Random

Jovie just tried to take a picture of me with her vagine. Bum in the air, nekkid. Had her mini kaleidoscope in her hand. While precariously perched on her head, she positioned her kaliedcope as it if we're a camera and used her vagine as the eye looking into the viewfinder and said "say cheese!!!!!"

Just scooting along

I used to look at my stay-at-home mom friend and try to figure out where her time went. We emailed great when we were at work together, but when she was home she was nearly non-existent.

I remember reading a post by Heather Armstrong on dooce.com about struggling finding time to write with 2 kids. At the time I thought "Bah- NO WAY!"

Yeah, well- eat those words, Ms. Lauren. Where do all of the hours in my day go? Not a clue.

There are regular home things. Feeding, cooking, cleaning, playing... But it seems I have much less time to play on the Internets than my working friends.

I know I sleep less, spend less time on self care, etc. So I cannot fathom what happens to all of those hours.

YES, I am with my children, but not always "with" them. Mostly I am feeding them or cleaning up after them, praising (or more likely) instructing them to follow directions.

But here is what I am getting at really... In all of these days of hours and minutes, I lose track of my children growing. It is SO cliche. I know. I get it. I GET IT. I understand why it is cliche. Yes, because it is true. You turn around and your once cooing and babbling brunette coquette is looking at you and exclaiming "MOM THAT IS SOOOO COOL!!!" Over a pirate sweater...

Then the guilt kicks in. Writing has not been my strong point. Not that the art of writing was ever a strong point, but the chronology of things happening. I forget to do those things.

My children will have a wealth of pictures to look at. Thousands upon thousands thus far. I am enamored with them. They are my kids. Parents do that kind of thing. But they will not have much of my written word to read. Sure, I have stories to tell, things that are burned into my memory. Still, so much has been stolen by time.

Mina starts kindergarten late this summer. And I wonder and worry how it is going to change her. I wonder how my life with Jovie will change. Am I going to be enough to make her days happy and fulfilled???? For 2 years? Will I be able to make these next 6 or 7 months of Mina's school-free days into something magical? Or am I going to get stuck in the mire of day to day- The fight with my sanity (not exaggeration), keeping my home the way I want it to be all while still keeping some semblance of who I am as a person? I don't know.

That is it. I don't know. I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING. I don't remember what I want to remember. I don't know what is coming. I fear and delight in the future. But I can't plan joys for Mina's childhood during the hours she is out of my arms. I can't make Jovie laugh the way Mina can OR get them laughing in unison- not while they are apart.

Maybe the real truth is, I fucking hate change~

Thank You Universe

In the grande scheme of things, I am one incredibly lucky lady. I love my kids, I love my husband, I love my house, I love my car (I realize this is a bit ridiculous). I am settled in my life now and I am taking strides to better myself and my family.

Never the clever, nor good housekeeper, I am TRYING to get some routines in place. I like how I feel when things are neat. I have to transfer that feeling so that it is strong enough when I get the urge to not clean that I remember how good it feels when things are tidy.

Damon and I are trying to eat better and get healthier for our kids. And for me there is the selfish reasoning. I want to look better in my clothes. I want to make my own clothes and not be afraid I will be too big for them in a short time period.

Obviously these are things I have always struggled with, probably always will. I do not have the answer, but I sincerely am trying to take steps to be better. Somedays I fall back. Sometimes my brain plays tricks on my body, and it feels as though it is not my own. But overall, I am on my way up.

It seems that now things are settling, when I do have my down days- I manage to pop back up sooner. I am disappointed that I am still going to have down days. But I am hopeful that they will be less often.

Back to the gratefulness. I am grateful. I love watching my daughters play and laugh, sing at the top of their lungs. I forget that they have not both been around forever.

Yet as the weather turns cooler and the trees change, I am gently reminded of my wedding and honeymoon. This is the time of year that "my" year begins. Bring on the autumn. Bring on the warm smells and cool breezes. Bring on the nostalgia and memories to be made. Seven years. Seven years in October. I don't feel like a different person, but I know I am- We have grown together, like two trees next to a creek... Roots intermingled, but standing on our own. Sometimes he protects me from the wind, sometimes I protect him. I could carry this metaphor way too far, and wax on about droughts and downpours, etc. But I think I will simply finish this by saying how thankful I am that he has stuck around. These last two years have been especially difficult. And he never balked. He never ran away. He stood up to me, stood next to me, stood behind me, and picked me up when I could not stand anymore.

It appears my heart wants to show all of its cards today.

Dear Mental Illness

As far as I am concerned you can fucking suck it. You have taken 2 years of my life and made them a blur. I might be able to forgive you for that, if you had not taken my brother away.

Luke was always incredibly smart. Witty, cutting, charismatic. I have no idea what his IQ was, but I imagine it was well withing the standards to join MENSA.

He was hard to live with growing up because he was so able to cut me quickly and deeply. He was handsome, suave, and popular. Compared to me- socially awkward, chubby, and a loner. I always envied his ability to do things without thinking about the consequences. I realize that sounds so odd. But my brain calculates nearly everything that could go wrong, which often causes me to take decisions after much deliberation.

I have that "stair stepping" wit. The one where you don't realize what you should have said until you are walking away and heading down the stairs after an argument. He was so quick.

Had we known long before all of this came about, we would have seen the symptoms of his illness very early on. Thinking he has ESP, drug use. Perhaps that drug use put him where he is now and fried his brain. Or perhaps he was trying to calm the voices in his head. We won't know.

I lost my brother when he was 19. He flowed in and out of lucidity- and when he was clear minded, he was brilliant. As the years have gone on, he has done what many schizophrenics do. They think they are better and stop taking their meds. Then they slip backwards and often self-sabotage.

I know how it feels to be stuck taking pills everyday. It sucks. Especially because mental illness is still not looked upon as a real illness. But without them, there is no filter for our brains.

I wish I knew how to process this- but all I feel is sad and cheated. I feel like the world was cheated out of a REALLY good lawyer, and a wonderful musician and songwriter. And I lost my brother. My mother lost a son.

So mental illness, you are an unrighteous bastard. And I can't wait until you are snuffed out of existence.

Jovie at 25 Months

My wee Jo,

Your language is starting to take off. It seems that everyday you are learning something new or you are stringing things together. Today your new phrase is "I don't want it!!!". And boy are you serious when you say it. Very two year old of you. Thanks. I kinda love it. I also love the head spinning jumble of syllables that foams from your mouth when you are upset or angry. If, perchance, someone joins you while singing the E.F.G. song (or the alphabet song to those not in the know) you throw your hands up in a stopping gesture and shake your head vigorously from side to side- flailing your curls and spewing Jo-vese (your personal language) in a continuous verbal assault on whomever has offended you. We have got to get this on video because it in uproariously funny.

Uncle Logan has come to stay with us for a few weeks this summer and you have immediately taken to him, as you have taken to no one else. At least not this quickly. You have him wrapped around your finger, and all it takes is a pout and a bat of those chocolate brown eyes and he will sacrifice the last bite of his bagel or pick you up and snuggle you, even if you are soaking wet from the pool.

(I am trying to proofread as I go, and damn if I don't love a good run on sentence.)

You are most certainly a terrible two year old in the best sense. You are headstrong, impulsive, short-tempered, yet totally snuggle-able and loving. You hug with your whole self, your whole body. I love that too.

You are still a mamma's girl, and I know it will end soon... But I certainly love it when you climb up my leg and torso to be in my arms. You are quite the little monkey that way. Sometimes you will even resist being put down by pulling your feet up waist high and clinging on for dear life.

I don't know what my life would be like without you and your sister, and I don't want to know. Being your mother is my favorite job ever.

Love you much

~Mamma

Perhaps this just has to be done...

Nearly two years ago, my life changed, my dna was altered, and my wiring blew a fuse. I have hesitated to write about my birth because I don't want a negative stigma surrounding Jovie... It just happened to be that my internal hell was loosed as she was let free from my body.

I don't remember much about the pregnancy really- I can go back and read things and remember them, though I do remember she rested on the opposite side of my belly than Mina did, so I have matching stretchmarks from them. I am ok with that.

In the days leading up to her birthday I tired so hard to stay "out of my head" and be "positive." Things were going to be different this time, for many many reasons. And I just could not let my mind dwell on them. Looking back, perhaps if I had dealt with those things sooner, the impact of what happened later would have been decreased.

We arrived to the hospital on time, and I looked and felt amazing. Of course, we did not get a picture of that :) I did cry on the way to the hospital, knowing that things would never be the same, but I truly had no idea what was going to happen to me...

So there I was, in the same room of the same hospital that I had visited at least weekly for at least 6 weeks prior to this date. It was the shift change-over, and the night manager, Kim, whom I had dealt with prior started to log me into the computer for the surgery and NONE of my information was there. NONE. I had to restate everything, go through my entire history. She was frustrated, I was confused, but we survived. At some point, Damon had to run home for something- I think it was the CAMERA! HA. While he was gone, the went ahead an inserted my IV. Or really, they tried. The first stick into the thin skin on the top of my hand, a hit and miss, and I got white hot, started to black out and thought I was going to be sick. And Damon is not there to fan me. But for a moment, my adrenaline response surged so high, I was ready to run out of the hospital screaming. Ass hanging out the back, flapping in the wind. The thought occurred to me "I just want to go home." By the time Damon got back, I had recomposed myself and was getting suited up for the operating room.

I remember as we drew closer, I could was singing the bittersweet refrain "this looks familiar, vaguely familiar..." And I saw the operating theater and there was an instant sensation of terror and elation. The last time I was in there, I could feel them putting my parts back in so they gave me quite a bit of medication to nearly knock me out after Mina was safely in Dadda's arms.

There is a picture of me, sitting on the operating Room table, all done up in poofy hat and cotton whatever-the-hell that partial piece of clothing was... And if you know me, if you know me well and you look into my eyes in that picture, you can see the fear and the pain. I was scared, Damon could not be in there with me when I was going through what ended up being the hardest part of delivery. The epidural. They could not find a way to get into my spine. I had four very difficult, very different "sticks" and I hear the anesthesiologist breathing hard and sweating as she grabs her walkie talkie and asks for someone else to come try. At this point, I whisper to the nurse who has my face nestled into her neck that I would like to go home now. And she laughed and said- its too late sweetie. The second anesthesiologist came in and BAM one try. She was a good 6 inches taller than the other anesthesiologist and she laughed and said that her height actually helped her that day.

Things go into fast forward here- Damon comes in, the put up the scrim and before I know it, Dr Schwartz is leaning onto the top of my belly, coaxing Jovie out. I don't remember her really screaming, but she had that magical cat mew. And I got to hold her- her face to mine... and the weirdest thing happened, I didn't cry. I don't know that I did with Mina either, but I was in a lot of pain that time. I was happy she was out and next to me- loved her blinky little eye and her tossle of jet black hair... But part of "me" was not there. I was disconnected some how. I don't really know how to explain that really. I know what needed to happen next to get me into my bed room, so I set my sights on recouping as fast as I could so I could hold her in my arms...

And I did. And she was BEAUTIFUL. But my heart was not reacting like I had expected it to. I was not bonding the way I expected to... That line of static in my brain, that I now often refer to, had started hissing and popping and keeping me from functioning correctly, and I did not know why.

Damon had to leave not long after Jovie was born. I was left alone with my mother, who could tell there was something wrong, but was not sure what. She was just trying to get me to rest. Everytime I would get close to falling asleep, I would jerk uncontrollably or flinch. My body was not my own. It was betraying me. My mind was betraying me. And I was all alone. Damon was at work, My mom had to go back to Springfield, and the nurses essentially put me in "lockdown" and did not allow any visitors in. I HAD to sleep. Damned if I was trying- I was. And I was holding my beautiful baby- who was a champ nurser and I though "I can do this." But when she had to go back to the nursery to do tests, I would pace around the room like a tiger in a too small cage. I made a frantic call to my mother- one that was virtually incoherent- where I begged her to come and help me. At least that is what i thought I was asking for. And then I called Damon, begging him to leave work and come be with me, I was scared and alone and falling apart. But he couldn't= Because Union Fucking Station would not let him. I will never forgive them for that.

There were bittersweet bright moments when Mina came to visit. Meme was insistent that she come visit and I am so glad she did. I could not really fall apart in front of her like I could Damon, but she brought me Mina, and seeing that little bit of normalcy seemed to help in the short term.

I had not been in the hospital a full 2 days and I was ready to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE. I remember being able to take my first shower (in the hospital of course) and thinking, If I can just get out of here, I will be fine... (That my friends is denial, but we can save that for later)

I explained to my doc that I did not want to be stuck in a hospital bed, which was true, and that I thought I would be better at home, which I thought was true.... He smiled, knew that was part of me being me (not realizing the underlying panic that was overcoming me). And he set me up to go home.

I thought things would be better. And I have magical memories from that time- Mina holding Jovie's hand, my family all resting together... but I could not. The pacing tiger in my chest would not rest. Everything I tried to lay down, I would quickly have to get back up because my brain was swirling into the depths of CRAZY>

First we thought it was no sleep. So we tried benadryl. Lots of benadryl. Nope. nothing was helping. I got a small script for ativan and holy crap, it saved my live. it took me a long time to get to where I was stable for long periods of time. I feel like those first three weeks I was walking along with very serious physical and emotional wounds...

But I found a therapist and I started working through all of these things with her... and we are almost 2 years later here. She has watched Jovie grow. I am so glad i see her tomorrow because today has been a difficult day. This very moment is a difficult moment... I am having the same pacing tiger heart, and uncontrollable flinching.

There are a lot of things "hitting" me right now, but the scariest is how fast we went from no kids, to two kids and how much I have missed while dealing with this fucking mental illness. I am in its grip right now. I cant breathe deeply, I feel pain all over my entire body, my muscles are tingling... and I have taken my regular medications- I have to wonder a little bit- Is this just my body remembering what happened two years ago?

If it is, I hope that writing about it will clear it from my muscle memory.

I don't regret having Jovie. Not one single bit. She has changed who I am as a mother and her personality is so extremely unique, we are lucky to have her. I am so thankful for my daughters singing together and playing together. I am so thankful for all of these things.

My wish, if I got one, would have been to be prepared for the psychological onslaught. There really was no way to know how much having two babies would change my DNA...

I hope by processing some of this, I can help myself calm before bedtime.

I love my family, I love you all so very very much- and close friends are part of my family. You who know me truly already knew that... So please don't take this as a complaint against having children. It is not. But I sure as hell earned my baby #2 badge. I also don't want to think of this as a "birth horror story." because it is not. Even the quietest, most perfect of births is still traumatic to your body and to your baby. Birth is a rite of passage. Birth changes us as women (be it a physical or emotional birth). Our chemistry changes.

There are still kinks in my particular chemistry set. But I am working on it. And that is the most important part.

20/21 Months- Jovie

Well Jellybean, Christmas went off without a hitch... It was just the four of us and it was pretty damned great. You have a knack for opening gifts, and got the idea RIGHT AWAY. Pure chaos, wrapping paper, and joy. You seemed to really like the building blocks and your dolly (handmade by yours truly).

We have moved your crib into the dining room. Yes, the dining room... We have run out of extra space in our little house and your nightly wakings have gotten too common and are keeping Mina up for many hours in the night. So, you have your own room right now... It just happens to be shared with the dining table. Haha. Generally, things are going better there and I hope that by the time we move to 612 you will be able to share a room with your sister.

January is a bittersweet month for me. Just a little more than one year ago we spent nine days in the hospital together. Looking back on pictures from that time is painful. I did not realize just how sick you were. But my dear one, you were so brave. You still are. One year later you are stronger, louder, fiercer, funnier, and generally the most fantastic brown-eyed baby girl I know.

If I have not mentioned it before, I will mention how much I love your hugs. It is amazing how such a little tiny body can hug so intently. You may be part koala, as I can nearly let go and you will cling to my side. You still love being carried around, and I don't mind that too much.

You have discovered the temper tantrum. Right on time. And I am trying to prepare myself for a couple of years of this stuff. When I say you are loud, I am not sure that you can understand what I mean. You are REALLY LOUD. Like, make my ears ring loud- Seriously, more than once I have been concerned about losing some of my hearing. However, my favorite part of your tantrums is the physical element. You drop to the floor. Straight to you bum, as hard as you can and then you thrust yourself backwards. It is a controlled fall, but you want me to hear your head thump on the floor. The hardest thing to do is NOT LAUGH. It is as if you are acting something out on stage. It is SO DELIBERATE. "Mamma, I am mad at you, I can't explain it very well, so let me throw myself on the floor." Instant Classic.

You are a stubborn little thing; impish with a menacing little laugh. You can go from a cheerful chortle to a full on 'mad scientist' cackle. I realize that your independence is going to make things tough for me and your dad. When it comes to raising a spirited child, we have our work cut out for us. But it is worth it. Every moment. I hope that you grow up happy and you continue to develop your magnetic personality. I don't care what you become when you grow up. I just want you to be happy and safe.

Chiggy Piggy

So Pan (or Chiggy Piggy as Mina calls him) has been outside since April 21st. He has endured rain, sleet, snow, hail, and ninety degree temperatures in this span of time. Every night he cries outside. And every night, like an idiot, I try to entice him to come inside.

As mentioned, tonight, he was crying outside. He was outside my window. I opened the window and put ham in the opening. I walked away, I came back , I called him sweetly, I talked to him, I put out more delicious ham...

He made a move toward the back door. As soon as I put my key in the lock to open it- He ran away. He ran to the front and started crying again. So I got yet more ham, went outside, c rouched down and spoke to him, telling him how much we wanted him to come inside, how much we missed him. And he started to move toward me, so I stayed still and as he got almost within arm's reach, HE TOOK OFF. I took off after him, stepped on something hard, rolled my ankle on a hole in our lawn and he was gone.

Oh and did I mention what I was wearing? My pajamas. A pair of Damon's boxer shorts, and hot pink bra and a fairly tight black tank top (because I can't sleep if there is too much clothing swirling around me). Anyways, I am running after this cat, half naked, hair wet from the shower, no shoes... And I can hear him now. STILL crying.

we have never been unkind to this cat. what is going on? Why does he wait until 10:00 at night to start crying. He has got to be making my neighbors nuts.

I am stumped. Seriously stumped. If I leave food out for him, the possums get it. If I try to entice him inside, he cries more and then runs away. I figured he would get hungry and come back... But he still looks pretty fat to me.

And it kills me to hear him mewing outside. Why won't he let me help him?

Good Night, Sweet Kitty

In August of 2001, I moved to KC with a stray, who also happened to be pregnant. She was so young that when she started giving birth she had not idea what was going on and did not animate the first of her kittens. So I whisked her mother to the vet's office where they performed an emergency kitty c-section. 2 kittens survived. Chitty Mini and Chiggy Piggy.

At that time, Chitty Mini was merely Aretae- playful, loved giving kisses, and let me carry her around in my overalls.

She has been with me since that first big life change of my own, all the way until now- through marriage, two babies, and nearly to the point we would be in a new house...

On March 21st, she looked like this:

From Chitty Mini

Then her brother went missing, and I started to notice a change in her- Not sure if it was the stress or if there was one less thing to occupy my attention... But she seemed sad. I chaulked it up to that and tried to comfort her as I could. It seemed perhaps she was losing weight, but I was not sure.

Then yesterday, I could clearly see her hip bones and spine. She would not eat or drink. She would not even lick cat food off of her nose... I whisked her off to the vet thinking it was something acute like crystals, since she so quickly went to lethargy and not eating.

Well, not acute. Chronic. Diabetes. And the vet asked me to honestly as myself if I would be able to stay on top of her diabetes, give her shots, and that it is more of an art than a science (I knew this part, I struggled with GD and my blood sugars and I could tell myself when things were wrong). Anyways, the vet laid everything out for me. Of course I was sobbing so hard I was sucking all the air out of the room. But I knew I could not handle that kind of care. I could try and pretend because I WANT to be that person who could do that and take care of 2 kids, and get a house ready for the market, and deal with my general helping of crazy. But I had to be really honest with myself. And that hurt a lot. I could not do what needed to be done to save my cat.

I brought her home so we could have one more night with her, to let her know how much we love her and make sure she was as comfortable as possible.

It was a selfish move, and in a way I wish I had not done it, because she continued not to eat, and though she let us pet her, she really was most comfortable on the cool floor, resting.

How is it that in 2 weeks she would go from this

From Chitty Mini

to this?

From Chitty Mini

It is in her eyes. You see the pain, or the "checking out" or whatever you want to call it.

I cried so hard yesterday that by 10 pm I could hardly see straight. I went to bed, but woke at 2 and started to cry again. I grabbed a pen and paper and started writing (in the dark). Pouring out my feelings of sadness, guilt, frustration, and disbelief. I also wrote about how much I loved her and things I did not want to forget- Like the freckle on her nose, or the tiger stripes in her orange patches...

I will probably recollect all of that in my personal journal soon. I did write her a poem that I have asked Damon to bury her with. He is my hero by the way- He is going through his own personal stuff right now and found the strength to take her to the vet for me, and let them put her to sleep.

Anyways- In his pocket, to be tucked away with some hyacinth flowers and a picture mina drew, is this poem (mind you, I really am not much of a poet)

May your atoms find their way into the trees

May you swing and rock and dance

Let the essence of you soar among the stars and come back down to the clouds.

And perhaps, someday you will kiss me on the cheek as one tiny, perfect snowflake.

Until the day when my atoms meet yours.

... So, that is it. I am sad. Her brother is still missing, but this is MUCH harder.

Touched My Heart

I was exposed to this poem by a fellow blogger and it is a serious game changer for me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but she is able to say things in the eloquent but simple way I wish I could speak. The last two lines especially give me a lump in my throat. I am going to have to find a collection of all of her poetry.

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

My heart swells while reading this the same way it swells when I hear beautiful music or sing really well. Or, most recently when my daughters are playing and giggling to one another...

This is what I have needed in my frustrations with our home and my depression and jovie's asthma. A reminder of what I hold dear, what makes me feel at peace and