Depth of Impact

Introvert. That's what I am. I have a hard time with crowds, with new places, with being outgoing, striking up conversations, unless I get my adequate "alone" time where I can recharge my batteries on my own…

When we moved here three years ago, it was a struggle everyday trying to figure out how to get my introverted self to find a sense of belonging, to get to know new people and let them get to know me. It was easier for me to stay home and hideout.

Then about ten months after the move, I was invited to a bible study where I met a few ladies. One of them stood out to me because her extrovertedness was just so mind-boggling to me. I felt like I met her and had instantly become her friend. At first I wondered how that could be, how a complete stranger could become a new friend in an instant, but I soon learned that was just one of the many gifts my friend possessed.

I've always said that I'm not good at keeping in touch with people, but I learned it can be easy if I just pop a note into someone's inbox when I think of them. I truly believe that whenever my friend thought about someone, she would send them a text or message letting them know so. She had such good timing, too. It seemed whenever I was a bit down, her messages would pop into my inbox with the cheerful start, "I was thinking of you today, friend."

I met quite a few people because of her, too. She would ask me, "Have you met my friend so-and-so yet? I think you two should meet." Or "I know someone whose child goes to the same school as yours…It would be great if you two became friends!" I eventually did meet those people and become friends with them…

So I give my friend a lot of credit for helping me with a rough transition and breaking through that barrier moving from living someplace that felt foreign to one that I'd now call home.

As I met others who knew her, they all mentioned how much they adored her and how grateful they were to have a friend like her. It truly is a testament to how you live your life when there are just so many people telling you just how wonderful that someone is.

I admired her way of life and how she lived it, how she loved Jesus, how she loved others and how she wasn't afraid to show it.

But it can be said that when a person has such a deep impact on others, such a wide reach into the hearts of many, that it leaves that much of a deeper hole when they are gone.

Such is true for my friend…when I heard that she had passed away two days before Christmas, I just started crying the moment I heard. I thought, "how silly…it's not like I've known her all that long or as well as others that I know." But that's the thing…it's not always about the time spent, but the depth of the impact that they had on you, because it also means that the emptiness you feel when they're gone is that much deeper, too.

She had such a big heart. A big heart who impacted many around her. A big heart who wasn't afraid to show love and care for everyone around her young and old.

Her last message to me simply said, "Thank you. Love you."

And then she was gone…

Depth of impact. The deeper the impact, the greater the emptiness...

Meal Planning Misery

In college, I had a monthly budget. I used it to pay rent, pay utilities, buy food and anything else I chose to pay for that month. I thought I was pretty good at keeping within my budget, especially when it came to buying food. I cooked and bought food that was at lower cost and I managed to have enough for going out on weekends with friends.

So I've been driving myself nuts as I've been meal planning and writing up grocery lists each week trying to figure out how to keep the costs down…

It dawned upon me that when I was in college, I didn't worry too much about my health…so dinners of cereal? Definitely. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all the time? Yup, did that. Skip a meal in order to study? Yup, did that, too. Buy 10 packets of ramen for a $1? Isn't that a staple of young adulthood?

Enter kids. Enter the mom complex. It's the battle between the mom-that-I-think-I'm-supposed-to-be and the-mom-that-I-am-in-order-to-make-it-to-the-next-day.

I would love to be the all-organic mom who bakes cookies for the kids upon their return from school, or whose house is uncluttered and free of dust, but in reality anything I bake becomes charcoal and I'm staring at the piles of stuff on the floor hoping they'll "poof" themselves into their proper places.

So my meal planning misery is thus: I write down my plans every week into my online calendar, I make the lists for grocery shopping onto my online lists, but how often do I really follow it? How often have I just given up and called Matt and asked, "Could you pick something up on the way home?"

Today I planned to make ribs. I didn't have to run to the store to buy anything because the meat is in my freezer. The problem being...the meat is in my freezer. It's still in my freezer. It's hard as a rock.

This is my problem with meal planning…I can't plan for things like defrosting meat. Or side dishes. I just realized that we can't just eat ribs, can we? Does this mean I need to put a salad together? I don't have anything for a salad. Plus, the kids have to be somewhere at 6:30 pm, so I don't have time for this! What's the point of having a meal plan if I have to plan to defrost, make side dishes, have stuff for side dishes, and fit it all in before leaving for something else?

Okay. Meal planning rant over. Mac n' cheese it is. Thank God for mac n' cheese.

[fill in the blank] Mom

"Are you an 'attachment parenting' mom or a 'cry-it-out method' mom?"

It seems that there is always some label associated with being a mom.

"Are you a 'stay-at-home' mom or are you a 'working' mom?"

"Look at you, 'soccer' mom!"

Even a radio station where I used to live had a segment where they would speak to a "mad-mom-in-a-minivan."

I hated all the labels. It made me feel so stuck as a mom, that everyone knew what type of person I was because I carried my baby all the time or because I made my baby cry themselves to sleep. As a SAHM (stay-at-home mom, for those of you who don't know), I felt confined to fit a certain role, some sort of "ideal" mom role that I often stressed myself out over when I found I just couldn't manage it all. Some moms seem to have it all together, but me I was crying over the fact that I could barely brush my teeth in the morning.

So I changed my perspective and decided that I needed to forget the labels and just become a "survival" mom. This meant that my parenting books would have to be taken with a grain of salt, advice from others should be considered a suggestion not something I had to follow lest be looked down upon, and overall I just needed to do and decide what was a priority and let the rest go.

I also decided that the labels needed to go, but I tell you I'm still learning how to do that.

A couple weeks ago at a soccer game I was watching another mom yelling at her five-year-old on the field.

"You can do better than that!"

"Just kick it in the goal! Kick it in the goal!"

"Where are you going? The ball is over here!"

I turned to my friend next to me and whispered, "If I ever become THAT mom who yells at my kids' games, please kick me in the shins."

Later as I thought about it, I realized I shouldn't have said that. I had just labelled another mom using the most ambiguous yet negatively-connoted "THAT" mom. Even if I wasn't necessarily speaking about the mom that I saw at the field, but rather moms in general who I thought were too hard on their kids at the soccer field, I still shouldn't have said that.

Because who gives me the right to judge moms without knowing anything about them or their kids? Nobody. Instead I proved to myself that I was THAT mom...you know, the judgmental one who wishes she could take the time machine back and do a retake? Instead I'll just have to settle for being THIS mom...the one who takes her thoughtless words and hopefully learns not to make that mistake again.

Yup. HUMBLED Mom. That I am.

Bully Bully...

I was a petite kid. I was always one of the smallest kids in my class. It wasn't until high school that I starting growing to normal heights.

My short stature caused me much grief when I was in elementary school. I don't know what it was, but somehow being short and Asian meant it was okay to pick on me.

"Baby Carina! You're so cute!" said the girl from my class as she pinched my cheeks to numbness, all the while talking in a voice that you'd use only on babies and dogs.

Of course, I was also plagued with the shyness disease, so my only response was to blink a few times and suffer through the pain.

Definitely not one of my fonder memories.

Or the time in second grade when a girl in the class down the hall decided that she just didn't like me and grabbed me by the chin to threaten me. "What are you looking at? Don't sit next to me!"

I don't remember doing anything to provoke her...I just sat next to her because the teacher told me to do so. Needless to say, I was scared of that girl for the rest of the time she was at our school...

...or the sixth grade girl who would constantly tell me to change lockers with her because she was so much taller than the eighth grade me who happened to have a top locker above her...and her friend who threatened to beat me up after school because I got fed up with the ridicule and used a few choice words in turn...

So it doesn't surprise me that Bear isn't even close to being one of the tallest in her class, but it does surprise me that no matter how many decades have passed, the same issue always rears its ugly head.

A couple weeks ago I watched as one of Bear's soccer teammates came up to her and pinched her cheeks and patted her head and told her how cute she was. I watched warily.

Tonight, after practice, two of the girls decided to play "keep away" with Bear in the middle. Even when Matt and I called for Bear to come, the girls wouldn't give the ball back and kept passing the ball between them with Bear running in between.

She's a good kid. She smiled through the whole thing...

...but I wasn't smiling, that's for sure.

In my head I was debating whether my second grade memories were clouding my judgment of the situation making it bigger than it really was or whether I should just let the incident go as a first time thing and bring up issue if it happens again. Luckily the coach stepped in and deflected the situation (not resolving, mind you) and helped Bear go on her way.

In the car I had to ask Bear what she thought of the situation...she remained quiet for a while before responding, "I don't know." As her parent, I know that if it didn't bother her she would have then asked, "what do you mean?" Instead, her quiet, "I don't know," told me that she really was bothered but didn't want to say anything about it because she didn't want to upset anybody.

So we chatted and we talked about ways that she could get out of situations like that...Chipmunk piped in his two cents as well..."You should tell them to stop! If they do mean things, you have to tell them to stop and walk away!" He was very cutely emphatic about it.

The problem with sending our kids out into the world is that they have to actually be in the world and deal with the issues the world throws at them. I keep telling myself that these "blips" and how we deal with them will make them into better adults, but sigh...it hurts to know that their innocence is being chipped away little by little...

So next practice, I'll be watching like a hawk, and before then I'll be praying and praying some more, and in the meantime, I'll be sure to continue the conversation with my children in hopes that they'll have the courage to act accordingly if the situation should arise again.

It may only seem like a little thing to most people ("kids will be kids, right?"), but seeing how I vividly remember my memories after almost thirty years...I'm not taking any chances with my own kids.

Part of the Neighborhood

Some days my kids strap on their helmets and bike/scooter down the street. I follow them slowly by foot and eventually we make our way about a block down to a street with a cul-de-sac. When we get there, there are already 7-8 kids rolling about on their inline skates, bicycles and scooters. My daughter greets them all, knowing most of them from school, and then my kids instantly add their vehicles to the kid traffic. I hesitantly join the other moms on the sidewalk and try to add to the chatter, although feeling a bit shy.

I often think, "So this is what it's like to be part of a neighborhood..."

Our previous neighborhood, was a bit different. I met our neighbors, but never really chatted with them or let the kids play with their kids. I mean, when your neighbor gets arrested in the middle of the night on your doorstep the conversation starters are a bit different..."Were you the ones who called the cops on me?" "Nope, it wasn't us...Have a nice day." Or when the kids from your complex and the complex next door are egging each other on to "jump off the roof" on a lazy summer day, you tend to make a mental note to not let your kids ever meet those kids.

Not that it was an unsafe neighborhood...just different. Neighbors never dropped by to say "hello" unless they were also asking if we knew whose car was blocking the driveway. If I happened to be outside and a neighbor walked by, greetings were rare. Now people I've never met wave at us and often stop to chat about the weather or random happenings in the neighborhood. They've even stopped me in my car while I'm leaving the driveway, just to say hello.

And you know, I still can't get used to it...the friendliness, the hospitality, the acceptance and immediate trust that I've encountered here. I can't say I feel all that comfortable with it.

There's this unsettling distrust that has permeated my ability to freely socialize that I think may just be common in most (I'll just outright say it) LA people (Los Angeles...not Louisiana). I've been trying to break through that, but I think it will take me a while...I have so much distrust that I even arm the car alarm when it's parked in the connected garage at night. I have this sense of anxiety rather than pleasantry when strangers talk to me at grocery stores. When people I've met for the first time ask for my phone number or email, I recoil inside and wonder for what nefarious reason they want this information.

In the meantime, the kids love being part of a friendly neighborhood...They wave at the neighbors going to the community pool across the street and wave at neighbors walking their canine companions about. They play with anyone at the local park and excitedly socialize at the community events (Yes, there are community events...go figure!). We drive down our hill and they recognize cars that belong to their friends' parents. It's one of those places that you can't go anywhere without running into someone that you know or are familiar with. And everyday at school drop-off and pick-up you see...well...you see everyone.

It's not a bad thing. I'm thankful for the place that we are living in now, and I'm thankful that my kids are happy. Community just doesn't come so easily to me as it might to other people...so I'm learning, and perhaps sometime in the future, wherever we are, I'll be able to feel more like I'm part of the neighborhood, too.

The Next Stage...

So despite what we all think when we're toting around an infant, with lack of sleep and constant diaper changing muddling our thought processes, things really do change. Our little ones grow up and suddenly you find your home diaper-free and your car, stroller-free. Really. It does happen.

Your purse does not double as a diaper bag.

Your kids buckle themselves into the car.

You don't have to pack a change of clothes...or three.

You can sleep in a bit while the kids feed themselves breakfast.

The songs stuck in your head aren't from Disney Jr. or Nick Jr.

Your day's schedule is not structured around naptimes.

Your voice goes down an octave back to what it once was.

You can use sarcasm, and your kids get it.

Household chores can be completed while you sit, sipping coffee (as long as you've delegated properly).

I'll be honest. I never thought I'd get to this point. Parents with older kids kept telling me how things would change eventually. So many times I heard how the stress of parenting an infant/toddler would soon pass and although there would be different struggles ahead, in some ways parenting would get easier. Of course, amidst juggling a colicky baby and a short-napping toddler, this concept was just unfathomable. I would watch moms of older kids and wonder how they could be so calm amidst the chaos of parenthood...

But now, I kind of see why that is...My days are not filled with exploding poopy diapers, translating toddler speak, cleaning up after kids who like to dump everything out again, learning how to selectively listen to crying, leaving the house with fifty billion "necessary" items, figuring out how to pack groceries in the car amidst the strollers and paraphernalia...etc...

I've hit the next stage...and in some ways I like it here.

Slowly I've changed parental gears, and all those issues I faced only a couple of years ago seem almost distant and blurry...so much so, that the anguish I felt at the time is hazier, and the struggles seem mild, when at the time I felt they were catastrophic.

Of course, perhaps that's just how it is in life...the drama is greater in the present than it is in the past. As long as we look backward with a teachable spirit, willing to grow, moving onto the next stage isn't such a bad thing...

Then again, seeing that the teenage years are ahead somewhere...perhaps I shouldn't speak too soon.

Grown

Occasionally I lament the fact that my children are no longer little. Their pants suddenly meet halfway up their calves and their faces seemed to have changed shape overnight. Shoes are busting at the seams and short t-shirts have to be pulled back down lest we see their tummies poking out. They're growing up...quickly...maybe too quickly...

Chipmunk has a loose tooth. It's his first, and he's been telling everyone and their mothers about it. "Look! I have a loose tooth! It's my first one!"



I can't believe my baby boy has a loose tooth. I've been denying the loose tooth...mostly because it seems like it crept up on me out of nowhere. Granted, he got his first teeth rather early and quickly, so having his first loose tooth before starting kindergarten doesn't surprise me, but it's almost painful admitting that my babies are no longer babies.

What will your kids be doing in ten years?

This question was on one of our discussion questions at MOPs this past year.

Answering the question made a few moms tear up just thinking about their kids in a decade from now. I thought something was wrong with me because I wasn't sad or nostalgic or feeling emotional. After Chipmunk's preschool graduation, I noticed a few more moms tearing up at the occasion. I began to wonder if I was emotionally dead inside as my tear ducts were bone dry and I didn't feel sad in the least.

So it begs the question, why is it that a loose tooth is tugging at my previously hardened heartstrings? What is it about my son's now absent dentition that makes me feel so...sad?

Unnerving

Every now and then as I'm standing in the backyard, I take the opportunity to close my eyes and just listen to my surroundings. There's an occasional turkey call, or the wind rustling through the trees, but for the most part it is silent. As I'm standing there grasping for anything to listen to, I often reminisce about floating in the pool of my childhood home, with my ears submerged listening to the quiet ripples of the water.

I do this mostly because I find the quiet unnerving. I can't stand it. It's so unsettling that I purposely sit there in the quiet outside, raising my anxiety, because it intrigues me how much I dislike it.

When I close my eyes, I expect to hear cars rushing by at all hours of the day and night, people talking loudly while traveling from location to location, the buzz of the street lights and wires crisscrossing the sky, and the sounds of the television blaring from neighboring apartments or feet walking heavily across the floors above our heads.

But no...all I hear is just silence, and it imbues a feeling of isolation and loneliness...of disquiet within my own soul...and that disquiet unnerves me more than anything else.

Quiet Blog

It's been quiet here at this blog. If you ask Matt, he'll say it's because of this. Me? I'd say it's because I've been giving myself some extra needed downtime.

With naps phasing out of our home, my introverted need to retreat has been suffering without those precious two or three hours of quiet in the afternoon. Less time to myself...less time to reflect...therefore, less thoughts crossing my mind spurring me to write.

Instead there's just been more chaos. More metaphorical fires to put out, more times I collapse on the couch with a big sigh, more moments I wonder what goes on in those little heads that belong to my ever-busy children...

Noisy life = Quiet blog.

One of Those Days

It's been one of those days....one of those days when you can't decide whether it's you that's crazy or it's your child. You've had it up to here. You're patience is so thin you can see through it. Your brow is stuck in a furrow of frustration and you're afraid to open your mouth in case what comes out can't be taken back.

So you close your eyes, breathe in sharply, and exhale slowly hoping all your anger and worry will release with your outgoing breath. Your fists are clenched and your fingernails are pushing creases into your palms.

Helpless words escape your lips, "Help me, Lord." You feel the pressure building behind your eyes and the tell-tale tears are slowly pushing their way out despite how hard you try to suppress them. You are a bottled well of anger, frustration, feeling beat down and helplessly lacking control. You don't know whether to punch a wall or jump back into bed and hide. It's just been one of those days.

Then little flashes pop into your mind...and you remember. You remember the day you first held them in your arms. You remember their tiny little bottom lip pouting and crying only minutes after being born and just the sheer awe of knowing you love so much despite how you just met. You remember that first smile after weeks of colic that warmed you inside and out, melting away your weariness. You remember the first time they hugged you unprompted and said, "Yuv you," or the first time they sat in your lap wanting to be hugged.

And just like that, your frustration melts, your anger subsides, and you remind yourself that love is never easy, forgiveness is no small feat. You pick yourself up, prod yourself forward and do what you must whether it's cleaning up a mess or mentally revising how to approach the situation.

It's just one of those days...one of many to come...so you better find a way to cope, a way to right your spirits, a way to not let yourself be pushed over the edge, a way to make sure that when you put your head to your pillow at night you're not haunted by all the ways you could have been a better parent that day.

A Bit of Magic

Bear asks me a lot of "whys" these days. Why is the man going over there? Why do I have to sleep? Why are we not going to the zoo today? Why I have to wear pants? It's excessive at times, but what can I say? She's curious.

So I try my best to answer her questions as best as I can. Sometimes I find myself at a loss for words trying to explain some of the more difficult things.

One day after asking another why (Why the plants grow up and up and up? Why the clouds are hiding the sun? Why does the radio make music?), she came up with her own answer.

"I know! It's magic, right?"

I thought about it a while and didn't really correct her. If you look at it from a three and half year old perspective, most things are "magic." It's only as we get older and learn about things like cell growth, atmospheric change and radio waves that we stop seeing the "magic" in plant growth, a hiding sun, radio music or in a great many things for that matter.

Bear sees magic and miracles in all those things that seem so mundane and ordinary. Water spraying out of a fountain has no pipes or mechanisms connected to it, tomatoes turning red as they ripen have nothing to do with pigmentation and chemical change, and fun house mirrors are just fun and not a trick of bending light. To her, it's a magical world.

And so it shall be...

Yet, we get older, we learn more and we lose that appreciation and wonder of things that we can't explain. We see more heartache, we suffer through more challenges, and our days become settled in routines. The "whys" that we ask, tend to air more on the side of "why me?"

Perhaps seeing a little more "magic" in our days might be good for us...

Mommy Brain

Sometimes I feel like I lose out on a lot of intellectual stimulation being a stay at home mom. I mean, seriously, playing blocks and tickling kids doesn't amount to a whole lot of smarts. The fact that I can rattle off the tv schedule for PBS in the morning is not something that I am proud of, nor the fact that the majority of my education these days is confined to learning bits of Spanish and Mandarin from Nickelodeon.

I like learning. I love the fact that you can open a book and learn something new each time. I love libraries and bookstores and places of education. I love that the internet is brimming over with knowledge just waiting to be gleaned from. I get excited about the prospect of taking my kids to museums and aquariums. I peruse the adult school catalogs each season looking for classes I could potentially take when the opportunity arises.

Funny thing though...I wasn't a very good student. I usually do better when the learning comes of my own volition rather than on a forced schedule. So in my classes I always averaged out because I couldn't keep up with the school work or mentally handle that timeline on my syllabi. So time was never my thing, but in all honesty, I still have most of my college textbooks, and I still use them. I like to read them every once in a while for no other reason than the information fascinates me. Yup, kind of nerdy, huh?

Perhaps that's why I liked teaching. It was an opportunity to always learn, to find new things to pass on to my students. It was an opportunity to study up on teaching theories and child development. It gave me an excuse to read odd books just to have a wealth of knowledge to entertain my students.

So that explains my need to read half of the parenting books in existence when I found out we were expecting the first time around. It also explains why I reread some of the more pertinent ones the second time around. There's also the horrendous pile of books by my bedside and the hundreds of feeds flying into my Google Reader each day. It makes me feel like I'm not letting my brain turn to mush as I pretend I have no idea how to put together that 5-piece puzzle my daughter wants me to help her with.

Then again, I do love that look of accomplishment on Bear's face after she figures out that puzzle, and I'll take that over being smart any day.

Returning to Normal Land

With travel and illnesses, it's been slow trying to get back to what we call "normal" in our home. Bear is finally remembering to use her "please" and her "thank you" without our prompting. She's also remembering what it's like to actually take afternoon naps. Chipmunk who has been super-clingy and seems to have developed some kind of super-baby-anxiety is starting to regain his independence. Once his fever broke, he still wasn't acting like his usual happy self, but slowly, day by day, he's starting to regain his appetite for food and for life. And naps? Oh yes, the naps are getting back on track, too.

It's kind of funny though how hard you have to work just to adjust everyone back to a normal schedule, but it's definitely necessary for sanity.

Speaking of normal, here's a funny Bear story...



So she runs up to me like this, hat over one eye and says, "Look, Mommy! I'm a pirate! Arrrrrrrr!" Then she proceeded to "Arrrrr!" all over the livingroom.

Now that's normal for our home.

3 years

I can't believe our little girl is three years old today.



I still remember that night three years ago...coming home from a family Christmas, feeling like I ate one too many scoops of super cheesy mashed potatoes...Matt felt it, too (indigestion...ugh). We couldn't sleep that night and little did we know that we wouldn't sleep that night. I remember it was 3 am when I decided that I just couldn't sleep so I propped my pregnant self up with pillows to read a book. About 5 minutes into my reading I felt really weird and decided to get out of bed. As soon as I stepped into the bathroom my water broke, surprise hit my face and with a weak voice I managed to yell out to Matt who responded, "what! are you serious?!"

Calmly, yet quickly...we were out the door, into the car, driving quietly into the night to the unloading zone at the hospital...I remember a security guard wheeling me into labor and delivery...getting settled into a room and then the constant questions, check ups, contractions, ivs, whirlwind of procedures...

And then it all stopped...at least that's what it felt like to me. It was as if time slowed down as my little girl was being placed into my arms...my tiny baby girl with her chubby cheeks and soft mound of black hair. It was surreal.

And today, she's three years old. She's no longer my baby, but rather my child. She's roasting bears, drawing monsters and calling firemen on the phone. With her constant conversation and her insatiable curiosity (why? why? why?) and her beaming personality, I'm still as amazed now as I was back then.

3 years old. Wow.

Happy Birthday, Little Bear!

Ill Effects

My kids are ill again. It's becoming a little too common for my taste. They also have this knack for getting sick a week before we see the grandparents. Doesn't matter whether the grandparents are coming here for a visit or we're traveling to see them, they just have impeccable timing. And of course, now that Thanksgiving is fast approaching they seem to have caught another bug.

Bear caught the bug first. The fever was so sudden that it caused her to have another febrile seizure. And yes, I know it's a normal reaction to a sudden, rising fever for many young kids...nonetheless, it's still hard to watch. At least this time I didn't panic...just went down my mental checklist of to-dos (tylenol, lukewarm bath, lots of liquids, wait...). She was over the worst of it after a day of rest...

Next it was Chipmunk's turn (minus the seizure). He just felt warm tonight, so to be cautious I took his temp and the thermometer blinked 101.9 at me. So just to be safe, we took the same precautions and went down the fever checklist. Now he's sleeping, feels cooler to the touch, and I'm holding my breath because I know it's going to be a long night of wakings.

I know they'll be fine, they have strong immune systems, but every time they get sick my head runs through lists of questions usually starting with "Is it my fault??

I know I can't control what germs they come in contact with, nor would I want to be constantly covering them with antibiotic junk (not good!), but I start developing this itch every time they fall ill. It's the itch that tells me that my kids got sick because of something that I did or didn't do. I didn't clean the house enough. I didn't give them proper naps. I didn't wash their hands after letting them play somewhere. I let them eat that cheerio that fell on the carpet.

I know that it's not true, but I still think this way despite. Is this normal? Or am I the one that is sick?

Medical Mystery

Matt went to bed last night after dosing himself with some Nyquil trying to shake off the chills. I managed to put Chipmunk to sleep despite his head congestion and inability to breathe through his nose. Bear woke up at about 10:30 whimpering on and off because she was having trouble with her stuffy nose and couldn't comfortably fall asleep again for hours

Me? I'm quite well.

It's a medical mystery to me. I'm always healthy and my family is wheezing up a storm around me. I get the least amount of sleep, too. If anything, I should be the one who is sick all the time. It doesn't make sense to me.

My optimistic friends always tell me, "what's wrong with that? That's a good thing because then there is someone to take care of the rest of the family." True. If I was sick with the rest of them, I'd still have to take care of them all, just feel miserable while doing so.

I was sick a lot as a kid. Perhaps that has something to do with it. It got to the point where people stopped taking care of me because I already knew how to take care of myself. Whenever I came down with something, I got the, "oh she'll be fine-she's always sick" response, whereas my sister would complain of a stomach pain and they were plotting which route to take to the hospital. Then again, she just didn't get sick that often. Now she gets sick everytime she hangs out with my kids. Go figure.

So for the next couple of days and nights I'll be taking care of my family. I just hope after they're healthy again, they'll let me sleep for a couple of days.

Last to Bed

It's late. I know. This is just how it always is. I'm always the last to bed.

I just need to decompress after each day, and it seems that the length of decompression increases with each child added to the family. So I end up staying up late even though my body so desperately needs the sleep to function the next day.

That's just how it is with introverts. It's nice to be with other people, but afterwards it's even nicer to just be by yourself.

So I read, or blog, or even sew for an hour or so just to unwind before settling in. Then I go about the house, pick things up, turn off lights and head off to bed. Even before I step into our bedroom I detour into the kids room and watch their sweet little faces as they sleep.

Then once I feel that all is well, I'll climb into bed, tuck myself into the covers, and close my eyes. And it's those moments before I fall asleep where I replay my day, analyze my actions, muse in appreciation and sometimes have creative swirls that develop into ideas and plans.

Then after all is said and done, I finally sleep.

Myself!

Bear's latest rant usually involves her doing things on her own. She'll tell me, "no Mommy, I do it myself!" It's cute, but it reminds me of lessons that took me 30 years to learn...

I ran for student body president when I was in 5th grade. One of the things I wanted to do was fold a bunch of origami cranes and use them as handouts for my campaign. After folding a couple, I found it was too big of a task. My parents and my sister ended up helping me fold hundreds of cranes only after I cried in frustration. I remember my mom telling me, "why didn't you just ask for help?"

Chemistry was never my best subject (probably why I became a Biology major instead) and I remember how frustrated I was with my homework. I think I gave up half way down a worksheet because it just didn't make any sense...plus I had it in my head that my Chem teacher was nuts and didn't teach us a thing about how to work the problems. Instead of asking for help, I failed that chapter. Again I remember my mom helping me with the next chapter and asking me, "why didn't you just ask for help?"

In college I spent more of my time studying trying to learn how to work things on my own rather than use office hours to visit and discuss things with my professors, which probably would have been more beneficial. As a teacher I spent too much time muddling through trial and error rather than asking my colleagues for the best way they found to teach certain difficult concepts. Even when I'm toting around 2 kids and having difficulties, my first instinct is to try and find a way to deal with it on my own instead of simply asking a friend for a hand. That's just the way I am and I know it's not always a good thing.

Even my friends and family are keen to my problem. I often get told, "because I know you won't ask for help..." Of course I wonder if it's pride, fear or just plain stubbornness that makes me overburden myself so.

So it tickles a nerve within me when Bear makes her declaration to do things "Myself!" Of course, I always let her try because I love that she wants to learn, but my 30 years of "should-haves" always pushes me to tell her, "okay, but if you need help, just ask, alright?" And you know what? She does.

In Need of Brain Food

The hardest thing I've been dealing with since Chipmunk has been born is this feeling of stupidity day in and day out. It's an "oh-my-gosh-I-can't-believe-that-slipped-my-mind" kind of stupidity. I used to "tsk" at people who I thought were lacking common sense, but you know what, somehow I've found myself right there, being that of which irks me. I used to pride myself for being organized (mentally, not physically) and being able to remember the lists of things I needed to accomplish. I was the go-to person in our house when things were lost. Somehow I always knew where things were.

These days, I am constantly slapping the heel of my hand to my forehead because of something else "stupidity" made me do.

I know, I know...I have two kids. I have an excuse for being scatterbrained, or at least that's what people tell me...Or they say, "but you just had a baby," like that's supposed to make me feel better for the fact that I said "Ooops" one too many times in a 24 hour period.

It's not just the dishes(count is at 8 now), it's the shopping trips where I take written lists with me and I come home with only 75% of the list because I forgot to look at the bottom of the paper (yes, the lists were written by me). It's the way I search the house up and down each day for my keys and find that I already retrieved them and put them in my pocket. It's when I change one of the kids diapers twice because I thought I changed the other one first. Stupid, stupid, stupid (currently hitting forehead with palm).

"I feel like I can't do anything right," has become my number one complaint to Matt these days. This being said as I've forgotten to pay some bills, bumped the car into a pole, or burned dinner to a cajun crisp because I thought I turned the burner off when I actually didn't.

See? Totally lost it. And it's driving this semi-control freak a little batty.

So please, if you see me and I've become the clueless woman walking down the street with toilet paper stuck to her shoe, just kindly slap me upside the head and tell my brain to "wake up!" I do miss her.

Utterly Incapable

Today I hit my breaking point...literally.

I broke my 7th dish since Chipmunk was born.

I've been saying we needed to make more room in our cupboards, but this is not what I meant.

It's things like this that make me feel so utterly incapable.

Apparently, parenthood just has a way of doing that.

Sigh.