Eight years ago, when Jay & I were pregnant with Phoenix, I don't think we had any idea how our little family would eventually grow and shape itself. We knew we were going to be a family, sure; I just don't think we had a set picture of what that family would look like.
We did know one thing: we weren't in a rush to pop out more right away.
Jay is one of three boys, born in three years. His older brother was born in October 1977; Jay was born in March 1979. September of 1980, his little brother was here. I have no idea how his mom did it, physically or mentally, but I knew I wasn't up for it, however she had managed.
We both started to get the baby itch as Phoenix got older and around his third birthday, we knew it was time to give it some serious thought. Four months later, we found out Paxton would be joining us. A lot has happened since Paxton became a part of the family; the move down south, another move and well, lots of growing up.
He was only four months old when we moved down here.
Four months.
He'll never remember Portland and I don't even think he remembers the first house we had, in Orangevale. Where we live now will be where some of his first memories take place. And some of his first memories could very well be of Mom being 'pregnant' (whatever that means to a three year old), but hopefully, he'll have a few memories of life before he became a big brother.
That's one reason why we waited between kids: we wanted to be able to give them all the attention they deserve. With Phoenix in school during the day, Paxton is pretty much an only child til 4 PM, every day. He gets my undivided attention and it's just the two of us. When Jay is home from work, the three of us go on adventures like Jay & I did with Phoenix, before Paxton came about.
Sure, we feel a tinge of guilt Phoenix is missing out on fun times but isn't it important for Paxton to have one-on-one, just-him-and-Mom-and-Dad time? Yes. It is. And we deserve to be able to spend time with just Paxton. These little moments with just one kid give us the chance to really focus on that child. We get to enjoy them fully and it's in those moments you see how similar and how very different your kids truly are. You get to appreciate them as individuals instead of as a whole.
With Paxton getting ready to start preschool in the fall, I know I will have time to dedicate to the new baby, just the two of us. I will have a least a few hours every day with just one little person to care for, to feed & entertain. Then I'll have a few hours with Baby & Paxton before Phoenix gets home from school.
It's like a gradual progression from calm-craziness to crazy-craziness. I'll still get to Crazy Town on the regular but at least it won't be a constant. Hopefully, there will be an ebb & flow.
Being in the middle of this pregnancy, I can say I think it will be my last. It hasn't been particularly hard but it's seemed to snowball faster. I feel bigger, sooner, and I'm just more uncomfortable in general but I can see us following this 3-4 year pattern if we do decide to try for a fourth. It's really been a help to have those few years of adapting to our new human before throwing another new one into the mix. I am so thankful we waited to have Paxton because that time gave us a leg-up we desperately needed with Phoenix's speech & it gave us Paxton.
I'm not committing to anything right now, though; we still have 17 weeks to get through before we meet the newest member of the family and there is no telling what he'll bring to the table. If he is my last baby, I'm okay with it. I think the way we've spaced them out will help me be the best mom I can be, for each of them. I'm hoping it will give me a chance to learn to adapt to each of them as they grow up and change from boys to men. I'm hopeful it will give me time to devote to each of them, to create memories with them because in the end, I want each of them to know how incredibly special each of them is & that without each of them, our family would be vastly different.
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Growing Up. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
I say "No" to football
Many of you may think I'm crazy for it; maybe even "un-American" since football seems to be near & dear to our nation's heart but hear me out.
In our house, we don't watch football. We don't follow teams or players. We got excited when the Broncos made it to the Super Bowl, until we found out the one player we felt like rooting for, was made a free agent at the end if the regular season. He wouldn't be playing in the Super Bowl & we quickly lost interest.
That's not why football is a no-go for me; I'm still working up to that. Stick with me here, folks.
Let's go back seven years or so to Phoenix's very first summer. It was great; warm, sunny and perfect as far as Oregon summers go. Jay was working & I was job hunting so Phoenix was in daycare during the day. A nice little daycare where they filled out diaper reports and shit so you felt like your kid was being properly cared for in your absence.
I found a job at a flooring store close to home but had to work Saturdays, with Wednesday and Sunday off. One normal-seeming Saturday morning, my mom called my cell phone while I was at work. Jay had dropped the baby off with her so he could go rafting with friends.
I wasn't thrilled about that and when she told me Phoenix had a bump on his head, I told her to call Jay and a round of phone tag began. Long story short, the four of us ended up in the emergency room of our local children's hospital, where Jay & I got to experience the "excitement" & "fun" of holding down our screaming, frightened baby for a CT scan.
That's when we found out that "bump" was a FUCKING SKULL FRACTURE. And the real drama started...
I will spare you the details of what happened next but it involved law enforcement, DHS and child services, 24-hour supervision for us & Phoenix, polygraphs and a big investigation that ultimately found out nothing. It ripped apart my relationship with my mom and nearly destroyed the relationship between Jay & I. It traumatized both of us beyond belief or possible explanation and created in us an intense fear for Phoenix's safety & his future.
We have never been the same since.
Phoenix is seven now and while we still carry the scars, he has no clue of what he's been through. He's active and smart and besides his speech delay, he's a pretty 'typical' kid. Which is what scares me. You can't SEE his brain; we don't know what's going on in there. We have no idea.
What does any of this have to do with football?? EVERYTHING. ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING.
When I'm talking with other parents, other family members, and the subject of sports comes up, I am always the Odd Man Out because I am completely open & honest about the fact that I will NEVER, EVER consent to Phoenix playing football.
I get RIPPED APART and I can't stand it. Not only is it MY choice as his parent, IT COULD BE DEADLY FOR HIM. One wrong hit, one concussion, & my boy could be gone FOREVER. Do I really seem crazy for keeping him out of a sport that could kill him??
I don't think so.
You want to let your kid risk concussions and BRAIN DAMAGE, that's YOUR CHOICE. You will have to live with your decision, just like I live with mine.
And before you ask, yes, I do realize I am putting my fears first here but in this instance, I think it's the right thing to do. Sure, you can tell me I'm being a bad mom, that I'm holding him back from life. You could argue the millions of other ways he could re-injure himself or say I'm simply being overly protective & paranoid.
You are entitled to your opinion but whatever your argument is, I have some questions for you: what if I'm right and you're wrong?? What if I do let him play and he takes that one bad hit, gets that one concussion that causes bruising or swelling or bleeding?? Will you be here, in my shoes??
NO. YOU WON'T BE.
You don't stand to lose something more precious to you than your own life. You won't have to deal with the fallout. You won't have to feel the emotions. Even now, you are outside, un-involved, except for the limited view I am choosing to share with you.
I am right in the middle.
I have lived with an unhinging, nausea-inducing fear for the last seven years; every fall, every accident, every bump on the head, has caused a panic that shakes me to my core and threatens to steal my sanity. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. I literally black out, tunnel vision. All I see is Phoenix. Is there blood? Are his eyes dilated? Does he feel sick? Is he responding properly? Should we go to the E.R.? And Jay is even worse. For him, this is a wound that reopens with every new injury, whether it's a bump on the head or a stubbed toe. I think coming so close to losing Phoenix, and the trauma that followed, almost broke him.
Every headache Phoenix complains about has us looking sideways at each other and inevitably, I'm reaching for the phone, calling the pediatrician.
'He has a headache?' 'Yes, ma'am. A headache.' 'Just give him some ibuprofen; he'll be fine.'
Yeah, they think I'm crazy too.
Until you've experienced that most-intense level of fear -- fear for the life of your child -- you can't begin to understand the heart-stopping panic, the debilitating fear, the amount of thought that we put into every choice that involves Phoenix, his safety especially. I'm not above admitting that I breath a sigh of relief every time he decides learning to ride his bike or skateboard is "too hard" or when we just can't afford sports. I try to be encouraging because I do not want his confidence to lessen any more but deep down inside, I'm grateful I have one less thing to worry about.
He has a bike, and a helmet, and a skateboard. He doesn't use them. He does rides the shit out of his scooter, though; with his helmet, of course. I don't want you thinking I have him swathed in bubble wrap, living in a padded room or some craziness.
I know projecting my own fears on him isn't at all fair.
I know I need to get over the fear of what could happen because YES, HE WILL GET HURT.
I know I can't avoid it.
I have to do everything I can to help him live a normal, active, life, which means making sure he does stuff like learn to ride a bike. And that he does it often. I need to let him be a kid. Playing sports is part of that and I have to let him participate; he wants to and he is more than capable. He needs to be around kids his age, doing things that don't revolve entirely around speech. He needs to be building relationships and learning how to work with others. I have to nurture him & help him grow; I am holding him back & I have to stop it.
I just don't have to let him play football.
In our house, we don't watch football. We don't follow teams or players. We got excited when the Broncos made it to the Super Bowl, until we found out the one player we felt like rooting for, was made a free agent at the end if the regular season. He wouldn't be playing in the Super Bowl & we quickly lost interest.
That's not why football is a no-go for me; I'm still working up to that. Stick with me here, folks.
Let's go back seven years or so to Phoenix's very first summer. It was great; warm, sunny and perfect as far as Oregon summers go. Jay was working & I was job hunting so Phoenix was in daycare during the day. A nice little daycare where they filled out diaper reports and shit so you felt like your kid was being properly cared for in your absence.
I found a job at a flooring store close to home but had to work Saturdays, with Wednesday and Sunday off. One normal-seeming Saturday morning, my mom called my cell phone while I was at work. Jay had dropped the baby off with her so he could go rafting with friends.
I wasn't thrilled about that and when she told me Phoenix had a bump on his head, I told her to call Jay and a round of phone tag began. Long story short, the four of us ended up in the emergency room of our local children's hospital, where Jay & I got to experience the "excitement" & "fun" of holding down our screaming, frightened baby for a CT scan.
That's when we found out that "bump" was a FUCKING SKULL FRACTURE. And the real drama started...
I will spare you the details of what happened next but it involved law enforcement, DHS and child services, 24-hour supervision for us & Phoenix, polygraphs and a big investigation that ultimately found out nothing. It ripped apart my relationship with my mom and nearly destroyed the relationship between Jay & I. It traumatized both of us beyond belief or possible explanation and created in us an intense fear for Phoenix's safety & his future.
We have never been the same since.
Phoenix is seven now and while we still carry the scars, he has no clue of what he's been through. He's active and smart and besides his speech delay, he's a pretty 'typical' kid. Which is what scares me. You can't SEE his brain; we don't know what's going on in there. We have no idea.
What does any of this have to do with football?? EVERYTHING. ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING.
When I'm talking with other parents, other family members, and the subject of sports comes up, I am always the Odd Man Out because I am completely open & honest about the fact that I will NEVER, EVER consent to Phoenix playing football.
I get RIPPED APART and I can't stand it. Not only is it MY choice as his parent, IT COULD BE DEADLY FOR HIM. One wrong hit, one concussion, & my boy could be gone FOREVER. Do I really seem crazy for keeping him out of a sport that could kill him??
I don't think so.
You want to let your kid risk concussions and BRAIN DAMAGE, that's YOUR CHOICE. You will have to live with your decision, just like I live with mine.
And before you ask, yes, I do realize I am putting my fears first here but in this instance, I think it's the right thing to do. Sure, you can tell me I'm being a bad mom, that I'm holding him back from life. You could argue the millions of other ways he could re-injure himself or say I'm simply being overly protective & paranoid.
You are entitled to your opinion but whatever your argument is, I have some questions for you: what if I'm right and you're wrong?? What if I do let him play and he takes that one bad hit, gets that one concussion that causes bruising or swelling or bleeding?? Will you be here, in my shoes??
NO. YOU WON'T BE.
You don't stand to lose something more precious to you than your own life. You won't have to deal with the fallout. You won't have to feel the emotions. Even now, you are outside, un-involved, except for the limited view I am choosing to share with you.
I am right in the middle.
I have lived with an unhinging, nausea-inducing fear for the last seven years; every fall, every accident, every bump on the head, has caused a panic that shakes me to my core and threatens to steal my sanity. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. I literally black out, tunnel vision. All I see is Phoenix. Is there blood? Are his eyes dilated? Does he feel sick? Is he responding properly? Should we go to the E.R.? And Jay is even worse. For him, this is a wound that reopens with every new injury, whether it's a bump on the head or a stubbed toe. I think coming so close to losing Phoenix, and the trauma that followed, almost broke him.
Every headache Phoenix complains about has us looking sideways at each other and inevitably, I'm reaching for the phone, calling the pediatrician.
'He has a headache?' 'Yes, ma'am. A headache.' 'Just give him some ibuprofen; he'll be fine.'
Yeah, they think I'm crazy too.
Until you've experienced that most-intense level of fear -- fear for the life of your child -- you can't begin to understand the heart-stopping panic, the debilitating fear, the amount of thought that we put into every choice that involves Phoenix, his safety especially. I'm not above admitting that I breath a sigh of relief every time he decides learning to ride his bike or skateboard is "too hard" or when we just can't afford sports. I try to be encouraging because I do not want his confidence to lessen any more but deep down inside, I'm grateful I have one less thing to worry about.
He has a bike, and a helmet, and a skateboard. He doesn't use them. He does rides the shit out of his scooter, though; with his helmet, of course. I don't want you thinking I have him swathed in bubble wrap, living in a padded room or some craziness.
I know projecting my own fears on him isn't at all fair.
I know I need to get over the fear of what could happen because YES, HE WILL GET HURT.
I know I can't avoid it.
I have to do everything I can to help him live a normal, active, life, which means making sure he does stuff like learn to ride a bike. And that he does it often. I need to let him be a kid. Playing sports is part of that and I have to let him participate; he wants to and he is more than capable. He needs to be around kids his age, doing things that don't revolve entirely around speech. He needs to be building relationships and learning how to work with others. I have to nurture him & help him grow; I am holding him back & I have to stop it.
I just don't have to let him play football.
Monday, December 10, 2012
A birthday I hope he remembers forever
We did it. We successfully pulled off a birthday at Chuck E. Cheese's. There were no melt-downs. Not one, single fit of tears. No one got drunk; I didn't even get my glass of wine. We didn't lose any kids, or adults. Our little plastic cups ranneth over with tokens. The Birthday Boy walked out with 1803 tickets, bags full of awesome toys and goodies. The final bill was actually less than expected.
It was one of the best parties I've EVER been to; as an adult, as a kid. In my life. It's partly just because I could never have one like that as a kid. And knowing how much Phoenix wanted this "perfect party". It definitely had something to do with the awesome people who came to celebrate with us and being able to get him the ONE present he really, really, really wanted didn't hurt either.
We got there fifteen minutes early, which was good because they were grossly busy. You know that kind of anxiety-inducing busy you see at some of the must-go-to birthday party joints? Yeah, that kind of busy. I told the gal up front we were there and she started getting our tables ready. We waited in the car, hyping the kids up and watching for family & friends. Jay's mom & step-dad didn't see us in the parking lot and went in ahead of us so we figured it was time to go in too. I took presents and cake to the table & Jay waited with Phoenix for his 'escort', -- GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER. I'm talking about my seven year old son's birthday party here -- a special procession for him headed by a giant balloon with his name on it that I'm pretty sure we left behind. Oops.
Jay's brother, Mike came with his wife, Darla, and their kids Dylan & Sydney and Jay's grandparents brought our 'cousin' Annie. She's five or six and more like a niece than a cousin but she's Jay's aunt's daughter, which makes her a cousin. Then we met our hostess, got tokens and RELEASED THE CHILDREN. We ordered pizza and soda for the grown folk. It's not as bad as it used to be and is better than some of the chains we've been known to frequent. Our friends Jeff & Angela brought Angela's son, Andrew and our friend Carrie came with her son Aiden, one of Phoenix's BEST friends. Monica brought baby Johnny and Carrie's little sister Jordan, who's seventeen. It was one big, happy family and I loved it.
Pizza came and we rounded up all the wee ones. We did cake and the kids got to dance on stage with Chuck E. Cheese. Phoenix got to go in the Ticket Blaster, where he could win up to 1,000 tickets! He went crazy and it was hilarious to watch. I'll post a video on the FB page. When our hostess opened it to let him out with his haul, she quickly ducked in and snagged him a few extras, including the Big 1,000 ticket prize. It was super sweet and awesome.
It was back out to the games and time for the part Jay & I were most scared of, all night -- the final bill came. She handed Jay a receipt he couldn't decipher and told him all she needed was x dollars. When he told me what the final amount was, I was SHOCKED. In a good way. It was less than I'd expected! We were now without a hostess, other than myself, so things went a little whack-ass for a minute. I soon realized it was all on me and I remembered the one thing every birthday has that we still hadn't done yet: PRESENTS.
I rounded everyone up and gathered all the cameras & Phoenix went nuts. He got Batman LEGOS, coloring books and crayons, clothes, a CAP GUN and CAPS (Thank you SO MUCH, Carrie!), an Avengers sword and shield, yo-yos, a Marvels poster and so much more. We saved the Big One for last and honestly, I think maybe we should have waited til we got home to let him open it b/c he wanted to play it right then and there. I don't know how he was surprised when he saw it was a Nintendo DSi and games when that's all he's been asking for since JULY but somehow, he was. I won't even lie and say I didn't get emotional throughout the night. I did. A lot. I kept myself together though and didn't actually cry or sob.
By this time, we were finishing our third hour of non-stop fun, the grand-folks had gone home and the tokens had finally run dry. Kids were getting tired. Parents were exhausted.
Everyone was happy.
We started to split up and go our own ways; the last of us looking real classy with our cars parked sideways in the lot, all our doors open as we said our final good-byes. It was wonderful and so. much. fun. We let Phoenix build his LEGOS when we got home so we could get everything else put away, tucked them both into bed and let out a huge sigh.
We did it. We pulled off one the best, most-memorable birthday parties ever. Yes, he's only seven and yes, there are many more to come but I know this one will be one he remembers.
It was one of the best parties I've EVER been to; as an adult, as a kid. In my life. It's partly just because I could never have one like that as a kid. And knowing how much Phoenix wanted this "perfect party". It definitely had something to do with the awesome people who came to celebrate with us and being able to get him the ONE present he really, really, really wanted didn't hurt either.
We got there fifteen minutes early, which was good because they were grossly busy. You know that kind of anxiety-inducing busy you see at some of the must-go-to birthday party joints? Yeah, that kind of busy. I told the gal up front we were there and she started getting our tables ready. We waited in the car, hyping the kids up and watching for family & friends. Jay's mom & step-dad didn't see us in the parking lot and went in ahead of us so we figured it was time to go in too. I took presents and cake to the table & Jay waited with Phoenix for his 'escort', -- GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER. I'm talking about my seven year old son's birthday party here -- a special procession for him headed by a giant balloon with his name on it that I'm pretty sure we left behind. Oops.
Jay's brother, Mike came with his wife, Darla, and their kids Dylan & Sydney and Jay's grandparents brought our 'cousin' Annie. She's five or six and more like a niece than a cousin but she's Jay's aunt's daughter, which makes her a cousin. Then we met our hostess, got tokens and RELEASED THE CHILDREN. We ordered pizza and soda for the grown folk. It's not as bad as it used to be and is better than some of the chains we've been known to frequent. Our friends Jeff & Angela brought Angela's son, Andrew and our friend Carrie came with her son Aiden, one of Phoenix's BEST friends. Monica brought baby Johnny and Carrie's little sister Jordan, who's seventeen. It was one big, happy family and I loved it.
 |
| Party Time! Photo by Monica =) |
It was back out to the games and time for the part Jay & I were most scared of, all night -- the final bill came. She handed Jay a receipt he couldn't decipher and told him all she needed was x dollars. When he told me what the final amount was, I was SHOCKED. In a good way. It was less than I'd expected! We were now without a hostess, other than myself, so things went a little whack-ass for a minute. I soon realized it was all on me and I remembered the one thing every birthday has that we still hadn't done yet: PRESENTS.
I rounded everyone up and gathered all the cameras & Phoenix went nuts. He got Batman LEGOS, coloring books and crayons, clothes, a CAP GUN and CAPS (Thank you SO MUCH, Carrie!), an Avengers sword and shield, yo-yos, a Marvels poster and so much more. We saved the Big One for last and honestly, I think maybe we should have waited til we got home to let him open it b/c he wanted to play it right then and there. I don't know how he was surprised when he saw it was a Nintendo DSi and games when that's all he's been asking for since JULY but somehow, he was. I won't even lie and say I didn't get emotional throughout the night. I did. A lot. I kept myself together though and didn't actually cry or sob.
By this time, we were finishing our third hour of non-stop fun, the grand-folks had gone home and the tokens had finally run dry. Kids were getting tired. Parents were exhausted.
Everyone was happy.
We started to split up and go our own ways; the last of us looking real classy with our cars parked sideways in the lot, all our doors open as we said our final good-byes. It was wonderful and so. much. fun. We let Phoenix build his LEGOS when we got home so we could get everything else put away, tucked them both into bed and let out a huge sigh.
We did it. We pulled off one the best, most-memorable birthday parties ever. Yes, he's only seven and yes, there are many more to come but I know this one will be one he remembers.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Paxton makes progress
Sometimes, the baby in the family doesn't get all the attention. Sometimes, he gets almost NO attention at all. At least, on here it seems like that.
The last three posts have pretty much centered around Phoenix and well, that's not fair. Lots of stuff has been happening around here that has nothing to do with that little man and his baby brother has been making leaps and bounds in many different ways.
It's been two months, almost three, since Paxton started speech therapy at CSUS and he has finished his first semester.
HE DID PHENOMENAL.
In the few short weeks he was in clinic, he has improved so much. He has started imitating new words, more complex words; he's blossoming and losing the "attitude" he seemed to have. We don't have as many tantrums; I can rationalize with him much more effectively and he's more capable of expressing himself.
Instead of throwing things when the Xbox comes off, he says "I WHAN ECKBAAK!! I WHAN PAY GHAMES!!" which is vastly better, if you ask me. This kid can has an arm, and aim, and anything thrown by him is likely to do damage.
I swear, he's even learning to recognize letters and words now. He knows his name from Phoenix's when they are written out and when our Live was down and all our demos lost their thumbnails, he still knew which games he wanted to play and which he didn't. He is much more engaged then Phoenix was at this age and is even more engaged than he was just a few weeks ago.
I can almost imagine a switch was flipped in that little brain of his and now, suddenly, the world is brighter and easier to understand and navigate. He just seems happier. I can understand so much more of what he's saying; I can see the pattern and I'm more capable of helping him than ever before.
Paxton has two of the three major simplification: deletion and cluster reduction. Deletion is as simple as it sounds; he deletes sounds off the end of his words. CAR become CAH; BALL becomes BAH. Even bigger words like "remote"; he can say 'wee-moe' but the "Tah" sound just falls the fuck off. Knowing this, I just bombard him with overly-enunciated ends sounds; cah-ARE, bah-ALL, duh-OGG, which is what his clinician recommended I do and this is what the clinic she wants him in next semester will do too.
The cluster reduction is a little more complicated but not really. When he tries to put more than a few words together in a sentence, a lot of the sounds go missing or whole words go missing. Phoenix still does this so I'm familiar with it and can usually fill in the gaps on my own. Repeating his words back the right way seems to be helping a bit; this kid just has a LOT he wants to say and he wants to say ALL of it right now.
This isn't just about his improvement in speech, though, oh no. He has been up to a bunch of stuff lately, including a much larger interest in the potty and brace yourselves for this one:
HE GAVE UP HIS SIPPY CUP.
I know. Alert the media.
Let me make it clear that his sippy was strictly at nap and bed time & that he's been using normal, non-sippy cups since he was 18 months old. That doesn't really make it better and I know most of you are also moms and you know as well as I do that we aren't suppose to give them SHIT to drink at night because it's bad for those pearly white baby teeths. That's not a typo, either I meant to to say teeths.
Since he let the sippy go, we've cut down DRAMATICALLY on diapers. I don't think he's peed in his sleep in TWO DAYS. This is awesome because it means I am that much closer to getting rid of diapers for good, which translates into 'money in the bank'. He's finally getting the hang of "feeling the urge" and has started to announce his need to pee for the whole house to hear. He's still struggling with getting his pants off by himself but that can't be too far behind, right?
Now, you put all this together with his THIRD birthday, coming up on the 30th and you'll probably see what I'm seeing, through tear-blurred, swollen eyes: a little boy.
Not a baby.
Not a toddler.
A little fucking boy.
He's done it so fast. He didn't even consider how I would feel about it. He just went ahead and grew up a little and left me without a baby.
Well, almost...
The last three posts have pretty much centered around Phoenix and well, that's not fair. Lots of stuff has been happening around here that has nothing to do with that little man and his baby brother has been making leaps and bounds in many different ways.
It's been two months, almost three, since Paxton started speech therapy at CSUS and he has finished his first semester.
HE DID PHENOMENAL.
In the few short weeks he was in clinic, he has improved so much. He has started imitating new words, more complex words; he's blossoming and losing the "attitude" he seemed to have. We don't have as many tantrums; I can rationalize with him much more effectively and he's more capable of expressing himself.
Instead of throwing things when the Xbox comes off, he says "I WHAN ECKBAAK!! I WHAN PAY GHAMES!!" which is vastly better, if you ask me. This kid can has an arm, and aim, and anything thrown by him is likely to do damage.
I swear, he's even learning to recognize letters and words now. He knows his name from Phoenix's when they are written out and when our Live was down and all our demos lost their thumbnails, he still knew which games he wanted to play and which he didn't. He is much more engaged then Phoenix was at this age and is even more engaged than he was just a few weeks ago.
I can almost imagine a switch was flipped in that little brain of his and now, suddenly, the world is brighter and easier to understand and navigate. He just seems happier. I can understand so much more of what he's saying; I can see the pattern and I'm more capable of helping him than ever before.
I should be getting his full report here pretty soon and recommendations for next semester, which doesn't start until February but what we found out in this clinic was there are a few phonological simplifying processes' behind Paxton's speech delay. What the hell does that mean?? you ask.
"Children below the age of about 4;06 years may not have sufficient ability to fully co-ordinate the movement of their vocal apparatus. As a consequence, certain sounds, sound combinations or transitions from one sound to another may be currently too difficult. The child may, therefore, simplify the production of complex words. "
The cluster reduction is a little more complicated but not really. When he tries to put more than a few words together in a sentence, a lot of the sounds go missing or whole words go missing. Phoenix still does this so I'm familiar with it and can usually fill in the gaps on my own. Repeating his words back the right way seems to be helping a bit; this kid just has a LOT he wants to say and he wants to say ALL of it right now.
This isn't just about his improvement in speech, though, oh no. He has been up to a bunch of stuff lately, including a much larger interest in the potty and brace yourselves for this one:
HE GAVE UP HIS SIPPY CUP.
I know. Alert the media.
Let me make it clear that his sippy was strictly at nap and bed time & that he's been using normal, non-sippy cups since he was 18 months old. That doesn't really make it better and I know most of you are also moms and you know as well as I do that we aren't suppose to give them SHIT to drink at night because it's bad for those pearly white baby teeths. That's not a typo, either I meant to to say teeths.
Since he let the sippy go, we've cut down DRAMATICALLY on diapers. I don't think he's peed in his sleep in TWO DAYS. This is awesome because it means I am that much closer to getting rid of diapers for good, which translates into 'money in the bank'. He's finally getting the hang of "feeling the urge" and has started to announce his need to pee for the whole house to hear. He's still struggling with getting his pants off by himself but that can't be too far behind, right?
Now, you put all this together with his THIRD birthday, coming up on the 30th and you'll probably see what I'm seeing, through tear-blurred, swollen eyes: a little boy.
Not a baby.
Not a toddler.
A little fucking boy.
He's done it so fast. He didn't even consider how I would feel about it. He just went ahead and grew up a little and left me without a baby.
Well, almost...
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Life Changer
Seven years ago. Today. Man, what a day.
It changed my life in so many ways. So, so many ways.
After weeks of strict bed-rest, high blood pressure and pregnancy-induced hypertension, we were going to have a baby.
I was excited, nervous, overwhelmed, scared and ready. My pregnancy with Phoenix was anything but pleasant, with morning sickness all day throughout most of the pregnancy and two hospitalizations for dehydration from the morning sickness. I wanted my body back but more than anything, I was ready to meet my son.
Besides the PIH, the morning sickness and dehydration, my pregnancy was rough in other ways. Jay and I had our first date about 3 weeks before we got pregnant and I don't think I need to say, it was a surprise when we found out we were expecting. Things were crazy. Lots of fighting. Lots of anger and resentment. I wasn't sure "we" would make it and I'm being totally candid when I say that.
It was rough and I was scared. I didn't know what my future held; I didn't know where my choices would take me or the consequences they would have. I knew I was in love, though, with this tiny little being growing in my body. I knew that before I ever saw him & I knew that he would change my life.
I didn't know then how difficult his labor was, which is probably great. I didn't know to be even more scared than I already was. They had to test the amniotic fluid before letting me go into hard labor because they weren't sure if his lungs were fully developed. They got an oxygen cart ready and called NICU.
I was oblivious. Blissfully oblivious, wrapped in a cocoon of fuzziness brought on by the epidural I had proudly admitted I was considering weeks before in birthing classes. I'd been the only one.
I knew things weren't so great when my monitors started going off, beeping and chiming, bringing nurses running. I knew the fetal heart monitor they told me they were screwing into my baby's head meant that his heart rate was dropping and the doctors were worried about him. I still didn't know to be scared.
I never felt the incision when they sliced me to help get him out but I definitely felt the tearing when he literally busted out of my va-jay-jay, shoulders at an angle.
At 3:51 P.M. on Sunday, December 4th, 2005, I met my son. Phoenix Samuel.
He came out wailing and as soon as they set him on my chest, he shit all over me. They suctioned out his mouth and nose and murmured inquiries about whether or not my fluid had signs of meconium in it. The word tickled my drug-addled brain but I couldn't put the pieces together.
I handed him back to be cleaned up, barely noticing he was more blue than red. I saw all the equipment and the oxygen tanks. It can't be serious or they would tell me, I thought. I hadn't noticed the surgeon come in or the ever-increasing crowd that was growing around my nether regions. I was watching my baby and listening to Jay coo at me, soothing me in a way I had never expected him to be capable of. He'd been there, at my side, through all of it. Holding my hand, wiping my hair out of my face. Every word his said was the right one. Never once did he upset me or make me feel anything but loved, adored and utterly cared for.
That day showed me that we could love each other in spite of the stress we had been through in the nine months we'd been waiting for this little boy. I knew I would never be with another man again in my life. I knew with the clarity that bespeaks of a divine intervention, if you believe in that sort of thing.
My reverie was broken when the collection of medical personnel gathered between my legs called Jay over with the words, "How does this look?". I will never forget those words or the look on his face and the color completely draining away as he looked at what had to be the most disgusting thing he'd every seen: a vagina freshly mangled by child birth, oh-so-carefully stitched back together. Not a pretty sight, I imagine.
We'd done it. He was here. They wheeled him away with a mask over his little baby face.
I didn't get to see him weighed. I didn't get to see him measured or watch them ink his little feet.
He was off to NICU. His lungs weren't as good as they'd thought and his heart rate was erratic. He needed oxygen. I was too exhausted to be scared, now. I'd been in labor for 20 hours, counting the pre-hospital contractions the day I was admitted, spending most of the night on that medicine ball I mentioned early and all I wanted was sleep. I had no idea what had just happened.
We got to see him a few hours later. He had stabilized and was doing good. Jay gave him his first bath and we found out he was born at 7 lbs 14 oz and was a whopping 22 inches long. The first time I got to feed him, we watched The Simpsons and to this day, the kid knows and recognizes anything and everything Simpsons-related.
Two days later, we went home. As he's grown, the problem with his lungs has stayed and will always be there. His distress during labor had been caused by a birth defect, a congenital malformation, called pectus excavatum; an indented sternum. His little chest cavity isn't as big as it should be; his lungs don't have enough room and neither does his little heart. Fortunately, we've managed to avoid any sort of heart trouble, so far.
I didn't know when we took him home what his first year would hold. I was blissfully oblivious. I had this beautiful, marvelous little being to occupy my thoughts and time. I had my baby and I was a mom. Seven years later, I am a much better mom, with vastly greater appreciation for the gift I was given that day. I have learned that to be a mom, you must put the needs of your children far above your own wants. You must love unconditionally, yourself included. You must be patience and kind, firm and strong. You must be willing to change and learn.
Phoenix has taught me all of this and volumes more. He has given me a gift I can never, ever repay; I owe it to him to be the best mom I can be. I am so grateful for him, so thankful to have him as my own. I would go through every challenge, all the years with no talking, all the tantrums and poopy diapers, the fights and stress, I would do it all again in a heartbeat, just to have him as my son.
So, to the little boy who stole my heart;
the little boy who gave me a light to see by;
the little boy who is no longer a little boy;
It changed my life in so many ways. So, so many ways.
After weeks of strict bed-rest, high blood pressure and pregnancy-induced hypertension, we were going to have a baby.I was excited, nervous, overwhelmed, scared and ready. My pregnancy with Phoenix was anything but pleasant, with morning sickness all day throughout most of the pregnancy and two hospitalizations for dehydration from the morning sickness. I wanted my body back but more than anything, I was ready to meet my son.
Besides the PIH, the morning sickness and dehydration, my pregnancy was rough in other ways. Jay and I had our first date about 3 weeks before we got pregnant and I don't think I need to say, it was a surprise when we found out we were expecting. Things were crazy. Lots of fighting. Lots of anger and resentment. I wasn't sure "we" would make it and I'm being totally candid when I say that.
It was rough and I was scared. I didn't know what my future held; I didn't know where my choices would take me or the consequences they would have. I knew I was in love, though, with this tiny little being growing in my body. I knew that before I ever saw him & I knew that he would change my life.
I didn't know then how difficult his labor was, which is probably great. I didn't know to be even more scared than I already was. They had to test the amniotic fluid before letting me go into hard labor because they weren't sure if his lungs were fully developed. They got an oxygen cart ready and called NICU.
I was oblivious. Blissfully oblivious, wrapped in a cocoon of fuzziness brought on by the epidural I had proudly admitted I was considering weeks before in birthing classes. I'd been the only one.
I knew things weren't so great when my monitors started going off, beeping and chiming, bringing nurses running. I knew the fetal heart monitor they told me they were screwing into my baby's head meant that his heart rate was dropping and the doctors were worried about him. I still didn't know to be scared.
I never felt the incision when they sliced me to help get him out but I definitely felt the tearing when he literally busted out of my va-jay-jay, shoulders at an angle.
At 3:51 P.M. on Sunday, December 4th, 2005, I met my son. Phoenix Samuel.
He came out wailing and as soon as they set him on my chest, he shit all over me. They suctioned out his mouth and nose and murmured inquiries about whether or not my fluid had signs of meconium in it. The word tickled my drug-addled brain but I couldn't put the pieces together.
I handed him back to be cleaned up, barely noticing he was more blue than red. I saw all the equipment and the oxygen tanks. It can't be serious or they would tell me, I thought. I hadn't noticed the surgeon come in or the ever-increasing crowd that was growing around my nether regions. I was watching my baby and listening to Jay coo at me, soothing me in a way I had never expected him to be capable of. He'd been there, at my side, through all of it. Holding my hand, wiping my hair out of my face. Every word his said was the right one. Never once did he upset me or make me feel anything but loved, adored and utterly cared for.
That day showed me that we could love each other in spite of the stress we had been through in the nine months we'd been waiting for this little boy. I knew I would never be with another man again in my life. I knew with the clarity that bespeaks of a divine intervention, if you believe in that sort of thing.
My reverie was broken when the collection of medical personnel gathered between my legs called Jay over with the words, "How does this look?". I will never forget those words or the look on his face and the color completely draining away as he looked at what had to be the most disgusting thing he'd every seen: a vagina freshly mangled by child birth, oh-so-carefully stitched back together. Not a pretty sight, I imagine.
We'd done it. He was here. They wheeled him away with a mask over his little baby face.
I didn't get to see him weighed. I didn't get to see him measured or watch them ink his little feet.
He was off to NICU. His lungs weren't as good as they'd thought and his heart rate was erratic. He needed oxygen. I was too exhausted to be scared, now. I'd been in labor for 20 hours, counting the pre-hospital contractions the day I was admitted, spending most of the night on that medicine ball I mentioned early and all I wanted was sleep. I had no idea what had just happened.
We got to see him a few hours later. He had stabilized and was doing good. Jay gave him his first bath and we found out he was born at 7 lbs 14 oz and was a whopping 22 inches long. The first time I got to feed him, we watched The Simpsons and to this day, the kid knows and recognizes anything and everything Simpsons-related.Two days later, we went home. As he's grown, the problem with his lungs has stayed and will always be there. His distress during labor had been caused by a birth defect, a congenital malformation, called pectus excavatum; an indented sternum. His little chest cavity isn't as big as it should be; his lungs don't have enough room and neither does his little heart. Fortunately, we've managed to avoid any sort of heart trouble, so far.
I didn't know when we took him home what his first year would hold. I was blissfully oblivious. I had this beautiful, marvelous little being to occupy my thoughts and time. I had my baby and I was a mom. Seven years later, I am a much better mom, with vastly greater appreciation for the gift I was given that day. I have learned that to be a mom, you must put the needs of your children far above your own wants. You must love unconditionally, yourself included. You must be patience and kind, firm and strong. You must be willing to change and learn.
Phoenix has taught me all of this and volumes more. He has given me a gift I can never, ever repay; I owe it to him to be the best mom I can be. I am so grateful for him, so thankful to have him as my own. I would go through every challenge, all the years with no talking, all the tantrums and poopy diapers, the fights and stress, I would do it all again in a heartbeat, just to have him as my son.
So, to the little boy who stole my heart;
the little boy who gave me a light to see by;
the little boy who is no longer a little boy;
Happy Birthday. Mama loves you so much.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Behind this door
After being a full-time SAHM for nearly four years (holyfuckingshit. are you serious??), I can assure those of you who aren't "lucky" enough to get to spend your entire day, week after week, covered in food, spit, poop and vomit, cleaning incessantly but never really cleaning anything, weighed down on one side by a toddler that weighs forty pounds (just ten less than his senior-by-four-years brother), that there is a secret world behind this door.
It's not evil. It's not bad at all. It's not about forcing kids to do chores. Or beating them. It's not better or worse than the way the house functions when Dad is home or when you replace me with a mom who goes to work.
It's just different.
I can easily spend what amounts to every single waking hour (and quite a few non-waking hours, as well) with the kids, taking care of housework, homework and busy-work; running errands, grocery shopping, coupon clipping; wiping faces, noses, and hands, kissing boo-boos and fixing broken Legos. -- They supposed to come apart, son. Then you put them back together. THEY ARE LEGOS. Yes, they are pretty awesome.-- and I get into this flow.
We have routines that only I know.
I go shopping at this time because Kid 1 is in school & Kid 2 will still be moderately well-behaved for another hour or two. As long as you don't give him sugar. At all. PERIOD. NO SUGAR. Then Kid 2 takes a nap at exactly this time to ensure maximum nap-age while maintaining enough of an energy drain to guarantee a decent bed time. VERY tricking math to pull off when your dealing with a two year old. I start cooking dinner right now because if dinner's not done in x minutes, I'm going to be bombarded with hungry children, crying for yogurt and chips and cereal. I just find ways to make life easier because when life is more pleasant, and less stressful, Mom never even starts to think about all the places she could hides bodies.
I can't speak for all SAHMs but when I find something that works, something that makes my days easier, I use it. So these rituals are born and viola! life is more pleasant and a little less stressful. For a little while.
It's not that Dad is incapable of re-creating these weird little rituals (does that sound too cult-y? I swear, I don't make them chant incantations. That's just how they talk. Ear problems, you know.), it's the simple fact that taking the time to explain the how and why would be just enough time to make me sound bat-shit crazy. And because, well, what works for me isn't guaranteed to work for Dad. Or anyone else.
These are my tricks, the things I've learned through experience, trial and error, and found to be effective. They work for me because the relationship I have with these kids is special. And it's special because I'm here with them every day. I see them at their worst & at their best and they see me in all my raging glory too. They might not understand me the way I'm able to understand them but they see and they help define the rituals we have together. They want to be a part of what is happening. They want to be included in everything.
These boys are becoming themselves more and more, every day, and they now have some responsibility for our relationship. Their actions and emotions impact how we interact and get along and they are now building relationships with everyone they come in contact with.
They are why we have these rituals and they're starting rituals of their own with all the people in their lives.
They are letting me, and everyone else, know what will work for them, what they are willing to accept from us. They are setting boundaries and learning the limitations we're setting for them.
Of course they act differently for Dad and Grandma and every other person. They have different, unique, relationships with each person they meet so it makes sense that they would act differently & enjoy different things with each of us, uniquely, and it makes me aware of the incredible relationship I'm able to build with with them because I can be at home.
Any parent who stays at home gets to have this kind of interaction, this closeness and sense of intimacy with their kids. If you're aware enough to grasp what's happening, right in front of your face. Really good parents can have this and still work.
And it can just as easily be over looked by any parent in times of stress and when life gets busy with the day-to-day stuff. You have to pay attention to appreciate what's really happening as our kids get older.
And you might find yourself feeling like the world you share with your kids is a secret world too. A world just for you & them.
It's not evil. It's not bad at all. It's not about forcing kids to do chores. Or beating them. It's not better or worse than the way the house functions when Dad is home or when you replace me with a mom who goes to work.
It's just different.
I can easily spend what amounts to every single waking hour (and quite a few non-waking hours, as well) with the kids, taking care of housework, homework and busy-work; running errands, grocery shopping, coupon clipping; wiping faces, noses, and hands, kissing boo-boos and fixing broken Legos. -- They supposed to come apart, son. Then you put them back together. THEY ARE LEGOS. Yes, they are pretty awesome.-- and I get into this flow.
We have routines that only I know.
I go shopping at this time because Kid 1 is in school & Kid 2 will still be moderately well-behaved for another hour or two. As long as you don't give him sugar. At all. PERIOD. NO SUGAR. Then Kid 2 takes a nap at exactly this time to ensure maximum nap-age while maintaining enough of an energy drain to guarantee a decent bed time. VERY tricking math to pull off when your dealing with a two year old. I start cooking dinner right now because if dinner's not done in x minutes, I'm going to be bombarded with hungry children, crying for yogurt and chips and cereal. I just find ways to make life easier because when life is more pleasant, and less stressful, Mom never even starts to think about all the places she could hides bodies.
I can't speak for all SAHMs but when I find something that works, something that makes my days easier, I use it. So these rituals are born and viola! life is more pleasant and a little less stressful. For a little while.
It's not that Dad is incapable of re-creating these weird little rituals (does that sound too cult-y? I swear, I don't make them chant incantations. That's just how they talk. Ear problems, you know.), it's the simple fact that taking the time to explain the how and why would be just enough time to make me sound bat-shit crazy. And because, well, what works for me isn't guaranteed to work for Dad. Or anyone else.
These are my tricks, the things I've learned through experience, trial and error, and found to be effective. They work for me because the relationship I have with these kids is special. And it's special because I'm here with them every day. I see them at their worst & at their best and they see me in all my raging glory too. They might not understand me the way I'm able to understand them but they see and they help define the rituals we have together. They want to be a part of what is happening. They want to be included in everything.
These boys are becoming themselves more and more, every day, and they now have some responsibility for our relationship. Their actions and emotions impact how we interact and get along and they are now building relationships with everyone they come in contact with.
They are why we have these rituals and they're starting rituals of their own with all the people in their lives.
They are letting me, and everyone else, know what will work for them, what they are willing to accept from us. They are setting boundaries and learning the limitations we're setting for them.
Of course they act differently for Dad and Grandma and every other person. They have different, unique, relationships with each person they meet so it makes sense that they would act differently & enjoy different things with each of us, uniquely, and it makes me aware of the incredible relationship I'm able to build with with them because I can be at home.
Any parent who stays at home gets to have this kind of interaction, this closeness and sense of intimacy with their kids. If you're aware enough to grasp what's happening, right in front of your face. Really good parents can have this and still work.
And it can just as easily be over looked by any parent in times of stress and when life gets busy with the day-to-day stuff. You have to pay attention to appreciate what's really happening as our kids get older.
And you might find yourself feeling like the world you share with your kids is a secret world too. A world just for you & them.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Coming together again
I haven't talked about my mom on here in over a year. I haven't seen her since Christmas 2012, when I cut her visit short and sent her home early after a blow-out the day after Christmas.
It wasn't anything she'd done, just a lot of unresolved issues that all came to a head at once. A lifetime of issues. It wasn't a fight I wanted to have but it was one that needed to happen. Dirty laundry needed to be aired, boundaries needed to be laid out; the relationship between us needed to be redefined.
Since then, we've both had time to ourselves to think & grow in ways we both needed. My mom seems more capable of seeing me as a woman and a mother than ever before; she's taking accountability for things she's done & cannot change; she's showing remorse for the mistakes she's made and is making the effort to be a better her. She's beginning to see that our mistakes don't make us bad people; they give us the chance to change.
I got beautiful letter from her a couple weeks ago & was incredibly touched by the insight she showed. For the first time in a long time, I'm not anxious over our relationship. I feel good about where we're at, right now.
She's coming down for her first visit since that awkward drive to the airport a year and a half ago. She and her boyfriend are setting up camp at a little R.V. park 20 minutes north of town. There's a lake with fish, paddle boats & canoes so Jay & I are going to trek up with the kids to camp for a few nights.
They should be here sometime today.
So much seems to have change and I'm getting more & more excited to see her. It's like my mom's been lost for awhile & now, I've finally found her again. I'm hoping I can talk them into coming into town for a bit; I'd like to show her where we're at now, maybe have dinner with the in-laws but no matter what, it will be awesome just to see her.
It wasn't anything she'd done, just a lot of unresolved issues that all came to a head at once. A lifetime of issues. It wasn't a fight I wanted to have but it was one that needed to happen. Dirty laundry needed to be aired, boundaries needed to be laid out; the relationship between us needed to be redefined.
Since then, we've both had time to ourselves to think & grow in ways we both needed. My mom seems more capable of seeing me as a woman and a mother than ever before; she's taking accountability for things she's done & cannot change; she's showing remorse for the mistakes she's made and is making the effort to be a better her. She's beginning to see that our mistakes don't make us bad people; they give us the chance to change.
I got beautiful letter from her a couple weeks ago & was incredibly touched by the insight she showed. For the first time in a long time, I'm not anxious over our relationship. I feel good about where we're at, right now.
She's coming down for her first visit since that awkward drive to the airport a year and a half ago. She and her boyfriend are setting up camp at a little R.V. park 20 minutes north of town. There's a lake with fish, paddle boats & canoes so Jay & I are going to trek up with the kids to camp for a few nights.
They should be here sometime today.
So much seems to have change and I'm getting more & more excited to see her. It's like my mom's been lost for awhile & now, I've finally found her again. I'm hoping I can talk them into coming into town for a bit; I'd like to show her where we're at now, maybe have dinner with the in-laws but no matter what, it will be awesome just to see her.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Second Battle
When you have one child with a certain set of problems, you become hyper-aware when a second develops the same set of problems...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Divine Intervention
In my life, I've come the conclusion that sometimes bad things happen to good people; what can go wrong, will go wrong and the little guy will always get shoved around by the big guy. I've also learned that sometimes things just work out, for no good reason. It's hard for me to understand what creates these situations but I'd like to think there are reasons for them, even if we don't always understand what those reasons are. It can't really be these things are events of our own creation, can it?
When things that maybe shouldn't go so well, do in fact go really, really well and I know it just chance or luck, I often think about my dad. It took me awhile this time but last night, I had the feeling I get sometimes when it feels like he's close and I wonder if he's sending energy my way, helping me when I need it the most. Dad always told me 'Everything works out in the end' and it's funny but it does.
The last two weeks have been incredibly stressful; coming to the realization that we needed to move and fast, knowing our credit is so jacked there was no way we could get into a place without a HUGE deposit, then coming to the conclusion that our only option was to ask our property management not to evict us, 'ignore' the back-rent we owe them and out of the goodness of their hearts, let us move into a smaller, more affordable place. And after waiting almost a week to hear back, there's really no reason why they said 'Sure. Just let us do a walk-through to make sure you haven't trashed the first place." No really, she said that.
I was so elated to hear that we won't be essentially homeless that I didn't even really think about the motivation they have for keeping us around. Yes, they make money off us every month, theoretically, but I will admit, I haven't been the best at maintaining a cordial Landlord-Tenant relationship. See, I have trouble with confrontation when I know I'm in the wrong. I know it sounds ridiculous but I'd rather be called out for my bullshit by someone else; who wants to call "bullshit" on themselves?
So when money got tight and we couldn't pay rent on time or at all, I found it incredibly difficult to call property management to explain. They don't really care why rent's late, they just want to know when it's gonna get paid. Which makes their willingness to work with us that much more miraculous to me. I didn't really think about it until last night, after Jay & I had finished packing our room & the office. Dad. I know it sounds crazy but my dad has been on my mind for weeks; there's nothing "special" about this time of year, in relation to my dad, and I couldn't really think of why he'd been occupying my thoughts so much.
I like to think that these moments are when his energy is strongest around me; this is his way of saying, 'Yes, I'm still here.". Usually when I think something that's happened has been 'touched' by his energy, I know right away. I find $20 in a pair of jeans that haven't been worn in forever when we're on the verge of serfdom & I say a little 'Thank you, Dad' and I truly feel like it's him. This time, I didn't relate my recent thoughts of him to the fact that something I could consider miraculous had just happened for a while.
Sitting here, last night, surrounded by boxes, it just kind of hit me in the face -- Everything works out in the end. I started to cry. It may seem silly or straight-up insane but I know my dad had a helping hand in this.
My actions certainly don't deserve such a incredibly fortunate outcome and while I have to believe that yes, we are ultimately in control of the events of our lives, sometimes things happen that we simply can't explain. Be it luck or chance or 'divine intervention', sometimes life just surprises you.
When things that maybe shouldn't go so well, do in fact go really, really well and I know it just chance or luck, I often think about my dad. It took me awhile this time but last night, I had the feeling I get sometimes when it feels like he's close and I wonder if he's sending energy my way, helping me when I need it the most. Dad always told me 'Everything works out in the end' and it's funny but it does.
The last two weeks have been incredibly stressful; coming to the realization that we needed to move and fast, knowing our credit is so jacked there was no way we could get into a place without a HUGE deposit, then coming to the conclusion that our only option was to ask our property management not to evict us, 'ignore' the back-rent we owe them and out of the goodness of their hearts, let us move into a smaller, more affordable place. And after waiting almost a week to hear back, there's really no reason why they said 'Sure. Just let us do a walk-through to make sure you haven't trashed the first place." No really, she said that.
I was so elated to hear that we won't be essentially homeless that I didn't even really think about the motivation they have for keeping us around. Yes, they make money off us every month, theoretically, but I will admit, I haven't been the best at maintaining a cordial Landlord-Tenant relationship. See, I have trouble with confrontation when I know I'm in the wrong. I know it sounds ridiculous but I'd rather be called out for my bullshit by someone else; who wants to call "bullshit" on themselves?
So when money got tight and we couldn't pay rent on time or at all, I found it incredibly difficult to call property management to explain. They don't really care why rent's late, they just want to know when it's gonna get paid. Which makes their willingness to work with us that much more miraculous to me. I didn't really think about it until last night, after Jay & I had finished packing our room & the office. Dad. I know it sounds crazy but my dad has been on my mind for weeks; there's nothing "special" about this time of year, in relation to my dad, and I couldn't really think of why he'd been occupying my thoughts so much.
I like to think that these moments are when his energy is strongest around me; this is his way of saying, 'Yes, I'm still here.". Usually when I think something that's happened has been 'touched' by his energy, I know right away. I find $20 in a pair of jeans that haven't been worn in forever when we're on the verge of serfdom & I say a little 'Thank you, Dad' and I truly feel like it's him. This time, I didn't relate my recent thoughts of him to the fact that something I could consider miraculous had just happened for a while.
Sitting here, last night, surrounded by boxes, it just kind of hit me in the face -- Everything works out in the end. I started to cry. It may seem silly or straight-up insane but I know my dad had a helping hand in this.
My actions certainly don't deserve such a incredibly fortunate outcome and while I have to believe that yes, we are ultimately in control of the events of our lives, sometimes things happen that we simply can't explain. Be it luck or chance or 'divine intervention', sometimes life just surprises you.
Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much ♥
Monday, September 26, 2011
I am my blog.
Most of my posts on here relate to parenting or my personal struggles as a stay-at-home mom. I try to keep things light for the most part & really only delve into the heavier stuff when I feel I have to. I'm going to stop this. I need to be as real on here as I am in real life (that is the point, anyways) and I'm very honest about what happens in my life to the people in my life. If you read this, technically, you are a person in my life & you deserve the same honesty as everyone else.
This inability to really be honest is the main reason I haven't been blogging lately; I didn't really want to share all the turmoil and drama I was going through. I realize though, my blog is really a release for me. Yes, people read it. Yes, some of them are total strangers but it's still for me. No one else. I don't blog because people read what I write; people read what I write because I blogged it. They know that what they are reading is truth, it's my feelings, my experiences, my fears and goals.
One of the things I've avoided blogging about is our money trouble. When people hear you own a business, they assume you are rich from said business. WRONG. You actually need money to start a business; it is very expensive and often, you find yourself supporting your household AND your business on the profits from your business (like we are). If that's the case, things that run the household soon take a backseat to things that run the business because if there's no business, there's no house. Instead of paying utilities or rent, you have to buy supplies & gas to get to work to make the money to pay the utilities and rent.
Since the business is doing well & we're three-quarters of the way through our First Year, we feel confident the money coming in will keep coming in. It's just not enough to support us. What do we do? I like to think we're doing the smart thing; we're downgrading. Honestly, we don't need the third bedroom or the family room & paying $1200 a month in rent just isn't possible but with two little kids, an apartment seems more like jail cell to me. So I got brave. And responsible I guess. I called our property management and told them we need out, was there any way they had a place we could get into or could we get rent here lowered...surprise, surprise -- they have two-story townhouses not too far from where we are now.
Now, I started this post on the premise that I'm letting all the walls down; no prettying things up for you. If we didn't need to do this, I would never, ever move into a place like this. We drove by last night, after looking at the pictures and getting (uselessly) hopeful. The screams of unsupervised, ragged children hoodrats greeted us and my little bubble of hope burst. What did I expect? I don't know. The pictures looked so nice...but for $350 less a month, we get two bedrooms, 1 1/2 baths, two 'balconies', a small fenced patio and covered parking. The goal is to stay here a year, fix our credit & pay off our debts, save some money (lots of money) and move out; hopefully, we'll be able to buy a house when the year's over -- hopefully.
I'm still waiting to get approval from management; I'm hopeful because frankly, I have to be; if we had other options, this would be a wholly different post (if a post at all). I'll be sure to update when we do find out, in the mean time send us all the good energy you can. We need it!
This inability to really be honest is the main reason I haven't been blogging lately; I didn't really want to share all the turmoil and drama I was going through. I realize though, my blog is really a release for me. Yes, people read it. Yes, some of them are total strangers but it's still for me. No one else. I don't blog because people read what I write; people read what I write because I blogged it. They know that what they are reading is truth, it's my feelings, my experiences, my fears and goals.
One of the things I've avoided blogging about is our money trouble. When people hear you own a business, they assume you are rich from said business. WRONG. You actually need money to start a business; it is very expensive and often, you find yourself supporting your household AND your business on the profits from your business (like we are). If that's the case, things that run the household soon take a backseat to things that run the business because if there's no business, there's no house. Instead of paying utilities or rent, you have to buy supplies & gas to get to work to make the money to pay the utilities and rent.
Since the business is doing well & we're three-quarters of the way through our First Year, we feel confident the money coming in will keep coming in. It's just not enough to support us. What do we do? I like to think we're doing the smart thing; we're downgrading. Honestly, we don't need the third bedroom or the family room & paying $1200 a month in rent just isn't possible but with two little kids, an apartment seems more like jail cell to me. So I got brave. And responsible I guess. I called our property management and told them we need out, was there any way they had a place we could get into or could we get rent here lowered...surprise, surprise -- they have two-story townhouses not too far from where we are now.
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I'm still waiting to get approval from management; I'm hopeful because frankly, I have to be; if we had other options, this would be a wholly different post (if a post at all). I'll be sure to update when we do find out, in the mean time send us all the good energy you can. We need it!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Greatest Reward
Another anxiety-filled morning for me, wondering whether or not today would be a "good" day. I worry for a number for reasons; what makes for a "good" day and a "bad" day? How can I help him get through this best? What am I doing wrong? I don't have answers for these questions but I don't really need to answer them, either. Today was a good day and I can't help but think maybe, just maybe, he's starting to get the idea that good behavior makes us feel better.
For me, seeing results that I want, makes the effort I put into parenting worth all the worry, anxiety and research. All the self-improvement and reprogramming I've done for myself isn't really for me; it's so I can be the best Mom I can be. I was so worried I didn't handle yesterday well enough; I thought of a million ways today could turn into a "bad" day and how it would be my fault for not encouraging him enough or being too hard on the one Smiley he didn't get. Now, I feel like maybe I handled things yesterday way better than I thought I did.
Parenting is not at all easy & I definitely make mistakes from time to time. When I get stressed out, I'm know to yell a bit. I can be a tyrant when it comes to messes in the living room. I swear in front of them. All of this just proves I'm not perfect. I'm not perfect. I'm a parent. We aren't perfect, but our imperfections help us be better parents. They can show us where we need improvement and our kids benefit from that. When we acknowledge we have faults & make mistakes and we actively work to correct those faults & fix our mistakes, we are showing our kids, in the best possible way, how to grow, how to learn, how to change the things we don't really like about ourselves, while still loving who we are.
Knowing that this is going to be hard makes it a little easier, as crazy as that sounds. It means that we're doing things right. One of the parenting "programs" I've found most helpful is the Love & Logic system from Jim Fay & his son, Dr. Charles Fay, Ph.D. and this simple line from their parenting handbook sums up what I mean very well: "When we do the right thing with challenging children, it will almost always look and feel like the wrong thing in the short term." <3
For me, seeing results that I want, makes the effort I put into parenting worth all the worry, anxiety and research. All the self-improvement and reprogramming I've done for myself isn't really for me; it's so I can be the best Mom I can be. I was so worried I didn't handle yesterday well enough; I thought of a million ways today could turn into a "bad" day and how it would be my fault for not encouraging him enough or being too hard on the one Smiley he didn't get. Now, I feel like maybe I handled things yesterday way better than I thought I did.
Parenting is not at all easy & I definitely make mistakes from time to time. When I get stressed out, I'm know to yell a bit. I can be a tyrant when it comes to messes in the living room. I swear in front of them. All of this just proves I'm not perfect. I'm not perfect. I'm a parent. We aren't perfect, but our imperfections help us be better parents. They can show us where we need improvement and our kids benefit from that. When we acknowledge we have faults & make mistakes and we actively work to correct those faults & fix our mistakes, we are showing our kids, in the best possible way, how to grow, how to learn, how to change the things we don't really like about ourselves, while still loving who we are.
Knowing that this is going to be hard makes it a little easier, as crazy as that sounds. It means that we're doing things right. One of the parenting "programs" I've found most helpful is the Love & Logic system from Jim Fay & his son, Dr. Charles Fay, Ph.D. and this simple line from their parenting handbook sums up what I mean very well: "When we do the right thing with challenging children, it will almost always look and feel like the wrong thing in the short term." <3
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The journey to Manhood starts at age 5...
Well, at least it does for my son...
I think everyone can agree that graduation is a right of passage and even though it was only preschool, graduating to kindergarten is a huge milestone for Phoenix. Because of his speech delay, we weren't sure if he'd be ready for it; he's progressing, don't get me wrong, just slowly. Even though I can understand most of what he says, I can't still struggle sometimes and I can't play translator for him anymore. He has to learn to fend for himself and he's getting there. Honestly, a lot of his WORDS are intelligible; it's when he has to build sentences and paragraphs that everything breaks down.
He's learning the difference between "no" and "don't", "me" and "I" or "mine". The alphabet trips him up and some letters just don't come out right; "h" is impossible. He just completely ignores it, when you put in a word, like the letter isn't there; 'Hulk' comes out "Ulk", "Happy" turns into "Appy", "House" becomes "Ouse". He knows the 'h' sound and when prompted to make it on its own, he'll do it but when you put it at the front of a word, it just disappears... He's easily frustrated by our incomprehension and his own inability to communicate, which inevitably leads to tears, temper tantrums and more frustration.
But steadily, he's grasping it; slowly mastering a sound or a word. You can almost see the little gears turning; his little tongue fumbles around and you realize how hard it is for him to get each word out and how hard he's trying for just that smallest bit of communication. I can understand almost all of what he says but I know if it's this hard for me, he has to be under some extreme stress & anxiety. We have regular conversations every day and I try to ask him new questions along with all the usual "How were your day"s; I'm surprised by his answers sometimes and even more surprised by the random sentences he recites perfectly like, "Do me a solid, Mom and get me some water." NO. SHIT. Those words came out of my kid's mouth, in that order, in PERFECT CLARITY and all I could do was hug him and laugh. 'Moms don't "do" solids', I said, as I tried not to bawl my effing eyes out.
He had a really good phone call with Jay when he was out in Utah; it's harder for Jay because he's out of the house so much and I tend to play translator at home more than anywhere else. Shame on me, I know...Hearing them have a real conversation over the phone was so awesome; Jay would ask him about his day and he would answer. Jay repeated what he heard and Phoenix would say, "Yeah, Dad."
We're still not sure if kindergarten will mean a speech class or a "normal" class but it doesn't matter; knowing his teachers (all SIX of them!) think he will be ready for kindergarten at all is good enough for me. It helps change my perspective; I look more at what he's accomplished and less at how far he still has to go. I realize how important it is for me not to feel rushed because if I'm frustrated, he'll pick up on it and stress out even more. As long as we can keep it light and happy and fun -- much easier said than done, with a five year old -- I think things should breeze along.
So congratulations, Phoenix! You're an amazing kid and I am so incredibly proud of you.
I think everyone can agree that graduation is a right of passage and even though it was only preschool, graduating to kindergarten is a huge milestone for Phoenix. Because of his speech delay, we weren't sure if he'd be ready for it; he's progressing, don't get me wrong, just slowly. Even though I can understand most of what he says, I can't still struggle sometimes and I can't play translator for him anymore. He has to learn to fend for himself and he's getting there. Honestly, a lot of his WORDS are intelligible; it's when he has to build sentences and paragraphs that everything breaks down.
He's learning the difference between "no" and "don't", "me" and "I" or "mine". The alphabet trips him up and some letters just don't come out right; "h" is impossible. He just completely ignores it, when you put in a word, like the letter isn't there; 'Hulk' comes out "Ulk", "Happy" turns into "Appy", "House" becomes "Ouse". He knows the 'h' sound and when prompted to make it on its own, he'll do it but when you put it at the front of a word, it just disappears... He's easily frustrated by our incomprehension and his own inability to communicate, which inevitably leads to tears, temper tantrums and more frustration.
But steadily, he's grasping it; slowly mastering a sound or a word. You can almost see the little gears turning; his little tongue fumbles around and you realize how hard it is for him to get each word out and how hard he's trying for just that smallest bit of communication. I can understand almost all of what he says but I know if it's this hard for me, he has to be under some extreme stress & anxiety. We have regular conversations every day and I try to ask him new questions along with all the usual "How were your day"s; I'm surprised by his answers sometimes and even more surprised by the random sentences he recites perfectly like, "Do me a solid, Mom and get me some water." NO. SHIT. Those words came out of my kid's mouth, in that order, in PERFECT CLARITY and all I could do was hug him and laugh. 'Moms don't "do" solids', I said, as I tried not to bawl my effing eyes out.
He had a really good phone call with Jay when he was out in Utah; it's harder for Jay because he's out of the house so much and I tend to play translator at home more than anywhere else. Shame on me, I know...Hearing them have a real conversation over the phone was so awesome; Jay would ask him about his day and he would answer. Jay repeated what he heard and Phoenix would say, "Yeah, Dad."
We're still not sure if kindergarten will mean a speech class or a "normal" class but it doesn't matter; knowing his teachers (all SIX of them!) think he will be ready for kindergarten at all is good enough for me. It helps change my perspective; I look more at what he's accomplished and less at how far he still has to go. I realize how important it is for me not to feel rushed because if I'm frustrated, he'll pick up on it and stress out even more. As long as we can keep it light and happy and fun -- much easier said than done, with a five year old -- I think things should breeze along.
Phoenix & Paxton, enjoying a much-deserved post-graduation ice cream cone
<3
So congratulations, Phoenix! You're an amazing kid and I am so incredibly proud of you.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Looking back (while keeping my eyes on the future)
I didn't get the chance to post this last week so I'm taking the time to do it now. Last Tuesday, April 26th, marked an important moment in time; for me and for the family. I didn't think it was a date of much significance, until it came creeping up. I'd never even realized it was a date imprinted on my brain, probably for life. I knew there was something "special" about that day but didn't figure out what until I was browsing through pictures on the computer.
April 26, 2010 -- the day we said 'Goodbye' to Portland and started our journey south.
I cannot believe it's been a year since we left; it certainly doesn't feel like it's been that long. Paxton was just barely rolling over; Phoenix was just learning to write his name and I still had some post-pregnancy boobs left...
Twelve months later: Paxton is running, climbing, sliding all over the place; Phoenix is learning to read and getting ready for Kindergarten in September; Jay "inherited" his dad's residential cleaning business and I'd say he's the happiest he's been in a long, long time. I, myself, have grown in unimaginable ways; I've tackled problems I'd usually just avoid; I've found myself truly embracing the saying, "Don't sweat the small stuff", mainly because there's lots of BIG stuff to sweat over LOL.
I didn't think I would enjoy myself as much as I do here in California. For one thing, the weather is beyond awesome; it's May 3rd and we've already had to use the A/C several times! Phoenix is already asking to go swimming at Gramma's and Paxton spends most days in a t-shirt and diaper! I've made a few friends; had a few play dates; learned my way around town enough to get almost anywhere I need to go. I started modifying our eating habits, weeding out the highly-processed garbage and adding organics, naturally sweetened, plain-ol'-better-for-you food.
We've got chickens! That's something that's so bizarre to me when I think about how long we were in Portland and the yard we had; it would have been PERFECT for chickens! We've made a lot of improvements to the house too; even though we just rent, we want our place to look nice and reflect "us". As soon as we moved in last year, we cut down the butterfly bushes on the side yard, thinned out the overgrown tree-bushes that line the back fence and tore out a hideous planter box next to the driveway (that caused a feud with our neighbors LOL)
We've celebrated our first Christmas here, we've all had our first California birthdays and celebrated our first Easter with all the family. My favorite part of this whole move is watching the boys with the family; seeing them play with their cousins, the reactions they have when they see their aunts & uncles and grandparents; having a 'community' to raise them in, is all I've ever wanted. I know my mother loves us to death and always will; it's just different down here because we are literally surrounded by love. It feels so good. So warm. So loving. It isn't always easy; I've never been part of a big family and finding my place is difficult but I would never change it. I feel like I've always belonged; I needed these people, needed to experience what it is to be part of a large family, needed the growth a move to somewhere new and unknown can create.
I'm excited for the next year, for all the joys it will bring and all the troubles we will overcome. We've become so much stronger this last year...the big move, and all that's come with it, has taught me how incredibly dependent I am on my little family (and big one too!); I would be lost without these three boys.
Absolutely. Completely. Totally. Entirely.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Day 4 -- Golden Years Challenge
Day 4 --
My dad took me to these little parking lot pony rides all the time; there were a lot of them around Portland back in the late 80's/early 90's and I'm like, 2 or 3 here so I can't be sure I remember this actual day...
The shirt , however, I remember with absolute clarity. It had animals paired up with little hearts over each pair all Noah's Ark-like and I loved it so much.
I wish I still had it!
This Polaroid, I knew, was from my dad; mainly because he was the only one that used a Polaroid (and Slurpees were a tradition on our weekends together).
I took my teddy bear Smiley with me everywhere; he was my security blanket in bear-form and I still have him (minus an eye and his bow-tie).
What surprised me was finding the little note in my dad's handwriting on the back; he wanted to remember this day, where we were, what we did and when. To me, that's special.
Going back a bit now...
I'm not sure 'when' this is but I think I'm about to arrive or just have, judging by my dad's appearance.
A few things pop into my head with this picture: this was the very first house I came home to and the very first dog I ever bonded with (and my dad had good taste in beer LOL).
I remember Dad picking me up from school in 5th grade when we had to put her to sleep.
He cried all the way home.
I mentioned Nicole in my Day 2 post but she wasn't in the actual picture.
Well here you go. She's the little blonde one on the right. We have to be six or seven in this picture and no, I am not wearing a wig...
She was the first co-conspirator I had and my first slumber party was at her house. We grew up together and had so many adventures; I didn't realize I would lose that when I moved away the summer after 4th grade.
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