Author Archives: momsranting

My girls, at the beginning and the end.

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Today, my first baby turned 17.

myray97

This is when she was just a couple months old…if that.

meandray 5-2014

And this is us today…. she is bigger than me now!

I have one year left at home with this one, before she heads off to college. I know I won’t be close to having an empty nest yet….but she will be sorely missed as a daily presence in my life. She has magically grown into this….person….who I have come to depend on in so many other ways than simply as a child, the first of four.

she is coming to the end of childhood, of her teenage years, and the start of adulthood. REAL adulthood. And all the joys and horrors that come with it.

I am happy for her, terrified for her, but mostly really, really excited for her.

I sat with her at a college visit last week, almost crying as I pictured her maturing and changing into a bona fide grown up during those years away at school. All the opportunities open to her, I can’t wait to see where life takes her, and I can’t BELIEVE we are at this point already…… I just had her. I can relive that day, I still see that purple baby they put on my stomach, me rubbing her foot, not really knowing what else to do, not able to register yet that my life had just changed in an immeasurable way. A wonderful way.

And then I look over here…..

jenna

And see my 17-month old taking her first half-naked selfie…with MY phone!

And I wonder…… am I strong enough to go through this again?

Of course, raising a daughter is difficult. Is it possible for me do as well with this one? And whose to say I had anything to do with the first one turning out so well? (so far!)

I can look back on the times my oldest has hated me, the times I’ve truly disliked her. The lies I’ve caught her in, the “discussions” about why certain things are NOT ok for her to do. The worries, the heartbreaks, and the accomplishments along the way.

The maternal RAGE when my child has been hurt, teased, bullied. Because sadly, it seems to happen to everyone at some point.

Oh, it’s not easy for girls to grow up.

I can say from my own experience, and the collective experience of so many girls and women I know….. the teen years pretty much suck. High school is generally something we would prefer not to go back to. Ever. For so many reasons, much of it due to the fact that it is PAINFUL to be a teen. Transitioning between childhood and adulthood, it is not a great place to be in many ways. We take our uncertainty out on our peers, on ourselves, and of course, on our hapless parents. There is a reason it’s call teen angst.

Talking to my oldest today about how much different life is after the high school drama is over….and looking at my 17 month old, who has no clue what it means to feel unsure of yourself, or worried about what your peers think of you….who could care less if the other tots like her new sundress or not.

I’ve got one daughter at the end of her childhood, and one just beginning. I hope I can be whatever each of them needs, whenever they need it. I hope my oldest will be there to help  guide the youngest, providing sisterly advice that will probably trump my motherly advice.

I hope, I hope, I hope.

And I hope, in the end, that I haven’t screwed up too badly. That my girls remain as close to me as we are now, even closer. I hope they live happily and love deeply….. and grow to be strong, independent women.

And of course, if they are ever blessed with daughters…… I will wish for them the same thing my mom, and millions of moms have wished for their own daughters……

“I hope you have a daughter JUST LIKE YOU!!!”….

 

 

Hey, I really liked my kids today!!

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Today was a good day.

This morning, I wouldn’t have thought it was going to turn out this well. The 4 year old has had a fever since yesterday, and wanted his feet rubbed, back rubbed, and all spare moments dedicated to his comfort….as is expected for a sick little boy….or maybe any sick boy/man….??

The 13 year old had to perform in a concert at school but waited until the last possible moment to start worrying about what time he needed to be there, and what time he needed me to come bring him home. Not to mention the clothes I’d been asking about all week, “do you know where your dress pants are, are they clean???”  Of course, I found them in his closet today, clean and crumpled, and ironed them strictly to save my own reputation as a “good mom” with the other parents who would see him.

The 16 year old, who will be 17 in a matter of days, was full of attitude after waking up before 6am to play in two softball games. The two teens bickered like old women about who cleaned their bathroom last, and who should have to vacuum the basement for me.

16 month old was destined to be the favorite today. Even after painting herself with mandarin oranges and squishing them into her hair.

I was doing my usual weekend cleaning, yelling, cooking, cleaning, changing diapers, folding laundry, moving furniture, more cleaning and begging the oldest two to please stop insulting each other for the love of all things holy.

Then it happened.

It was like the stars suddenly aligned.

Somehow, we all ended up in each others company……not yelling, screaming, crying, fighting or causing damage of any kind.

They played together! Definitely, having the baby helped, as her amazing adorableness can soften the most jaded of teenage hearts. We laughed as Jen-Jen entertained us as only a toddler can, with her budding vocabulary and love of imitating everyone around her.

Dinner was enjoyable. What??!! How often do I get to say that? So often lately it’s broken up by the sports schedules of the two oldest, I end up cooking for the youngest two, and then hours later the others will wander in, dirty, tired and somehow not hungry for anything I’ve made. Lately, a meal with all kids together is rare. Even more rare is a meal with no arguments of any kind, no 4 year old turning his nose up at….EVERYTHING I make….. , and no baby deciding to chuck her cup, and often parts of her meal, at my head the moment she decides she’s full. No warning!

Tonight felt so special. Jenna didn’t spit anything out at me, bonus. Sammy was feeling better, and ate some sweet potato and fruit. the older two actually finished off all the grilled fish, and LIKED IT!! There was good natured talking at the table, no fighting, not even a little!

My oldest and her friend even went grocery shopping with me and the baby later, to TWO STORES!  Nary a sigh was heard. I’m sure the chocolate I bought them didn’t hurt. The girls even made dessert.

We laughed more later at the antics of the baby, crawling after a tiny ant in the kitchen, and blowing on her toes to imitate me after I’d painted them. My 13 year old made me two cups of iced tea. Count them, two…..and I didn’t even ask, well not for the second one. There was a point we were all laughing and joking in the kitchen together. I thought about how happy I was, how nice this felt, briefly wondered if we were somehow all high…quickly dismissed it….

It was a night just made to enjoy. One of those nights you don’t want to end, you just want to keep it going.

A perfect night to savor being a mom. I felt like all four kids liked me, at the same time. And I liked them all too! No one screaming for me to pick them up, no one tattling or arguing. I didn’t feel worn out, as I tend to do by the end of a long day…but instead energized, and grateful.

I have had a day with my four, and I felt loved, enjoyed, happy. I didn’t have to force any of them to share my company, I didn’t even have to battle wits or make empty threats for it happen.

Tomorrow we will celebrate our traditional mothers day, but it may not be magical.  I doubt the greatness of today can stretch that far, surely someone will remember how annoying everyone else is by then!

But these days, when they happen, are the most special. They remind me of what to tell people who want to know why on earth I chose to have all these kids. Because I don’t think anything comes close to the happiness these kids can bring. It reminds me on other, less perfect days….what our potential is. Even if we don’t quite reach it all the time. Just makes it all the more amazing when we do.

 

 

In honor of my Grandma, for Mothers Day.

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Oh, I know you think this is going to be some sappy post about how much I love my sweet granny, and how there is just no one like her in the world.

Well, I guess that is half right. There really was no one like my Gram, but she would kick my ass if I ever got sappy when talking about her.

Gram was a tough lady, she had to be. She gave birth to 10 kids and managed to raise them all into successful men and women, keeping them in line and never tiring of all the work that comes with such a brood.

Of course, I didn’t meet her until a bit later…..

Now my first memories don’t give justice to the greatness of that woman. I used to stand in her bedroom doorway as a little kid, probably 3 or 4, and watch her snoring as she slept. I hid a piece of bologna in her yellow pages once when I didn’t want it, and the garbage somehow didn’t seem a viable option. I remember her always wearing a housedress, always being in the kitchen, always cooking. She was no nonsense, but never scary. Grandma cooked real food, rolling out noodles for chicken soup, tirelessly pressing down edges on pierogi’s, she always had something boiling on the stove.

My family moved a few cities away when I was about 5, so we saw her less often, but visits were all that much more exciting. Her house meant eating dry roasted peanuts and drinking Tang. It meant listening to her talking and laughing with my mom, and whoever else was there. Buckeye fights in the backyard, and country music always playing softly in the kitchen. It was always a place to look forward to.

In my teens, and especially after I could drive, I could visit grandma myself. Usually I went with a cousin who was like a sister to me. Gram loved having us visit, and we loved the attention from her. We could walk to her house from my cousins house, sometimes making up games on the way. “Ok, here’s the deal, you have to get in there and get a dryer sheet, a graham cracker, and get Grandma to say “hot pickle pants” before we leave. There was an unfortunate incident that resulted in breaking one of her glass jars as we dared each other to see if we could get parts of our body to fit into it, while we stood at the top of her concrete basement stairs…. One of the few times she actually got fed up with us, and may have threatened us with a broom in some way….

Grandma had a way of forcing you to take things from her. She’d come to me and grab my hand, shoving a five dollar bill into my palm. As I started to refuse, she’s just talk over me, somehow talking through her nose and her clenched teeth at the same time in this slurry, hurried, loud whisper “Kimmy, just take it, use it for gas money, don’t you give me that crap…” talking over me until I gave up, and gave her a hug, and thanked her. This is how she forced me to take $100 from her when I got my first job out of high school, she bought my first outfits for work.

As I got older, we talked more and more. She was never bossy, never pushy. She was never one of those “woe is me” ladies that might seem like a chore to visit. She would tell us stories of her growing up, good times and bad. One thing I always loved is that you could ask her anything, ANYTHING….and she would not be offended. When with my cousin, we would sometimes even try to shock her with questions, I am sure completely inappropriate. So many times she would just start laughing in her unique way, free and loud, inviting you to laugh with her. She’d just say “you girls are crazy!”

My grandma didn’t drive, and didn’t get out much with all those kids. Even after her own kids were mostly grown, she somehow ended up watching a lot of us grandkids. The woman never tired of us. Perhaps because she didn’t have much excitement in her life, on the rare occasion she did get out, she made sure to enjoy herself. This was usually at a family cookout, or reunion. Gram wasn’t a drinker, but she did like an occasional beer. It was a standing joke, if grandma has a beer, you don’t want to be the one standing next to her. Without a doubt, something will set her off laughing, and with the laugh would come a swinging arm punch to the closest person, just to punctuate her happiness.

Grandma spent some of her golden years living alone in an apartment, I think the first time she had ever been alone in her life.  It was during this time she had her heart attack, and my aunt that normally spoke with her the most must have been out of town. I remember being at work, and grandma called me, or maybe my mom called me to tell me gram was having chest pain and refused to go to the hospital. That crazy lady sat at home during her heart attack and refused to call EMS. Finally, she agreed to let me take her to the hospital so I drove like a maniac all the way. Somehow she likes to think I saved her, I didn’t, but that began an even deeper love between us.

When I decided to go back to school for nursing, grandma was my biggest cheerleader. When I continued on to get my Masters, she rallied even harder. I can’t tell you what a high it is to know there is one person who truly believes you hang the moon….. and I didn’t deserve it at all, but I somehow earned a place of honor in my grandmas affections. I had a rocky relationship with some relatives, and as Gram got older, she took perverse pleasure in extolling my virtues to all those who least wanted to hear it. She would tell me with glee, “I don’t let ANYONE say anything bad about my Kimmy!!” She was incorrigible.

I would come visit her, and sometimes it would only be once or twice a month….. we’d decide on where to get lunch from and there were specific instructions I had to follow. I was NOT allowed to order food on the way, no no no, it would be soggy, or cold for sure. I had to wait til I got to the restaurant, and then wait. Of course I still ordered on the way, I had kids with me usually and sitting and waiting for 20 minutes with a newborn is never a smart idea. If Gram found out….oh, she was pissed. Grumble, grumble…somehow everything tasted wrong. This is something we laugh about now, trying to outsmart grandma, and never quite being able to do it.

She was just so thankful for anything you gave her, any time you spent with her. It made me feel so good to be with her, especially with her always telling me how special I was…and once I started working on my Masters, she would end our visit with a stern face, “Kimmy….you better finish!!” I would promise her, and the plan was for her to be around for that.

The one thing I didn’t ever want to face was losing her. Even as a child, I talked with her about this. I made her promise to come see me if she could after she died, but not to scare me. Just to let me know that everything is ok. I know as the years passed that it had to happen, but I would tell her later that she wasn’t allowed to die ever.

Well, Melanoma came around….with other ideas.

Let me just say that there has never been an easier patient. Every hospitalization brought her new friends and admirers. She loved making friends with the nurses, and teasing the doctors. She never wanted to be a burden on anyone, and she never was. Her melanoma started in a very unusual place, and she was asked if her case could be used for teaching purposes, complete with photos and everything. My grandma, that so refreshingly non-traditional old lady actually joked about posing for x-rated photos…..and how it took this long in life for someone to ask her. We laughed in the face of her stupid cancer.

Near the end, it was difficult. At the time of her passing, she had all of her children, and a few of us grandchildren around her. We spent days sitting next to her, many times all sharing her bed, wanting to be as close as possible.

Now something you should now about my grandma, she was never one to throw around the “I love you’s”…. she let you know how she felt in a million other ways, but to get her to say that was a rarity.

The last time she and I spoke, when she was ABLE to speak…… she said two things to me. She made me PROMISE to finish school. And she told me she loved me.

One year later, I did finish my Masters. Happiness marred only by not being able to see the smile on her face.

But she knows.

I talk to my grandma all the time. I like to think she can hear me, that she’s following along with my life. I know I have been blessed to have her in my life, although I selfishly wanted more time.

This Sunday will be the second Mothers Day without my Grandma. I just want her to know that it sucks without her, but I am carrying on, and thinking of her always makes me smile, and sometimes cry too. I miss her everyday, and still catch myself wanting to call her, or run over for a visit. Sometimes I really miss her advice.

I am so thankful I knew my Grandma so well. I hope anyone reading this takes a moment to think about their mom, grandmother, loved ones in general….. and realizes that there isn’t always tomorrow. Say your I love you’s today. Buy flowers, stop over for a visit, let the people in your life know you love them. And THANK them for loving you.

gramma

 

 

Nothing beats writing in a journal

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I started my first journal as an assignment in high school. January 25, 1991, 10th period composition class. Hmmmm, I was 15 then.

Back then, it started out as something I had to do for credit. We were given different things to write about and turned in our journals to be graded each week.

I enjoyed it. And I kept writing even after I didn’t have to.

There were more journals after that first one. Early ones filled with teenage uncertainty, drama, angst. Later, as life got busier with jobs and kids, I wrote less. I stopped writing in my “all purpose” journal, and started a pregnancy journal for each child. Each would chronicle my pregnancy, hopes and fears, body changes, and later would also include notes about the baby. How I felt (depressed initially, elated eventually), and every once in a while I go back into those journals and jot some notes about, or a letter to that child….talking about them and how much I love them.

Once in a while, I will come across my stack of journals and page through them…reading things I can’t believe I’d forgotten in some cases. Sometimes, when I’m feeling REALLY wild and crazy, I will look up the same date in different journals to see how my life changed over the years.

journals

Here’s how it works. Usually, I’ll check out what I was doing “today”, or a date close to it. So……..On May 1st, 1991, My teenage self was focusing on the very important topic of boys, which one’s I liked, which ones liked me, and how I can’t believe one of the guys I’d been drooling over was actually dating an old friend of mine from middle school…. and WHAT is up with that, “She’s not as pretty as me and her personality is just strange!”

That journal is really hard for me to read. I’m just….embarrassed for myself.

5/1/1997, Pregnancy journal 1: I was up to 155# at the doctor appointment that day, complaining about back pain, hip pain, worrying about labor, and getting up all night to pee still sucked.

4/28/2001, Pregnancy journal 2: “Today was one of the worst days. I cried today a few times.” The baby (3 weeks) has been crying so much, I’m sleep deprived, I saw blood in his diaper and was taking him in to the doctor.

5/1/2010, Pregnancy journal 3: “Sammy is 3 weeks old tomorrow….I’m feeling much better, I feel like we’ve finally bonded. Doing better with breastfeeding-don’t feel so much like he’s not going to survive or something.”

5/13/11, Regular journal: “Rachel will be 14 tomorrow…in a lot of ways those days were really the happiest of my life, I miss it. Things just get busier and harder, I have less and less time. I miss those days with her, I really was the center of her world. I hugged her yesterday after her game, she was upset for playing bad. She didn’t give me much of a hug back. She always seems to be holding back now, doesn’t want to get too close. I hope this changes, I miss her hugs. She’s almost a grown up now. I’m so sad about it, it came too fast!! I wish I could just go back to when she was younger, just to visit and feel those memories happening around me again. Thank God the kids are all good and healthy, I really have been blessed!”

5/1/2012, Pregnancy journal 4: It’s hard to study, I’m so tired at night I fall asleep whenever I sit down to relax. “Six weeks pregnant now, baby is the size of an ice cream sprinkle.”

5/9/2013, Pregnancy journal 4: “my Jenna-Bean, you are amazing! Why do I find you so wonderful, cute, perfect, adorable and fun?? Because you are!! Thank you God for this angel, I could not have asked for anything more…”

These journals are a treasure for me. They really are a way for me to get back into the moments we can’t hold onto forever. Yes, I can’t stand the teen I was, superficial, selfish, and sooooo annoying. But I sure can relate to my own teen as I read the entries of a teenage me, and cringe the entire time.

I visit painful memories. Happy memories, sad memories. I empathize with the depressed me suffering with PPD and worrying that she/I may never feel better again. I enjoy silly memories of my kids growing up. I have mixed feelings still when I read entries about preparing for my first wedding, and the wishes, hopes, and dreams I penned onto those pages. I shake my head at how young that girl was, and how grown up she thought she was.

I realize that time will not stop. My kids will continue to grow, and one day have families of their own. I feel like my daughters will probably want to read the things I’ve written about them, starting with my first positive pregnancy test…..and only ending when I no longer have the presence of mind to continue writing. I’m not sure about the boys….but I still keep writing about them, and writing to them.

There is something special about choosing a new journal. It must be hardcover, not too thick or thin. I hold it in my hand, flipping through it’s empty pages, and wonder where I will be in life by the time I fill those pages. When I find a new journal that looks and feels just “right”… I take it home and open it up, usually 12am or later when everyone in the house is in bed. This is my time to be alone with my thoughts. I put the date on the inside cover, and  wonder who will eventually read these pages, and what will they think of me?

And then I start writing.

 

 

 

 

 

Did I just buy Heroin??

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I may have just spent $200 on Heroin. Or maybe cocaine, alcohol, narcotics… I’m not sure.

I didn’t want to do it. I was mad, worried, and hopeful that I was just being suspicious.

But I did it. Because I didn’t have the guts to say no.

To my brother.

Because I love him. And he went through rehab. And I want to believe he really needed the money to fix his car.

But did he really need me to western union him the money right NOW on a Saturday night?

So urgently did he call, and text. I tried to ignore it because he just got my sister and my parents to send him money for this car last week. Last week when he was also urgently calling and texting me, but thank god I was at work so could not get back to him. The problem is, his car WAS impounded, I think. That’s what he needed it for last week, to get it out of the impound lot. This week, he needs the money to pay for the parts before the mechanic will order them because my brother doesn’t have car insurance…and the guy doesn’t want to get screwed.

Well, it sounds like it COULD be legit.

And I really want to believe that he is still clean.

But as he’s telling me this story yesterday…..and sounding so believable. And so much like my little brother who I love and want to protect….I have this inner voice just screaming at me, how STUPID can you be to listen to this guy!!! This is the guy who lied to your face, EVERYONE’s face before you forced him into rehab and you ALL wanted to believe him then too!! And really, as I am listening to him complain about the mechanic, and how horrible he feels for asking for money, I hear him and it’s so hard to turn my back on him. It’s so hard to hear that voice and remember that it might sound like him, but it’s probably the drugs talking. Again.

What mechanic needs $200 on a Saturday night suddenly right NOW, causing little brother to start calling and texting me and my sister, until he got one of us to call him back, or finally answer. His desperation. Now that it’s over, I see how desperate he was. TOO desperate for just car parts… especially for a car that he doesn’t even need, he doesn’t even have a job that he needs to drive to!

I hated him and loved him as I heard his voice, the hope in it, and the shame in it. I hated myself for not being strong enough, for not knowing the “right thing” to say….the right question to ask that would allow him to admit what he’s been up to. I alternated between yelling at him and telling him I loved him. I elicited promises from him that the money was truly for his car. He gave me the name of the mechanic, the name of his shop. So it must be legit, right??? I told him NEVER to ask me for money again, I would not give it. Then I apologized. I told him if he is screwing me over I will never ever speak to him again. Then I apologized. I told him he has to pay me back, and I apologized again for being suspicious. All the while still suspicious. I hate this!! I told him I wish I could just lock him up in my basement, he laughed. I made him promise to get me documentation from the mechanic showing the cost of the parts, and receipt of my $200. Of course, he promised. I felt horrible saying these things, not wanting to hurt him, not wanting him to feel I don’t believe in him.

I did it because I was afraid that he might be telling the truth…..and how would I feel knowing I let him down if he really needed my help? But I’m an ass. Because truth or not, I don’t trust him yet. I might not ever, and I think I just bought him drugs.

After I wired the money, he must have called 5 times. It wasn’t there fast enough. Then the fraud department from Western Union called me. Weird questions. What is my relationship to this person, how old am I, what main road do I live by…. the last question I really had a hard time with. “Ma’am, did you want to send this money?” I sputtered around, “What do you mean? Do you know something I don’t?” “Are you asking if I’m being coerced??” The lady didn’t directly answer that. She kind of laughed, and asked again. “Ma’am, I just need to know if you did really want to send this money?”

“NO.” I told her, truthfully. “I really didn’t want to, but he said he needed it, so I felt like I had to.”

She said she understood.

I wish I understood. I wish I hadn’t done it.

Heroin. I want to punch you in the face.

Why do we travel with Kids????

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I am going to Vegas in a month.

With a 4 year old.

And a 1 year old.

The flight will be just over 4 hours, and I know I will be on the verge of dying the whole way.

As much as I am looking forward to being there, I dread the task of GETTING there. And that is the problem, because kids are smart, and like wild animals….they can smell fear.

It is a terrifying thing to know you are stuck on a plane with a kid who is about to have the mother of tantrums……and short of suffocating them, there is NOTHING you can do to make them stop. It might be the scariest thing ever. So of course I try to pack for every possible shift in humor, every potential desire, every whim that child may have.

I’ve done this pretty successfully with one young child. But this will be the first trip with two . And I hate myself as much as all other passengers are going to hate me as I walk past them to my seat, holding a toddler, a blanket, a 4 year old by the hand, and a huge backpack with a variety of toys and treats, guaranteed to hold their interest for a good 30-45 seconds.

I’ll be praying to be seated near other people with kids. Best case scenario, someone will have a HORRIBLE child who acts up the whole way, if they are bad enough they might just keep the interest of my kids who can just watch them instead of “Frozen”, which I will definitely be packing. As much as I would feel bad for that parent, I will also be silently thanking them for taking the pressure off of me and mine.

Is that wrong? I don’t think so.

I can’t convey the stress…..

The fact that I have been so LUCKY travelling with a little one in the past…does not bode well for me. My now 4 year old has really been great so far. He went with us to Florida once, Boston once, and Vegas twice before he was 3, and was a champ each time on the plane. I was so proud at the end of each trip, pretending I was somehow responsible for his behavior. Other passengers may have been fooled…..but parents know. They know my turn is coming.

I feel like this trip might just be the one.

The one to put me back in my place, and remind me that I have NO control at all. All the pipe cleaners, stickers, goldfish crackers and juice boxes can’t save me when that baby decides she wants to get off my damn lap and go find something she can put in her mouth and try to choke on. Or maybe she’ll want to grab the face of the guy in front of me, innocently smiling at her as though she’s harmless, and doesn’t plan to gouge his eyes out. Oh, it could get bad.

It could be the 4 year old too. He did recently throw himself onto the floor at drug mart because I wouldn’t buy him a plastic gun there. I had to drag him out of the store, all the while keeping a totally unaffected, even nonchalant look on my face for the other patrons. I don’t think I can pull that off for 4 hours.

My husband hates travelling with me like this, because I am literally so tense beforehand-I can barely speak. I pack so much in the carry-on, because this is life or death! If I can’t produce a spinny thing that lights up like right NOW, all hell is going to break loose people, I just KNOW it!!

So this is my warning to you.

We’re coming. There might be pee, there might be vomit…I just don’t know. Don’t get too close,and for gods sake….don’t make eye contact.

 

 

 

 

Hidden meanings

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It was probably about a week ago, I was talking to my 16 year old while she was using my laptop to play songs on Youtube.

You know that Beyoncé song….. drunk in love??

“Drunk in looooooooove”…. it’s catchy, really.

So, it’s on and I’m listening to the words, and ask “What’s surfboarding?”

“MOM!” “Oh my God!” You don’t KNOW???!!!

I’m referred to urbandictionary.com like, right now.

Oh. Well. Ok then. I’ve become my own mother. That older, hopefully sexless woman who should just NOT ask questions that might lead to a discussion of a sexual nature. And by the way, how does my DAUGHTER know what that means???  Because it’s COOL to know what that means. Because there are sites like urbandictionary.com, bless it’s heart, to teach her when she wonders the same thing.

Days later.

Although I don’t love the song, it’s in my head and I find myself just spouting off phrases. “I’ve been drankin’, watermelon”…… somehow  the way she speaks those phrases just sticks in my head. So we’re in Target, and I’m all “Surfboard”……. “Watermelon”……… “I’ve been drankin'”…… when that same 16 year old has to spoil it all by saying, Mom….do you even know what she’s talking about?

Duh. She loves her husband. She’s “drunk” in love with him. she’s been drinking. something that tastes like watermelon. Obviously she’s drunk. She’s TALKING like she’s drunk….. and by the way, drinking is bad, you should NOT do that. See what happens when you drink?? This surfboard thing. You should definitely NEVER do that……

Oh no. I am completely off base. Do you know that song is like a whole secret code for sexy nastiness? I can’t believe I am basically yelling out these phrases, around my CHILDREN for God’s sake…. and I have no idea what I’m talking about!! Back to urbandictionary.com. Well, yes, that does sum it up pretty nicely. Huh. I had NO IDEA Drankin’ meant THAT. Watermelon!! Really??!! Oh. God. Ugh. And now I feel like I have Tourette’s and I’m just compelled to belt out these phrases because Dammit they are still catchy!!!

Why couldn’t she have just been singing about watermelon Vodka??

Lesson learned. Now I’m afraid to speak.

Sure, I might be telling you I’m going to cut the crust of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich….but what am I REALLY saying?? Better check that out… Or at work, “Ok Mr. Smith, I need to check your lungs and listen to your abdomen. Yeah… lungs… you know what SHE’S talking about….. I’m totally paranoid. I need an app to check everything I’m saying to make sure I’m not soliciting sex from anyone, or selling any of my kids into slavery unintentionally.

This is how I felt in high school…. I never KNEW half the stuff that was going on around me, just went over my head! Kept me out of trouble then, since I didn’t even realize all the trouble I could have gotten into. but now, I need to be in on these hidden meanings, for no other reason than to catch any of my kids who even think of getting away with anything shady.

Surely other people my age, my peers are in the same boat. My best friend, same age…. on the phone with her tonight. I tell her I’m going tomorrow to get a facial, and ask if she wants to grab a quick lunch after. Her response? 

“Facial… you said facial….he he he”.

Really??!

 

I am the worst best friend.

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Do you ever hang up the phone and think back on your conversation….and come to the conclusion that you are a complete ass??

Is it just me?

It’s not my fault really, I blame it on my best friend.

This friend and I share the same first name, the same birth month, the same sarcastic sense of humor and the same thoughts on so many things. From the time we met, it was inevitable that we would know each other forever. We talk almost daily, tell each other EVERYTHING, offer support, criticism, and chocolate to each other as needed. She is the person who inspired me to recycle out of guilt, has me terrified of putting plastic in the microwave, and does not call child services on me when I vent after a long day with a million kids.

It just so happens that she also has a couple kids of her own, and her oldest was born with Spina Bifida. She needed to have surgery once she had doubled her birth weight, and recently had another very extensive surgery to help improve her ability to walk. I am being extremely general here with the details. I just want to give you a little idea of life in her household…. lots and lots of therapy, and although Maddy can walk, she can’t run, she can’t wear “pretty shoes” which is probably one of her biggest issues with her condition. Leg braces, patchy sensation in her legs leading to pressure ulcers because she hadn’t felt something rubbing on her foot…or stepped on something and didn’t realize it… these things have led to weeks or sometimes months in a wheelchair, wound debridement, LOTS of frustration as she has to wait for healing before she can get on with her life.

My friend has cried in the face of an uncertain future… will her spinal cord retether? Will she lose bladder sensation? My god, when she was younger, any pee accident was cause for major concern and surveillance. Yet, at 13, Maddy is a completely normal teen in all the ways teens are normal. She knows EVERYTHING… she has more attitude than she can responsibly handle. Sarcasm??? OFF THE CHARTS. She likes boys, she feels like she can’t breathe without texting or face timing with her friends, and she has confidence that neither I or my friend had at her age. She’s beautiful and definitely knows it.

Clearly my friend is an amazing mom, and she is dealing with so much more… her husband has a genetic kidney disease that her kids have of chance of inheriting, it was found completely by accident. I could go on, but you get the picture…she’s got a lot on her plate.

Oh, yea, she also thinks everyone is going to have cancer…. her daughter was having some stomach issues….BAM, she’s got stomach cancer… Oh, your leg hurts??? Oh my god, it’s bone cancer!!  Her period was funky that month, Crap…. definitely uterine cancer…. I think this stems from being blind sided by her husbands and daughters issues….. in a way she must think if she just expects the worst, at least it won’t surprise her when it comes.

Over the years, I’ve developed a very therapeutic way of dealing with this. It goes something like this……

Her: I’m so worried, Maddy still says her stomach doesn’t feel right….she’s getting kind of nauseous after she eats….it’s been like 2 weeks, what could it be?

Me: Cancer. It’s definitely cancer.

Her. You’re an ass.

Or sometimes I will call and catch her crying. And those calls will typically go like this:

Her: sniff-sniff…hello?

Me. Are you crying?? (bitchy sounding)

Her: a little.

Now there are two tactics I like to use. I either yell at her and tell her how stupid she is for crying, or act like I’m thrilled to catch her crying because I love nothing more than to wallow in the misery of others. Makes my day when I know other people hate their lives.

The end result is usually her calling me an ass, again…. but at least I can get her to laugh for a minute.

I love my best friend. So much. Partly because she doesn’t hate me for being a completely horrible, shitty friend. I am, frequently.

Here is a conversation we had today, literally….:

Her: “I was asking Maddy what she would prefer to be called instead of “disabled”, neither of us like that term. She said she doesn’t know”….etc. etc. etc….

Me: God, I hate that my hair is so freaking curly now, I wish it was straight again-it looked so awesome when it was straight, I didn’t appreciate it enough. I’m so depressed….

Do you know how much this happens?

She will be freaking out that she, or someone in her family has cancer…again….and I will totally make fun of her, and then complain about a “real” issue, like how I hate the pacifier but my husband keeps giving it to the baby anyway.

I suck!

Sometimes I catch myself, like today. I asked her, how are you not offended by me constantly? She said that most of the time she just laughs at my stupidity, and she knows I’m not being maliciously selfish. It just sucks sometimes. She is such a better person than me…even without her amazing efforts with her kids, and her ability to help her daughter grow into the confident and beautiful young woman she is….. my friend is still better overall. She has no microwave, doesn’t use plastic, is at war with GMO’s, artificial food coloring and all preservative. She COMPOSTS!!! She recycles EVERYTHING. (she came to my house once because I was moving and told her I was throwing away some books etc…). She actually removed all the “trash” from my home and sorted it herself, dropping off what she could to be recycled.

Oh My God. I probably just need to kill her.

I’m not going to kill her. It would take way too long to break someone else in, I just don’t have the time for it!

No, I’m just really thankful for our friendship. It works for us, and although it could appear very dysfunctional and even hostile to outsiders, we’ve developed the ability to read each other, and truly appreciate the sarcasm each of us has to offer, as well as the support and caring we have for each other and our respective families.

So while she’s waxing on about how the high school needs to have wheelchair access, and I’m fantasizing about cool laser lipo, we manage to forge ahead in this completely unbalanced but somehow very satisfying friendship.

I plan to make her blog on here…. in the meantime I did get permission to talk about her and her daughter…. I’m not a COMPLETE ass.

 

Nursing Secrets and “Live Boobs”

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pumping is fun!

pumping is fun!

I never was the mom who was able to nurse her baby exclusively for that first 6 months. I wasn’t the mom who was able to continue nursing for the first whole year, or even beyond. I didn’t even nurse ALL of my children!!

I tried nursing my firstborn, for like 1 day.

I gave up before even starting to nurse my 2nd, partly because I was freaked out by the lactation specialist touching my naked boobs.

Third time around, I dug my heels in and decided I WAS going to nurse. Dammit. My husband was extremely supportive (2nd husband, this was his first baby), and the baby latched on like a champ the first time I held him.

Too bad I HATED IT!!!!  I did, I’m sorry, but I did. I still did it, but struggled with myself the whole time, hating it, but not knowing exactly why I hated it. I know that my PPD had a role in my thoughts. We went 2 months with me as his sole source of food. During that time I learned to pump. Hated it too….at first. Ended up being GREAT at milking myself….and froze a million bags of milk. Out of milk by 4 months.

Last baby, I’d set a precedent, of course I was going to nurse….. and she sucked at sucking. Ended up giving up breast feeding after a couple weeks and exclusively pumped and fed her my milk from bottles. I really, really liked that. I think it worked better for my OCD. I could see how much I was pumping, how much she was eating, I could work on some sort of schedule….. all necessary things for happiness in my very structured brain. Baby Jenna got the benefit of mommy milk for a good 5 months.

So I know I wasn’t perfect at it. I’m jealous of my Bestie who did nothing when her babies were infants except sit around and nurse them. All day long. Switching them from side to side. over and over and over. And she felt a loss when her kids self weaned, she still misses it. She is all that I am not.

I think the only time I didn’t feel slightly bothered by nursing was in the middle of the night. I do remember those nights still, with my little Sammy. It was only then that I felt no pressure or need to do anything else, I wasn’t “wasting time”, or taking time away from anything else. For those night feedings it was just him and me. He nursed the best at night, and I remember as he got a little bigger we would just stare into each others eyes…sometimes I’d smile, then he’d smile, back and forth like a couple of loons…. I’d have to look away to get him to start nursing again. Yea, I did enjoy that.

Ok. So. Now I’ll tell you all the weird and cool things about nursing that I never knew before. Maybe if you plan to nurse you would like to know these things.

Like at first, when your body is learning how these boob-things work, it is PAINFUL when your milk comes in!  Like a really prickly feeling, similar to that pins and needles feeling when your foot wakes up from being asleep. It would happen within a minute or so of the baby latching on, and sometimes it would just happen for no good reason. Just a bonus. This got better over time, and actually was never as intense with the subsequent baby. I felt like she never did latch as well, it always felt like I was ALMOST going to have that big milk let-down…but it just didn’t happen with her.

Also, it is apparently common for one boob to have a much better flow of milk than the other one. That was my right boob. Sammy would be nursing away, I’d feel that tingly let down….and then almost blast his poor face off with the resulting gush of milk. After I realized I was choking him, I learned to hold a cloth over myself until the spray tapered off.

Your boobs are ALIVE. I can’t even explain it, but as I sit here writing this….my body is not conscious of them at all. I don’t feel them just sitting there on my chest, unless I jump around or grab them. BUT, when you are breast feeding….those suckers are awake, alive, you feel them there…even when you are not nursing. And the longer you go without nursing…..the more you feel them. I would get to a point that I HAD to nurse, or pump just to be able to stand them! They were living entities growing from my chest, natures way of ensuring you keep paying attention to them.

Another secret? Seriously, probably the best sex of my life was during my nursing days. Why? Again, the mystery of live boobs. Your whole body just feels more alive, more sensitive, more responsive. If something felt good, everything felt good….. I don’t think it’s possible to get close to that feeling again. And no, I didn’t douse the room in mothers milk. They do not spray like fire hoses when stimulated….they can be controlled!

By the way. Breast milk tastes good. Is it weird that I know that? Of course I tasted it, I wanted to know what they were tasting. It’s kind of sweet, not disgusting at all. I can’t imagine any baby willingly drinking formula after getting breast milk first, especially if they’ve gotten it for many months.

I was at Target recently with my two little ones, the oldest saw the breast pump aisle. “Hey mom, remember when we got those for your boobs?” He used to want to pump with me, I would have to let him put the pump on his chest for a bit, then switch back to mine. It was adorable. Obviously, it was also memorable for him.

I look back on my experiences with nursing and pumping, how my first time around I was so modest, going to a separate room or keeping my shirt over everything I was doing…..trying to spare my older kids any embarrassment. By the second baby, I think the image of moms boobs was burned in everyone’s memories. I pumped all the time, and didn’t have time to care about privacy. I cut holes in my bra’s to wear the pump and keep my hands free. When nursing, I quickly learned how to do most things with a baby latched on, as long as I had one free hand, I was good to go.

I’m glad I breastfed. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder with my older kids, but I feel they are still ok, even if a few IQ points short of their full potential 🙂   I applaud the moms who are so much better at it than I was, who nurse longer and can actually relax enough to enjoy it. I always wished for ounce markings on my boobs, and worried incessantly that the baby might always be hungry ’cause who knew how much he was really getting??!

It is satisfying to know that you are keeping that baby alive, and thriving all by yourself…..and it is much easier to hold a baby to your chest in the middle of the night than to venture downstairs to heat up a bottle….but ultimately whatever works for you will work for your baby. My God, I thrived drinking formula in a haze of second hand smoke ’cause for some reason no one knew any better back then!

If you do nurse, you’ll see what I mean about the live boobs. Kind of cool, kind of freaky….. and if you choose to bind those suckers as soon as  you are home from the hospital, I won’t judge you.

Naked in the context of KIDS

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I realized today, as I shouted the words “everybody get naked!”……just HOW much my life has changed from that era of Before Kids.

My request was not made in a daring, funny, or sexual way. I was not at all hoping to see anyone close to my own age in their birthday suit. I’m not sure how it happened, but I find that comments that might have been racy or suggestive in my past, have taken on a whole new meaning.

For example, “Get naked! Now!!”  This does not mean I want you, I need you, I’m dying for your touch. It means literally….get naked. now. I have to give you a bath, like I do every night, I don’t want to chase you around anymore, and I don’t want you throwing your underwear at my head.

Talking about naked. So in the past, if I found a camera in the house with some blurry and close up photos of some sort of body part…..I might wonder what kinky stuff my husband was up to….??  But, no. I find said photos on my 3 year olds leap pad…..and when I tire of tilting my head, squinting my eyes, and trying to decipher what the picture is….I ask him. “It’s probably my butt”… “Oh, really? Well what is THIS picture of then?”, “It’s probably my butt too…”. So this kid then tells me “you weren’t supposed to see those, mom” He had taken his leap pad into my room and tried to take pictures of his butt, saved them, and used them as backgrounds for some of the drawing applications he used. Budding artist, or weirdo??  Probably too soon to tell. In fairness to him, he had done the same with various more acceptable body parts, like an eye, a foot, and also used them for backgrounds. But still…….

So yea, naked is a little different than it used to be.