Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Said it before but I'll say it again: Once it is nice out, don't expect to see me indoors, ever. I am going to set up a little encampment in my yard, and be out there the entire day. My entire soul depends on it.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Do you even comprehend how much I hate being barefoot---OUCH--glass, nails, rocks, ringworm, warts, pebbles, rust, spiders, staphylococcus---fuck that! I hate it hate it hate it! I used to run around the neighborhood barefoot, seriously, when I was a teenager, I walked all the way to my job at a pool barefoot. Didnt even hurt. WTF?! SO weird. Now I weigh a ton and my feet all all wussy and gentle. So instead of being a thin athletic teenager with leather tough feet, I am now the exact OPPOSITE of that, and therefore, I love shoes. And therefore I fail the BAREFOOT portion of the BAREFOOT BRALESS HIPPIE thing. You still with me? Good. So ponder this:
I like the sturdy, sturdy super uber clunky 90s shoes. I LOVE my Doc Martens. I have the oxford red 3 lace ones, I have black mary janes that are painfully horrifically tight because they are not unisex, but rather, girls shoes, ladies, what have you, well they only go up to a 10. And I am an 11 if not 11 1/2. OW. I also have 8 hole patent leather red Doc Marten boots that rule my life. Gorgeous fun darling you feel like some alien spacecraft barbie fashion doll when you wear them, not bad t'all :)
Recently I discovered Keen. Yummy clunky super crunked out mountain climbing-chic-- look I dont know what to call this shit but it gets me, I fuckin LOVE it, all that faux hiking shit yummmmmmy so cute. Ok so KEEN(s), Keen, I have a pair of green mary janes and a pair of clunky hiking shoe thingies. Also green. I adore and devour green articles of clothing and decor. Duh. I takes my breath away, a good green anything-- car, paint on a house, little signs, I just adore green, it is amazing. It is so hard to do green wrong, even if you go into mint which is disgusting ,but since this 80's chic just does not seem as if it will ever fucking DIE, pastel yes sadly is also back and somehow....Im falling out of hate with pastel green-- sick right? ;P
Well, green shoes, clunky shoes, hi top chucks, platform boots, combat gear, I love me a great shoe. Mmmm mmm mmm.
And now, my dears, on to Bras!
Bras, oh bras, brassieres, all those lame things like boulder holder and, ummm other things? Yes, bras, I LOVE THEE. I H A T E My boobs flailing around. It makes me puke. It is not free, it is not comfy, cozy, casual, political, it is GROSS. BLECH. shudder. I Like a very high quality bra, one that is like micro engineered, researched, cantilevered, I want it to be A M A Z I N G. Like ,armor. Fucking armor to go out there and cook meals for brats and deal with assholes in stores and drive with psychos on the roads, texting while drink driving, ARMOR to help you lift lift lift huge fat toddlers up into swings, carts, baskets, vans, carseats, high chairs, bathtubs, cribs, playpens, strollers, ergos, pouchie things---holy shit, my titties would be pulverized by some kid's shoe if I didnt have a seriously wonderful bra on! OWCH anybody?
Besides armor, both psychological and actual, the bra just--solidifies you. Or is should. I am talking about real big time bras here, not little pink thingie from Target---like big crazy cup bras, they sure help my ole fluffy moosh boobs somehow mold into a lovely round bowl, safe and ensconced, looking all but 1/2 of my actual age of nearly 36 if-ya-know-what-I-mean, I think it is just lovely and fantastic to be solidified. Lovely!
SO, thus having failed my BAREFOOT and BRALESS categories of the barefoot braless hippie, we must now all rationally conclude that I am not and cannot ever be, truly, a hippie. I admire them and love the few real ones I am lucky enough to know, I thank them for their work and vision and perfumes and big rolicky skirts that hide fucked up mom butts, truly, they're so pretty and awesome-- but Gen X, Gen Y, next gen, I dunno, but I just so NOT a hippie. and thats totally ok, cuz hippies really dig me, and I think they know Im a kindred spirit. And thats groovy.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
It is actually a mobile home, "up north", on Lake Huron. It is in a mobile home park which is definitely not trashy but much more vacation-y/resort-y. There are a few year-round residents but it is definitely mostly vacationers and summer residents.
This is something that has caught my eye on Craigslist before, I have seen them for extremely cheap, and this year I started looking before we got our tax return and sure enough, $1200. Then we went and saw it and knocked 100 bucks off the price. I am seriously so proud and amazed at the sheer potential of this in our lives!
So, it was decorated pretty crusty, and it smelled like cigarettes. I know my husband and kids were thinking "hmmmmm no..." But I, of the infinite potential seeing abilities and lifelong experience of rehabbing gross things into gorgeous things, said YES yes yes and they trusted me and the deal was done.
So, yesterday, I got to go up there all by myself (woo hoo!!!!!!) to start cleaning. It had been 4 weeks since I saw the place and my imagination had been running wild, I thought I was going to have to rip up carpets, rip down wallpaper, who knows. But it was not that bad at all. Here is what I did:
Washed every single wall and door with Hot water+Vinegar+Tea Tree Oil+Mr. Clean Citrus. It was dripping down my arms, all over the floors, which I then mopped hard with this same mixture.
Took down the sheets they had up in front of a few windows and threw them in my trunk.
Took down most of the mini-blinds and washed them in the bathtub. This was harder than I pictured because the bathtub did not have anyway to keep the water from draining out. After that they were still crusty and so I am going to be replacing those with some curtains as soon as we can budget for that. I have a great design in my head for what I want, just thinking if I could sew them myself or have a friend do it.
Scoured the kitchen and appliances with Mr Clean magic eraser, and then the hot vinegar stuff. The kitchen was actually not that dirty. I was afraid to open the fridge and it was clean! Cool. But I dropped some baking soda into it and the freezer and just left it.
Washing all the walls in the hallway and the 2 bedrooms was more work than it sounds like. but it was good work, and even though I brought a music player, I did not use it. I was in silence for hours and it was wonderful.
They left me a twin bed frame, headboard, mattress and box spring. I do not want my kids sleeping right on smoke, but I also hate to waste, so I coated it in Lavender-Baking soda. An idea from my friend Michelle, I poured a box of baking soda into a bucket and shook drops of lavender essential oil into it. "Lots"? That's my recipe :)Maybe with a good deodorizing, vacuuming and a mattress cover of some sort, it can be one of our beds!
I scoured the bathroom. Used hardcore stuff in there, Lysol spray.
Made up a total of 5 buckets of Lavender-Baking Soda and dropped handfuls of the stuff on the 2 rooms that were carpeted. They also left one chair that seemed cool, and old fashioned rocker-recliner, so I coated that in the mixture, too.
I put Lavender-Baking Soda in some of the kitchen drawers and left it.
Somehow this took 4 hours. All of a sudden I was aware that it had been dark for a long time and I packed up and headed home. The cottage is already livably clean, but there is so much more I want to do. I did not vacuum any of the baking soda, under the idea that it will just continue to soak up odors while I am away. We might go back there this weekend, maybe one adult and a few kids to start some painting. Alot of it is fine and neutral, but the 2 bedrooms are completely gross. The one middle bedroom which I would like to be a Boys Room has this dumb paintjob where the top half is white and the bottom half is burgundy, with no discernible border in between. The back bedroom which we are thinking could be a Girls Room has a ridiculous sponge paint thing going on, with pink and mint green, and one wall that is brown paneling and blue carpet. Lovely, right!? haha
It is going to need good old fashioned fresh air, and lots of it. With temps in the single digits here, it might be a while till we can air the place out properly, but I am so excited!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
One I'd like to bring up is this idea of BELLY. We say our bellies, our pregnant bellies, our smooshy bellies, our stretch marked bellies, our scarred bellies. We think a thousand thoughts, have a thousand reactions, perhaps our own hands wandering to touch our own ---but it BUGS me, this idea of BELLY. Because when it comes to cesarean scars, unless you have had a vertical/"Classical" incision, is the typical scar on your belly at all? Mine isn't. Mine is nowhere remotely close to my stomach proper,( which at my height is a good foot or more up!) Mine isn't under my shirt, its somewhere else, somewhere that somehow isn't so cute or "ok" to access in those thoughtful moments--- its in my damn underwear. Bikini underwear. Ya ever heard of a Bikini Cut? That is crotch.
Crotch? Is that it, really? Coochie? PussyVaginaPrivates...linguistics theorem aside, seriously, its not my BELLY. Its way down there, and it is all jammed into layers of scar tissue, adhesions, loose skin, fat rolly chubs. Ouchie secret range, they SHAVE YOU range, and it is something I definitely classify as more of the fucked up stuff they don't tell you, lest you revolt and forgo reproduction and humping dudes all together? Hahaha...I don't know why they don't tell us anything. But even though I had my children starting out pretty young for nowadays, I am a very well read girl, and I seriously thought a c-section would involve some kind of straight line boo boo across the belly. B E L L Y. Not this. Its gross. Its stressful. When you feel like your contents will spill out onto the sidewalk like so many groceries out of your trunk, realizing that all those guts will come out of your ____??? is just so upsetting. Its undies and pads and secrets, girlie bleedy yucky secrets, secret pain, secret fear, secret knowledge that you really ARE weird, you really ARE broken, wrong, fucked up, so, so many little brown bottles of effexor and nice stretch denim holding you all together for the nice people to enjoy...but still.
I want to tell you that I am doing really ok. I am! But can I say that a day goes by that I dont think about birth, sections, babies? Not yet. Because I have this thing. This ouchy secret deep down thing. I sit down on the potty, and my sad little tummy pooch sits there on my legs. Just a little. And it hurts. Some. And my actual belly is kinda fat, kinda doughy, but its fine. Its not cut. Because they dont cut your belly.
They cut the baby out of mommy's upper vag, is anyone saying this to their kids?
Its not your belly. Its worse. That's all.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
No websites seem to get it, no friends or books seem to help. He takes Concerta and we get our son from 9 to 5, but beofre and after that....there is no family. There is no peace. There is no right answer, no better parent, no clever re-directing, there is hell. Hell for all siblings, hell for him, I am sure.
We tried 2 counselors; one was hung up on homeschool?? What is this?? and one wanted to take 5 visits to play connect four with him and send me out of the room. Sorry, our insurance pays for 20 visits a year, i dont have 5 to spare on this gettin to know ya shit.
This is so real and so unbearable.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I will not let the fact that it is hot deter me from living this summer.
If I get too hot, I will ask some little person to squirt me; therefore I will say YES to waterguns, forget all that hoo-hah about them being "violent".
I will go to the beach at least twice a week.
I will buy a pool and swim in it everyday I can.
I will say YES to lemonade stands, YES to water balloons, YES to staying up very very late.
I will say YES to naked sprinkler babies. Or kindergarteners.
I will say YES to "can we catch him and keep him?" (and happily drive to buy it crickets or worms...)
I will buy myself a nice new bathing suit, in whatever ghastly size necessary, and I will wear it with pride.
I will open windows way more than turn on air conditioners.
I will say YES to popsicles.
I will say YES to ice cream truck.
I will say YES to setting up the tent in the backyard.
I will TRY TRY AGAIN on planting things, ever careful not to call it a "garden" until/unless it actually does become one.
I will be barefoot.
I will eat and drink outside as much as humanly possible.
I will make iced tea every morning and not give The Man any more of our precious money for gross cans of diet cola.
I will unplug any and everything I need to, as the mother and homeowner, knowing these kids will be all plugged in next winter, and that there is a season and a time for media and a season and a time for...life without it.
I will NOT leave all the barbecuing to daddies and men.
I will say YES to a campfire, and therefore, YES to marshmallows.
I will say YES to fireworks, and YES to them after 4th of July as well.
I will pull a wagon, push a stroller, pack a cooler, tie 7 folding chairs around my neck, whatever it takes but gosh-dang it, we WILL go to every single Music In The Park we humanly can.
I will NOT gasp when kids get too close to the edge of the water/firepit/mudpit.
I will say PHOOEY to locked doors, closed windows, video games, endless TiVo'ed tv shows, and yes, Facebook.
I will never, ever yell at little ones about "the water bill".
I will wear a tank top. My soft and giant mom arms are just another part of nature.
I will dry stuff on the clothesline, and take pride in it's ability to be a full time job.
I will say YES to farmer's market--but not the trendy crowded ones, the little wierd ones.
I will be the tan, sweaty, laughing mama, with dirt on her feet, dough on her apron, baskets of odd little carrots, tomatos and beans on every counter top, and scruffy muddy babies all around her.
I will hunt down every small-town Strawberry Festival and County Fair humanly possible, and be there when it opens.
I will say YES to every living thing, and never, ever forget this winter!
Monday, December 13, 2010
O h I dont know. I just dont know. They are all super happy. Now I just need to catch up.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Well, it was and is a wonderful wonderful little school. Precious beyond compare. No bullies. No pressure. Not even any grades to speak of. Kindness, sweetness, child-led, you name it. Each teacher loved my kids, and to share raising them was very healing and novel for me. No I am not reverting to the old piteous stuff I used to have in abundance, but truly, I still don't have much in the form of family or babysitting, or more accurately, no one to share in enjoying or raising my kids with besides my husband. It was really neat/cool/amazing/reassuring/normal/confidence boosting to do the normal thing and have my children all accounted for , charted, followed, cared for, known, understood. Even if it was with strange grown ups who do this for money. Does any of that make sense? It made me feel so REAL to get little things on paper that said "Charlie is a kind and helpful boy. He enjoys singing with the class and has mastered counting to 20." "Greta is an amazing artist, and has been a ray of light in our classroom. When she is absent the other kids are lost and depressed." "Mickey is a sweet and conscientious boy who has made amazing strides in math and writing skills. He is a wonderful addition to our classroom." And last but oh-so-not-least: "Casey is a joy to have in class. He is very polite and determined. He is reading with confidence and has made great strides"--- my little adhd mystery child, sometimes monster, sometimes angel, always so MUCH, someone else loves you and enjoys you and is working with you?
BUT. but but but but. They hated it. Really really hated it. In different ways. And it was sooooooooooooooooooooooooo much work. I mean, breath taking mind blowing head spinning family DECIMATING amounts of work. No organization, no charts, no special closet shelves could ever, ever be enough to do that school lifestyle forever. I had it down to a T and still, just mind boggling how much work it was. To get them all dressed fed clean backpacked and out the door by 7:15 am everyday, ripping poor little Eska out of her crib....and then what? My friends promised/envisioned "Some time to myself"--- but it never seemed to happen. And I tried it all. I tried going right on to some wonderful activity with just my little Eska...I tried go back home and chill out...I tried go back home and clean...I tried go and run errands...it never was awesome. It was isolating, to be alone with a 2 year old, i felt lost, lonely, scared, I tried to go visit my sister, a couple of my girlfriends, and it was just clock-watching and stressful. Twice school called me to go get a kid for some incident, leaving me at the school with one tot and one kid, to rot in the van until 3pm...
I really could go on and on but basically they started in on me, hard. The older 2 kids, Greta and Mickey especially. Amazing logical valid complaints. Bargaining. Begging. Tears. Depression. Desperation. Despair. Frustration. Mama we could learn this sill stuff on Wikipedia, Mama give us another chance, Mama please please I literally cannot go tomorrow Mama Mama Mama we will do ANYTHING please we want to come home we miss you we miss Eska Mama Mama MAmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Steve and I talked to the teachers. A LOT. They spoke of "transitioning" and such. They claimed the kids seemed more than okay in class, happy and healthy, and that maybe we were getting duped. Only made everything more confusing.
And then, we started talking in earnest. About Things Would Have To Change Around Here If You Came Back Home, stuff like rules and respect and accountability and privileges and consequences and restrictions and all that sort of stuff. The stuff I didn't use or need when they were "all little", when homeschool was paper snowflakes and math with raisins and 7 pm bedtimes with me and Daddy cleaning after they were asleep. Yes, Things Would Have To Change Around Here, because somehow, someway, this summer was all about me being completely railroaded and abused by a gaggle of spoiled rotten lazy monsters, hiding in the bathroom wondering if I should take up alcoholism or run away or divorce just for the weekends off. Dead serious.
And then we did it. And it is going really well. And I miss the teachers, so much. They were REALLY involved and close and personal and so so sweet. But we don't miss any of the rest of it. Greta is allowed to have a Facebook account now, as long as we know all her friends and she uses it in the middle of the living room, so she chats away to her pals and they don't seem to discuss school or homeschool whatsoever, just their Japanese Manga and silly jokes and drawings. She really wanted the new friends and she got them, even a little "boyfriend" whom we basically told her that she cant go anywhere with or do anything with but if she wants to say this is her boyfriend, yes we will allow that. (He kind of disappeared once she left school, kids don't talk on the phone like they did in the 80s or 90s it seems but I think it made her feel normal to have a boyfriend for a few weeks haha)
I am sick about the money we spent on the uniforms, hundreds I bet. But we are keeping the dress pants and socks and belts, and although I don't think any of them will ever want to wear a polo shirt for a long long time, all in all we are loving being back together.
I don't regret this, it helped us a lot. I am still unsure if I would rather have kids who loved their school or a happy homeschool. I was willing to do all that work, willing to be on school time from 6am to after 10 pm, six days a week (Sundays were furies of laundry and groceries, tears and preparations) but once they started hating it, weeping (often all five of them all the way to school, a 30 minute drive on a good morning! The noise! Ack!) it felt really useless.
I said it years ago and ill say it again, School should be three days a week. No homework.
Anyhow, we are home and I am back and the weather in Michigan is blustery as of a couple of days ago and this is all intense deja vu of '08 but without all the PTSD and PPD and dying family members. I look forward to being a cool blogger girl again and updating my blog pictures and links and all that good stuff.
HUGS to all!
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
My sweethearts in their darling uniforms (of course all untucked) on their first day at their new school! Grades 7, 1, 4 and Kindergarten!
Here I sit, at the computer, in a silent house. My little Eska is 2 now, and asleep in her crib. My oldest four children are all at their first full day of their new school. If you haven't read for a while, and I know I haven't written forever, they all got into a charter Montessori K-8 school about 13 miles away. Yesterday was the first day, but only 1/2 a day and today is a full day.
Charlie is going to be 5 in November, and I had no idea if sending this still nursing little fellow who just learned to go potty this summer away to all day school! Seems like the perfect candidate for waiting a year...except that he was really ready. He knows his letters, numbers, and has a deep desire to wake up and start having some kind of wonderful activities. He wants a back pack and a lunch box and all that stuff. So I took the risk, he also had a kindergarten test (!so silly!) and off he went.
Casey turned 7 this summer and yet I still wanted to put him in first grade. I spoke with the principal about it and she said it would be beyond fine. I told her he couldn't/doesn't read yet and she said that first grade would be just right. But this school does mixed age classrooms, and he is in Lower Elementary, which is grades 1, 2 and 3. They keep their teachers for three years as part of the Montessori approach, which sounds so so nice even though I admit not knowing all about it all yet. Casey has ADHD and we have started going to a family therapist. I have not told the school anything yet nor have I asked for any kind of IEP even though the therapist is really into that. I have been very busy with all that went into getting them all geared up for this start of school and honestly would just like to see how it goes. Maybe a little part of me thinks he will just "be good" and everything will be fine...or maybe I didn't want him labeled, not yet anyhow...time will tell.
Mickey is 10 and we put him in 4th grade. He will be 10 the entire school year and I know this is the right level for him. His is called Upper Elementary and is grades 4, 5 and 6. He got a male teacher who is mister young and fun and this was PERFECT for Mickey. When we had open house/meet the teacher night, Mickey chose to wear a Mario Brothers shirt and Mister Teacher was like "Hey dude, I Love Mario!" I could have fallen down and kissed the floor for the relief and amazement of him not getting ole crabby lady teacher who thinks video games are "bad for kids" or whatnot. Another subject for another day, but we have a boy here who has hundreds of YouTube videos of himself beating levels on his games, who learned to read before he was 4 from Gran Turismo, and who will most likely grow up to design the next best thing that YOUR kids are playing, so, Mister Teacher being young fun hip handsome dude liking Mario was way cool.
Greta is 13 and we put her in 7th grade. She will be 13 the entire school year and we discussed this all with her. This gives her 2 years at the school instead of one, and more of a chance at the math we have so desperately lost our way with. To put it nicely. Her teacher is a cool fun woman who loves Greta and is all into her art already. Their class is going on a field trip overnight camping and seems like a bunch of really cool nice fun kids.
Our homeschool-- did it fail? Yes. And it is okay to fail! I got into it a little with a woman on facebook who was trying to valiantly stop women from bashing themselves and trying to talk me out of the word "Fail", and also taking this whole homeschooler sending kids to school thing a bit personally as I believe she homeschooled briefly for a time and feels a bit defensive about it all? But yes, our homeschool failed. In what ways? Do I need to hide behind the bland facade of "We are entering new horizons this year", must I use forced P.C. terms that feel awkward in my mouth, just to appease everybody? Or can I just say it failed?
By the time we had Eska, my vision for what I wanted homeschool to be was decimated. Ruined. Never even came close for like 4 years. Even taking into account that whole thing of Kids Don't Care About Your Dreams, Just Love And Accept The Person They Are...no. and I will tell you why:
Because I hold education in highest regards and I do believe we can learn all the time but that as a mother I had only a few years to set them on a path that would enrich them for a lifetime.
Because I only wanted to do this to give them a WAY better education than school could.
Because I don't like unschool. I understand it, and I have seen firsthand it work and also seen first hand it fail, but I don't like it.
Because I poured over Charlotte Mason till my eyes were red.
Because I poured over Karen Andreola till my eyes were burgundy.
Because I wanted English For The Thoughtful Child and Well Trained Mind and A Literary Education.
Because I wanted nights looking through telescopes, and a purse full of Bird Guides, Field Guides, Flower guides and dog eared Poetry books.
Because I wanted pianos and violins, french and knitting.
Because I wanted them to know us by name at the library.
Because I wanted homemade soaps, candles, and pies made from garden fruits.
Because I wanted hand built by the children rabbit hutches and a laying hen.
Because I wanted to can vegetables and use only herbs as our medicine.
Because I wanted to read to my children, snuggled under heirloom quilts, smelling their sweet hair as they drifted to sleep to the softly blowing windchimes tinkling from the clothesline.
Because I feel hard in love with every image the homeschooling homebirthing magazines and websites in the early 2000's painted for me.
And it just didn't work. I could not make any of these things happen. I just really couldn't. And I also couldn't come to terms with it. And try as I did to flex and adjust, flex and adjust, flex and adjust, it got to the point where I had screaming fighting boys who "hate to read", "Cant" write, "hate" pianos, never seen a violin, couldn't be trusted to feed the dog ever let alone care for chickens, use hammers to break stuff, "hate" French, forgot how to knit on the way home from knitting class, and say things like "I only hate grocery store food. I like taco bell and ummm candy"
Greta didn't behave this way but was becoming depressed. Needing friends and finding very few in our homeschooling circles. Seems like it was all little kids. When her girl scout troop split up it was a sad day. She tried another troop but it never really clicked and she disliked the leader and the time frame of it. I feel like she saw me struggling and felt bad for me and angry at her brothers and also wanted to escape it all. She benefited enormously from being homeschooled for 13 years and I do not regret it at all. Her self Esteem is strong and healthy. she got to spend a very special year last year going through big life changes such as getting her period in a a lot of books and resting and reflecting and reading and her art is amazing. She is a well formed person who I felt good about sending off to school.
Baby Eskarina...oh I never wanted you to see so much badness, so much wildness, so much rudeness. Brothers who taunt you, tease you, beat each other, throw things, scream all day. And yet you are as cherubic and sassy as any 2 year old, and one quick peek at the vhs collection will show that Greta was the same way at your age "No! No! No!" so I cant blame the brothers tooooo much for your wonderful normal-ness. But I am happy to get this chance to raise you in a sweet happy quiet home now.
Mickey, Casey, Charlie, I think they will really benefit from this nice school. It seems extremely progressive, dynamic, and fun. They need to take a break from each other, to meet some age mates, and to work!
Eska and I have a nice year ahead of us. And yeah, I'm gonna try to IMPOSE my classical music and poetry and healthy food on her, you better believe it!
That's our update...Ill be writing lots more now! Love you all,
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Happy Birthday, Eskarina! June 11th, age two! You are an actual angel princess, the most precious and kind little apricot that was ever created! You take the notion of terrible twos and decimate them with one tilt of your tiny little doll face. Your eensy hand in mine, and the fact that you WANT to hold it, just melts me....I love you so much!
Happy Birthday, Mickey! June 13th, age ten! You are the funniest, most adorable, intuitive sweetheart around. You taught me that all boys aren't yucky, and you have had me wrapped around your little finger since you were born!..how my toddler turned into a 'dude' is truly beyond me, but bless your heart for everything you bring to this family! I love you so much!
So many birthdays, my husband included, he was June 4th, along with my sister. also June 4th! It has been a whirlwind of cake and ice cream and memories both painful and precious, joyful and bittersweet. Last year June was incredibly dark, we were so dirt poor we didn't have batteries for pictures let alone any birthday parties. My mom was dying, fast, and nothing celebratory felt right at all. This June we live out in the country on a truly lovely property, with somehow at least enough money for cakes and such, and yet of course, 2010 has brought the first true round of birthdays where Mom/"Nanny Fran" won't be telephoning. Nor my grandma/"Nanny Nel" either. We lost 1/2 of our family when we lost my mom, because her husband/my step dad hasn't been calling or visiting either. Its a new and unknown territory, this living without a mother. This is June, now. Summer and flowers and how much she loved them all, refusing sunblock and calling to tell me about how burned she got out weeding...
Happy and sad, June. Soon will be the one year anniversay and I am feeling afraid.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
We found a charter Montessori school, K-8, that is free. I will enjoy my Eska and the peace of knowing someone else is helping me raise my kids. We will tell them in August.
This started as me needing the little boys to go, but really, they all do. Nothing could be worse than "this", their screaming and chaos is over the edge. But the school I found, 12 miles away, is actually very very nice. Child centered, wholistic, brand new, and very very kind in its approach. And if they dont like it, well, ....sorry.
Counting the days. Hope its one of those ones that starts in August, just being honest!
Greta's going in 7th
Mickey's going in 4th
Casey's going in 1st
Charlie's going in Kindergarten. We got him potty trained about 2 weeks ago. Yippee!
And Eska and I...well we might just die from peace and love and nursing and mommy and baby love :)
Sunday, May 30, 2010
But, I got to feel like a woman, as I have experienced it to be for all these years. A woman who has lots of sex and then waits for the end of the month to mean one of two things. Two verrry different things. Either I will bleed and feel yucky for a few days, OR....and the or, for me, goes exactly like this, in this order:
Will I have a homebirth?
Could I find a midwife who would support and love me and help me have a VBAC, or more specifically, an HBA3C?
How will we afford her?
Will I get gestational diabetes?
Will I exercise this time and not become a 250 pound huge fat whale of misery and handicap?
How will we afford six kids?
Will people finally be happy for us, since really, with my tubes tied and all, this baby would be considered to be a magic miracle?
With my mom and grandma dead, there is only my in laws to be mean to us this time, would that affect my experience?
Will I have a girl, and my Brady Bunch of 3 boys 3 girls?
What names do we have left over? Posy Annika?
Would my new friends be the ones who finally help us out after the birth?
Will we actually save the money this time for a post partum doula?
Will I have a miscarriage, and would I be devastated?
Would there be whispers of abortion, since after a tubal, the assumption would be that this baby couldnt have been more "unwanted"?
Since I am 35 now, would the baby have a birth defect? Would I get a triple screen test? What would I do with the results?
Would my new high protien low carb diet help me, or would it fly out the window at the first pang of nausea?
Can I sue the doctor for the botched tubal? Did I sign anything before this surgery, and why can't I remember signing anything or being given anything whatsoever ie paperwork or a pamphlet about "your tubal ligation"?
Did my tubal "cause" some of my postpartum depression and pain?
Will Steve be all mad and wierd, and can I deal with that?
Why am I excited to be pregnant, and am I mentally ill or just n-o-r-m-a-l?
Who is gonna sleep where, and when would my due date be, and could I deal with a Pieces child? (yes I love pieces, and I love Aquarians and Aries too, so feb/march/april are all covered, phew!)
This is just the tip of the iceberg, truly. And I bet this giant snowball of thought is all par for the course, every month, for every woman who is fertile, or even pretending to be.
but I am not fertile and I know that. I got my period this morning.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
repeat! cookies! chips! beans! nachos! pancakes!
now its more like tuna, lettuce, chicken, salad, eggs, cheese, nuts, broccoli, coffee with splenda, diet coke maybe once a day.
I am very excited about this. I have diabetes in every nook and cranny of my family tree, and tons of signs of insukin resistance of my own. I gain almost all of my weight in my belly, and can gain tons of weight wthout going up a pant size...classic "Apple". Plus lost of falling alseep the moment I eat carbs, and mood swings up the wazoo.
In 2 weeks I will be slowly reintroducing whole grains and fruit, but will probably never be a brownie and donut girl ever again. I had 35 years of that stuff and it never did anything good for me, so I am not too "sad".
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Yeah I said it. Duh, right? I still am gonna say it forever, cause Ive had three of these gory brutal invasive terrifying fucking surgeries, THREE babies whose mother was a complete drugged out invalid, Each fucking cesarean was a hundred times worse than the previous one--no fuck that--a thousand times worse, then ten thousand. I promise you. Who am I directing this to, exactly? Poor pregnant ladies? Hardly. The mean old doctor who hates you and cuts you up for no reason? har har, but nope. Just to the WORLD. To the fucking world. You all need to fully grasp what a crock and a farce and a huge, HUGE deal this thing is. this thing that is apparently happening to nearly half of all the mamas-- HALF???? That chapter in the cheesy pregnancy book you kinda didnt even read cause it was a bummer and bad luck--well its all fucking LIES, my darlings, the little lady doing some weird sit-up in some gross leotard--no. This is not the scenario, THIS IS NOT WHAT MY CSECTION WAS LIKE, AT ALL. It wasnt about a fucking nursing pillow or fucking tylenols or fucking deep breathing. It was about searing, sizzling, jolting, clunking, crushing, swollen, twisted, lost, misplaced organs, it is about being a broken, oh so fucking broken fucking flower, a beautiful tragic flower, with a rose for a head, strong green leaves at the base, and a pulverized, decimated liquid mush covered in tears and staples and milk and gauze and pus dandelion stem.
A pregnancy, a beautiful live healthy baby--the blessing is too overwhelming to comprehend-- this alien swirling and swelling your every moment towards ultimate ripeness--and to think of how the mother, the vessel of life, the beautiful gigantic rose pregnant goddess mama, laid out naked and fucking STRAPPED down to a metal SLAB, robot lights zooming down upon her purest glory with blue nasty spearmint sinister glowering glare--to think of then TAKING A KNIFE--A __KNIFE!!!!!__ and searing right into her like that???? It stands in direct opposition of everything that has transpired for 10 moons.
And what of the baby? Oh, the dear baby-- well its so difficult explain how a sectioned woman receiving her child is from the truly transcendent supernova that is reaching down into yourself--your SELF and lifting up your baby. Upside down vomiting into your eyes and nose and seeing a small tunnel visioned glimpse of some red face in a blanket while there are deafening gurgling suction noises coming from behind the magic curtain....well it is cool, to see your baby's face a little bit, its awesome that the baby is "here", alive and whole, but pretty much your body can't decide whether to shake uncontrollably, to vomit violently, retching for air, or just nod in and out of consciousness for the next undisclosed time period. So um, no, it ain't really the same, hmm?
One can only wonder how they seal the deal--I hear there is a lot more medical glue and a lot less stitches going on nowadays. I like that I have to learn about my own belly from the internet, lemme tell you. But they do it roughly, they do it rote-ly, and they don't go easy--after all, you are still numb, and they don't ever have to see you again. So expect extensive, alarming bruising, inside and out. Then the lovely staples. STAPLES??? I almost fucking fainted when some nonchalant bitch , one of hundreds of non chalant childless mean 23 year old bitches who would fucking PARADE into my bedroom-- well it is isnt it? You are in bed barely clothed--so it is your bedroom--when she told me "You gotta watch out for yer staples, bla blabla" MY WHA??? S T A P L E S??? I was horrified, alarmed, scared. I felt that magic curtain come back up, whenever "the wound" was discussed, I just felt it go up up up and we were all just chatting about some other poor old soul who has been attacked by King Arthur's best swordsman or some shit--right? My staples? blech!!!!!
But you do get the courteous little gauze patch, its size rather belying the extent of your actual injuries-- are you fucking kidding me, I feel like a foolish fucking moron with this tiny little white rectangle taped to my upper crotch, someone come in this room and give me a full body cast, some blipping machinery, and a continuous drip of actual fucking painkillers that actually work!!! Hell, I could have used one of those halo things that head injury victims use, where you have your entire head encircled with a metal ring and that ring is connected to your shoulders--that is just the tip of the iceburg of how much insane pain I was in after I had my Eska.
Thats all for tonight. its taken me 21 months to even hint at a real honest birth story of Eskarina, but maybe this small post will help unveil everything to anyone who still reads this blog.
Monday, January 25, 2010
So now we live in what we of course truly hope and plan to be a long time home. It is 1600 square feet of 1925 bungalow-y goodness. About 2 miles north enough to feel kinda country-ish, but of course surrounded by loads of McMansions and silly subdivisions with silly names that bely their guilt at destroying natural beauty for the sake of taupey snore-ville. Walnut Creek, Glen Meadows, Forest View---BWA HA HA I loathe that shit. But whatever. We have a large property, maybe 2 acres? and we have a gravel circular driveway, a dining room, a living room AND family room (woo hoo!) hardwood floors, and very importantly, a HUGE Oak tree. Some evergreens, a cottonwood, and what appear to be a few maples and apple/crabapples. (Its January, Im just giving it my best guess). The kitchen window where I stand and do endless dishes (no dishwasher! for real! gulp!) has three windows that stare out onto the wonderful backyard--in which we saw a fox our first day here. We have 2 deer x-ing signs on our street, and we are across the street from a nature center. I love it here! The kids and husband are already seeming more calm and peaceable, even with living out of boxes and bags somewhat.
Its really kind of like a dream, we like this place so much. And whats crazy is that it is so nondescript on the outisde (ugly even, if not certainly boring) that the first time I set up the appointment to come see the place, I truly almost drove off. But obviously, I did not, and the inside is really lovely. The whole thing is cozy and nice--especially with my immediate settingup of lots of little low wattage lamps everywhere. No overhead lighting for me, thank you very much, unless I am in some tanning booth or surgery, I detest white-bright-overhead lights. Blech.
I cannot wait until spring in this place. I think I might finally be ready to do some lady-stuff like plant a garden. I have a very black thumb and not the biggest desire to do alot of yardwork. But mostly its the knowledge that the gardening could be awesome and zen like but it will be interrupted or impossible due to the multiple children that has kept me away. Then the guilt and stress of the "other mommies" whose children garden with them, gentle little cherubic hands covered in rich black earth, in contrast to my few attempts to even re-pot some marigolds with them turning into a tear filled brat fest, and well, I have been reticent. But maybe this year, this house, could bring me to planting a few things and seeing what comes of it. I can certainly sprinkle out some wildflower mix, right?
Well, off to check the mailbox-- you have to walk way out front to get it--too exciting and novel for this city girl, lemme tell ya! Talk to you soon,