Kisses

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Do you ever have moments with your children that are so sweet that they are also simultaneously painful?  You just ache at the sweetness and at the realization that This Thing (what ever it is) is so fleeting.  And the very temporary-ness of it causes you actual, physical pain.

I've had many of these moments lately.  These children are just too much to take.  They adore each other.  And lately they've been conspiring against me.  Whispering in each other's ear behind my back.  "Ask her for a kiss and then run away." or "When she kisses you, wipe her kiss away - she HATES that!".  It's so cute.  I can't stand it.

I love that they love each other. I love it so much it makes me ache.

Although he's right, I *do* hate it when she wipes my kiss away.

You Are My Sunshine

my only sunshine

I have spent all day (ALL DAY!) trying to come up with the perfect way to thank you for your kind comments yesterday.

But there is just no way to convey how much it meant to me.  So I'll just say "thank you".  Yes you.  There in the back.  You too.  Thank all of you.  If you were here I'd lay my head on your shoulder and weep until you felt uncomfortable.  Then you'd back away slowly while mumbling something about being late for an appointment.

But wait! Where are you going? You made me feel Good Enough is what I'm trying to say.

And that was perfect.



ps - After MUCH frustration, I finally figured out how to change my comments section so that it is easier for you to leave a comment.  Now you can comment anonymously, which is apparently much easier if you do not have a Google ID.  So YAY! However, if you DO leave a comment anonymously, you might SIGN IT so I know who you are.  If you want me to know.  Or don't.  Oh but I'll find you.  I'll find you my little pretty.  And your little dog, too.

Perfection Paralysis

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Daylight savings time has done a number on my psyche.  I was already sort of mopey and just.. blurrrgh before, but now that headlights are coming on at 4:45pm, I'm totally yaaaakkk and also uhnnngh.

My brain tells me "you are failing".  All the time.  At everything!  My house is dirty: FAILURE.  My kid is struggling with school: FAILURE.  My thighs are fat: FAILING. My husband is under terrible stress: MUST BE MY FAULT.

Oh my GOSH, brain!  You are an asshole.

So just now, I decided to write down exactly what my life would look like if I were doing it perfectly.  Because, we all know that the only way we're NOT failing, is if we're doing it all perfectly, right? Yes. Just nod your head.

You would not BELIEVE the list I accumulated.  It was long.  Loooooong.  And I kept thinking of MORE WAYS to be perfect. Perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect friend. Perfect writer.  Perfect photographer.  Perfect.

And do you know what I discovered? I'm perfectly INSANE.  Nuts.  Certifiable.

Just the act of WRITING DOWN the outrageous expectations I have for myself made me see how ridiculous I'm being.  Also?  I see now that those sorts of expectations are crippling to me.  Instead of doing things "well" and being satisfied, I am constantly so disappointed that I just... sit.  I freeze up at my total ineptitude.  My complete lack of perfection.

What the hell, ME?

I hate the idea of being "good enough", but aren't we all, really?  None of us are perfect.  The best we can hope for is "good enough".

Right?

No really.  I'm asking.  Tell me Good Enough is good enough. 

Shaken

So, my dog was acting all weird last week.  So weird that I took him to the vet assuming he'd had some sort of stroke.  They could find nothing much wrong - at least nothing that could be causing him pain and confusion

The vet sent me home with a pat on the head and some medication for Parker's "mystery ailments".

And then? That night? WE HAD AN EARTHQUAKE.  In OKLAHOMA.

And then?  Twenty four hours later? WE HAD ANOTHER ONE. 

Credit :: here

And now I've decided the dog knew the earthquakes were coming.

Because now?  Now that the earthquakes are over?  He seems to be feeling better.

Of course, that *could* have something to do with the heavy narcotics and steroids he's been on since Thursday. 

But probably it's the quakes, right?  I mean, they say animals have a sixth sense about these things.
too bad *I* had no idea the earthquakes were coming. If anyone needs me, I'll be over here sampling the pet narcotics.

Yipe!

Doggone it!

So, my sweet little doggie is sick. 

Doesn't he look pitiful?

And he's not just regular sick (yelping and restless and refusing to eat), he's also totally confused.  He acts like he doesn't know us, and he's doing wacko things like leaping into the laundry basket and refusing to get out.

Needless to say, I'm worried about him.  So I took him to the vet where I was told that he has a mild ear infection and a severe heart murmur.  The ear infection they were able to treat for the bargain price of $124.  The heart murmur requires an ecocardiogram and blood work.  That price? $600.

SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS.

I didn't have the heart to tell the vet that I wouldn't get an eco on MY heart if it cost $600 right now. 

So I bought the ear infection meds and the steroids for his back pain and I left.  And now I feel terrible.  My poor dog.  I can't afford for him to get old and sick right now. 

He's currently laying on my bathroom floor curled up on a pile of my dirty pajamas.   Maybe dying?  I have no idea.

I'm considering sleeping near him tonight.  Although I have no idea what I'd do for him except wring my hands and grind my teeth to dust.

In other (only slightly related) news, I was bitten by a  neighbor's dog this evening.  I was delivering cookies of all things, and the dog leaped up, sunk its teeth into my shirt and ripped a rather impressive hole in it.

I tried not to be pissed.  I failed.

I have clearly angered the canine gods today.

Like a Baby

Dave and I were married for five years before we ever even entertained the idea of children.  We married fairly young (I was 23, Dave was barely 25), and we wanted to enjoy our time together.

As as it turned out, we got to enjoy two MORE years together before William entered the world.  Those two years of unexplained infertility were crummy.  My work suffered (yes! I had an actual PAYING job back then!), and I was exhausted from all the tests and the waiting and wondering and the not-being-able-to-plan. 

I don't remember talking to my mother much about it all - I think I was worried she'd worry, or worse, get her hopes up for a grandbaby, only to have them dashed by my clearly inhospitable uterus.

But I did talk to my dad.  Not about the details - in fact, thinking about the details of some of those tests STILL make me blush - but about the struggle and the frustration.  I figured he was a man, which meant that he would politely listen but would not get too very invested in the whole "potential grandbaby" part of the situation.

Dad and I had lunch every Wednesday for a good seven years before he died.  We rarely talked on the phone between lunches.  Instead, I'd "save up" for our hour-long meetings each week.  And for those two years of infertility, he got more than an earful. 

And I *thought* he was taking it all in stride.  I really did.

Which is why, when we finally (FINALLY!) became pregnant in 2003, I decided daddy was the only person I could tell before the "safe" 12 week mark. 

I arrived, as usual, for our Wednesday lunch, and after we ordered, I think I said something like "well! I'm finally pregnant.".  Very matter of fact. 

AND MY BIG 'OL DADDY BURST INTO TEARS.  I'm not kidding.  Right there in the booth of On the Border.  Bawled like a newborn baby.  And just when I'd think he was pulling himself together, he'd just well up again and boohoo.  The man made an absolute spectacle of himself.

And do you know what I did? I laughed at him!  Because this?  This weeping man before me?  SO NOT MY DADDY.  Who was this man? 

He was a grandfather.  And boy was he happy about it.

That day marked the beginning of his involvement in my pregnancy.  He was interested in all of it.  How I was feeling - both mentally ("are you fearful about becoming a parent?") and physically ("what does it FEEL like to have a HUMAN in your belly?).  He was truly fascinated. 

And when I delivered William in a hospital 40  minutes from his home, Daddy drove to the hospital EVERY SINGLE DAY to see me.  He'd come first thing in the morning and bring me breakfast.  He said he came early so that he didn't have to share the baby with anyone.  Again: WHO WAS THIS MAN?

He even came to my house every morning for the first week I was home.  Just popped in with a biscuit for me - just so he could hold his grandchild.

I'd never seen him love anyone like he loved my boy.  Now that he's gone it makes me sad and happy all at the same time. 

And I'll always wonder what he would have thought about this one.

She has no idea what she's missing.

Although I'm pretty sure I know.

You Be the Judge

I had a dental appointment today.  Just a normal cleaning.  But I was faced with the new reality that I have both of my kids with me most days now.  Which meant I had to drag their hineys with me to the dentist.

I mean, what other choice did I have?  (Ok, I could have hired a sitter for an hour - but seriously?  For an hour?  Who would do that?  Answer: no one.)

The dentist's entire office is maybe the size of a postage stamp, which meant that I could (maybe?) leave my kids sitting quietly out THERE in the waiting room while I went back and had my teeth cleaned.  I was within earshot, but I couldn't actually SEE them while I was in the chair with various instruments scraping (OH GOD I HATE THE SCRAPING) my teeth.

I planned ahead and brought along my iPad and after threatening them with severe bodily harm if they DARED make so much as a PEEP or moved an inch off of that couch, I started up a movie and went back for THE SCRAPING.

And do you know what? They did it!  They peacefully watched their movie. The receptionist reported that they were perfect angels.

But I was a nervous wreck the entire time I was back there.   I worried that they would 1) disturb others or 2) get kidnapped.

Yeesh.  Motherhood is tricky.

And what about leaving your kids in the car?  How old is "old enough" to be locked in the car while mommy runs into the convenience store (you know, to get her special bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a pack of Marlboros - KIDDING.)  I mean, if the car isn't running, and the doors are locked, and I can SEE the car from the window, what could possibly happen?

And yet I rarely have even considered it.  Because SOMETHING might happen, and then wouldn't I be judged? Can't you just SEE that headline? "Mother Abandons Children in Parking Lot, Molesters Respond Accordingly".

What do you think?  Would you have left your kids ALONE in the waiting room of the dentist's office? 



p.s.  Guess what?  I HAVE A CAVITY.  The day after Halloween they discover a cavity.  HOW POETIC.