My annoying Christmas card order

Because Kodak.com doesn't allow you to CALL customer service, I had to do a live chat when I saw my cards wouldn't SHIP until Dec 14-24th (completely useless):

Gilbert: Hi, my name is Gilbert D.. How may I help you?
Michelle: I am calling in reference to an order for Christmas cards. The free shipping option said they would ARRIVE in 3-10 days, however I got an email today that says they won't SHIP until Dec 14-24th. Obviously, too late for mailing. Can I change it to a same-day pickup or to expedited shipping?
Gilbert: Ok I will be glad to assist you with this.
Gilbert: May I please have your email address or Order ID number so I may look into this for you?
Michelle: [email address]
Michelle: I had no idea the free shipping would be so slow, or I wouldn't have bothered. I saw on my email confirmation that you offer same day local pickup, but didn't realize it was an option.
Gilbert: The KODAK Gallery processing system does not allow orders to be changed or cancelled once they have been placed.
Michelle: So, I spent $27 on cards that may not be able to mail before Christmas? Why don't you tell people this when they order?
Michelle: You aren't losing out on the payment if I pick it up from a local place...
Gilbert: Yes I understand but I am not able to cancel the order once it is placed.
Michelle: I'm not trying to cancel it, I'm trying to expedite the shipping. Can you ask a manager if we can do that?
Gilbert: We are not able to make modifications to the order.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRR. If you don't get a Christmas cards, I swear it's not (completely) my fault.

Gillian's Christmas List (in pictures)

This morning Gillian brought me a list of gifts she wants for Christmas. Mostly, she already has some version of most of them. I appreciate her making a list. In case we need one.
"Prickly thing you can wear on your head to pretend you're a porcupine"
Green mermaid tail. Since the pink and multi-colored ones are not sufficient...of course, green is the color of ARIEL's tail, so there's that...
A bike. When I reminded her she already had a bike, she said that she wanted one for a 5-year-old. I told her the one she had would be for a 5-year-old and even an older child if we took the training wheels off. Then she backpedaled, thinking of a clever way to still get a new bike and said she wanted a new bike for Addie. How altruistic she is.
A drum. You may recall that she has an entire drum set. But she says she wants a new one. That's not going to happen, by the way.

A Christmas Wreath. Just because.

Ditty

Surgery-Finally

I have been remiss because things around here have been almost mindblowingly busy. Like, "I-can't-keep-up" busy. I have wanted to write about how Gillian came to have surgery two days before Thanksgiving, and I think I primed the discussion in a previous post . Well, to pick up there, the sleep study was positive for obstructive sleep apnea (OSA), and it was apparently pretty severe. So, yay for Mama instincts, even if they were way behind the game. We met with the doctor to discuss the results and schedule her surgery. She had to have a pre-op physical (loads of fun, considering we had a ton of bloodwork and vaccinations before she could start school at her 4 year appt just two months before) at least 1 week before the surgery. So, in spite of the logistical stress we had to manage, we were able to get her in and get everything she needed to have the surgery on November 23rd, two days before Thanksgiving. You might say it was a little mean to have the surgery before Thanksgiving, but I would say something about how she doesn't ever eat anyway. Plus, I scheduled it that week because she would only miss 3 hours of school (they had a partial day Tuesday, and no school the rest of the week) and I would only have to take 1 day of annual leave because of the holiday and a trip to Ohio I had a comp day for. So, it was for the best.

They called me at the last minute Monday to tell me what time we needed to be at the hospital, and they said 6 am. I asked when the surgery was scheduled and they said 9 am. Of course, this idiocy prompted me to exclaim something to the effect of "my GOD woman, how am I supposed to entertain a 4 year old in a waiting room for THREE HOURS?!?" To which she explained I would have to sign some paperwork and get Gillian in her gown. To which I said "that takes all of 10 minutes, what shall I do with her the other 2 hours and 50 minutes?" Then she gave me the "I'm just the messenger" explanation that "this is the doctor's preference and his policy, but it probably wouldn't be a big deal if you got here around 7 am"...and I said, "are you telling me it's ok to come later? Would this keep us from getting her in?"...and she said "no, I'm not saying that at all, but you would probably be ok coming in at 7 am ...you could probably still get in". I could almost hear the winking. Like "yep-DUMB policy, but it is the policy nonetheless". Then she reminded me that Gillian could have nothing-no food or liquids-after midnight before the surgery (the idea of witholding even water from her was a terrifying thought for me because she loves to drink water).

So, I waited till I was showered and dressed (and full of water because I didn't dare drink or eat anything in front of her and deny her food and drink) in the morning and woke her up at the last second, got her dressed, all groggy, and into the car. I was armed with our portable DVD player and a brand new Little Mermaid DVD (thanks Nonni and Grandaddy!!!) to help pass the time and keep her mind off the fact that her throat was feeling like the Sahara Desert and she was starving to death. I have absolutely no idea how our forebearers managed without DVD players, but I, the Ugly American, digress.

We waited for about 40 minutes in the first waiting area before being corraled to the second where we had to get Gillian in her gown and get her weighed and get her blood pressure and oxygenation checked.

I asked to be present in the room during surgery, or at least during anesthesia, but the nurse was hesitant. She had me put on scrubs just in case I was allowed, though. After another hour and a half of waiting we were told it was time to go. So Gillian thought it was great fun to go on a ride on the "bed with wheels" and a man came and got her to take her down to surgery on an elevator.

At this point, he gave us both the little head coverings so we could go to the surgery floor, and I got this sick knot in my stomach, because PEOPLE DIE EVERY DAY FROM ANESTHESIA. And I had this flood of worry about my tiny baby being put under and how cruel it would be that after everything we (us and Gillian) had been through to get to this place, This FOURNESS, I would die if something happened to her. It might be irreparable heartbreak that would result in me immediately dying (kindof like the image I got in my head of how, according to my mom, Elvis, grieving over his loss of Priscilla, just keeled over and "died of a broken heart" (enter complete denial of that prescription drug problem)). That would be me if something happened to my baby.

They parked us in pre-op, and the anesthesiologist came to tell me, after I again demanded to go with Gillian while they put her under (I think I actually said, "No offense, but if something goes wrong, I don't want the last faces she sees in this world to be those of the strangers she is surrounded by in the operating room"), that "we usually don't allow family members in because they generally don't do well when they see a loved one go under...we saw many grown men hit the ground when their wives are put under for c-sections, so it is our policy not to allow it" (Now that I think about it, when I had Gillian Sean was not allowed in the room when I had my spinal...my doctor held my terrified hand). I held my ground, and he relented and told me if I did what he asked and asked no questions and left when I was told to I could go in. I agreed. Whatever it took. I decided at that point that I probably wouldn't do well watching the actual surgery because they force their mouths open, and by all accounts is a pretty bloody affair.

Then came the Jedi Mind Trick. The anesthesiologist asked Gillian "do you like strawberry?" and she was all sweet and innocent and eager and was like "yes, yes, YES!", so he brought her the oxygen mask that was pink and smelled like strawberries. He left it with us for 45 minutes or so so she could play with it and get familiar with it. He also asked if she liked pink balloons and she was all "YES YES YES"!!!!! Both of these seemingly innocent questions had a more insidious side, of course. So we waited and waited and waited. Gillian was a rock star and I pulled out all the stops to entertain her. Our 9 am surgery actually started after 10 am. Thank God we didn't get there until 7am. During this wait, lots of people came by top talk to her and ask her questions, and were impressed with how much she knew about what was going to happen to her. She knew they were going to make her go to sleep (not sure she knew how exactly, and she certainly didn't suspect the awesome strawberry mask and pink balloon), and then they were going to "open [her] mouth and go SNIP SNIP, and then SEW SEW it up, and then they would be all done, and then [she] would get as many popsicles and as much ice cream as [she] want[s]!!!". I had tried to prepare her the best I could so she wouldn't be scared, and she did absolutely amazingly. She was not scared at all, and everyone was great with her. I got weak knees when they finally said it was time. We wheeled her little bed into the very intimidating operating room, where 8 people were bustling around getting ready. They showed her her "warm PINK bed with a princess pillow" (translation: operating platform with pink heated sheets and circular head cushion), and she was afraid, and only wanted me to help her onto the bed and "tuck her in". The doctors showed her where the pink balloon was and now her pink mask was attached to a hose and the balloon. She only wanted me to hold the mask, the pink strawberry mask, to her face (at this point, it was clear that had I not been there, she would have been terrified and traumatized by the strangers forcing her do these things). They asked if she could blow up the balloon? And she blew it up and we all cheered. And then they turned on the gas, and she kept playing the game, blowing up the balloon. Except now she was being gassed (this is the point where I blinked back tears). Oh, how I felt terrible for that deception (and also glad I didn't stay to watch her get intubated so she could breathe in spite of the bleeding during the procedure and stuck with an IV). Her eyes started rolling back, and she clumsily kept trying to play the game that she probably couldn't quite remember, and then she was out. I was told to leave, and they said they would come get me and I would be there when she woke up. They told Gillian that too to soothe her. She verified it with me three times. And I always said "yep, I'll be RIGHT HERE".
So, it was the longest 45 minutes of my life (aside from the longest 7 days of my life when she had the staph infection in the NICU and was fighting for her life), and I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. And I waited. Finally the doctor came and told me everything went great and that I would be summoned shortly to go to recovery. Gillian would be observed for an hour or so while they monitor her vitals before being sent down to post-op for ice cream and IV removal. About 10 minutes later one of the other docs came and brought me to her. I walked into the room where about 10 people were resting post-op and heard her screaming. They didn't get me there in time. I wasn't at her bedside when she woke up like I promised. Like they promised ME. But my promises are more important, and I don't make them lightly. Four people were holding her down. In her confusion, she didn't know where she was or who she was surrounded by. I am still sad thinking about how alone and abandoned she felt. I ran to her and got in her face and told her I was here. She kept crying "where were you? you said you would be here!!". The doctor assured me she wouldn't remember I wasn't there. I corrected her, and told her she absolutely would remember-that she remembers EVERYTHING. She said statistically, 95% if patients don't remember the first 15 minutes of wakefulness after surgery. I told her MY CHILD would be among the 5% that do (and she absolutely does remember, by the way). Finally, she calmed down and they gave her some IV pain meds, and they brought me a big lounge chair to hold her on, and we navigated wires, and I was reminded of her godforsaken isolette in the NICU and navigating all those wires, and I had a moment. It even smelled the same.

My baby rested on my chest, just the same as before. I was so glad I was there, and so glad she was ok. Her tongue bothered her the most, it seemed. It was grotesquely swollen where the instrument that held her mouth wide open had been-it sliced her tongue. It looked awful. The nurse brought her a latex glove filled with ice chips to suck on. That and the narcotic took the edge off. After an hour, we went back up where we started for ice cream to see how she did with eating before they took the IV out. She was out of it and sleepy but she did fine.

We headed home 6 hours after we got there. I hadn't had any food or water all day, so I was ravenous and treated myself to donuts and coffee since Gillian was out cold in the back seat. I stopped and filled prescriptions for a steroid for swelling, an antibiotic to ward off infection, and Tylenol with codeine for pain. I took her home and she slept most of the afternoon. She woke up for ice cream and to watch a Disney princess movie and went back to bed (loathe to miss an opportunity to get things done, I was painting our newly installed fireplace and shelves like a madwoman during this time).

In the days that followed, we just kept her dosed with regular strength Tylenol and Motrin during the day and the Tylenol-codeine at night. I immediately noticed that she slept with her mouth shut, and I had to strain to hear her soft breathing. No more struggling for air. No more snoring. No more gasping for breath. No more nightmares. Immediately. The doctor said although her tonsils were enlarged, her adenoids were big enough to block her nasal passage, so we made the right decision to remove them both.

In retrospect, I can't help but feel like she lost some of her innocence that day. Every time the big world intrudes on her safe space it seems like it takes something away. I can't forget how she was almost excited about the whole thing, and what the reality was. Or how she was led to believe the mask and balloon were a game-fun. And I get this sick feeling that kids are victimized every day because of that innocence-that believing what we tell them because they aren't crafty enough to think we have ulterior motives. And I disappointed her and wasn't there when she needed me to be. Not my fault in any way, but I wish I had pushed the point that I wanted-NEEDED to be there when she woke up. At least now she has a story to tell. And we are proud of how brave she was and how little she has complained about the whole thing (drama queen that she is, that is amazing in itself). So, that is our story of how Gillian had her tonsils and adenoids removed.

Recharge

Last Friday night, Sean and I had an awesome Mega-Date. I booked a great hotel on Michigan Avenue for $115, made a reservation for dinner, bought Daniel Tosh tickets at the Chicago Theater, and bought two 90 minute “couples” hot stone massages for $55 each. The night went off without a hitch. We got to recharge in a very healthy way. We arrived at the hotel after a really delicious dinner, and I asked the guy at the desk “Do you think you could give us a room with windows? This is our first ever night away from the kids together”. I saw Sean grit his teeth at me and my sharing problem, but he was more than happy to enjoy the corner room suite upgrade we got as a result of me asking. Our view was a lovely one of the Magnificent Mile:

We went up to the room, and relaxed for a little while, and then an hour before the show, we took a scenic walk down Michigan Avenue and walked along the River (which prompted our usual "this-is-the-most-gorgeous-city-on-earth-and-we-wouldn't-want-to-live-anywhere-else" talk). Definitely romantic, and definitely needed.
We arrived at the show and found our seats, and got to admire the intricate and beautiful interior of the theater, grab a beer, and have a seat. We proceeded to laugh until we cried for Tosh’s entire set. He is the epitome of mean humor, but I love anyone that will go there, with anyone. No person or topic is off limits.
The show ended at 1 am (we are usually fast asleep by then) and we walked back to the room and crashed. The next morning we woke leisurely, walked out and got coffee, and chilled a little before heading off to our massage. It was Sean’s first (but definitely not last) professional massage, and it was great! It was in a couple’s room, all dim and zen and awesome smelling, and MY GOD I love hot stone massages! But I do know I will never pay the usual full price-$220 for a 90 minute one.

It is so easy to lose sight of your significant other when you have children. Especially if you have children and an 18 year old niece living with you in a 1600 sq ft condo. It’s hard to make the time for a drink out, or walks, or holding hands. It’s hard to do romantic dinners out. It’s hard to rationalize spending money on things that demand that. We ebb and flow with our staying on the wagon with a date night every week, but lately we have been bad about not getting out, even though we have said niece to help. We both know how vital it is to keep that alive, but it seems like most free time is kid time...

All that said, it is refreshing and awesome to remember that we really do have things in common, and that we love eachother, deeply. In spite of the sleep issues, and illnesses, and limit testing, and busy-ness. We love eachother. And we were away long enough to MISS our girls, so much. So we are reminded of how incredibly blessed we are to have been entrusted with them, and to have a strong partner to raise them with and build a life around.

Sleep and Not

Gillian has always been a snorer. Like, a slumbering bear kind of snorer. Which is pretty weird because she is so tiny. We figure she got it from her Grandaddy who is also a slumbering bear kind of sleeper. Not long after the girls moved into a room together, Gillian started waking up a lot. And this woke Addie up several times a night which equalled one completely exhausted mama (esp on work nights). So, we decided to let her fall asleep in our bed and move her. That worked for about 2 weeks, and then it started to wake Addie when we would move Gillian, which woke Gillian, which still=disaster and everyone awake. So, now Gillian sleeps with me in my bed, and Sean sleeps in Gillian's beautiful single bed (compliments of Nonni and Grandaddy) amid the fairies and flowers (he's secure enough to be ok with that!).

This arrangement has been going on for about 7 weeks now. And since it has been going on, I have had the opportunity to observe the way Gillian sleeps, and it has been enlightening. She is a fitful sleeper, she snores and mouth-breathes, and I can hear her stop and start breathing again. She literally sounds like she's trying to suck enough air to breathe through a straw, and the labored breathing stresses me out and has me in worry mode. In addition to that, she hasn't gained an ounce in a year, and we're stuck at 30 pounds soaking wet. She has been laying her head down at the dinner table because she's "so tired" and has had many meltdowns of late-all indications that she's not getting enough sleep. Recently, she started complaining of leg pain, which could also be associated with poor circulation. All of these things are classic signs of obstructive sleep apnea.

At her 4 year well child visit, the doctor noticed that Gillian had enlarged tonsils, but said if it wasn't bothering her to sleep we should just keep an eye on her. At the time, I hadn't put it together that she just wasn't sleeping well. I thought she was just waking up a lot and being a pain about it. Now I feel terrible because I didn't recognize that it was something potentially more serious. I took her to an ENT to have them assess her last Tuesday with the express aim to get a recommendation for a sleep study. The doctor put "special spray" in her nose (numbing) and stuck a camera down her nose to look at her adenoids. They were also enlarged. He said the tonsils were, on a scale from 1 to 4 (4 being so big they touch-who knew some people have tonsils so big they touch?), hers are a 3. Add big tonsils to big adenoids and it's no wonder she can't breathe well at night and snores. So, he ordered the sleep study. Remarkably, this was painless to schedule and is covered by insurance. I scheduled it for the Saturday following the ENT visit.

We were told to show up at 6:30 pm to get prepped. I talked up the whole thing to Gillian, about how we were going to have a date and stay someplace, just us. And that were going to try to see if we could figure out how to help her sleep better by putting little stickers all over her and seeing how she slept. We arrived, and out tech Chris was there to meet us. Pediatric patients show up a few hours before adults, and he said in a typical night there are usually 4 people there. The sleep diagnostic center was in the Resurrection Hospital complex, and the rooms resembled hotel rooms (except the surveillance camera pointed at the bed). It was warm and cheerful and had cute bugs and butterflies on the walls.

In the photo above, you can see the surveillance camera above the TV. There was a pretty sweet flat screen for Little Mermaid viewing, which made attaching her to all 27 wires muich easier. Seeing all the wires kind of brough me back to the NICU four years before, and it was really uncomfortable for me to see her like that...like some kind of parental PTSD. Luckily, she didn't seem to mind. Because she was spacing out watching Ariel and Melody (Ariel's daughter-Little Mermaid II is her favorite).

Chris hooking G up.

When all was done, we had 27 wires hooked up to this box, which we had to carry with us when she needed to pee at night. We told her the probes on her head (each a different color) would help her dream about extra colorful rainbows. In pediatric patients, there are 20 probes on their heads (apparently mini-seizures are common during sleep with children, and extra probes are needed to test for that). So, she had two probes on each leg. She had a belt around her abdomen and one around her chest (to monitor the synchronicity of chest vs. abdominal breathing, which can apparently be out of synch), she had a probe on her throat to measure snoring, a nasal cannula in her nose to measure nose breathing, and one sticking out from the nasal probe over her mouth the measure mouth breathing. They put the rest on her face (three on the chin) near her temples, and all over her head, which were attached with goopy water soluble paste and tape. The last one was an oxygen laser probe on her finger (to measure oxygen content in her blood). She was a sight, for sure. We brought stickers so that Gillian could "put some probes" on me so we could match. And she put some on Eloise (a bear Chris gave her when we first arrive, wearing-what else?-a pink shirt) and her baby Ariel doll.

Chris, the tech, said the sleep study can diagnose up to 600 different sleep disorders. He also said he played base in a speed metal band. I like him a lot. I like that he started by giving G a little bear with a pink shirt that Gillian named Eloise. I was thinking that his job would be great for a night owl. He said sleep studies are hard in kids (obviously-I would have a hard time sleeping with all those wires), but that the parent makes or breaks it. I wouldn't wish doing that on a child Addie's age on anyone. She would be ripping the probes out every other second.

I "slept" on the bed next to Gillian, and think she got about 7 hours of sleep, and I got about 4 or 5. Not ideal by any stretch.

Anyway, aside from a pause in the study after Chris had to wake Gillian to fix some equipment that had stopped reading (after this interruption, she was wired and had a hard time going back to sleep-FOR THREE HOURS), Gillian was an absolute rockstar. She totally earned that cheap, overpriced Ariel dress she had fixated on since seeing it at Target a few days before. He had to wake us up at 7:30, and then I got to try to wash the goop out of Gillian's hair (if any of you know Gillian, you know that she HATES washing her hair and getting water in her face and eyes, so washing it three times and scrubbing her scalp clean was like the third ring of hell for me). When she was all clean and clothed, we went out and got to look at the computer screen with all the readouts of her brain waves, and breathing, and snoring. They match up those patterns with the video surveillance to identify sleep stages and determine what is going on vs. what should be going on. It's very thorough, and as a scientist, I thought it was fascinating. Research indicates that kids who are diagnosed and subsequently have enlarged tonsils and adenoids removed have a marked improvement in sleep quality which leads to significantly improved behavior (sometimes reversing ADHD symptoms) and better daytime attentiveness, appetite, and general wellbeing.

We left the sleep center, went to Dunkin Donuts for some Munchkins (a G favorite), and then to Target to get her dress. She has worn it for three days. That and the wig...oh, WHY did I buy the wig (she has worn it daily and everywhere for going on two weeks)?

The test results will be available in 7-10 business days. Hopefully by next Wednesday. I am crossing my fingers that we get some answers, and that we can have her treated to help her get that vital sleep that affects every other aspect of her quality of life... as for me getting in the saddle with this whole thing-better late than never.

Bodies

I like this guy in general, but then I read this blog entry and it annoyed me beyond belief. I think he is way off. He (a man, but an Oprah-therapist-lifecoach kind of man) suggests we (women) blame men (in general) for our self-image problems. Initially I had my weak moments of worrying about what pregnancy was doing (stretchmarks) and then not liking what pregnancy did to my body (mostly the residual belly bump), but I can tell you men have nothing to do with it. I think women are their own worst enemies when it comes to creating unrealistic expectations for their bodies (and other women’s bodies, for that matter). I think men will take what you give them, and they aren’t that picky. The trick is that you deliver it with plenty of belief in your own worthiness. Men are (generally-forgive me for generalizing, but this is MY experience talking here) attracted to women who have good self-esteem, are doing something they believe in and have interesting insights for conversation, and believe they are worth people’s time. They will look past thick thighs, small breasts, or a belly pooch (any of these things are turn ons for many men) if you carry yourself like a confident, competant WOMAN. And they will exclaim your hotness from the mountaintops. This is how a strong “fluffy” woman can be a super-hottie and how an ironic heroin-chic waif can be a complete turnoff. Self-deprication/fishing for compliments, even from attractive women, seems to scream “use me!”. I think men are more likely to fixate on a woman’s imperfections if she does. It annoys me when people like this blogger gives grown women an out to blame men because they hate themselves. They hate themselves because they buy into someone else’s propaganda, and usually that propoganda is brought to us by other women. Generally, buying into that is a woman’s choice…but I dare say it starts when girls are young, and that is where the rub is.

There is a woman I know professionally that is obssessed with her body. Every time she sees me (and it's often) she looks me up and down and will disingenuously say “oh, you’re looking skinny today” followed by “Ugh, I am so bloated-I have gained 5 pounds in the past week”. This woman has a child, and I worry about how this constant fixation with appearances affects her 14 year old daughter. This is how we pass the torch of poor self-esteem. I have heard her telling her daughter what to eat, and I know she pushes her to try to keep up with her exhausting exercise routine. This woman is almost 50 and looks stunning (I would love to be so fit at my age!), but I have to tell you, the price of that isn’t worth it to me. I like my chocolate, my french fries, and my wine too much. Life’s too short to not enjoy the things that blow your hair back (within reason, of course), at least in moderation. And I’m not saying people shouldn’t exercise, but it should be for the express purpose of general well-being.

I weigh the same, if not a few pounds less, as I did before I was pregnant with Addie. Things have just shifted around. Although the stretchmarks are pretty non-existent now, I wince at this post of mine now that I have come to love this new body I move around in. The extra room in the front is the place where I grew babies in my body, and is a temple for which I now have absolute reverence. My now less-than-firm breasts have fed two children, for quite some time providing all of their nutrition, for going on three years of my life. For me to drone on about wanting to change anything that reminds me of the physical experiences molding what a woman I have become-completely 100% WOMAN-is a disservice and is lacks respect for what I have done in the life-giving department. That is like unicorn magic, ladies-WE HAVE GIVEN LIFE TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS. Holy Jesus-that is amazing, right?!? Things don’t look the way they did before, but I don’t want them to. I am a mother. What’s more, my husband thinks I’m sexy, belly pooch, less-firm-breasts, and all.

Sean is not to blame for my moments in the beginning when I wondered if I could get use to the new shape of my body. In fact, he has zero patience for that self-indulgent drivel. Any comments he has ever made followed one of mine. If I said something about my pooch back then, he’d simply say “well, if you don’t like it, work on it”. But not once did he ever make me question whether or not I was still what he considers his “pretty wife”. It was, and is, up to me to accept and love the changes pregnancy and birth have brought to me.

Pumpkins and Imaginary Alligators

Bustly little world we're in these days. Addie has so many words, and it's nice how she can express herself more and more every day. For example, when she sees her high chair, she says a blessing, even if it isn't exactly dinner time yet (Gah Gay, Gah Goo, Amma-or God is Great, God is Good, Amen). She always asks for a cookie before dinner, which sounds like "cooo-keee" and during which her little petal lips make a little O that is quite contrived. She says mermaid in the bathtub when she wants to play with Gillian's polly pockets ("mah-may"). When she's thirsty, she asks for water ("ow-wo"), or to nurse ("boop-tee"). I love to finally hear her little voice say "babeee", and lately calling "Maaaaaaaama! Mom! Mommy!" as she runs down the hall looking for me. When she hands you something she says "hee-goe" for Here You Go, and says "Thank you" when you hand her something. But. The down side with Addie's M.O. is how much climbing she does. Almost like she goes from one thing you don't want her to do to the next. We call her Monkey, and for very good reason. She is our rough and tumble girl. She falls and hits her head regularly trying to get someplace she shouldn't be, and is forever eating God-knows-what. My mantra is "IMMUNE SYSTEM".

Gillian continues to be Gillian. Today we spent an hour playing with invisible alligators at the playground. First we were running from structure to structure trying to avoid being eated by the alligators (which, Gillian told me "even live in I-RRR-LAN") only to discover that they were just sad because they missed their mama and papa, and were crying. They didn't really want to hurt anyone, and she decided that they wanted to live with us. So, she tenderly removed a thorn from one's foot, and then she carried him gently to our ship to take care of him. Changed his diaper, gave him a bottle to make him warm and cozy.

Then, we carved our pumpkins, and Gillian carved her very own with the tiny carving tools. I didn't even start it for her. During this process, Gillian told me "this is the best day of my life". It must have been the munchkins on the way to the best playground around here. Or maybe it was having Mama to herself on the playground since other people could play with Addie, and going higher spidering on the swing than we ever had. Or maybe it was the imaginary alligators whose lives were made better because we took the time to love them. But the topper was being able to use grownup tools to carve her little pumpkins. That put this day forever into another plane of amazingness.

Gillian's PumpkinsAll of the pumpkins

Gillian-working hard
Mama and Ernie the Pumpkin

Love and Pain

Addie is a huge fan of cause and effect these days, particularly when it involves other people. She likes to do something awful, and then make it all better with a kiss or hug. Like, when we were on our apple picking trip, it didn't take long for her to start loving on the baby, Will. But then the love didn't solicit an "awww!" or "thank you" because, you know, Will is 7 months old, so Addie would then start poking him in the face, saying "EYE! EYE! EYE!" or in his ear yelling "EAR! EAR! EAR!". When she made him cry, well then, she felt she had done her job, and gave him a hug and kiss (which did nothing to assuage his suffering). Amanda made the mistake of leaving them along for 5 seconds while she went to get Will a bottle (while I was running to town to get dinner) and Addie literally scratched him so bad in the face that it was covered in blood. For the rest of the trip, it looked like he had been mauled by a bear in one of the orchards (insert mound of guilt).

So, Addie will bite you and kiss you. Or slap your face and hug you and kiss you, or scratch you and give a little kiss when you squeal in pain. She justifies meanness with a little "kiss the boo boo and it's all better" action. Sometimes she tries to tickle you after the kiss and hug (there is seriously NOTHING as precious as a 15 month old trying to tickle you!). Clearly, this phase is all about reactions to her actions. And my GOD she doesn't like to sit still. My milk supply is on the fade because she literally can't be bothered to sit still long enough to nurse (except in the mornings). I'm down to about 6 ounces a day now if I pump both times. So, I'm thinking we will officially be done soon. She's finally happy with cow milk, so we're done with formula too.

And, regarding last post (which I will not apologize for or have any shame for posting, because that's exactly how I was feeling right at that moment), it's truly remarkable how none of the business bothers me when I get enough sleep. It's the sleep deprivation that makes it overwhelming. I had the opportunity to get 11 hours of sleep last Sunday night (the marathon was hell on 4 hours of sleep), 8 hours Tuesday night, and 7 on Mon and Wed nights. Yesterday, in spite of yet another in a challenging string of bedtimes, I was pretty chill about the hour it took to get everyone to sleep. We are entering a "let G fall asleep in our bed, so A can fall asleep in her crib, then move G to their bedroom while asleep" phase since Addie is all wired and keeps Gillian awake. Like all other challenging phases, this too shall pass...

Overwhelmed

I feel like I am chasing my tail and that I don’t ever get anything accomplished…or when I take something off my plate, something bigger and greasier gets piled on top. I feel like I need to do a better job balancing my responsibilities of being a mom and a wife and an employee, or I might spontaneously combust. M said it best, “I feel like I am doing a lot, just nothing particularly well”. Yes, exactly. A said she felt like the “you can do it all; you can be a perfect wife, and mother, and career professional” mantra for our generation was a big fat lie, and she is angry that she was fed this load of B.S. from the minute she was born. She feels like the feminist movement (which she considers herself partial to) is responsible for that warped image, and she’s resentful. We talked about the fact that while we never would want to be reliant on our husbands and appreciate the opportunities we have in the workplace and with education, there was something luxuriously simple and secure about the distinct roles family members had before women joined the workforce. Women had a job-run the household, raise the children. Men-bring home the bacon. Straightforward. For the record, M and A are both full time working Mamas with two kids (each has a baby and a toddler). Let’s face it, mothers are in greater demand from everyone, all.the.time. When Sean walked in from work last week and I was trying to finish dinner, pot in hand with Addie whining and clinging to my leg because she wants to be held every waking second right now (only by me though) and Gillian was throwing a fit on the floor, I thought to myself “now THIS picture is so representative of a working mother’s reality that it’s worthy of a modern day Rockwell Painting”. And I would title it “Domestic Bliss” or “Is this what we really wanted?”

So, I’m forever deprived of sleep. I get up every night lately with Addie at least twice. I get up for the day before 5 am, pump, make my latte and go to work. I commute 45 minutes. I work 10 hours, and commute 45 more minutes. I get home, sit for 15 minutes with the girls, then go in the kitchen and make dinner. Addie pulls everything out of the cabinets (mental note: need child-proof thingies for the cabinets) and Gillian whines for TV or for me to play with her (“in a little while” is my usual response). Addie clings to my legs and wants love and attention. I walk around stiffed legged finishing dinner and put away everything from the cabinets she has pulled out. I ask Gillian to set the table. I serve dinner. Sean comes home. I sit down for the prayer, then get up to finish making my own plate (I do mine last). After dinner I bathe the children (Amber does this if we are on our own and Sean can’t clean the kitchen). I dry them, slather them both with lotion, and put on their pajamas. I straighten up their room, put in a load of laundry, feed the fish, and clean up the living room while they play a few minutes before bed. I make a bottle for Addie and a cup of cold water for Gillian. We read books. We brush teeth. We snuggle. I tuck them in. It’s somewhere between 8:15 and 8:30 by this time, in spite of my effort to get them in bed earlier every single day. Then I go in the kitchen and make Gillian’s lunch for the next day, make my expresso shot for my morning latte, wash the bottles from the day, and get my own food made for lunch. Now it’s 9:15. Time to pump (ahh…I can sit down for 15 minutes), then to wash the pump parts and make bottle for the next waking. If I take a few more minutes to talk to anyone or if I get a phone call, it’s 10:30 or 11 pm in a blink. I still have to wake up at 4:45 am no matter when I go to bed…and Addie is waking up twice a night. So, you get the picture. I am not attentive enough to my children because I am too busy keeping the house together. I don’t have enough time with my husband because of the time it takes to care for the children. I am exhausted from all of it and not on top of my game at work. See-Not doing anything particularly well. Survival mode, really. This is why I have to literally schedule calls with my friends out of town to catch up.

I don’t think I ever felt quite this bad when it was just Gillian. Somehow with Addie, and adding Amber to this mix (my 18 year old niece who now lives with us) life has gotten beyond complicated. Amber is a gigantic help, so I don’t think anything but good things about her being here, but logistics are complicated. All this past weekend, I feel like I was cleaning, or cooking, or organizing, or grocery shopping, and helping Amber with homework after the kids were in bed until I passed out into a deep, black sleep. I don’t feel like I did much of anything valuable with the girls, which is heartbreaking. Gillian threw one of her biggest tantrums ever last night because she didn’t want to go to bed. I did not sit down yesterday even once to relax…when I finally got her (and Addie) calmed down she, hyperventilating, said “I…just..want…to have…a..date…with…you. Without Papa or Amber or Addie”. Needless to say, when Sean got home, I cried and cried and cried. Because it is HARD. I feel like I neglect everyone, especially myself. How can I cultivate a rich garden when I can’t even begin to verbalize my needs, much less meet them? What piece of this pie is mine? When can I carve out an hour just to do something I want to do (that is not for one of the children or for the household)? My two hour nap time on Wednesday is spent cooking for the kids or taking care of medical bills or blogging or uploading pictures to share. Even the amazing walk I took with my girlfriend last Wednesday (theorectically for me) made me feel guilty because I wasn’t interacting directly with Addie (though we did stop off at the playground). And now Gillian’s school expects parents to contribute time to the classroom (10 hours a year, but still). In my free time, I guess.

I am committed to changing this, I just have to figure out how. Sean has offered to go to the grocery store. That’s a good start. I am all ears if anyone has advice on how to manage a household when you cut out 50 hours a week from between the hours of 5 am and 5:30 pm on weekdays. It feels like this became overwhelming about a month and a half ago when Addie stopped sleeping through the night again, which coincided with Amber moving in and the kids starting to share a bedroom. So, just in case you thought I had it all, effortlessly, this is my not-so-secret secret. And I think many of us feel this way. Three full time jobs is too many, particularly when they are so emotionally demanding. And I do believe that motherhood, being a wife, and having a paying full time job are each equally demanding JOBS. At the end of the day, I think we all feel like we are the only ones struggling to keep our heads above water because everyone else seems to have it together. I think it’s more common than we realize. I realize in myself, it’s time to stop being a martyr and start letting the house be a mess if that means playing with Gillian while Addie naps, just us two. Or to let Sean do the grocery shopping, even if it means not all the coupons get used and he forgets to get the ORGANIC strawberries. Or to leave the kids at home and go get a pedicure because I deserve an hour to myself. Or asking for help and not expecting other people to intuit what I need for them to do to lessen my load. Otherwise I’ll blink and my precious babies will be grown and everything getting done around the house won’t matter at all, because I won’t get these moments back.