Regenerate

It's times like these I'm suddenly struck with the urge to make an Insta-book out of my 2013 instragram pictures.

Half the house is in boxes and the other half is disheveled. Tomorrow we pack to go to the mountains for the changing of the years. We'll get the keys to our new (rental) house on Friday!

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It has occurred to me that this past year has been very probably the best, most comfortable year for me in my role as "stay at home" mom. Is it a coincidence that it also is the year both kids have been at school and/or preschool most days of the week? I think not.

Caring for (very) small children does not appear to be in my naturally-acquired skill set. Both times I've done it rather poorly and have fallen apart rather spectacularly. While it's true that there were many other rather large stressors at those times in my life, I highly doubt that even if I were to have the most ideal circumstances surrounding another pregnancy and birth that it would be possible without medication.

Which makes me sad. However, I don't want to put myself or my family through anything like my postpartum experiences again.

I'm not on medication now and I (usually) feel just fine! This makes me hopeful and wistful and I've briefly entertained the thought of another child.

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A few months ago I was shopping at our local grocery store. A lady joined me by the spinach. Her tiny infant son was in a car-seat she had placed in the shopping cart and he began to fuss. She began gently rocking the seat but he didn't settle down. Instead he began screaming that ever-so-distinctive newborn cry.

My reaction surprised even me. I wasn't expecting to feel anything as strongly as I did. I almost had to leave the store. An avalanche of feelings suddenly dumped into my awareness, triggered by that crying. My heart was racing; I felt panicky and fearful, desperate and frantic, helpless and terrified.

Sanity was a difficult thing to maintain during those first few months of a screaming Elaine and a wide-eyed, sensitive Val. Our home had been and was still endlessly under construction and chaotic and I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to short sell it or have to go into foreclosure. Superman was on the break-in phase at his new job and largely unavailable in every way. I could barely function and then I couldn't function.

It was very hard.

All of it came rushing back as I stood there by the produce, listening to this newborn do what lots of newborns do - cry.

I quickly got the remaining items on my list and then hurried to the car. I closed the door and began to cry, too.

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At dinner tonight Val said she wishes she could have a little brother. I told her I wish that too. I know God hears us. I want to hear Him. Little brothers can come in more ways than one.

Older

Tonight I held my six-year-old close and slow-danced to piano music at bedtime. My brain jumped back to six years (and seven days, it turns out) ago and I have to post this, if only so I can go spend the night crying on the couch every time I see these side by side.

  

 

 

Oh my sweet girl. How I love you. What a pure gift from God you are.

The Sock Thrower

Remember that story about the man who was throwing starfish back into the ocean? No? Then here. It's been adapted many ways. Here's one adaptation taken from the Wikipedia page I just linked to, in which the star of the story is a woman:

An old man had a habit of early morning walks on the beach. One day, after a storm, he saw a human figure in the distance moving like a dancer. As he came closer he saw that it was a young woman and she was not dancing but was reaching down to the sand, picking up a starfish and very gently throwing them into the ocean.
"Young lady," he asked, "Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?"
"The sun is up, and the tide is going out, and if I do not throw them in they will die."
"But young lady, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it? You cannot possibly make a difference."
The young woman listened politely, paused and then bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves,
saying, "It made a difference for that one."

I've decided to change my perspective. I don't have a starfish problem. I have a dirty sock problem. I don't have miles and miles of beach. I have inches and inches of counter with stranded cereal bowls littering its surface. Many times throughout my day I've found myself thinking "I cannot possibly make a difference." My pattern in the past has alternated between working feverishly on one thing and ignoring all other needs or giving up entirely and doing nothing. Neither of those approaches work very well for me and it's taken me five or so years to come to that conclusion. I'm ready to do something differently, even if it's only in the way I think. Especially if it's only in the way I think.

It's been quite difficult for me to dissociate my worth from how successfully I do or do not do things. This worked very well when I was employed doing something I enjoyed and was good at. This did not work so well when I became employed in service to my family as a home "maker." The repetitive household chores necessary for life to run smoothly just do not appeal to me. At all. Not even a little bit. I derive no satisfaction from cleaning up after other people (or even myself.) It has been a challenge and how I've viewed myself has suffered, accordingly. If I don't get to be happy with myself until ALL the laundry is washed and put away and ALL the dishes are clean... well then the times I get to be happy with myself are very few and far between!^1/2

Before we had children I made tasks like washing dishes and folding laundry slightly more palatable by listening to podcasts or audio books as I worked¹. I also wasn't nursing, sleep-deprived, responsible for keeping two little people safe, fed, clean (mostly) and healthy, or distracted by earnest questions from a 5-yr-old such as, "but what is gravity MADE out of?!" Additionally, Superman usually helped. We both had full-time jobs. I didn't like doing dishes or laundry but it was manageable. Then I grew a few kids, stopped working for a paycheck and suddenly it all became my responsibility².

Keeping the starfish story in mind, I now tell myself that no matter how many times a dirty sock may climb back out of the waves to beach itself upon my couch, or behind the toilet, or under the kitchen table... I can choose to pick it up and each time it will have made a difference for that one. Even if it's the same one. Multiple times a day. Each time I wash a dish it will have made a difference for that one, that time. All my precious little starfish... the paper scraps... the dirty underwear... the books... the stuffed animal... the cat toy... the pile of crayons... let me throw you back where you belong. It makes a difference every time.

This intentional shift of perspective has helped my expectations be a tad more reasonable. It's also given me the freedom to do what I can and accept that I may never have all the socks clean and folded and put away³.

Surprisingly,  I've found I've been able to do so much more as a result. I've been freed to do more. Now that the pressure is off to get ALL the starfish back where they belong TODAY (which is an impossible expectation), I'm able to slow down and enjoy the process. Yes, I sometimes enjoy folding laundry and doing dishes. Whether or not I get them all done that hour or even that day has no bearing on my worth.

I'm learning to consistently find my worth in someone far more substantial than any of my accomplishments - a loving higher power.

Along those lines and with a lovely additional point, I highly recommend reading this post, by Kathryn Thompson at Daring Young Mom. It's long but the ending is so worth it.

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^1/2Unless anti-depressants are involved and even then I wasn't convinced happiness with myself was an option.

¹Now I choose to remain unplugged and available during the hours my kids and husband are awake and home.

²Which I initially agreed it should be. We're still working out the kinks in the balance of responsibilities we both have, as well as our skills and personal preferences.

³Until I train my children to do it all!

Bedtime chronicles

After many questions interspersed with varying lengths of silence... from a very, very tired Elaine.

Elaine, calling from her bed: Mommy?

Me, answering from the couch, beginning stages of exasperation: Elaine, I don't have anything left to say to you.

Elaine: *pause* Well I do.

Me, suppressing a smile: Yes?

Elaine: Can you please hold me?

(What am I supposed to do with THAT?! Superman and I were cracking up.)

Me, firmly: No, Elaine. I love you, goodnight.

Elaine: *tired protesting wails dissolving into a tired meltdown* You NEVER hold me!

The despondent crying continues then suddenly we hear the noise of a child tumbling onto the floor. Superman and I exchange glances. Did she really just throw herself off the (lower bunk) bed?

Elaine: *still crying* Mommy!

Me, tiredly: Yes, Elaine?

Elaine: *crying harder* I fell off my beeeeeeeeeed.

I laughed out loud and began typing this entry. Superman went in to rescue the damsel in distress.

Keys to joy

88 wonderful (electronic) keys are back in the apartment and I am quite thankful for the return of my parents' keyboard. Judging by the number of spontaneous dance sessions today I think the girls are, too. All that needs to happen for optimal keyboarding is the soldering of one side of my headphones and hopefully that will happen tomorrow, with the help of my dad.

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I lately feel as though I'm approaching life in much the same way I approached college final exams. I knew they existed and would eventually come to pass, but I tried not to think too much about it and many times spent hours and hours doing just about everything else INSTEAD prepare or study for them. I did manage to acquire a degree in biology with a fairly average GPA (the "just about everything else" often included playing volleyball at the conveniently-located beach.) I'm not sure what that says about a) the difficulty of the exams or b) my intelligence or c) both.

I arrive at the start of each day and for some reason I feel like dragging my feet. I want to put it off. I'm afraid to dive in? Or it's too threatening (!?) to face head on. Or maybe I'll fail? At... something? I'm not sure. I have a hunch it has to do with the fear that I may just maybe might possibly not do something "right." So then I feel hopeless. And do a lot of nothing or whatever is the bare minimum.

It's not really that great of a system. I'm not happy with it. I'm not happy with the resulting effects on my kids and husband. Also me. I miss joy.

Parenting and stay-at-home-momming is intimidating to me. It doesn't really come naturally, at least not all of it. I guess I haven't managed to work out a reasonable set of expectations for myself, yet. Especially expectations that don't hinge (almost entirely) on what my husband thinks I should do or be. Or expectations that result from comparing myself to whichever wonderful friend I have who excels in whatever area I'm mulling over.  Or comparing myself to my mom, or his mom, and what she would do. 12-step recovery work has helped in this regard.

I've been slow to warm up to parenting and stay-at-homing. It was hard for me to leave work, where I felt like I was part of a great team that was doing measurable GOOD in the world and I got PAID for my efforts and there were attainable goals and measurable progress and clear expectations. I knew what to do to make and keep people happy! That's almost always never the case here at home. I don't even know what to do to make and keep ME happy (hint: trying to keep other people happy isn't the solution.)

Parenting is kind of muddy and messy and it's pretty much all I do. That and however much of the house I feel like maintaining, which hasn't been very much, lately.

I'd LIKE to believe that "my best is enough" but that's kind of at odds with a belief I've had for decades and have recently been trying to get rid of: "you're not done until it's perfect" (how's that one for endlessly depressing?!)

But, through all the muddy and messy parts of parenting and stay-at-home-momming, I'm pretty sure I've come quite a long way in learning more about myself and others and the experience has made me a slightly more well-rounded person. So I guess I'm thankful for that.

But I really wish I could shake this hopeless feeling. The endless, repetitive cycle of chores that are NEVER done, doing them over and over and over again, and even if something is temporarily "done" then I'm probably forgetting something else... it really wears me down.

My best is enough. My best is enough. My best is enough. My best is enough.

Oh my heart.

August 30, 2011: first day of preschool

May 29, 2012: last day of preschool, nine months later.

I just. I don't even have words. (Which is why I've supplied pictures.)

Music

Val wakes up early and cheerfully. Elaine and I wake up slowly and are prone to grouchiness.

This morning Val stood by my pillow and whispered, "Mommy! I heard someone playing beautiful music."

I hadn't heard anything (though I'm sure she had) and because I'm only slightly better at controlling my grouchiness than Elaine, I asked Val about the music. She sang a little of it for me and then concluded, "It's nice to hear music in the morning, Mommy."

I agreed and asked what her favorite kind of music was, hoping she'd talk for a while and I could eke out a few more minutes of sleep. Her reply was prompt and her request, sincere.

"Amazing Grace. Mommy, will you play that for me while I eat breakfast?"

And that's why I was playing and singing Amazing Grace for an audience of one (and then a grouchy second one) at 6:30 am.

As my sleepy brain directed my hands in a clunky version of the hymn, my heart suddenly smiled to recall the countless times I awoke to the sound of my grandpa playing beautiful music during the early morning hours of my college years.

Val doesn't remember her great-grandpa but I'm so glad they share the belief that it's nice to hear music in the morning.

Well.

I can't say that I'm terribly surprised. She certainly comes by it naturally. =)

Val's comment was, "That looks like a GREAT idea! Can I try?" Elaine hadn't bothered to ask; she just got busy, because really, the thing's just ASKING to be climbed.

This one looks like me, too.

Kids are fun. Usually.
I recommend them. Usually.
Sent from my Droid 2 Global

Nearly home free

I'm on edge.

Superman has two weeks off (the first week was scheduled, the second is purely coincidental) and I think I need the break at least as much as he does.

It's hard, thinking your kids are YOURS and then realizing they aren't, really, and nearly anything can happen to them at any time... and you can't control it, or at least not half as much as you thought you could. But you do control enough of it to be able to blame yourself anytime something goes slightly (or non-slightly) awry.

Also, I hate carpet. Carpet is gross. Yes, this may be because I am currently the owner of three long-haired pets, two of which are over 75 pounds, and all of which have had particularly bad cases of fleas. I've never had a flea problem like this before! I wonder if it's due to the raging squirrel population in these parts. Frontline didn't eliminate it completely so I've purchased bombs/sprays to knock EVERYthing out and hopefully that'll be the end of it.

The last thing I need is for us to get flea bites that could be infected with MRSA. I wish MRSA was bright orange so I could just SEE where it is or IF it is and then scour the heck out of wherever it was.

Tomorrow begins day one of Superman's mid-life crisis birthday extravaganza. He's signed up to participate in a triathlon AFTER working a 12 hour shift. Thinks he's still young and resilient, does he? We'll see about that. We're waking up early to go cheer him on and then drive him home straight to bed. Other events in the mid-life crisis extravaganza include sky-diving, seeing Wicked (nothing to do with mid-life, just something he's wanted to do since the beginning) and of course a birthday party at which we will mourn his old age (30!) and I'll suggest he get a tattoo like this.

Back to parenting. I really think Val is having a hard time with all the attention Elaine has been getting ever since that fateful day. I know I'm probably subconsciously paying more close attention to Elaine than Val and I hate that. I've tried to make a concerted effort to connect with Val and to have equal one-on-one time with her, but I'm sad to say that she has really gotten probably mostly leftovers from me over the past few months. Ugh. How do you fix that? I just feel spread so thinly. Of course my needs were the first to go. Why does it have to effect her too? I can't do it all.

So I escape and make poor decisions that stack up until everything is screaming for attention. Which is overwhelming.

Like I said, two weeks of Superman being home with us will be wonderful.

Brain dump

I wasn't born with curly hair, it was very fine and thin. Here's a picture of my hair before kids:

I have curly hair now. It's still very fine, but there's so dang much of it that it gives the illusion of thickness. Here's a picture of my hair now. Apparently, Elaine and I had a fake smile contest; who do you think should win?

I have no idea why it's changed - the only thing I can think of is two pregnancies and the hormones that go along with that. It's also gotten less and less blonde as I've gotten older. My mom's hair did that too. She was a total towhead and now her hair is dark brown.

I don't know anything about hair, and that includes my own hair. The extent of my hair care and style routine has gone somewhat like like this:

1. Shampoo
2. Condition
3. Air-dry
4. Pony tail

I've recently eliminated the shampoo/condition part and replaced it with baking soda and vinegar because it's cheap and I get exactly the same results (minus the fruity 'clean' smell and minus the exposure to various chemicals I may or may not be excited about rubbing into my scalp on a regular basis.)

Wearing my hair down has become fairly impossible. My hair is frizzy and the slightest breeze blows it into my eyes or mouth or both which I CANNOT stand. I dutifully got a straightener and though it was certainly easier to wear down when straight, it took me at least half an hour to straighten it and I quickly wearied of holding my arms above my head (see also: french braids.)

I don't even remember how I ran across this website, but it's awesome for a newbie curly person like me. It's a tad overwhelming, but I'm learning and hopefully I'll soon discover how to get my hair to do something other than a pony tail. This is another site that I've been reading, especially in knowing how to cut curly hair. It would seem that not many stylists are really knowledgeable about that. My hair has layers now, with lots chopped off in the back to keep it from poofing (but it still does) but I think I'd like to have longer hair overall with less layers.

What do you think? (Tara and Karen, especially!) I had no idea I wasn't supposed to brush it when it's dry (though it makes sense!) or that some people wash their hair only with conditioner. Whole new world.

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In other news, Elaine has been off the anti-MRSA antibiotics for two days now and has appeared to be completely fine. I am relieved, but await the blood work that will be done on Monday to confirm the absence of infection (though I would think we'd see symptoms before then if the MRSA wasn't gone.)

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In still other news, I'm feeling depressed. I think it's mostly because for the past several weeks I've more or less been on high alert about the MRSA and Elaine's general well being. And now my body's just reverting to the other extreme in an attempt at overall homeostasis.

Sucks to be feeling down, though, especially with two little people looking to you for, oh, everything, especially emotional well-being, which is kind of tough to provide when you aren't feeling particularly emotionally healthy.

I've been doing much better at dissociating the depression from ME. I know this sounds so cheesy, but the depression does not define me, it's just something that I have to deal with. When I think of it that way it makes it a lot easier to prevent my head from taking off down the mental pathways that are so familiar but SO unhelpful for emerging from the depression sooner.

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In still OTHER news, Superman and I have really been liking the whole idea of minimalist living. There's tons of articles all over the web, but here's just one site that I've spent just a little time on. I haven't had a lot of time to look around, but I think this lines up quite well with my frugal nature and the recession and such. So many people's lives are so cluttered with stuff I think they don't really understand what truly makes them happy and fulfilled. Stuff doesn't make anyone happy and fulfilled in the long run.

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Thus concludes my brain dump.

For today, August 6

Outside my window it's dark. The dogs are being quiet for once, so they get to hang out on the cool grass a little longer before I call them in for the night.

I am thinking that a little maintenance each day is better than frantic, massive house cleaning events once in a blue moon. I am also thinking that a little maintenance each day is to tiresome and wouldn't I rather eat ice cream and blog instead? Oh wait. I am. But the house looks awesome, thanks to my mother, who cleaned the entire kitchen and family room in the time it took for us to visit the ER last night.

I am thankful for Elaine not minding walking on her ankle today.

I am wearing socks AND shoes because I'm suddenly a germaphobe (for me) and had to visit the pediatrician's office today.

I am remembering what it felt like to surrender control and just rest.

I am going to be relieved and grateful beyond belief when Elaine's right arm can return to it's proper use and when she will no longer need the antibiotics.

I am currently reading Sheep in a Jeep (on a hill that's steep.)

I am hoping my brother will turn in some fast times when he races tomorrow and Sunday. And also not get hurt doing so. 

On my mind: Our car situation. 

Noticing that my neck hurts. I need a massage and also need to build some muscle strength.

Pondering these words: once you've surrendered to the idea that you ARE in pain and WILL BE in pain, the pain becomes much easier to deal with.

From the kitchen there arises a chorus of joy and gratitude to the dish-washing army called my mother.

Around the house there are probably too many graham cracker crumbs.

One of my favorite things is when Elaine wraps herself around me and pushes her head into my neck to be as close to me as possible while we rock together in the chair.

From my picture journal: This was taken about a year ago.



Surgery

I could fall over in a weepy, grateful heap right now.

I sort of already did, after they put her in my arms post-surgery and un-hooked and un-clipped almost everything from her. She was fussy, not all the way awake but awake enough to know my arms and voice and quiet down (one of my favorite things about being a mother.) I calmed her down until she fell asleep and then everyone left and I sat there alone, staring at her gorgeous face, kissing her and whispering to her and God through my thankful tears.

Of course she did fine. Everything was fine. There were no problems with the anesthesia. Surgery went just like the surgeon thought it would. He repaired the tendon and her index and middle fingers are in a cast that extends all the way past her elbow (to be sure she can't do anything to wiggle it off.)

She slept off the anesthesia and then woke up in a very pleasant mood to enjoy an otter pop and graham cracker before going home.

The nurse said she might throw up on the car ride home and then expected her to sleep for several more hours. She also probably wouldn't be as coordinated as usual, so make sure to watch her and help her as needed.

Elaine never threw up, ate a moderately-sized lunch, took a 15 minute nap and appears to be exactly as coordinated as usual. She seems to be hardly in any pain at all (thank you, meds!) and has accepted the cast a lot more willingly then I expected.

Perilous labeling

I know I said I would blog about how poor Elaine got stitches and an appointment with an orthopedist, but I just haven't had time until now, and I really don't have a ton of time right now.

Basically it was one part accident plus one part distracted mom plus one part big sister who has lots to learn re: scissor safety.

I was in the master bathroom trying to quickly brush my teeth without anyone waking up the sleeping Superman. Elaine was shrieking at my feet so I grabbed a ziploc bag out of the bathroom drawer that was labeled "nail clippers/tweezers" and tossed it to her. She was sitting at my feet. Val came in a few seconds later and they were opening the bag and discussing it's contents. I'm normally very good at labeling things and not putting mislabeled things into a labeled location (the thing will just remain homeless until I can put it where it goes) so I didn't double check the items in the bag too closely as I was only intending it to be a distraction for 45 more seconds. Plus, I fully expected it to contain nothing more than nail clippers and tweezers.

Well, that's all it takes, folks.

Next thing I know Elaine is SCREAMING and I look down to see Val holding SCISSORS that are around Elaine's right index finger. They're the small, baby nail-trimming kind that we have never used and thus the scissors were VERY sharp. I could tell the cut was deep but there was so much blood I couldn't really see how bad it was. I paced around the house for a minute or two, tightly holding a rag to poor Elaine's finger while I tried to determine a reasonable course of action.

I had to get her to the ER because I was pretty sure it would need stitches or glue or something. Maybe an adult wouldn't have required it but on a 1.5 year old... there's no way it was going to be kept still and dry and clean enough to just use band-aids.

So I woke up Superman (who was a mere 1.5 hours into his day's sleep) and off we went. I sat twisted around the whole way, holding onto Elaine's finger.

The ER wasn't busy, thankfully, except for a lady who had just been hit by a car (!!!) while bicycling. A good Samaritan wheeled her in a wheelchair - why she didn't accept the ambulance ride I have no idea.

The Dr. first tried glue which worked rather well, but then the more we looked at it the more the Dr. was concerned that perhaps Elaine's TENDON had been cut, because she wasn't straightening her finger all the way. We tried all sorts of things to get her to point and move that finger and she just wasn't doing it. So the Dr. said he wanted a better look and then he'd just stitch it. So that's what we did. He ended up not being able to see very well (such a tiny finger) so he still didn't know if the tendon was hurt or not.

Oh now I remember why I wanted to wait to blog this - I have a picture of Elaine giving us the cheesiest smile after we strapped her into the straight-jacket board thing.

Anyhow, they numbed up her finger and went to work. I wasn't able to watch very much as I was doing everything I could to comfort and console my girl, but apparently it was only (!) five stitches. Both the nurse and the Dr. commented on how well Elaine did, considering. Poor girl was screaming "UP! UP! UP!" (as in pick me up, Mommy) and "ALL DONE! ALL DONE!" I was right there kissing her, holding her other hand, hugging her, stroking her head, singing to her... utterly heartbreaking.

The nurse designed the coolest bandage for the finger. I mean, I know they have lots of practice, but he designed it so perfectly to maximise the chances of it remaining on the finger of a 1.5 year old. I was impressed.

And then we set an appointment with an orthopedist and the ER Dr. mentioned HAND SURGERY and I shuddered and cringed and berated myself further.

Then we fled to the parking lot where Superman and Val waited. Val was buckled in, playing with some toys and Superman reclined in the passenger's seat, with the front windows down. Without giving it much thought, I reached in the window and lightly touched Superman's arm to wake him up and let him know we were back.

Holy cow.

The second I touched him he bolted upright, his other arm flew up to grab my arm and a split second later his other hand was ready to... I don't know, punch me or something. But then he saw it was me and I was holding Elaine and he and woke all the way up and of course I was saying, "it's me, it's me, it's me, it's ok, it's just me!"

It's nice to know he has good reflexes though, even when dozing off. Beware!

And so ends the adventure of the sliced finger, at least this installment. Hopefully I'll have a good report after the appointment on Friday, though given what I've observed since, I'm pretty sure the tendon is damaged.

 

Grace rules

I'm looking for a new rule to live by. I love rules. When you follow them, it's like a RULE that you're doing it "right" and therefore no one can mess with you. Nothing bad can happen because that's the RULES and you're following them.

For a long time (my life time) the rule I've subconsciously lived by (and recently not so subconsciously have tried to extricate from my brain) is this:

you're not done until it's perfect.

Hence, logically, tragically, depressingly... I'm never done. Never, no matter how much I have done, heck, even if the thing is done - I'm not done. Is or was it perfect? No? Well, then I'm not done. I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong so it can be a little closer to perfect next time. I should have done better. I should have foreseen the unforeseeable. I should have known not to say or do that. I should have planned for x, y and z.

I don't know what it's like to do my best and let that be good enough and just sit back and relax and enjoy the fruits of my labor. I can't enjoy. There is no enjoying. There's only "this may be nice but it's not good enough yet. Here's how it could have been better." I seriously can't think of a single thing I've done that I didn't have some amount of self-inflicted shame or guilt over not doing it better, even if "better" equals "humanly impossible." It's somewhat more terrifying when it turns out that it's just "beck-ly impossible" and lots of other humans can do it just fine. Because then, as you can probably guess, beck despises herself even more for not being able to accomplish something "perfectly reasonable, just look at all those (differently gifted) people skipping along."

I'm sure this perfectionism fed my depression, especially after having a kid (or two.) As any parent will tell you, the presence of a new baby often doesn't allow for even the most basic of things to be begun, much less DONE and finished. So I didn't do anything (or hardly anything) because why did it matter? I couldn't even pretend to be done with anything - dishes, laundry, housework... it was all overwhelming and insurmountable. It would never be perfect. I could never be perfect. I am not enough. My husband and kids deserve someone so much better than me. Etc..

My sweet husband and children have taught me so much about what love and life are really about. Without them I'm sure I would still be stuck. I am still stuck now, to some extent, but I'm beginning to see that I don't have to be like this. There are other, far more desirable and rewarding options.

Grace, being one of them.

Grace, being the one I just don't get.

And with grace, I think it's supposed to be like that.

I've known of grace all my life, but I think, just recently, I'm starting to live in and with grace. God's grace.

I can be done.
Jesus is perfect.
I don't have to be.

...responsibility.

I came across old, OLD archives of my blog today. They were back in the Typepad days... 2004! It was interesting to read what I had to say back then. I miss not being able to write and post pictures as often as I did. My writing these days feels old and tired in comparison. True, back then I was engaged, planning a wedding, Superman had just bought a house - of course there was a lot to be happy and silly about. There still is, now, but maybe I care less. I've been married nearly five years, have two kids, been through tough marital times, tough financial times, tough mental times and no longer own that house (short sale became official last week! AT LAST.)

*sigh*

Age'll do that to ya.

I also noticed I've stopped talking about God as much, somewhere along the line. Probably about the time my faith came under fire and I started experiencing a whole bunch of crap (er, pardon me, character-building experiences) that my little, Christian know-it-all brain had a tough time handling. It's one thing to know all the "right" answers but it's an entirely different (and likely impossible) thing to LIVE all the "right" answers. My Christian know-it-all brain feels less and less like a know-it-all these days, but my faith in Christ has emerged unquestionably stronger. Maybe because it's even more so intensely personal that I've avoided talking about faith-based stuff on my site lately.

And there's been a lot going on in that realm of my life, which is probably why my posting frequency has dwindled.

I also can't talk about my experience as the wife of a person who does what Superman does for a living - it just wouldn't be smart to do so on a public blog. I've thought about opening up a page behind a password for posts relating to that part of our lives but, eh, hassle. Anyone think it's worth it?

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And now, for something completely different: MYSTERYGUITARMAN! Love this guy. Love. Him. Looooove. OK, so it's really just a super strong crush (he's just a baby 22 year old!) but seriously, TALENT. And funny and quirky and now I want to learn Portuguese.

I even got my own YouTube account just so I could leave him a comment challenging him to do a video made only with baby and toddler noises. I'd volunteer my own (their noises are varied and endless) because how cool would that be, but, impractical, boo.

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Elaine has pneumonia and I just realized I forgot to give her the second dose of antibiotics tonight before she went to bed. Even though I have posted a chart with places to check off each dose ON THE MICROWAVE because I was afraid of this very thing happening. Good one, beck.

I asked Val tonight what she thought would be a good reward for not sucking her thumb or pacifier while she falls asleep. She said gum. We don't have any gum right now, but I think it's certainly worth a shot. She's only been sucking anything for a little over a year now but had a pretty sizable over bite to begin with. I'm starting to worry that it will interfere with speech development. She can pronounce all the correct sounds, but sometimes will use a sound that's easier for her mouth to make during regular speech.

Also? Remember how sort of, kind of bitter I was that Val never wanted to snuggle me when she was a baby/toddler? Well! Guess which parent is Elaine's favorite for snuggling? That's right! ME! HA! Elaine is more snuggly, overall, too. Val is only just starting to snuggle while awake - before that it would only be when she was sleeping or sick.

Workmother's comp

Mothers everywhere are always complaining that they can't even use the bathroom in peace. I would like to extend the complaint past mere lack of privacy and into the realm of bodily harm.

Evidence:

I was sitting on the toilet. Elaine was in the bathroom with me. Suddenly and without warning, she reached behind me and swiftly closed the lid on my back while helpfully exclaiming, "OW!"

Ya got me, kid. Now please go out.

Motherhood: more than clean bottoms, although those are nice too.

It was the night before I was to host a baby shower for my sister-in-law.

Superman had scheduled our tax appointment for that evening. Half an hour before he was supposed to leave he realized that he had misplaced the W2. We tore up the office and file cabinet looking for it. No luck. He called the tax guy and found we could still get our taxes done using the year's worth of pay stubs we had, but couldn't get the money until he had a W2 in his hands. (By the way, did you know it costs $8.50 to get a duplicate W2.)

Anyhow. Superman had just left and I began to change Elaine's diaper. I took it off and then realized the wipes were on the bathroom counter. I dashed to the bathroom, hoping I wouldn't regret leaving a naked baby on the floor. Upon entering the bathroom I saw Val standing on the counter, saying urgently, "Moooom. I pooooooped." Hoping that she meant "I need to poop" instead of "I have already pooped" I swooped her off the counter and landed her in front of the toilet. Too late. She had pooped. Then, as we tried to remove her underwear in the least-messy way possible, the poop fell out and got on her new white sandals.

Cue the bare-bottomed baby, who by this point had probably assumed I had forgotten about her need for a diaper. Elaine toddled in to join us and "help" with the poop situation. Of course this was such an exciting prospect that she peed, which collected in a puddle at her feet, and who doesn't like stomping around in a good puddle? So that's what she did.

So, to recap. My life at approximately 6:50 pm on March 26:

Val (3 years) - squirming on the toilet with poop on her bottom and legs, smearing poop on the seat each time she moved, trying to "help" with vast wads of toilet paper, highly concerned over the unfortunate state of her once-white sandals.

Elaine (1 year) - naked from the waist down, dancing in a puddle of her own pee, delighted to help her big sister with the Putting of Things into the toilet bowl, not particularly concerned about getting poop on her or anywhere else, for that matter.

Me (27 years) - seriously wishing I could take a snapshot of the entire situation and wrap it up with a cute little pink bow and give it to the mother-to-be at tomorrow's baby shower.

Because THAT right THERE is what no one tells you about motherhood. That is, until you experience it yourself and then moms everywhere come out of the woodwork to chuckle and pat you on the back while saying, "Oh me too, honey. Me TOO."

Twitbook

Well, I'm officially a mother of girls. Of course this has always been the case, but a few nights ago I made it completely irrevocably official when I bought Easter baskets that have - are you ready for this - removable tutus for wearing while hunting for eggs. Of course they are pink and purple and frilly and flowery and I don't know if there could BE anything more girly. I bought them not because I liked them, but because I knew how happy they would make my girls, especially Val.

*sigh*

Yes there will be pictures. =)

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As Easter approaches I've been brainstorming, trying to figure out how I'm going to incorporate Twitter and Facebook back into my life. Or even if I am going to incorporate them back into my life. I see Twitter as a mini-blogging platform of sorts, so it's important to me because it's writing of mine that some people find entertaining (Twitter automatically updates my Facebook status.) Tweeting itself isn't an issue. Catching up or reading the tweets of people I follow can be an issue.

Facebook is obviously an issue. I was VERY surprised at how often the thought crossed my mind to check Facebook in the first few days and week of giving it up. I was able to see just how much Facebook and the internet in general ruled my time instead of me ruling Facebook and the internet. In the weeks that followed I made the decision to keep my laptop closed as much as possible throughout the hours of the day that my kids are awake. Elaine still naps (for an hour! maybe an hour and a half!) in the afternoons and Val will often watch a video during that time. I try to be productive and use my computer for legitimate work during that time, leaving the evenings after they're in bed for online free time.

I found I enjoyed life more when I did things this way. I want to continue doing things mostly that way. I'm sorry to all my mainly Twitter and Facebook friends - but the people I see face to face every day need to see my face instead of seeing my face behind a laptop. I do think Facebook is a fantastic way to keep in touch, which is why I'm not deactivating my account altogether. It's also one of the only ways I can see pictures that my friends and family have shared.

Here's what I'm thinking currently. Every week or so, I like to get away by myself for a few hours. I am an introvert and this time alone is SO KEY for me to be able to feel like I'm a functional human being. I'm glad Superman is happy to make this a priority. My plan is to check Facebook and read @tweets only during this "time off." It'll be a lot less frequently than I used to be on Facebook, but it will force me to prioritize my time and not be as prone to wander off into a friend of a friends photo album, or waste time in other ways.

So! If you need to reach me, please call, text or email instead of using Facebook or Twitter.

In which Daddy beats out strawberries

I've been doing my best to make dinnertime a place of connecting and sharing instead of shoveling food into kids mouths with one hand while reading email with the other. They do know the difference, you know. I've been pleasantly surprised with some of the topics that have come up over the past several weeks. The standard starter question is, "what is the best/worst thing that happened to you today?"

Tonight, Val decided the best thing was playing with her dolls. The worst thing was the fact that Elaine pooped. The worst thing is usually in some way related to Elaine's poop.

The best thing that happened to me today was playing hide and seek with my kids. The worst thing was getting blood drawn.

Val and I usually come to an agreement on what Elaine's best and worst things probably were but tonight was different. I decided to pose possible best/worst questions to Elaine herself. She sat in her high chair, cramming strawberries into her mouth as fast as she could, chubby cheeks chomping away.

"What was the best part of your day, Elaine?"

*strawberry-faced stare (with chewing)*

"Did you like playing outside?"

*head shaking*

OK, maybe we'll try a not-as-fun thing.
"Did you like taking a nap?"

*head shaking*

"Did you like playing with Val?"
Trying to get a yes, here.

*head shaking*

Ah-ha! Strawberries!
"Did you like eating strawberries?"

*head shake* followed by, "dah-DEE!"

"OH! Did you like playing with Daddy?"

*rapid nodding*

First 'conversation' with Elaine? I'll take it!