For the past three and a half years since Riley’s first sign of illness I’ve been so many things. I’ve been an advocate, a medical researcher, a therapist, a teacher, a student, a fierce tiger fighting for answers, an emotional wreck wondering what was wrong and not feeling strong enough to handle it…
But those moments…those fleeting moments…of just being…MOM. They’ve been there, but so few and far between everything else that has been happening. Today something switched. I don’t know if it was my decision (more on that forthcoming in later posts)…or just an emotional release for me…or just one of those days…but tonight. For about 3 hours…that’s all I was.Â
I was washing dishes and for the first time in years the baby gates are down (have been for 3 days!!) – and the girls are excited to have access to the kitchen. I turned around from washing dishes to see they’ve done this:
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They dragged in books and plopped themselves down at the table. Carrying on a little conversation with each other they read their books and told each other about them. They seemed so grown up…and I just grabbed my camera and started snapping. It was such a great, peaceful moment. I only wish Daddy had been home to see it (he’s got work stuff tonight and tomorrow 🙁 ).Â
For a few hours I was just a mom, and a little bit of a teacher because after the dishes were done the girls and I sat down to go over flash cards to start rebuilding Riley’s knowledge again – and work on Angel’s. Then I went over Brandon’s homework with him and asked him to do some side work for me…and I manged to finish the dishes, half the laundry and getting our new storage pieces put up and partially filled.
I think I’ll like just being a Mom and what goes with standard teaching. Maybe I need the break from ‘school’ and therapy as much as I think the girls do.
Which is really hypocritical of me because I constantly give Archie grief for blaming himself. It isn’t his fault…and it isn’t my fault…and our brains know this…but our hearts bleed.Â
His heart bleeds because Brandon was the ‘perfect’ child. He was never really sick (a minor bowel issue until 3yo, but otherwise) – Brandon is neurotypical. ARchie is not biologically his father. Our two special needs children are his biological children. He draws the line of coincidence and though his head tells him that it isn’t his fault…his heart aches and bleeds thinking it was somehow his fault – his genes that did it.
For me, it’s an old vice. One that still haunts me…and one that I abused when I was pregnant…not with Brandon, and not with Riley…but with Angel…
I smoked until I was five and a half months pregnant with her. In my (very weak) defense I hadn’t the foggiest idea I WAS pregnant (seriously I REALLY had no idea…both me and my OB were shocked)…but I was, and I did.Â
I had my first cigarette at 11. At 16 I really started smoking – and started hard with reds. I smoked off an on for years. I’ve always had a knack of just deciding one day that I’d quit and that would be it – for months and years at a time. When I started drinking (at 18), I’d almost always have at least one cigarette when I drank – which worked since it was only once every few months. But I was a horrible social smoker…when others smoked, I joined. Working in food service – a LOT of food service workers smoke…so when I started waitressing after Riley was born, I started smoking – like a frickin’ chimney.Â
Truth be told, with all three of my kids I smoked right up until the day I found out I was pregnant. Brandon I stopped as soon as I saw the test – and never looked back, in fact they made me sick. With Riley, I quit before I knew I was pregnant…they just made me nuts, so did alcohol (not that I was ever addicted to that).Â
But when I got pregnant with Angel, I had no idea I was pregnant. I was using three forms of birth control (four if you count the new-parent exhaustion-created near-abstinence). I was working at Bob Evans (yum) and smoking like a chimney with my friends and coworkers.Â
I’ve always felt guilt about it – but pushed it aside as best as I could.Â
But when I hear the doctors say “Something happened neurologically while she was in utero. Something minor, but enough to cause this…” As they have since we first started looking for reasons for her left-sided weakness. Every time I hear “neurological event” and “in utero” – I blame myself.Â
And my heart bleeds.Â
And bleeds…
And tonight…my heart bleeds…and again I blame myself…
 My last goals are egocentric, for me and me alone (okay, not completely…but mostly). There are dreams I have…and other silly guilty (or not-so) pleasures that I’d like to indulge and include in my goals. They are few, but I felt I had to include them.
Big Dreams 1. Publish my novel
2. Be able to make clothes and crafts quickly.
3. Never have to wonder ‘what should I make for dinner?’
4. Teach my daughters dance.
Baby Steps 1. Start writing at least 2 nights/wk
2. Re-open my writing blog to track progress and goals.
3. Continue working on all crafting skills (knitting and sewing first)
4. Make menu plans weekly
5. Keep finding new recipes (I’ve found some great ones recently)
6. Work on my Body Image goals to get back in shape so I feel capable of achieving BD#4
7. A little side goal is to get back into blogging. I’m challenging myself to post every other day here, and every other day at TwoBroomsUp.
And thus ends my list of goals (FINALLY). I’m excited to do my first update this coming Saturday. But until then, we’ll return to regular random posting.
It’s a stack of photos - three rolls of film’s worth. They lie buried in a box under my bed 99.9% of the time.
They are photos of monuments and landmarks. Graves and soldiers. Capitols and statues. No groupings of friends. No wacky close up’s trying to get me in the frame. No friends at all.
It was a long awaited trip. One met with excitement and anticipation. Three years of begging to follow in my brother’s footsteps. To join my best friend and classmates. To go to Washington, D.C. for a full week without my parents. Just me and my best bud, and a few other friends…and fifteen other classmates, a few teachers.
I was in seventh grade. The school did it every year. I wasn’t exceptionally popular (I’d lost that goal in sixth grade)…but I had two of the bestest friends, and a small group of friends that accepted me. One of those best friends was going on this trip with me.
By three days into the trip…I had no friends. It happened so fast and so embarassingly so it still pains me to even look at these pictures.Â
My BFF and I were huge into NKOTB (yes…yes), and we both were totally in love with Joey. She’d brought along a picture and set it gently into the frame of the hotel picture that was on the wall. Someone (a maid? classmate? roommate?) defaced the picture during the trip.
Somehow I got blamed. That wasn’t the embarassing part, though…they didn’t tell me they for some reason they thought I’d done it…they waited. Then, after a day of sightseeing I went in for my bathroom time. I went in, did my business, took a shower and came out.
By the next day the rumors swirled. They were ridiculous…but no one cared. Suddenly that night I was the focus of hilarity and someone even wrote a song about how I had managed to wash my hair in the toilet. My ‘friends’ and roommates attacked me verbally in the room, hurled insults and accusations…and I spent the remainder of the trip sleeping curled up on a hotel chair to sleep without even a blanket or one person to stand by me and be my friend.Â
The remaining tours were done in the back of the trip, talking to a teacher. I had no one to eat with, to talk with, to take silly pictures with…while my former friends latched on to more popular kids on the trip and boosted their own popularity talking about me.
It was among the darkest periods of my youth. It is why I absolutely loath the thought of my kids going to middle school and having to face fellow middle school evilness. It is why I never look at these pictures, why I never think of my trip. When I think of D.C. I think only of the time I lived near there and went to see shows a few blocks from the white house.
So why today?Â
Brandon came home with a permission slip and letter explaining the fifth grade trip to D.C. (much, much shorter…like an INSANELY FAST trip).Â
I like to think I’ve forgiven those girls for what they did and how they acted…at least I try to…I don’t like holding grudges (even if I am good at it)…but it’s something I can never forget because to this day it’s affected how I am, WHO I am. I feel it every day I look in the mirror and find something worng with myself. I feel it every time I feel like the odd ball out at a party, watching everyone else have fun wishing I could disappear into the shadows.
I want my son to see the capitol. I want him to be able to go with his friends. I know he WANTS to go…but I hesitate. My own past holds back his future and enjoyment. Can I forgive…Can I forget? Can I push past my own past (and cough up the dough) for him to go…
Can he have the trip that I never could? I have to let him try…for both of us.
~ That having truncal hypotonia and a daredevil are a VERY bad combination?
~ The the above mentioned combination can lead to a face plant from the height of the back of a couch resulting in an unexpected $60 trip to the dentist for X-rays?
~ That a fasting glucose level of 160 is BAD?
~ That such a fasting glucose level can cause grown men to be diagnosed with diabetes?
~ That being diagnosed with high cholesterol AND diabetes in the same week can lead to an ultra-restrictive and ultra SUCKY diet?
~ That mastering such a diet is TOUGH?Â
~ And have I mentioned that it SUCKS?
~ That I have soooo many things that occurred during blog closing/deletion that I can’t seem to compose one REAL post out of the mess?
~ That this is a thinly disguised bullet list?
~ That Riley has become an abusive big sister that likes to hit her sister on regular occassions?
~ That Brandon has started going to Wednesday night bible school…with the neighbors…NOT us…and that I (as a non-christian) am not sure how to feel about that?
~ That I feel hypocritical for saying that because I believe that my children should be able to make their own choices in life and religion?
~ That sometimes not even the internet can help you locate an old friend?
~ That I am TOTALLY obsessed with True Blood (and the Sookie Stackhouse book series)?!
~ That I was SO obsessed with it, that I switched to DirecTV because it was the cheapest way to get HBO?
~ That I was SOOO obsessed with the books that I got Archie reading them?
~ That having a book discussion with a spouse of the opposite sex (which mine happens to be) brings about points (and viewpoints)Â that you seriously never considered, and might not understand?
~ That I could go on for another fifty points, but I don’t want to annoy you so soon back into re-posting?
Traditions can make or break a holiday. The traditions we grew up with as a child are translated into something we try to do with our kids. Every year we add traditions or drop them, but if we don’t have any…our holiday can be only ho-hum. In my family there are several traditions that I continue to follow to this day. Christmas is not Christmas without them.
The first thing that makes it Christmas is listening to the The Oak Ridge Boys Christmas Album. How can you not hear Thank God for Kids with lyrics like “When you look down in those trusting eyes; That look to you, you realize; There’s a love that you can’t buy; Thank God for kids…” and not melt? There’s just something about this album that brings Christmas to our family. We ALWAYS listen to it on Christmas eve (there’s a song for that, too!!)
There are two movies that we must watch, too! First is Scrooge. It’s the musical version of a Christmas Carol and it’s just bright and cheery and perfect for decorating the tree with! And we canNOT live without Alastair Sim, the original Black and White version of A Christmas Carol. His pure joy when he wakes up on Christmas morning cannot be beat…even by the drool-worthy Patrick Stewart.
Beyond media, though…there is one specific tradition that has meant very much to me for the past 9 years. Christmas Eve.
When I was growing up as a child every Christmas Eve my brother and I would climb into one or the other’s bed (alternating every year) and my Mother would read The Night Before Christmas. The linked version is the one she read. The pictures were so magical to me. The way she read it brought life to the pages and made me so eager for Santa’s arrival. I can still remember the giddy joy of clamoring into bed, me on one side of her, my brother on the other.
When my oldest was born the tradition was passed on. My dad took up the tradition with his grandson, who meant so much to him. I bought myself the exact same version I’d grown up with, and my dad would read that – and then the bible story of Jesus’ birth (Luke 2:1-20).
Now my oldest is almost 10. I have two very young girls at home. The torch has been passed again – onto me. Now on Christmas Eve, I gather my babies close to me on the couch and we read The Night Before Christmas . I quote the bible scripture, having memorized it years ago. We play our Oak Ridge Boys and set out Cookies and milk for Santa…and if I’m thoughtful enough to remember, carrots for the reindeer.
I don’t know for a fact that my brother also carries on these same traditions, but I like to think that he does. They meant a lot to us growing up…and I’m so happy to pass them on. I only hope they mean as much to my children as they did to me.
******
This post was made in honor of a contest over at Sue’s Navel Gazing…but I probably would have made it anyway 😀 I love the holiday! Thank you, Sue for the prompt!!
Album. How can you not hear Thank God for Kids with lyrics like “When you look down in those trusting eyes; That look to you, you realize; There’s a love that you can’t buy; Thank God for kids…” and not melt? There’s just something about this album that brings Christmas to our family. We ALWAYS listen to it on Christmas eve (there’s a song for that, too!!)
. It’s the musical version of a Christmas Carol and it’s just bright and cheery and perfect for decorating the tree with! And we canNOT live without Alastair Sim, the original Black and White version of 
. His pure joy when he wakes up on Christmas morning cannot be beat…even by the drool-worthy Patrick Stewart. 
. The linked version is the one she read. The pictures were so magical to me. The way she read it brought life to the pages and made me so eager for Santa’s arrival. I can still remember the giddy joy of clamoring into bed, me on one side of her, my brother on the other. 