Friday, November 28, 2008
A little bit of blood never hurt anyone...
Off and on for the past couple of months, Mia has been experiencing nose bleeds. They usually occur when I am in the depths of sleep that I rarely get. I hear a, "MOMMY!" Why she never calls for her Daddy, I will never know. It jolts me like an earthquake, my heart starts racing and every muscle in my body twitches. I fly out of bed and run to her room, where she is inevitably holding her tiny little nose. Blood is everywhere, all over her, the pillow, the sheets, her babies. I run for toilet paper or tissues and try to blot her endless flow. She won't let me pinch her nose, always says it hurts, so the blood continues. She shivers and I try to hold her and comfort her saying it will be over soon. I am wide awake by this time and know that I have little chance of getting any more sleep. Soon, the mess is done, soaking several tissues. Mia wants to sleep with a towel over the bloody spots and next to the tissue box. I agree, because even though I am awake, the thought of changing her bed is not something that I want to think about til the morning. I tuck her back in and she goes right back to sleep. I take all of the blood soaked tissues to the toilet and flush away her night's biohazard. Tomorrow, I will bust out the Oxy spray and try to remove the stains from her pretty pink sheets. She will be thrilled that they are clean, until the next time her nose decides to bleed and then we will do it all over again.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Bathtime for Mommy
I have been feeling very sore lately. Likely a combination of the stretching of the muscles in preparation for birth and the fact that the bun must weigh around 100lbs. I would love to take a bath, but seeing that we have an ancient, pedestal tub that I can't clean, the idea seems lost.
Last night, the hubby got down and cleaned it, so I could get in and take a leisurely, uninterrupted bath. I'm sure you can see where this is going. I have some strange rules when getting ready to take a bath. You see, while I'm not a filthy person, I find it imperative that I take a quick shower to get all the average grime off. I don't want to sit in any scum, my own or anyone else's really. So, I take a quick shower, turn off the water and move the shower curtains to get ready to fill the tub. If you don't move the shower curtains, they will wrap their cold, wet plastic around you and it feels worse than bathing in your own dirt. YUCK! I am standing there, freezing, while I get the temperature correct. It finally feels hot enough so I sit down, keeping my foot over the drain cover so it doesn't leak. Actually, the real drain cover is missing, so hubby improvised with a Gladware lid, that actually worked better, though I did have to keep my foot on it til the tub was filled. Anyway, I tuck into the warm water, which seems to be draining at an alarming rate. Seems, that the depth of the water, which isn't very high, is overflowing into the overflow drain. I am now understanding that back in the 1920's, when the house was built, that there were no pleasure baths, only get in and get out baths. I stick my foot over the bottom part of the drain and it seems to be halting the water. I try to relax.
This is not a big tub and while I am not exactly Liliputian, I don't consider myself that big. My arms either have to be at my sides, nearly under my body, or hanging over the side, and cold. My legs are bunched up, trying to keep the water in, or they too have to hang out the front of the tub. The bun isn't even wet, in fact, most of the top of my body is already dry and I can't turn over. I am not particularly comfortable.
Then, the unthinkable happens. My 4 year old busts in the door takes off her gown and demands to get in the bath with me. I tell her no, get dressed and go hang downstairs with your daddy and brother. This, of course, doesn't work. I'm not relaxing anyway, so I let it go. She gets dressed, points out that I am naked and decides I need something to play with. What she doesn't see, is that I am taking up the entire bathtub and there is very little water for anything. Like the good girl she is, she opens the cabinet and gets out her rubber ducks, tossing them into the tub and splashing my face with water. They play, we play, whatever, before she decides that my massive tummy would be a great island and sets the ducks on me, concocting this little story along the way. It is rather entertaining, however, not too relaxing. On top of this, I hear the words, "Eggnog," echoing from downstairs from Max. I decide the bathwater is too cold and tell Mia to collect her ducks and let me get out.
Getting out proves interesting. I need a stool to get in and out already, but being big and pregnant and having the stool not there, is another story. I hoof it over the side and grab my towel, get dressed and brush my teeth. Maybe another time.
Last night, the hubby got down and cleaned it, so I could get in and take a leisurely, uninterrupted bath. I'm sure you can see where this is going. I have some strange rules when getting ready to take a bath. You see, while I'm not a filthy person, I find it imperative that I take a quick shower to get all the average grime off. I don't want to sit in any scum, my own or anyone else's really. So, I take a quick shower, turn off the water and move the shower curtains to get ready to fill the tub. If you don't move the shower curtains, they will wrap their cold, wet plastic around you and it feels worse than bathing in your own dirt. YUCK! I am standing there, freezing, while I get the temperature correct. It finally feels hot enough so I sit down, keeping my foot over the drain cover so it doesn't leak. Actually, the real drain cover is missing, so hubby improvised with a Gladware lid, that actually worked better, though I did have to keep my foot on it til the tub was filled. Anyway, I tuck into the warm water, which seems to be draining at an alarming rate. Seems, that the depth of the water, which isn't very high, is overflowing into the overflow drain. I am now understanding that back in the 1920's, when the house was built, that there were no pleasure baths, only get in and get out baths. I stick my foot over the bottom part of the drain and it seems to be halting the water. I try to relax.
This is not a big tub and while I am not exactly Liliputian, I don't consider myself that big. My arms either have to be at my sides, nearly under my body, or hanging over the side, and cold. My legs are bunched up, trying to keep the water in, or they too have to hang out the front of the tub. The bun isn't even wet, in fact, most of the top of my body is already dry and I can't turn over. I am not particularly comfortable.
Then, the unthinkable happens. My 4 year old busts in the door takes off her gown and demands to get in the bath with me. I tell her no, get dressed and go hang downstairs with your daddy and brother. This, of course, doesn't work. I'm not relaxing anyway, so I let it go. She gets dressed, points out that I am naked and decides I need something to play with. What she doesn't see, is that I am taking up the entire bathtub and there is very little water for anything. Like the good girl she is, she opens the cabinet and gets out her rubber ducks, tossing them into the tub and splashing my face with water. They play, we play, whatever, before she decides that my massive tummy would be a great island and sets the ducks on me, concocting this little story along the way. It is rather entertaining, however, not too relaxing. On top of this, I hear the words, "Eggnog," echoing from downstairs from Max. I decide the bathwater is too cold and tell Mia to collect her ducks and let me get out.
Getting out proves interesting. I need a stool to get in and out already, but being big and pregnant and having the stool not there, is another story. I hoof it over the side and grab my towel, get dressed and brush my teeth. Maybe another time.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Soul mates
Just so you know, this isn't a happy, puffy piece on how you once looked at someone and decided that he/she was your soul mate. It delves into a little more than that, and it isn't going to be comfortable to read.
Soul mate can be defined as a person that is ideally suited to you in temperament, attitude and beliefs. You may like the same movies, the same food, the same sports teams. Or, you may not, but there is something there that clicks and you know it, right off. You may be content to sit in a room and read, something that is usually solo, but you are comfortable enough in your own skin to realize that it is time together, doing something you both like. It may be happily tinkering in the kitchen, trying new recipes, laughing, when it doesn't turn out the way it should. It is many things, and only you know the reason for the attraction.
In my early teens, I had a girlfriend that came to visit her sister in the summers. She was my age, maybe 2 heads taller and had a funny accent. She was from Pennsylvania and even though I am originally from Texas, her accent struck me as really different. She was funny and we clicked. We rode bikes and hung out. It was nice, because she was just next door. I also liked her big sister. She had a little boy that was a year old and my mom liked her too. We all hung out.
Eventually, as military families do, our neighbors moved and I never saw my friend again. I heard about her, from her sister, I knew she was well, graduated from high school and college. She also married and had a little boy.
The newspaper article described them as "soul mates," a couple that loved each other and their little boy more than words could describe. They shared a big, old brick house, that they lovingly restored. I know that they wanted to have another child but were having a hard time with it. My mom told her sister that it had taken us awhile but we had succeeded. She thought it would be good for her sister to hear that it was possible and to keep trying. She wouldn't get the chance.
On November 2, all it took was a handgun to end an entire families life. Not just the husband, that died from a single gunshot wound, but, a wife, that died of multiple gunshot wounds, and a toddler, that died from one gunshot wound. What could motivate your soul mate to take your life? There are claims of depression after a lost job. Whatever the reason, it will remain unknown, and never make sense.
I'm not saying that you shouldn't own a gun. I'm not saying that losing a job isn't a horrible thing to happen. I'm not saying that depression is funny. In fact, I'm not sure what I am really saying. All I know, is that there are two families struggling to understand and put their lives back together in light of a terrible tragedy.
Soul mate can be defined as a person that is ideally suited to you in temperament, attitude and beliefs. You may like the same movies, the same food, the same sports teams. Or, you may not, but there is something there that clicks and you know it, right off. You may be content to sit in a room and read, something that is usually solo, but you are comfortable enough in your own skin to realize that it is time together, doing something you both like. It may be happily tinkering in the kitchen, trying new recipes, laughing, when it doesn't turn out the way it should. It is many things, and only you know the reason for the attraction.
In my early teens, I had a girlfriend that came to visit her sister in the summers. She was my age, maybe 2 heads taller and had a funny accent. She was from Pennsylvania and even though I am originally from Texas, her accent struck me as really different. She was funny and we clicked. We rode bikes and hung out. It was nice, because she was just next door. I also liked her big sister. She had a little boy that was a year old and my mom liked her too. We all hung out.
Eventually, as military families do, our neighbors moved and I never saw my friend again. I heard about her, from her sister, I knew she was well, graduated from high school and college. She also married and had a little boy.
The newspaper article described them as "soul mates," a couple that loved each other and their little boy more than words could describe. They shared a big, old brick house, that they lovingly restored. I know that they wanted to have another child but were having a hard time with it. My mom told her sister that it had taken us awhile but we had succeeded. She thought it would be good for her sister to hear that it was possible and to keep trying. She wouldn't get the chance.
On November 2, all it took was a handgun to end an entire families life. Not just the husband, that died from a single gunshot wound, but, a wife, that died of multiple gunshot wounds, and a toddler, that died from one gunshot wound. What could motivate your soul mate to take your life? There are claims of depression after a lost job. Whatever the reason, it will remain unknown, and never make sense.
I'm not saying that you shouldn't own a gun. I'm not saying that losing a job isn't a horrible thing to happen. I'm not saying that depression is funny. In fact, I'm not sure what I am really saying. All I know, is that there are two families struggling to understand and put their lives back together in light of a terrible tragedy.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Thoughts of the past
Today, I was waiting for Mia to come out of preschool when I heard a song on the radio. "Summer Breeze," by Seals and Crofts, dating back to 1972. It seemed funny to be sitting in a fall rainstorm listening to a song about the summer but I guess they were trying to invoke some personal warmth in their listeners, and they did.
I was born in 1969 in Dallas, Texas. My mom was a sahm and my dad worked second shift. I don't believe there was a lot of jasmine blowing through their minds. Mine either, I don't even eat the brownies. We had a brand new house, that was painted in some pretty odd colors. The living room wall was bright yellow, a kitchen wall was bright red/orange. Later, my bedroom became Pepto pink. I had a dog, swing set and a blue tricycle, all the things that a happy childhood has.
I have memories about that time in my life, a lot odd snippets of things that don't make a darn bit of difference now, but that are still clear in my mind. One, is this song. I can remember my dad taking us to Monkey Wards, me not strapped into any type of child restraint, and hearing this song, the hot Dallas wind smothering me and stifling my breath. We were probably riding in the copper colored Buick we had, leaving precious skin stuck to the vinyl seats in the hell-like Texas summer.
I also think back to the gas shortage, where we sat, depending on our license plate number, waiting in a miles long line to get gas at the Gulf station a few blocks from our house. Once, again precious skin lost on a hot day to a car seat.
I think back to my elementary school, right across from our house. I went there for nearly 4 years. I can see it like it was yesterday. Being thrust into the first grade from a kindergarten class that spent most of the day painting and playing with blocks. I traded my blocks for bottle caps for learning to add and subtract, no more dress up and a hateful teacher that spilled paint on my dress.
I remember driving across a city that was shut down by an ice storm to see the Pompeii exhibit at the fairgrounds. It was neat and I learned a lot. Some of the exhibit was in the basement bomb shelter that the park had. The door was painted institutional green and was 4 feet thick and shut like a coffin door, over the stairs and the airless basement. I was terrified because I knew it was a fallout shelter and was worried that we would be stuck in there, or worse, we lived far away, how would we get there in time? Ah, the things a child worries about.
We moved to Colorado when I was 10. The times changed, the music changed, we all changed. And, yet, nothing really changed, the memories are all there, locked in the back of my mind.
I was born in 1969 in Dallas, Texas. My mom was a sahm and my dad worked second shift. I don't believe there was a lot of jasmine blowing through their minds. Mine either, I don't even eat the brownies. We had a brand new house, that was painted in some pretty odd colors. The living room wall was bright yellow, a kitchen wall was bright red/orange. Later, my bedroom became Pepto pink. I had a dog, swing set and a blue tricycle, all the things that a happy childhood has.
I have memories about that time in my life, a lot odd snippets of things that don't make a darn bit of difference now, but that are still clear in my mind. One, is this song. I can remember my dad taking us to Monkey Wards, me not strapped into any type of child restraint, and hearing this song, the hot Dallas wind smothering me and stifling my breath. We were probably riding in the copper colored Buick we had, leaving precious skin stuck to the vinyl seats in the hell-like Texas summer.
I also think back to the gas shortage, where we sat, depending on our license plate number, waiting in a miles long line to get gas at the Gulf station a few blocks from our house. Once, again precious skin lost on a hot day to a car seat.
I think back to my elementary school, right across from our house. I went there for nearly 4 years. I can see it like it was yesterday. Being thrust into the first grade from a kindergarten class that spent most of the day painting and playing with blocks. I traded my blocks for bottle caps for learning to add and subtract, no more dress up and a hateful teacher that spilled paint on my dress.
I remember driving across a city that was shut down by an ice storm to see the Pompeii exhibit at the fairgrounds. It was neat and I learned a lot. Some of the exhibit was in the basement bomb shelter that the park had. The door was painted institutional green and was 4 feet thick and shut like a coffin door, over the stairs and the airless basement. I was terrified because I knew it was a fallout shelter and was worried that we would be stuck in there, or worse, we lived far away, how would we get there in time? Ah, the things a child worries about.
We moved to Colorado when I was 10. The times changed, the music changed, we all changed. And, yet, nothing really changed, the memories are all there, locked in the back of my mind.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Complete meltdown
Every Tuesday and Thursday, Mia goes to preschool at a nearby church. I have watched lots of kids have a complete meltdown when mommy decides to leave them. Mia has never done this, even on her first day, and I have been thrilled that she has been so cooperative and excited about going. Well... Today was an entirely different story! She wouldn't come into her classroom, wouldn't wash her hands, hang up her jacket or backpack, wouldn't do anything. It was frustrating because I have never, ever seen her do something so crazy. It was like she was a different child. I had to settle her down, which was hard, because she had her legs wrapped around mine like an anaconda. I got her hands washed and her backpack hung up and proceeded to tell her that I, of course, was coming back and that she was wanted for circle time. Nothing worked. Her teacher told me to give her the signal for when I was ready to escape and let her takeover. I felt bad, for all of us. There is always a little girl that cries when her mom leaves and I felt bad leaving Mrs. Martin with another hysterical child. But, I did. I was nearly in tears myself, but I figured it was the best thing for both of us.
I wasn't sure what kind of report I was going to get when I picked Mia up. I was a little shocked that 2 teachers came to the car. Apparently, Mia was fine after I left. I was relieved. Mrs. Martin said I got an A+ in parenting because I did what needed to be done and all was well.
Mia, however, is not wanting to go back next week. I am trying to convince her that she belongs in school, that she always has fun and plays well with her friends. I am hoping it sinks in. I can't bare the thought of another day like today.
I wasn't sure what kind of report I was going to get when I picked Mia up. I was a little shocked that 2 teachers came to the car. Apparently, Mia was fine after I left. I was relieved. Mrs. Martin said I got an A+ in parenting because I did what needed to be done and all was well.
Mia, however, is not wanting to go back next week. I am trying to convince her that she belongs in school, that she always has fun and plays well with her friends. I am hoping it sinks in. I can't bare the thought of another day like today.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Twilight series, again
Here I am again, going on about those teen books that have swept my friends, as well as myself into a reading frenzy. I am about 200 odd pages from being done with the entire series. I have invested a lot of time reading about these teenage vampires and werewolves. I lost some interest when the werewolves were introduced but plodded through. Now, Bella is knocked up by Edward, on their honeymoon even. I would have thought there might be some mention of birth control, vampire or not. I guess I was wrong. Anyway, so the story goes on. Bella is ravaged by her baby, whatever it is. No one really knows for sure what she is carrying. Now, I am pregnant and find this all a bit unnerving. Especially how she has to drink blood to keep her strength up. Again, when the they think the baby is going to eat its way out of Bella. A little too much for me right now, I guess. Once the child is born, Bella wisely names her Reneesme, or some spelling like that. Very odd. And, I haven't even touched upon the "imprinting". It disturbs me. Jacob, the werewolf that loves Bella, is now the "babysitter" for this blood drinking moppet, and perhaps forever. Imprinting deals with the soulmate theory. It is kind of oogy. Anyway, as Sara told me, it is light reading and certainly not to be taken very seriously. So, I will finish and move on, that is, until 21 November, when I will wobble to the theater with the other mom's to see the movie.
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