Category Archives: Probably too serious

Maybe the other wheels need oil! THINK OF THE OTHER WHEELS

Guess who has a deadline and a houseguest arriving in less than 24 hours and piles of laundry and floors that need vacuuming and a bathroom that needs scrubbing BUT ALL THE DISHES ARE DONE SO TAKE THAT. That’s why I’m blogging. Or more likely it’s why I’m thinking so much. Okay, I’m always thinking so much.

So here is my thing. I’m not all that loud. You might think from my penchant for ALL-CAPSery that I’m loud, but I’m not that loud. I guess I’m loud in a HA HA I THINK I AM SOOOO FUNNY sort of way sometimes. But I’m generally pretty private and quiet and being in crowds freaks me out and having ANY ATTENTION on me at all makes me want to cry and hide and point at someone else and run when heads are turned.

Because of this, I have a really hard time asking for help. Well, not asking for help. I can totally ask for specific help when I know that I need it and I know what I need. But support, you know? From the general collective. I’m TERRIBLE at that. Any time I do mention I’m having a hard time and get kind words back, I want to apologize. Oh, please, no, don’t worry about me. I’ll be FINE. I can take care of me. Look! At all those people with bigger problems! Go hug them instead!

And here is what happens. There are lots of people, whether they are extroverts or what, who are VERY GOOD at letting everyone know they are going through a hard time. And then you sit and you watch the support roll in. By the truckload, so much support, everyone is thinking of them, holding them up in prayer. And I resent it. I resent the HELL out of it.

And my uncharitable thoughts spiral out from there. Why can’t SHE just DEAL with her problems? Why must she make such a spectacle? Why doesn’t anyone help the people too quiet to know how to say they need help?

Well, dumbass. Because how in the WORLD are they supposed to know those people NEED help?

I see a lot of people talking about how people write on the internet and try to sell themselves as so happy with these perfect lives when meanwhile insanity is happening beneath the surface. And later they are criticized for this, for painting a happy picture when they weren’t happy at all. And that DOES happen, that definitely happens, but then I get (also uncharitably) defensive. You can’t tell! You can’t! Because sometimes people are just private! Sometimes the things we carry aren’t for the internet or even close friends. Sometimes the things we carry are ours to carry alone.

But also sometimes people ARE lying to sell their lives. So maybe I should reel that in. Maybe I shouldn’t give the benefit of the doubt OR judge. Maybe I should just STOP.

Then of course there are layers to what people are willing to share. Just because so-and-so is very vocal about certain stressors, it doesn’t mean EVERYTHING in her life is stressful, nor does it mean there aren’t things happening that even she isn’t mentioning.

This all sounds very ominous. I promise things are a normal amount of fine and messed up over here. No great turmoil. This isn’t a cry for help. It’s just, I don’t know. I get frustrated every day–EVERY SINGLE DAY–of my life when I find myself not stopping and taking a second and realizing WE ALL PROCESS THINGS DIFFERENTLY. There aren’t right and wrong ways.

Well, kicking kittens is a wrong way.

But there aren’t. And I need to stop. To stop resenting the squeaky wheels. THEY NEED OIL. So they squeak. And people bring them what they need.

And that’s ANOTHER thing I do. I see someone being very loud about a problem, and I immediately imagine what sort of problem I’d have to have to be THAT vocal about it. And I compare my imaginary makes-an-introvert-scream problem to the WAY AN EXTROVERT PROCESSES REAL ACTUAL PROBLEMS and that’s just not fair. NOT FAIR. Not to either type of personality. Or anyone on that sliding scale, I suppose, so as not to pigeonhole everyone.

I’m not going anywhere with this. It probably sounds preachy, and I don’t mean it that way. I just, I don’t hide things on purpose. I don’t know that it’s even HIDING, it’s just not sharing, because it’s mine and I’m protective of it. Maybe. I know it’s not pride that makes me do it. I have no desire for everyone to think I have it all together. And it’s not shame. I guess sometimes there is shame, but I’m not embarrassed that I can’t do it all, that I need support. It just doesn’t even occur to me to talk about it.

But, man. If it does occur to you to talk about your problems, to live your life out loud? I admire you. And you deserve every drop of oil you get.

OKAY GROUP HUG EVERYBODY THE END.

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Filed under Probably too serious

Tl;dr

So. Guys. There’s something that’s been going on recently, and it’s been bothering me. I’ve talked to a couple of people about it, and MOSTLY I am probably in the wrong, or at least in the minority, with my opinion, but I want to explain WHY I feel the way I feel and maybe hear from the handful of people who are on my side. Or perhaps I’m looking to be convinced by the people on the opposing side why I’m WRONG.

Now, normally when you come around here or any other blog sort of like this one where we’re big on BRINGING THE LAUGHS, this would segue into some sort of flighty, traditionally unimportant topic. This is ACTUALLY, for once, a more serious thing I’m talking about. Though not really all that serious. No life or death involved. Well, sort of both life and death, but not life OR death, which is a bit more pressing.

An article/blog post went viral recently, and the gist of it was that as mothers, we are too often told to “enjoy every moment!” and “seize the day!” by strangers, usually old ladies in the grocery store, when they see us out with our children. The general consensus seems to be that this is annoying, it’s intrusive, it’s rude, and it’s unrealistic; it is impossible to enjoy EVERY moment of motherhood. (Note: I’m not linking to that post because some things have come to light recently about the author and possible plagiarism in other pieces, so let’s just NOT go there.)

Which, truthfully, I don’t take issue with. Of course no one enjoys every moment of ANYTHING. No matter what the best day of your life was, you probably didn’t ENJOY using the toilet or that one sneezing fit or the car that cut you off in traffic. OBVIOUSLY, right?

The thing is, I can’t help but put myself behind the eyes of every person who has ever said this sort of thing to me. I instantly flash forward and imagine my children all grown and gone from the home. Maybe they’ll be married and have children, maybe they’ll all choose to remain childless, maybe they’ll struggle with infertility, maybe we will be estranged for one reason or another, or maybe I’ll just be melancholy over this part of my life being over. And then there is a woman out with her three beautiful children, in the PRIME of her life, really in the thick of things, LIVING even though every day is filled with chores and dirty diapers and screaming and tantrums and fights over the stupidest things imaginable. It will take EVERYTHING in me not to run up to her and grab her by the shoulders and tell her to HANG ON TO THESE MOMENTS, FOR THEY ARE TOO FEW.

I won’t, though! I promise.

What I am telling you here, though, is that I am in PRE-MOURNING for this part of my life. This is IT, this is what I have always wanted. It is ten million times harder than I ever imagined it would be, and it has me exhausted to my core. It has me filled with more worry than I knew I could carry. It has pushed me to my limits and beyond those limits, and I am saying this in a way I do not intend to be taken romantically. The last seven months since Leo was born? The HARDEST months of my life. OBVIOUSLY I did not cherish every bowl of oatmeal or bowl of rice and peas or bowl of ANYTHING BECAUSE THE ONLY THINGS I COULD EAT WERE SERVED IN BOWLS while watching my family eat pizzas and cakes and other assorted foods that required chewing. Of course I didn’t. And I am not insisting that any of you — any of us — should be counting your blessings every single second of your incredibly difficult days.

Just … it is HARD. It is SO SO HARD.

But, you know? I’m pretty sure all of us are going to miss some part of it. I am NOT a baby person, not at all. I cannot wait for Leo to turn one. I mean, I am practically wishing this entire year AWAY. I wouldn’t mind taking a nap from now until July 6th, thank you very much.

What got me thinking about this was a tiny little moment in the middle of the night last night. Leo got two immunizations yesterday. This was his second round with these two particular shots, and it was those shots that gave him a high (102+) fever last time. That was when we tried the HA HA corn-free acetaminophen. We were told this time that he needn’t be medicated for fever unless it got that high again, and by 10PM last night, he was at 100.9. I spent the entire night with the AC cranked and the fan on with my pitiful baby wearing a onesie beside me in the bed nursing while I kept him cooled down with a damp washcloth on his sizzling forehead. I barely slept, fretting in the dark that I’d have to give my baby medication that was sure to make him more miserable than the fever. I was MISERABLE and I HATED THE WORLD. I hated everything and everyone and I started thinking about the ladies in the grocery store with the love in their eyes telling me to cherish every moment.

Then I thought about Vio, 5 years old and down the hall in her own bed, who does not want to be touched if she is sick. Vio who had a tooth under her pillow for the tooth fairy, her second one already. And I was already that lady in the grocery store, telling MYSELF to cherish this moment, because that little girl was just this little boy. She JUST WAS. They are only a month off being exactly 5 years apart, and we find ourselves looking from one to the other in awe. Look at her! Five years ago, she was learning to sit up, and now she is READING US BOOKS! Etc. etc. etc.

I guess what I am getting at here is that I get it. I get why they do it. And it’s FINE if it bothers you when they say it to you, it’s just that I don’t think they mean it that way. Swistle wrote a great post recently about this where she talked about how we need to weigh the INTENTIONS along with the words they are saying. I wholeheartedly agree.

MY intention in writing this is not to guilt anyone who currently is NOT loving every moment. FAR FROM IT, as I hope I’ve made clear with the admission that I am most definitely not doing that myself. I have this problem, and when I tell you what it is, I’m going to sound like I’m trying to pass off a strength as a weakness or like when you answer that question about your flaws in a job interview and you say, “Oh, I’m a PERFECTIONIST,” but I promise you I am not. The thing is that I am fair to a fault. It sounds like a positive thing, but it has cost me more friends that I could possibly comment on here. Once, when confronted with the end of a friendship, I asked the question WHY? What had I done wrong? “It’s just … you’re always the bearer of bad news.” See, someone would come to me with a problem they’d had with someone else, and instead of being supportive, I would IMMEDIATELY try to see it from the other person’s side. I would put myself in BOTH sets of shoes, shoes that had no business being on my feet at all, and then WORSE, I would start in on my friend. Kindly, of course, but completely without regard for it being what the other person needed to hear. It’s something I fight like hell now that I realize how obnoxious it must be. It is something I have gotten more successful at pushing out of my head over the years, but it still creeps into my personal relationships far too often. Because I think I am being helpful! I only realize much later that it wasn’t the case at all.

That right there, now that I think about it, is the root of why I am writing this at all. I see people forming an angry mob against these (I’m assuming) well-meaning people and their well-meaning comments, and all my instincts tell me to DEFEND them and put me in their shoes. I think they’re right at the same time I think it is perfectly right to be annoyed and furious at all they have to say. I am here now living moments that drag on horribly and I am there looking back at a lifetime of moments that passed in an instant.

So, I don’t know. I DO carpe diem. I want to carpe the HELL out of all the diems I can. For me, anyway, it is so much better to be the one hearing the words “Cherish every moment” than the one speaking them.

36 Comments

Filed under Motherhood uncensored, Probably too serious

How I’m convincing myself this is okay

Monday I hit sort of a low. I was coming down with a raging illness, and with Leo’s sensitivities, there was nothing I could take beyond a couple of regular strength Tylenol. I had all the hopelessness one normally gets when sick (WILL I EVER BE HEALTHY AGAIN? UNLIKELY) with an inability to have cough drops, tea, ibuprofen, or ANY cold beverage other than water. So pretty much the world was ending, dogs and cats were cohabiting, and Chicken Little was doing laps around my brain. I told Matt I couldn’t do it anymore. Go buy the formula.

The only wrench in my plan was that Leo had his 4-month well-check scheduled for 8:40 the next morning. I didn’t want to send an overtired, hungry, fussy baby in for his first immunization. We agreed we’d start after the appointment. I ate a small bit of a turkey sub — literally the first cold food I had eaten in three months, all the rest was hot, cooked food — with a whole mess of enzymes. I figured I’d give it one last test. Maybe his system was stronger, maybe I could get away with “bad” food every once in a while. Maybe maybe maybe. My last ditch effort to keep this bond with my last sweet baby.

In the past his reactions have been a slight flare in the eczema on his forehead, gas, and the pinpricks of blood in the diaper. I assumed that would be what I’d see if he reacted to what I ate. HA! Ha. This morning, after his first feeding, I noticed a bit of red around his mouth. I thought maybe my hand had been pressed against there, or his had, or something. But it didn’t go down, it got brighter. And it was hot to the touch. It’s still there, nearly four hours since he last nursed. He also threw up most of the feeding.

So I gathered my resolve, and I sterilized the bottles, and I started to come to terms with the fact that this is happening. After three solid years of nursing my daughters (well, with 8 months of pumping for Vio, but it was still all breast milk that she got) I am going to have to give my baby formula. Even though I know that I would tell ANY OTHER WOMAN in my situation that absolutely this is one of those cases where breast milk is no longer best for everyone involved (and may not even be CLOSE to best for the baby) I am having trouble forgiving myself what I perceive to be my own personal failing.

There have been things I’ve been reciting in my head the past few months, trying to prepare myself for this moment. Ways and words to convince myself this IS okay. I don’t know how convincing any of them are, but I’m putting them down here so I can read them over and over again until I believe myself.

First and foremost, the diet I have had to be on to keep him happy and minimally bloody is not sustainable for my health. When this first started was around that point after you get the baby home that maternity pants are NO LONGER AN OPTION. When he was about a month old, I went to Old Navy and bought myself some pants in what I called a “depressingly large size”. I am now comfortably wearing pants that are three sizes smaller than that. That’s a pants size A MONTH. I weigh less now than I ever have in my adult life. (I’d be almost a little bit excited about that if not for the fact that I am REALLY SAD right now, and there are bags upon bags of Halloween candy in our kitchen. Plus Thanksgiving in two weeks, HA HA HA.) That aside, I have had nagging symptoms off and on since starting the low salicylate diet. I finally put it all together, and I think I have some vitamin deficiencies. My skin is dry and awful. I’m getting headaches. And if I’m not getting enough vitamins (read: NONE), Leo isn’t either.

Second, what is best for Leo (if that were somehow breast milk) may not be best for the rest of the family. Matt, saint that he is, has stepped up to take over a lot of the dinnering for the girls. It was too much on me to try to make them a meal AND make me a meal, and try as I might, there just weren’t meals I could make myself on this diet that I could adapt for them. What that boiled down was that they were more often than not eating food from cans/the freezer section/the magical blue box. Now, I am FINE with kids having those foods, but for my family, I try to keep them in moderation. These children were used to fresh vegetables with their dinner every night taking up half of their plates, and I feel as though I have undone YEARS of work by them eating less nutritious food for the last three months. (Not years of the nutrition they got, but years of them eating plate after plate of vegetables without whining for something else.)

Going along with that is the resentment I feel toward the ENTIRE WORLD for eating things I can’t eat. I go in the grocery store and I’m actually angry at the people in there. They can just buy whatever they want! Such freedoms they have and do not appreciate!

I’m really really FAIR is what I’m saying here.

Seriously, though. I should copy and paste the food log I’ve been keeping since August. It is a sad, sad document. Every day basically looks like, “Quaker oatmeal, sugar, salt, white rice, green peas, potatoes, sunflower oil.” Copy and past that 90 times, and you get the basic idea.

Now, as far what is best for Leo, nothing else considered, I don’t think the breast milk was going to work. No matter how carefully I ate, the blood was still coming back. Sometimes I could trace it to something I did (like taking a multivitamin I desperately needed, researched the hell out of, and even rinsed off the sucrose coating to make it as safe as possible) but sometimes it wasn’t easily explained. And that is MADDENING. With the formula, I will know there is one constant input. If he continues to have flare-ups on that? Well, then we may need to get some testing done.

There was a short period of time when I think the stars aligned and we got everything right. He had no blood, and he was STRONGER. You guys, though we know he CAN do the mini-pushup (because he did it that week when everything was awesome) he mostly doesn’t. Sometimes, when he’s flared up, I can tell he’s trying, and he just can’t. I don’t know if it’s related. He’s got some other physical/motor skill things we’re keeping an eye on, and I feel like it would be negligent for me, at this point, not to at least give the formula a try.

Formula feeding comes with so many negatives. The bottles to wash, the loss of that closeness, the bottles to wash, the cost. The GUILT more than anything. The feeling that every single anything that he deals with later in life that his sisters don’t deal with will leave me feeling like it was somehow tied to the formula. But I guess I’m hoping the good will outweigh all the bad. I won’t get a pit in my stomach whenever it’s time to change his diaper. I will be able to cook my family a proper meal at night. I will be able to trade off sleeping through the night.

I am so afraid of what is going to come next when it is time to start solids. I want his body to be as healed as possible before we can even think about it. Starting today means he can get two solid months of easy-to-digest nutrition before his little body has to think of breaking down anything more complex.

This does not undo what I have already done. That’s the hardest bit for me to accept, but it is so important, and my heart knows it is true. I still breastfed three children for a total of 39 months. If he had been my first baby, Roo my last, I would be ending on a positive note, and I would feel content. I can’t beat myself up that they came in this order. This does NOT undo what I have already done.

I am going to pump. I’m going to keep pumping as long as there is something there to pump. I’m going to file it all in the freezer, just in case. Maybe I can donate it? Maybe it doesn’t have to go to waste. (I’m also afraid of dealing with the hormonal drop from weaning. IT IS NOT FUN, and I’m already a ball of anxiety. Let’s deal with that NOT RIGHT NOW.)

I always thought there was no breastfeeding situation I couldn’t rise to the occasion and beat with research and discipline. Maybe I could have beat this if I tried harder, I can’t really ever know that. But I don’t think I’ve got any fight left in me. And he needs me to make this change, even if he isn’t going to like it. This IS what is best.

So. Deep breaths. Enough giving myself a pep talk. He’s starting to wake up now, and it’s time.

52 Comments

Filed under Little lion man, Motherhood uncensored, Probably too serious

Writing it all down to get it all out

SO! More adventures in the land of Leo. If you follow me on Twitter, you can probably skip most of this. It’s just more of the venting. And maybe slightly more explanation than I give in 140 characters. Times a thousand, since that’s roughly how many tweets I spew out after each and every doctor’s appointment. But! Spoiler?

I am done trying to figure this out with the doctors. Just … I’m done. I mean, unless it gets really really really bad again. (OMG PLEASE DO NOT GET REALLY REALLY REALLY BAD AGAIN.) They are providing none help. Every improvement we’ve seen in Leo has been by MY research and experimentation. I feel like a gigantic wang for saying that, but it’s seriously true.

Well, either that, or he has slowly slowly healed over time and I had nothing to do with it. But I wouldn’t suggest suggesting that to me, because I’m cranky. All I eat is oatmeal and tears. And not even tears anymore, because who knows what’s in those. Probably fluoride.

Anyway.

HAHAHAHA. I just typed up the whole story! Over 1000 words’ worth! Then I tried to read it back, and I just couldn’t. Maybe I just needed to write it all out beginning to end or something? Closure? Who knows. What I DO know is that none of you needed to read that. Well, maybe some other woman who is googling around the whole internet trying to figure out what’s going on with her baby might need to read it, but I already deleted, so I AM SO SORRY CRAZY LADY. If you come over to my house I will tell you the whole story and make you a nice pot of water and peas or something. Maybe we’ll add salt if we’re feeling fancy.

I’m just so ready for this to be over, you guys. This has been the most frustrating and drawn-out experience of my life. I honestly and truly cannot think about other things! Well, when he’s doing badly. When he’s doing WELL, I’m all LA LA LA WE HAVE FINALLY FIXED THE PROBLEM!

You should see my reaction when he next has a bad diaper. Oh, it is not pretty, you guys. It is not pretty at all. And then I do the super healthy thing and take it out on everyone around me.

But we’ve been sans (visible, anyway) blood in the diapers for over three days now. I added back a few vegetables that should be low enough in the salicylates for him to tolerate them. I might start some digestive enzymes soon to see if that helps him at all. I don’t suspect we’ve seen the last of the blood, but I do know what I have to eat to make it go away again. I figure I’ll keep pushing the boundaries of what I can eat and maybe by New Year’s I’ll be able to eat something crazy! Like plain chicken!

I just know I’m done going to doctors and saying, “I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out what is irritating him and I’ve stopped eating it and now he is doing better. Do you think he will outgrow this?” only to have them tell me they’ve never HEARD of what I’m telling them is going on.

Look, I will admit, I don’t think he has a TRUE salicylate sensitivity. I think salicylates irritate the GI tract, and I was ingesting dairy and soy and whatever the actual allergen was that initially caused the allergic colitis, and then we loaded him up on salicylate-laden ranitidine syrup (peppermint flavoring? salicylate PARADE) and it did a bunch of damage. Damage that has slowly but surely begun to heal over the last two months. I think removing those irritating foods from my diet has done him WORLDS of good. I’m not trying to diagnose him with some rare, ridiculous, zebras-not-horses disorder. Mostly I’m telling the doctors this because I think there’s a chance it MIGHT help other women breastfeeding babies with allergic colitis. Hey! Look into food chemicals! They might be continuing the irritation!

Really. That’s ALL.

But instead, they just tell me they’ve never heard of it. Then they forget about us the second we walk out the door. And then another woman walks in with the same problem, and no one can tell her what is wrong, because that thing they’ve never heard of? THEY WOULD HAVE JUST HEARD OF IT IF THEY HAD BEEN LISTENING.

(I’d like to add that our general pediatrician DOES think I’m onto something. Or else he is just familiar with my brand of crazy and knows I won’t shut up about this and is nodding along politely. I don’t really care which it is, I WILL TAKE IT.)

I don’t even know where I’m going with any of this. I guess I needed to get it all out. Put it out there on the internet, however NOT SUCCINCT it may be, just in case. My little ribbon on the internet for salicylate sensitivity awareness.

I do want to thank each and every one of you who has listened to me vent about this, either over Twitter, or IM, or the phone, or email, or in person — you have all held me up through this, and I would have crashed and burned long ago without the encouragement you’ve given me. I KNOW it is all I ever talk about anymore, and I cannot wait for the day this is just some awful, awful memory that I can look back on and through the fog of hindsight can determine I was probably overreacting and overthinking and overdoing and overtrying and overeverything. Ing.

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Filed under Little lion man, Motherhood uncensored, Probably too serious

Everything is relative. Yes, it is.

Here’s the thing, internet. We’ve got to get something straight here, because you’re driving me crazy lately. I know a lot of that is my own pregnancy crankiness, but still, I promise you, IT NEEDS TO BE SAID.

Let me start by saying that if you were sick with say, a cold. A nasty cold, to be sure, but still, nothing life threatening. Say you wanted to tweet about how miserable you feel. Would it help if someone were to reply, “THAT is not a real illness! You need to stop complaining!”? No, because, well, ILLNESS IS RELATIVE. So people (generally, there are always some jerkfaces) don’t do that.

Now, how about you’re stuck in traffic in Smalltown, USA. Usually you don’t have any traffic, but today there were some ducks in the road and they lost their mama and a sweet lady stopped and things got out of hand and now you’re going to be 15 minutes late to your bridge lesson or the apple pie eating contest or whatever. Would it be helpful to hear from Atlanta or DC, the Craptastic Traffic Capitals of These Known United States, “That’s NOT real traffic! Call me when you have to deal with this every day!”? No, because, well, TRAFFIC IS RELATIVE. We deal with what we’re used to, and when something happens out of the ordinary, IT IS OKAY TO COMPLAIN ABOUT IT.

Well. It’s been cold in Florida the past few weeks. Not cold for, like, Wisconsin residents, but cold for MY FACE. I didn’t see snow until I was 26 years old. Seriously. We don’t have heavy coats, we don’t have gloves, and we don’t change out our wardrobes when the seasons change. Winter in Florida means throwing a hoodie over your summer wardrobe and swapping out jeans for shorts and skirts. Our air vents are in the ceiling, because we normally run COLD air conditioning, and seeing as how cool air falls, this makes sense. It does NOT make sense when we start running our heat and the heat blows halfway down and promptly begins to rise.

Anyway, it’s been getting into the low 40s and 30s overnight for a couple of weeks. That is cold. For here.

Yet, on Twitter, I have seen MULTIPLE comments to the effect of, “That’s not REAL winter!” or “This BARELY counts as snow! “*

I don’t care where you live, THERE IS SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE who would scoff at YOUR idea of WINTER. At YOUR idea of SNOW. I promise you!

When summer comes and, inevitably, there is a heat wave somewhere in the north that lasts for weeks where temperatures get up around 90 (the typical daily weather for a summer in Florida) I don’t hop on Twitter and start putting people down. Do you know why? Because WEATHER IS RELATIVE. They don’t have central air in the north, usually, because they don’t need it most of the time. So when it’s that hot, THERE IS NO RELIEF.

Probably, at this point, I am rambling. But, you guys, I propose this: Let’s stop trying to out-weather each other already. It is childish and ridiculous and serves NO PURPOSE other than to puff oneself up and feel superior to others.

It is absolutely, 100% MORE THAN OKAY to complain about something, even if you aren’t suffering the worst case of it that history has ever seen.

/cranky lady out.

*Disclaimer – This is meant in no way to shame the individual people who have made these comments; it’s an observation on the general attitude of the internet when it comes to weather.

24 Comments

Filed under Gestation, Not even kidding, Probably too serious

A little of this, a little of that

Things have been a bit crazy ’round here the last couple of months. Vio started school (Pre-K). Roo is out-talking all of us. To a seriously painful degree. Where our weekends and evenings before were spent staring at walls and repeating the age old, “Well, what do YOU want to do?”, it now seems like we’re hardly ever home.

I keep THINKING about writing here, but I never get around to it. I keep falling asleep with Roo at naptime, exhausted after the 3-mile roundtrip noontime in the HAYELL of Florida heat walk to pick Vio up from school and a morning spent with a 22-month-old who must get her talking gene from my father’s mother, who adopted him.

Hey, neat. That part of me that can whip out a run-on sentence is still fully functional! And here I thought my skill set was getting watered down.

Then, in the evening, mostly all I want to do is stare at mind-numbing television. Or super AWESOME television. I’m head over heels for Lie to Me, and now Tim Roth is the narrator in my brain. It’s ruined all other television for me. I watch CSI, and all I can think is, “Get Cal Lightman in here! He’ll tell you if this dude is lying!!”

I think that’s healthy.

Hmm. What else.

Vio. Vio and I have started reading chapter books at bedtime. The first was Charlotte’s Web, and she absolutely loved it. She got sick twice last month. (So did I.) Thank you, school! She’s loving school; this is a relief, because the first week was a huge adjustment. She has homework, which boggles my mind. She is four years old! She’s got the next twenty years to do homework. It makes me all get-off-my-lawny. See this, heavens? It is my tiny fist, and I shake it somewhat angrily in your general direction.

Roo. Roo is a spitfire. I can’t come up with a better way to describe her. She never stops talking, and she speaks in full paragraphs. She goes “AH!” whenever she gets something she wants or just because she knows we think it’s cute. She narrates every passing moment of our lives. This is how a typical drive in the car goes:

I SEE A BIG THING I SEE A YITTLE THING! I SEE A CLOUD I SEE A GOAT I SEE A BUS! VAVA I SEE A BUS DO YOU SEE A BUS? I HAVE BUZZ YIGHTYEAR YOU HAVE WOODY I HAVE BUZZ YOU HAVE WOODY. HI WOODY, MY NAME BUZZ YIGHTYEAR!

Then she’ll complain she can’t hear the radio, and she has no idea that the noise blaring over it is coming out of her own face.

I’ve started weaning her. It’s been pretty slow and steady, with my goal being mostly done by the time I leave for The Blathering (which is in just one month! I can’t wait! More on my panic over that later!) (Exclamationz!!) We’re down to nursing before bed and first thing in the morning. The bedtime one will be easy enough to drop (she’s already stopped requesting it some nights) but the morning will be difficult. I’m pretty weepy about the whole thing, but also ready to be done and so so grateful I was able to nurse her these 22 months.

Really, most time has been spent tending to Grandma Val’s things. I’ve cataloged a ton of her stuff and put it up on Flickr for out-of-town family to look through. We had a garage sale to clear out some of the day-to-day, less sentimental clutter. It was really, really hard. At the end of the day, I sat down on the floor and just cried. It still doesn’t make sense that she’s gone. The girls have handled it really well, aside from a few crying fits from Vio when she wanted to see her in that first couple of weeks. She’s doing better now.

Tonight, in the car, on the way to her house, the girls had this conversation as I clenched Matt’s hand and forced all but a handful of tears to stay in my eyeballs:

Vio: We’re going to Grandma Val’s house, Roo!

Roo: Yay! I YOVE Grandma Val!

Vio: She’s not there anymore, Roo.

Roo: Oh. I see her other time then.

Vio: She’s in heaven now.

Her little voice trailed off, and that was that.

I don’t think I really ever thanked everyone for all the kind words in the days following her passing. It meant a lot to me and Matt. Your prayers and love lifted us up, and I continue to feel that love every day as I dilly-dally along with so many of you on this splendid internet. Thanks, pretties. And thanks for bearing with me while I dust off this here blog.

(They’re … still called BLOGS, right?)

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Filed under My girls, Nothing but love, Probably too serious

The one thing I just can’t handle

Complaining didn’t go over well in my house growing up; this is generally the case when one lives with a one-upper.

You know the type. If you have a sprained ankle, they spin tales of past woe-befallen BROKEN ankles. If you have a cold, they’ve just gotten over bronchitis.

My grandmother’s best friend was like this, to the point that when my grandmother got bifocals for the first time, her friend went out and got herself declared legally blind.

(At least that’s how my grandma liked to tell the story.)

(No matter how bad your one-upper was, my grandma would assure you: hers was worse.)

When I was in 10th grade, my dear and wonderful husband BROKE MY EVER-LOVING HEART. I was crushed. Crushed with SRS EMO PAIN. I think I cried for 24 hours straight. And do you know what my mother told me to try to make me feel better?

“Well, at least you weren’t engaged and you didn’t walk in on him cheating on you with another woman! Now THAT is heartbreak!”

Wow, Mom. I feel BUCKETS of better now.

And I know she meant well. She wanted to give me perspective, and I can see that now. But who wants perspective when they have just been crushed by their SOULMATE? (And see? I WAS RIGHT TO BE CRUSHED, DAMMIT.)

But that was the way things worked with my mom. When I encountered hardship, she always had a story of even greater hardship. And when I say that, I mean that from a heartbreaking place, because she did not have an easy life at all. She is a survivor of so much, and I don’t begrudge her a moment of it.

Recently, we were talking, and she started getting very down on herself. Things have been difficult with her siblings lately, and she’s been sort of in the Bog of Eternal Stench of Family Issues. And then she went off on herself about what right did she have to be sad? We are all still healthy, we have roofs over our heads and food on the table and everything under the sun to be thankful for.

And oh, it broke my heart. Because she was letting the whole wide world one-up her very justified pain. So I told her that everyone bears their own burdens. This is not misery poker, no one is playing to win, and no matter how bad off you are, there is someone, SOMEWHERE, worse off than you. But everyone’s pain is their own.

It was permission to wallow, if just for a moment, in circumstances that would have crushed someone weaker a long time ago. And in an instant she understood — you cannot slap a > or < between two people’s burdens.

Because you just don’t know. You don’t know their whole day, and you don’t know their whole story.

And that, dear internet, is the one thing I cannot handle. It is the one thing where, no matter what you’re complaining about, no matter how heavy your load, my sympathy synthesizers shut the hell down when you belittle another person’s struggle.

I wish I could say I’m not guilty of it, but of course I am. OF COURSE I am. We all think it, sometimes; we all feel the most persecuted, the most exhausted, the most put-upon. The grass is always brownest in our own backyard.

But the next time I catch myself thinking, “So-and-so has such-and-such, so her life is easier/better/more fair than mine!” I will take a step back and appreciate that so-and-so has things beneath the surface that I will never, ever see. So-and-so has skeletons in the closet and her own dark demons and looks at me and is certain I have it better.

If we all threw our problems up in the air, I’d fight like hell to catch my own. And I’m willing to bet so-and-so would too.

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Filed under Probably too serious