Fighting Battles

If you want to read some great writing by a wise woman, I highly recommend checking these posts out:
http://thebookofarmaments.blogspot.com/2011/11/on-kindness.html

http://thebookofarmaments.blogspot.com/2011/10/celebrating-our-differences.html

That's my sister in law, Liz.  She's pretty awesome, huh?  I've been thinking a lot about what Liz has written lately.  And what the two of us talk about a lot.  See, Liz and I both have three young kids, 5 years old, 3 years old and 1 . . . so, we have a pretty good grasp on each others day to day life.  (Despite the panic attacks I've caused her with my unexpected fourth pregnancy, she thus far seems to have missed the chance to be pregnant with me yet again.)  We tend to be going through things like teething, potty training and sleepless nights around the same time in life.  Having Liz to go so closely through motherhood with, has been one of the great blessings of my life as a Mom.  There are probably few other people in my life who I'm quite so blatantly honest about what life is like, as I am with Liz, and it's not uncommon for us to spend an hour or better on the phone, really, really regularly.

Unfortunately, hers isn't the only writing I've been dwelling on lately.  I'd gotten an email recently, that kindly informed me I should probably stop complaining so much about sick kids and motherhood, 'cause at least I had kids, and was pregnant, and there are lots of people who'd happily trade me places in a heartbeat.  That I should just be thankful for what I have.

My heart kinda shattered a little when I read that.  It hurt.  I felt guilty.  I cried.  And unfortunately, that's not a super rare occurrence around these parts lately, so once again, my kids just stared at me like I was crazy as I tried to compose myself. 

This last several months (year?!) have been really difficult with sick kids.  It's scary to feel like you have no control over how well your kids are doing.  I can clean my house, wash all laundry on sanitize, use essential oils, hand washing, good hygiene, breastfeed past the American norm for immunity purposes, use a well respected line of children's supplements and herbs, consult doctors, specialists, surgeons, herbalists, naturalists and try my best to feed them a healthful diet . . . and I still can't keep them from getting sick.  I've never felt so helpless in my life.  There's  been scary hospital and ER visits, there's been tests and doctor's appointments and lab results that have gotten screwed up and cost us our chance of finding out what was wrong.  There has been more money and less sleep than I'd planned on.  It's been really difficult.  I try not to complain about it much; I cry to Greg, I unload on those closest to me, and in my own little world of blogs and facebook, I vent a little.  My world has gotten a lot smaller this last year.  I don't leave my house much anymore, it's hard when you have a kid who's had diarrhea for a month.  I get Annie and Ellie off to school, play with Isaac, and maybe run to the grocery store when Greg's home in the evening (getting three kids in and out of carseats with my ever expanding belly is getting more difficult, and tiring, than feels less than worth it a lot of times).  But I'm tired, and I'm run down, and I am often dealing with a child I don't want infecting anyone else, so I don't get out like I used to.  I haven't made it to Church in six weeks.  That, and volunteering in Annie's school, are my last two social outreaches a lot of times.  You would be shocked to see how much I don't mention online.  Every time I post an update about my kids, I've weighed very heavily how badly I need to vent vs. the possible cost of it (i.e., exposing myself to comments and advice that while helpful, sometimes hurts 'cause it feels like people just think that if I could 'figure this out', my babies would be all better.  Which is my own issue -- the vast majority of comments are very sweet and supportive, very few have actually carried any judgement in them.  But, man, those ones hurt.)

I have tried to be really conscientious about complaining about the pregnancy itself.  I am very well aware of loved ones and friends in my life who would give their right arm to be pregnant.  This pregnancy was a big surprise, it took some getting used to.  It was mildly terrifying to feel a total lack of control in my own life that came with an unexpected pregnancy.  But I am grateful.  Those feelings were fleeting, and I am joyous and thankful every time I feel this little boy move and squirm inside me.  I'm so completely head over heels in love with this baby, and I can't wait to meet him.  But it hasn't been easy.  This pregnancy has been, by far, the most emotionally and physically difficult.   Couple the paragraph above with the fact that I am 33 weeks pregnant, and my stress level doubles.  Only Greg could tell you how many nights I've sobbed myself to sleep, crying about how I can't keep Isaac well, what is heaven's name am I going to be able to do for a newborn? Having flashbacks to Isaac in the hospital at 7 months old with RSV, on oxygen and struggling to breathe, and realizing this new baby will be THREE WEEKS OLD at the same time of year.  There is a near crippling terror that fills my most vulnerable moments.  I am tired, I am stressed, I am hormonal and emotional, and I've never been so affected by it all as I am right now.  I would not trade this opportunity to be a Mom to this baby, or any of any of my children, but I have never had such a hard time with it as I'm having now.  I have moments of hopelessness, fear and self-pity that I have never felt before.  They like to grab me in the middle of the night, and try to bury me deep into my pillow until it feels like I can't breathe.  When I'm supposed to be sleeping.  And trust me, I needed that sleep. Fortunately, they are fleeting.  Or at least, aren't often overwhelming.  I have a wonderful support system of more family than a girl could know what to do with, the world's most amazing husband, and beautiful children who remind me every day all that I have to be thankful for.  But this is hard.  I've never felt like this.  I really think the vast majority of it is the hormones of pregnancy, and the sleep deprivation sure isn't helping.  Even when I feel my most desperate and hopeless, there is still a feeling of peace that comes after the storm, that tells me these feelings aren't my whole reality.  They're just one small part, and not even the most important part.  I am so happy with my life, it's just never been so difficult for me.  And I realize that if this is the most 'difficult' thing I've dealt with before, than I'm a very, very lucky woman.  But it is my own personal trial, and therefore it feels very hard, and very personal. 

So before you ever send an email to someone, telling them what they should or should not feel . . . please just remember that you probably only know a fraction of the story, see a corner of the whole picture, and that everyone is fighting their own battle.  Maybe you're strong enough that the same trial wouldn't stress you out, but the other person may not be as strong as you.  And having that pointed out, probably won't help the matter. 

Poor kid!

 Isaac is having such a rough time lately (and by lately, I mean since early February!)  The poor thing was up last night (a lot) with a fever and his ever-present-congestion-that'll-never-go-away-ever.  A lot of times when my kids are fighting off something (like an ear infection) that causes a fever, it'll spike at night and be gone all day.  Not this time.  He was just a little bundle of overheated baby most of the day.  He took a long two hour morning nap, woke up for less than an hour, then went back down for another two hour nap.  That does not happen with my kids.  That didn't happen when he was oxygen deprived and in the hospital.  My kids almost never sleep more when sick. I felt awful for him.  In the afternoon, the fever came down for a bit and he was active and fun for awhile -- including crawling all over the place, and up and over his Daddy, where he came crashing down on the hard floor and/or Dad's steel toed boots, and the poor kid now has a giant goose egg going from his temple to behind his ear.  These pictures don't do it justice -- it is nasty.  I'm feeling so bad for him -- plus I have an extra dose of motherly guilt on this one.  See, we found out last week that he had an ear infection.  But, in all my reading and studying, I've come across a lot of information about the over-prescription of antibiotics, and how most ear infections will take care of themselves.  My kids have such a hard time on antibiotics, and I hated to put him through that again.  Plus, this seemed to be a fairly mild set of double ear infections, in that he wasn't complaining too much.  So, we did our research, talked to a local wellness chiropractor, and started liquid herbs, essential oils, garlic oil for his ears, extra sunshine (when the weather cooperated) and a ton of vitamin rich food (I mean, even under normal circumstances, the kid consumes breast milk and veggies and fruit -- he's already on like the world's most healthy diet).  Then we waited.  Yesterday I noticed he was kinda tugging on his ears still, and I told Greg, "I'm not sure this is working . . . what if it's not getting better and I just don't know . . . "  Then last night he woke up with fevers, and I was the first one in line at the pharmacy to get his prescription for amoxicilian filled early this morning.  I feel horrible that he could've already been over this, and instead it got so much worse and he has to feel so miserable . . . there is total Mommy guilt coursing through my veins when his feverish little self crawls up onto my chest and falls asleep.  Poor baby.

The thing on his head is a 'Fever Bug' -- a supposed one time use thermometer that'll show you how bad the fever is.  It never showed over 99 degrees, even when our other thermometer was saying 101.6.  I don't think we'll be using the 'Bugs' again . . . other than the girls to play with.  Oh well, I got them on clearance :-)

Then just one from yesterday -- when he was healthy and happy.

Craziness & Baby Smiles

Recently, Annie has taken temporary leave of her sanity and has gone full blown four year old crazy. This, by far, has been the most challenging stage (I'm gonna say that a lot over the next 15 years, aren't I?) She's just so defiant and snotty and it's a shock to my mothering system to watch her treat her sister and I so rotten. Ellie, the brunt of much of Annie's moodiness, responds by being a mean little tease and pushing every last one of her buttons. Ellie is a ball of energy and personality -- when used for good, this makes for the single most adorable two year old in human history -- when used for evil, it's a force to be reckoned with. And combinet that with Annie's drama and attitude, and it's like the perfect storm of moodiness. Well, this all culminated yesterday, in a mess of tears and screaming (mostly the girls, but I wasn't immune), that landed both of the girls in their room at noon, with a strict 'you will not leave this room until you take the nap we all so need for you to take!' mandate. There was much screaming in protest ("Ellie! I didn't even know Mom could be this mean!" and "I don't even know if I love Mommy anymore!"), but I stuck to my guns (and also went for a walk outside with Isaac for awhile, just around the circle repeatedly, so that I didn't lose it with them), and almost THREE HOURS LATER they both finally crashed and slept. Ellie for a total of 45 minutes (so guess who was grumpy all evening?), and Annie for a blissful two hours or so. Which, of course, meant she was wide awake until about 10PM last night. I still haven't decided if it was worth it or not.
With the girls screaming in their room, I hid out in mine and made goofy faces and cooed and chatted with Isaac for hours. It was a really nice break, to just hang out the two of us without anyone wanting or needing anything else. Plus, a smiling baby was just what my beaten down mood needed! It was a nice break from an angry, ranting, dramatic, possibly-hormonal, four year old girl. That baby is so cute, and I could just sit there and smile and coo with him all day. Well, if I didn't have two other kids and a house to take care of . . .

Today he's 7 weeks old, and I was taking pictures of him and Ellie this morning. (Annie was downstairs watching 'Mickey Mouse Club', and we weren't gonna mess with that.) Ellie was a little cheese ball, per usual, and Isaac was fairly smiley . . .

Ellie was sporting sunglasses with her pajamas, bright and early this morning.

They're just so cute! And lovable! And today better go better than yesterday!

And Now I'm Tired . . .

Isaac's been a fairly decent little sleeper. Until a few nights ago.

He'd nap well all day, then at night he was going 3 and sometimes even 4 hours between feedings for the first half the night (then like every 2 hours from there). I was getting the rest I needed and feeling pretty good.

Then the kid turned 3 weeks old and decided to screw the whole sleeping thing.

His morning nap today: 15 freaking minutes. After fighting him for hours to go down for a nap, the kid slept 15 stupid minutes. It took another 30 minutes of fighting him to get him back to sleep for another half hour.

Last night he woke up nearly hourly, and stayed awake for up to an hour at a time in between.

The night before wasn't much better.

Which means that my amazing postpartum mood is now fried. I was amazed that for that first weeks I hadn't even been so much as a little bit teary eyed. In the past I've never suffered from postpartum depression, thankfully, but I've had a bit of the occasional baby blues. I felt overwhelmed and a bit lonely when I was suddenly home all day with a colicky infant when Annie was born. And then I'd look at a sleeping two year old Annie after Ellie's birth and think how much throwing a new younger sibling into her world was gonna shake things up and I'd end up weeping to Greg about how she has no idea that her whole world had changed and it wasn't just her and Mommy anymore, and Greg would start to look concerned and finally ask, "Um, is this, like, something I should be concerned about . . . like a postpartum thing?" I'd assure him I was just a bit emotional, but fine.

Since Isaac's birth, I've been surprised that although the physical recovery seemed to kick my butt much more this time, but I've never felt so good emotionally and mentally after having a baby.

Until I started to fear for my sleep. Then I start to cry. The other night, at 4AM, I was whimpering to Greg about how Isaac was sleeping crappy and I was tired and I just wanted to fall back asleep and Isaac kept fussing and wasn't sleeping and what have I done wrong that he's not sleeping and what if I somehow screwed up some motherhood thing and I somehow ruined my good sleeping baby from a few days ago and he's now been replaced with this horrible sleeper that won't nap or go back to sleep . . . I was probably rambling a bit.

See, I have near PTSD when it comes to sleep. Annie was a HORRID sleeper, and it was awful and I was so tired and almost non-functioning that it was scary. I never want to be that tired again. I also harbor intense guilt and worry that I somehow caused it. Sure, my husband points out sweetly to me that there was nothing either of us could do to make that child sleep. Trust me, we tried it all. We tried everything in the world to get her to sleep, and she just isn't much of a sleeper. At two years old on a drive back from California after a solid week of a long, exhausting vacation, she took one 30 minute nap all day. (Ellie didn't do much better -- she wasn't even a year old and even with spending ALL day in a car, she took one 55 minute nap that day. My kids just aren't big sleepers. I don't know why they don't sleep like other kids, especially somewhere like trapped in a car all day, but they just don't.) Other people, possibly not as reassuring as my husband, have how they turned out to be such bad sleepers. Did I just not put them down when they were tired? Did I not 'teach them self-soothing skills'? I mean, they're babies, they should just sleep . . . so what did I do as their mother to get in the way of that? As toddlers and preschoolers, why are they fighting bedtime this much? You should just be able to put them down and they'll eventually fall asleep? You just need a sleep routine. That's how kids work, so why are mine different? I stress about this more than you know. I should mention, I've come down clearly on the side of 'I've done NOTHING wrong' and 'I did everything I knew to do' and 'I've read every single freaking book and some kids just don't like to sleep.' But, motherhood (as you may know) is a guilt trap, and if there's something that sets our kids apart, that has people asking us "Why are they like that?", it's hard not to obsess about all your parenting decisions and wonder where it all went wrong. Funny thing is, I know it's just who they are. I was a craptacular sleeper as a baby. According to my Mom, I gave up all naps at 6 weeks old. SIX WEEKS. No matter what they tried. By a year, they wouldn't even let me nap on the rare occasion I wanted to -- 'cause if they did, I was up 'til midnight that night, and wouldn't let my parents get to sleep. I was a horrible sleeper. Greg, on the other hand, took something like two 2-hour naps 'til Kindergarten. Some kids just need, and want, more sleep than others. Greg's genetics just have not kicked in with our girls yet, and they're unfortunately a lot more like me than him when it comes to sleep. Stupid karma.

Anyway, so to suddenly be kept up much longer than usual the last few nights with a fussy Isaac has me a bit terrified. Then today, him not settling down and taking a nap for nearly four hours of fussiness this morning only amplified that terror.

And my mind immediately goes to, "What am I doing wrong?" What if he becomes a horrible sleeper too . . . three out of three, that has to be my fault, right?

Is there a way to turn off the stupid, nagging, self doubt that comes with motherhood? And turn up that voice that reminds me that I have amazing mothering instincts, and I just need to go with them and stop worrying that I'm screwing him up every time something I try doesn't work . . .

More Motherhood Guilt

Greg and I, for the life of us, can't figure out how to get our children to bed. For awhile it was all working perfectly -- we'd put them down around 7:30ish, they might talk a minute or two, but they'd fall asleep. It helped that it was dark outside. Now, we get them down between 7:30-8:00, and we're lucky if they're asleep by 9pm. (Stupid sun.) The talking, fighting, screaming, singing, crying . . . all brilliant stalling techniques on the part of our little girls. We don't really have much at our disposal -- we walk in and tell them to be quiet and go to sleep. And then leave. 'Cause really, there's not much more we can do. Our ultimate trump card is 'the hall.' When one of the children, in particular, is keeping the ruckus going, after a very stern warning will get taken out of bed and set up on a makeshift bed out in our hallway on the floor. Annie hates this with a passion. Last night when Greg was putting Ellie down for bed she asked if she could sleep in the hall. Sigh.

Annie was relegated to the hall just a few nights ago. She screamed and freaked out and yelled a lot about us not being a nice Mom and Dad, and sobbed, "Why is everyone so mean to me when I'm so nice?!" After about a half hour of such dramatics (non-freaking-stop) I was about ready to go postal, so I upped the ante. "Annie, you have two minutes to calm down, then I'm moving you to the bathroom and you will sleep in there." I set a timer. No change. I grabbed several big, fluffy blankets, and lined the bathroom floor, carried her and her pillows and blankets in there and laid her down on the bathroom floor. She flipped out. She was screaming about her horribly mean Mom, and yelling, "You can't make me sleep in here! This room is DANGEROUS!" I told her to knock it off before I shut the door to the bathroom so we didn't have to hear her screaming anymore.

Good thing she doesn't know the phone number for any child protective agencies . . .

She did fall asleep though. She quieted down right away, and fell asleep eventually. And slept all night. And the next night when she started to freak out, I mentioned the bathroom floor. She was quiet and asleep in no time. (Ellie on the other hand was happily laying out in the hall on the floor, singing to herself.)

Domestic Goddess?

I've never claimed to be the most 'domestic' person out there -- I mean, I try and keep a clean house and feed my family healthy homemade food, at least a big chunk of the time. I don't regularly steam clean my floor boards, defrost my freezer or scrub out my oven, and there aren't any handmade crafts around, or beautifully decorated rooms (in fact, both of my upstairs bathrooms are still bare after a year and a half of living here.) And apparently my kids haven't missed the fact that I may be a bit lacking in this area . . .

Annie was looking down, sadly, at the wrinkled bow on the front of her dress this morning and said, "Hey Mom, do you think we could go by Grandma's later so she could iron my bow for me?"

My response, rather than get out my iron and take care of it, and prove to my four year old that I am in fact capable of ironing, was, "Sure, we could swing by there later." :-)

Minor Motherhood Meltdown

Annie freaks out when she gets her hair brushed. It's long and curly and in the morning filled with snarls and tangles and is pretty nasty business to get brushed out. The problem is Annie's reaction to our daily hairstyling has gone from sobs and tears to something that would make more sense if someone was taking out her appendix without anesthesia. It's obnoxious. She's screaming and thrashing and sobbing before I even touch her head now. I get that it's not pleasant, I try hard to be understanding and I use water and 'No More Tears' and patience, and yet she's busy screaming bloody murder from the first mist from the spray bottle. I've told her for a little while now that if the dramatics didn't cut down a bit (since she can apparently have her hair brushed by Grandma and others without more than an occasional whimper) that we were going to take her to get her hair cut. Nothing has improved, and this morning's freak out was particularly Oscar worthy, so I left her thrashing in the bathtub (where we'd been attempting to comb through some conditioner), grabbed a pair of random scissors, gave her one last warning, she started screaming about how I was the meanest Mom in the world, and I took her hair and cut off the bottom two inches.

We finished the haircut in the tub, she remained surprisingly calm throughout it. (Probably shock.) :-) The haircut (while I'll have checked out and cleaned up by my friend Emily) is surprisingly good, and the most ironic part is she spent the next hour admiring herself in the mirror. She loves it.

I'm hoping this makes our lives a bit easier for awhile. She's been told that if the theatrical antics keep up, we will go even shorter though . . .

Sounding and Long Es

Annie decided that now that she's four, she wants to know how to read. So, I bought the reader "Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons," the same reader my Mom taught the majority of her children to read from. We dived in for the first time yesterday. We ended up kinda skimming through the first 80 pages or so, since Annie would get annoyed when I asked her to tell me 'letter sounds' for too long. She's staring at me like I'm an idiot while pointing at the 'b', and she'd roll her eyes as she sighed, "buh." The one that shocked me though was there was a long 'e' sound. Indicated by the line over the top of the 'e', for those of us who have to be reminded of these kinda elementary school symbols. As soon as she saw it, she sounded it out as "Eee", rather than "Ehhh," and I was really surprised she'd gotten the long 'e' sound right without me explaining the symbol (just a minute before she'd sounded out the regular 'i' as 'ihhh', and not 'eye', so it's not like she's not used to sounding vowels.) I asked, "How did you know to sound it as 'Eeee'?" She looked at me, again, like I'm stupid, and said, "The line over it means it says its own name . . . " "Who taught you that?" "I don't know, you. Or Grandma." Well, I'm guessing Grandma. Or PBS.
We got to sounding out actual words, and I was shocked at how quickly and smoothly she was sounding them out. "Rrrrrr-eeeehhh-ddddd. [Split second later]. Red." We even got to the first page of four and five word sentences (around page 80 or 90 or something) before she got bored of reading and wanted to go play with her new birthday toys.
Here's the part where I'm a bad Mom though. Oh my goodness, did it get boring! Not only that, I was finding myself getting a bit impatient. The third or fourth time she'd come across the same word, sounding it out, I'd just want to jump in and be all, "You've seen this one again and again . . . H-I-S is always going to be 'his', you don't need to sound it anymore, just recognize it and it's so much quicker." See, bad Mom. :-) I think at least part of this comes from the last kid I remember learning how to read was my sister Lacy, who had a photographic memory, so she really did just remember words after sounding them out once. I sometimes forget that without that gift, everyone else has to learn through repetition and building their skills. The other part is that I'm fairly used to language coming easy to Annie. Just the other day in the car, as Ellie was shrieking out her version of a 'Glee' song, Annie sighed and said, "This is getting rather ob-nox-ious, Ellie!" Annie just gets words. She incorporates them upon her first hearing them, and they become a part of her vocabulary instantaneously. She has an amazing ability to suss out what a word means, and how to use it. And she'll occasionally ask for clarification of a word's definition if she's not 100% sure. I'm so excited for her to read, because I know it'll open up this whole new world for her. And, I just want it to come easy for her. But if there's one thing I've learned from watching Ellie's speech slowly grow is not everything comes as fast as we'd like it, but it comes when it's supposed to. Although, I should probably not get my hopes up too much for Annie to be reading story books all by herself to Ellie to entertain them while I'm nursing the new baby. :-) (In approximately 5 weeks! That's coming up quick!)

Ellie, Can You Hear Me?

"How is her hearing?" the professionals would ask, right off the bat, whenever I got into a discussion about Ellie's speech delays.

"Oh great! She notices the littlest of noises from outside, she pulls me to the window to tell me she heard a dog or a truck or a bird. Her hearing definitely isn't the problem," I'd assure them.

So, guess who failed her hearing test this morning?

I feel like a freakin' genius.

Well, she has a cold right now, and they said with the pressure in her ears, that her ear drums were hardly moving and she wasn't registering much below 25 decibels. So, we come back in a few weeks, when her nose is cleared up, and try again. So, we didn't really learn anything new, except that even when she doesn't have an ear infection, she may be dealing with hearing problems due to pressure. I might make another appointment with the ENT (we were just there yesterday with Annie), but I don't know what they can do really. She can't get tubes yet . . . they'd said if she'd had one more ear infection by the end of January, we'd do tubes, but she's been miraculously infection-free this season. She did have two infections back in fall, but none this winter . . . trust me, I know . . . I've taken her in three or four times absolutely convinced that her grumpiness and lack of sleep was due to another ear infection, but so far it's just been a big waste of multiple co-pays. (Annie was having pretty severe hearing problems right before her second set of tubes, but with constant ear infections and a history of tubes clearing them up, she was a no-brainer for surgery. Since Ellie's not really getting infections, who knows what options we have . . . ) We'll do the test again in a few weeks and see what happens . . . which Ellie will be happy about! She had the time of her life in the sound booth for the hearing test -- there were barking dog toys, and drum playing teddy bears, and things would light up and start to sing when she'd look towards the sounds . . . she was laughing and giggling the whole time. When we came out of the booth, the audiologist said, "Well, she certainly has joy in her life!" As we were leaving, Ellie ran back to the sound booth, and threw herself against the door, refusing to leave because she just wanted to go back inside and do it again. I assured her we'd be back again soon . . .

Her other tests went great -- vision tests and health histories were all taken care of this morning. Now that all her medical stuff is done with the school district (or, done-ish, since they're not counting this hearing test), they said they'll pass it on to her assigned speech therapist, and we'll move on from there . . .

Now I'm patiently waiting. (Why hasn't anyone called yet?!)

The Strange Power I Wield

Earlier I realized it was Ellie's nap time, and usually I'd pick her up and carry her into her room, but this time before I had a chance to pick her up when I said "OK baby, time to go to your room, it's naptime . . .", I felt almost guilty as she started to whimper but grabbed her blanket and doll and started to walk her little self (like one on death row) to her own bedroom. She walked all the way in there, nearly sobbing by the time we got there. I picked her up, cuddled for a second, then laid her down. Where she began to scream uncontrollably. I was just kind of shocked though that she walked herself all the way into the most dreaded place in the house, just because I told her it was naptime. Mom's are like all powerful sometimes . . . but I felt bad, feeling like I'd used my powers for evil or something . . .

And yet I can ask her and her big sister to stop fighting, to drop the markers or to stop playing in the toilet, and they act like they can't hear me . . . weird . . .

I'm Not the Only One?

I can't really explain this bought of writers block. It's just here, and I'm stuck.

It may have something to do with the my two beautiful children conspiring to drive me completely insane, as of late. I don't know what it is, but they've paired their grumpiness and unreasonableness, teamed up together to present a united crazy-inducing front, and been pretty much nothing but whiny and cranky for days now. I can handle a day or two of this . . . but after more than a few, you start to feel like you're losing your mind. And your cool.

I'm not quite sure it really happened, as I'm sure in my agitated state I could be remembering things wrong or possibly hallucinating, but I vaguely remember a fifteen minute argument with Annie where I was trying to assure her that the yellow lemon flavored dessert was not chocolate, as she was so insistent it was (why it mattered if she thought the stupid thing was chocolate or not, in hindsight, seems rather unimportant); where it is possible that the debate only ended because I threatened to dump her chocolate milk out on her head if she didn't stop talking already. It's those moments in motherhood where you wish you could just crawl into a hole and hide in shame, and yet, for some insane reason, in the moment you cannot seem to stop insane statements from spilling out of your mouth despite every thing inside of you telling you to just shut up already and stop arguing with a three year old about meaningless crap.

Please, tell me I'm not the only one who's ever been here.

It's been the kinda week that drives me to call and harass my poor husband 2-3 times a day every day this week to inform him that his children are still insane and tormenting me relentlessly trying to drive me to an equal level of insanity, and that when he gets home it would probably be best for all if he took them somewhere. Doesn't matter where, as long as the girls of the house all get a good 30-60 minute break from each other.

Y'all have these weeks too, right?

Then, Annie was a complete doll while going out with some friends to the temple tour, happily talking about the beautiful chandeliers and the cookies. She gave me a big hug afterwards and told me she loved me. She also told me her favorite part of her whole day was playing with Mommy, Daddy and Ellie in her room, "with just our whole family." Then there was Ellie; waving enthusiastically to all who would look her direction, she gave me numerous hugs and kisses, decided tonight was a good night to start saying Grandma ("Mah-ma"), proudly showed off three or four new animal sounds she'd suddenly perfected for her Great Grandma, and she spent all evening blowing big giant open mouth kisses to everyone at my parents house, all the while giggling uncontrollably.

Thank goodness for those moments, huh? They kinda wipe the slate . . .

Motherhood

My sister-in-law Liz, the amazing blogger she is, has started yet another probing discussion. This one is about motherhood, and it got me thinking. And since my blog hasn't really been much more than pictures and videos lately, I thought I should probably flex my writing muscles and actually write something I feel strongly about.

I feel that, personally, I was meant to be a mother (and a wife for that matter). There's other things, other purposes I'm here for on this earth, but none quite compare to being a Mom. It's not all of what or who I am, but it's by far the most important part to me right now. It's not always easy, but I really do think that God gives us the particular challenges, kids, or challenging kids, that we can handle, possibly even handle better than anyone else could have.

Some of you know my sister Lacy. I'd say I'm glad I wasn't the one responsible for raising her, but since I often mistakenly call Annie by Lacy's name because of their many similarities, I figure I shouldn't say anything that karma will use against me later. Lacy (who I love), due to her freakish intelligence and therefore sometimes obstinate bratty behavior as a kid, couldn't have been easy to raise. I know there were times she was my parents greatest challenge. You try raising a two year old who'd often end up a mile or more away on her bike, just going out to meet new people. Or a child who would often correct her first grade teacher's spelling mistakes. Or who spent most of kindergarten in the Principle's office because she was just so bored with school. Or who had one teacher who told my Mom that her youngest daughter had, "diarrhea of the mouth." Or the elementary school teacher who told her that Lacy wouldn't survive middle school, 'cause surely someone would finally have enough and kill her. :-) I don't think my Mom much enjoyed parent-teacher conferences when Lacy was in school. But my parents were apparently born to raise this child. Few people could've handled the stress, I'm sure. And even fewer could have handled it in a way that let her grow into her personality without squashing it and killing her spirit. I really feel few parents would've been the parents she needed, even when for them it was one of their biggest challenges. It was their parenting that allowed her to grow up into who she is. For better or worse. :-) Just kidding, Lace.

For me, I look at the first nightmarish 6 months of Annie's life and sometimes wonder how we even survived the colic that was my first experience with motherhood. It was so tough. I cried more than I ever had. I felt inadequate, useless, unloved (weren't babies supposed to want their Moms for more than being breastfed, wasn't I supposed to take my crying baby from someone's arms and she'd instantly settle down just because I was the Mom, wasn't she supposed to nuzzle up and fall asleep on my chest, and not have to scream for hours merely to fall asleep for 20 minutes? What had I done wrong? Why couldn't I get this right? Wasn't I supposed to 'teach' her how to settle herself down, how to sleep? How had I gone so wrong? How did I mess this up so bad that my child never stopped screaming and I constantly had people asking me why I didn't do something about it? Did they think I liked to listen to her cry? Why did it feel like I had people from all sides questioning my ability to be this child's mother? Hardest was when I questioned it.) But we survived. Not always gracefully, but the fact we all made it alive and unharmed to her first birthday is the greatest assurance to me that I was not only meant to be a Mom, but her Mom.

I think motherhood is stressful, but I guess I believe women are made to be able to do it. I think we trip ourselves up a lot more than if we just let go and trusted that God made us to be mothers. I have a friend who is smart, compassionate and capable, and she CONSTANTLY questions her ability to mother. It's sad, because she's such a good Mom, but she gets so hung up on the stuff that doesn't go right that she gets demoralized and thinks she's a failure. And the more she sinks into that, the more stressful all things 'motherhood' become for her. I think we make it tougher than it is. I don't know how not to do that, I just think we do. I think we are created to be mothers though, and all of us have that potential within us, merely by virtue of being a woman. At least, I think that's what I believe. I'm still thinking about this one . . .

"The true strength of any nation, society or family lies in those qualities of character that have been acquired for the most part by children taught in the quiet, simple everyday manner of mothers."

–Gordon B. Hinckley

Good Mom/Bad Mom

You know what makes you feel like a bad Mom? Let's say you'd accidentally dropped a big ol' forkful of spaghetti on your five month old's head during dinner. Hypothetically. Then you wiped off her bald little head with a wipe. Only to notice the next day while out with your kids trick or treating at your sister's work that she has a large patch of red-stained skin on her head. Good hygiene there.

You know what makes you feel like a good Mom? Watching your two year old singing softly to her baby doll and cooing, "It's OK, I'm right here, don't cry, I'm here. I love you."

You know what makes it look like your two year old is a freakin' genius? When you're out on a walk around the neighborhood and you stop for a little bit to talk with the Primary President, and some ducks land in the driveway of the house next door and your two year old calls out, "Hola patos." Of course, it's the one and only animal she could've named in Spanish, but having her say it like that sure made her look like a bilingual prodigy.

You know what are the moments you'll never forget? Driving home from Grandma Ruth's office after some daytime trick or treating, and listening to the nonstop 15 minute conversation Annie had with herself, that included stuff like this stream of Annie thoughts . . .
"I like trick and treating. It's fun. Do you like it? Yeah, me too. I'm a pumpkin. I like pumpkins, so does Ellie. Ellie is an orange pumpkin. But not right now, now she's a ghost. My hands are sticky. Are your hands sticky? Yeah, mine too. It's sucker. How about you, do you like suckers? Yeah, so does Doh-doo (her imaginary friend). Doh-doo, you like yellow suckers. And that song. 'Four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie.' Manahmana. Yeah, I love that book. Stop dogs, it's a red light. Stop, dogs, stop. Look, it's a green light now, go, dogs, go. Oh and "Pizza Pat," I like that book, all the mice eat Pat's Pizza. Poor Pat. Dumbo likes mice, look Dumbo, your friend is a mouse! I like mice, like Pinky and the Brain. MOM! I want to listen to Pinky and the Brain!"

Dumb Thing I Feel Guilty About

I feel guilty that I'm teaching Annie to use the computer on a Mac. I mean, obviously, Mac's are far superior, but they're not the norm. It's like if I were to teach her the metric system, obviously a better way to measure things, but never introduce her to standard measurements, which are used by everyone else in her country (but nowhere else). I'm teaching Annie to use a computer that will mean when she gets into the real world, like Kindergarten, she'll be all "Where's my Apple key?! What does 'alt' mean!? Why is this operating system so stupid?!" And it'll be all my fault. So, that's a dumb thing I feel guilty about.

I mean, if I really wanted to feel guilty about something, you think it would be that I let Annie eat Ritz crackers for dinner last night.