Houses creak. House's crack. House's hopefully don't crack open.
One son is asleep (he is easy) and the other is awake (he used to be easy). I know the boy is awake, but I am not sure if he is in his bed or if he is roaming around upstairs. I went downstairs to write a blog entry, only to realize that the laptop was upstairs and I would need to pass his room in order to get it. I knew that it was going be risky, but I am a grown-up. I am the parent. Besides, I do not want to watch re-runs tonight and I am too lazy to walk 500 ft. to get the cell phone out of my car. So, I decide it worth the risk.
If the boy sees the computer he will come out of bed and inquiring "COMPUTER!?" wanting to play on it. Confidently, yet quietly, I walk pass his open door, pick up the computer, place it under my arm - like a book - and walk downstairs. Success.
I boot up the goods and begin to write. I hear him at the top of the stairs. I can feel his presence. I can almost hear his thumb in his mouth and his blanket in his arms. I called to the top of the stairs "Bedtime ... time to go back to bed!". I did not hear the pattering of footsteps or a frantic "Noooo!" coming from the stairwell, so I knew I needed to get up and help him to bed.
After a short pep talk about all the fun things ahead of us tomorrow (the splash pad and lunch with friends), I explained that he would need to stay in bed or I would take away his blanket. I said good-night and went back downstairs attempting to continue where I left off.
I heard a noise at the top of the stairs again. I was startled because sometimes when I am writing or watching television downstairs with my back to the door, I do not hear the boy come into the room (he *is* only 30 lbs and less than 3 ft tall, so it can happen) and when I do see him, in the corner of my eye, standing behind me smiling silently with his blanket in hand, I yelp. So, I yelled upstairs, "OK, I need to take away your blanket! Go back to bed!". I did not hear any footsteps, so I yelled up, again, and no word. That was it, I was going to go upstairs and put him back to bed again and possibly take away his blanket! I got up off the couch and looked at the top of the stairs. No one was there. I called his name. No answer. He was never there. Creepy.
I went back to work and got a couple of paragraphs in when I heard it again. I yelled "What are you doing up? Go back to bed!". I did not hear anything. Quickly and without grace, I hurriedly tried to put the laptop down on the couch and run upstairs while yelling both boys names and pleading "That's it; I am taking your blanket away!". I am very much hoping that I see the boy at the top of the stairs and not a ghost or something.
I see the boy at the top of the darkened stairs with his blanket in his arms and his thumb in his mouth. I call his name. He says nothing. I call again. He says nothing. He walks slowly down the stairs toward me. Not answering me. When he reaches me, I bend down to look at him (maybe he is sleep walking? maybe he is possessed?). My heart is racing. I look into his eyes and he smiles. He is fine. Asshole.
I put him back to bed again. I go downstairs again. I try to write again. I hear the noise again. I feel the presence again. I look upstairs and see no one. Curious, I tiptoe upstairs and peak behind the bars of the railing and hoping to see the boy walking around upstairs. Instead I see the boy fighting sleep. Freaky.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
To Potty or Not To Potty
My eldest son is battling and battling hard. His opponent? The Potty. After months of encouraging the boy to pee in the potty with no luck, he finally got there. He was a peeing champ, getting up and going to the bathroom all on his own, like a big boy. Mom and Dad were so proud. We thought that the day would never come. However,the toilet training process was not over.
While the boy mastered peeing in the potty, moving onto the next stage: going No. 2 in the potty was a whole different story. He would not go there. Period. We tried it all - we sat with him, rubbed his back, read to him, bought Gummy Bears as a reward, offered to buy him any toy or game he wanted; nothing worked.
After consultation with the Pediatrician, we provided him the "OK" to continue to go No. 2 in his Pull Ups, but there were restrictions. We were not going to let him rule the roost ... completely.
His part of the deal dictated the he go upstairs to the bathroom, put his Pull Up on, turn the fan on, and come get us when he was finished. The Doctor said that he would find these steps to be too laborious a process and decide to do it our way - the easy way. He liked the set-up and would not budge.
My husband and I decided this was the end of the game, something needed to happen. He would soon be four, starting preschool, and we needed to help him get over the hump. We stopped buying Pull Ups. He stopped going No. 2. He is a Leo. It was three days and nights of him jumping around like a chimpanzee, trying to repress his bodily functions. We consulted our Doctor again and she said that we can't go back; we must follow through. No more Pull Ups. Finally, he went. We were all so proud. We bought him presents and treats and were thrilled. He did it! We all did it! Sigh.
The joy did not last for long when he resorted his old tricks of holding *it* in. Then, it happened: the stomach bug. Three days and nights, 3-5 pairs of underwear a day. In his pants. Still, he would not go near The Potty. Five days later, the stomach bug has seemed to its course and we are grateful. However, he still going in his pants. This is not to say that there has been no successes.
He has gone in the potty 3 -4 times in the last two weeks. The rest of the time, we have not been so fortunate. He will get there. I know it. I am patient. I try to be patient. My husband is not patient. I don't know how the boy feels. He says he is scared. He does not tell me exactly what about going No. 2 in the potty scares him, but, clearly something does. I know that he will move forward and get to where needs to be. He is still three years old and has a lifetime of pooping in the potty (or so we hope).
While the boy mastered peeing in the potty, moving onto the next stage: going No. 2 in the potty was a whole different story. He would not go there. Period. We tried it all - we sat with him, rubbed his back, read to him, bought Gummy Bears as a reward, offered to buy him any toy or game he wanted; nothing worked.
After consultation with the Pediatrician, we provided him the "OK" to continue to go No. 2 in his Pull Ups, but there were restrictions. We were not going to let him rule the roost ... completely.
His part of the deal dictated the he go upstairs to the bathroom, put his Pull Up on, turn the fan on, and come get us when he was finished. The Doctor said that he would find these steps to be too laborious a process and decide to do it our way - the easy way. He liked the set-up and would not budge.
My husband and I decided this was the end of the game, something needed to happen. He would soon be four, starting preschool, and we needed to help him get over the hump. We stopped buying Pull Ups. He stopped going No. 2. He is a Leo. It was three days and nights of him jumping around like a chimpanzee, trying to repress his bodily functions. We consulted our Doctor again and she said that we can't go back; we must follow through. No more Pull Ups. Finally, he went. We were all so proud. We bought him presents and treats and were thrilled. He did it! We all did it! Sigh.
The joy did not last for long when he resorted his old tricks of holding *it* in. Then, it happened: the stomach bug. Three days and nights, 3-5 pairs of underwear a day. In his pants. Still, he would not go near The Potty. Five days later, the stomach bug has seemed to its course and we are grateful. However, he still going in his pants. This is not to say that there has been no successes.
He has gone in the potty 3 -4 times in the last two weeks. The rest of the time, we have not been so fortunate. He will get there. I know it. I am patient. I try to be patient. My husband is not patient. I don't know how the boy feels. He says he is scared. He does not tell me exactly what about going No. 2 in the potty scares him, but, clearly something does. I know that he will move forward and get to where needs to be. He is still three years old and has a lifetime of pooping in the potty (or so we hope).
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Move me.
Get new job.
Quit old job.
Move cross country.
Start new job.
Within three weeks.
Get married.
Get pregnant.
Have baby.
Move again.
Have another baby.
Buy a house.
Pack today.
Move tomorrow.
Work + toddler + infant + new house = poetry.
Quit old job.
Move cross country.
Start new job.
Within three weeks.
Get married.
Get pregnant.
Have baby.
Move again.
Have another baby.
Buy a house.
Pack today.
Move tomorrow.
Work + toddler + infant + new house = poetry.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
I'm in denial. Maternity is quickly approaching and I want to ...
Denial. This is a good one. Takes its job very seriously - disallowing your mind from going to that place where it really wants to go, the same place that causes unending anxiety. Denial will erase - or redirect - your thoughts to something else: the capture of Whitey Bulger, the Casey Anthony trial, or the fact that Ann Taylor Loft is offering 40% off of everything via your new favorite coupon Web site. After the birth of my second son, I am embarking upon my final two weeks of maternity leave. I am sick-to-my-stomach as I think about this transition from stay-at-home mom of a newborn baby to a working mom of a newborn mom and a toddler making denial my closest confidant right now.
Like so many mothers who have to go back to work full-time after the birth of their children a multitude of emotions permeate our reality: guilt, loss, sadness, regret, resentment, anticipation, and fear. Less than an hour ago I returned home from a wedding shower luncheon for one of my favorite co-workers. Today is a Thursday, so the gathering took place during lunchtime at my place of employment. I dropped my oldest (2.10 months years old) off at my sister's house for a play date and took my youngest (12 weeks old) with me to the party. This was not the first time I have been back at work since I had the baby. Once before I took both kids to the office to see everyone. I am fortunate to have amazing, supportive, caring, funny, and really cool co-workers, and, so, I genuinely want(ed) to see everyone and hear how they were doing and, of course, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my lovely colleague.
But.
The whole time I was there - and still over an hour later - I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I am sick, literally nauseated, at the thought of going back to work, of leaving my baby, my babies. Run away is what I want to do. Hop on a plane with my husband and the two kids and leave the northeast for somewhere cheaper and more hopeful - a state, a community where I can have the option of working part-time or not at all just for a year or two. Reality sets in. I can't leave. No where to go - right now. Two weeks. This is what I have and this time must be savored, like an expensive, gourmet meal that I can't afford or pronounce, or, even see for that matter because it so small sitting on my large, white dinner plate. Instead it will be voraciously devoured like a hungry, postpartum mother who has not eaten since breakfast who only realizes this at dinner time.
Denial will keep me company in the meantime. During meal time, nap time, fun time, all day, all night, every day, every night until the day I get up, take a shower, and start my new, old life as a working mom.
Like so many mothers who have to go back to work full-time after the birth of their children a multitude of emotions permeate our reality: guilt, loss, sadness, regret, resentment, anticipation, and fear. Less than an hour ago I returned home from a wedding shower luncheon for one of my favorite co-workers. Today is a Thursday, so the gathering took place during lunchtime at my place of employment. I dropped my oldest (2.10 months years old) off at my sister's house for a play date and took my youngest (12 weeks old) with me to the party. This was not the first time I have been back at work since I had the baby. Once before I took both kids to the office to see everyone. I am fortunate to have amazing, supportive, caring, funny, and really cool co-workers, and, so, I genuinely want(ed) to see everyone and hear how they were doing and, of course, to celebrate the upcoming wedding of my lovely colleague.
But.
The whole time I was there - and still over an hour later - I have a pit in my stomach that won't go away. I am sick, literally nauseated, at the thought of going back to work, of leaving my baby, my babies. Run away is what I want to do. Hop on a plane with my husband and the two kids and leave the northeast for somewhere cheaper and more hopeful - a state, a community where I can have the option of working part-time or not at all just for a year or two. Reality sets in. I can't leave. No where to go - right now. Two weeks. This is what I have and this time must be savored, like an expensive, gourmet meal that I can't afford or pronounce, or, even see for that matter because it so small sitting on my large, white dinner plate. Instead it will be voraciously devoured like a hungry, postpartum mother who has not eaten since breakfast who only realizes this at dinner time.
Denial will keep me company in the meantime. During meal time, nap time, fun time, all day, all night, every day, every night until the day I get up, take a shower, and start my new, old life as a working mom.
Monday, May 2, 2011
No Crying At Work
Twice today I cried at work. Not sure why. Totally sure why.
Workplaces are not therapy sessions. Work is where we get paid to work. Sometimes, if we are lucky, we become friends with the individuals with whom we work everyday. In these cases we know when it is "OK" to let go and for this I am grateful.
It is late evening now, the boy is sleep and dinner is digested. I am feeling better. More optimistic. Hope-Full. I know that part of this reason is I am lucky enough to have cried at work today - twice and to know it was the right thing to do.
Workplaces are not therapy sessions. Work is where we get paid to work. Sometimes, if we are lucky, we become friends with the individuals with whom we work everyday. In these cases we know when it is "OK" to let go and for this I am grateful.
It is late evening now, the boy is sleep and dinner is digested. I am feeling better. More optimistic. Hope-Full. I know that part of this reason is I am lucky enough to have cried at work today - twice and to know it was the right thing to do.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Not sure about this "blog" thing.
More than six months have passed since my last blog entry. During these months, I certainly thought about writing a post, but I intentionally put it off because I was in the middle of a heated inner dialogue: to continue blogging for Hope-Full or creating a new and anonymous blog.
The summer and fall have passed and this morning Puxatony Phil came out of his cave - or wherever he lives - and said that spring was only six weeks away, so I decided to make a decision. I will begin to write Hope-Full again. I will probably start a new blog as well and keep it private. The issue is not that I want to write about deep seated secrets and neurosis (I already have) but that inevitably I will take into perspective the audience: friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, and total strangers, letting the knowledge of this visibility influence what I write or how deeply I write.
After all this build up, what do I want to write about? What do I have to say? Should I just provide a quick re-cap of where I am not? Nah, this is not a Dear Diary thing. I will offer that I was not in fact pregnant when I wrote the Juno post. However, the following month, I was pregnant.
In typical fashion, my husband and I had decided to wait another six months or so before trying and bada-bing-bada-boom (why am I using terms like bada-boom?, I was pregnant - and, oh, what a whirl-wind it has been. From learning that there might be complications, to that it might be twins, to learning, it was a boy! Another boy!~?.
I was pretty dang sure I was having a girl. I even went out and bought a few little girl outfits at a yard sale in anticipation. Deep down, I knew it was a boy. Also, because the issues in the first trimester, I had several early ultrasounds and one of the technicians, said that, although she could not say for sure, she thought it was a boy. Even so, I still kept hope.
When the sex was confirmed at 18 or 20 weeks, I was prepared. Admittedly, I was disappointed because I know that there is a 99.9% chance that this will be my last child and the way some young women fantasized about getting married (I never did), I fantasized about having a daughter and teaching her to be a strong young woman with self-esteem and a sense of humor. Don't get my wrong, my boys are going to be taught to be proper feminists as well. My husband accepts it and gets it, as much as he can. He wants to balance the gender neutral stuff with totally stereotypically stuff. Balance. This is the key to life. Our boys will engage in boxing for sport and self-defense and read bell hooks and Gloria Steinem for fun!
The summer and fall have passed and this morning Puxatony Phil came out of his cave - or wherever he lives - and said that spring was only six weeks away, so I decided to make a decision. I will begin to write Hope-Full again. I will probably start a new blog as well and keep it private. The issue is not that I want to write about deep seated secrets and neurosis (I already have) but that inevitably I will take into perspective the audience: friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, and total strangers, letting the knowledge of this visibility influence what I write or how deeply I write.
After all this build up, what do I want to write about? What do I have to say? Should I just provide a quick re-cap of where I am not? Nah, this is not a Dear Diary thing. I will offer that I was not in fact pregnant when I wrote the Juno post. However, the following month, I was pregnant.
In typical fashion, my husband and I had decided to wait another six months or so before trying and bada-bing-bada-boom (why am I using terms like bada-boom?, I was pregnant - and, oh, what a whirl-wind it has been. From learning that there might be complications, to that it might be twins, to learning, it was a boy! Another boy!~?.
I was pretty dang sure I was having a girl. I even went out and bought a few little girl outfits at a yard sale in anticipation. Deep down, I knew it was a boy. Also, because the issues in the first trimester, I had several early ultrasounds and one of the technicians, said that, although she could not say for sure, she thought it was a boy. Even so, I still kept hope.
When the sex was confirmed at 18 or 20 weeks, I was prepared. Admittedly, I was disappointed because I know that there is a 99.9% chance that this will be my last child and the way some young women fantasized about getting married (I never did), I fantasized about having a daughter and teaching her to be a strong young woman with self-esteem and a sense of humor. Don't get my wrong, my boys are going to be taught to be proper feminists as well. My husband accepts it and gets it, as much as he can. He wants to balance the gender neutral stuff with totally stereotypically stuff. Balance. This is the key to life. Our boys will engage in boxing for sport and self-defense and read bell hooks and Gloria Steinem for fun!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
If Juno can do it, so can I
Jennifer Garner seems like a really nice person.
It is almost ten o'clock on this Thursday evening and I am catching the final moments of Juno. Juno just had the baby. Jennifer Garner's character is holding the baby. Now, it is summer; Michael Cera's character and Juno are playing the guitar, singing to each other, and the movie is about to end.
I remember the first - and only - time I saw Juno. It was late summer 2008 and I was at least eight months pregnant. My husband wouldn't see the film with me - and actually still has not seen it - so I went with friends. I thought it would have interesting to see it together - you know, two soon-to-be first-time parents and all, but he thought it was just another chick flick, indy film or maybe it was just not his thang. Nevertheless, I saw the movie and loved it. And, now I sit on my bed wondering. Wondering what? Why was my husband such an ass-hole about seeing this perfectly sweet movie with me? What did Juno ever do to him? Will I ever be friends with Jennifer Gardner? Is she really as lovely as she seems in "real" life as she seems in interviews with ENews Daily? Am *I* pregnant?
It is difficult not to realize one is pregnant - especially if you are well into your third trimester- but apparently women do it all the time according to Discovery Health's " famed show "I didn't know I was pregnant." I am barely pregnant - if at all - and I am feeling phantom kicks already. I can't imagine being so out of touch with my body (or psyche) that it is not until I am in labor before I realize I am pregnant. But then again, everyone deals in their own way. We are ready, when we are ready.
My husband has been out of work for over a year and a half. Unemployment insurance has ended. And I work for an nonprofit university - where as you probably know, staff are paid really well. Not. So, I thought this was the perfect time to have another baby. Timing is everything.
Even though the stars might not be lined up well in terms of my family's financial security at the moment, I know that *we* will be OK. I also know that in the future, I will not regret owning a house or having a new car, but will deeply regret not having had another child.
Plus I am old. According to the U.S. health care establishment, a mother is considered of "advanced maternal age" by age 35. I just turned 35 years old. I feel young. I look young - ish (on most days). But I will be considered of "high-risk" - due to my advanced age - during my next pregnancy. Fuck that shit, man. Advanced maternal age, my ass. Well, my eggs, actually.
Being the 'by the books' kind of woman I tend to be, I will respect the guidance of our nation's well-intended health care establishment and abide by this suggestion - as much as I can. They say, have all of your kids before age 35 and I say I will try my best to have had my kids before I turn 36. Close enough.
In the childbirth preparation class I took during my first pregnancy, there was only one woman - out of at least 20 couples - who was in her twenties. Most of us were in our mid to late-thirties. Scientifically speaking it is optimal for women to have kids early in their lifetime, like Juno did, but growing numbers of us are just not ready then. Sometimes we are still not ready in our thirties - or forties - or ever.
Life is hard - for us all. Juno had to deal with being a pregnant high-school student and giving a baby up for adoption. She also had the whole rest of her life to look forward to and to live. She did what she had to do. Like many families, mine is suffering the consequences of the injured American economy, but I will let not let this phase in our history deter my intention to have another child. It is my right to have or not to have a child; and I will continue to respect and protect it.
I am grateful Juno had Michel Cera's character and that I have my movie-snob of a husband and beautiful like boy to offer guidance along the way. I have my whole life to look forward to and, I figure, if Juno could do it, so can I.
P.S. I still wonder if I will ever be friends with Jennifer Garner?
It is almost ten o'clock on this Thursday evening and I am catching the final moments of Juno. Juno just had the baby. Jennifer Garner's character is holding the baby. Now, it is summer; Michael Cera's character and Juno are playing the guitar, singing to each other, and the movie is about to end.
I remember the first - and only - time I saw Juno. It was late summer 2008 and I was at least eight months pregnant. My husband wouldn't see the film with me - and actually still has not seen it - so I went with friends. I thought it would have interesting to see it together - you know, two soon-to-be first-time parents and all, but he thought it was just another chick flick, indy film or maybe it was just not his thang. Nevertheless, I saw the movie and loved it. And, now I sit on my bed wondering. Wondering what? Why was my husband such an ass-hole about seeing this perfectly sweet movie with me? What did Juno ever do to him? Will I ever be friends with Jennifer Gardner? Is she really as lovely as she seems in "real" life as she seems in interviews with ENews Daily? Am *I* pregnant?
It is difficult not to realize one is pregnant - especially if you are well into your third trimester- but apparently women do it all the time according to Discovery Health's " famed show "I didn't know I was pregnant." I am barely pregnant - if at all - and I am feeling phantom kicks already. I can't imagine being so out of touch with my body (or psyche) that it is not until I am in labor before I realize I am pregnant. But then again, everyone deals in their own way. We are ready, when we are ready.
My husband has been out of work for over a year and a half. Unemployment insurance has ended. And I work for an nonprofit university - where as you probably know, staff are paid really well. Not. So, I thought this was the perfect time to have another baby. Timing is everything.
Even though the stars might not be lined up well in terms of my family's financial security at the moment, I know that *we* will be OK. I also know that in the future, I will not regret owning a house or having a new car, but will deeply regret not having had another child.
Plus I am old. According to the U.S. health care establishment, a mother is considered of "advanced maternal age" by age 35. I just turned 35 years old. I feel young. I look young - ish (on most days). But I will be considered of "high-risk" - due to my advanced age - during my next pregnancy. Fuck that shit, man. Advanced maternal age, my ass. Well, my eggs, actually.
Being the 'by the books' kind of woman I tend to be, I will respect the guidance of our nation's well-intended health care establishment and abide by this suggestion - as much as I can. They say, have all of your kids before age 35 and I say I will try my best to have had my kids before I turn 36. Close enough.
In the childbirth preparation class I took during my first pregnancy, there was only one woman - out of at least 20 couples - who was in her twenties. Most of us were in our mid to late-thirties. Scientifically speaking it is optimal for women to have kids early in their lifetime, like Juno did, but growing numbers of us are just not ready then. Sometimes we are still not ready in our thirties - or forties - or ever.
Life is hard - for us all. Juno had to deal with being a pregnant high-school student and giving a baby up for adoption. She also had the whole rest of her life to look forward to and to live. She did what she had to do. Like many families, mine is suffering the consequences of the injured American economy, but I will let not let this phase in our history deter my intention to have another child. It is my right to have or not to have a child; and I will continue to respect and protect it.
I am grateful Juno had Michel Cera's character and that I have my movie-snob of a husband and beautiful like boy to offer guidance along the way. I have my whole life to look forward to and, I figure, if Juno could do it, so can I.
P.S. I still wonder if I will ever be friends with Jennifer Garner?
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