Monday, February 27, 2006


He doesn't sleep in his bed. He starts out that way, just like every other normal kid. But around 2-4 am, he sneaks in bed with me. Sneaks. I just weaned him a couple of months ago, so I think he is still in the habit of "needing" me. He enjoys rubbing my tummy as he sleeps. It is his soothing method since he weaned. It's okay. It would be a lot better if my tummy were rub worthy. But since his amazing birth (another story for another time), my tummy isn't quite the size, or skin tone it used to be. A fact that my beautiful child reminds me often. "mommy, your belly is squishy". Whereupon he is squeezing my belly into a fist and running across the room with it.

Ah Chilly! My second born. I love your brown eyes, and your exuberant laugh. I love your positive attitude for life, and your joy in finding the day. Your morning smile is what helps me out of bed. And the fact that you have already got out of bed and are still holding my flesh.

year round school

I love it and hate it.

Harry is off from school for 3 weeks. 3 weeks of sleeping in. 3 weeks of lazy mornings. 3 weeks of not worrying if he has to take his homework back, or 100 pennies to school etc... Oh the joy, oh the bliss...... And what mother doesn't have intelligent things planned for this "off" time. "We'll go to the dinosaur park, and we'll go skating. I'll get his bike out and he can learn to ride without training wheels. I keep up his reading, and writing, and start him doing more math"...

Of course, there is also a down side to this tiem off. I have a school aged child, who is not in school. He has been used to being scheduled, worked, bossed around. He has had stickers, and charts, treats and FRIENDS. I am so not that way.

I love the challenge of keeping him occupied (do I?). I love seeing him learn and understand new things every day. But I was never cut out to be a teacher. I've got no patience. And him being home, it isn't like this is new to me. He's only been in school for 6 months! And he isn't even gone for a whole day. IT'S ONLY 3 HOURS THAT HE IS GONE! Why does the thought of him staying home every day fill me with dread?

Am I up to the challenge? I guess I'd better be, I sure can't handle 6 hours of pbs kids.


Has it been a week yet. It sure feels like it. It doesn't matter how long you really were sick, it still feels like it was LONGER.

I had strep. AGAIN. This is the third time in 2 months. After 28 years of never having this horrid disease. My diabetically skinny DR. informed me that if I get it again, he's going to take out my tonsils. Hmm, I'd like to see ya try buster. Remember me, I'm the whole natural childbirth lady?? Yeah, it's not because I wanted the wonderful experience of "feeling" my baby be born. NO, it is the whole idea of hospitals, drugs, needles that scares the hell out of me.

I'm a chicken. A real honest scaredy-cat when it comes to hospitals. Just the smell freaks me out. And they do smell. I'm okay with a clinic; seeing the dr. at his office. But take me to a hospital, and I get heart palpitations, sweaty palms, and that is just in the parking lot. I used to be this same way with dentists. Oh yeah, I still am. If you are having a baby, and you choose to birth in a hospital, don't be offended if I don't visit. I don't know what the big deal is, and frankly I don't care, just keep me away from the hospital and I'm fine.

So if you know of any tricks, any means to keep yourself strep free, I'd really like to hear them.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006


We are all sick today. We all wanted to cuddle in my nice warm bed until the germs all went away. We were happy, it was warm. We had the remote for the TV, and we were content to watch Arthur for the billionth time this week.

So what happened??? GUILT. Harry wanted to stay home from school, cuddle in bed. That sounded too good. So I decided to do it. But wait. He is a kindergartener now. If I let him stay home today, what is to say that he will learn that all he has to do is cuddle with mom in her bed, make her sleepy enough to not want to take me, tell her a weak story about how I don't' feel good, then BAM, he never has goes to school again. That is how I did it, my friends. I was a genius about missing school. Is it bad that I think my innocent 5 year old has the same mentality and ability??

So I got up, got him dressed, fed and off to school we went. It was cold, it was hard, I am still tired. I have to be the mom here, even though the 5 year old in me doesn't understand. But Harry is at school and C-dog has been sufficiently drugged and is asleep on the couch. When I finish this, I'm off to cuddle. But only for a short time, I've have to pick Harry up in a half hour.

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Birthing option A

Did I mention I was a stay at home mom?? I have two little boys. Okay, not little, that is such a relative term. I have two young boys. The oldest, lets say his name is Harry, is 5 years old. He'll be 6 this summer.

Harry was born on a Friday. He was about 2 weeks early. I had been feeling horribly tired for weeks preceding his birth. It had been the hottest spring in the record books, well, my record books at least. I had never felt so miserable in my entire life.

Thursday came, I had the day off and I was nesting. I had taken every single set of blinds out of the widows. I took them outside where I tried cleaning them with water sprayed from our garden hose. It didn't work very well, and I was getting frustrated. My MIL called and suggested that we go shopping for material for a quilt for the baby. I decided that was a good idea. We went to wal-mart and picked out some material, we walked the isles. We chatted. It was fun.

My wonderful husband got home a little early and suggested we go to the baseball game that evening. Okay. so off we went to the ball game. Me as big as a house. I remember waddling into the stadium, sitting right behind home plate. That is when the contractions started. They weren't too bad, I had felt them before. Just a little annoying, especially when I wanted to watch the game. I can't remember if we won or lost, but when we left, I had a funny feeling like this was it.

We drove home, it was about 40 minutes from the ballpark. I remember watching the clock on the radio, timing my contractions. Yup, about 3 minutes apart. They weren't too bad, even though dad-to-be wondered if we should go straight to the hospital or stay home. I suggested we get some sleep. I was a first time birther, and I knew that we were going to need all the energy we could get.

We went home, went to bed and waited. About 5:00 am, I woke up and I couldn't get comfortable again. I ended up pacing around my 800 sq ft house. I probably could have run a marathon had I the room. Well, we packed our bag and went off to the hospital, fully aware that we were going to miss my next Dr.'s appointment. We were hopeful that they were not going to send us home.

I got to the hospital about 7:30. They checked me in, hooked this funky belt around my distended belly and listened. Then the nurse violated me to check how "far along" I was. She mentioned that I was going to have a baby today. I remember thinking YIKES!! I'm only a kid, and I'm going to actually give birth. If it hadn't been for the monitor, and my husband, I think I would have ran out the door screaming. I was a little nervous.

Well, slowly it went. I remember sitting in a rocking chair, laying on the bed. The Dr. Came in and checked my "progress". WE laughed at the idea that I was at my right appointment time, just not in his office. I remember walking around the halls a bit. I wasn't making any progress, and the nurses made sure that we knew that. They also made sure that I knew I could get an epidural at any time, no matter what. I let them know I wasn't interested. I remember throwing up and having diarrhea. .

It was about 2:30 when the dr's came in. They wanted to break my water. I was not progressing ,and they thought that bursting my cushion might help. So the intern rammed an orange peeler up my crotch, twisted it, and suddenly I'm peeing in my bed. And with every contraction, more fluid escaped. The new nurse decided to get me going and forced me to take a shower. I relented and dribbled a little across the floor and into the shower. It was rough. I had never had such horrible pain ever in my life.

Those contractions that came after my water was broken were torture. I was in the shower sitting on the chair, and I didn't think I was going to make it. I needed something. A tylenol perhaps. Something to take this intense pain away. Well I had been in the shower all but 20 minutes or so when my sweet husband decided to come in and check on me. I remember I was hands and knees on the ground. I told him I was ready to push. He go the nurse, got me to bed. I told her I was ready to push. She checked me and holy cow, I was ready to push. I had gone from a 4 to a 10 (which in birthing terms means, push) in 20 minutes. And that isn't all. I really wanted to push. It felt good to push. They told me to hold it. HOLD WHAT?!!! I remember grunting through that feeling. My contractions didn't hurt anymore, but I was really needing to get this dang kid out. FINALLY the Dr. And the intern, and some nurses showed up, TV reporters, circus clown, and a few hobos off the street. They transformed my bed and told me to go ahead. BREATH AND PUSH. They talked about their golf game. PUSH. I think I burst a couple of veins in my forehead. But it was heaven. OH it felt so good to actually be working this kid out. PUSH.. I was getting hot. PUSH, I was getting really hot PUSH, okay between the next contraction I've got to get this gown off. PUSH. GET THIS DAMN THING OFF ME NOW... PUSH. That is better. I'm sitting naked on a bed with a huge belly. PUSH Okay it is still damn hot someone get me a cold washcloth PUSH, What the hell are you all here for get me a *&&%$^&*%^*) WASHCLOTH. PUSH, that is better thank you.

Suddenly the Dr.'s get a little excited. They tell me that they can see something. SOMETHING, it better the hell be a baby. PUSH, with every push they can see hair. OH the baby has dark hair. PUSHPUSHPUSH. Oh the head is out. stop pushing. Okay now PUSH, and out he popped. My little boy. My little man. My first born. The Dr. handed him to me. I looked at his little penis and said "it's a boy" and then that tiny little penis peed all over me. Oh how sweet. Dear husband cut the cord. The nurses bundled him up and took him over to check him out.

Ahh relief. He was a he, and he was here. Oh good. What?, the Dr. wants me to push out the placenta. Yeah right doc. I think I pushed my freaking lungs out with that kid. Then I understood why. The nurse tells me the weight of the kid . He comes in at a whopping 9lbs 2 oz! HOLY CRAP!!!

The Dr. Proceeds to sew me up. You got it Dr., sew me up so this can never happen again. The Dr. finishes, my husband brings in my ILs. They look at my sweet boy. They see how he is trying to attatch himself to my nipples. "OH how cute" they say "he wants to nurse already" But still they stay, and still they watch. FINALLY they leave. The nurses take the dear little boy and my husband away. They take him to "clean him up" but in reality they stick crap in his eyes and shoot him full of vaccinations. Then the hero of the story comes into the room. Yes a hero in my book. The sweet nurse who couldn't have been a day older than me, comes in to "clean" me up. And she does. What heavenly thing is she sticking on my crotch. Oh, it is ice, and it feels wonderful! She gets me into a wheelchair (yeah Dr. Bradley, I don't think I will be walking to the recovery room you smart ass, I just pushed out a freaking 9lb baby) and wheels me to my new, less comfortable room. The room where every damn nurse in the whole hospital goes on break or something.

I find myself in a bed, with nice white blankets and sheets. And my parents. Is it odd that I found their presence there disturbing. Maybe because I had just been completely naked not but an hour ago screaming for someone to get me a cold washcloth, and then here are my parents, who were there at my birth. Just smiling. They were waiting to see my boy. Not to see me. I promise, I had looked better several hours ago.

Soon Jr. is wheeled in, and we all get to see him. It really looked like someone had given him a haircut. His fingernail were perfect too. My parents left after a while and I attatched my boy to my boob. That is where he stayed for the next 26 months.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Pink or Blue?

I'll tell you what color I don't like. My mom always wanted me to wear it. We had a house of 4 girls, you would think that I would appreciate it, BUT I don't like pink. I think my mom liked it enough for all 3 of her daughters. I just don't like it. At least I didn't like pink when I was a child, or teenager, or young mom. I just thought it was...I don't know...girly.

I liked blue. Now blue is a nice color. Calming, serene. I must admit that blue was my favorite color, usually.... most times. Green was okay too. I had a quilt that my mom made for me that was lime green. It had a cat design stitched in the middle with green picos on the edge. I loved that quilt! It was my one true snuggly. Of course, as every love story goes, it disappeared one day, only to be seen months later as a dust rag. Is it any wonder that I hate the smell of pledge??

Brown, white, black, purple, I have loved all these colors in my day. Personality wise, I sure enjoy the color yellow, but it really looks horrible with my olive skin tone. Red is just a little aggressive for me, but when I am feeling spunky, I enjoy using it.

Does blue really mean boy and pink really mean girl?? Now I have TWO little boys and I am married to a boy( good thing too). The only other girl in my house is my dog, and she hangs out with the boys. I have come to appreciate the color pink. I might even go so far to say that I enjoy wearing pink.

Is it because I am a lone girl in a house of boys? Or is it because I have matured some? Do I really see the beauty of womanhood and am I trying to embrace it? Have I come to understand and respect the true nature of a mother, gentle and kind? That quiet nobility?? I like to think so. Of course it could be just be that I have nothing else to wear.

Or it could mean something deeper, something more profound. I want a girl. Yup, a little girl I can dress up in pink ribbons, pink shoes, pink tights. Yeah, I'm going to need a baby. A nice little calm girly baby. My boys just don't look good in pink.

Friday, February 17, 2006

Why Meemer

Obviously it is not my real name. What parent would curse their child so? I hate to admit it, but when I was in 5th grade, I hated my real name. Was it really so bad? To a fifth grader, who wanted to be Jennifer, or Tiffany, or Alexis it was horrid.

My family moved to a new place when I was almost 9 years old. My dad got a promotion at work that required him to leave our quaint little town, and head on to the big city. It was not cool for me. I didn't want to leave my friends, or my small town. I wasn't popular, or smart, but I had friends that had been friends since I was a baby.

We started our new life in a rented house. My room was disgusting. It smelled like pee. Only because the previous tenant had peed in the heat vent. It was winter when we moved in, and every time the heat turned on, it reeked of urine.

I went to a crummy elementary school where I was miles ahead of everybody else. Not that I was smarter, I had just done it all before. I was in 4th grade that year. To make matters worse, the teacher quit only a few weeks after I joined the new class. She left because she couldn't handle the class anymore. She quit for her own sanity. It was a horrible class. A substitute teacher joined us for the rest of the year. She ruled with an iron fist. I liked that. I was ostracized. I was "smarter", and a teachers pet. Thankfully our family moved once again, during the summer. I never had to go back to that horrid school.

We moved into a wealthy neighborhood. My parents were not wealthy. In fact they had been going through bankruptcy for failure to sell the old house 6 months ago. They were able to purchase the new house because it was bank owned. It was a wreck of a house, but I loved it. It sat on a huge lot, with an old decrepit barn, and a field. What a glorious thing to a 9 year old. A field with bugs and mice. My parents immediately went to work cleaning up the place. They pulled bushes and carpet. They did what they could. My mom had a dream house, and this wasn't it. I can't imagine how hard it was for them to start over.

Enter 5th grade. Because I had done so well at the previous school, I was put into a "special class". It was one of those combined classes for the smart kids. I did really well, but I was still a nerd. I was more than a nerd, I was shy, aloof and a nerd. I desperately wanted to make friends. I had made so very few.

There was a cool girl in the class. She was outgoing and funny. She was cool. She could talk to the boys with no problem. She was athletic and cute. She did that cool 80's thing with her hair. I really wanted to be like her. She had talked to me a couple of times. She was so cool. She didn't know how to say my name. I was so not cool. So one day, I was messing around saying non-sensicle things to a girl next to me in line, getting ready to go the cafeteria for lunch. I said "call me meemer". She looked at me as if I had socks for ears. She was a really nice person, so she said okay. Cool. That was it. It was a cool nickname. People could say it, and now I was almost cool.

I got to be friends with that cool outgoing girl. In fact I became a better me because of her. She taught me to live a little. To take risks. She introduced me to "breaking rules". She showed me a lot about myself. She also took me to church. I was baptized when I was 8, but since my parents had moved, we hadn't been. She gave me another family. We got into trouble. We dated the same guys. We had a blast. I will be forever gratefully for her influence on me.

I had that name all throughout high school. I had teachers who called me by meemer. Only my closest friend even knew my "real" name. Meemer was it.

As for my friend, the one who influenced my life, more than she realizes, we hardly ever talk. We have grown apart. I went over to her apartment the other day. I wanted to see her new baby girl. It was nice to see her, and to relive some crazy times from our youth. I haven't heard from her since.

I finally dropped the name when I got to college, where I did theatre. I always said that if I made it big, I would use meemer as a stage name. So here I am. Life is a stage right?

So now you know.

meemer too

I am a follower. This is not what I wanted to do. But EVERYBODY else has a blog, so I need one. I must jump too.