you have to get through life! We - and her teachers - have our work cut out for us with that one.

(An aside: I discovered when I gave the girls their baths tonight that Annabelle had done quite a number on her hair. She's done so well for the last few months, and bam, all undone in one fell swoop. Well, not completely undone, but the one side in the back where she tends to twirl/pull was suddenly noticeably shorter tonight, and I had to trim her hair to even it out for the first time in months. Not super short like in the past, but enough. I tried to not make a big deal about it, but I admit that I am sorely disappointed and sad over it. I imagine that the anxiety about starting first grade - which I knew she was having - finally got the best of her and I'm thinking she probably went to town on her hair last night in bed, and I just didn't notice it this morning with all the commotion. It took a lot of restraint on my part not to scold her about her hair; instead I asked her if she feels like she needs more help keeping her fingers busy, and she said she needs new finger toys because the old ones are boring. Sigh. Anyway, proof that this is going to be a road of ups and downs with her and her hair.)

Joey had a good first day. He seems to like his teacher and reconnected with old friends from last year. Though he was nervous this morning, I figured he'd be okay because he truly loves school.

Kevin's first day went well, too. He announced that now that he's an eighth grader (in a K - 8 school), he's at the "top of the food chain." He seems pleased about that.

I had forgotten how the witching hour hits pretty much as soon as all the kids are home from school. The whining was at an all time high this afternoon, and everyone was crabby and out of sorts. I guess we all just have to get back into the whole school routine.

So, first day of school done, and we all survived.

Time in a Bottle

2010-08-29T13:47:00.000-07:00

One last sweep through the kids' rooms this afternoon, on the eve of back to school, clearing out old backpacks, beat up shoes, and clothes that have been outgrown. And suddenly I find myself crying. I am having one heck of a time this year with the kids going back to school. For weeks now, every time I think about it, I feel this emptiness, this feeling of loss.

I've been trying to figure out what's making me such a mess about it this year - a far bigger mess about it than I have ever been before. I think Michael having faced down cancer last year has made both of us keenly aware of everything we have, and therefore everything that can be lost. I think, too, that the fact that I've had a new baby every other year since 2002 until this year is contributing to this feeling of loss; I'm still grappling with the fact that there will be no more new babies for us, and so suddenly not starting over with another new baby this year is making me feel more intensely than ever how quickly all of my kids are growing up.

So many changes in all my kids lately. Kevin has entered that early teenage awkward stage. He grew several inches over the summer, and his face is losing its little boy softness and becoming more angular. Joey has become more interested in baseball than anything else, and I can see him struggling in the limbo between little boy and big boy. The twins will be six soon, and already I see glimpses of them as young women. Lilah is starting preschool tomorrow, and there is a part of me that wants to say, "No! Stay home and be my shopping buddy and watch Blue's Clues with me for another year . . . please." And Finn took his first steps this morning.

You hear it all the time from other parents: "They grow up so quickly." It's true. What nobody tells you, though, is that no matter how difficult the stage is that you're in right now with your kids, you will one day look back and wish you could have this time back. Nobody tells you that one day you will be gazing at your baby's sweet, pudgy face, utterly unable to fathom him as a "big kid," and you will go to sleep and wake up what will seem like the next day, and that pudgy little baby will suddenly be as tall as you. Nobody tells you that sometimes you feel like you have whiplash from how fast it all goes by. Nobody tells you that one day, you will bury your face in your son's old jeans with the knees blown out, and you will cry silent tears and wish with all your heart that he would be little again so you could appreciate it and savor it like you didn't at the time.

I swear, the older they get, the more it breaks my heart.

End of Summer Blues

2010-08-22T22:17:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are on the eve of the final week of summer break, and I'm feeling sad. Usually I am more than ready by this time to send the kids back to school and regain some semblance of a routine and some peace and quiet around the house for a few hours every day. But it's different this year.

We've had a really great summer, and I think that's what's making it so hard to say goodbye to it. Last summer we were in (barely) survival mode, Michael having come through major surgery and with months of recuperation and cancer treatment to get through. The summer before that we were shell-shocked from the aftermath of Finn's birth. And it seems like every summer before that for the last several years I've either been very pregnant and cranky or we've been adjusting to a new addition to the family. This summer was different. Everything seemed more vivid, more alive. I guess that's appreciation for having come through the things we've come through. It's been a very busy summer, too, what with our little trip up the coast, five solid weeks of swim lessons, continued dance and music lessons, Finn's therapy, my weekend away with friends . . . I know I had some goals that I had hoped to accomplish this summer, namely learning how to take better pictures and (finally) putting together some photo books. I didn't accomplish either of those things, but it's okay. We lived life, and it's been good.

Kevin was very productive this summer. He's become in very high demand for tutoring, and tutored five kids over the summer. He also had his first foray into babysitting kids other than his siblings. It is so nice to hear other parents rave about your kid - I guess it's validation for all the hard work you put into raising them to be good people, you know? Anyway, we charged Kevin with the responsibility of raising $250 towards his eighth grade trip to Washington DC - I just really want to instill in my kids the value of a dollar and the value of working to earn things rather than just having everything handed to them. The DC trip isn't until May of next year, so he had lots and lots of time to raise that money. Do you know that he raised all of it and more over the summer between babysitting, tutoring, allowance, and a holding a couple of lemonade stands? I'm very proud of him.

I think I am actually going to miss the kids when they go back to school next week. Kevin is dragging his feet a bit, but I think he'll be happy to be back once he gets into the swing of eighth grade. Eighth grade! Holy cow. Next year he'll be in high school (can you hear my hear cracking?). Joey is very excited about going back to school, as are the twins. I worry about how the twins will do - it's quite a leap from kindergarten to first grade. Lilah is starting preschool as well. She'll be going to the same preschool that Joey and the twins went to, and she's excited - she is so ready for it. I don't know if mama is, though. I swear it was just last week that she was a newborn and I was carrying her in a sling to take Joey to preschool. And now here she is, her turn. My chickees are leaving the nest. So Finn and I will have three mornings a week together, just me and him, and I'd sure like to make the most of that time.

As for this last week of summer, it's going to be busy with getting ready for back-to-school. Probably won't be much time for sentimental tears.

Product Review: Bark Off

2010-08-19T13:28:00.000-07:00

I have a confession: I am often intrigued by "As Seen on TV" products, and I've been lured into trying out more than I care to admit. Most of them seem to end up being a big disappointment, but if something looks good and doesn't cost too much, I'll likely try it out.

My latest "As Seen on TV" product purchase is the Bark Off. It's a small, battery-operated device that is supposed to emit a high-frequency sound, inaudible to human ears but audible to canine ears, to discourage barking. I stumbled on this completely unintentionally. Twinkle, our one-year-old malti-poo has a barking problem. She's a yapper. And her yapping is at a pitch that feels vaguely like an ice pick being driven into your brain. I've actually been giving serious consideration to investing in a shock collar for her (gasp!), but I was at Target yesterday and just happened to stumble on the Bark Off, which costs much less than a shock collar, and which promised humane and effective bark reduction in my dog.

Before I share my review, let me just also say that there are quite a few reviews of this product online, most of which seem to be put out by the marketer of Bark Off; they seem to have purchased domain names like barkoffreview.com and barkoffx.com, so that if a person goes online and Googles "bark off review" they're going to be directed to reviews generated by Bark Off. No fair, guys.

So here's my review:

At the risk of stepping away from my usual cynical outlook . . .

2010-08-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it seems like the stars are aligned exactly right, and I find myself feeling an almost physical swelling of gratitude and contentedness. I don't know what tomorrow or next week or next year will bring, but I am thankful for right now: a strong, happy marriage, healthy kids who (I think) are happy, a life rich with friends who make me laugh and make me think. I want for nothing.

And that is worth acknowledging.

Hair There

2010-08-12T13:13:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about Annabelle's hair lately, and the strides she's made. This book made such a huge difference in my understanding of her hair-pulling habit, as well as my approach to curbing it.

The first thing, for me, was understanding what's at the root (no pun intended) of her penchant for pulling. It became clear to me after reading that book that for her, it's not an anxiety-induced behavior, but rather a boredom-induced behavior. She's an antsy kid, often with little impulse control. So the key has been to address that particular trigger, which has taken the form of finding things, through trial and error, to keep her hands busy. We call them her "finger toys." I've had to try a lot of different things, the goal being to find something very tactile that would serve to hold her interest enough to keep her fingers out of her hair. I tried feathers, chenille stems, squishy balls, bath poufs, spiky balls, silly putty, bumpy beads - all kinds of things. And some of them held her interest for a while, but nothing long-term until this:

She loves this ball and has been quite attached to it for a couple of months now. She takes it to bed with her, and I try to make sure that she's got it whenever she's sitting around with time on her hands.

The other big thing is that I don't get on her case about her hair anymore. I don't make her hair the issue. I no longer say things like, "Don't you want your hair to be long? Don't you want to be able to have pigtails?" I try really hard not to make it about her hair, but rather, to praise her for using her "finger toys." If I notice that she's been twirling, I don't say anything, I just hand her her ball. Her hair had become such a point of contention between me and her, and this approach has eliminated that - which is good for her and good for me.

Annabelle is also a girl who thrives on structure, so I was worried that all the progress we'd begun to make with her hair would go down the tubes over summer break when structure goes out the window. But she's done really well. I know she still occasionally twirls her hair, because I sometimes see the telltale corkscrews. But I don't believe she's pulling these days. Her hair has grown out quite a bit:

Here she is in April -

And four months later (it's messy, but you can see that there's quite a bit more of it) -

I haven't had to trim it to even it out in months.

I won't say she's "cured." I believe this is probably something she will deal with all her life, but hopefully giving her the tools to deal with it will be helpful.

The Name Game

2010-08-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

It all started back when I was pregnant with Finn. Kevin and I had gone to Barnes & Noble one night to browse, and I came across a book of unusual baby names. Can't remember the title, but it was something like Funky Baby Names for Hip Parents (okay, I just totally made that up, but it sounds good, doesn't it?).

Let me back up a little and explain that Kevin, my eldest spawn, and I apparently have a very similar sense of humor. We are cut from the same dorky cloth, cast from the same goofy mold. Michael is forever condescendingly rolling his eyes at me and Kevin, whom he might come across rolling helplessly on the floor, with tears running down our cheeks and holding our ribs, cracking up over some silly joke we've made.

So Kevin and I are at B & N a couple years ago flipping through this book of Funky Baby Names, because, alas, the as yet unborn babe who will become Finnian remains unnamed. There were some interesting names in that book. "Coffee" stands out in my memory - I kid you not. Various fruits, as well, such as "Berry" and "Kiwi." The one that really sticks in my memory, though is DANG. I'm not kidding. Dang. So Kevin and I try it out:

"Dang, you're so cute!"
"Dang! Come in for dinner!"
"Dang, I love you so much . . ."

By now, we are cackling and close to writhing on the floor with laughter right there in the book store.

Ever since then, it's become a favorite pastime of Kevin's and mine - making up Funky Baby Names.

"Hey, Mom, what if you had a kid and you named it Hey-you?!"
"Hey-you, clean up your room!"
"Hey-you, you're the best son a mother could have."
"Hey-you, brush your teeth now."

"Or how about Stinky?"
"Hi, this is my son. He's Stinky."

"Or what if you had a kid and you named her Be Quiet?"
"Be Quiet, it's time for bed!"
"Did you do your homework Be Quiet!?"

"Or here's a good one! How about if you had a baby and you named it Dude?"
"Dude, you're so precious."
"Dude, did you make a poopy? Do you need a new diaper Dude?"

Really, this game can get endless mileage. Today we even came up with twins named Satan and Crazy Jesus.

"Crazy Jesus, I told you to stop beating up on Satan!"

Try it! I promise it will provide hours of entertainment for you and your family :)

Water Babies, Take II

2010-08-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

It's been three weeks of intensive daily swim lessons for the kids. After the first week, I put Joey in private lessons with Kacie as well. He's done group lessons on and off for a couple of years, but I think - no, I know - he needed a push, as he had pretty much plateaued, wasn't being pushed hard enough, and was letting his fear and anxiety hold him back from progressing. So for the last two weeks, it's been all three girls plus Joey in swim lessons every afternoon. Phew.

So where are they all are now? You may remember from the previous episode of Water Babies that there was a whole lotta crying going on. Over the last three weeks, a lot of progress has been made. Here, see for yourself:

Lilah -

Out of all of them, she is the most cooperative, the most willing, and really, the most comfortable in the water. I have no doubt it's because she's the youngest - too young to have real fear yet. It makes me really, really wish that I had gotten the other kids in swim lessons a lot younger than I did.

Daisy -

Daisy has come a loooong way in the last couple of weeks! She's actually very athletic and graceful, and I think she has the potential to really become good at swimming and a lot of other things if she can just have confidence in herself.

Annabelle -

This is painful to watch. It's actually very strange, because Annabelle seemed to move forward with swim lessons on a bell curve; she gradually improved in skill and attitude over the first couple of weeks, and then this week it all went downhill for her, and both yesterday and today were spent like this, with her beside herself with fear. For me, it was both completely aggravating and heartbreaking - part of me wanted to just throw her in the pool and say "GET OVER IT!" and part of me wanted to just wrap her in a warm towel and a hug. Ack. I don't know, I just don't know. This - this hysteria and complete and utter terror - this used to be Daisy about a million different things. Daisy, though, has overcome so much of her fear about a lot of things, while Annabelle has grown more fearful. And the sad and frustrating thing about watching her today was knowing that she knows how to swim! She has learned how to swim over the last couple of weeks, and when forced to, she can and will, but she's got herself all freaked out and she seems unable to get a grip on it. Well, we're done for now. I wish it had ended on a better note for her.

Joey -

When I put Joey in with Kacie two weeks ago, he had basic swimming skills thanks to the group lessons he's taken sporadically over the last couple of years, but he had gotten to a point where he was afraid to go in water deeper than he could stand in, and that was holding him back. Joey, I am sad to be realizing more and more, definitely has anxiety issues. About a lot of things. So this session of swim lessons was about pushing him to get over this roadblock he had hit, and he had a lot of stomachaches during swim lessons (which magically disappeared as soon as his lesson was over), a lot of headaches, and quite a few tears. This kid is really athletic though - he can actually swim really well - he just hasn't had the faith in himself, I think, that he needs. Anyway, when he started with Kacie, he would cry when she made him go into the deep end, but as you can see, he is now swimming laps the entire length of the pool. He's still got a ways to go to be completely comfortable in the water, but I'm pleased with what he accomplished.

We will definitely be back with Kacie next summer, this time with five kids. I will be putting all three girls and Joey back in, and next summer Finn as well.

Aside from swimming, I am so glad to have become acquainted with Kacie. If you follow my other blog, you may remember back in April when I first signed my kids up for swim lessons with her, I wrote about how my friend Jen put me in touch with her, and how it turns out that she's one of six kids and that she has an adult brother with Down syndrome. I never did get to meet her brother over the past few weeks, but I did get to meet her mom, Cathy, and it has really been so great to connect with another mom of a child with Ds, and to get the perspective of a veteran, so to speak. Really, really refreshing; I have completely enjoyed our conversations and look forward to many more. Oh, and, Kacie not only teaches swim, but she babysits! And, as Alycia, our beloved regular sitter, is out of town this weekend, Kacie is babysitting for us so Michael and I can go out for a post-birthday celebratory dinner!

Down With Prop 8!!

2010-08-04T22:04:00.000-07:00

I don't usually write about political issues. In fact, I kind of go out of my way to not write about political issues, mostly because I don't feel that I am generally well-versed enough on political issues to put forth an informed commentary.

That said, have you heard the news? California's ban on same-sex marriage - better known as Prop 8 - has been found unconstitutional and overturned by a federal judge, who apparently said that moral opposition to same-sex marriage is not a sufficient basis to deny people's rights.

Can I hear an Amen?!

Seriously, folks, this whole Prop 8 thing? That's all it is, a moral opposition to homosexuality that has evolved into a whole freaking law that strips certain people of a basic right that everyone else gets to take for granted. I'm going to restrain myself and not go all postal on the religious right here, but there's certainly no denying that the Christian conservatives are behind not only the subject moral opposition, but the law born out of that moral opposition.

I just can't wrap my head around this propensity of certain sectors of people believing it to be their right - their duty! - to poke their noses into other people's intimate lives, and to pass judgment. And to work so very hard to strip away other people's rights. I don't get it. How does any of that make this a better world?

There was a time, not so long ago, when mixed-race couples were denied the right to marry. That seems crazy now, doesn't it? At the time, it was considered immoral - immoral! - for a black person to marry a white person. There was a time, also not so long ago, when people with certain disabilities were involuntarily sterilized - forcibly stripped of their right to bear children. Seems barbaric now, doesn't it? But again, it was a question of morality, and certain sectors of people not wanting the feebleminded to produce feebleminded offspring - god forbid, the world might be overrun by imbeciles and mulattos! This denying gays the right to marry - it's the same damn thing. It's not right.

They say that same-sex marriage threatens the very foundation of the sacred institution of marriage. I honestly just can't help but laugh my ass off over this logic. As if we heteros have done such a bang-up job of upholding the sacred institution of marriage, with our divorce rates, and our adultery statistics, and our domestic violence - even among, dare I say, the Christian conservatives themselves! So I'd just really like to know exactly what it is they think they're preserving by trying to keep gays out of the marriage club.

So down with Prop 8 already. How about all of you who are so against same-sex marriage just worry about your own life and the state of your own marriage?

The Father and the Son

2010-08-02T16:35:00.000-07:00

When Michael and I became involved, it was a long time before I would allow Michael into Kevin's life. Kevin, at the tender age of two years old, had only recently lost his father to a drug overdose, after having been caught, the innocent, in the wreckage of his father's and my failed marriage. I wanted stability for Kevin, and I had no intention of subjecting him to any new person in my life who wasn't going to be a permanent fixture.

Finally, after a while, when I knew that things were serious between me and Michael, and I knew his heart was good, I began allowing him to spend time with me and Kevin together. I can still picture clear as day a turning point: the three of us had gone to the Balboa Fun Zone for the afternoon - a carnival-type attraction on the water's edge with arcade games, pizza parlors, a carousel, and a ferris wheel. Kevin must have been three by then. We were walking along the boardwalk, me a few steps behind the two of them, and suddenly I watched Kevin slip his little hand into Michael's big hand. I think my heart just about broke in that moment, for all that had been lost, and yet for all the optimism of possibility.

There came a time eventually when Michael said to me, "I wonder sometimes, will I have the chance to watch him grow up? Will I get to teach him to have a catch?" That's when I told Michael, "Do you want to know what I think? I think I am going to marry you."

And the rest, as they say, is history.

When Michael and I did get married, Michael wrote and made vows not only to me, but to Kevin as well. He presented Kevin, as part of the ceremony, with a family medallion: three interlocking circles representing the union between the three of us. For years, Kevin referred to our wedding as "when we got married," meaning the three of us, and not just me and Michael. I love that, because that's what it was, the three of us committing to each other, forming a family.

Neither of us ever pressured Kevin to call Michael "Daddy" or "Dad." For a while, he called him just "Michael," but over time, he began calling him "Daddy," and of course, then, "Dad."

Michael has always been there. Donated genetics or not, he is Kevin's father. He's wiped away tears and made owchies better and read stories. He helped potty train Kevin, he pulled his first tooth out, he taught him to ride a bike and how to throw a ball. He coached Kevin's t-ball team, bought him his first guitar. He's taken him skiing and enrolled him drum lessons. He's
encouraged him and lectured him, about honesty and integrity and doing the right thing and always doing your best. He's had the dreaded man-to-man talks with Kevin about changes on the horizon and girls.

And suddenly, that little hand he slipped into Michael's hand all those years ago isn't so little anymore. I realized this past weekend that Kevin is suddenly taller than Michael. When did this happen?

And being at that age, that oh so fun age, I notice Kevin and Michael butting heads quite frequently these days. And it feeds a tiny kernel of fear in my heart. Some day, in the throes of teenage angst, is Kevin going to scream at Michael, "YOU'RE NOT MY DAD!!"??

And what if he did? Because Michael is his dad. And really, butting heads is all part of the deal between fathers and sons. Michael's raised Kevin since he was a tyke, and I know there's nothing he wouldn't do for Kevin - no more or less than any of the other kids to whom Michael has biological ties.

A Day In the Life

2010-08-01T22:16:00.000-07:00

mommy are you awake ummmm can i watch tv go potty first drag myself out of bed brush teeth climb into sweats take the dog out go pick up coffee come home make the bed get the baby up clean up the kitchen throw diapers in wash feed finn breakfast make the girls' beds put on some makeup for god's sake change into something presentable what to wear what to wear oh i'll just wear this i don't feel too fat in this where are you going mommy can i go no i'm going by myself daisy's crying now oh god make a run for it go to bank go to target go to mall have to get michael a birthday present what in the world should i get him hmmmmmm oh this will be perfect oh and the girls need shorts too hey i made pretty good time go home change finn put finn down for a nap take the dog out clean up the lunch dishes more laundry oh shit i forgot about that spill on the carpet under the ottoman from the other night clean the carpet sew three doll slings mommy can i have a snack in a minute mommy can i have a snack in a minute in a minute get the baby up change the baby take the dog out what would you like for a snack this no this no that no that okay here you go clean up sewing stuff feed the baby fold clothes more laundry oh no i didn't take anything out for dinner run to the store make dinner clean up michael can you give the girls a bath more laundry pick up house feed the baby finish up lilah's bath comb everyone's hair oh the tangles in her hair one more load of laundry boys clean up your room change finn put finn to bed nighty night baby boy goodnight girls love you see you in the morning boys take your showers take the dog out feed the dog take a shower okay i need to shave my legs should i shave my legs eh i'll skip it too tired hopefully michael won't feel my legs geez i never even ate dinner what are you doing up lilah do you want to sit in the rocking chair with me for a minute okay nighty night baby girl get ready for bed boys get ready for bed boys get ready for bed boys nighty night love you see you in the morning update calendar sync brace myself for the week shit there's something going on every single day i'm pooped i'm calling it a day goodnight.

And now, for your listening enjoyment . . .

2010-07-25T14:14:00.000-07:00

. . . sit back, relax, and enjoy The Morguess Sisters:

Annabelle -

Little imp, that one.

Daisy -

Lilah -

Housework

2010-07-24T14:42:00.000-07:00

Someone in my circle of Facebook friends posed the question recently: How do those with large families keep up with household chores? This is a favorite topic of mine.

Let me start off by saying that I am an Anal Retentive Control Freak. There, I said it. I feel better now that it's out in the open.

Because I am an Anal Retentive Control Freak (hereafter referred to as ARCF), having a clean, tidy home is high on my priority list. I can't help it.

I'd like to first address this popular notion out there that families with a lot of kids should not have clean, tidy homes. In fact, it seems that a large family living in a clean, tidy house is viewed by a certain sector of society as something bad. Apparently it means that too much attention is being expended on household cleanliness at the expense of the children's emotional well-being. To that I say: BAH! Methinks people who are judgmental about clean, tidy homes are merely using the age-old method of attempting to make themselves feel better/superior by putting someone else down.

Personally, I have nothing at all against families who don't mind clutter and untidiness. To each his own. It's just that for me, I need relative tidiness to feel held-together at the seams. I'm sure it's a vestige of some coping mechanism from long ago - you know, controlling the things I actually could control as a means of coping with the chaotic, crazy things I could not control. Blah blah blah ... yawwwwwwn.

Anyhow, so yeah, I like a clean house. How do I do it, people seem to want to know. Here's a rundown of things that get done pretty much every day here in our house:

The beds get made every morning. Kevin and Joey are responsible for making their own beds, which is actually comical. Kevin actually sleeps on top of his covers and bedspread, just using a throw to cover himself. Meaning, he never un-makes his bed. He's been doing this for a number of years, I kid you not. I'm pretty sure this developed out of a desire to never have to make his bed. I remind him from time to time that someday when he's married, he's going to have to learn how to sleep in a bed, under the covers, again. Joey isn't terribly proficient at bed-making at age 8, although I'm convinced that his lack of skill is really due to lack of interest. Okay, fine. Their room usually looks like a bomb went off in it anyway, so we just keep the door closed.
Dishes get done after every meal.
Kitchen floor gets swept multiple times a day, and Swiffered about every other day.
Laundry is a constant. The washer and dryer is almost always running in our house. I don't let clean stuff pile up too much; I'm pretty good about folding and putting away in a timely manner. The older boys are responsible for putting their own clean clothes away, and Kevin is supposed to do his and Joey's laundry (since they share a room and, thus, a hamper), but he usually lets it pile up until it's spilling out of the hamper and neither of them has clean underwear.
The kids, it goes without saying, trash the house every day, but toys and such get picked up and put away at the end of the day.

I confess that I have a housekeeper, too. She comes in once a week and spends the better part of the day doing all the "deep" cleaning - dusting, mopping all the floors, vacuuming, scrubbing the bathrooms and kitchen from top to bottom, cleaning the blinds, etc. My husband seems to think it sounds pretentious if I make mention of my "housekeeper." In my defense, I don't think of it as a status symbol or a class distinction, and I certainly don't think that housework is beneath me. I actually don't at all mind doing housework, but the truth is that it is hard to keep up with it all when you have a big family (hell, it's hard to keep up with it when you have a small family), and since having a clean house is important to me, I'm willing to shell out some moolah to keep it clean. And seriously? On Monday afternoons after the housekeeper leaves? That feeling of reveling in an utterly clean, tidy house? It's almost orgasmic. To me, anyway.

I've been trying, on and off, and with varying degrees of determination and success, to get the kids more involved in household chores, just because I think it's important that everyone contribute to the maintenance of the family home in some way. I think it's important to instill a good work ethic in my kids, and I want them to grow up into people who can fend for themselves. Everyone should grow into an adult who can wash a sinkful of dishes, operate a washer and dryer, set a table, and take out a bag of garbage, don't you think? And really, with all these kids, I shouldn't have to lift a finger. Okay, I kid. I've made chore charts and made promises of allowance based on chores (which I know is controversial, but let's be honest: money talks, and it's a great motivator). And it starts out with great enthusiasm, but the novelty soon wears off for everyone, me included. And I inevitably find myself not wanting to deal with hounding them to do their chores, not wanting to listen to the whining and complaining. Also, being the ARCF that I am, I tend to inwardly cringe at the imperfection of the tasks undertaken by their clumsy little hands and I inevitably fall back on the attitude of "If I want it done now, and if I want it done right, then I might as well do it myself." Not very effective parenting, I know. It probably plays right into the theory of Faux Incompetence - you know, where someone acts like they don't know how to properly do something merely as a means of getting out of doing it.

Last night, Michael asked Kevin to do the dinner dishes, which is actually supposed to be one of his daily chores, but one which I rarely enforce because, like I said, it's usually easier to just do it myself the way I like it to be done. Anyway, Kevin started sulking and he said to me with a puppy-dog expression, "I don't do a very good job doing the dishes." I clapped him heartily on the back and said, "You do a fine job."

Go, me.

Water Babies

2010-07-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

Swim lessons started this week for all three girls. Let me just preface this by saying that their swimming background is nonexistent - that is, up until Monday, none of the three of them had ever set toe in a swimming pool (unless you count the inflatable pools we get for them to splash around in every summer, which I don't). I suppose I should have had them in swim lessons much sooner than now, especially the twins who are fast approaching six years old. But, spilled milk and all that.

Anyway, they were all actually very excited about the prospect of having swimming lessons, and the first day went surprisingly well. Probably because their swim instructor, a college girl who is Red Cross certified and gives private lessons in her parents' backyard pool, went pretty easy on them the first day. It was just a gentle introduction to an actual swimming pool, a get-to-know-each other proposition, during which all she really asked of them was to stand on the steps of the pool and get their faces wet.

Yesterday, the second day, however, she got down to business. And it's gone downhill from there. Kacie, the instructor, is great - I really admire how she handles the kids, and she clearly knows about teaching kids to swim. It's my kids. Man, oh man. Here are (poor-quality cell phone) snippets from today:

Annabelle -

Daisy -

Lilah -

I don't know if the commonality is obvious (she says sarcastically), but they're all screaming and crying. Gah.

I have a little sympathy, but not much. I mean, really, I do feel bad that they're scared, but I am completely confident that they're in good hands and I don't think that coddling or babying them through this is going to do them any favors. I think they need to tough it out and at some point (hopefully), there will be the turning of a corner, the clearing of a hurdle. Fortunately, Kacie and I are in agreement on this.

At the instructor's suggestion, we - er, they - practiced putting their heads under water during bath time later in the day. Still, Daisy informed me at bedtime, "Mommy, I have a tummy ache, and when it's time for swimming tomorrow, I know I'll still have a tummy ache and I won't be able to go swimming." Oh brother.

Three weeks of daily lessons we've signed up for, people.

Built to Last

2010-07-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

July 20, 2001-

July xx, 2010-

When you marry someone, you exchange vows that are, at the time, really nothing more than pretty, eloquent words. Heartfelt, yes, but also naive and idealistic. When you stand before each other, saying these words to each other, making each other these promises, it is impossible to fathom the highs and lows you will actually face together, and only time will tell if your union will withstand everything that comes your way. And it is only living through life's experiences together that gives those pretty words and promises actual texture and color and meaning.

Today marks nine years of ups and downs, thick and thin, sickness and health, hurdles, challenges, smooth sailing, laughter, tears, music, fear, sadness, surprises, predictability, division, solidarity and yes, wedded bliss. Nine years ago I married the love of my life. This is what I longed for my whole life: this kind of acceptance, this kind of security, this kind of respect, this kind of laughter, this kind of love. Our life together is perfect in all its imperfection.

Family Vacation

2010-07-19T17:08:00.000-07:00

We did it! A family vacation! Our first as a family of eight. The last time we went anywhere of any great distance, we were a mere family of four, and we haven't ventured anywhere far as a family in several years for a lot of reasons - among them: that it seems like I've either had a bun in the oven or a newborn every year for the last several years; that it's terribly expensive to go just about anywhere with this many humans in tow; and really, just that with each passing year and the addition of more kids, it's felt more and more daunting and undoable to go away anywhere. But we did it! I think Michael's surviving cancer has really brought a new appreciation to us, and a determination to make the most of what we have and what we can do instead of being bogged down in limitations. So we packed up the kids and stuffed the truck to the gills with necessaries and headed up the coast.

We left bright and semi-early last Wednesday morning and headed first to Cambria, a beautiful little rustic coastal town. It took us roughly seven hours to drive there, which included stops totaling about an hour and a half. In Cambria we stayed in a nice cottage at a lovely lodge with beautiful gardens you could (and we did) walk through. The lodge was situated in the woods, but just across the street is the ocean. The kids were in awe of the novelty of a "hotel" (and the girls were completely enthralled with, of all things, the little bar soaps in the room; I don't think they've ever seen bar soap, as all we use at home is liquid soap - so there was much washing of hands going on). We had dinner at a little grill and arrived back at the lodge only to discover that the truck had a flat tire - boo. But Michael changed it and everything was fine. Nobody got much sleep that night. There was one room with two queen beds for the kids - the three girls shared one and Kevin and Joey shared the other. We brought the pack 'n' play for Finn to sleep in, and he started out in the room with the other kids but that didn't work, so I moved him into our room, but he wouldn't sleep there either and spent most of the night wrestling around in our bed. Anyway, it was a beautiful little town, and really we could have stayed there longer.

On Thursday we headed out of Cambria and up the coast another few hours to Monterey, where we rented a little three-bedroom house for three nights. My friend Lisa of Genetically Enhanced happened to be working in Monterey and she came to the house for a visit and some pizza! On Friday we went to the apparently world-famous Monterey Bay Aquarium, which was pretty amazing. We had lunch at Bubba Gump's, a shameless capitalization on a wonderful movie . . . but what are you going to do? We walked around Cannery Row that night after dinner and took the kids for ice cream. We had considered driving up to San Francisco for the day on Saturday but when we realized it would be at least a two-hour drive each way we decided instead to just bum around Monterey. Sunday morning we got up early, packed everything and everyone up, and headed home, making it in about six hours with only one stop for lunch.

All in all it was a really, really nice trip. Some things we learned:

Kids generally don't appreciate scenic drives, and are really all about the destination and not the journey.
It IS very expensive to take a family of this size anywhere. Even though we packed a cooler with food for the road and bought groceries to keep at the rental house, we still ate out a few times and it's impossible to get out of a restaurant with six kids for under a hundred bucks.
Vacations seem to make everyone appreciate home! Honestly, the kids really did well, all things considered, but by Saturday night we had a couple of them in tears, wanting to go home and sleep in their own beds. I felt the worst for Finn who, unfortunately, spent a lot of time strapped into a car seat or a stroller. He was very happy to get home to his toys and wide open spaces to conquer.

Most of all, we learned that we can do this! I really hope we will make it a point to go away someplace as a family every year from here on out.

We took a shizillion photos, which can be viewed here.

Back

2010-07-11T22:16:00.000-07:00

My weekend away with the girls was fun, fun fun! There was much eating, drinking, laughing, lounging, shopping, and girl talk. I had an hour-long massage followed by an hour-long facial (okay, let's just touch on extractions. Seriously? Ewwww! Who would want to be an esthetician, anyway, and voluntarily deal with other people's zits and blackheads - and so cheerfully?) We stayed in a beautiful villa at a resort, had dinner at a lovely restaurant where entertainment was provided by a very drunk guy celebrating his fortieth birthday and taking his shirt off and dancing in front of our table. The trick was dancing to impress without falling down! Very nice.

Anyway, really couldn't have been any better - it was the perfect getaway. And I missed the kids! And I realized how healthy it is to actually have an opportunity to miss them, and for them to miss me. Michael and the kids fared fine without me, the house was in respectable order when I got home, and Michael even made dinner for me when I got home (no, you can't have him, he's taken).

And now I have two days to get ready for our first-ever family-of-eight vacation! I'm very excited . . . and nervous, and stressed. But mostly excited. And stressed.

But it's good to be back for now!

All for the greater good

2010-07-09T17:18:00.000-07:00

You know, it gets very tiring always basking in the accolades for all that I do. In a way, it doesn't seem fair that Michael is forced to hide in my shadow. So this weekend I'm giving him a gift: I am going away for the weekend so that he, and he alone, can care for the dear children. This is just my humble way of allowing him the opportunity to wallow in the boundless appreciation of his offspring for fetching, slaving, mediating, chauferring, comforting, disciplining, and cleaning up for them. Plus everyone else will declare how awesome he is for doing ~~what I do every damn day, every day of the year~~ such a fabulous job. And I have no doubt that when I return, I will be welcomed into a house that has not been trashed in my absence. And perhaps the children will even have been fed and bathed as they look upon me with their shining faces and say, "Welcome home, Mummy" (in my fantasy, I've suddenly become British).

As for me, well, I'll be partaking of food, drink, merriment, and shopping with a handful of girlfriends. Oh, and also a shamefully expensive massage and facial.

It's a sacrifice, but one I'm willing to make for my husband.

Dream Wash

2010-07-08T22:46:00.000-07:00

Wow, has it really been a week since I posted anything here? These kiddos are keeping me bizzzz-eeee, I tell you. I don't know where the days and weeks of summer are going. I do know that the stores are already putting all their summer stuff on clearance and putting out the back-to-school stuff!! What gives?

Anyhoo, just a quick little slice of sunshine before I hit the sack:

Joey, who shares a room with Kevin, sometimes has bad dreams. When it was time for bed tonight, Joey told me that he had a bad dream last night and asked me to sit with him for a while before he went to sleep. So I sat with him on his bed for a while, chit-chatting, and then asked him if he was ready to go to sleep. "Maybe I need some dream wash," he said. "Dream wash? What's dream wash?" I asked. Kevin piped up, "Oh, dream wash. I'll get you some, Joey." Kevin disappeared into the bathroom and came out a couple minutes later, bearing a dixie cup with, apparently, Dream Wash, in it. He gave it to Joey and told him to drink it down and that it would keep the bad dreams away. Joey was grateful.

Apparently this is not the first time. Turns out this "dream wash" is just water with a tiny bit of toothpaste in it for flavor. Kevin came up with this all on his own.

What a great kiddo. What a wonderful big brother. I suspect he's going to make an awesome dad some day.

A Boy's Life

2010-07-01T21:26:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday, my beautiful son.

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

More Tales from the Trenches

2010-06-29T21:49:00.000-07:00

See Lilah.

See Lilah in the Emergency Room.

See Lilah in the Emergency Room with a bead stuck up in her nose.

Yes, this was today's adventure. She shoved a bead up her nose (what in the world possesses kids to do the things they do???) and then cried and cried because it hurt and it was stuck. I wasn't exactly sure what to do. I know there is some technique whereby you, the harried parent, can blow it out, but alas, I wasn't sure of the exact method and I was feeling a little panicky. So I called our pediatrician's office and was informed that I would have to take her to the ER to have it removed. I suspected as much. She actually fell asleep in the truck on the way there, which I took as a good sign. When we got there, each medical professional who asked me what we were there for chuckled when I told them. (And, of course, the first thing everyone said before even asking what we were there for was "Oh my goodness, look at that hair!" Her hair precedes her, I tell you.) Apparently this is very common. The doc who finally extricated the subject bead told me that they get at least two or three cases of Child With Foreign Body in Nasal Passage every day. They even have a special instrument designed specifically for removing all manner of Foreign Bodies from said nasal passages: it's a very thin flexible tube which they slip up there past the bead (or what have you), blow a tiny bubble into the end of the tube and then pull it out, along with the Foreign Body. Pretty cool. The whole thing took about three seconds, and Lilah didn't even cry, which surprised me. What did surprise me was the size of that thing when they pulled it out! A pretty little purple rose bead almost the size of a pea, all covered in snot. Nice.

Hopefully we've learned a lesson from this.

Me and My Big Family

2010-06-28T22:20:00.000-07:00

I got back from the grocery store a little while ago where I ran into a casual acquaintance in the produce section who made a less than positive remark about the size of my family. I hadn't seen her in some time and she asked me "So how many kids do you have now?" I told her six, to which she replied, "Oh, you poor woman!" What the hell? This is the second instance in the past few days when somebody has made negative comments to me about having a large family. Another casual acquaintance over the weekend was conspiratorily telling me about a family she knows which has seven kids, and how "You just know that the older kids are taking care of the younger kids." I swear she had a smirk as she was telling me this. I don't know, maybe she always talks with a condescending smirk, who knows. But she does know I have six kids! Which brings to mind the question: why the eff was she ripping on large families to me? Was it a passive-aggressive way of telling me what she thinks of the multitude of children in our household? Or was it, as someone else pointed out, perhaps "sour grapes"? Both of these women are mothers of only children, so I completely understand that having a large brood is probably somewhat of a foreign concept to them, but why the negativity?

This is not a new experience for me. People have actually been making the size of my family their business for a long time. I think it all started when I was pregnant with the twins, and upon learning that I was, in fact, expecting twins, people - complete strangers, mind you! - would say things like, "Oh, you poor thing!" and the ever-popular "You're done after this, right?" As if my husband's and my reproductive choices are open for public debate.

People seem to have very strong opinions about other people's childbearing choices - and most people don't seem afraid to voice those opinions. Any more than two or three kids seems to be met with dismay. Imagine what people thought when we went from two to four, and then kept right on going.

And, sadly, I'm ashamed to admit that I find myself explaining to people that "Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I'd end up with six kids!" I have this underlying feeling that I have to assure people that I'm not crazy enough to have set out with such an unreasonable goal. This makes me feel very guilty, because the truth is, even though I didn't initially set out in my childbearing foray to have a whole houseful of kids, I did want each and every one of them, and I was thrilled every time I saw those two pink lines. I feel ashamed that I give a crap what people think.

Having a big family is not for everyone. And there are definitely challenges we deal with that are unique to the abundance of kids we have. Traveling, for instance. Major undertaking. Which is probably why we haven't had a family vacation in . . . ever. We're actually planning a road trip right now, and finding accommodations for all of us isn't easy. And yes, sometimes it feels like the needs and wants are never-ending, and yes, it can be draining and exhausting. Yes, it's true that the kids don't get nearly as much one-on-one time with us as they would were there fewer kids. I'm not convinced this is causing them major emotional damage. Certainly none of them will grow up to be adults who think the world revolves around them. And that's not to say that only children do; it's not a statement about only children at all. I'm just saying that sharing - things, time, attention, everything - is and always has been a way of life for our kids.

Do the older kids help out a lot with the younger kids? This seems to be an assumption a lot of people make, maybe thanks to the Duggars who apparently have a system in which the younger children are paired with an older sibling as soon as they're weaned. (Is this right? I've never watched their show; this is just what people tell me when they're comparing our family to the Duggars. Because we clearly have so much in common with them. Not that I'm judging them. Different strokes, people. That's my point.) Anyway, only in the last year or so have I started having Kevin babysit his younger siblings on occasion, and I pay him for his time because I want him to feel that his time is valued and not taken for granted, I don't want him to resent being made to watch his siblings, and let's face it - a little moolah sweetens the pot considerably. That's about as far as the help goes between the older kids and the younger ones, although I may ask Joey to get Lilah a drink of water, or Lilah to fetch a toy for Finn, and so forth. I don't feel that it should be the older kids' responsibility to look after the younger ones, although we do try to foster an attitude of teamwork around here.

There is an upside to having so many kids, too. There's never a shortage of playmates, and in fact, they keep each other occupied, engaged, and entertained so much so that I believe I may have a little more down time than my friends with fewer kids. Watching the relationships between them blossom is something I wouldn't trade for anything.

Anyway, we take care of our family without help or handouts, so I just don't understand why anyone cares how many kids we have.

Birthday Party Redux

2010-06-27T19:05:00.000-07:00

I had forgotten - well, almost forgotten - how much work goes into putting a kid's birthday party together! It's been a while since we've thrown an all-out birthday bash for any of the kids. Yesterday we had a party at home for Joey; he'll turn eight (eight!!) this next Friday. The invites went out a couple weeks ago and we had a great turnout - I believe there were 14 kids in addition to our six. We rented a monster water slide and a snow cone machine (which Kevin and his friend manned, at no charge), we barbecued burgers and dogs and had a water balloon toss/fight. There were no injuries reported, everyone got along, nobody cried, and Finn even went down for a nap, the peach. It was a perfect day with perfect weather, and everyone had a great time.

And here are the photos that tell the tale, starting (in case you can't make it out) with Michael filling water balloons the night before. We filled roughly 100 water balloons; I took the first fifty and still have blisters on my fingers from it. But it was worth it, seeing all those laughing kids!

One of these days, I'll catch up

2010-06-23T17:06:00.000-07:00

I seem to recall summer break being a time of laziness and relaxation. So far this summer break, not so much. Seems like it's just been go, go, go, and as a result I am woefully behind on reading my favorite blogs as well as writing on my own. In a nutshell (not that this is earth-shattering stuff, or even stuff anyone might give a crap about; this is really just my compulsion to document stuff):

<> Joey has been in swimming lessons every morning this week, which will continue through next week.
<> I've been cracking down on having the kids do household chores, which is a blog post in the making in my head.
<> I have not yet tackled my goal of trying to become a better photographer, but am still thinking about it all the time.
<> Most of the flowers I planted over spring break are now dead, exactly as I suspected would happen.
<> Both Joey's and Finn's birthdays are coming up. We are having a birthday party for Joey this weekend and I'm a little stressed out about it. Also, I got it in my head that I wanted to create a photo montage of Joey from babyhood to now, so I've been staying up late at night scanning baby pictures into the computer, as we didn't get a digital camera until he was around 2. Also, seeing pictures of myself skinny and several years younger is just depressing.
<> I got an iPad. Which I am typing this from right now. Neener neener.

And now, dinner.

Dance, Dance, Dance!

2010-06-20T16:40:00.000-07:00

Our weekend was all about dance. The three girls have been taking ballet/tap classes for a few months now. When I initially signed them up, we had the opportunity to sign them up to participate in the spring recital, which I jumped on since I've been waiting, like, my whole life for stuff like this, and which turned out to be a most elaborate production of The Wonderful Land of Oz, and which was today (on Father's Day).

Yesterday was dress rehearsal, which turned out to be a really big deal and which took about half the day. The first order of business was to put full make-up on the girls. Quite an undertaking, seeing that (a) I'm no makeup artist, and (b) they weren't digging the whole process.

Here are my beautiful, fresh-faced little girls: Lilah, Daisy, and Annabelle -

They look like scary Vegas showgirls with all that garish makeup, no? But it's theater, you know, and apparently it's important to lay it on thick so it's visible from the stage,

Daisy-

Lilah-

Annabelle-

In costume, waiting backstage for their turns.

Lilah is a Poppy - isn't she the cutest darn poppy you ever did see?

The twins performed in a dance number "He's the Wiz."

These photos and video footage are only from the dress rehearsal, as we weren't allowed to take photos or video during the actual show today. I was blown away by the whole production, though. It was amazing. There were well over 100 kids doing different dance numbers in a 90-minute show, everything from hip-hop to ballet and tap. It was really, really cool.

Dorothy with Toto, the Cowardly Lion, Scarecrow, and TinWoman-

The Wicked Witch-

Lilah is the red poppy standing -

Dorothy and Glinda -

Annabelle and Daisy are the two in the center, closest to the Wizard -

Fingers and Toes

2010-06-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I took the girls on their first trip to the nail salon to get their finger- and toenails painted. Very exciting stuff, lemme tell you!

Fancy schmancy!

Coed

2010-06-16T08:59:00.000-07:00

Kevin is going to N's house today. He was invited to go and hang out at her house with a group of other kids; she apparently has a pool at her house, so they're going to swim and eat pizza. This is not how I had envisioned it. What I had envisioned was that when they finally made concrete plans to hang out, it would be on my turf, where I could keep a good, close eye on things. So I was caught rather off guard yesterday when Kevin asked if he could go to her house. I told him I wanted to talk to her mother before I made a decision, so within a few minutes I was on the phone with N's mother.

She was on a cell phone standing, with N, in line at Disneyland. She introduced herself and I introduced myself, I told her I've been wanting to chat with her and wondered if now was a good time for a candid conversation. It is, she said. So I told her, "I don't know if you're aware of it, but Kevin and N seem to be pretty infatuated with each other." I told her that, although Kevin doesn't know it, I've been reading the emails that pass between him and N, and they're a little on the flirtatious side. She was not aware of this. She said that she's thought about checking up on her daughter's email, but just hadn't. "You beat me to it," is what she said. I assured her that it's nothing bad, and that Kevin is a good kid and N seems like a very sweet girl, but that my concern is that they're at a tricky age: too old for playdates, and not old enough to date, and they're both obviously developing an interest in the opposite sex. I told her that I'm very strict parent and that I keep pretty close tabs on Kevin. She said that she does monitor N's texting, and that she knows N has been wanting to call Kevin on the phone every day and she's told her "No, you're not going to be calling some boy every day." (However, N is in fact calling Kevin every day . . .) Anyway, she assured me that she's a very conscientious parent, too. I told her that I wasn't telling her any of this to get N into trouble, but just that I wanted to make sure that as parents, we're on the same page if our kids are going to be spending time together. I haven't forgotten being thirteen myself, and by that age I was already up to plenty of no good. That's what scares me and what motivates me to keep such close tabs on Kevin.

All in all, the call was very pleasant, and she said that she appreciated that we had an open conversation about what's going on between her daughter and my son. I wonder in hindsight if she now sees me as some high-strung, busy-body mom. On the other hand, it's really not about what another parent thinks of me, it's about looking after my kid and what he's doing. I'd rather be in his business too much at this point than not enough.

So after making sure that there will be adult supervision and a group of kids (and not just the two of them), I gave Kevin the green light to go. I did tell him that since he's going to her house, he's going to have to actually look at her and talk to her though ;)

School's Out For Summer!

2010-06-14T14:11:00.000-07:00

That's right, it's official! Today was the last day of school (a Monday, and a minimum day to boot . . . whatever).

True to form, I found myself all tight-throated and misty-eyed when I picked the twins up from school. Crybaby Mama, that's me. I don't know what it is . . . milestones . . . the passing of time . . . knowing that my kids are growing up, slowly but surely. All those moments I can never get back. Did I appreciate them fully? Savor them? It's doubtful. I spend so much time just plodding along, trying to get through it all, and it's only looking back that I feel the big-ness of it all.

I need to work on that.

Also true to form, we are starting summer break off with illness in the house. It started last week with Finn and Lilah, who both had high fevers for two or three days. Finn also vomited for a day and they were both lethargic. Then they recovered and the twins got it (thankfully not until after the kindergarten graduation ceremony, but they did miss school on Friday, which was when their class had their big end-of-the-year picnic/party). Daisy and Annabelle recovered over the weekend, and last night, Joey developed a fever.

But here's the kicker: Joey came into our room at about 5:30 this morning saying his lips felt funny. The whole lower half of his face was swollen to almost grotesque proportions! It was most bizarre. And frightening. I've never seen anything like it and it scared the crap out of me. I was this close to taking him to the ER, but called the after-hours nurse at our pediatrician's office instead and after describing his symptoms to her, she concluded that he's probably having an allergic reaction to the Children's Advil we gave him last night for his fever, and that as long as he doesn't have hives and isn't having any difficulty swallowing or breathing, he should be fine. She said no more Advil, just Tylenol, and Benedryl.

Here's how he looked a couple hours after the first dose of Benedryl:

The swelling went down a tad, but not a whole lot. It's really strange. The picture really doesn't even do it justice - he really doesn't look like himself. Anyway, hopefully the swelling will be gone by tomorrow (hard to believe that one dose of Advil caused this, and that it's taking so long for it to get out of his system).

Needless to say, Joey missed the very last day of school. Poor babe. The kid ADORES school. As in, he thinks school should be all year round.

We did pick up Joey's final report card today, and the girls got theirs as well. Joey's is no surprise. He had a terrific year, and did wonderfully academically, socially, etc. He will be going into GATE this upcoming year, which I think will suit him. We haven't gotten Kevin's report card, as it will be mailed to us, but we were notified last week that he made the Honor Roll.

The girls' report cards surprised me somewhat. Actually, Annabelle's mostly. They are both stellar. The truth is, the letter grades on the kids' report cards usually interest me less than the teachers' comments. What surprises me about Annabelle's report card is that she got "O's" (for outstanding - the highest possible mark) in every behavioral category:

Listens Attentively: O (really?)

Follows classroom, playground, and school rules: O (seriously?)

Works and plays well with others: O (okay, I can buy that . . .)

Accepts and shows respect for authority: O (okay, come on, someone's pulling my leg . . .)

Demonstrates effort: O (okay . . .)

Does neat and careful work: O (really?)

Stays on task and works independently: O (wait a second . . . is this some other child they're talking about?)

And in the Teacher Comment section, her teacher wrote, among other things, "Annabelle is ready for first grade! She has really matured academically and socially. She works above grade level in all areas of the curriculum." (!!) (Emphasis mine) "Annabelle has a bright future ahead of her!" Does she mean one that doesn't include jail? Okay, I kid, I kid. But seriously! This is NOT the Annabelle I know and love. Which just goes to show that kids are different creatures in different settings.

I think the part that surprises me the most is the part about Annabelle working above grade level in all areas. In all honesty, I am a little ashamed to admit, I've always assumed that Annabelle might not be as . . . I hate to say bright . . . but academically inclined, as her sister. Probably because at home, Annabelle is so unruly and uncooperative, and just plain naughty. At home she doesn't demonstrate self-control or self-discipline. At home she's our incorrigible little delinquent (although we only call her this behind her back, I can assure you). I've always had this secret assumption that eventually, that's what will separate Annabelle and Daisy in school - Daisy will be deemed gifted like Joey and Kevin, and Annabelle will be left behind as an academic average (and then I will have to agonize over how to deal with that, which puts a pit in my stomach). Right now, a very different picture is emerging of the girls. Daisy also got a stellar report card, but I will say that in the comments section, there is no mention of Daisy working above grade level, only at grade level. Which is fine! My point is only that I suddenly feel like maybe I don't have my girls figured out as well as I thought I did.

Anyway, so that was kindergarten. There is, of course, much more ahead of them, and much more to discover about them.

So now it's officially summer break. I am looking forward to eleven weeks of being able to stay up into the wee hours devouring some good books, of not having to get up at the crack of dawn and rushing crabby kids to eat, get dressed, and get out the door, of lazy, sunshiny days. I am not looking forward to eleven weeks of trying to keep the kids sufficiently entertained and occupied, or of listening to complaints of boredom, which should be starting any second, according to my watch.

As for summer plans - my personal goals are to crack open those photography books I bought and figure out this camera of mine, and also to finally put together babyhood photo books for Joey, Daisy, Lilah, and Finn (that's quite a lofty goal!). We have swimming lessons and dance on the agenda, including a big production of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz which all three girls will appear in in all their dance finery this coming weekend, a weekend away for moi with some girlfriends in a few weeks, and a little family getaway in the works.

Happy summer!

Mama Mia

2010-06-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

It's funny how often I long for peace and quiet, and even solitude, but on the rare occasions I actually get those things, I just feel lonely and a little sad.

Michael took all the kids except Finn on a little day trip today. Just a little drive up the coast to visit family. I opted to stay behind with Finn because . . . well, for a number of reasons, among them that with Finn's current eating and napping requirements, it's just tough to take him off his routine.

The morning was as noisy and chaotic as usual, with the kids bickering and tattling on one another, trying to get everyone dressed and ready to go, cleaning up a mess of spilled coffee in the carpet a la Finn, etc., etc. There came a point, as there usually does, when I swore that if I heard "MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!" one more time, I would scream.

And then they all paraded out the door, leaving me and Finn behind. Finn and I ran a couple errands, I picked up some Chinese food for lunch for myself, and then came home and put Finn down for his nap. And suddenly, the house seems oddly quiet and lifeless. I am appreciating the peace and solitude, but at the same time, I miss those rascals - and the hubs, too. And I worry. I worry any time Michael leaves with several of the kids, picturing the worst in my mind's eye. All it would take would be some drunk driver to wipe nearly all of my family out. At least if I were with them, we'd all go together . . .

Okay, enough of the morbid thoughts.

I guess I'll do some laundry, curl up with a book for a while, and maybe Finn and I will go for a walk when he gets up from his nap.