Set the washer on spin

Shortly after lunch everyday I become briefly comatose. The same unbending urge to fall asleep that plagued me during my younger years and caused me to fall asleep at my school desk with my mouth gaping still haunts me to this day. The children are used to it. They flutter around me like fireflies to a lamp post while I slouch back on the couch in my moment of biological shutdownedness. This blackout period lasts less than five minutes and when I awake from the magical slumber I've uncorked Energy. I feel rejuvenated in a way that always surprises and, after bringing the living room back into focus, I usually bound from the seat ready to take on multitudes of chores. After an hour or so, my good energy is depleted and I tend to feel the weight of wanting to continue to pace manically from chore to chore but losing the battle to fallen blood sugar. Oddly enough, the children's adorable symbiotic play melts down at the same rate as my attitude and I begin to feel trapped. The children get louder, whinier, needier, hungrier...as do I. This breakdown of all that is good in the world happens in the same manner and about the same time everyday. My instinctual solution? Leave, with the children, of course. I usually suggest we either go for a ride or go for a walk. A few weeks ago I recognized the insanity of the moment and abruptly anounced we were going for a car ride. With the children in the back seat and I in the front, I somehow had a mental barrier between us that made it seem like I had a break. I drove a circle around town while the nutters dozed in the back seat. Close to home, I stopped by a fast food place and bought myself fried food. I sat in our driveway for ten minutes listening to music I liked and eating fries, feeling happy as hell. Amazing what a mental break can do for a mom.

Predictably, today followed this pattern: lunch, brief rest, energy, crash, escape. Today, escape meant a walk with the dog. The boy didn't want to join us, claiming he was too sick and after agreeing he'd stay behind while the girl and I walked the dog, he changed his mind the moment I opened the door. The poor dog went bonkers waiting for me to help the boy with his socks and shoes on because he was already leashed and didn't understand the hold up. The air outside greatly contrasted the air in our stuffy little house and improved our moods. When the walk was walked, although awkwardly since the boy insists on helping me push the stroller and the dog insists on pulling his lead, we decided to play with the newly fallen leaves in the front yard. I enjoyed a blissful parenting moment with my children; listening to the boy make up games and teaching the girl how to play them, until someone else required my attention. The children examined leaves on a young tree while I described peacefully how one was striped like a tiger and "Oh, this one looks like a painting! Do you see the purples, oranges and browns of Fall?" I was telling the boy how we shouldn't pull off the green leaves but to gently remove the dying ones because the tree would like that best when I felt a sting on my hand. I looked down and saw a biting black ant on my knuckle and quickly pinched him off, thinking "Oh well." I don't know why, because I didn't feel any other stings, but I looked down at my pants and, to my shock, realized my legs were coverd in hundreds of the little guys. And just like that, my whimsied moment was over as I jumped up, telling the children to step away from the tree because ants were upset with us and said we had to go in because Mommy needed to take off her pants. If they had been red ants, those blue jeans would've been stripped off in an instant but thankfully the ant god had mercy on my standing with the neighbors and allowed me to get my children and my dog inside before I stripped on the steps. I tried to do this calmly and with humor but did manage to scare the boy a little. He had three ants on the bottom of his pants and although I pinched them off easily, he insisted on being naked, too. After throwing on a skirt and starting the washer, I went outside to reclaim my pants as their rightful owner. Many of the ants had left their great enemy, but for those who stayed on, I'm sad to say met their demise in hot, soapy water.

The staples that wouldn't come out

Today marks the eighth day since the boy had three staples put into his head to close the cut caused by his fall. Since today is a teacher work day he didn't have school so I thought I'd take him to the hospital to have the staples removed and then reward him with visiting the train table at the bookstore. I made a grave mistake thinking I could handle this without his daddy. The boy has issues with people touching his head. Period. Always has. It took a very long time to convince him brushing teeth was a necessity and that when a boy has very long hair, it must be brushed daily. He screams every time we shampoo his hair, without fail. When he was two years old, he fell from the couch to the coffee table and his teeth pressed through his bottom lip. He has a scar to this day. There was lots of blood and after several hours his mouth still bled. I thought the teeth were secure but was uncertain so I took him to an emergency pediatric dentist. He wouldn't stay still for the professionals for the examination or the x-ray. Because I was pregnant at the time, they asked that I stand behind the glass wall while they held him down during the x-ray. He cried and strained under their hands and was quite traumatized. Standing with him today in the small exam room brought me back to that day. He let them take one out while his head was buried in my stomach but once he felt the pinch of the staple remover, he decided once was enough. He cried and shook and refused to listen to promises of visiting the book store afterwards or just the plain logic of once they are removed we can leave...poor kid. After many tries and different doctors and nurses with gentle tricks up their sleaves, they gave me the ultimatum: we can hold him down and force it or we can leave. We had already tried my hugging him tight while someone held his head still and that didn't do it so what did they have in mind, a vice? We decided to call it a day. I was given the staple remover and wished good luck. If we couldn't do it at home then we could try his pediatrician or just let the staples grow out. I know that if my husband had been there the boy would've felt more trusting...I'm just kicking myself for not taking care of this yesterday morning when he was available. What pissed me off was the way many of the nurses seemed shocked that he would act that way...like a four year old is supposed to be so damn mature and logical. It didn't help that they kept thinking he was a girl just because he has gorgeous long hair (yes, completly ignore the masculine clothing why don't you) and when i corrected them they blamed his haircut, thereby blaming us for not cutting it. I was severely grumpy after we left since the entire visit took an hour and a half and only one staple was removed. But, after buying myself fries and a biscuit on the way home, I decided one staple was better than none.

Children's Clothing Swap and chatter

This Saturday the Natural Mamas holds their third free Children's Clothing Swap.
Important details follow so pay attention...
Sponsor: Natural Mamas
What: Children's Clothing Swap
When: Saturday October 25th
Where: Sheppard Memorial Library
Meeting Room A
530 Evans St Greenville NC
Why: This event is intended for the community to bring donations of children's items such as
clothing, toys, feeding, sleeping and bathing gear, etc. Once at the swap, everyone is
allowed to look through the goods and take home whatever their family needs. If you
have nothing to donate, doesn't matter, come anyway and take what you need. Anything
leftover will be taken to local charities.
Legalities: This non-profit event is hosted by Natural Mamas and is in no way a Sheppard
Memorial Library event.

Check out these happy "shoppers".

Chit Chat: So who's really doing all the work for this thing? At this point, myself and a co-organizer who loves doing charity work- I suspect she gets immense personal satisfaction from helping others- who wouldn't? We have one confirmed volunteer and that's it for now so the work load appears dyer. My biggest concern, other than the lack of help, is that I haven't really advertised this go around. We were supposed to have this in September but a tropical storm came our way that morning and, after discussing the potentials of being blown away while carrying bags of stuff inside the library, we canceled the event. But in the month since the no-go, I've really lost interest in spreading the word and haven't put nearly as much into it as I should have. Thankfully I'm not the only one advertising (speaking about my co-organizer now) but I did find a glitch. A few weeks ago, I was at the library and noticed a flier about the swap. "Great!" I thought. But then I saw the date was a day off. Hmmm. She's since fixed the date and retraced her steps so hopefully no one will go to the library today for free stuff instead of tomorrow. At some point, tonight or early tomorrow, I will load my borrowed car with donations and will be off to spread pre-holiday cheer. I'll be glad to be rid of these things because they've been clogging the girl's closet for two months. It's time to move on with this stalled train and time to store up for the next swap in the spring.

Me and the girl, spring swap '08

Blood in the water

This late summer has been filled with the color red for me. I think it began with hosting the Red Tent Event and my filling my living room with the warm color. When the day was through, I was quite attached to the decorative change and kept the red pillows and chair coverings, vowing to repaint the walls as well. And then, during my month of hormonal changes I spontaneously dyed my hair red, something I hadn't done since before my pregnancy with my first child. I used a cautious strawberry blond but am now ready to go much darker. I wasn't, but truly was, aware that my body was building up a supply of menstrual blood to be released early last week, the first release in 27 months. Now that I'm using cloth mama pads as opposed to the disposable ones of the past, I see vibrant red every trip to the bathroom. I rinse these pads in cold water so the stain doesn't set and am impressed at the COLOR of life. Throw away pads don't give a woman this thrill since the color is dull on the dry weave and is just tossed in the trash, something to be disgusted by and forgotten. Seeing the rinse water change from clear to orange every time reminds me of using dyes as a fabric artist and also that I haven't dyed in a long time. Sunday the color of life was thrown in my face once again when I heard my oldest fall and cry out from another room. I was in the kitchen doing some type of kitchen activity and appreciating the silence coming from the living room as my children shared a snack together at the coffee table. Both children sat in a child-sized wooden chair each that my sister and I used when we were young. When I ran to the room I saw that the girl was still in hers but that the boy had tipped his over and he was laying on his back beside the fireplace. He came into my arms and I felt the blood dripping from the back of his head onto my hands. I noticed his shirt was soaked deep red as I lifted him into my arms and scrambled to the kitchen for a clean washcloth. I applied pressure to his skull and tried to focus on, on everything. His crying, his blood, his little sister still needing a parent, too. I told him I'd get some ice and the girl said "Ice, ice, ice mommy" My mother called at the moment and I flipped my cell phone on and said between the sounds that it wasn't the best time to talk. I hung up the phone and then called my husband's phone, only to leave a message. I then sent him a text one handed that read "Come home now". Amidst the chaos I remained cheery for the children and retrieved ice for them both to suck on before blowing up a surgical glove like a balloon, something I had read in a parenting book as a trick to keep things light. The boy's bleeding halted and I was able to see the gash underneath his bloodied brown hair. It was bad, but not too bad, but then again, maybe it was terrible and I was underestimating the damage...I was wishing I had a second opinion and my husband wasn't playing racquetball. As I rinsed the washcloth out in the sink, I saw the rusted orange color of LIFE, this time from my precious boy. Blood from an injury, a lot more than should come from a child, a lot more than comes from my mama pads. After finishing his ice, the boy seemingly perked up, asked if we could toss the new balloon around and I suggested we sit and watch a movie instead. My husband came home during 101 Dalmations and I felt shaken and protective. I said I was planning to surprise the kids with a trip to the park but that the boy's injury erased those thoughts. My husband, seeing our son happily eating, talking and watching a show felt the opposite. He hadn't witnessed the incident so he thought I was overreacting. After the show, I convinced the boy to take a bath. As I gently poured water on his hair the dried blood fell away and his bathwater turned orange. I tried to cut away his hair at the site of injury but the boy was resistant which made me tense. With a strained voice I yelled for his daddy to take over- the boy will let him do certain things over me any day. Once his cut was truly revealed we could see the damage: an inch long and gaping. We discussed the severity, our options, our indecision...it was Sunday after all so should we go to the emergency room or try to dress the wound ourselves? I was for the ER and my husband was for the latter, really leaving me to the big decision. I quickly packed our things and off we went. As we walked inside the building a helicopter was navigating the roof, a big thrill for a 4 year old. Inside we had our pockets and diaper bag searched by a policewoman and we were eyed by an officer on a Segway. We were there for a total of four hours. Four hours. The first two were spent in the large waiting area. We kept the children entertained enough...When a doctor came through two double doors and called the boy's number, 521, we cheered and proceeded to walk through the doors. I was told the girl was too young to go to the emergency area because of germs and I'd have to stay in the waiting area with her. The logic made sense, especially sense the girl isn't vaccinated, but that hurt me as a mother. I sadly communicated to my husband that he'd be with our son and I'd stay behind. That's when the other two hours of waiting kicked in. I nursed the girl twice and she briefly napped in my arms while I watched a Matthew Mcconaughey movie on one of the many television screens. My husband thankfully emerged when I thought I couldn't possibly stand pacing amongst strangers any longer and we drove home, my boy having gotten three staples in his head.
Last night my week of womanly bleeding came to an end and I look forward to the next one. This first cycle was interesting; long, painless, moody and just something different. But it was a natural occurence, a positive statement for me about fertility returning and where I am in life. My son's accident and the blood that fell from his body was something I could've done without. When something happens to one's child, who is it harder on...the parent or the child?

I do feel changed

It is fitting that I should start my period on a full moon. The girl is now 18 months old and I have been 18 months post-partum and period free until now. I'm not feeling elated and alive as I did when my fertility returned after the boy's 20 month birthday, but I do feel changed. My body has been presenting oddities for a month now: anger, sadness, hot flashes, sensitive nipples... My mind has been causing me to do impulsive, pre-children and also pregnancy related hormonal activites: shopping like mad, chopping off my hair and dying it, imagining the fun of piercings and tattoos...
(no, mother, I still to this day have no tattoos, so don't loose any sleep)

I've taken 3 pregnancy tests this month because of my odd behavoir. Thank goodness I saw only negative signs. Yesterday I wanted to run from my children. I needed space for just a moment but children don't want to be alone when mama is freaking out, understandably. So I settled for a pitiful cry in front of the kids which brought on hugs and "Its okay, Mommy" from the four year old.

I tried a new recipe that night for supper and it was given bad reviews and a sour face from the husband. That brought back my ill feelings and when the dishes were put away, I told him to watch the children because I needed to be alone. I walked to our bedroom and closed the door. I walked into our master bathroom and locked it behind me. I turned on the exhaust fan, turned off the lights and sat on the floor, crying. As my head was in my hands, I searched for words to explain why I was upset but nothing came. I accepted I just was and waited for the tears to pass. When I was done, I stood, turned on the lights, washed my face and comed my hair. When I left the sanctuary I felt over water again and found the husband playing with the kids in the living room. I suggested we go for a walk as a family.

Obama: one more for the ladies

I just created a new design for the Obama Mamas using cafepress.com. Check it out and spread the word. Bad Boy products
Are you looking forward to the final debate like I am?