We Must be Doing Something Right

One thing I promised myself I wouldn't do is talk about my kids' personal lives in any depth. That's not fair to them. Of course, the boys don't really have personal lives yet, so you know this post is about Cassie.

I have to say something here for the world to see. I am so proud of my kid! She is so much more than I was at her age. So confident, strong, kick-ass-take-names!!! She is who she is and if you don't like her, that's your problem, not hers. I can't believe this is my child because she has none of the issues that I had at her age. And I'm so happy for that!!!!

She just broke up with her boyfriend and she's taking it in stride. She's not all "woe is me, my life is over because I need a boy to validate me". She's all "he doesn't deserve me" and "I deserve to be appreciated".

She's at such a critical age where her self-esteem and her view of herself is being set in stone basically. Most of us have been teenage girls at some point, so you know what I'm talking about.

Wow, must be doing something right. Wish I knew what it was so we could make sure to do it the same with the boys.

I have always found it funny

When men call each other bitches. I think it's hysterical. Knee-slapping, teary-eyed, pee-my-pants funny.

You know what's NOT funny?

When your 8 year old calls another boy in class a bitch.

Calgon, take me away!!!!

And so it goes...

Today was haircut day. Zack's had a few haircuts in his short life - I'd say 5. For 3 of these, he screamed and cried like someone was killing him. This would always illicit looks of empathy from the other parents, and sometimes giggles. I admit that I think sometimes it was funny. This little guy wailing away like the world is ending, but only when he could see the hair stylist. Otherwise, he was transfixed by the movies being shown.

Movies you say? Yes, oh yes. Some brilliant person decided to open a salon that caters to young children. They show movies on televisions right in front of the child getting his or her hair cut. It's brilliant!!! However, it's not so brilliant for a 1 year old who doesn't care about The Wiggles right before his eyes. He cares about the woman with scissors who keeps touching him and wetting his hair. And he hates it. He doesn't even care about the lollipop, just Scary Scissor Lady.

Now back to the other 2 non-screaming haircuts. These were done while he was sitting on my lap, with the big cape draped over me, but not him because it scared him. So we'd finish all of these haircuts with me clean as a whistle and Zack ready for the bath, with hair in all sorts of places. These haircuts were still not great experiences. While he wouldn't scream, he would bury his head in my chest and whine every time it was time for him to move.

As per usual, today I'm prepared for the worse. This one started out just a bit differently. "Zachary?" the nice stylist asks. Zack looks up from his toys, looks at me, who has moved near the stylist and is encouraging him to come over to us, and runs as fast as he can out the front door of the store (it's in the mall, by the way, don't have a heart attack). I bolt out after him with the typical "Zachary, get back here!" yell that I've said so often, I should really have it on tape for easy play-back. Squealing with happiness and picking up speed, he makes it 3 stores away before I grab him and hoist him over my shoulder. He giggles the whole way back to the salon, then he performs the Ancient Chinese Toddler Trick "stiff as a board" when I try to get him to sit in the chair. "Great," I think, "this is gonna suck". A lollipop bribe begins to help soften the rigid child and the piece de resistance - Dora The Explorer. Zack absolutely adores Dora.

I'm standing next to him, prepared to comfort him as I always must. Dora starts, and Zack is magically calmed. He sits, by himself, with the cape on, and starts asking the stylist questions and repeating her answers. "Why you put water on mine head?" "Oh, you do dat and cut mine hair?" "It not hurt?".

And so it goes...he's growing up. He doesn't need me to hold him and protect him from Scary Scissor Lady. He doesn't need to hold my hand. I'm not sure he even noticed that I was sitting there, staring at him in wonder the entire time. Wondering how he got so big. Marveling at how beautiful he is. And he was fine the entire haircut because, you see, he had everything he needed, Dora and lollipops.

"I a big boy, mommy. I not cry" You're right Zacky, you're a big boy. Now, excuse me while *I* go cry.

Who Knew?

I hate it when crap that I hear ends up being true. And by "crap", I mean stuff that I don't want to believe and I don't want to be true. My current example of this is exercise. One thing Dave asked me last week when I was so depressed was "when's the last time you went to class?" He meant Jazzercise class. I couldn't tell him. It had been so long.

I've always heard that exercise can help with depression. I always ignored that because a) I've never suffered from depression and b) who the hell wants to exercise? I sure don't. I did not get an ass this big by working out ;)

Ok, seriously. I decided step one to fixing myself was to get back to class on a regular basis. I went on Saturday and Monday and each time I went, I felt fantastic afterwards. Tired, sweaty, but energized and proud of myself. I wanted to go to class on Tuesday, but Cassie's trip to the ER threw a wrench into it. And a funny thing happened. On Wednesday, I was stressed and starting to feel overwhelmed. I was getting anxious and very touchy about little things. I was able to catch what was happening and ask Dave to help me out with a few things to lighten my stress load.

I went to class today and actually looked forward to going. And you know what? I feel fantastic again. I absolutely have to stop putting everyone else's needs before my own. I need to take care of myself before I can take care of my family. There is no reason why the people in my family can't deal with me being gone for approximately 90 minutes (sometimes more like an hour) 4 days a week. And if they can't deal with it, I'm not going to worry about it.

I will not let myself get into the place I was a week ago and if exercising helps me, then I'm going to do it.

Blood, Bandages, and Homecoming

When you have boys, there's always the thought in the back of your mind that you could end up in the ER at any point with a broken bone, foreign object stuck somewhere, or a gash that needs stitches. Boys are so rough and tumble! And every once in a while, you run into a kid like my Cassie. I have yet to have to stitch up either of the boys. Today, Cassie had her second trip to the ER for stitches.

Now here is what I don't understand. Why can't boys just tell her that they like her? Why do they have to do stupid things like, oh I don't know, chase her around the school parking lot? That's what happened today; a boy was chasing her, she was running, tripped, fell, and took a header into the curb. OUCH! She split her chin open, to the bone.

I was deep into some PTA Treasurer stuff when she called. Here's what I heard "Mom, I'm sorry I'm late, but I fell and I cut my shin open" Maybe I heard knee, but I was definitely thinking lower extremity and that it wasn't very serious. "Ok, honey," I said "Just come on home, you're not in trouble for being late, don't worry about it. And don't worry about calling unless you're going to be later than 5. See you soon."

20 minutes later, she comes in the door, holding onto her chin. She and I talk about something while I'm picking up the living room because my friend, Ann, was stopping by. I didn't even look up at her, but sent her over to Dave for him to check out the cut on her knee. He tells her to wash it off and come back so we can get a better look at it. Then he says something to me about it being pretty bad and I decided to finally pay attention and saw that it was her CHIN. Insert huge DOH face here. Oh my god, I felt terrible. She wasn't crying when she called and she didn't say that it had been bleeding for AN HOUR, so I really thought it was something minor. She tilts her head back and I see lots of red and WHITE. Bone. Ugh, I could faint.

Just then, Ann comes over. Ann is a registered nurse. I love having a close friend who is a registered nurse. She never seems annoyed at my questions and I call her a lot with questions. I asked her to take a look at Cassie and she said "Oh yeah, you need stitches." Ugh squared.

So, Cassie grabs a wet washcloth and a book, we give Zack his hug and kiss that he demands and it's off to the Emergency Room. Our local hospital has an entire ER for Pediatrics only. It's a godsend, I tell you. They took her right back, the nurse checked her out and explained the process for stitches. Wow, I thought, that's fast, I'm really impressed that she didn't have to wait for a doctor to get started. As she was telling us about this new numbing gel that they have, a doctor did come in and looked at the cut as well. He reiterated what the nurse told us. They put the gel on, wait 45 minutes, then stitch her up and we're gone.

Wait a second. I'm seriously going to get a child in and out of the ER in less than 90 minutes? I'll believe it when I see it. So, in comes the nurse with the gel, they get it all gooped onto her, slap on some tape to keep it there and tell her not to touch it, relax, watch some tv, and they will stitch her up in 45 minutes.

Cassie and I had a great time, if you can have a fun time in a hospital room, talking and watching That 70s Show on the tv. Sure enough, 45 minutes later, in came the doctor and his 16 year old assistant. Turns out he goes to Cassie's high school. He's doing some kind of internship and he got to cut the thread after the stitches. I thought that was pretty cool, actually.

There is something extremely unnerving about watching someone stitch up your child. Now, my mind was fully aware that she could not feel anything, but I cringed every time he put the needle into her chin. I was fascinated, yet very uneasy and I didn't want to look. But, I was drawn to it. Amazing how I could see the bone one minute, then she was all fixed up the next. Almost all fixed up. The doctor still had the antibiotic gel and bandages to put on. I have to change the bandage twice a day for 4 days, so I was sure to pay attention.

A few care instructions, forms to sign, and we were done. In 1 hour 25 minutes. That has to be a record!

Did I mention that she's got her first Homecoming dance on Saturday night? At least the stitches match her dress.

Lost

And I don't mean the show (which, incidentally is one of the best shows on television right now).

I feel completely lost lately. I'm not myself anymore. I'm this jumbled mess of sadness and it doesn't make any sense to me. I have cried every day for 8 days straight. I haven't wanted to write about this because I feel downright psychotic sometimes. Then I thought to myself today that writing always makes me feel better, so why not just get it all out?

I can see all the good in my life every day, surrounding me. Yet, I feel so empty and sad. I feel like a failure. I don't feel like something is missing in my life and that's why I'm empty - I feel like I am not good enough for all of the things that I have. In spite of everything I have, I feel that I don't deserve it for some reason. I cannot grasp the concept of David's love for me - it makes no sense. I feel like I'm a burden, a miserable person, and a failure. Yet, he still loves me.

I'm tired of crying all the time. I'm tired of feeling so miserable. I'm tired of waiting for yet another thing to go wrong. Most of all, I'm just tired.

I need to get back to exercise class. I'm huge again because all I do is eat when I'm depressed. Exercise makes me feel good, yet, it's the last thing I want to go out and do. Dave says I have to get back to it because I'm much happier when I'm exercising. I can go tomorrow before I go to see Karen.

I'm constantly on the verge of breaking down. If I hear or think one little thing negative about myself, I get sent into a downward spiral. Like last night. My van wouldn't start. I should have told the mechanic about that when it was in for a tune up a few weeks ago, but I forgot. So, it won't start, I don't get to go to soccer, and I begin to feel like a complete idiot for not doing something about it sooner. I ended up sobbing for what felt like hours, in bed, desperate to not feel that way. This isn't right. It isn't normal. Worst of all, it's just not me.

I don't know who I've become. I don't know why I've become this person. I can't get a grasp on my feelings or emotions enough to change them.

None of this makes any sense to me. I hurt so much but I feel so powerless to stop the hurt, like it's overwhelming me. I'm afraid to be alone because I scare myself.

Pure Evil, Plain and Simple.

I know what you're thinking? How on earth could pseudo-claymation reindeers and elves be evil? I don't care what you think - they are.

Since as far back as I can remember, I have had a petrifying fear of these "cartoons". I can remember very clearly being 5 years old and watching a certain one of these cartoons. No, I will not tell you which one. I watched it, transfixed yet terrified at the same time while these scary, creepy, freaky things were dancing and singing on the television. I went to bed and remember waking up screaming, terrified, not even a few hours later. I can still remember the dream - they were singing their songs in my dream. I ran down the stairs, sobbing and the babysitter told me not to be silly and to go back to bed. But how could I? When I walked the long walk back up the stairs, I just knew those things were waiting in my room for me. And they were going to sing, dance, and kill me.

I can also remember watching, some time later, the one about Baby New Year. My heart raced when the big bird was on screen and I started to cry. Not loud enough for anyone to hear because I didn't want to be called "silly" again. I haven't been able to watch them since.

As a college student, I made the terrible mistake of accepting a job at Blockbuster Video. It was a great job until Christmas time. When Christmas rolled around, suddenly our manager was obsessed with putting on these cartoons. I know she hated me and did it just to upset me. And wouldn't you know - they found "the one". The one that would make me stop in my tracks, cover my ears and sing until the dreaded "things" were off the screen. When I see those things, the ones I won't identify until I'm on my deathbed, sometimes I get so freaked out I will cry a little. Still, at 32 years old.

And for my 32nd birthday, a package arrived from Amazon.com. I was so excited - someone had sent me a present that I wasn't expecting, what could it be? I read the card and saw it was from the wonderful women on my private birth board. But, what was this? The card led me to believe that this present was not all it appeared. I ripped open the packaging like a 3 year old on Christmas and promptly dropped the box on the floor in shock.

Inside was a complete set of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer figurines. After my near heart-attack, I laughed myself silly. The gift was hysterical. Good thing it wasn't the ones that make me soil my underwear, that's for sure.

My fingers are not the steadiest right now, still after several minutes of typing all this. I went looking for pictures to post here and saw "them". My heart rate is elevated, for sure.

And of course, Christmas is right around the corner. I can expect many mockings and my darling husband to some how trick me into looking up at the television as he quickly changes the channel to one of these horrid cartoons. Just to watch me squirm. God love him.

Birthdays

Birthdays are a daily subject around here lately. Mr. 2.5 is obsessed with them. He asks every day if it's his birthday and will get into crying fits when I tell him it's not. We've now taught him that his birthday is in 2 months and he likes to talk about that a lot, too.

"What do you want to do on your birthday, honey?"

"I want presents! I want a cake! I want to blow out the candles! Is it mine birfday ta-day?"

"No, sweetie, when is your birthday?"

"Two monfs!" He says with much enthusiasm.

So, I started to think - when is it that we lose this magical feeling about our birthday? When does it change from wanting to shout it from the rooftops for days before hand, to be sure that everyone knows to wish you a happy birthday on the correct day and make a big fuss, to avoiding the question when asked when your birthday is? My husband has actually forgotten it was his birthday before.

As adults, why don't we still wear party hats and giggle when people sing to us? I LOVE my birthday. I want a big fuss made. I mean, after all, if it weren't for that day, I wouldn't be here so why shouldn't everyone I know cheer like we just won the Super Bowl? Why do a lot of adults look downright embarrassed when you wish them a happy birthday?

Is it because, as adults, we cringe at the idea of getting another year older? I didn't much care until I hit 30. Now, each year brings a scarier number for my age. But, I still want all the bells and whistles. I want to wake up to my husband saying enthusiastically "Happy Birthday, honey" and giving me a big hug and kiss. I want my phone to ring off the hook with birthday greetings. I want threads dedicated to me on the bulletin boards that I visit. And yeah, I want presents, damn it!

Birthdays are inevitable. It's not like if you close your eyes and hide in bed all day, the birthday doesn't exist and you're not another year older. So why not embrace them? Why not act like a 5 year old again and get so excited that it's your special day that you don't even know what to do with yourself?

I think next year, I'm going to ask for a pony for my birthday.

Why is it?

That I can't seem to get a grasp on my feelings? And why do I make bad decisions? I mean, I can sit there and think, if I do X, then X1 will happen and that will not be good. Yet, I do X anyway. I knew that doing X would make me feel better, even though it was a bad decision. I knew that it would relieve the anger I had and provide comfort, as weird as that sounds now, the next day. So I did. Even though I knew that X1 would also be the result. And X1 makes me feel bad.

And now I have to go and see my therapist, who had an opening today but I didn't check the answering machine this morning and missed her call. She's really going to be disappointed in me.

Blah.