It's important too fall in with a good crowd, and make quality friends who will help you excel when school starts; it sets the tone for the whole year. This lesson is really hitting home since KindyG has started. I've hooked up with some other moms and we are all motivated to go walking every morning until the snow starts; and then we will be hanging with Billy and the like at the local church cultural hall. I might even get frisky and try some yoga. We have been hitting it like athletes this week.
I'm hoping Birdie and LaLa can swing some good pals too.
So, of course Birdie is home sick today. Poor kid, getting in her mama's way.
*************************
Last night Pearl had a straight up nightmare. She was sobbing hysterically, and I thought that she was hurt. I ran in to the girl's room to find her laying on her tummy, still mostly asleep. I patted her back to sleep; but something in me broke.
I'm telling you, I was wrapped in some sort of buffering material this May, that's the only explanation for how I survived the fear and pain my child went through. The closer we get to these tests, the more horrified I am getting. I have no way of explaining to her that these tests need to be done, and they won't hurt. Please, just hold still for a minute.
She is so afraid, and I am starting to question the necessity of these tests. If it were up to Dadguy, the answer would be a flat "no." And the only reason for that, is he doesn't use profanity except for when he's trying to make me laugh. Otherwise it'd be a resounding "____ no!" He supports my decision to do these tests to ease my mind, to wrap it up; but he doesn't think they are at all medically necessary. He has an uncanny sense of what is and what isn't; the man is rarely wrong when it comes to stuff like this. Sometime I wish he were the mom. If this had been up to him, it never would have gone on for so long; he would have pushed harder, made them look closer, it would have been found sooner.
...and yet, I still do need these tests. I need that stamp of approval. Fini.
Today I am calling the surgeon's office. I think we could manage to do one day of tests, but they are going to have to offer some highly compelling reasons to convince me that all of this must be done and split up into multiple days. Sorry to beat this horse to the pieces, but time has not eased some parts of the horrors of this spring.
Am horrified to make her do the tests... unable NOT to do them.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
How She Sounds
My sister's cat had kittens about six and a half weeks ago, they are not gonna be hanging around her house for much longer. She hopes. Which, by the way, if you live in Utah Valley and want a darling wee kitty for free (even comes spayed for free)... drop me an email. There are two left. I promised the Sis, I'd do my part to find homes for the fuzzies.
That was my part, the end.
We will never have a cat, as Dadguy is horrifically allergic to 'em; we make do with visiting OPK. Other People's Kitties. So this morning the girls and I were all loaded in the van, flying down the freeway to visit the short-timers. I was trying to listen to my favorite playlist with the volume turn low, and only the front speakers engaged. I do this because Birdie loves my playlist and rock n' roll in general, and if she hears it, she will ask me to turn on the back speakers. But she insists on having it loud and LaLa does not approve. In fact LaLa will scream bloody murder that the music "HOOTS MAH EE-AHS!" The fact that she screams it five or six decibels louder than the volume of music, doesn't seem to make much difference to her. Logic and three year olds; or should I say logic and LaLa. Hmph.
To be fair, LaLa came out of the womb with a strong preference in music. Unfortunately, that preference does not include my singing. One of her first words ever was "No!" and it was in response to me singing. When that didn't do the trick, she moved on to "THTOOOOOOOOP!"
This morning though, Birdie was thinking.
"Mama.... I have two moms and two dads huh?"
"No baby, you have one mom and one dad."
"But I have two Grandma's and two Grandpa's?"
"Yup, one set's from Daddy, and one from me."
"But I also have Grandma Duke?"
"Yes," I said, "you have Grandma and Grandpa Duke, but they are your GREAT Grandparents."
"Oh. Yeah and Grandma Francis."
Driving and thinking how sad I am that my girls will never know my own Grandparents, especially my maternal GP's, Granny and Pa. My Granny died when Birdie was just barely two, and her sweetheart, Pa, went a short nine months later. I loved my Granny.
"Plus my Granny and Pa, and my Grnadma and Grandpa B, but they are all dead." I say to her.
"Oh! Yeah, I remember Granny!" she squeals.
"You do?" This surprises me. Thinking she has a specific memory I ask, "what do you remember about Granny?"
I remember how she looks and I remember her voice when she speaks!"
"How do you remember that?"
"The Holy Ghost helps me to remember how she sounds. I remember her!"
"That's wonderful baby... I am so glad you can remember." I swallow past the tight spot in my throat; I blink rapidly to see the road. I miss my Granny, but I can remember too.
That was my part, the end.
We will never have a cat, as Dadguy is horrifically allergic to 'em; we make do with visiting OPK. Other People's Kitties. So this morning the girls and I were all loaded in the van, flying down the freeway to visit the short-timers. I was trying to listen to my favorite playlist with the volume turn low, and only the front speakers engaged. I do this because Birdie loves my playlist and rock n' roll in general, and if she hears it, she will ask me to turn on the back speakers. But she insists on having it loud and LaLa does not approve. In fact LaLa will scream bloody murder that the music "HOOTS MAH EE-AHS!" The fact that she screams it five or six decibels louder than the volume of music, doesn't seem to make much difference to her. Logic and three year olds; or should I say logic and LaLa. Hmph.
To be fair, LaLa came out of the womb with a strong preference in music. Unfortunately, that preference does not include my singing. One of her first words ever was "No!" and it was in response to me singing. When that didn't do the trick, she moved on to "THTOOOOOOOOP!"
This morning though, Birdie was thinking.
"Mama.... I have two moms and two dads huh?"
"No baby, you have one mom and one dad."
"But I have two Grandma's and two Grandpa's?"
"Yup, one set's from Daddy, and one from me."
"But I also have Grandma Duke?"
"Yes," I said, "you have Grandma and Grandpa Duke, but they are your GREAT Grandparents."
"Oh. Yeah and Grandma Francis."
Driving and thinking how sad I am that my girls will never know my own Grandparents, especially my maternal GP's, Granny and Pa. My Granny died when Birdie was just barely two, and her sweetheart, Pa, went a short nine months later. I loved my Granny.
"Plus my Granny and Pa, and my Grnadma and Grandpa B, but they are all dead." I say to her.
"Oh! Yeah, I remember Granny!" she squeals.
"You do?" This surprises me. Thinking she has a specific memory I ask, "what do you remember about Granny?"
I remember how she looks and I remember her voice when she speaks!"
"How do you remember that?"
"The Holy Ghost helps me to remember how she sounds. I remember her!"
"That's wonderful baby... I am so glad you can remember." I swallow past the tight spot in my throat; I blink rapidly to see the road. I miss my Granny, but I can remember too.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Freakout Post Advisory
In early September I take Pearl back to Primary Children's Hospital for a couple of final tests. Unfortunately, it will have to be over the course of at least two days... they won't do the various CT scans and the Esophagram on the same day. Something about the radiation and the putting under, and the swallowing of stuff, and the needing to be fasting, and the blah, blah, blah, medi-yakkity smak... the nurse who set up the appointments wasn't 100% sure. I have been calling these tests the "glamor shots" for the surgeons portfolios; and it may in fact be just that. But it's also a true follow up that will give them the (hopefully) final look at the healing of her throat. I don't think anything is wrong. It helps that she has been growing like a happy little weed.
I don't think anything is wrong. Still, I worry. I cannot help it. I worry.
There has been none of the stridor (noisy breathing) that had us tap dancing for a year. Ummm, except for the cold that she has right now. I actually resurrected her nebulizer three days ago, to help with her breathing. But I think that it's just the cold. I think that it is just the cold. But I have thought a lot of things through this pediatric extended episode of House M.D.
I want this to be the end.
Worry: The last time she had CT's done? She was one sick-sick-sickity little girl. She was having her allergic reaction to the drugs, but they thought that her surgical site was infected; or worse, her esophagus. When they put her under (she was screaming and flailing) for the CT's she stopped breathing twice. They were ready for it, and had a nurse standing there with one of those squeeze-bulb masks that forced air into her lungs when she couldn't do it herself. While I know that she is better, and I know that even if it happens again, they'll be ready like they were when it happened... there is something uniquely horrifying about your child's breathing being compromised like that. Heart-stoppingly horrifying.
It has been months since we were there in the hospital for the hard stuff. I don't want to go back. But I don't dare NOT take her back for this, and both tests suck. They suck big time. Anesthesia for the CT's, and strapping her down with a feeding tube down her nose for the esophagram. Screaming and fear involved with both, and no, I don't think that I am borrowing trouble when I predict this. The girl screams and cries piteously when she sees someone wearing scrubs.
I wish we could just do it all in one brutal day, and have done with it.
September 5th... September 10th... you'd think this would be a cake walk after what we have been through.
She's going to be fine. She's going to be fine. We are all going to be fine, we just need to finish this. She's going to be fine. Of course we are all going to be fine.
I don't think anything is wrong. Still, I worry. I cannot help it. I worry.
There has been none of the stridor (noisy breathing) that had us tap dancing for a year. Ummm, except for the cold that she has right now. I actually resurrected her nebulizer three days ago, to help with her breathing. But I think that it's just the cold. I think that it is just the cold. But I have thought a lot of things through this pediatric extended episode of House M.D.
I want this to be the end.
Worry: The last time she had CT's done? She was one sick-sick-sickity little girl. She was having her allergic reaction to the drugs, but they thought that her surgical site was infected; or worse, her esophagus. When they put her under (she was screaming and flailing) for the CT's she stopped breathing twice. They were ready for it, and had a nurse standing there with one of those squeeze-bulb masks that forced air into her lungs when she couldn't do it herself. While I know that she is better, and I know that even if it happens again, they'll be ready like they were when it happened... there is something uniquely horrifying about your child's breathing being compromised like that. Heart-stoppingly horrifying.
It has been months since we were there in the hospital for the hard stuff. I don't want to go back. But I don't dare NOT take her back for this, and both tests suck. They suck big time. Anesthesia for the CT's, and strapping her down with a feeding tube down her nose for the esophagram. Screaming and fear involved with both, and no, I don't think that I am borrowing trouble when I predict this. The girl screams and cries piteously when she sees someone wearing scrubs.
I wish we could just do it all in one brutal day, and have done with it.
September 5th... September 10th... you'd think this would be a cake walk after what we have been through.
She's going to be fine. She's going to be fine. We are all going to be fine, we just need to finish this. She's going to be fine. Of course we are all going to be fine.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Odd
They say that memory is strongly linked to the olfactory unit. The sniffer, the snooter... your nose.
I'd buy that.
I am the queen of disorganization, and this year has been the worst; nothing like a big old medical thang to knock a girl off her stride. Combine that with the all-new-to-me jumping of hurdles and hoops of getting my eldest signed up for public school, and you have about nine trips to the elementary school in the past few months. I have walked those halls without a single twinge of nostalgia or weirdness.
I thought to myself, "La! There will be no problem with the letting of the Birdie to go offa to the schools!"
This morning school started for all of the district, except for the KindyG's, they started assessment testing. Birdie had her assessment test with her darlingdarlingDARLING KindyG teacher this morning at nine. Walked into the school... functioning and filled to the classroom gills with kids; the SMELL.
The smell. Gaghk! There was something about the smell of that building during an actual school day, that took me back and stopped me dead in my tracks. School. Really and for truly... going to school.
She starts next Tuesday, then LaLa starts pre-school the Tuesday after that.
I'd buy that.
I am the queen of disorganization, and this year has been the worst; nothing like a big old medical thang to knock a girl off her stride. Combine that with the all-new-to-me jumping of hurdles and hoops of getting my eldest signed up for public school, and you have about nine trips to the elementary school in the past few months. I have walked those halls without a single twinge of nostalgia or weirdness.
I thought to myself, "La! There will be no problem with the letting of the Birdie to go offa to the schools!"
This morning school started for all of the district, except for the KindyG's, they started assessment testing. Birdie had her assessment test with her darlingdarlingDARLING KindyG teacher this morning at nine. Walked into the school... functioning and filled to the classroom gills with kids; the SMELL.
The smell. Gaghk! There was something about the smell of that building during an actual school day, that took me back and stopped me dead in my tracks. School. Really and for truly... going to school.
She starts next Tuesday, then LaLa starts pre-school the Tuesday after that.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Sunday Pic: Pony and Cat
Birdie requested I draw a picture of her stuffed kitty Garfield the other day. At some point it disappeared along with a piece of tape. Yesterday morning there was some sort of kerfuffle in the toy room... mostly wailing from LaLa, but I don't tend to run and police every single little dust-up that the girls have. I try and step in if it gets out of hand, or they don't seem to be able to settle it out themselves. I DO keep a general ear on the proceedings. I gathered enough to figure out that it was to do with there being no equal space for LaLa's pony. Birdie suggested something, and then they galloped off to the kitchen to draw.
Found this in the toy room later, and I understand now.
Apparently Birdie drew this for LaLa's pony. A space of it's own, and I don't think a mama could be prouder than I.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Now With 40% Less Angst
I was having a conversation with Elizasmom via email the other day. We were discussing some of the books we have been reading, and she dropped a line that really resonated with me. It captured into words, an idea that I had been trying to understand. She described a sense that one author had captured.
..." teenagers' sense of the world as this perpetually near-apocalyptic place."
Growing up, I certainly had that sense. It felt like society was absolutely on the brink of collapse, thermonuclear war was tomorrow, and the world's inequities and injustices were so horrifying that everything just had to STOP.
Oh... it FELT. Everything felt so horrible and so much was hopeless, and I was positive that the adults around me had gone numb. They couldn't feel anymore and had shut down into the little niches they had carved for themselves... like they had created these identities as a protection, but then forgot who they really were and started to cling to the persona's out of habit.
Heh. ahem.
First I'd like to acknowledge that I may be a person who is a bit... mmmm, oversensitive? There is this little personality test thingy that is making the rounds of the bloggernet. It's a personality test that gives you the straight dope on who you really are, in terms that are not so flattering. Like Borefest, Scumbag, Crackpot and Loser. It's based on the four main Jungian categories of personality... and I have taken that sucker five times trying to see if I could jigger that thing about to get a different result than the one that I got. Every question that was not an absolute, I tried other answers... and yet every single out come had me labeled as an ESFJ. A Sap. A Crybaby.
Excuse me... I had to go blow my nose.
Just last week I was out to eat with some friends, one of whom was my own sweet sister. For some reason I informed my friend sitting across from me that I could take her out (beat her up) if need be. First, it should be said that there is no question in my mind... I really would win if it came to throwing down with any of the women who were there that night... with the notable exception of my sis, and then I think it would be a pretty good fight. I made my statement for a laugh, I like to clown around a bit, but my sister started snorting, and informed me that I was a sap, and couldn't hurt a fly!
Huh.
I'm thinking that it may be true, and I am a sap. I have vivid memories of crying a lot as a kid. One time in particular was when I was about six or seven, sitting on the lower bunk in the room that I shared with my brothers. I was, of course, crying... and I was trying to remember a day, any day, when I had not cried, and I couldn't recall one single day.
But then, how clear are the thought processes and memories of a kid that age? I don't know, but I was probably just feeling sorry for myself. In any case, I have never been suicidal. Although once after my divorce, I had a moment or two when I felt bad enough that I admitted I could understand why some folks DO consider it.
Wow... this is a whole load of introversion for a supposed extrovert! Is that a bit of lint in my navel?
This whole post is a lead up to informing you that you may be subjected to some poetry soon. I can't help it, it's on it's way... it's bubbling around in my innards and it will come OUT! I figure it's best to give in to the need to poetry in small doses, so that it doesn't all come spewing out on some poor, unsuspecting soul. Take comfort in my adulthood and deadened sense of near-apocalypse, hopefully it won't all suck too bad. And if it does? There is always that little red "X" you can click.
..." teenagers' sense of the world as this perpetually near-apocalyptic place."
Growing up, I certainly had that sense. It felt like society was absolutely on the brink of collapse, thermonuclear war was tomorrow, and the world's inequities and injustices were so horrifying that everything just had to STOP.
Oh... it FELT. Everything felt so horrible and so much was hopeless, and I was positive that the adults around me had gone numb. They couldn't feel anymore and had shut down into the little niches they had carved for themselves... like they had created these identities as a protection, but then forgot who they really were and started to cling to the persona's out of habit.
Heh. ahem.
First I'd like to acknowledge that I may be a person who is a bit... mmmm, oversensitive? There is this little personality test thingy that is making the rounds of the bloggernet. It's a personality test that gives you the straight dope on who you really are, in terms that are not so flattering. Like Borefest, Scumbag, Crackpot and Loser. It's based on the four main Jungian categories of personality... and I have taken that sucker five times trying to see if I could jigger that thing about to get a different result than the one that I got. Every question that was not an absolute, I tried other answers... and yet every single out come had me labeled as an ESFJ. A Sap. A Crybaby.
Excuse me... I had to go blow my nose.
Just last week I was out to eat with some friends, one of whom was my own sweet sister. For some reason I informed my friend sitting across from me that I could take her out (beat her up) if need be. First, it should be said that there is no question in my mind... I really would win if it came to throwing down with any of the women who were there that night... with the notable exception of my sis, and then I think it would be a pretty good fight. I made my statement for a laugh, I like to clown around a bit, but my sister started snorting, and informed me that I was a sap, and couldn't hurt a fly!
Huh.
I'm thinking that it may be true, and I am a sap. I have vivid memories of crying a lot as a kid. One time in particular was when I was about six or seven, sitting on the lower bunk in the room that I shared with my brothers. I was, of course, crying... and I was trying to remember a day, any day, when I had not cried, and I couldn't recall one single day.
But then, how clear are the thought processes and memories of a kid that age? I don't know, but I was probably just feeling sorry for myself. In any case, I have never been suicidal. Although once after my divorce, I had a moment or two when I felt bad enough that I admitted I could understand why some folks DO consider it.
Wow... this is a whole load of introversion for a supposed extrovert! Is that a bit of lint in my navel?
This whole post is a lead up to informing you that you may be subjected to some poetry soon. I can't help it, it's on it's way... it's bubbling around in my innards and it will come OUT! I figure it's best to give in to the need to poetry in small doses, so that it doesn't all come spewing out on some poor, unsuspecting soul. Take comfort in my adulthood and deadened sense of near-apocalypse, hopefully it won't all suck too bad. And if it does? There is always that little red "X" you can click.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Rejoice, Mourn or Puke?
Coming up on the end of an era; this time of my life that I have had all of my children, all to myself. I could hold onto this time and home school Birdie for at least her first few years.... but that's sort of where the "rejoice" portion of this whole "era" bit kicks in.
Kindergarten.
I was fairly sure that I would not get maudlin over kindygarten, and indeed, I may not yet. But I'm feeling sort of odd about my eldest girlee being in the "system." They have her inoculation records and have inspected her birth certificate. I am a card carrying member of the local PTA. That odd feeling that I am feeling? Could be me mourning, but I will admit nothing.
They are growing up.
I have been busy reading fiction these past few weeks. Chomping down book after book. Slurping, relishing and hoarking down whole. It's a combination of things that fuels my literary consumption, this slight bit of freedom that starts to happen as your kids get a little older. Pearl is starting to be a fully functioning agent of Chaos, and is accepted into the ranks of destructo girls, and their play. And instead of getting a handle on the household everything that I am, as "the Mama" ostensibly in charge of.... I have been playing too.
In my defense: we are trying for our fourth and final kiddo, actually HAVE been trying since the beginning of the year. Well, technically trying. There was the whole "pneumonia" debacle, followed by various less-than-fetus-friendly medications that went on for a few months. Then the part where I hung out at the hospital for a month with the youngest. But all the fun times are over and I have been feeling a pregnancy in the air.
no... not right NOW! Soon.
That's why I read now, because once I get pregnant? It's all over for me. Everything, and I mean everything shuts down for the Mama when she gets knocked up.
Sigh.
I know that it is all at an end for me, just by virtue of the fact that Dadguy and I went on two dates together this week. Two. Dates. Like, without the kids. PLUS, he got to go see The Simpsons Movie with a buddy, and I went to the Eclipse book release party on Monday night. This all happened this past week. It is so very OVER for me.
But then... I think I feel a similar set of feelings about being pregnant to those of sending the Bird to KindyG. Confused.
Do I rejoice, mourn or puke?
Kindergarten.
I was fairly sure that I would not get maudlin over kindygarten, and indeed, I may not yet. But I'm feeling sort of odd about my eldest girlee being in the "system." They have her inoculation records and have inspected her birth certificate. I am a card carrying member of the local PTA. That odd feeling that I am feeling? Could be me mourning, but I will admit nothing.
They are growing up.
I have been busy reading fiction these past few weeks. Chomping down book after book. Slurping, relishing and hoarking down whole. It's a combination of things that fuels my literary consumption, this slight bit of freedom that starts to happen as your kids get a little older. Pearl is starting to be a fully functioning agent of Chaos, and is accepted into the ranks of destructo girls, and their play. And instead of getting a handle on the household everything that I am, as "the Mama" ostensibly in charge of.... I have been playing too.
In my defense: we are trying for our fourth and final kiddo, actually HAVE been trying since the beginning of the year. Well, technically trying. There was the whole "pneumonia" debacle, followed by various less-than-fetus-friendly medications that went on for a few months. Then the part where I hung out at the hospital for a month with the youngest. But all the fun times are over and I have been feeling a pregnancy in the air.
no... not right NOW! Soon.
That's why I read now, because once I get pregnant? It's all over for me. Everything, and I mean everything shuts down for the Mama when she gets knocked up.
Sigh.
I know that it is all at an end for me, just by virtue of the fact that Dadguy and I went on two dates together this week. Two. Dates. Like, without the kids. PLUS, he got to go see The Simpsons Movie with a buddy, and I went to the Eclipse book release party on Monday night. This all happened this past week. It is so very OVER for me.
But then... I think I feel a similar set of feelings about being pregnant to those of sending the Bird to KindyG. Confused.
Do I rejoice, mourn or puke?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Sunday Pic: Photshoot Progression
Grandma P wanted to get the two older girls a pair of school shoes each. These suede confections were what they wanted so badly, they nearly wept for joy when they saw them. They have pink pom poms on them.
I thought they were so dang funny looking, I got Pearl a pair as well. No one is allowed to wear them until school starts (that's why they are still with their tags), but I wanted to take a pic to try and justify my own purchase, as well as letting Grandma spend perfectly good money on such an item. Pink overload, and I don't care. The photoshoot disintegrated in such a typical fashion.... I had to include all the shots.
In my defense, I have discovered that I will get every dimes worth of wear out of shoes the girls love. Not so much when I insist on a style they don't love. So yeah, I'm being "frugal."
I thought they were so dang funny looking, I got Pearl a pair as well. No one is allowed to wear them until school starts (that's why they are still with their tags), but I wanted to take a pic to try and justify my own purchase, as well as letting Grandma spend perfectly good money on such an item. Pink overload, and I don't care. The photoshoot disintegrated in such a typical fashion.... I had to include all the shots.
In my defense, I have discovered that I will get every dimes worth of wear out of shoes the girls love. Not so much when I insist on a style they don't love. So yeah, I'm being "frugal."
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Art (Continued)
Part of my problem with Art and the Art world, was the nasty shock that I got when I realized that I would have to get out there and peddle my biz in the real world. The real world, as seen from my admittedly limited student eye view at State college in Albq NM, was not pretty. First, I was active in AA almost my entire higher educationated career, and the bulk of the profs handing out the A's, holding the hands, and coddling the careers of students were doing so primarily... with those they socialized with.
And by socialized with, I really mean partied with. As a recovering alky, I didn't party, and I didn't get the A's except for the ones I eked out with sheer guts. (please note: it couldn't possibly have anything to do with me sucking at art. No problem with ego HERE!) Nobody held my hand, and when I ran into a road block, I don't recall any one but my parents even blinking when I dropped out. At the end of my Junior freaking year.
Add to this, the semester that I found my "voice."
Remember last post, the Advanced Painting instructor? He was the MAN according to everyone who was anyone, and when I started that semester, I kow towed to the "process" the man preached. And I got "A+'s" on my first three paintings. BUT, then I took to heart his preaching about finding my own "voice" so I started looking for it.
What I found, was my original palette, and my first instincts. The way that I first painted, before my "education". There was not one single prof at that school ever even talked about glazing, or realism, or master studies... or anything classical. If you figured out how to make a human being LOOK like a human being, you lucked into it or found it somewhere, or from someone else. Maybe from a book. A portrait? It was too passe- what were we? Some bunch of "hack portrait artists" sitting on a sidewalk, trying to swing a buck? NO! We were ARTISTS of HIGH ART. At least that seems like the subtext, between what was taught and what was notably absent from the curriculum.
In retrospect, I went back to my first instincts, because... why the crap not? It's not like I had been taught anything better. It's not like I had anything like a honed craft, or any craft at that point. Art was purely a mental and verbal exercise for me by then.
So me with my "voice", thinking I'm all that and a bottle of Liquin, hits my final critique. Which is funny, because I don't have any recollection of the critique going south. I recall the prof not saying much, I recall it was a pretty cut and dry affair... and I recall thinking that I had done "A" work straight down the line. And then I got my grades. According to the paperwork, I'd pulled down a "C" in that class.
Slammed.
Devastated.
Destroyed.
Starting to get a little angry. I'm fairly sure that I would have left it, except I had a scholarship to keep, and that semester, I was walking a fine line with my GPA... I needed a "B-" to hold onto the scholarship. I went to the profs studio to talk to him about the grade. First I asked him about his grading scale... seven paintings, I knew the first two were "A+'s", the next was an "A"... what the CRAP went on that I limped in with a "C" after grades like that? Why hadn't he indicated to me that I was blowing the course?
He told me it was just a judgement call, and that if I disagreed, he'd change the grade. Please imagine my horror and how furious I was when he handed back my "change grade" slip, to find that he'd written in "B+." Judgement call? From a "C" to a "B+"? I was so angry I started crying, and then I was so mad I was crying... I just left. Truly, the beginning of the end for me.
Since then I have learned more on my own, and through books. I have started working from a bit more of a sophisticated palette, and I do what I do for a reason. Or... rather, I DID, before this child induced hiatus. But I can tell you for sure that I will never get my sorry can out there and peddle my biz. I'm lazy, plus I really don't feel like I have much of anything original to say with art... and what I DO say don't sit so pretty over the sofa, if ya know what I mean.
Reading back over this, it seems like I am saying that I was done dirty... and yeah, to an extent I was. But I also know that I was the one to walk away, and that I did not have to. The fact is... it was a choice. There was simply not enough in that version of the world of art to hold me there. The world of Academia and University Art Departments are hardly the be all of anything, no matter how mucho serioso everyone involved seems to think they are. Today there are so many outlets for my creativity, brains, and sense of humor; not the least of which is in the raising of three little artist girls of my own.
Birdie has entered into a stage of progression that is far less about observed reality than it is about the story aspect of art. Her figures have reverted to a simplified form, the expression of the face usually being the only detail given notice. Her drawings are the vehicles of speech and thought bubbles filled with laboriously spelled out words. Although she has decided that eyes are not just round circles... she says they are pointy ovals, and she fills them with irises and pupils, giving them a fringe of lashes. LaLa has started into people and ponies with teeny heads and colorful bodies... sometimes twelve legs, and Pearl is all about the process of sitting down in LaLa's booster seat, and calling out "pih-tuh!" until I fetch the paper and crayons. She will then go through every color she can get her dimpled hands on, and color every square inch of her "payy-puh" a muddy rainbow. When they crayons go in the yap, we are done.
The many daily drawing sessions with Chaos are such a frenetic affair, with the fetching, sharpening, the spelling, and admiring going on all at once- I never get past sharpening a pencil for myself before it is done. But I really cannot regret where I am right now. As y'all have pointed out, I get to quilt and make cakes and garden... these things scratch the worst of the itch,and the rest will wait till later. And the rest that waits? Who knows whether it will have much of anything to do with paint and brushes?
Cause, I am thinking about that novel... and for some reason, the idea of peddling my writing biz does not turn my stomach the way that peddling paintings did. So yeah... fie upon Art.
And by socialized with, I really mean partied with. As a recovering alky, I didn't party, and I didn't get the A's except for the ones I eked out with sheer guts. (please note: it couldn't possibly have anything to do with me sucking at art. No problem with ego HERE!) Nobody held my hand, and when I ran into a road block, I don't recall any one but my parents even blinking when I dropped out. At the end of my Junior freaking year.
Add to this, the semester that I found my "voice."
Remember last post, the Advanced Painting instructor? He was the MAN according to everyone who was anyone, and when I started that semester, I kow towed to the "process" the man preached. And I got "A+'s" on my first three paintings. BUT, then I took to heart his preaching about finding my own "voice" so I started looking for it.
What I found, was my original palette, and my first instincts. The way that I first painted, before my "education". There was not one single prof at that school ever even talked about glazing, or realism, or master studies... or anything classical. If you figured out how to make a human being LOOK like a human being, you lucked into it or found it somewhere, or from someone else. Maybe from a book. A portrait? It was too passe- what were we? Some bunch of "hack portrait artists" sitting on a sidewalk, trying to swing a buck? NO! We were ARTISTS of HIGH ART. At least that seems like the subtext, between what was taught and what was notably absent from the curriculum.
In retrospect, I went back to my first instincts, because... why the crap not? It's not like I had been taught anything better. It's not like I had anything like a honed craft, or any craft at that point. Art was purely a mental and verbal exercise for me by then.
So me with my "voice", thinking I'm all that and a bottle of Liquin, hits my final critique. Which is funny, because I don't have any recollection of the critique going south. I recall the prof not saying much, I recall it was a pretty cut and dry affair... and I recall thinking that I had done "A" work straight down the line. And then I got my grades. According to the paperwork, I'd pulled down a "C" in that class.
Slammed.
Devastated.
Destroyed.
Starting to get a little angry. I'm fairly sure that I would have left it, except I had a scholarship to keep, and that semester, I was walking a fine line with my GPA... I needed a "B-" to hold onto the scholarship. I went to the profs studio to talk to him about the grade. First I asked him about his grading scale... seven paintings, I knew the first two were "A+'s", the next was an "A"... what the CRAP went on that I limped in with a "C" after grades like that? Why hadn't he indicated to me that I was blowing the course?
He told me it was just a judgement call, and that if I disagreed, he'd change the grade. Please imagine my horror and how furious I was when he handed back my "change grade" slip, to find that he'd written in "B+." Judgement call? From a "C" to a "B+"? I was so angry I started crying, and then I was so mad I was crying... I just left. Truly, the beginning of the end for me.
Since then I have learned more on my own, and through books. I have started working from a bit more of a sophisticated palette, and I do what I do for a reason. Or... rather, I DID, before this child induced hiatus. But I can tell you for sure that I will never get my sorry can out there and peddle my biz. I'm lazy, plus I really don't feel like I have much of anything original to say with art... and what I DO say don't sit so pretty over the sofa, if ya know what I mean.
Reading back over this, it seems like I am saying that I was done dirty... and yeah, to an extent I was. But I also know that I was the one to walk away, and that I did not have to. The fact is... it was a choice. There was simply not enough in that version of the world of art to hold me there. The world of Academia and University Art Departments are hardly the be all of anything, no matter how mucho serioso everyone involved seems to think they are. Today there are so many outlets for my creativity, brains, and sense of humor; not the least of which is in the raising of three little artist girls of my own.
Birdie has entered into a stage of progression that is far less about observed reality than it is about the story aspect of art. Her figures have reverted to a simplified form, the expression of the face usually being the only detail given notice. Her drawings are the vehicles of speech and thought bubbles filled with laboriously spelled out words. Although she has decided that eyes are not just round circles... she says they are pointy ovals, and she fills them with irises and pupils, giving them a fringe of lashes. LaLa has started into people and ponies with teeny heads and colorful bodies... sometimes twelve legs, and Pearl is all about the process of sitting down in LaLa's booster seat, and calling out "pih-tuh!" until I fetch the paper and crayons. She will then go through every color she can get her dimpled hands on, and color every square inch of her "payy-puh" a muddy rainbow. When they crayons go in the yap, we are done.
The many daily drawing sessions with Chaos are such a frenetic affair, with the fetching, sharpening, the spelling, and admiring going on all at once- I never get past sharpening a pencil for myself before it is done. But I really cannot regret where I am right now. As y'all have pointed out, I get to quilt and make cakes and garden... these things scratch the worst of the itch,and the rest will wait till later. And the rest that waits? Who knows whether it will have much of anything to do with paint and brushes?
Cause, I am thinking about that novel... and for some reason, the idea of peddling my writing biz does not turn my stomach the way that peddling paintings did. So yeah... fie upon Art.
Friday, August 03, 2007
My name is bon...
...and I am a recovering artiste.
Twenty years ago in High School, I was all about art. I was good at it, enjoyed it, and I defined myself with the term of "artist." I took art classes at the community college because I disdained the calligraphy heavy art courses the HS offered, and was a little creeped out by high saturation of Wrestlers and Stoners who took the Crafts course: essentially a ceramics class taught by the wrestling coach (although I gutted it out for a year and learned some interesting vocabulary). I hung out with kids who called themselves Punks, Wavers, and Mods and I knew that was "who" I was... an artist.
I don't do that much anymore, label myself as an artist.
People who knew me then are always surprised, when they meet me nowadays, to find that I have very little to do with the visual arts any more. More than once, I have felt that I have let them down. The feeling doesn't last long, but it's not fun while it's here.
What a strange place I am in, and in some ways it makes me a little sad; this diffident relationship I have to all things "art" these days. We are strangers, but for the love of crayon and glue that my girls have. Strangers, and I was not even aware that we had slipped completely out of touch until I read a recent post on Feminist Mormon Housewives the other day. The post was regarding balancing the love of art and still keeping to LDS standards. An interesting read, and something pertinent to my life... but HOO! The comments started to get off into the realm of "what is true art" and some commenter's started labeling the bulk of mainstream LDS art as "propaganda" and "cheesy." If your interested, go read the comments for yourself... for my part, I started to feel annoyed at some of the dismissive and arrogant stances some of the folks were taking about "art". Attitudes and ideas that I suspect a nineteen year old "bon" might have subscribed to.
On many levels... art annoys me. Especially art that considers itself ART, and I am trying to figure out how I ended up here, and how long I'm a gonna stay at this point in my relationship to (esp.) the visual arts. Visualize the face a two years old would make upon biting in to a piece of baking chocolate.... expecting sweet-yummy, getting bitter-yukky. THAT'S the state of the relationship.... on my side at least, because ART, and the art world? Could not care less that I no longer love it.
There have been specific points in my road to disenchantment with the art world, and I may catalog a few in a different post, but mostly I am sick to death of the elitist attitudes that so many involved in art seem to sport. The idea that all real-and-for-true art must "challenge" us and make us "think." The dismissal of beauty for beauty's sake. But mostly the dismissal of people... any people who do not get it, or do not care for high ART.
Perhaps it is sour grapes from hour long critiques, and long winded and blatantly BSed discussions on the artistic process.... maybe it was the gleeful, half-ironic attempts of my fellow students in trying to start the UNM Eff-You-ist movement. Perhaps it was the semester I learned that the Advanced Painting instructor, who was ostensibly trying to get us to find our own "voice" and "expression," really only wanted wanted us to do it within HIS version of the artistic process.
And then a few years later while working at the local art supply store, assisting that same instructor and coming to realize that the man knew jack about the chemistry of his own craft, and was barely cognizant of archival issues. Teaching. Advanced painting.
I learned almost nothing that I wanted to in school.
Twenty years ago in High School, I was all about art. I was good at it, enjoyed it, and I defined myself with the term of "artist." I took art classes at the community college because I disdained the calligraphy heavy art courses the HS offered, and was a little creeped out by high saturation of Wrestlers and Stoners who took the Crafts course: essentially a ceramics class taught by the wrestling coach (although I gutted it out for a year and learned some interesting vocabulary). I hung out with kids who called themselves Punks, Wavers, and Mods and I knew that was "who" I was... an artist.
I don't do that much anymore, label myself as an artist.
People who knew me then are always surprised, when they meet me nowadays, to find that I have very little to do with the visual arts any more. More than once, I have felt that I have let them down. The feeling doesn't last long, but it's not fun while it's here.
What a strange place I am in, and in some ways it makes me a little sad; this diffident relationship I have to all things "art" these days. We are strangers, but for the love of crayon and glue that my girls have. Strangers, and I was not even aware that we had slipped completely out of touch until I read a recent post on Feminist Mormon Housewives the other day. The post was regarding balancing the love of art and still keeping to LDS standards. An interesting read, and something pertinent to my life... but HOO! The comments started to get off into the realm of "what is true art" and some commenter's started labeling the bulk of mainstream LDS art as "propaganda" and "cheesy." If your interested, go read the comments for yourself... for my part, I started to feel annoyed at some of the dismissive and arrogant stances some of the folks were taking about "art". Attitudes and ideas that I suspect a nineteen year old "bon" might have subscribed to.
On many levels... art annoys me. Especially art that considers itself ART, and I am trying to figure out how I ended up here, and how long I'm a gonna stay at this point in my relationship to (esp.) the visual arts. Visualize the face a two years old would make upon biting in to a piece of baking chocolate.... expecting sweet-yummy, getting bitter-yukky. THAT'S the state of the relationship.... on my side at least, because ART, and the art world? Could not care less that I no longer love it.
There have been specific points in my road to disenchantment with the art world, and I may catalog a few in a different post, but mostly I am sick to death of the elitist attitudes that so many involved in art seem to sport. The idea that all real-and-for-true art must "challenge" us and make us "think." The dismissal of beauty for beauty's sake. But mostly the dismissal of people... any people who do not get it, or do not care for high ART.
Perhaps it is sour grapes from hour long critiques, and long winded and blatantly BSed discussions on the artistic process.... maybe it was the gleeful, half-ironic attempts of my fellow students in trying to start the UNM Eff-You-ist movement. Perhaps it was the semester I learned that the Advanced Painting instructor, who was ostensibly trying to get us to find our own "voice" and "expression," really only wanted wanted us to do it within HIS version of the artistic process.
And then a few years later while working at the local art supply store, assisting that same instructor and coming to realize that the man knew jack about the chemistry of his own craft, and was barely cognizant of archival issues. Teaching. Advanced painting.
I learned almost nothing that I wanted to in school.
(2 B continued)
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Head Cold and Trivia
I keep thinking that this cold has to let up some. I came down with it on Saturday night, and the snot is still taking up so much room in my head, that I haven't thought coherently in days. Add in three little girls at varying stages of the same cold, a week tardy, but finally arrived set of menses, and regular life STILL happening? It's a freeping party, I tell ya.
Ummm.... hence it's been a little light on the posting around here.
I have a series of posts about "art" that I have planned, but before I can even dig in, I have to declare myself unable to complete any and all memes I have been tagged with. Can't do 'em. Don't know why. Mental block? Sorry.
Finally got Birdie signed up for Kindygarten, which is great on one level, and sort of a joke on another.... two and a half hours a day? Puh-leeeeze.
We got to meet her teacher yesterday. Once again, it was great on one level, but I wasn't planning on meeting anyone.... I just had to run in the to office and pick up some paperwork that I had accidentally left the day before. This was yesterday. Please to envision: no shower, sick, bleeding, no make-up, ratty clothes, kids with ratty hair and outfits they had chosen themselves (think clown princess). Ah well. At least her teacher will have no over-inflated expectations to disappoint.
Am a little sad that there is no "school supply list" to fill, just a $20.00 fee to pay. Reminder to self: go buy supplies anyway, nothing compares to scent of Elmers paste and a Big Chief tablet, and perhaps a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.
Dadguy got his birthday present a few weeks early this year... a GPS. We have been Geo Cache-ing a bunch this past week. I think we might, sorta, maybe suck at it. We have not, in any case, experienced much beginners luck. Pretty fun anyway, just need to remember to wear good shoes. There are a few drawbacks to Geo-Caching with little kids in a van... strappy IN, strappy OUT, strappy IN strappy OUT, ad infinitum.
According to Dadguy, this past month was the hottest in recorded Utah history. I have felt every last blistering degree of it. Or yeah, I would have, except I have been cowering in my house, hovering over the AC vents and snacking from my hoard of Otterpops.
tired. must nap.
Ummm.... hence it's been a little light on the posting around here.
I have a series of posts about "art" that I have planned, but before I can even dig in, I have to declare myself unable to complete any and all memes I have been tagged with. Can't do 'em. Don't know why. Mental block? Sorry.
Finally got Birdie signed up for Kindygarten, which is great on one level, and sort of a joke on another.... two and a half hours a day? Puh-leeeeze.
We got to meet her teacher yesterday. Once again, it was great on one level, but I wasn't planning on meeting anyone.... I just had to run in the to office and pick up some paperwork that I had accidentally left the day before. This was yesterday. Please to envision: no shower, sick, bleeding, no make-up, ratty clothes, kids with ratty hair and outfits they had chosen themselves (think clown princess). Ah well. At least her teacher will have no over-inflated expectations to disappoint.
Am a little sad that there is no "school supply list" to fill, just a $20.00 fee to pay. Reminder to self: go buy supplies anyway, nothing compares to scent of Elmers paste and a Big Chief tablet, and perhaps a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.
Dadguy got his birthday present a few weeks early this year... a GPS. We have been Geo Cache-ing a bunch this past week. I think we might, sorta, maybe suck at it. We have not, in any case, experienced much beginners luck. Pretty fun anyway, just need to remember to wear good shoes. There are a few drawbacks to Geo-Caching with little kids in a van... strappy IN, strappy OUT, strappy IN strappy OUT, ad infinitum.
According to Dadguy, this past month was the hottest in recorded Utah history. I have felt every last blistering degree of it. Or yeah, I would have, except I have been cowering in my house, hovering over the AC vents and snacking from my hoard of Otterpops.
tired. must nap.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
TV
5 Minutes For Mom is giving away a flatscreen TV... go give it a shot!
Thanks Best Buy!
Canadians welcome, go Mama D, GO!
Thanks Best Buy!
Canadians welcome, go Mama D, GO!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Winner!
Being a parent in catastrophic situations can change a human being for the better, if that human is open to that kind of change. By catastrophic, I mean.... the toddler experience. When Pearl was born...Birdie was three and LaLa was not yet two. For those of you who have never done anything like this, or lack imagination... I am talking about procreation that rates about an 8.75 on the Richter Scale. The entire month of May this year was another form of a catastrophic event in parenting. Day to day living with a narrowed scope of ambition, is also a form of erosion to my creative heart.
When I think about the ways that I am changing, I think in terms of a rough and shattered lump of stone; interesting yeah, but uncomfortable to hold in your hand, especially if you grip it hard. I think I am that stone, and motherhood is water. Oceanic water, river water, dripping water, rolling me and tumbling me and eroding the parts that stick out. Sometimes I miss those stick-out interesting parts, sometimes I miss my passions and pursuits. But I'll tell ya, my HOPE is that in the end, a heretofore unrevealed inner beauty will be revealed by way of this tumbling and polishing process. A vein of purple, speckles of green? Is there gold in my center? Maybe. But it is entirely possible that in the end, I will be left, a round, smooth and completely unremarkable bluish grey rock. Maybe by the time that happens, I'll be OK with that kind of end.
One of the best ways that this experience has changed me is by loosening my death grip on stuff. First thing to go was my body, and, while the longer I go on this way, the more I suspect that I wasn't quite as clever as I once thought I was... but, I'm pretty sure that my mind is slipped a few notches as well. Maybe a LOT of notches. Whatever degree of coolness I had achieved, was sucked away by the four millionth spirited rendition of Eensy Weensy Spider, or maybe it was the time I looked up the lyrics to the theme song for Scooby Doo at the behest of a two year old Birdie. So long.
Material stuff. Like furniture, DVD's and clean walls. It's a lesson I have to relearn every so often... but for the most part I get it, and when I encounter someone who is learning it the hard way, or insisting that their "stuff" is sacrosanct... sometimes it's amusing and sometimes it's down right annoying. Whatever. I'm just trying to get by with the minimal amount of destruction to... well, everything!
All in all, this has been an annoyingly pompous way of announcing that the quilt that I am giving away? Has a new new home! The winner is the lovely Jennifer of The Road Less Traveled
Congratulations!
Monday, July 23, 2007
Freebies
I finally figured out how it works, and I decided not to do it.
Don't get me wrong, it's a cool idea, this giveaway thing... but if I put a linky up at Rocks in my Dryer, then everyone and their pet dog would have a shot at winning this blanket, and I had envisioned this going to an actual reader of this blog. Again. Cool idea, so do go and check out these rockin' bloggers. I will just not be one of them. I'm still giving the quilt away, but it will be to someone who gets here via a more traditional manner.
I am trying to be a little more loosey-goosey about material things, but I really like this quilt... it's soft. And I really like my readers. So here is the deal:
1. If you got to my bloggy giveaway, it is via a traditional means so BY ALL MEANS, sign up!
2. You do not have to have a blog to win, just an email address.
3. Family and real life friends, please join in! Heck, y'all are some of my favorite readers!
4. I am going on a little vay-cay... so this post will stay at the top of this site, and you have until friday at noon to sign up.
5. Leave me a comment with an email addy down in my comments OR... if you are squeamish about being public, drop me an email at the following address.
bon(type in a period)mama(type in an @ sign)gmail(type in a period)com
follow the instructions in the parenthesis... sorry to be cryptic, but spammers have software that picks up email addresses and spams the hootie out of them!
6. Sit back and enjoy a week off from my whining, and tune back in on Friday noonish to see if you've won.
* again... since I'm footing the bill for shipping, only in US or Canada.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Sunday Pic: Pink
Another hard workin' week capped off with some Deathly Hallows does not make for a mucho-posting Mama. I am sure we will all survive.
With the kid-watching skillz of my sister and niece, I managed to paint the girls room a lovely shade of pink that Kwal Paints likes to call "Sacred." The first time I saw the color, the name of it was upside down to me, and it read like "Scared." I still like to think of it as "Scared Pink."
Chaos is in an ecstasy of little girl proportions. Now, you too can witness all that is pink and TDF, To Die For.
With the kid-watching skillz of my sister and niece, I managed to paint the girls room a lovely shade of pink that Kwal Paints likes to call "Sacred." The first time I saw the color, the name of it was upside down to me, and it read like "Scared." I still like to think of it as "Scared Pink."
Chaos is in an ecstasy of little girl proportions. Now, you too can witness all that is pink and TDF, To Die For.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Who Loves Ya, Baby!
So Rock In My Dryer is hosting a sort of blog party. It's for everyone who wants to have a giveaway on their bloggy, and everyone who wants to get some free stuff from those who are giving... check out the nifty doggy button in my sidebar. At some point she'll be linking to everyone who is giving stuff away, so even if you don't score my gifty, you could, maybe pick up some other offering. I will be trying to get some freebies m'self.
Once I figure out how this is working, I assume that you tell me via comment or email that you are interested, and I enter your name and put it in a hat. I'll be giving away this handmade (by me) baby rag style quilt. Stay tuned.
*since I will be footing the bill to ship it, I will restrict winning to just the continental U.S. and Canada. And YES, Canada specifically in case Mama D wins. If you live somewhere else you may petition me to soften my crabby old heart.
Once I figure out how this is working, I assume that you tell me via comment or email that you are interested, and I enter your name and put it in a hat. I'll be giving away this handmade (by me) baby rag style quilt. Stay tuned.
*since I will be footing the bill to ship it, I will restrict winning to just the continental U.S. and Canada. And YES, Canada specifically in case Mama D wins. If you live somewhere else you may petition me to soften my crabby old heart.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Stigmas and Chaos
Lest there be any confusion... my Birdie is not fat. Perhaps by some sicko, anorexic definition she could be considered such, but people with that definition do not interest me, except that I wish them all the thinness they treasure. May they waste away to nothing.*
Wow. Usually I try to keep it a little more upbeat than that around here.
Pirate hit it on the head in her comment...
..."No matter what, I think it's important that you learn to discharge the stigma that word has for yourself before you heap that on your own girls. They will read your confidence around this issue - if they sense that Mama has no baggage with this, then they will have no reasons to take on their own baggage... That's where the self esteem thing comes from. Love yourself first, your children will learn from you."
I have baggage with this word, and it shines right on through. By the time I was seven years old I "knew" that I was fat.
Dude. I wasn't fat.
I had been on at least two fad diets by the time I was twelve because I was "fat". I was a regular looking kid... not stick thin, but not fat by any far stretch.
Anyone around me that did not fall into the category of "model thin" looked fat to me, and that is a jacked-up way to live.
My brain works differently today, but I am faced with the task of raising Chaos, true and proper Chaos. The kind of Chaos that couldn't give a rat's hind end for "fat" or "thin," or any crappy labels. It's time to shed all the cringing and hiding I did growing up.
Wow. Usually I try to keep it a little more upbeat than that around here.
Pirate hit it on the head in her comment...
..."No matter what, I think it's important that you learn to discharge the stigma that word has for yourself before you heap that on your own girls. They will read your confidence around this issue - if they sense that Mama has no baggage with this, then they will have no reasons to take on their own baggage... That's where the self esteem thing comes from. Love yourself first, your children will learn from you."
I have baggage with this word, and it shines right on through. By the time I was seven years old I "knew" that I was fat.
Dude. I wasn't fat.
I had been on at least two fad diets by the time I was twelve because I was "fat". I was a regular looking kid... not stick thin, but not fat by any far stretch.
Anyone around me that did not fall into the category of "model thin" looked fat to me, and that is a jacked-up way to live.
My brain works differently today, but I am faced with the task of raising Chaos, true and proper Chaos. The kind of Chaos that couldn't give a rat's hind end for "fat" or "thin," or any crappy labels. It's time to shed all the cringing and hiding I did growing up.
I gotta be busy raising Chaos like this!
...and this!
...and this!
* I do not wish ill for people struggling with eating disorders, I am only angry at those who would label a five year old girl as "fat." Sunday, July 15, 2007
Sunday Pic: And So It Begins...
I am frustrated. I have me a little rant, but I cannot find a way to get it out there without a pig's trough full of backstory and family dirt. So y'all are going to get the shortened, sanitized version.
There is a sweet little six year old girl who loves my Birdie, and we spend a bit of time with her, but rarely with her mother. Yesterday, in the course of the swimming fun , she dropped the bomb that her mama had said that Birdie was fat. She went on to inform me that she didn't think so, and that she was angry with her mom for saying it.
I calmly told her that I disagreed with her mother. She was satisfied and ran off to play with my darling Bird and LaLa. Not sure what my face looked like, but Grandma was there and informed me that this has been something that has been troubling Misssixyearold for a few days. She has brought it up to Grandma several times, and that Misssixyearold has said if anyone calls Birdie "fat" that she will beat them up!
Who knows what her mother said. Who knows if she said it to this little girl, or in confidence to a friend, and her daughter just happened to overhear. Perhaps her mother never said such a thing at ALL. She is six, after all, and kids don't always understand everything they hear. Whatever was said, I'm sure she never meant it to get back to me or to my little girl.
Whatever. That's not what has pulled my pin.
What matters to me, is the damage is done. The bullet is in the chamber. The arrow knocked. And in Misssixyearold's world, being accused of being "fat" is a fighting offense. To her, being accused of being "fat" is a terrible thing. She appears to be aware of every nuance of insult that comes with the labeling a girl "fat."
Frankly, I am as concerned for the poison that has been fed to this little girl, as for the poison that has been offered, and will be offered to my Bird and all of Chaos. The same poison that I grew up on.
Not all little girls are going to love my Bird, and I'm willing to bet that many of them have been schooled in the same attitude by their own mothers and society at large. These children who do not love my Bird, will be using their arrows. She will learn their definitions for "fat," and what it means to be called that, because she is not stick effing thin.
I really thought that we would have at least until first grade before this kind garbage... and I thought that it would be coming from the kids.
There will be no pictures of Chaos this week.... I had thought to post a photo of Birdie, she has lost a second tooth. But now I'll have to think about it, this world hardly deserves to be graced with such beauty.
There is a sweet little six year old girl who loves my Birdie, and we spend a bit of time with her, but rarely with her mother. Yesterday, in the course of the swimming fun , she dropped the bomb that her mama had said that Birdie was fat. She went on to inform me that she didn't think so, and that she was angry with her mom for saying it.
I calmly told her that I disagreed with her mother. She was satisfied and ran off to play with my darling Bird and LaLa. Not sure what my face looked like, but Grandma was there and informed me that this has been something that has been troubling Misssixyearold for a few days. She has brought it up to Grandma several times, and that Misssixyearold has said if anyone calls Birdie "fat" that she will beat them up!
Who knows what her mother said. Who knows if she said it to this little girl, or in confidence to a friend, and her daughter just happened to overhear. Perhaps her mother never said such a thing at ALL. She is six, after all, and kids don't always understand everything they hear. Whatever was said, I'm sure she never meant it to get back to me or to my little girl.
Whatever. That's not what has pulled my pin.
What matters to me, is the damage is done. The bullet is in the chamber. The arrow knocked. And in Misssixyearold's world, being accused of being "fat" is a fighting offense. To her, being accused of being "fat" is a terrible thing. She appears to be aware of every nuance of insult that comes with the labeling a girl "fat."
Frankly, I am as concerned for the poison that has been fed to this little girl, as for the poison that has been offered, and will be offered to my Bird and all of Chaos. The same poison that I grew up on.
Not all little girls are going to love my Bird, and I'm willing to bet that many of them have been schooled in the same attitude by their own mothers and society at large. These children who do not love my Bird, will be using their arrows. She will learn their definitions for "fat," and what it means to be called that, because she is not stick effing thin.
I really thought that we would have at least until first grade before this kind garbage... and I thought that it would be coming from the kids.
There will be no pictures of Chaos this week.... I had thought to post a photo of Birdie, she has lost a second tooth. But now I'll have to think about it, this world hardly deserves to be graced with such beauty.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Sunday Pic: Paint
So the joke is pretty much on me, and my sorry attempts to post pictures of all the hard work that has been done in Chaos in the past few days. I waited till the girls were in bed and I could pick up a bit before taking the snaps of my walls a la Tequila this evening. But you can hardly tell the difference in the before pics and the afters in the low light. Not that the color jumps out at ya in real life... but there IS a difference! The thing about this color, is it appears brown, grey, green or white as the light hits it. It ROCKS, but you have to look closely, especially in the sink photos.
The kitchen sink in it's before state, complete with dirty dishes.
The sink in it's after state... notice that the color of the walls and the sink itself now are different.
To the left of the sink.
To the right of the sink (look close, you will rarely see this much countertop).
The kitchen table. Yes, the blinds have a busted out slat in the lower left hand corner. Not replacing that thing again till it's even more beat than that.
Front room .
More front room, and I will add that the biggest pain in the patootie to paint was the freaking hallway... and it just looks white in all the photos I take. Will try in daylight tomorrow. My hands hurt. Goodnight.
The kitchen sink in it's before state, complete with dirty dishes.
The sink in it's after state... notice that the color of the walls and the sink itself now are different.
To the left of the sink.
To the right of the sink (look close, you will rarely see this much countertop).
The kitchen table. Yes, the blinds have a busted out slat in the lower left hand corner. Not replacing that thing again till it's even more beat than that.
Front room .
More front room, and I will add that the biggest pain in the patootie to paint was the freaking hallway... and it just looks white in all the photos I take. Will try in daylight tomorrow. My hands hurt. Goodnight.Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Sunday Pic: Tuesday
I'm thinking it would have behooved me to take a "before" pic. I didn't. Instead, I will show you about what we had in our master bath. This is the girl's bath, right off the hallway. The space is different, but the lights and mirror are exactly the same as what we had in our bathroom. Next I will put some knobs on the drawers and cabinets, but they are just plain, brushed nickel boring... and it may take me a while to get to it. So you get the "after" picture in a somewhat "before" state. And then comes the Tequila. That's the color of the paint people, the PAINT!
Taken while standing at the foot of our bed.
Taken while standing on edge of tub.I'm thinking we could really use a spiffy new faucet, don't you agree?
Monday, July 02, 2007
Girls/Home Improvement
Before I had kids, I had always envisioned myself as the mother of a rangy pack of boys. Instead, I got girls. I love my girls, but I think it should be said that for all they cleave unto all things princess, they like the traditional "boy" stuff as well. There is not much in this household in the way of restraint, or shy and retiring. Nothing quiet about our home.
Turns out, this works for me.
I am glad to have my girls... I am glad that they are sisters, and such good sisters to each other. I know how important having sisters is, especially as I get older. There is much to admire in my own sisters. I have three sisters and two brothers, and much as I love my brothers... it's my sisters who sustain me. These women are on my mind today.
It's really kind of classic. The things they do, and their lives kind of baffle me. I don't see how they pull everything off with such aplomb, and I guess my own Chaos has them pretty much in awe as well. I feel this way about the women I call friends as well.
**********
Girls. Think little girls and lots of clothes. Lots of pink, purple, green and lots of sparkles. I am in over my head with the laundry, and I am thinking that at age five and three, the two older can start to be responsible for the putting away of their own clothes. Only, the chests of drawers they have are falling to pieces from the inside out. The center bar, and rails that the drawers slide on? Sawdust and unhinged metal. The slightest tug would pull the entire drawer out and THEN... picture a particularly untidy squirrels nest. Since we have put our plans to finish the basement on hold till next year (too many medical bills), it has freed up a little bit of cash for other projects. Goodbye old chests of drawers... hello Hemnes 8 drawer dresser in white! It's big, so they will be sharing.
I would insert a little Ikea rant here... but having read the blogs of Ikea customers in the past, I suspected that my own freaky experience would ensue with the purchase of Ikea stuff. I was not disappointed. Currently I estimate that I spent about 40 hours in the driving to and from, shopping at, returning, and returning, and putting together/ installing crap from Ikea. I figure that the experience is a kind of sweat equity for the furniture world.
This time estimate does not include the time spent absorbing and slavering over their catalog and website. I suspect that Dadguy cringes to think of me and the finishing/furnishing of the basement. I am a perpetual agony of "trying to get it right the first time," when facing a house project, and not an easy woman to live with in when I am in project mode. I don't handle interruptions well, while in that mode... and my life as a mother of young kids IS interruption after distraction on top of frustration. Hoping for the best!
***************
Oldest sister, R, and I have made a deal to help each other paint our houses (the interior). I hope to have some pictures for y'all by next Sunday Pic time. Can't promise much though, I thought for sure I would have a lovely photo of the master bathroom and it's changes (vanity light and mirror).... but I have not yet hung the new mirror. It will end up being a Tuesday Pic this week, I guess.
The color I decided to go with is Kwal Paints "Tequila." I have seen it in two separate houses, and I lurve it! Cool and relaxing... and hopefully it'll clean up better than the builders grade, whitish paint we have now. Possibly I will have an accent wall in the front room. Looking at a slightly darker color for that. Undecided. One more example of the agony and indecision of teh mama doing home improvement.
I will be back to the bloggity soon... promise!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Random Cuteness
This morning Pearl got her paws on a band-aid. She showed it to me, asking "Nah-nay?" Which I could only assume meant "Mama, will you please put this band-aid on my non-existent wound?"
I asked her where she wanted it, and she poked her foot out and pointed at a general area of toe-ness. As I am peeling the paper back from the band-aid, in preparation to stick it on her foot, she begins a loud and contrived "waaaaah wah!." Because that's what you are supposed to do when you get a bandage on a boo-boo. Cry.
**********
We have been deluged with new toys lately. Among some of the new denizens of Chaos...
A stuffed lion that LaLa has named "Tiger-ee," and a stuffed turkey that gobbles, which she has named "Chicken-ee."
**********
LaLa and Birdie have been attending "school" at Grandma's house about twice a week this summer. The focus is reading, but they do science projects, and art projects as well. One of the things they have done, is made books out of construction paper. They cut pictures out of magazines and paste them in the pages, then dictate to Grandma, what they want her to write to go along with the vignettes.
Page one: A tightly cropped photo of the eye and a portion of the beak of a Toucan. The text reads "This is a toucan."
Page two: Photo of a Juan Valzdez looking Mexican peasant, holding his hat in his hand standing next to a burro. Text reads, "The man is taking care of the horse."
Page three: Underwater closeup of a smiling dolphin. Text reads, "The dolphin isswimming. going to eat a hammerhead shark.
I got that far and laughed my pants off.
I asked her where she wanted it, and she poked her foot out and pointed at a general area of toe-ness. As I am peeling the paper back from the band-aid, in preparation to stick it on her foot, she begins a loud and contrived "waaaaah wah!." Because that's what you are supposed to do when you get a bandage on a boo-boo. Cry.
**********
We have been deluged with new toys lately. Among some of the new denizens of Chaos...
A stuffed lion that LaLa has named "Tiger-ee," and a stuffed turkey that gobbles, which she has named "Chicken-ee."
**********
LaLa and Birdie have been attending "school" at Grandma's house about twice a week this summer. The focus is reading, but they do science projects, and art projects as well. One of the things they have done, is made books out of construction paper. They cut pictures out of magazines and paste them in the pages, then dictate to Grandma, what they want her to write to go along with the vignettes.
Page one: A tightly cropped photo of the eye and a portion of the beak of a Toucan. The text reads "This is a toucan."
Page two: Photo of a Juan Valzdez looking Mexican peasant, holding his hat in his hand standing next to a burro. Text reads, "The man is taking care of the horse."
Page three: Underwater closeup of a smiling dolphin. Text reads, "The dolphin is
I got that far and laughed my pants off.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
300
I have been putting off this post for almost a week now.. Partly because I have nothing to post, other than the standard blah blah blah hot blah summertime stuff blah blah. Partly because, as my 300th post, I thought I should have something a little more coherent to say than I do. Partly because I have chucked back two wildly different and powerful books.
One book: Gift From The Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Uhhh... why has no one told me of this book before? This should be mandatory reading for women, especially married women with children. Have you read it? Why didn't YOU tell me? Does everyone just assume that everyone else has read it?
Other Book: Twilight, by Stephenie Mayer. If you have teenage girls you already know all about this book, I am sure. If not... SQUEEEE! The world created by Anne Rice has nothing on Meyer's take on Vampirism, but be warned. Although this is considered Young Adult Fiction, it is powerful and heady stuff, containing the hottest literary kiss this side of erotica. And for all of that, it is conducted in a chaste if dangerous manner. But what do you expect from vampires?
... and oh yeah, blah blah blah hot.
One book: Gift From The Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Uhhh... why has no one told me of this book before? This should be mandatory reading for women, especially married women with children. Have you read it? Why didn't YOU tell me? Does everyone just assume that everyone else has read it?
Other Book: Twilight, by Stephenie Mayer. If you have teenage girls you already know all about this book, I am sure. If not... SQUEEEE! The world created by Anne Rice has nothing on Meyer's take on Vampirism, but be warned. Although this is considered Young Adult Fiction, it is powerful and heady stuff, containing the hottest literary kiss this side of erotica. And for all of that, it is conducted in a chaste if dangerous manner. But what do you expect from vampires?
... and oh yeah, blah blah blah hot.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Sunday Pic: Epiphany
I have come to realize something about myself... whether it is just the way I operate right now in my life, or if it has always been in play, I do not know. I make many, if not most fashion and furnishing decisions based on whether a thing make me laugh. Witness a streak of bright red, almost hot pink that I could not resist getting with this most recent cut and color. What can I say... it makes me laugh.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
News
Ahhhh! So which do ya want first? The good news, the good news or the really good news? Because somehow, I am waking up on my 38th birthday to a shiny, sparkly feeling...
Birdie's tooth? She had just preempted the natural process. Despite the jagged appearance of the root of the tooth that "Link" escorted out... there was nothing hazardous left in the gums. No harm, no foul AND my dentist didn't even charge me for the visit or x-rays.
Yeah... I know! Don't you just hate people who ask for your advice, and then do whatever the crap they wanted to do anyway? In my defence, I really thought that there was a splinter of root left, and I only had yesterday morning to take care of it... so I just hit up my dentist for a morning mercy visit. The "not paying" bit was all their idea. I suspect they didn't want to mess with the paperwork for five minutes and two x-rays. Or it could be because his wife is the Relief Society President for our Ward... and she wanted to cut us a break. Then again, I shouldn't discount the fact that they are just cool people! One way or the other.... WOO HOOOO!
And I love her new jack-o-lantern grin, but it also breaks my heart a little.... she looks like a school kid now.
The reason I only had the morning to deal with busted teeth, we had an early afternoon appointment up in SLC with Pearl's surgeon. Best case scenario. The G-tube is gone. All we are left with now is scar tissue, one final appointment in three months, and one or two small complications. Some other time I'll explain the complications, but... this is my birthday post, and I am only chronicling the bright side thankyouverymuch!
She ain't got no g-tube la-la-be-doo-bah!
Also... I had forgotten the unreasonable pleasure that comes with welcoming a new niece or nephew into the family. I say unreasonable, because I feel proud. I obviously had nothing to do with the guy, but here he is... breathing and slightly smashed looking. And I feel so pleased and proud, like I helped. One way or the other.... Welcome to the party baby M!
On the way home from the hospital yesterday, I took advantage of the fact that the older girls were with my sister, and stopped by the new Ikea. I am in love with it's huge, maze-y shopping goodness. I am in love with my new front room lighting. I am in love with Mr. Dadguy who will be installing it as the other half of my birthday gift! Meet my new 12" Fado... and wow, who'd-a thought that last bit would sound so NAUGHTY!
(the lamp is called a Fado, people... sheeesh!)
Birdie's tooth? She had just preempted the natural process. Despite the jagged appearance of the root of the tooth that "Link" escorted out... there was nothing hazardous left in the gums. No harm, no foul AND my dentist didn't even charge me for the visit or x-rays.
Yeah... I know! Don't you just hate people who ask for your advice, and then do whatever the crap they wanted to do anyway? In my defence, I really thought that there was a splinter of root left, and I only had yesterday morning to take care of it... so I just hit up my dentist for a morning mercy visit. The "not paying" bit was all their idea. I suspect they didn't want to mess with the paperwork for five minutes and two x-rays. Or it could be because his wife is the Relief Society President for our Ward... and she wanted to cut us a break. Then again, I shouldn't discount the fact that they are just cool people! One way or the other.... WOO HOOOO!
And I love her new jack-o-lantern grin, but it also breaks my heart a little.... she looks like a school kid now.
The reason I only had the morning to deal with busted teeth, we had an early afternoon appointment up in SLC with Pearl's surgeon. Best case scenario. The G-tube is gone. All we are left with now is scar tissue, one final appointment in three months, and one or two small complications. Some other time I'll explain the complications, but... this is my birthday post, and I am only chronicling the bright side thankyouverymuch!
She ain't got no g-tube la-la-be-doo-bah!
Also... I had forgotten the unreasonable pleasure that comes with welcoming a new niece or nephew into the family. I say unreasonable, because I feel proud. I obviously had nothing to do with the guy, but here he is... breathing and slightly smashed looking. And I feel so pleased and proud, like I helped. One way or the other.... Welcome to the party baby M!
On the way home from the hospital yesterday, I took advantage of the fact that the older girls were with my sister, and stopped by the new Ikea. I am in love with it's huge, maze-y shopping goodness. I am in love with my new front room lighting. I am in love with Mr. Dadguy who will be installing it as the other half of my birthday gift! Meet my new 12" Fado... and wow, who'd-a thought that last bit would sound so NAUGHTY!
(the lamp is called a Fado, people... sheeesh!)
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Sunday Pic: Gratitude
I spent some time this afternoon writing Thank You notes for folks who have assisted Chaos this past while... I'm not done yet... and I haven't got addresses for some of you. But we are some blessed folks. J.D. from Tripping Over Cobblestones sent out a care package with magazines for me, and some shades for the girlo. The glasses, which had rose colored lenses, are broken already... but not before LaLa had the opportunity of putting them on and remarking to me how big and pink my bummie was. Nobody sent Dadguy and I a gift certificate for iTunes... for new music to cheer us up. Elizasmom sent a GC for Amazon. The "mom" part of Mom and Pop came to visit bringing a book and a toy. Sarah came to visit, bringing cheer and good conversation. Jo of TangledMe visited with gifts.... and now Mama D has weighed in with gifts all around! These wands and wings for the older girls, a dolly for Pearl and some Aveda haircare products for moi!Dude... that's just the folks who have websites that I can link to! Y'all are some huge-hearted and awesome folks.
I have also had some new people come by to visit the bloggy and leave happy and kind words of support in addition to my longertime friends. My only regret is that I am so disorganised and so much shorter on spare time that I don't get by to say hey back to them. Or leave regular or better comments on YOUR blogs. I feel like so much is being done on our behalf.... I hope I am not overlooking anyone and that if I have, believe me, we are sooo grateful for all that is being done.
Just one other thing.... I am looking for a good pediatric dentist. Somehow Birdie smashed/popped/levered out one of her bottom-front teeth, tonite after lights out. She says she was biting on a plastic, Happy Meal figurine of Peter from the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. Only she insists that he is "Link" from Legend of Zelda. Anyway she was biting on him when she tripped? Fell? Was jumping on her bed?Almost the whole tooth is out, but it looks like there may yet be a splinter of the root left in her gums. So if you know anyone in the Valley....
Yeah, I know. The hits just keep coming. Wheee!
Friday, June 08, 2007
Where Does My Time Go?
The Parent Bloggers Network in conjunction with Light Iris is holding a little drawing to send a blogger to this years BlogHer. The topic "Where Does My Time Go" fits in nicely with something that I wanted to talk about anyhoo... my time, and where the crap it has gone.
At first I thought I'd give this one a miss, but then I read the fine print and realized that this wasn't a writing contest... nope, it's a random drawing. If it were a contest then I'd feel compelled to spend some time on writing the post, and time is something I ain't got so mucha these days. Plus, I don't know if I'd be able to get away to GO to BlogHer. Time.
BUT.
A couple of days ago my sister Shel, in Colorado called me. She had tried to leave a comment on this post, but Blogger ate it, so she called instead. Normally I get griped at Blogger when it does glitchy things like that, but I let it slide this time. It was a really good conversation, but the main reason and message that she had for me was to relax. Most especially, to take some time for myself. She is so very right.
I have never had a pedicure, but I love the idea of one, and I love the way they make your feet look. I had decided that this year for Mother's Day I was gonna get me one! I had cherry-red polish in mind. A girlfriend of mine and I decided that we would go together, after checking with one of the neighborhood divas as to where was the best place to go. If you have kept up with this blog, you will know that this did not happen, as I spent the better part of the month of May with my youngest in the Children's Hospital.
I commit to getting a pedicure within this next week.
My hair was overdue for a cut and color by several weeks, over a month ago! I hardly noticed, because the hospital lighting in the bathrooms made it seem as if I still had highlights. It was not till the last week in, that I looked close enough to realize that it was not highlights I was seeing, but strands and clumps of pure white sprouting from my head.
I commit to a cut and color. I have an appointment for next Wednesday.
Plus I want y'all to know that I have watched two chick fliks and consumed decent chocolate in the past few days. In that same vein... I commit to three good sessions on the exercise bike in the next week to offset this necessary consumption of chocolate.
Not positive where my time went... but I know it's not gonna just show up, so I'm going to TAKE some time and MAKE it mine. At least I'm going to try!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
G-Tubular... dude.
So the girlie has a Gastrostomy Tube...
it looks about like this (the cartoon version for those of y'all with a weak constitution).
Once I got past my initial, erm... dismay at the Frankenstein nature of having a tube poking out of my daughter's tummy, and started to be in charge of the care of it... I began to realize the pluses of such an item. Especially in dealing with a toddler.
Hate the Tylenol tussle? You know, the fight you have with a cranky kid who would feel better and be less cranky... if only you could get a teaspoonful or less of the crappy purple stuff down her gullet? You have a G-tube and there is no fight, no consultation, no hassle. You just pop open the med-port on that bad boy and *boop* the child is medicated.
Kid hates that nasty Pediasure, but is not getting enough nutrition? Yeah... the G-tube! Concerns about the hydration level of Junior? Nope, not anymore.
I'll be sad to see that sucker go for the above reasons.... but only for those reasons.
By the way... if you haven't checked out the cool video that Mama D made for me... go have a gander!
Monday, June 04, 2007
Fall Out Girls
Been home for a few days... long enough to start to assess the damage.
Minimal really, when you tot up the myriad coulda-beens. Birdie was able to understand most of what was happening and why, so she appears to be the best off. I say "appears" because I want to watch for a while longer before I put a check mark by her name, and call it good.
LaLa has 100% regressed in the old PT. Don't really blame her, because while she had the best of care, by the best of folks... it was all non-routine, and hither and yon.
Then again, this morning while rummaging through her dresser, she found a pair of "Rhumba Pants," an item lovingly referred to as "Rumble Pants," here in Chaos. They are lacy and lovely. She wore them backward all day, I assume so she could admire the lace and the bow as she pulled them up and down. What mattered to me is that she WORE them all day. Dry.
It was rather encouraging.
Pearl. That's the really hard one. It's hard to know what to do, how to help... primarily because of her age, but also because of her personality. It was commented on by many people who know the Chaos Girls in person, that we were lucky that this happened with Pearl instead of one of the older girls. Birdie and LaLa are that breed of over-the-top crazy that would likely be ripping out IV lines, stripping off PulseOx monitors and generally raising bloody heck. I have to agree. Pearl is that mild and soft baby girl who does NOT pull on puppy ears. She is sweetness and genteel silence. She is a watcher. But because of these attributes I worry that this experience has driven her further into herself and made her fearful. Especially while she was IN the hospital she was introverted, silent and needing her mama at every moment. Except for those moments when she was sucked into the world of Baby Einstein Crack. It was because of Baby Einstein that I showered and ate meals. While I know on a certain level that she won't "remember" all that happened, she is not unchanged by it.
Home is better.
Being at home has given me back my laughing Pearl, my smiling and talking Pearl. Which, by the way... she came home from the Hospital with words for fish, cat, dog, ball, bubble, prayer, up, down, chick, cow, cracker. Today as I was reading some blogs, she came to my knee and said "up-up, mama!" Granted it sounded like "uh-uh, mama"... but we went up and down the elevators so many times, on our endless wagon rides through PCMC that I know "up" when I hear it.
We are easing back into our lives... except for sleep. She tends to wake up along the same schedule that she had been awoken by nurses taking "vitals" every night. She still must be rocked back to sleep each time.
Sadly.... the freak of the week is the mama. I feel like I am OK with a side order of screaming meemies. I am having nightmares of losing my children; both at night and odd visions of disaster while awake. I think it may take a while to wind down from it all.
Brief bullet point list of "It All."
I think I'm done for the night.
Minimal really, when you tot up the myriad coulda-beens. Birdie was able to understand most of what was happening and why, so she appears to be the best off. I say "appears" because I want to watch for a while longer before I put a check mark by her name, and call it good.
LaLa has 100% regressed in the old PT. Don't really blame her, because while she had the best of care, by the best of folks... it was all non-routine, and hither and yon.
Then again, this morning while rummaging through her dresser, she found a pair of "Rhumba Pants," an item lovingly referred to as "Rumble Pants," here in Chaos. They are lacy and lovely. She wore them backward all day, I assume so she could admire the lace and the bow as she pulled them up and down. What mattered to me is that she WORE them all day. Dry.
It was rather encouraging.
Pearl. That's the really hard one. It's hard to know what to do, how to help... primarily because of her age, but also because of her personality. It was commented on by many people who know the Chaos Girls in person, that we were lucky that this happened with Pearl instead of one of the older girls. Birdie and LaLa are that breed of over-the-top crazy that would likely be ripping out IV lines, stripping off PulseOx monitors and generally raising bloody heck. I have to agree. Pearl is that mild and soft baby girl who does NOT pull on puppy ears. She is sweetness and genteel silence. She is a watcher. But because of these attributes I worry that this experience has driven her further into herself and made her fearful. Especially while she was IN the hospital she was introverted, silent and needing her mama at every moment. Except for those moments when she was sucked into the world of Baby Einstein Crack. It was because of Baby Einstein that I showered and ate meals. While I know on a certain level that she won't "remember" all that happened, she is not unchanged by it.
Home is better.
Being at home has given me back my laughing Pearl, my smiling and talking Pearl. Which, by the way... she came home from the Hospital with words for fish, cat, dog, ball, bubble, prayer, up, down, chick, cow, cracker. Today as I was reading some blogs, she came to my knee and said "up-up, mama!" Granted it sounded like "uh-uh, mama"... but we went up and down the elevators so many times, on our endless wagon rides through PCMC that I know "up" when I hear it.
We are easing back into our lives... except for sleep. She tends to wake up along the same schedule that she had been awoken by nurses taking "vitals" every night. She still must be rocked back to sleep each time.
Sadly.... the freak of the week is the mama. I feel like I am OK with a side order of screaming meemies. I am having nightmares of losing my children; both at night and odd visions of disaster while awake. I think it may take a while to wind down from it all.
Brief bullet point list of "It All."
- witnessing my child in pain
- witnessing my child screamingly afraid
- helping to hold down my child while they do something either painful or scary or both
- fear and uncertainty in my own heart
- witnessing the torture of my child via the sleep deprivation which is a side effect of nurses having to take a child's "vital stats" every four hours
- rocking my child back to sleep upward of six times during a 24 hour period of time
- trying to decide at what point I tell everyone to back OFF already
- trying to find a way to communicate with a new nursing staff every twelve hours to make sure that they see my baby girl as a baby girl, and not a "failing IV," G-Tube or a set of stats to be taken and recorded
- fighting with doctors to get her more relief than mere Benedryl and Tylenol
- trying to make sure that I don't become Mrs. Unreasonable or ThatMom
- fear and uncertainty
- boredom and loneliness
- worry
- worry
- worry
I think I'm done for the night.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
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