The Trivial Pursuit of Happiness

On our taxes this year, my occupation was listed as “Housewife” which made Tom and I both laugh. Perhaps if you could see my house, you would laugh too. I… am not a housekeeper. I was upfront with Tom about this when we first met – I am clear in my priorities, and dusting is not anywhere near the top. Heck, laundry only creeps into the top 10 when I am out of undies. I like making messes – with food, with crafts, with blocks and crayons and books. I like cluttered bookshelves, and I can ignore oatmeal streaks on a window like you wouldn’t believe.

It’s a talent, really, living in muck with a smile. I am strict about things that smell or could make us sick – I am the sponge watchdog, and never let food sit on a plate on the counter overnight because, eww. But the sprayed off plate? It will sit there until I am either out of plates/lids/cutting boards to eat off, or Tom gets home and (shaking his head at the chaos) loads the dishwasher. In fact, Tom does a lot of the cleaning around here, and with him starting his new and improved job, I am determined to take that load off of him. When I was pregnant out-to-there, and then had a newborn & toddler, I think my excuses were pretty valid. Besides, Tom was only working part time the last few months, and if he is here to help make the messes, it’s fair that he helps clean them up. But for him to have to come home from1.5 jobs to clean up after me and the girls? Smacks a bit of princess, doesn’t it?

So, I made a schedule, and we are sticking to it. There are set times every day to wake up, start laundry, do dishes, have snacks, take naps. There are days for changing sheets, for cleaning bathrooms, and for (gasp) dusting (we live on a busy street, so it really does build up in the summer when we have the windows open). It’s been two weeks, and little by little it’s starting too feel more like “our day” and less like a job. There is a lot of room for wiggles and play, but it has also really helped the mood of the house to know what is coming next. Ella has started sleeping on a schedule (finally) and I’ve only had to run out of the shower naked, yelling “WHERE ARE ALL THE CLEAN TOWELS” once, and it was because they were in the dryer, not a wet mess in the closet. They say it takes 6 weeks for a routine to stick, so we’re a third of the way there.

All that said, my house is trashed right now. Ella has her ears turned off today, which makes keeping up with the messes hard. Right now she is sleeping, which would be an ideal time to catch up on dishes from yesterday and maybe fold a load of laundry without her godzillaing it, but instead I am drinking rewarmed coffee from this morning and googling “Meal Planning”.

Do any of you meal plan? I’m sure you do, because you are a smarter, more attractive, funnier person than I am. Of course you meal plan – you don’t run to the store 4 times a week for “just one thing” and come home with $60 worth of “groceries”. You don’t overbuy produce and then eat cheese sandwiches all week. You don’t even buy (more) crackers because the box is pretty, do you? I knew you didn’t.

The thing is, I don’t want to be that kind of consumer. I want to be a thoughtful consumer, a smart consumer. I want to know that what I am feeding my family is not only nutritious to them, but also not too costly to the earth. I believe in buying local, in knowing the grower, and in voting with my dollar. All of which are hard to do at Safeway. There is a local organic market that has a great grocery delivery service that I really want to support (not only for my own sanity, but also because I am so excited that Podunk City has this option and I want it to stick around) but to order groceries I really need to know what I am ordering and why. Thus, meal planning.

Advice? Links? If you have weekly menus you want to throw my way (especially ones that take leftovers into account) I would love to look at them. I know once I get my feet under me (and all the toys out from under my feet) it will be easy, but have you googled “meal planning” lately? There is a lot of information out there, and it’s a lot to sift through when you are 2 days behind on the diaper laundry. Any shove in the right direction would be great.

We managed to have a very nice day today, despite breaking Alice’s pinkie finger first thing in the morning. Or rather, us thinking I broke her finger. I pinched it when putting the tray down on her swing, and right away it was swollen to twice it’s normal size, she wouldn’t grip my finger with it, and she was hysterical every time it brushed against anything (which was a lot because she was flailing around). Even Tom, who is very nonchalant about injuries, was a little panicy, and we called her pediatrician while digging an ice pack out of the back of the freezer.

Even though it was before 8 on a Saturday he called us back right away, and told us to splint it to the finger next to it, keep it elevated and cool. He asked if we wanted to meet him at his office so that we would not have to go into the ER and be hassled, but told us that it was likely just soft tissue damage, and that we were not negligent to just give her tylenol and watch the swelling. We agreed, and within an hour or two she was fine, though a little bruised.

Man, though – feeling like I broke my tiny daughter’s finger was horrible. I won’t lie – there have been moments in my parenting career where I have understood how easy it would be to cross over that line where frustration becomes anger. Thankfully I am able to walk away while the baby cries in the middle of the bed, the toddler tears all the books off the book shelf, and I catch my breath. Feeling like I had really hurt my baby made me wonder how any one could ever do damage to such a tiny, vulnerable person.

And then we went to a local Arbor Day celebration and soaked up the sunshine. (How’s that for a rough segue? And why do I always want to spell that “Segway”?)

We also got a free compost bin, which I am super excited about. Because I’m edgy like that – rotting leaves and broccoli gets my blood moving.

and while I am topic jumping, I never said thank you to you all for your reassurances the other day about Ella, so thank you, thank you thank you. The last few days she has proven me wrong on every count – she loved going down a huge water slide that I was sure would scare the poo out of her; she took the initiative to play with a family at the park without me; she stood up for herself when a little boy tried to push her away from ‘her’ pile of dirt today – and I am taking this as a lesson. She is so full of possibility, and as soon as I say she “is“, she will stun me with her complexity. What is the saying about how the things that bother us about other people are really the things that bother us about ourselves? Well, I need to think more about that one also.

10 Random things I found while digging though an “Ivory’s GoodStuff” box which has been ducttaped closed since before the move, two Novembers ago:

1. One eared sock monkey. My Great Grandma was a doll and toy maker, and all the kids in the family got a sock monkey when they were little. Except me. I can’t complain, since I did get a lot of other toys from her, but I was somehow overlooked when it came to my very own sock monkey. After my Great Grandma died, my mom gave me her sock monkey, and I love that it only had one ear. Ella and Alice both got sock monkey’s from their Aunt Jena this Christmas, so we have a little sock monkey family now.

2. The very first embroidery I ever ‘finished’. The back is here. I was probably 6 or 7 when I started it, and I remember it taking forever. Patience was not my strong suit as a kid, but I wanted to be able to dig around in my mom’s sewing box, so I had to sit down and be still for a few minutes a day. My mom kept it, and I found it in her ‘office’ after she died.

3. Yarn dog from Bea, my 80 year old best friend when I was 5. It turns out that the things I worry about with my daughter really just stem from my fear that she will be like me, and I want it to be easier for her. I want her to be comfortable with her peers, because I never was as a kid. Bea lived in an RV on the same beach we lived on when my dad was working on HWY 101 in North Cali, and when I wasn’t with her or Benji (the disabled vet who lived across the way) or Barbra (the woman who ran the community store) I was hiding under the trailer, playing with slugs and talking to squirrels. Rinse and repeat for 20 years.

4. Speaking of middle aged people who were kind to a kid who had no friends: A bear, a knicknack, and a book from Mrs. Harrison, my speech therapist when I was in k-2nd grade. You wouldn’t know it today by how I can blather on, but when I was young I had major speech issues, and almost no one outside my family could understand me. Enter Mrs. Harrison, who was beyond kind to me. I was so inspired by her, that years later I studied speech pathology for three years of college before realizing that it wasn’t what I wanted and switching to English. I wrote her years ago, thanking her and including a playbill from a play I was in at the time, and she wrote back (and as I keep digging, I’ll probably find the letter).

5. 8 jewelry boxes of random, cheap jewelry, none of which I can bear to throw out (I stopped taking pictures after a while…)

6. A package of moon flower seeds from a plant in my mom’s yard.

7. This tiny boat, from “Undersea World” which is the toy of my earliest memories.

8. A replica of one of my pageant dresses for my ‘ cabbage patch’ doll, Maggie Mae. My mom made my dress, the little dress, and Maggie. She also took me to an estate sell on the way home from losing “Little Miss Oklahoma” and bought me an enormous green bridesmaid’s hat.

9. The postcard that informed me that I had been selected to receive the scholarship that ended up paying for my degree. Until I got this slip of paper, I was planning to stay in the small town I had graduated in, working as a waitress and taking care of my brother. Instead, I came to college, got a degree in something that doesn’t pay but that I love, and met Tom in a Lit. class.

10. An autograph book (like yearbook autographs, not lifestyles of the rich and famous autographs) of my mom’s, which I will probably do a whole other post about, because so many of the pages made me laugh.

I’ve noticed a lull going around the blogging world, and think it must be the change of the seasons. Spring is finally coming to the NW, and every time I sit down to write, I look outside and get lost thinking about gardening, and starting a compost pile, and how to make the back yard 100% child safe. I love that our lot is big enough to have a real yard, unlike our neighbor who has a 2×6 patch of pristine grass, which he was (I kid you not) vacuuming with a shop vac the other day. Tom thinks it may be fake grass, but I’ve seen him water it, so who knows. We have a lot of landscaping planned for this summer, and I really can not wait to get outside and start digging. Of course, I have to work around naps and snacks and nursing and tantrums, so the bulk of the work will be done by Tom, because really, I can barely get a load of laundry done most days. Super mom I am not.

Wait, what was I talking about? See what happened there? I got lost in the gardening plans, and forgot that I was telling you how I can’t seem to write a coherent blog post lately. Yeah, that.

Aaaaand I wrote this Yesterday, saved it as a draft, and now have nothing to add, but need to post something by golly.

If you need me, I’ll be here, under the pile o’ babies.

.

I’ve noticed, more and more lately, that Ella is.. timid. I guess that is the word I want, though it doesn’t convey the guilt I feel that comes along with it. When she is tired, or upset, or overwhelmed, she turns inward, and shields herself as if the world is sure to deal her a swift blow. She cries so quickly when she feels shunned, and when something does hurt her physically, her tears are more often a barometer of her emotions (Why would anyone want to hit me?) than any physical pain. She speaks softly when we are with friends, tends to play on the outskirts of any game, must be constantly spoken to in excited exclamation marks if I want her to show any excitement.

And I’m not sure why it bothers me so much. She’s an introvert, just like her mama, and that is okay. But this seems like more. She just doesn’t seem happy when we are out in the world, and while there is a twinge of “I hope people do not judge me as a mom” in it, it is mostly that I would do anything to make her smile, but sometimes I can’t. And that feels like failure to me.

At home she is this ball of energy, constantly singing, laughing, making my world a fuller and more colorful place. When we talk about her friends, she is so excited to get in the car, to see “Baby Gor-gan and Tiffy!” or “AbbieMeganSeff!” But then when we get there, her little bulb dims, and I spend most of my energy trying to turn her back on. Will she grow out of her hesitancy? Should I nurture it, or try to help her break out of it? Has she always had this nature, but I just overlooked it before, or (as if my fear) did something change recently? Is it that I am not hers alone anymore, and she doesn’t feel anchored? I don’t know. I just want her to run and shout and reach for me when she needs backup. But instead, she walks away, chin to her chest, crying but unable (or unwilling) to tell me why. And my heart.. my heart.

Recently in our kitchen:

Me: Slamming around pots and pans, mad that I have to EAT to survive.
Tom: “What’s your malfunction?”
Me: “I don’t freaking know. I just feel mad. Gahhhhhh I just want food in my mouth right nowwwww.”
Tom: “Are you pregnant?”
Me: “Why do you hate me?”
Tom wistfully: “Wouldn’t it be great to have another one?”
Me: “No really, what have I ever done to you?”
Tom:”And then I could go get my balls snipped and in 20 years we could be done. Let’s do it, let’s just get them out of the way. Unless it’s another girl, then we have to try again. I mean, we owe it to the world to make more beautiful kids. ”
Me: Blink blink

And then I laid down on the kitchen floor and went to sleep, because damn, that sounds tiring.

(And by posting this, I am tempting Fate, since the last time I wrote “No babies!” in my blog, we promptly found out that we were expecting our Cricket. What if I say “yay babies!” What will you do then, Fate, huh? *Poke in the eye*)

I don’t know what I am more excited about today – the fact that Tom got a job offer that we’ve been waiting on, or that Ella finally pooped. Financial security.. or poop. Medical benefits… or poop. Ya know, I think I am going to go with the poop. I have no idea how I will survive if either of my girls are ever really sick, because even this little drama has exhausted me. We were at the pediatricians (for the fourth time in the last few weeks) for a weight check, and not only did she finally gain back a few lbs, (she had lost 6, which is nearly a quarter of her entire weight) but right there in the exam room, she looked at me and said “Eww, I stink.” Oh my girl. I’m so glad you stink.

So, for now, the poop drama is waining. We are keeping her on the laxatives for a few weeks, and then if she goes 24 hours without a poo, we need to start dosing her with Miralax and mineral oil. If I never have to give another enema in my life, I will be a happy mama.

More posts later. i have a backlog, but couldn’t bring myself to write about anything other than poop until the issues was (at least on it’s way to being) resolved.

(Better late and imperfect than never)

(Why do I feel like that should be my motto?)

Alice-

Today you are 4 months old, and I’m so tempted to just ignore this milestone, to act like you will forever be my baby. It doesn’t seem possible that two years ago today I wrote this post to your sister on her four-month birthday, and that she is now a full fledged kid. I’m not ready for you to pick your own clothes, for you to ask for a sandwich for lunch, for you to tell me that “this is my favorite crayon, Mom!” When your sister was tiny, I was sure it would take forever, and that I would be able to appreciate each stage as it came, but now I know better. I know it all goes much too fast. I know that, on the rough nights, when I just want you to grow up and sleep through the night already, that I am wishing away some of the most serene moments of my life. There are not many quiet moments in our house, and the time you and I get to spend alone can be counted in minutes, not hours. So, when you have kicked me awake for the fourth time at night, I try to appreciate that it is just you and I. You are so glad to see me, and oh my girl, I’m so glad to see you too.

I won’t say the first four months of your life have been really easy on me. I’ve been so hesitant to talk about my depression, not because I am ashamed, but because I do not want you to ever read this and think I was depressed that you are a part of our lives. When I was young, I remember asking my mom when she and my dad started having problems with their marriage. She was embroidering something (probably a pillowcase, since we all got new ones each year) and was concentrating. Without thinking, she said “Oh, before we moved to California the first time, so a little after you were born I guess…” and then she looked at me, realizing what she had said. I was (and am still) someone who is ruled by emotion, not logic, and no matter how many times she reassured me that I was not the cause of their divorce, I still carry that around with me. My parents were fine until I was born, so I must have been the reason they got a divorce, right? Alice, I was wrong. My parents.. had a lot of issues, and yes, maybe having a second (and later, third) child brought more of them to the forefront, but A does not equal B. They were the reason they got a divorce – I was just a baby, a child. I am the reason I have struggled with depression – my very cells are at fault – you are just a baby, and a wonderful one at that. You have been this bright little flower, poking up through the weeds, reminding me that there is so much beauty, so much joy. I’m sorry we didn’t have the easiest start together, but I have never, for a moment, wished you were not here. I hope you will read this and not get caught up in the fact that it was your birth that sent me into a tailspin, but rather that I knew you (and your sister) were worth pushing forward for.

Right now, you are sleeping in my lap, sucking on your lip, whimpering a bit. I think you are teething, but I know how drawn out it can be, so I’m not expecting to see teeth any time soon. You are rolling front to back pretty consistently, though it does make you angry when you want to be on your belly, but you topple over every time you push yourself up. You’ve managed to roll back to front just a few times, mostly trying to get closer to your sister. You spend a lot of time in the sling, but do not mind laying on a blanket on the floor, or in your highchair in front of the fish tank. You want to keep tabs on us, but as long as you can see or hear us, you are pretty easy going.

You are laughing constantly now – when you are tickled, when your sister makes a silly face, when you see the cat across the room. You are ticklish on the back of your neck, and you will laugh until you can’t catch your breath if I sit you up and run my fingers around your neck. You are a pretty physical baby, happiest when you are standing, dancing or playing superbaby. Ella is constantly pulling on your arms (to hold your hands) or tugging on your feet (so that you can come play), and I think I say “Be gentle Ella!” about a thousand times a day. So far, you have survived, and knowing my sister and I, you’ll survive many wrestling matches, fights over clothes, and even a few objects thrown at your head. Oh sisterhood.

You are not quick to cry, but once you do, you mean business. You prefer to nurse laying down, so a few times a day, you, Ella and I lay down in bed and you nurse while I read Ella books. You will nurse while I sit up, or in the sling, if you have to, but you let it be known that you are not a fan.

We are still cloth diapering, though not exclusively lately. There are some days where doing another load of diapers is just more than I can manage, so we shrug and put you and your sister in disposables. There is a guilt in not being Supermom, but I’m learning to let it roll off my shoulders. You will not remember what kind of diapers we used, but you will remember whether or not I had the time (and energy) to run around the yard, playing ‘tag’ by holding you in front of me, chasing Ella and dad, all of us laughing. Soon, the two of you will be playing tag (borrowing the car to go to the movies, calling each other for advice instead of me) and I will be able to catch up on my writing, my crafting, my laundry (oh yes, it will still be there.) Right now, my priorities are clear – you will not always want to burrow your face into my neck, to be held while you cry, to stare at me at 4am, rubbing your tiny (slobbery) hands across my face. Today is my priority. And you, Cricket, make every day a little brighter.

Love,

Mama.

Never underestimate the restorative power of slamming things around on your desk when you are tired & frustrated. Be sure to own a lot of heavy books: dictionaries, literature anthologies, family bibles- they make such a satisfying THWAP when dropped on tile floor. Stomping is nice too, as is opening drawers loudly and sighing. Rummage with both hands, and be sure that things spill over the sides, so that they break when they hit the floor. Cuss while sweeping, hitting the cabinets with each stroke. Move the couch to look underneath it, and push it back with a bit too much force. Slamming the dryer door has a nice metal echo, and shoving the chairs under the table emits a loud wood on wood thump.

Better yet, don’t lose the freaking form you need to send in the morning, and stay in bed, not passive aggressively pulling down your house. That’s good too.

I should have known better than mention the constipation drama in a post earlier this week. We were over it. Done. We cut out dairy, bumped up her fiber, weaned her off the laxative, and she was going, easily, every few days. But then I had to go and talk about it, right?

And because I get a number of hits everyday from searches for “constipated toddler”, I figure I may as well outline what we’ve learned in our poop adventure.

Our constipation management protocol:

As a general rule:

• No dairy
• Daily fiber vitamins
• Lots and lots of water.
• Fiber fiber everywhere. Whole wheat flours, add flax to everything, veggies as snacks, prunes and raisins in oatmeal, skin-on fruit, etc.
• Lots of exercise (with regular quiet time to give her time to poop without her having to pull herself away from play), and positive poop talk. Everyone poops!

Day 3 of no poop:

• A 1/2 cap of Miralax in her morning cup of diluted apricot juice
• Popcorn, beans and Fiber bar snacks

Day 4:

• More Miralax
• Pushing fluids, lots of baths for comfort, lots of belly massage
• Bribes bought – jelly beans (dolled out one at a time), coloring books, new crayons, stickers.

Day 5:

• Miralax
• Mineral oil mixed into yogurt or ice cream (Yes, dairy, but have you ever drank mineral oil? Anything to get that stuff down.)
• At this point Ella stops eating, and is getting angry when she is in pain. We watch a lot of tv.

Day 6:

• Fluidsfluidsfluids and a full dose of mirilax.
• Belly massages if she will let me touch her belly.
• Baths if she will agree to sit up.
• Mineral oil if she will eat the ice cream.
• I call her doc and he oks the suppository, reminds me of what to watch for with dehydration.

Day 7: (today)

• Ella is lethargic, throwing up, feverish, wailing. We do a suppository every 6 hours. I rub her belly while she cries, and we leave the TV on all day. We sing lots of poop songs, and I count wet diapers. We’ve been here before, I try not to panic. If her fever spikes, or her pain is acute and localized in her belly I know to take her to the ER (perforated bowel?), as well if I notice dehydration, but otherwise we ride it out. Alice already has an appointment tomorrow, so we’re taking Ella in also. She’s never gotten past day 10 (that’s a lot of suppositories) but the longer it goes, the more likely it will hurt when she does go, and she won’t want to go next time, and thus the cycle continues.

Edited to add: Day 8: Ella wakes up in a better mood, so we meet up with friends for a few minutes before her drs apt. She eats a few bites of muffin, and (completely out of character) asks to use the potty. Nothing comes out, but we do a little victory dance anyway. Her Doc okays the enema, so we do one when we get home, with minimal success. We’ll try another tonight, and if it doesn’t work, we’ll go back in tomorrow or the next day (depending on how Ella is acting) for a “manual extraction.” Ohhhhhhhh dear.

Sigggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.

I have a “Alice is 4 months old!” post half written, but it will wait. Somehow, every time i try to finish it, I segue into poop, and that isn’t quite what I want to write to her. In the mean time, here is the “Ella is 4 months old!” post I wrote exactly two years ago (in a semi-private journal). My girl my girl.