One of my favorite things to do with Lilah now is go shopping. It can be for anything. Groceries. Toilet paper. Milkshake run at Sonic. I love taking Lilah Rose and I love making it an adventure. She's so inquisitive and happy. She drinks in the world around her and I'm just happy to be a part of it.
Today, Lilah and I went to Target and Kroger for everyday things. She was dressed in a pretty 1960s throwback dress. It was yellow with white hems and neck, and had black flowers on it. Her hair was in a ponytail (which isn't just a bean sprout anymore!) and the not-quite-hair-but-longer-than-bangs strands were restrained with a black headband. She had yellow knee socks and looked beautiful as usual. The ride to Target was short. We listened to Colin Meloy Sings Live. I sang along and Lilah tried from the backseat - "Ba pa pa pa!" The songs were punctuated with a British man's voice giving us directions from the GPS on the dash. When we got to Target, I said, "We're here!"
She said, "Get out, Mama?"
"Yes, love. We're getting out." I settled her into the cart and strapped her in. We were barely through the automatic doors before her sneaky little butt had done a 180 in the cart (while still buckled in) so she was on her knees facing the back of the cart. She grabbed my list and pen out of my hand and tossed it on the ground, and started bouncing up and down on her knees and saying "Hi!" to literally every passerby. Most were charmed and said, "Well, hi there! Aren't you beautiful?!" Or something along those lines. She'd say, "Yeah!" and smile to show of her pretty white teeth. Every single person who interacted with her got lost in those wily blue eyes.
We went to the shoe aisle. She needs good shoes to support her almost-walking. She's taking 6-8 steps independently now. I looked at a lot of them and chose three pairs that were cute, comfortable, and functional. I held them up. "Okay. Choices, Lilah. Pick two pairs of shoes please." We've been trying to offer her choices between two things lately to foster a sense of independence and control. We do not want a snotty toddler. I made a mistake by offering her three items to choose from on a trip where she was already feeling sassy and busy. She cocked her head and lifted one pair of black shoes out of the box. I secretly hoped she would change her mind about them. She got a devious smile on her face and tossed them on the ground. "Uh-oh, Mama!" *Giggles*. I sighed and knelt down to pick up the shoes.
"So I'll take that as a..." *Thunk*. A pair of little brown mary janes hit me on the head followed by hysterical laughter from the cart.
"Uh-oh, Mama!" More laughter. We ended up with two pairs of shoes, a bump on my head, a cart full of stuff, and we moved on to Kroger.
We loaded up the cart with fruit and bread, since that's what we came for and I can't seem to keep any of those items in my house. I showed her a pretty cake with a daisy on it. "Bite, Mama?"
"No, love. It isn't your cake."
"...Bite, Mama? Mine?" We moved on to the produce section. I picked a cantaloupe.
"Melon, Lilah. It's tasty." I sat it in her lap. She took a bite of the rind and made a face. I sighed.
"Yuck."
"Yeah, yuck. It's not peeled. We still need berries, grapes, kiwi, and something else." We can't say the word 'banana' around Lilah unless we're prepared to produce one for her consumption instantly. She was busy trying to pry open the carton of strawberries when we passed the banana aisle. I prepared myself for what was ahead. As soon as she spotted them, she started rocking back and forth like a crack addict and reaching for them.
"Nana, Mama! Nana! Nana!"
"Yes, Lilah. You can have one as soon as we get in the car." We went to check out and the lady was nice but a little flustered. Her bagger was late so she was going back and forth between bagging and checking out. I told her I could bag my own. She asked if I was sure. "Yeah, it's not a problem." She looked relieved. Lilah started chatting with her. It was so strange. I watched the stress and worry melt off her face as she continued exchanging words with my daughter. Before we left, she said,
"You're just a little ray of sunshine, you know that? I needed you today. I could use a few more things as good as you to brighten up my days." We thanked her and left.
On the way home I got to thinking about how many grouchy, unhappy-looking people I frequently noticed in the world, and how many happy, smiling people I had encountered today. The world probably wasn't getting more carefree. It was the effect my sweet little baby had on the people she interacted with. Her smile lights up the people she graces with it. Sullen-looking people can be moping about their day, and it all changes when one little girl says, "Hi!" I think that's pretty special.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight..."
"...and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world." ~Oscar Wilde
I am, by nature, a dreamer. My mind is usually a jumble of stress and emotion during the day, but for some reason manages to sort and file itself into an almost recognizable and damn-near functional human psyche after I slip into The Dreaming (as Neil Gaiman calls the twilight world). Consider the following...
My dad asked me to call him on my birthday. We kept missing each other, and he emailed again a couple days ago to pinpoint a more exact time that would be good for both of us. I had talked to Nick about it already, who shared his sunshiney opinion - that my dad was starting to see things from a different light and wanted to turn over a new leaf. I was more inclined to a slightly less optimistic point of view - perhaps he had a terminal illness and wanted to make amends, or perhaps early-onset Alzheimer's and wanted to talk to me before he forgot how.
My heart was pounding and I tasted metal on the back of my tongue as I dialed on the way home from work. He picked up, and his tone was strained. We weren't more than a few words into the conversation before I realized I didn't need to clear my calendar for Thanksgiving and Christmas just yet. Here are some highlights -
He was less than impressed with my 13 year old brother contacting me a few months back and me not immediately reporting his disobedience to my parents. Apparently my duty was to rat out a troubled little boy to the people who forfeited any communication with me 3 years ago, and by not doing so, I proved to them that I would still prefer a sneaky, dishonest state of existence to an above-board relationship. I "set Mason up to fail." If I had made a "better" decision, the long-awaited conversation with my dad would have been 100% different according to him. Got to hear the same old sob story about how my mother will take my words and actions to the grave and re-lives them every day. He said, "Do not have any sort of contact with my minor children. I'm sure, as a parent now, you can understand..." and that's really the last thing I actually heard. My mind flashed back to countless arguments in my childhood that had ended with, "When you're a parent, you'll understand." The problem is, now that I'm a parent I understand even less. In fact, I find their words and actions appalling. Here are some of my responses -
I did the best I could with a difficult situation and handled it in the way I felt was most right. I had a troubled sibling reaching out to me and didn't turn him away or sell him out. I acted like a big sister. I still felt like I'd made the right decision and was sorry he disagreed, but that was the nice thing about us both being adults - we could make decisions the other disagreed with. Just the fact that he considered Mason talking to me "setting him up to fail" spoke volumes about how his opinion really hadn't changed. I was really over a happy relationship with my family being the proverbial carrot always dangled in front of me. He hadn't called to start over. He'd called to tell me that once again, he thought I'd fucked up and was disappointed and I had so many other things going on in my life right now, I really couldn't be bothered with all that. As far as my mother was concerned, I told him that I asked for forgiveness for my actions and apologized years ago. I had forgiven them and moved on to lead a healthy, happy life. It wasn't any concern of mine that she chose to relive it until it ate her alive like a cancer. My responsibility ended years ago. The rest was on her. "And as for me being a parent, all I understand is that as a parent, I could never let one of my kids slip through the cracks, so I'm pretty sure we can leave my child out of this. You're going to think what you want about this, so there's really nothing left to say. I love you, despite what you may think." He hung up.
I pulled the car into a parking lot so I could cry properly. I started to drive home again when I could see the road again. Now I'm not saying this for worry or sympathy, but I saw a car in the oncoming lane and I was too far over because my eyes were still blurred. I swerved out of the way and pulled onto my street, but I thought, "Maybe I should have just let them hit me. Maybe things would be different then." I banished the thought as fast as it slithered into my head and realized just how poisonous my parents still were if they could instantly inspire such unhealthy emotions. Dano held me when I got home and told me he was proud of me, that I'd done and said the right things. I said I should have known better all along and trusted my suspicions that he had ulterior motives. Dano reminded me that I had shared the same suspicions when Nick had emailed and I was wrong then. That made me feel much better. I had sharp pains in my stomach and felt nauseated and had a headache. Par for the course after a conversation with one of my parents. I thought, "Feeling like crap physically - check. Feeling like crap emotionally - check. Self-esteem hanging in around zero - check. Oh yeah. Same old Dad."
I went upstairs and ran my hand over a sleeping Lilah Rose and swore before all the universe for the thousandth time that I'd never leave her. I got into bed and Dano held me until he drifted to sleep. I was restless and tossed and turned. Tears sneaked out of my eyes even when I screwed them tightly closed and I cursed my lachrymal glands. I tried feeling sad, angry, sorry for myself, and no emotion consoled me. I thought, "I bet my dad's not sleeping well tonight either, after all this." So I closed my eyes and meditated, emotionally reaching my arms out for a daddy who always loves me, never leaves me, and always heals me when my heart breaks. I asked to grant my dad a peaceful rest and a calm mind. As soon as I started asking good things for my dad, the hurt started to soothe a little and the scar tissue started to form again where my heart had just been wrenched open. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed.
I felt like I was falling, but not fast. I was more drifting down through an inky blackness, a dark so deep it was thick and palpable. It wasn't a scary darkness. It was calming and friendly. I fell into a dream where I had planned an elaborate party in the woods down to the last detail. I'm not sure what I was celebrating, but I had cooked all of this amazing food and made a bunch of handmade delicious candies. I made just enough for everyone I knew was coming. I was exhilarated, proud of my work, and excited. My dad and little brothers Noah and Mason (at the ages I saw them last) came along uninvited and ravenously devoured everything. My decorations were ruined, the food was gone, and they mocked my efforts. "Who has a party in the woods anyway? That food wasn't even good." I ran deep into the woods crying and threw myself at the base of an ancient oak tree. I felt strong arms around me and I opened my eyes. For some reason, I was still me, but I was also an acorn. I was covered in pine needles and looked almost like a hedgehog (I was me, but I could also see me. It was one of those dreams). I thought I'd open my eyes to a man holding me (they were man-arms) but I saw I was being held lovingly in the branches and boughs of the tree. I was surprised and curious. With hands that looked like branches and leaves but felt like hands, the tree brushed off the dirt and needles from my skin. "Why am I an acorn?" I asked the tree.
"Because you've always been mine."
"Who are you?"
"You were theirs for a time, but you've always belonged to me."
"But who are you?" All around me, and yet only in my head, I heard a line from the song "The Hazards of Love 4 - The Drowned". It went "And painting rings around your eyes, these peppered holes so filled with crying. A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying. But I pulled you and I called you here, and I caught you and I brought you here."
"You brought me here? Why?"
"Because you're mine. I love you and you're mine. They had you for their time but we have taken you back." I looked around the canopy.
"Who is 'we'?" It was just understood that it was the same tree, but that tree was connected to all the other trees in the forest, the soil and water with its roots, the heavens with its highest branches, the universe itself.
"You aren't theirs anymore. Now grow." And I was planted between two mountainous roots at the base of the ancient oak tree.
Then I woke up.
I am, by nature, a dreamer. My mind is usually a jumble of stress and emotion during the day, but for some reason manages to sort and file itself into an almost recognizable and damn-near functional human psyche after I slip into The Dreaming (as Neil Gaiman calls the twilight world). Consider the following...
My dad asked me to call him on my birthday. We kept missing each other, and he emailed again a couple days ago to pinpoint a more exact time that would be good for both of us. I had talked to Nick about it already, who shared his sunshiney opinion - that my dad was starting to see things from a different light and wanted to turn over a new leaf. I was more inclined to a slightly less optimistic point of view - perhaps he had a terminal illness and wanted to make amends, or perhaps early-onset Alzheimer's and wanted to talk to me before he forgot how.
My heart was pounding and I tasted metal on the back of my tongue as I dialed on the way home from work. He picked up, and his tone was strained. We weren't more than a few words into the conversation before I realized I didn't need to clear my calendar for Thanksgiving and Christmas just yet. Here are some highlights -
He was less than impressed with my 13 year old brother contacting me a few months back and me not immediately reporting his disobedience to my parents. Apparently my duty was to rat out a troubled little boy to the people who forfeited any communication with me 3 years ago, and by not doing so, I proved to them that I would still prefer a sneaky, dishonest state of existence to an above-board relationship. I "set Mason up to fail." If I had made a "better" decision, the long-awaited conversation with my dad would have been 100% different according to him. Got to hear the same old sob story about how my mother will take my words and actions to the grave and re-lives them every day. He said, "Do not have any sort of contact with my minor children. I'm sure, as a parent now, you can understand..." and that's really the last thing I actually heard. My mind flashed back to countless arguments in my childhood that had ended with, "When you're a parent, you'll understand." The problem is, now that I'm a parent I understand even less. In fact, I find their words and actions appalling. Here are some of my responses -
I did the best I could with a difficult situation and handled it in the way I felt was most right. I had a troubled sibling reaching out to me and didn't turn him away or sell him out. I acted like a big sister. I still felt like I'd made the right decision and was sorry he disagreed, but that was the nice thing about us both being adults - we could make decisions the other disagreed with. Just the fact that he considered Mason talking to me "setting him up to fail" spoke volumes about how his opinion really hadn't changed. I was really over a happy relationship with my family being the proverbial carrot always dangled in front of me. He hadn't called to start over. He'd called to tell me that once again, he thought I'd fucked up and was disappointed and I had so many other things going on in my life right now, I really couldn't be bothered with all that. As far as my mother was concerned, I told him that I asked for forgiveness for my actions and apologized years ago. I had forgiven them and moved on to lead a healthy, happy life. It wasn't any concern of mine that she chose to relive it until it ate her alive like a cancer. My responsibility ended years ago. The rest was on her. "And as for me being a parent, all I understand is that as a parent, I could never let one of my kids slip through the cracks, so I'm pretty sure we can leave my child out of this. You're going to think what you want about this, so there's really nothing left to say. I love you, despite what you may think." He hung up.
I pulled the car into a parking lot so I could cry properly. I started to drive home again when I could see the road again. Now I'm not saying this for worry or sympathy, but I saw a car in the oncoming lane and I was too far over because my eyes were still blurred. I swerved out of the way and pulled onto my street, but I thought, "Maybe I should have just let them hit me. Maybe things would be different then." I banished the thought as fast as it slithered into my head and realized just how poisonous my parents still were if they could instantly inspire such unhealthy emotions. Dano held me when I got home and told me he was proud of me, that I'd done and said the right things. I said I should have known better all along and trusted my suspicions that he had ulterior motives. Dano reminded me that I had shared the same suspicions when Nick had emailed and I was wrong then. That made me feel much better. I had sharp pains in my stomach and felt nauseated and had a headache. Par for the course after a conversation with one of my parents. I thought, "Feeling like crap physically - check. Feeling like crap emotionally - check. Self-esteem hanging in around zero - check. Oh yeah. Same old Dad."
I went upstairs and ran my hand over a sleeping Lilah Rose and swore before all the universe for the thousandth time that I'd never leave her. I got into bed and Dano held me until he drifted to sleep. I was restless and tossed and turned. Tears sneaked out of my eyes even when I screwed them tightly closed and I cursed my lachrymal glands. I tried feeling sad, angry, sorry for myself, and no emotion consoled me. I thought, "I bet my dad's not sleeping well tonight either, after all this." So I closed my eyes and meditated, emotionally reaching my arms out for a daddy who always loves me, never leaves me, and always heals me when my heart breaks. I asked to grant my dad a peaceful rest and a calm mind. As soon as I started asking good things for my dad, the hurt started to soothe a little and the scar tissue started to form again where my heart had just been wrenched open. I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed.
I felt like I was falling, but not fast. I was more drifting down through an inky blackness, a dark so deep it was thick and palpable. It wasn't a scary darkness. It was calming and friendly. I fell into a dream where I had planned an elaborate party in the woods down to the last detail. I'm not sure what I was celebrating, but I had cooked all of this amazing food and made a bunch of handmade delicious candies. I made just enough for everyone I knew was coming. I was exhilarated, proud of my work, and excited. My dad and little brothers Noah and Mason (at the ages I saw them last) came along uninvited and ravenously devoured everything. My decorations were ruined, the food was gone, and they mocked my efforts. "Who has a party in the woods anyway? That food wasn't even good." I ran deep into the woods crying and threw myself at the base of an ancient oak tree. I felt strong arms around me and I opened my eyes. For some reason, I was still me, but I was also an acorn. I was covered in pine needles and looked almost like a hedgehog (I was me, but I could also see me. It was one of those dreams). I thought I'd open my eyes to a man holding me (they were man-arms) but I saw I was being held lovingly in the branches and boughs of the tree. I was surprised and curious. With hands that looked like branches and leaves but felt like hands, the tree brushed off the dirt and needles from my skin. "Why am I an acorn?" I asked the tree.
"Because you've always been mine."
"Who are you?"
"You were theirs for a time, but you've always belonged to me."
"But who are you?" All around me, and yet only in my head, I heard a line from the song "The Hazards of Love 4 - The Drowned". It went "And painting rings around your eyes, these peppered holes so filled with crying. A whisper weighed upon the tattered down where you and I were lying. But I pulled you and I called you here, and I caught you and I brought you here."
"You brought me here? Why?"
"Because you're mine. I love you and you're mine. They had you for their time but we have taken you back." I looked around the canopy.
"Who is 'we'?" It was just understood that it was the same tree, but that tree was connected to all the other trees in the forest, the soil and water with its roots, the heavens with its highest branches, the universe itself.
"You aren't theirs anymore. Now grow." And I was planted between two mountainous roots at the base of the ancient oak tree.
Then I woke up.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Still not walking
I'm not too terribly bothered by the fact Lilah Rose is a late walker. Her vocabulary grows by the day, and she speed walks around furniture or holding onto a bigger hand. She had made no attempt at walking solo until this weekend. We had coaxed and encouraged and even shouted, "Just walk already!" on occasion to no avail. Yesterday Lilah and I went out on the boat with my aunt and uncle and she adored it. The wind, the water, the people floating lazily by on tubes or speeding past on seadoos. She loved all of it. She leaned as far as I'd allow her to over the side and wave her chubby little arms at passersby. "Hi. Hi. Hi, Lilah!" She even swam a bit in a shallow sandy corner of Coldwater Lake. While on the boat, she took 3 or 4 steps by herself, nonchalantly like she had been walking her whole life. I wanted to push her down. "Lilah Rose Marie. You won't walk on solid ground in a house but you'll stroll around when you're on a moving boat? What's wrong with you?!" My aunt suggested she just needed more of a challenge, that anyone could walk on land. She could walk on a boat. I was more than a little exasperated.
Lilah's trademark is never shutting up, it seems. I put her in the shower with me and she babbles away to the point I can't even hear my own thoughts anymore. One time I actually did get impatient. "Lilah! I can't even think with your constant chattering!" She grinned up at me. "Hi, Mama."
We're going to Hiawatha again. We're leaving this Thursday. I'm curious to see how Lilah tolerates camping at 16 months rather than 6. Updates to come!
Lilah's trademark is never shutting up, it seems. I put her in the shower with me and she babbles away to the point I can't even hear my own thoughts anymore. One time I actually did get impatient. "Lilah! I can't even think with your constant chattering!" She grinned up at me. "Hi, Mama."
We're going to Hiawatha again. We're leaving this Thursday. I'm curious to see how Lilah tolerates camping at 16 months rather than 6. Updates to come!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
It's Lilah's second Father's Day. It's going to be fairly low-key, due to the fact that (like every other day ever, it seems) I work at 3. Lilah and I have finished a light morning snack and a shower and have ordered a large breakfast from Toast downtown Ferndale - Eggs Benedict for me and Grand Marnier French Toast for Dano. I would have dearly loved to cook said breakfast, but work is stealing my soul.
I'm increasingly thankful with every day that goes by to have such a devoted and loving father for my daughter. He gets down on the floor and plays with her. He sets boundaries and limits for her gently. I can tell her to stop doing something and she laughs. One word from Daddy about it and she dissolves into heartbroken tears. He's with her while I'm at work and never does it even cross my mind that she's not being excellently cared for. He doesn't see it as a job or a responsibility. He loves his little girl and would do anything for her.
I was in an insuppressible mood this morning to hear the album A Fever You Can't Sweat Out. Now I enjoy Panic at the Disco as well as the next girl, but I'll be honest. The first album is little more than a catchy guilty pleasure. Nothing of musical or lyrical substance to speak of. I chose to analyse why I might be in the mood for this particular album. Probably a poor choice. This was the album that I listened to most when I first moved out of my parents' house in Nashville. And it's a day dedicated to thanking and loving your father. Aaand mine refuses to have a relationship with me. Total Father's Day buzzkill. I started getting into my traditional "holiday/birthday/Mother's Day/Father's Day/family member's birthday mood" last night. This mostly consists of systematically ushering those closest to me to the door of myself and telling them to come again soon. I prefer to spend these days deep inside myself with a sardonically-smiling facade. The way I see it, I'm entitled to a couple of days out of the vast remaining 365 to be a human girl and miss my family. I miss my dad. He called me Pigeon when I was very little. He was the dad to pick us up from school and take us to the circus, just because. He was the best at science projects and when my mother was in the hospital with Zack for pretty much two straight years, he learned how to be a parents to a little girl who liked having her hair done and helped me with all of my badges for Girl Scouts. He has the best sense of humor and could always get me to smile and laugh even when I got in a mood where I was dead-set against it.
Most people who know me are appalled that I work every Mother's Day, Father's Day, some major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and especially my birthday. Let's think about it. I could keep myself busy with taking care of very sick/recovering people, or I could stay home and kill everyone else's good day by being soberingly introspective about my pseudo-family off someplace having a lovely time while I'm here by myself and sad. Pretty obvious choice. I still send my traditional email wishing the parents a lovely day. I tell myself ahead of time I won't get a response. I still feel foolish and furious with myself for "casually" checking throughout the day to see if this year they'll prove me wrong. They don't. It's family tradition, after all.
One of the things I love best about having a child (since that is, after all, the theme-topic of this blog) is the chance to start over. All the majorly fucked up things about my childhood and dysfunctional relationship with dysfunctional people who share blood and genes with me will never really cease to exist. But I can look at Lilah and her starry blue eyes, laughing pink-lipped smile, upturned nose, and sunny blonde hair and all I feel right now is relief at the chance for redemption. That's how this Creator God I love works. No matter how dismal the feeling or how long it lasts, he never fails to gently point out a chance to redeem it into something beautiful. Dano being such a wonderful father armed with nothing but instinct and his own examples in his life reassures me that my childhood and adult relationships with my parents aren't the norm. They aren't the automatic default. There are many beautiful parents in the world, and my husband is one of them. So thanks to all the fathers in the world who love their little girls. Don't ever stop. It means more than you know.
I'm increasingly thankful with every day that goes by to have such a devoted and loving father for my daughter. He gets down on the floor and plays with her. He sets boundaries and limits for her gently. I can tell her to stop doing something and she laughs. One word from Daddy about it and she dissolves into heartbroken tears. He's with her while I'm at work and never does it even cross my mind that she's not being excellently cared for. He doesn't see it as a job or a responsibility. He loves his little girl and would do anything for her.
I was in an insuppressible mood this morning to hear the album A Fever You Can't Sweat Out. Now I enjoy Panic at the Disco as well as the next girl, but I'll be honest. The first album is little more than a catchy guilty pleasure. Nothing of musical or lyrical substance to speak of. I chose to analyse why I might be in the mood for this particular album. Probably a poor choice. This was the album that I listened to most when I first moved out of my parents' house in Nashville. And it's a day dedicated to thanking and loving your father. Aaand mine refuses to have a relationship with me. Total Father's Day buzzkill. I started getting into my traditional "holiday/birthday/Mother's Day/Father's Day/family member's birthday mood" last night. This mostly consists of systematically ushering those closest to me to the door of myself and telling them to come again soon. I prefer to spend these days deep inside myself with a sardonically-smiling facade. The way I see it, I'm entitled to a couple of days out of the vast remaining 365 to be a human girl and miss my family. I miss my dad. He called me Pigeon when I was very little. He was the dad to pick us up from school and take us to the circus, just because. He was the best at science projects and when my mother was in the hospital with Zack for pretty much two straight years, he learned how to be a parents to a little girl who liked having her hair done and helped me with all of my badges for Girl Scouts. He has the best sense of humor and could always get me to smile and laugh even when I got in a mood where I was dead-set against it.
Most people who know me are appalled that I work every Mother's Day, Father's Day, some major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and especially my birthday. Let's think about it. I could keep myself busy with taking care of very sick/recovering people, or I could stay home and kill everyone else's good day by being soberingly introspective about my pseudo-family off someplace having a lovely time while I'm here by myself and sad. Pretty obvious choice. I still send my traditional email wishing the parents a lovely day. I tell myself ahead of time I won't get a response. I still feel foolish and furious with myself for "casually" checking throughout the day to see if this year they'll prove me wrong. They don't. It's family tradition, after all.
One of the things I love best about having a child (since that is, after all, the theme-topic of this blog) is the chance to start over. All the majorly fucked up things about my childhood and dysfunctional relationship with dysfunctional people who share blood and genes with me will never really cease to exist. But I can look at Lilah and her starry blue eyes, laughing pink-lipped smile, upturned nose, and sunny blonde hair and all I feel right now is relief at the chance for redemption. That's how this Creator God I love works. No matter how dismal the feeling or how long it lasts, he never fails to gently point out a chance to redeem it into something beautiful. Dano being such a wonderful father armed with nothing but instinct and his own examples in his life reassures me that my childhood and adult relationships with my parents aren't the norm. They aren't the automatic default. There are many beautiful parents in the world, and my husband is one of them. So thanks to all the fathers in the world who love their little girls. Don't ever stop. It means more than you know.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Misc.
I'm mostly updating this blog out of a sense of obligation, which leads me to wonder as to its life expectancy. Lilah is still stubbornly refusing to walk. She stands with an ever-increasing sense of purpose but plops down forcefully when anyone holds their hands out to encourage that magical first step. Her favorite word is "Hi!", which she chirps to everyone. If there are no people present to greet, she simply sits by herself chanting, "Hi, Lilah, Hi Dada. Hi Mama," and then running through her ever-increasing list of friends' names.
She had her belated one-year photo shoot yesterday. My old friend Mitch Haarer is an incredibly gifted photographer and I wouldn't hear of anyone else doing her photos. We drove the nearly-two hours to Hillsdale, MI and Lilah slept until the last 20 minutes when she started to cry and chant her signature, "All done!" The shoot itself was a success. Lilah charmed the camera, sat where she was posed, pointed, played coy, and smiled winningly. However, Mitch had three locations planned, and even though it was a short drive to each, she still managed to fight getting back in her carseat and wail when strapped in. After a very long hour, we bid the Haarers farewell and drove 20 minutes to Coldwater. Lilah screamed the whole way. Dano dropped me, Lilah, and her purple carseat off at Biggby Coffee so we could spend time with the Sevens (Mike was transporting us to their house after he got out of work) while Dano jammed with Brent Yuhl. Lilah was given a chocolate chip cookie which she ate at record speed before exploring the store and generally trying to wreck everything. I had planned to read American Gods again while she sat and played with her toys quietly and we waited for Mike to be done. I'm not sure what possessed me to believe that was possible. We made it to the Severn's around 9:30, and fter Lilah made the rounds of "hellos", I could see she was over-stimulated and over-tired so I attempted to get her to fall asleep. That "attempt" lasted 3 hours of her mostly screaming. Dano got there and tried for a few minutes to no avail. I tried one more time and we both fell asleep.
Today I felt her gums and they are, for lack of a better describing phrase, riddled with teeth. At least four swollen little bumps that I could tell. She screamed most of tonight at home as well, so we gave her an ice cream, infant Motrin, and sent her to bed with fingers crossed for a regular baby in the morning, and Dano asking when he could schedule a vasectomy.
She had her belated one-year photo shoot yesterday. My old friend Mitch Haarer is an incredibly gifted photographer and I wouldn't hear of anyone else doing her photos. We drove the nearly-two hours to Hillsdale, MI and Lilah slept until the last 20 minutes when she started to cry and chant her signature, "All done!" The shoot itself was a success. Lilah charmed the camera, sat where she was posed, pointed, played coy, and smiled winningly. However, Mitch had three locations planned, and even though it was a short drive to each, she still managed to fight getting back in her carseat and wail when strapped in. After a very long hour, we bid the Haarers farewell and drove 20 minutes to Coldwater. Lilah screamed the whole way. Dano dropped me, Lilah, and her purple carseat off at Biggby Coffee so we could spend time with the Sevens (Mike was transporting us to their house after he got out of work) while Dano jammed with Brent Yuhl. Lilah was given a chocolate chip cookie which she ate at record speed before exploring the store and generally trying to wreck everything. I had planned to read American Gods again while she sat and played with her toys quietly and we waited for Mike to be done. I'm not sure what possessed me to believe that was possible. We made it to the Severn's around 9:30, and fter Lilah made the rounds of "hellos", I could see she was over-stimulated and over-tired so I attempted to get her to fall asleep. That "attempt" lasted 3 hours of her mostly screaming. Dano got there and tried for a few minutes to no avail. I tried one more time and we both fell asleep.
Today I felt her gums and they are, for lack of a better describing phrase, riddled with teeth. At least four swollen little bumps that I could tell. She screamed most of tonight at home as well, so we gave her an ice cream, infant Motrin, and sent her to bed with fingers crossed for a regular baby in the morning, and Dano asking when he could schedule a vasectomy.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
I'd take childbirth any day
So today, May 6th of 2010, I pinched a nerve in my back/neck. I've done it before but never to this extent. I had been feeling strange for about 10 minutes, like I had a muscle cramp in my back. I asked Dano to rub it and leaned forward. Immediately upon doing so, I felt like something inside my nervous system had literally exploded. My eyes saw only colors and I think I cried out because Lilah started screaming and Dano said, "Babe, you're scaring the baby," and all I could say was, "Don't touch me. Don't anybody touch me." He took the baby and I stood up hoping to relieve the pain positionally with no luck. I sat in the rocking chair and it kept growing until I thought I'd die. The pain was radiating to my neck, the crown of my head, my right shoulder, my right hip. Everything tingled and I clamped my jaw shut and forced myself to breathe short, shallow, controlled breaths. Lilah was still crying and staring at me and I just told her I was sorry in my head. I was frantic with pain at this point and maneuvered myself onto the living room rug and laid flat on my back, spine aligned. My head was spinning even though I was still and flat. My whole body tingled and all I could think was, "I have to go to work. I have to leave in two hours." Dano sounded light-years away when he said, "You're not going anywhere. You can't even move. Your job requires lifting! How can you take care of others if you can't take care of yourself?" He was right. I knew he was right. But I couldn't even process it at that point. "I'm sorry." "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
He fed Lilah her lunch and I whiled away the minutes on the floor attempting to call Bekah for more nursing advice to see if I'd missed anything. She suggested different ways to position my affected arm and side to reduce the nerve compression. Her ideas helped. I felt my phone continuing to vibrate next to me after I hung up. I knew it was Mike texting me and was again furious for making myself unavailable to yet another person who might need me. Patients, friends, Lilah, Dano, coworkers. The pain tingled and throbbed with the feelings of inadequacy. "I'm broken. I have a problem," I thought. "I'm have the mental incapability to be selfish. I'm crazy." Dano left to run to CVS and buy me copious amounts of Icy Hot and Ibuprofen. I laid on the floor, alone with my brain. She's my arch-nemesis. It hurt to breathe deeply, and the hurt was exacerbated by worry, which was my primary mode of thinking. I looked toward my phone, which buzzed merrily again. "You have a text message. Hope nobody's dying in a fiery crash because you can't answer your phone." Thought #1: I'm a horrible person! What if my phone is right?! Thought #2: I am certifiably bat-shit crazy. And my phone didn't tell me anything. No one is dying. Mike is probably just bored of Bekah's checking in again. Thought #3: Could my phone be the devil? Or worse, 10-Speed (the demonic bicycle of the Coheed and Cambria's Amory Wars graphic novels) reincarnated? I came back to Thought #2. I'm not normally incoherently insane. I really was in enough pain to make me delusional. My thoughts then meandered to the origin of the phrase "bat-shit crazy", one I am oh-so-fond of (incidentally, aerosol-transmitted rabies has been known to occur in caves with high numbers of, you guessed it, bats. Thanks Google). I stared at the ceiling. It appeared to be moving in weird white swirls, so I looked away. I closed my eyes and went through my yogic mudras. I even visualized the nerve cluster that was currently ruining my life and pictured the pain ebbing away like the tide going out and that actually helped considerably. I opened my eyes when the pain was manageable and watched a muscle group from my obliques to my right hip spasm and ripple. It looked too cool to be alarmed. My mind then wandered to wishing for Valium to relax said spasms. "Yeah, at this point, I'd risk my nursing license for it." I started shivering because for some reason my body was struggling to maintain my core body temp. "It's like my nervous system's giving me the finger today," I lamented to the cat who stared back unblinkingly and (I felt) unsympathetically. I spent 5 minutes (I clocked it) rolling from my back to my stomach before realizing I liked it better on my back but could now not get back there. I started feeling tingly and crawly and was convinced there were bugs crawling on me. To make matters worse, a lone ant tracked across the floor about 16 inches from my head. I was on the verge of screaming. Dano came back. He put Icy Hot on the affected areas, killed the offending ant, assisted me off my stomach (which took 10 minutes and I still ended up almost passing out from the pain), helped me swallow 5 Ibuprofen tabs (he only bought 200mg tabs!) and answered my question with no, he didn't believe he knew anyone from whom he could score illegal Valium or Vicodin.
Currently I am resting on the couch on my back. I can't move anything but my hands, so my laptop is resting on my legs and my phone is on my chest. Dano is cooking me a pizza and Mike is texting me his usual endearing craziness and I'm actually able to respond at this point. No one died in a fiery crash, and I have exactly 15 minutes to be at work. I don't think I'm going to make it. Oh well.
He fed Lilah her lunch and I whiled away the minutes on the floor attempting to call Bekah for more nursing advice to see if I'd missed anything. She suggested different ways to position my affected arm and side to reduce the nerve compression. Her ideas helped. I felt my phone continuing to vibrate next to me after I hung up. I knew it was Mike texting me and was again furious for making myself unavailable to yet another person who might need me. Patients, friends, Lilah, Dano, coworkers. The pain tingled and throbbed with the feelings of inadequacy. "I'm broken. I have a problem," I thought. "I'm have the mental incapability to be selfish. I'm crazy." Dano left to run to CVS and buy me copious amounts of Icy Hot and Ibuprofen. I laid on the floor, alone with my brain. She's my arch-nemesis. It hurt to breathe deeply, and the hurt was exacerbated by worry, which was my primary mode of thinking. I looked toward my phone, which buzzed merrily again. "You have a text message. Hope nobody's dying in a fiery crash because you can't answer your phone." Thought #1: I'm a horrible person! What if my phone is right?! Thought #2: I am certifiably bat-shit crazy. And my phone didn't tell me anything. No one is dying. Mike is probably just bored of Bekah's checking in again. Thought #3: Could my phone be the devil? Or worse, 10-Speed (the demonic bicycle of the Coheed and Cambria's Amory Wars graphic novels) reincarnated? I came back to Thought #2. I'm not normally incoherently insane. I really was in enough pain to make me delusional. My thoughts then meandered to the origin of the phrase "bat-shit crazy", one I am oh-so-fond of (incidentally, aerosol-transmitted rabies has been known to occur in caves with high numbers of, you guessed it, bats. Thanks Google). I stared at the ceiling. It appeared to be moving in weird white swirls, so I looked away. I closed my eyes and went through my yogic mudras. I even visualized the nerve cluster that was currently ruining my life and pictured the pain ebbing away like the tide going out and that actually helped considerably. I opened my eyes when the pain was manageable and watched a muscle group from my obliques to my right hip spasm and ripple. It looked too cool to be alarmed. My mind then wandered to wishing for Valium to relax said spasms. "Yeah, at this point, I'd risk my nursing license for it." I started shivering because for some reason my body was struggling to maintain my core body temp. "It's like my nervous system's giving me the finger today," I lamented to the cat who stared back unblinkingly and (I felt) unsympathetically. I spent 5 minutes (I clocked it) rolling from my back to my stomach before realizing I liked it better on my back but could now not get back there. I started feeling tingly and crawly and was convinced there were bugs crawling on me. To make matters worse, a lone ant tracked across the floor about 16 inches from my head. I was on the verge of screaming. Dano came back. He put Icy Hot on the affected areas, killed the offending ant, assisted me off my stomach (which took 10 minutes and I still ended up almost passing out from the pain), helped me swallow 5 Ibuprofen tabs (he only bought 200mg tabs!) and answered my question with no, he didn't believe he knew anyone from whom he could score illegal Valium or Vicodin.
Currently I am resting on the couch on my back. I can't move anything but my hands, so my laptop is resting on my legs and my phone is on my chest. Dano is cooking me a pizza and Mike is texting me his usual endearing craziness and I'm actually able to respond at this point. No one died in a fiery crash, and I have exactly 15 minutes to be at work. I don't think I'm going to make it. Oh well.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Where to start
I haven't been able to blog in what feels like years! We have officially moved and are slowly but surely unpacking and making our sweet little house into a home. This house chose us more than we chose it. I had looked at it online but was deterred by the price they were asking. It looked to be a decent place, but more than I was willing to spend on a 2 bedroom, so I passed on seeing it. I looked at a few other places and saw some that would adequately meet our needs, were affordable, and met our specifications. Something just didn't feel right about all of them. The clock was ticking, since Lilah and I were staying with Dano's sister and her beautiful family for 2 1/2 weeks while we made the moving transition and I started my new job. Finally (a little against my better judgement) I set up an appointment to see the house on Wrenson. I pulled into the driveway a few minutes early with the dulcet tones of Claudio Sanchez gracing my speakers rather loudly and Lilah babbling/singing in the backseat. I sat in the driveway with an adorable house on my left and lilacs in full bloom on my right and tried not to get my hopes up. I looked at the tree-lined, double-lot backyard, huge covered front porch, 2-car garage, and tried not to picture our family here. The realtor shower up and showed us inside. The living room was large, the ceilings were coved, the doorways arched, there was an office adjacent to the living room, a library/dining room, many windows with lots of natural light, laundry room, kitchen with counter space that caused my husband to ask, "Be honest, sweetheart. Did it turn you on a little when you saw how much cooking space you'd have?" The bedrooms were perfect for us. The spirit of the place seemed to embrace me the moment I walked in the door. This house wanted us. I told the realtor I liked what I saw, but weren't willing to pay that much for it. I got my application approved and made an offer to the owner for what we were willing to pay a month in rent. He accepted with a 2-year lease. This may sound strange, but this house loves us as much as we love it. When I pull into my driveway after work, it says, "Welcome home." When I sit on my porch and watch Lilah caper about the yard, it says, "This is where you belong." When I cook in my kitchen, the whole spirit of the place goes into what I'm making and somehow makes it better. When I look out my big kitchen window to my backyard, the house suggests places for my garden to go. "What about a melon patch behind the garage? Herbs close to the kitchen door so you can get to them easily. Flowers would look great here." The owner is very friendly and plans to repaint the porch and put new floors in the kitchen for us next spring. He's also offered to let us buy it if we would ever like to. We're trying to think up a name for our house now. It seems to need one.
I've started my new job, and Lilah has plunged headlong into separation anxiety. I work 64 hours a pay period. Unfortunately, they have me working 6 days one week and 2 days the next. I expressed my concern that it was too much time in one week away from my poor baby who's used to having me at her beck and call 5 days a week. The scheduler was more than willing to adjust it...on the next schedule. So this is my schedule until May 26th. Great. Lilah is absurdly clingy with Dano when I'm gone, and when I'm home, she cries if I even look like I'm going to go somewhere and she glares at Dano like he's the enemy and might take her from me at any moment. He's trying his best not to take it personally. We both realize it's a hard adjustment for all of us. She just left all that was familiar to her and had a parents go back to work full-time. She'll settle down soon.
She's also gotten very adept at chattering away and saying new words. She adores her cousins and likes to follow them around squealing. "Zedd! Ephraim! Zedd! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Adam (her uncle)! Bye bye! Bye bye!" She also lets us know when she's hungry. "Num num, Mama?" and sleepy. "Night night." She loves to greet people. "Hi. Hi. Hiiiii!" God forbid they ignore her. Dano took her upstairs to lay with her in hopes she'd nap yesterday. He ended up dozing and she waited until he was asleep and slithered down off the bed and let herself back down the stairs! She entertained herself for about ten minutes before her daddy realized in horror that she was gone. She's gotten very crafty. She was great on the drive here. There was one point in the UP that she woke up from her nap starving and started crying, "Num num! Num num, Mama!" My heart broke for her because we were about 30 minutes from the nearest anything. She didn't understand, obviously, and thought I was just withholding food from her. I shared a chocolate shake with her to say I was sorry after letting her devour a platter of pasta and garlic bread. I'd never felt so guilty as a mother, but I hadn't had any other options. I had kept handing her graham crackers but she was still hungry. She was an angel after she ate until about 20 miles from our destination. She started fussing mildly. "All done, Mama. All done!" I handed her what I thought was my empty to-go cup of chocolate shake for her to kick around or whatever, since she had tossed all her toys on the ground. She had the straw out in seconds, tasted it, and was pleased. She popped the top off and flung it. She then took the cup and turned it upside down on her face/head to inspect the bottom for any remaining contents. I was horrified as I watched in the rear-view mirror to find that the cup wasn't quite as empty as I'd thought. It had a bit left in the bottom and that "bit" was dripping down Lilah's hair and trickling into her eagerly awaiting mouth. By the time we got to Hazel Park, she was a sticky, chocolaty mess, but I was so relieved to have made it that I didn't really care.
I've started my new job, and Lilah has plunged headlong into separation anxiety. I work 64 hours a pay period. Unfortunately, they have me working 6 days one week and 2 days the next. I expressed my concern that it was too much time in one week away from my poor baby who's used to having me at her beck and call 5 days a week. The scheduler was more than willing to adjust it...on the next schedule. So this is my schedule until May 26th. Great. Lilah is absurdly clingy with Dano when I'm gone, and when I'm home, she cries if I even look like I'm going to go somewhere and she glares at Dano like he's the enemy and might take her from me at any moment. He's trying his best not to take it personally. We both realize it's a hard adjustment for all of us. She just left all that was familiar to her and had a parents go back to work full-time. She'll settle down soon.
She's also gotten very adept at chattering away and saying new words. She adores her cousins and likes to follow them around squealing. "Zedd! Ephraim! Zedd! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Adam (her uncle)! Bye bye! Bye bye!" She also lets us know when she's hungry. "Num num, Mama?" and sleepy. "Night night." She loves to greet people. "Hi. Hi. Hiiiii!" God forbid they ignore her. Dano took her upstairs to lay with her in hopes she'd nap yesterday. He ended up dozing and she waited until he was asleep and slithered down off the bed and let herself back down the stairs! She entertained herself for about ten minutes before her daddy realized in horror that she was gone. She's gotten very crafty. She was great on the drive here. There was one point in the UP that she woke up from her nap starving and started crying, "Num num! Num num, Mama!" My heart broke for her because we were about 30 minutes from the nearest anything. She didn't understand, obviously, and thought I was just withholding food from her. I shared a chocolate shake with her to say I was sorry after letting her devour a platter of pasta and garlic bread. I'd never felt so guilty as a mother, but I hadn't had any other options. I had kept handing her graham crackers but she was still hungry. She was an angel after she ate until about 20 miles from our destination. She started fussing mildly. "All done, Mama. All done!" I handed her what I thought was my empty to-go cup of chocolate shake for her to kick around or whatever, since she had tossed all her toys on the ground. She had the straw out in seconds, tasted it, and was pleased. She popped the top off and flung it. She then took the cup and turned it upside down on her face/head to inspect the bottom for any remaining contents. I was horrified as I watched in the rear-view mirror to find that the cup wasn't quite as empty as I'd thought. It had a bit left in the bottom and that "bit" was dripping down Lilah's hair and trickling into her eagerly awaiting mouth. By the time we got to Hazel Park, she was a sticky, chocolaty mess, but I was so relieved to have made it that I didn't really care.
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