Lilah had her 2.5 year physical today. The morning was a bit of a clusterf*ck. I had to be a medical assistant for Dr Kolin, with whom I'd never worked. She was patient and understanding. But that also put me in the position of having to be an MA for my own daughter, which made me super uncomfortable. I basically did her height, weight, head circumference, and poked her toe to get a hemoglobin. This coming, of course, after she toured the office and showed everyone her boots.
Dr Kolin came in as I was poking her and said, "You can't poke your own kid!" I said, "Yeah, well there's no one else to do it." She conceded this point (we're short staffed). "Crystal's doing her shots though."
Lilah was charming as usual. She did not agree with having her heart and lungs checked out. "I'm fine, don't listen to me." I had to hold her head still so Dr Kolin could get a decent look at her ears. Her eye defect was addressed. Dr Kolin wasn't worried. "We'll check it before kindergarten."
She was in the 25th percentile for height and weight, with an average head (i.e. huge on her tiny body). Her hemoglobin was better than mine. Her sentences surprised everyone. She is getting sent for a blood draw. That part is a bummer. Her lead level should be checked because of the zip code we live in, and they'll check to see if this milk nonsense is a true allergy or an intolerance.
I opted to get her the nasal spray Flumist. It's a live virus and better immunity than the inactivated shot. Plus, no mercury. Flu shots are the only vaccine that still contain thermerisol, a preservative that's mercury-based. While lots of studies have proven that it isn't linked to being harmful, I don't love the idea of it either way. A study came out linking consecutive years of flu shots to early onset Alzheimers. That freaked me out a little.
Dr Kolin watched her walk (her toes point out a little, but so do Dano's), stand on one foot, and hop. She said her sentence use and structure was exceptionally good for her age, and we should probably be encouraging her to sit on the potty more.
Crystal came in to give Lilah's vaccines. I laid her down on the table and Crystal squirted the mist up her nose. "I don't like it!" And it was over. Then onto the shots. She was 100% fine until the needle went in. Then she scrunched up her eyebrows and let out a little bird yell. Then it was over. She looked down at her legs and started crying and flailing her arms. "I don't want any stickers! I said I didn't want stickers!" She frantically swatted at the Tweety Bird bandaids on her thighs. Crystal laughed. "Is that all she's upset about?"
In the end, she got a sucker and a sticker, said her thank yous and goodbyes. We went to Panera and she got a pumpkin cookie for being extra good and brave. We're in the clear til she's 3!
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Rant
You know, there is this perfect picture of motherhood in my head. To me, it embodies selflessness. Your kid always coming first and you being happy about it. Well, today, that's just not me.
We were supposed to go meet a puppy this afternoon. For once, it seemed like it might work. We've been looking for a puppy for 6 months with no luck. It never works out. I've really wanted one.
When Lilah woke up from her nap, she was crabby, whiny, and mouthy. She utterly refused to get in the car. We realized quickly that driving 45 minutes to meet a dog would be disaster and we'd end up frustrated. Dano and I agreed to call it quits. Since then, she's continued to be whiny and a total grouch. Well, she sweet and cute with Dano, of course. Instead of taking a deep breath and patiently dealing with her, I'm so angry. I can't even look at her. It's not her fault she woke up on the wrong side of bed. She's 2 1/2. She's been sassy all day, but it wasn't until it interfered with my plans that it mattered.
She's frequented time out. She's had breaks in her room. She's had distraction with toys. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to reason with my insane toddler. I don't want to be a perfect, patient mother. I don't actually care that she's in a bad mood. I want to throw a fit along side her. I want to kick and scream and cry that I didn't get my way. It seems like this always happens any time I want to do something for me. I didn't get anything for Mother's Day or my birthday. I don't get girls nights out, adult time, hobbies, allowances, or me-time. I go to the bathroom either with company or tiny fists pounding down the door. My baths and showers are almost never solo. I cook and bake and try to keep the house as clean as I can. I stopped doing yoga because she pushed me over while she was awake and I was exhausted by the time she went to sleep. Now in the meantime, I'm feeling out of shape, flabby, and my self esteem is taking a hit. I try to keep everyone in this damn house happy, healthy, and entertained and all the while it feels like it's take, take, take until I'm running on empty but nobody cares.
If I suggest doing something, Dano never wants to go unless it suits. He wants his time away, which is fine. I'm the one taking her to events and errands. But any time it comes down to something for me that they don't feel like participating in, it all falls apart. I'm tired of trying to stuff my ridiculous family into this mould that they're never going to fit. And what's the point anyway if I'm working 90 hours a pay period. I get
15 hours during the week while Lilah's awake. That's not enough time to be the mother I want to be. I feel like I'm better off just working and making sure she has toys and food and a fun time with her dad. She spends the first 90 minutes I'm home whining and crying at me anyway.
I wanted to be this amazingly domestic wife and mother who raised a family and took care of a house. That was my biggest dream. To be a nurse was always second and I really thought I could reconcile the two. The longer this goes on, the more apparent it is that I'm trapped in one role and failing at the other.
We were supposed to go meet a puppy this afternoon. For once, it seemed like it might work. We've been looking for a puppy for 6 months with no luck. It never works out. I've really wanted one.
When Lilah woke up from her nap, she was crabby, whiny, and mouthy. She utterly refused to get in the car. We realized quickly that driving 45 minutes to meet a dog would be disaster and we'd end up frustrated. Dano and I agreed to call it quits. Since then, she's continued to be whiny and a total grouch. Well, she sweet and cute with Dano, of course. Instead of taking a deep breath and patiently dealing with her, I'm so angry. I can't even look at her. It's not her fault she woke up on the wrong side of bed. She's 2 1/2. She's been sassy all day, but it wasn't until it interfered with my plans that it mattered.
She's frequented time out. She's had breaks in her room. She's had distraction with toys. I don't want to talk to her. I don't want to reason with my insane toddler. I don't want to be a perfect, patient mother. I don't actually care that she's in a bad mood. I want to throw a fit along side her. I want to kick and scream and cry that I didn't get my way. It seems like this always happens any time I want to do something for me. I didn't get anything for Mother's Day or my birthday. I don't get girls nights out, adult time, hobbies, allowances, or me-time. I go to the bathroom either with company or tiny fists pounding down the door. My baths and showers are almost never solo. I cook and bake and try to keep the house as clean as I can. I stopped doing yoga because she pushed me over while she was awake and I was exhausted by the time she went to sleep. Now in the meantime, I'm feeling out of shape, flabby, and my self esteem is taking a hit. I try to keep everyone in this damn house happy, healthy, and entertained and all the while it feels like it's take, take, take until I'm running on empty but nobody cares.
If I suggest doing something, Dano never wants to go unless it suits. He wants his time away, which is fine. I'm the one taking her to events and errands. But any time it comes down to something for me that they don't feel like participating in, it all falls apart. I'm tired of trying to stuff my ridiculous family into this mould that they're never going to fit. And what's the point anyway if I'm working 90 hours a pay period. I get
15 hours during the week while Lilah's awake. That's not enough time to be the mother I want to be. I feel like I'm better off just working and making sure she has toys and food and a fun time with her dad. She spends the first 90 minutes I'm home whining and crying at me anyway.
I wanted to be this amazingly domestic wife and mother who raised a family and took care of a house. That was my biggest dream. To be a nurse was always second and I really thought I could reconcile the two. The longer this goes on, the more apparent it is that I'm trapped in one role and failing at the other.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Chicago
Our Labor Day weekend in Chicago was one of the most enjoyable family trips we've ever taken. The drive wasn't too terrible. Dano was gracious enough to do all of the driving (on his birthday, no less), and even agreed to stop off for lunch at my favorite childhood restaurant - Das Essenhaus. It's smack dab in the middle of Amish Country, and has the best home-cooked food you'll ever eat. Their pies are amazing, so we had to stop in the bakery on the way out and stock up on some, as well as noodles, breads, and spreads.
We got to Chicago without incident (Lilah being very laid back on the drive with only the occasional escape attempt) and met Ann, Larry, and Max on the seminary campus. Ann met us first on the sidewalk and, after greeting Lilah, walked to the car to help Dano get some things in the apartment. After having been promised her Grannie all day long, Lilah watched her walk away a mere 2 minutes after getting to hold her and laid face-down on the sidewalk to cry. She was in hysterics, so I picked her up to carry her the insurmountable 1/2 block to the courtyard where Larry was scooping ice cream for the students. She was red and puffy of face when she heard Grandpa's voice and realized that she wasn't being totally robbed of grandparents. I put her down and she ran to him. It was very sweet. She was rewarded with rainbow sherbet in a cone. She was pleased.
Grannie Annie made it back to her and took her inside to wash her hands and face. They stopped off for a quick baptism in the font (after which Lilah apparently turned to the woman nearest her, threw her fist in the air, and shouted, "Baptized!"). She had been baptized before, but with as much demon as that child has in her sometimes, I figure it's like a DTaP vaccine and she needs a booster every couple of years for it to be effective.
We had Chinese food and a night in with coffee and whiskey. With much coaxing several hours after her regular bedtime (with a time change to boot), Lilah went down for bed in the pack-and-play. Kazyz, the black boxer-dog, was suffering from an allergic reaction to life itself and had lost much hair. Some patches were raw and bleeding from him scratching, which he proceeded to do most of the night, as well as gag on spit or food or something. This made sleeping difficult. Ann and Larry took him in their room near 5AM. Shortly thereafter, Dano shook me awake. Right before I got annoyed with him, I heard a cheerful chirp from the darkness. "Mamaaaa!" followed by a thunk, a rustle, and a small body crawling up on the air mattress because she "just wanna be cozy, Mama." The three of us snuggled until morning.
Friday was "hot as the devil's"...well, you get the idea if you've ever lived in the South. It was well over 90 degrees and humid. We got around in the morning and walked to Starbucks. I indulged in a guilty pleasure - an absolutely giant double shot pumpkin spice latte. The Starbucks had an odd little courtyard and backyard with grass and a little tree swing and slide. Lilah attempted to play nicely with two beautiful French toddlers with blond curly hair. She ended up perched at the top of the slide while they shouted angrily up at her in French and their mother laughed.
From there we walked the god-forsaken halfmile to the train station. I was so hot by the time we got there. The train ride was short, and Lilah loved it. We had gotten her a ticket, unsure of the age limits. Larry told the conductor, and he smiled down at her. "Princesses don't need tickets." She beamed. I swear, so did Larry.
We walked the short distance to Shedd Aquarium. I was hungry and hot, and seriously dismayed to see the line down the front steps of the building. An amazing employee soaked with sweat from being out in the sun pointed us around the corner to a wheelchair entrance and let us take Lilah in. I was so thankful to be in the cool air again. We paid for the general tickets ($8), rather than the super deluxe amazing handjob tickets (paraphrasing, $29). The man behind the counter said we wouldn't get to see otters, jellyfish, whales, dolphins, penguins, sea lions, or sharks. We shrugged. We ate in the food court. Lilah was thrilled to death with her apple sauce, hot dog, and teddy grahams. I cheerfully ate my fish sliders and hoped it wasn't some poor old fish from the aquarium who had gone belly up.
We mostly let Lilah lead the way, herding her on to the next exhibit if she lingered overly long at one animal. She had an amazing time. Unknowingly, we ended up seeing otters, jellyfish, whales, dolphins, penguins, and sea lions (the sharks were well-guarded), since our tour guide was a 30 month old who ran merrily from one enclosure to the next and the employees were lax about checking for wristbands for entry to see the special animals. When we got to the Amazon exhibit, we had seen everything humanly possible to see without decking an employee and sneaking into sharks. Lilah fell asleep in her stroller and woke up in the gift shop very confused and upset. Grandpa bought her a ball that made it better. We rode home on the train and had leftover Chinese for dinner.
Saturday we took the L into the city to do some thrift shopping. We met Bill Palm, an old family friend, for lunch at M Henry's. Anyone with kids can appreciate the waitress almost immediately bringing Lilah a small dish of sliced bananas, strawberries, and cranberries. It kept her entertained and certainly bought the waitress a sizable tip. After we finished, we went thrift shopping in a downpour and visited a Swedish Bakery. We took the L home again and were accosted by a handful of very drunken Cubs fans after the game. One of the women took to stroking Max's very bright hair and told him she hoped it would grow out brown. Another took to Lilah like bees on honey. She peppered cooing over Lilah Rose with pole dancing around the L car (trust me, more charming on Rent) and cursing her other friends. As much as I love having the F-word spewed liberally around my 2 1/2 year old, I took her into my lap since the woman was also very handsy with her and I wasn't comfortable.
Back at the apartment and drenched, I grabbed my pajamas and went into the bathroom to change while Lilah tore around the house with Grandpa. I heard a thud, followed by silence, then a piercing scream. I rolled my eyes. She'd probably hit her head. We were always telling her to watch her head. Then Dano yelled for me. "Sweetheart, she's bleeding." I yanked the door open and saw her cradled in his arms, screaming, blood streaming from her right eye. I panicked and took her, shaking. I took her and grabbed a rag to wipe the blood away, praying to God that it wasn't her eye. I saw the source of the blood - a cut about 1/4 inch from her eye. They told me she ran into the corner of the marble entryway table. At the last minute, Larry called her name and she turned her head. If she hadn't, it could have been her eye. The marble got the bone, not the eye itself. Ann asked me if we needed to go to the ER. I told her it wasn't Lilah's eye and sat down in a chair to soothe my child. She wouldn't stop screaming, and I went back and forth between thanking God for protecting my baby and near-hysterics at the could-have-beens.
She calmed down enough to eat a fruit tart. I went to the kitchen to make dinner. I needed to do something or I'd break down and cry. I had to keep blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. I snuggled her the rest of the night. We all watched Rango. She had a bruise for eye shadow, but otherwise was none the worse for wear. Her tears kept flushing salt into the cut, so she naturally cleansed her wound.
Sunday we went to a family lunch at a Mediterranean place. Ann suggested we bring a bottle of wine, with the stipulation we had to finish it there. I accepted the challenge. The lamb schwarma was wonderful, and so was the merlot. We walked off our (ample) buzz by touring Hyde Park and walking to Frank Lloyd Wright's Robie House. I took a thousand pictures of everything, my nose included, and broke away from the group to go rock hunting, sure I'd spotted a petoskey stone (I hadn't, but found some cool rocks nonetheless). Dano had a very chatty, silly passenger for most of the ride home.
All in all the trip to Chicago was wonderful and I can't wait to go back.
We got to Chicago without incident (Lilah being very laid back on the drive with only the occasional escape attempt) and met Ann, Larry, and Max on the seminary campus. Ann met us first on the sidewalk and, after greeting Lilah, walked to the car to help Dano get some things in the apartment. After having been promised her Grannie all day long, Lilah watched her walk away a mere 2 minutes after getting to hold her and laid face-down on the sidewalk to cry. She was in hysterics, so I picked her up to carry her the insurmountable 1/2 block to the courtyard where Larry was scooping ice cream for the students. She was red and puffy of face when she heard Grandpa's voice and realized that she wasn't being totally robbed of grandparents. I put her down and she ran to him. It was very sweet. She was rewarded with rainbow sherbet in a cone. She was pleased.
Grannie Annie made it back to her and took her inside to wash her hands and face. They stopped off for a quick baptism in the font (after which Lilah apparently turned to the woman nearest her, threw her fist in the air, and shouted, "Baptized!"). She had been baptized before, but with as much demon as that child has in her sometimes, I figure it's like a DTaP vaccine and she needs a booster every couple of years for it to be effective.
We had Chinese food and a night in with coffee and whiskey. With much coaxing several hours after her regular bedtime (with a time change to boot), Lilah went down for bed in the pack-and-play. Kazyz, the black boxer-dog, was suffering from an allergic reaction to life itself and had lost much hair. Some patches were raw and bleeding from him scratching, which he proceeded to do most of the night, as well as gag on spit or food or something. This made sleeping difficult. Ann and Larry took him in their room near 5AM. Shortly thereafter, Dano shook me awake. Right before I got annoyed with him, I heard a cheerful chirp from the darkness. "Mamaaaa!" followed by a thunk, a rustle, and a small body crawling up on the air mattress because she "just wanna be cozy, Mama." The three of us snuggled until morning.
Friday was "hot as the devil's"...well, you get the idea if you've ever lived in the South. It was well over 90 degrees and humid. We got around in the morning and walked to Starbucks. I indulged in a guilty pleasure - an absolutely giant double shot pumpkin spice latte. The Starbucks had an odd little courtyard and backyard with grass and a little tree swing and slide. Lilah attempted to play nicely with two beautiful French toddlers with blond curly hair. She ended up perched at the top of the slide while they shouted angrily up at her in French and their mother laughed.
From there we walked the god-forsaken halfmile to the train station. I was so hot by the time we got there. The train ride was short, and Lilah loved it. We had gotten her a ticket, unsure of the age limits. Larry told the conductor, and he smiled down at her. "Princesses don't need tickets." She beamed. I swear, so did Larry.
We walked the short distance to Shedd Aquarium. I was hungry and hot, and seriously dismayed to see the line down the front steps of the building. An amazing employee soaked with sweat from being out in the sun pointed us around the corner to a wheelchair entrance and let us take Lilah in. I was so thankful to be in the cool air again. We paid for the general tickets ($8), rather than the super deluxe amazing handjob tickets (paraphrasing, $29). The man behind the counter said we wouldn't get to see otters, jellyfish, whales, dolphins, penguins, sea lions, or sharks. We shrugged. We ate in the food court. Lilah was thrilled to death with her apple sauce, hot dog, and teddy grahams. I cheerfully ate my fish sliders and hoped it wasn't some poor old fish from the aquarium who had gone belly up.
We mostly let Lilah lead the way, herding her on to the next exhibit if she lingered overly long at one animal. She had an amazing time. Unknowingly, we ended up seeing otters, jellyfish, whales, dolphins, penguins, and sea lions (the sharks were well-guarded), since our tour guide was a 30 month old who ran merrily from one enclosure to the next and the employees were lax about checking for wristbands for entry to see the special animals. When we got to the Amazon exhibit, we had seen everything humanly possible to see without decking an employee and sneaking into sharks. Lilah fell asleep in her stroller and woke up in the gift shop very confused and upset. Grandpa bought her a ball that made it better. We rode home on the train and had leftover Chinese for dinner.
Saturday we took the L into the city to do some thrift shopping. We met Bill Palm, an old family friend, for lunch at M Henry's. Anyone with kids can appreciate the waitress almost immediately bringing Lilah a small dish of sliced bananas, strawberries, and cranberries. It kept her entertained and certainly bought the waitress a sizable tip. After we finished, we went thrift shopping in a downpour and visited a Swedish Bakery. We took the L home again and were accosted by a handful of very drunken Cubs fans after the game. One of the women took to stroking Max's very bright hair and told him she hoped it would grow out brown. Another took to Lilah like bees on honey. She peppered cooing over Lilah Rose with pole dancing around the L car (trust me, more charming on Rent) and cursing her other friends. As much as I love having the F-word spewed liberally around my 2 1/2 year old
Back at the apartment and drenched, I grabbed my pajamas and went into the bathroom to change while Lilah tore around the house with Grandpa. I heard a thud, followed by silence, then a piercing scream. I rolled my eyes. She'd probably hit her head. We were always telling her to watch her head. Then Dano yelled for me. "Sweetheart, she's bleeding." I yanked the door open and saw her cradled in his arms, screaming, blood streaming from her right eye. I panicked and took her, shaking. I took her and grabbed a rag to wipe the blood away, praying to God that it wasn't her eye. I saw the source of the blood - a cut about 1/4 inch from her eye. They told me she ran into the corner of the marble entryway table. At the last minute, Larry called her name and she turned her head. If she hadn't, it could have been her eye. The marble got the bone, not the eye itself. Ann asked me if we needed to go to the ER. I told her it wasn't Lilah's eye and sat down in a chair to soothe my child. She wouldn't stop screaming, and I went back and forth between thanking God for protecting my baby and near-hysterics at the could-have-beens.
She calmed down enough to eat a fruit tart. I went to the kitchen to make dinner. I needed to do something or I'd break down and cry. I had to keep blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. I snuggled her the rest of the night. We all watched Rango. She had a bruise for eye shadow, but otherwise was none the worse for wear. Her tears kept flushing salt into the cut, so she naturally cleansed her wound.
Sunday we went to a family lunch at a Mediterranean place. Ann suggested we bring a bottle of wine, with the stipulation we had to finish it there. I accepted the challenge. The lamb schwarma was wonderful, and so was the merlot. We walked off our (ample) buzz by touring Hyde Park and walking to Frank Lloyd Wright's Robie House. I took a thousand pictures of everything, my nose included, and broke away from the group to go rock hunting, sure I'd spotted a petoskey stone (I hadn't, but found some cool rocks nonetheless). Dano had a very chatty, silly passenger for most of the ride home.
All in all the trip to Chicago was wonderful and I can't wait to go back.
Friday, September 9, 2011
In the meantime...
I am still working on a Chicago blog, but in the meantime, I thought I'd share some snippets of my conversations with my two oldest nephews tonight. I had them for a game night while other parents were at the DIA. They turned a very dismal Auntie into a laughing one who enjoyed her evening, as they are wont to do. We watched UP, they pretended to be asleep so Lilah would be tricked into going to bed, and we played Life.
"Which person is the driver?" -E
"It's always the man." -Me.
After seeing a concert in a church pop up on Last.FM with a crucifix in the background...
"Who is that guy?" -E
"It's Jesus." -Me
"Who the heck is Jesus and why doesn't he just get down?" -E
This one touched me.
"If I get married, I'll marry a girl and pretend that it's you." -E
This one floored me and made me go in the kitchen and laugh my head off. I think Zedd was trying to get out of the kissing aspect of marriage.
"I want to marry a boy." -Z
"Okay. Here's your husband." -Me
"Do boys still kiss when they marry boys?" -Z
"Yes." -Me
"Oh. Then I want a divorce. Anyways, with a husband, I can only have a baby if I adopt." -Z
"I don't want a baby! I just want a dog!" -E
Said with an eyeroll by Zeddicus...
"A condo is like a great big apartment." -Me
"I know what a condo is, Auntie. I've been to Disney." -Z
This last one seemed especially poignant, as we had just watched UP.
"What is this game about?" -Z
"It's about making all of the money. It's Life!" -Me
"Life isn't about money. It's about doing all of the fun stuff." -Z.
"Which person is the driver?" -E
"It's always the man." -Me.
After seeing a concert in a church pop up on Last.FM with a crucifix in the background...
"Who is that guy?" -E
"It's Jesus." -Me
"Who the heck is Jesus and why doesn't he just get down?" -E
This one touched me.
"If I get married, I'll marry a girl and pretend that it's you." -E
This one floored me and made me go in the kitchen and laugh my head off. I think Zedd was trying to get out of the kissing aspect of marriage.
"I want to marry a boy." -Z
"Okay. Here's your husband." -Me
"Do boys still kiss when they marry boys?" -Z
"Yes." -Me
"Oh. Then I want a divorce. Anyways, with a husband, I can only have a baby if I adopt." -Z
"I don't want a baby! I just want a dog!" -E
Said with an eyeroll by Zeddicus...
"A condo is like a great big apartment." -Me
"I know what a condo is, Auntie. I've been to Disney." -Z
This last one seemed especially poignant, as we had just watched UP.
"What is this game about?" -Z
"It's about making all of the money. It's Life!" -Me
"Life isn't about money. It's about doing all of the fun stuff." -Z.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Stormy weather
The other day Lilah crawled into my lap and asked me to sing her a song. I started one of the usuals and she violently shook her head. "No no no. Don't say that. Sing Tables. Turning Tables." Leave it to my kid to want Adele as a lullaby. So I snuggled her head to my chest and we sang. She hummed along as close to on-key as one can manage at 2 1/2, and I sang a song that's very close to my heart. As I did, I got a bit introspective.
I love "Turning Tables" because of the quiet strength it exudes. It turned my memory back 6-7 years. Things with my parents had reached the height of their nastiness. I spent more time than not dissolving into tears at the daily heartache. My personal theme songs went from "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" (self loathing at its best) to "Praise You In This Storm". It was even my ringtone for my parents. For those of you who have never heard it, the gist of it is giving thanks to God during the hard times (nice thought) even when he seems to be nowhere in sight (not such a nice thought). I remember sitting in the Kroger parking lot just to get away and crying while the words washed over me.
I was sure by now, God You would have reached down
and wiped our tears away,
stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say amen
and it's still raining
as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away.
And I'll praise you in this storm
and I will lift my hands
for You are who You are
no matter where I am
It helped at the time, but as I grew in who I was, I started to resent the song and what it represented. "Wait, so I'm supposed to stay here, miserable, and let myself get shipwrecked over and over? Without any hope of rescue or end in sight?" I couldn't keep it up. I got stronger. The magical help I was waiting for wasn't coming, refused to come. Was either incapable or unwilling. I was the only help I was ever going to get. So God was with me. Great. But I was still in pieces.
The first time I heard "Turning Tables", it struck a chord in me. It was who I was, who I'd grown into. And I was so happy to be me.
Under haunted skies I see you
Where love is lost, your ghost is found
I braved a hundred storms to leave you
As hard as you try, no I will never be knocked down
I can't keep up with your turning tables
Under your thumb, I can't breathe
So I won't let you close enough to hurt me, no
I won't ask you, you to just desert me
I can't give you, what you think you give me
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables
Turning tables
Next time I'll be braver
I'll be my own savior
When the thunder calls for me
Next time I'll be braver
I'll be my own savior
I love "Turning Tables" because of the quiet strength it exudes. It turned my memory back 6-7 years. Things with my parents had reached the height of their nastiness. I spent more time than not dissolving into tears at the daily heartache. My personal theme songs went from "Who I Am Hates Who I've Been" (self loathing at its best) to "Praise You In This Storm". It was even my ringtone for my parents. For those of you who have never heard it, the gist of it is giving thanks to God during the hard times (nice thought) even when he seems to be nowhere in sight (not such a nice thought). I remember sitting in the Kroger parking lot just to get away and crying while the words washed over me.
I was sure by now, God You would have reached down
and wiped our tears away,
stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say amen
and it's still raining
as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain,
"I'm with you"
and as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise
the God who gives and takes away.
And I'll praise you in this storm
and I will lift my hands
for You are who You are
no matter where I am
It helped at the time, but as I grew in who I was, I started to resent the song and what it represented. "Wait, so I'm supposed to stay here, miserable, and let myself get shipwrecked over and over? Without any hope of rescue or end in sight?" I couldn't keep it up. I got stronger. The magical help I was waiting for wasn't coming, refused to come. Was either incapable or unwilling. I was the only help I was ever going to get. So God was with me. Great. But I was still in pieces.
The first time I heard "Turning Tables", it struck a chord in me. It was who I was, who I'd grown into. And I was so happy to be me.
Under haunted skies I see you
Where love is lost, your ghost is found
I braved a hundred storms to leave you
As hard as you try, no I will never be knocked down
I can't keep up with your turning tables
Under your thumb, I can't breathe
So I won't let you close enough to hurt me, no
I won't ask you, you to just desert me
I can't give you, what you think you give me
It's time to say goodbye to turning tables
Turning tables
Next time I'll be braver
I'll be my own savior
When the thunder calls for me
Next time I'll be braver
I'll be my own savior
Standing on my own two feet
I would never have to rely on anyone else. I've saved myself a hundred times since then. A few times a year when things pop up that seem insurmountable, I take immeasurable comfort in the storms I've braved so far and the storms that can never knock me down again. But it took me every single one of those hurts to form scar tissue thick enough.
I rocked my sweet little baby and almost laughed as I sang "I won't let you close enough to hurt me." That line applied to nearly everyone in my life but her. I couldn't block her out if I tried. She is an ingrained part of my soul, the deepest and most personal part of me. I hope Lilah will be strong enough one day to shove away a relationship that could destroy her. I hope she realizes just how much in life is optional. You always have a choice. Some are harder than others, but one of the most liberating things in the world is to smile and walk away from a bridge you left burning. Even if it feels like you're burning a part of yourself, one day you can look back and dance around the funeral pyre that turned out to be just the cauterization of a wound.
I rocked my sweet little baby and almost laughed as I sang "I won't let you close enough to hurt me." That line applied to nearly everyone in my life but her. I couldn't block her out if I tried. She is an ingrained part of my soul, the deepest and most personal part of me. I hope Lilah will be strong enough one day to shove away a relationship that could destroy her. I hope she realizes just how much in life is optional. You always have a choice. Some are harder than others, but one of the most liberating things in the world is to smile and walk away from a bridge you left burning. Even if it feels like you're burning a part of yourself, one day you can look back and dance around the funeral pyre that turned out to be just the cauterization of a wound.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Rootless tree
I'm feeling odd today. A unique combination of two profoundly different emotions. I seem to have drifted apart from the only older family member I had left, and it's left me feeling both apathetic and deeply injured.
There was no major fight or disagreement. Just life and the way we want to live it. Two very separate paths that finally forked left me yet again feeling orphaned. Simply put, I am not the kind of person she chooses to be intimately involved with anymore. I choose spirituality over religion, candor over censorship, and most importantly, I choose myself over approval.
While this doesn't directly relate to my parenting of Lilah, in a way it absolutely does. She doesn't share a single drop of blood with some of the people that love her best. Adam, Dennis, Mellisa, Erin, Ryan, Rob, the Bells, Avery, Mia, Kevin, Whitney, Bob and Gen. This doesn't even touch the aunties, cousins, grandparents, and uncles who are related to her. For her, I'm truly content that she isn't missing anything. She, like Dano, is entwined in a family with history, traditions, memories, and love and is beloved and adored for who she is.
I feel a strong sense of transplantation. I was taken from where I started and I have truly thrived elsewhere. Like the tomato plants on my porch, I put down roots and grew happily where I was planted. But it's days like today where I look at the Ball tomato plants that have flourished into a veritable jungle and I look at mine and realize with a deep pang of heartbreak that their roots have hit the bottom of pot. I could take the fruits I've grown and plant them in someone else's yard and they grow into amazingly tall, healthy miracles. But mine have gone as deep as they can go and the best they have to hope for is that the seeds they worked so hard to grow will have an easier time.
As silly as it is, it hurts on Mad Men every time someone looks suspiciously at Don Draper and says accusingly, "He can't be trusted. He doesn't even have any people." And for as easily as Dano can reassuringly tell me, "Sweetheart, the past doesn't matter," it does. All those buried, half-forgotten memories and wishes no one can ever grant are ever on the lookout for the slightest foothold to claw their way to the surface again. The history I desperately wish I had is non-existent and now with this one last family tie that was so neatly snipped, I can't even pretend anymore. In a sense, it's a relief. When I realized I wasn't who she wanted, all those old emotions rushed back. "What can I do to fix it? What can I change?" But they were brushed away like a dead leaf that falls on your shoulder. I just shook my head. "Not this time." It wasn't even tempting. I've had it with this constant process of self-modification to meet the standards of others. If I have to change who I'm comfortable being and sacrifice my sense of self to be a little more palatable for you, then I'm very sorry but you aren't worth the work it would take to make you happy.
Give me one decent reason that the "me" I grew into isn't good enough for you. It's such a racket and it's a hampster wheel I hopped off of years ago.
I have just accepted that some days are worse than others. 99% of the time I'm so happy with the life I'm living, I forget the one I missed out on. It's those 1% days that are like poison in my blood. Just a drop and a few heartbeats later, I'm septic.
But not Lilah. Never Lilah. Not as long as I'm breathing. For her it's pure air, blue skies, clear water, and unconditional acceptance from the people who made her. She was "good enough" from the moment she was born and she's exceeded my expectations ever since.
There was no major fight or disagreement. Just life and the way we want to live it. Two very separate paths that finally forked left me yet again feeling orphaned. Simply put, I am not the kind of person she chooses to be intimately involved with anymore. I choose spirituality over religion, candor over censorship, and most importantly, I choose myself over approval.
While this doesn't directly relate to my parenting of Lilah, in a way it absolutely does. She doesn't share a single drop of blood with some of the people that love her best. Adam, Dennis, Mellisa, Erin, Ryan, Rob, the Bells, Avery, Mia, Kevin, Whitney, Bob and Gen. This doesn't even touch the aunties, cousins, grandparents, and uncles who are related to her. For her, I'm truly content that she isn't missing anything. She, like Dano, is entwined in a family with history, traditions, memories, and love and is beloved and adored for who she is.
I feel a strong sense of transplantation. I was taken from where I started and I have truly thrived elsewhere. Like the tomato plants on my porch, I put down roots and grew happily where I was planted. But it's days like today where I look at the Ball tomato plants that have flourished into a veritable jungle and I look at mine and realize with a deep pang of heartbreak that their roots have hit the bottom of pot. I could take the fruits I've grown and plant them in someone else's yard and they grow into amazingly tall, healthy miracles. But mine have gone as deep as they can go and the best they have to hope for is that the seeds they worked so hard to grow will have an easier time.
As silly as it is, it hurts on Mad Men every time someone looks suspiciously at Don Draper and says accusingly, "He can't be trusted. He doesn't even have any people." And for as easily as Dano can reassuringly tell me, "Sweetheart, the past doesn't matter," it does. All those buried, half-forgotten memories and wishes no one can ever grant are ever on the lookout for the slightest foothold to claw their way to the surface again. The history I desperately wish I had is non-existent and now with this one last family tie that was so neatly snipped, I can't even pretend anymore. In a sense, it's a relief. When I realized I wasn't who she wanted, all those old emotions rushed back. "What can I do to fix it? What can I change?" But they were brushed away like a dead leaf that falls on your shoulder. I just shook my head. "Not this time." It wasn't even tempting. I've had it with this constant process of self-modification to meet the standards of others. If I have to change who I'm comfortable being and sacrifice my sense of self to be a little more palatable for you, then I'm very sorry but you aren't worth the work it would take to make you happy.
Give me one decent reason that the "me" I grew into isn't good enough for you. It's such a racket and it's a hampster wheel I hopped off of years ago.
I have just accepted that some days are worse than others. 99% of the time I'm so happy with the life I'm living, I forget the one I missed out on. It's those 1% days that are like poison in my blood. Just a drop and a few heartbeats later, I'm septic.
But not Lilah. Never Lilah. Not as long as I'm breathing. For her it's pure air, blue skies, clear water, and unconditional acceptance from the people who made her. She was "good enough" from the moment she was born and she's exceeded my expectations ever since.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Family Reunion
This weekend has been one big giant gathering of Dano's family. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, children, siblings, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Lilah has been greatly enjoying herself and largely well behaved. Considering the lack of sleep, over stimulation, constant activity, and optional naps, things have gone better than they could have.
I have felt displaced and odd. Not upset or sad. I just don't really know how to feel. It has been fast paced and busy. I feel like the gathering of people have been very focused on where we're going and what we're doing. The Alexanders and Balls (who are the normal Detroit area crew) are usually content to hang around, sometimes eat, sometimes do something, but the who is always more of a focus than the what or where.
While taking cover from the rain today, Ephraim was interrogating me and Larry about the different "baby songs" sung to each child. Lilah's was "Bandit Queen" and "Ida, Sweet as Apple Cider" (only we sang "Lilah" instead of "Ida"). EJ's was "Bye Bye Baby". I can't remember Zedd's. He asked what mine was. I didn't have one. "Well who sang to you?"
"Nobody."
"Why didn't your mama or daddy?"
"They didn't like to sing."
"Why not? Where are they?"
"Far away."
"Why aren't they here? Where do they live?"
"I don't even know anymore, Eph."
There are no members of Dano's family whom I dislike. They all like me and accepted me into the family. I have no in-law horror stories. I just truly don't know how to interact. I have gotten very comfortable with Kim, Adam, the boys, Ann, Larry, and Max. I feel like me around them. But add others into the mix that I have met once or twice or not at all, and I feel lost. They have the same blood in their veins that flows through the child in my arms, but they're total strangers to me. Yet people like Dennis (Adam's dad) share no relation to my little family whatsoever, but feel like blood. It's so confusing to me, who doesn't know what a normal family unit looks like, let alone all this extended family nonsense.
I would love to have one more day of my weekend to recover before going back to work tomorrow, but that's not in the cards. It's been nonstop activity since Friday at 6 and I'm worn out just from the business of it all. Flu season will be starting at work soon and I need all the time I can get before that madness. Labor Day is fast approaching and I have 5 days off. I'd like to go camping or something, but we'll see what happens. In the meantime, I am really enjoying the small, boring unit that is my family and learning to live and be happy in the moment instead of always looking frantically forward to the next thing I'm supposed to be doing. I'm content being unexciting.
I have felt displaced and odd. Not upset or sad. I just don't really know how to feel. It has been fast paced and busy. I feel like the gathering of people have been very focused on where we're going and what we're doing. The Alexanders and Balls (who are the normal Detroit area crew) are usually content to hang around, sometimes eat, sometimes do something, but the who is always more of a focus than the what or where.
While taking cover from the rain today, Ephraim was interrogating me and Larry about the different "baby songs" sung to each child. Lilah's was "Bandit Queen" and "Ida, Sweet as Apple Cider" (only we sang "Lilah" instead of "Ida"). EJ's was "Bye Bye Baby". I can't remember Zedd's. He asked what mine was. I didn't have one. "Well who sang to you?"
"Nobody."
"Why didn't your mama or daddy?"
"They didn't like to sing."
"Why not? Where are they?"
"Far away."
"Why aren't they here? Where do they live?"
"I don't even know anymore, Eph."
There are no members of Dano's family whom I dislike. They all like me and accepted me into the family. I have no in-law horror stories. I just truly don't know how to interact. I have gotten very comfortable with Kim, Adam, the boys, Ann, Larry, and Max. I feel like me around them. But add others into the mix that I have met once or twice or not at all, and I feel lost. They have the same blood in their veins that flows through the child in my arms, but they're total strangers to me. Yet people like Dennis (Adam's dad) share no relation to my little family whatsoever, but feel like blood. It's so confusing to me, who doesn't know what a normal family unit looks like, let alone all this extended family nonsense.
I would love to have one more day of my weekend to recover before going back to work tomorrow, but that's not in the cards. It's been nonstop activity since Friday at 6 and I'm worn out just from the business of it all. Flu season will be starting at work soon and I need all the time I can get before that madness. Labor Day is fast approaching and I have 5 days off. I'd like to go camping or something, but we'll see what happens. In the meantime, I am really enjoying the small, boring unit that is my family and learning to live and be happy in the moment instead of always looking frantically forward to the next thing I'm supposed to be doing. I'm content being unexciting.
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