Ask Snot What the Country Can Do For You

There is this great woman in the town nearby that has a free family farm day every year.  She has a nice spread with tons of animals, which are often used as therapy in nursing homes and such.  Each and every year, she opens up her property to anyone who wants to come.  There are games for kids (the wonderful kind where everyone wins, even if you don’t quite play correctly), free food and drink, inflatable bouncers, balloons, face painting, the works.  It’s such a cool thing.

Free hats and everything!

We had taken Stella last year, and it was not the best time.  She was still going through her difficult phase and not communicating.  Whenever you would take her anywhere, she’d just run aimlessly and not do the things she was “supposed” to want to do.  There would be no destination in mind.  As I recall, it was also cold and muddy, and none of us had dressed appropriately.  Even so, I was so excited to go this year figuring it would be a whole different ballgame.  And it was.

It was a bit of a gamble.  Stella had snot pouring out of her face and had for 48 hours.  A year ago I would have kept her home, not wanting to infect other kids.  Now?  I’m one of “those” parents.  Sorry.  Yes, my kid was spewing mucous, but there were no other symptoms  and definitely no fever.  All fluids were running clear.  My house was a slick of mucous and cat puke, so by god we were getting out of there and going to farm day.  Stella wasn’t 100% happy but I chalk that up to her good health; ironically, she’s not been sick enough to get “used” to it.  Therefore, when she gets the sniffles, she’s major pissed and doesn’t sleep well.

She had a ball.  I wore Felix in the Bjorn and played the role of pack mule while Stella rampaged.  We hadn’t made it through the gate before she had claimed a particular miniature horse for her own.  It was pretty cute.  She had no fear.  She wasn’t quite as brave with the bigger horses, though.  Better even than the horses were roosters.  Go figure.  She was totally into the animals and could care less about the bounce houses.  I guess her trampoline is her own private bouncer now.  No wonder.

Can I keep it?

 

I don’t like this one so much.

 

Stella was on a mission to make every single pony morbidly obese

 

Come here!

 

Seriously. Come here!

 

I’m going to love him, and squeeze him, and call him Nugget.

Felix was wonderful, sleeping through most of it.  Will and I talked later about that.  Stella would never ever have tolerated that at 3 months old.  We had to handle her like an unstable batch of TNT.  Sure, she got more mobile as an older baby and loved to get out in the Bjorn.  But at 3 months?  Hell no.  It’s kind of nice to have a (at least for now) mellower kid.

Mom: Bearer of Felix and all of Stella’s loot

By the end, Stella was ripe.  She was whining and tantruming and about every rotten behavioral thing a 2-3 year old can do.  She was overtired and over stimulated.  At this point in my parental career, that’s just a sign that it’s been a successful day.  We went, we saw, we spread our mucous, we conquered.

Poor Will. In an attempt to persuade Stella to get her hair painted, he went all pink. She didn’t get painted at all. It looks quite fetching with my purse. I promised I wouldn’t share this one, but I’m sure he meant on Facebook.

When Loves Cry

Haven’t felt like writing much lately.  While “busy” has become the natural state of being, I haven’t felt inspired.  I’m catching up a lot at work, which is a good thing.  I feel like I’m using parts of my brain that have been dormant for months.  I’m trying to diversify, not living wholly for and with the kids.  That’s not a bad thing for me.

My brood when I’m not brooding

Felix seems to be thriving.  At his last doc’s appointment, he was in the 75^th percentile for weight and basically at the cusp of the chart/off the chart for height.  He’s doing everything he’s supposed to be doing for a 3 month old. He is as long as anything.  No wonder my late pregnancy was so miserable.

He loves his big sister. She’s not so sure it’s reciprocated.

We’re preparing to enter Stella into preschool, which is a huge deal for us.  Her memory scares me.  In addition to the ABC’s, counting up to at least 30, shapes, and colors, she now knows most of the planets of the solar system, days of the week, and months of the year.  We’re starting to work on states and presidents.  Hell, I don’t know all the presidents.  What in the world will they be able to teach her?!  I know, I know.  All kids know this kind of stuff nowadays, and she’s going to get more out of the structure and socialization than anything else at this point.

Some days are hard.  Some are easy.  Especially the days at home.

Why won’t you read this AGAIN? I’ve only heard it 35 times todayyyyyyyy

The good days, when you do shit like make jellyfish out of paper plates and ribbon

Why can’t I have cake for dinner??

Drug Trial by Jury

Will and I have a friend who has a child with Fragile X Syndrome.  Candidly, I was fairly unfamiliar with it until I met her and read some of her Facebook posts and occasional blogs.  For those of you not in the know, the quick and dirty Wikipedia definition is:

a genetic syndrome that is the most widespread single-gene cause of autism and inherited cause of mental retardation among boys.

For those of you IN the know, I do recognize that a wiki definition cannot possible provide an adequate explanation, so please don’t bristle up at me.  I’m just trying to make sure the folks at home have some basics so that they can follow along.

This woman rocks.  While I don’t know her as well as my husband does, I can say with some authority that she has never expressed anything but a positive energy and outlook in my presence, whether in person or through electronic media.  She has what I can only describe as a cheerful and tenacious soul.  She has 2 kids, works full time, and is a VERY active advocate for other families affected by Fragile X.  I admire her.

She and her son have been involved with a drug trial for his syndrome.  She regularly takes him across state lines so that he canvisit the clinicians and receive his medication.  From her reports, they have been seeing dazzling results, particularly in the realm of speech and language.  When she speaks about her boy, you just feel the pride and the relief that this magic stuff, STX 209, is working.

I saw a Facebook post from her last night that truly broke my heart.  Without warning, the trial is over.  Done.  No more STX 209.  Thank you, you may go.  This tentative hope that this medication brought to her son and her family (along with countless other families out there) has been taken away.  The speculation is that there is no longer adequate funding to continue.

I am not an expert on this stuff.  I have read this friend’s posts as well as others she’s linked to over the past year and in many cases the treatment has produced results that can only be described as remarkable.  Sure.  As a science-based person I acknowledge that this is anecdotal “evidence” that I’m spewing.  But the shock and sadness and rage that these families are experiencing is very much real.  You don’t need data to back it up.

I have a government job.  I’m fairly familiar with budget cuts and the now-tired concept of “doing more with less.”  But to cut something like this?  Medication given to kids?  Come on.  I have no idea what the twisted tale of funding looks like in these cases.  I’m sure it’s probably a hodge-podge of government and private sources.  A quick Google of STX 209 shows that statistically this stuff was working for many of the patients it was given to.

I don’t know what my point is.    As a mother, I can’t imagine what it’s like to have a child who needs help, have that help briefly offered, see that help in action, and then have it cruelly snatched away.  This stuff is there.  It works.  Why stop it now? Maybe I’m just gnashing my teeth at a nation that would do this to families but spent $750 million on the new US Embassy building in Baghdad (among other wasteful or downright stupid ways to blow  large sums of money).  Maybe I’m hoping one of you out there knows someone that can do something.  If you do, how about a well-placed phone call or email?

Gee. Force!

A popular topic of conversation when a group of imaginative folks are bored is the tried and true “if you could have a super power, what would it be?”  Many road trips have passed using this method, and it’s actually a whole lot of fun to think about.  Kind of like the “if you had a time machine, when would you go” mental romp.

Here, Stella uses the power of cute while honoring her favorite Sith lord.

Sophomoric guys (and girls, I guess) giggle about having X-ray vision.  Loads of people say they’d like to fly.  I used to say I’d like the power of time manipulation.  Not like time machine-back-to-see-the-dinosaurs stuff, but being able to back up and/or fast-forward a handful of minutes or hours.  I could prevent accidents and murders.  I could collect lotto or casino winnings.  With those winnings, I could disburse large amounts of money to charities, thereby doing even more good.  I could also hasten uncomfortable or unfortunate events, such as getting a pap smear.  It would be useful.

I wouldn’t even require a costume….

Or a cape!

Then the other day, I thought of something that might be even better:  The force.  No, I don’t want a lightsaber, although I wouldn’t turn one down if it were offered to me.  Specifically, I would like to be able to levitate stuff from across the room.  Telekinesis, I guess.  But I could give a shit about some kind of Uri Geller spoonbending angst.  I’m talking about the “I’m trapped under 2 napping children and I’m bored/thirsty/could be getting something done” phenomenon.

You see, just last week I was home for the day and the kids sacked out.  I don’t usually nap anymore with the kids.  I guess I’ve gotten used to being tired and some nights just aren’t as bad anymore; Felix only gets up a couple of times and it’s usually really quick – nurse and right back out.  While I don’t need the nap, the kids often do.  And as their mother, I’m their favorite stuffed animal.  There will be no nap unless I’m there with them.  I found myself with Felix on my chest and Stella up against my shoulder hanging on to my arm even in her sleep.  Across the room was a blouse I was trying to do some surgery on by removing some elastic.  It was going to be painstaking work pulling out all those stitches – perfect for sitting still while kids sleep.  But it was all the way across the room.  I thought of Luke Skywalker and the wampa (snow beast) on Hoth.  As I’m sure everyone recalls, he’s finally able to levitate his lightsaber in the nick of time before getting eaten.  While seam-ripping isn’t as important as life-saving, it still would have been pretty damn handy.

I could use the Force to pick up toys or block Stella from leaving the kitchen before I can wipe the syrup off of her hands and face, thereby introducing that stickiness into the living room.  I could change DVD’s in the player while nursing, or get Stella a snack or more milk.  I could go to the casino and “help” that pesky slot machine hit all 7’s, thereby winning the jackpot.  I would share with charity.   After making sure my kids’ college funds were flush.

Here, Stella harnesses the power of filth and peanut butter.

Yep, I think the Force would be a mom’s best friend.  Other than maybe having eyes in the back of your head.  But that would be ugly and be a bitch to style hair around.

Dirt Locker

For today’s totally obvious fact, kids are dirty.  Once they’re ambulatory, there is no limit to the funk they can find.  You also learn as a mother that there is “good dirt” and “bad dirt,” and it IS possible to have “clean dirt.”  “Good dirt” is just that:  your garden variety garden dirt or sand.  “Bad dirt” has mysterious organic matter in it: human or animal poo or some kind of rotting food with or without a mold component.  I suppose I should also include fire ants in with that, as once upon a time Stella went to a playground and grabbed a fabulous pile of sand which ended up being an ant bed.  Not cool.  Not cool at all.

My kids have being going to their nanny’s house a couple of days a week (this will change shortly).  Stella loves it, as she gets to play with her BFF.  I love it as she typically does not nap over there, plays all day, and comes home exhausted thereby making my evenings a bit easier.  The nanny is also the childcare equivalent of a football coach; when I pick my kids up, she tells me “I make those girls run.”  Lest you think her a monster, the girls are having a blast in her backyard.  She’s got a swing set and usually some sort of water feature/wading pool in the summer.  This year?  She’s also got the beginnings of a flower bed.  This means a dirt pit, essentially.  Most recently, the girls have been mixing the dirt pit with the water feature.

My daughter has an amazing head of hair.  Sure, I’ve never had it cut other than a tiny trim just after her first birthday.  But it’s not the length that’s an issue.  It’s the thickness.  Being only 2 and ½ years old, she’ll tolerate a standard shampooing, but head immersion?  No way, man.  We’re nowhere near ready for that.  Some dirt or dirt density really requires immersion to fully remove it from the head in question.

I picked Stella up last Monday and my kid was as filthy as I’ve ever seen her.  She almost didn’t look Caucasian anymore.  It was a pretty funny sight to see Stella and her little BFF, both completely stained with muck, dancing and singing to They Might Be Giants’ science DVD in nothing but T-shirts and drawers.  The nanny apologized, and said she had thrown both girls in the tub to try to remove as much dirt as possible but  Stella was still going to need another bath.  And her hair?  I had to wonder if the elevation of the nanny’s back yard dropped due to land loss.  There was a huge amount of soil departing the property by way of my daughter’s scalp.  Even Felix had dirt on him:  Silt by association, I guess.  I got dirt in my mouth kissing his little head.

Mother’s Day dirt

I got her home and we shampooed.  Twice.  Startling amounts of soil came out of her hair and off of her body.  I don’t know that I’ve seen dirtier water outside of the Ganges River, and the ring around the tub looked like the high water mark in New Orleans after Katrina.  When I drained the tub, the dirt swirled around with the leftover glitter from our previous week’s art project making a rather sparkling mud mixture in drifts along the tub bottom.  I rinsed the tub but lots of dirt still remained.  Oui Oui finally got it clean the next day when she came.

Hippos like to swim in dirty water, yes?

As I combed her hair that night, dirt was raining down on me and her once-clean body.  It was late. It was time for dinner.  She was worn out.  There was no way we were taking another bath and having another shampoo.  I rationalized that this dirt was “clean,” as it had been washed.  We pressed on and within 15 minutes after eating her noodles and pear for dinner, she was out.

It took about 2 more days for all the dirt to make its way out of her hair.  That’s ok.  We saved some in our bed in the form of grit under the pillows and on top of the sheet.  As obnoxious as this is, I’d rather have this than the cupcake crumbs she insisted on crumbling up and sprinkling on herself Friday.

Got cupcake?

I love that my little girl does not cower in fear of dirt.  I was a tomboy myself as a kid.  What is funny to me is that this same little girl who would probably roll in dirt if given the opportunity will also tackle me if she sees me trying to put polish on my toenails without giving her some “sparkles.”  It doesn’t matter if she received a pedicure earlier that day, she must have more sparkles if I’m having some.  I will have to put a dab of whatever color I’m wearing on top of whatever it is she has.  She will even scrape and peel off her sparkles so that she can have more, sooner.  If only I could get her to scrape the dirt off of herself….

If you put enough barrettes in your hair, people might not notice the dirt.

Womb To Grow

My two loves

Everyone is posting something for Mother’s Day. I suppose I feel more motherly than ever now that I’m a mom of 2. Maybe this is the genetic equivalent of reaching a black belt in some martial art or another; you get the black belt for your first one and earn more degrees the more kids you have. No one could have prepared me for what the addition of the second kid would mean on all kinds of levels. It’s meant a lot of sacrifices: monetary, bodily, marital, sanity, etc… But he’s worth it, my little dude.

Being a mom isn’t easy. You’re more often covered in Eau de Colon than Eau de Cologne. When faced with projectile vomit your own nausea ceases to exist until your kid’s has passed. But I never get tired of staring at my kids, admiring how beautiful they are. That’s so definitely a mom thing.

I pretty much devote this blog to stories about being a mom – originally as a pregnant mom-to-be. Most of my stories probably seem a bit flippant, largely discussing bodily functions and all. But I certainly don’t mean to minimize being a mother. I can’t think of my kids without feeling that oh-shit-heart-stopping-and-sphincter-tightening-soul-crushing-love.

To all those moms out there, I say a big “thank you,” especially to my own. I don’t know how many moms would have parked their house somewhere geographically they hated for 2.5 months in order to help their daughter finish a pregnancy and keep up with the force of nature that is Stella. As for all of the other mothers, I’ve never known one that wasn’t willing to share wisdom, and I have lots of wonderful wise women in my universe. Thanks to you all for that!

I’m reposting a blog I wrote a while ago. It’s doubly appropriate now that I have double the kids. Have a great day, y’all!

http://larva225.wordpress.com/2012/05/10/alexanders-mother-and-her-terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-day/

What Do You Want To Be When You Throw Up?

Nearly 2 weeks after going back to work, I found myself saying “thank god I’m now sterile, as I don’t think I could stomach filling out all this GD FMLA paperwork again.” Man, it’s obnoxious. Forget the STD videos and the assignments where kids have to schlep bags of flour around for a week, FMLA paperwork would be pretty good birth control. Or at least it would be if you were a future government entity worker. With that automatically comes an extra 4^th layer of bureaucracy.

Ah, motherhood.

I got a call from Will the same morning. He had been jumping with Stella in the trampoline and she didn’t want to come in and when he finally made her she threw up. Had this happened to me? What should he do? Ummmmm. Did you feed her a big breakfast? Yes? Clean her up and watch her.

Jumping is infinitely more fun without vomit.

About 15 minutes later, a text: How long can you leave bottles out? Felix doesn’t want to eat. Then: Never mind. It’s cold. I forgot to heat it up.

I could only hope that he hosed the puke off of the trampoline before he went to work and it baked on in the afternoon sun.

Happy mother’s day to you all out there. You just can’t make this shit up.

Just sweet. No puke.

Text of Kin

“Just not cut out for watching children.”  That was a text I got from my husband the other day.  I won’t repeat what went through my mind and what I may have actually said out loud when I read it.  Since going back to work, Will is in charge of the kids for about 4 hours on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings.  The other 2 days I telecommute and then there’s the weekend, of course.  So all in all, it’s not a whole lot of time to be on point.  This was only his 5^th day doing it.

After I saw that text, I called him, just to make sure nothing horrific or out of the realm of normal was going down.  I heard Stella in the background, playing and intermittently bellowing.  Felix was doing some low-level fussing.  All in all, it sounded like a typical morning.  For whatever reason, Will was struggling with it.  He stated that he thought about getting a second job so that he could pay someone to help watch the kids all the time.  He stated he wished they were older so things would get easier.  I replied something to the effect of “Now you know why I was about to lose my shit after 10 weeks home with it all the time.”  I got crickets.  It made me kind of angry.

I guess part of me is glad that he’s having some problems.  I know that sounds mean as hell, but I sometimes felt a lack of empathy while I was home on maternity leave, and I still sometimes feel it on the days I’m home.  Even on weekends, I’m the one that juggles the kids most of the time while he works on whatever project.  I don’t mean to imply he’s slacking.  He’ll be outside cutting grass or doing some other variation of “man work” I either cannot or don’t want to do.  I’m inside trying to do laundry and vacuum with 2 kids.  I think cutting grass is probably more peaceful.  It’s just a different world.

Will is great with Stella when he’s focused on her and her alone.  He gets short with her when he’s trying to do something else and she’s swirling around which is always.  My husband is NOT good at just sitting with the kids.  And that’s what you have to do.  You can’t get involved with rewiring a circuit board (or whatever the eff you do with a circuit board) or trying to purge the library while you’re in charge.  They require a bit more attention than that.  If you’re lucky, you can read some.  But you’re going to be interrupted over and over and over again.  It’s just what happens.  It’s maddening.  You’re frazzled and feel busy although you can’t do much of anything.  And anything you try to do takes 400 times as long.

Daddy helping with her new Yo Gabba Gabba shoes. He is a great daddy.

 

Stella “helping” make the bed. I’m not sure why inserting her animal collection is helpful. Nor would I have pegged Brobee as a stomach-sleeper.

Things will get easier as they get older and are able to entertain themselves without covering their hair with paint and glitter.  One day I will definitely look back and pine for them to be little again.  Not every moment is a drag.  Sometimes it’s sweet.  Sometimes it’s funny.  Sometimes it’s damn entertaining.  I know I recognize this.  I worry sometimes that Will doesn’t.

I do get impatient with them.  I get bored.  I get frazzled.  I get stupid having no one to talk to but wee ones and nothing to entertain my brain but reruns of cartoons.  I guess some kind of acknowledgment of “I see now how hard this is” would be nice.  Ultimately, this is probably a very typical mom vs. dad dynamic. It’s only now quite exacerbated since adding the second kid.

Insights, oh wise parents out there?

House of the Rising Son (and Daughter)

I love my kids.  Really, I do.  And I love my husband.  Most of the time.  All that being said, Will and I have not been having a really great time lately, separately or apart.  First there was me being pregnant.  Then recovery from a section.  And then just the general fun of raising 2 children under the age of 3 while juggling jobs and taking care of whatever else needs to be done around the house.  We both stay pretty stressed out.  We rarely get to really spend time together and when we do, we’re tired, irritable, and tend to speak only of the kids:  who pooped, who was in a mood, who needs what new garment or pair of shoes.

We finally kind of reached a place where we knew we needed to get away, STAT.  We’ve gone out to dinner/lunch a couple of times, but that’s over quickly and isn’t really fun.  We wanted fun.    I was foolish enough to briefly suggest camping (cabin, of course), but Will wisely talked me off of that ledge.  That pretty much left New Orleans.  Oui Oui agreed to let us drop both kids off, and off we went to the French Quarter for the afternoon.

We did our usual.  We have a list of places we like to check out shopping-wise, and a few places we like to stop to get a cocktail or snack.  I will say for the record that once upon a time, I could really hold my liquor.  I’ve never been a “shot” girl, mainly sticking to red wine with the occasional gin and tonic thrown in.  Since having kids, I haven’t consumed more than 2-3 drinks at a time, and even that was rare and over a year ago at this point.  Usually I will have a single glass of wine.  Period.  Even when I’m not nursing,  I’m too paranoid that I’ll sleep through a nightmare or bad cough or otherwise be unavailable to a kiddo who needs mommy.

I’ll blame the beginning of the descent on Will.  At our first stop for chicken wings and a drink, he ordered us each a double shot:  tequila for him and gin for me.  I did protest.  But not enough.  The rest of the day I stuck to wine, but I think that liquor unbalanced me from the get-go.  I ended up with a vicious case of hiccups that left my esophagus feeling bruised for the next 24 hours.  I am now officially a lightweight.

The beginning of the end

See? He’s enjoying himself SO MUCH.

Self portrait after a shot of gin and 2 glasses of wine. Happy!

We smoked a cigar.  It was awful.  I’m glad about that.  To clarify, Will and I are both reformed smokers.  For years now we thought we missed cigars and didn’t want to possibly reopen Pandora’s box by having one.  Pandora can keep her box.  I think her box is a humidor.  We both felt a bit queasy from it, something which would have been unthinkable 8 years ago.  I think that’s a successful experiment.  I never want to see a cigar again.

Before we both turned green

We ran into traffic after picking up the kids so dinner and bath were late and totally thrown off.  I wasn’t able to get my usual pre-workday checklist done (lunches packed, diaper bag ready, breast pump stocked and prepared next to my laptop) which left me feeling stressed and uneasy that night and the next day.  I had to feed Felix via bottles for hours, which I HATED.  Pumping and dumping seems like such a waste and I felt like a terrible horrible selfish bitch for at least briefly polluting my kid’s food supply.

Even so, I missed this little face

Despite all that, it was very nice to be out and about with Will without the kids.  We need to make that more of a priority from time to time vs. always using any babysitting Oui Oui gives us to do projects or play catch-up.  We need a balance and we need time to connect, just the grown ups.  I just need to find a way to relax my brain without having to go an hour away and drinking too much.  That’s the hard part for me; when we stay local, the responsibilities are too close and the urge to take care of them too tempting.

Win, Lose It, or Draw

Our spring drenching continues down here.  There are spots in my yard that are regularly ankle-deep with water.  The whole back yard has remained a perpetual bird bath.  If I had skills, I would begin design and execution of a modern-day ark.  It’s obnoxious.  I wouldn’t care at all if not for Stella.  It feels like we’ve been shut in for months.  I guess we have.

No parent wants their kids in front of the boob-tube all day, every day.  Yet it’s still pretty impossible to think about trying to manage both kids solo for outings.  Add to that being back at work full time and possibilities are very limited.  When on maternity leave, I could work or not as I chose.  Now, when I’m telecommuting, I have to put in that full 8 hour work day.  So, we’ve been doing a whole hell of a lot of art projects.  Stella does enjoy them, and once I’ve got her set up, I can turn her loose for a good long while.   The trick at that point is to keep her from doing too much damage.  Art is messy.

In this picture, she is brandishing her paintbrush while screaming “I have the power of paint.” Really.

Yet another Braveheart moment.

Clown camp meets pointilism

Trying to go a bit geisha

I have learned some important lessons.  I introduced her to glitter.  I thought I was smart and only gave her a small amount.  I was stupid and gave her any at all.  We were painting a wooden rocket ship and I figured the glitter would be a nice sub for cosmic dust.     Glitter was everywhere.  It looked like someone stuck an M80 up Tinkerbell’s bum.

Glitter does not wash out of hair well.  The bathtub had sedimentary structures in the bottom composed of glitter.  Glitter ended up in the bed, on the floor in all rooms, and even all over her daddy somehow despite the fact that he got home from work after she was already asleep.

Glitterbug

I can only hope that the weather dries out soon.  My kid has been inside all too much and it’s getting to her.  She now does British accents thanks to Peppa Pig.  She’s also beginning to craft drum sets out of whatever she can find – stools, peanut butter jars, diaper genies…  Her father has vowed that he doesn’t care what instrument she plays: she is NOT going to be a drummer.  I’m inclined to agree.