She's gone

The big yellow bus belched it's way down our street this morning, stopping at the end of our driveway to swallow up my little girl and transport her to the first day of first grade. Robbie and I went to her school last night to see her classroom and meet her teacher, Mrs. S.. She has been teaching for twenty-one years and has more enthusiasm than one person has a right to have. When we left the meeting Robbie remarked "she's a little high octane for me", but I suspect for a room of first graders she is absolutely perfect.

There's something comforting about living in a small town surrounded by the rest of one's family. Mrs. S. also taught Kylie's cousins Ross, now 18 and heading off to his first year of college, and Ashley, now 16 and beginning her sophomore year of high school. She was delighted to learn last night that Kylie is related to them, and I would imagine that when she sees Kylie she will notice her resemblance to Ashley. We learned last night that there is a new girl in Ky's class whose family just moved here over the summer. I asked Kylie last night to be friendly with this little girl, introduce her to some of her friends, and include her when they gather for snack, recess, and lunch. I have heard too many stories lately of "new" kids not being welcomed at school and it hurts my Mommy heart to think that things like that happen.

By now Kylie should be settled at her desk and have the note that Mrs. S. asked each parent to leave on their child's desk last night. She has another note in her lunchbox, she'll find that when it's time for snack. There's a poem that I wrote when Kylie started Kindergarten that still applies:

Her little nose pressed to the glass,
how did the time pass by so fast?
Her little hand goes up to wave,
I will not cry, I will be brave.
The years have flown by since the day
that we first brought her home,
and now the big bus rolls away,
my little girl is gone.
A school girl now and off to see
the wide world waiting there.
I hope the world is kind to her,
it can be so cruel and unfair.
I stand alone and watch the bus
as it rumbles down the street.
My smile fades as a tear slips out,
have fun at school, my Sweet.

The first day of school is sad. The sadness is a combination of the realization that another summer has come to an end, and the realization that my child is growing and becoming more independent. While I realize the latter is a good thing, it's bittersweet.

Katrina

I knew it was bad. I'd heard the reports on the news, mainly via the radio because I hadn't had time to watch TV. I knew there was flooding, I knew people had lost their homes, their families, their lives, but I didn't really know, until I saw the pictures. Yesterday afternoon while I was sitting on the couch nursing Bella I decided to turn on TV and check out the news on the aftermath of Katrina. I turned to MSNBC and was in no way prepared to see the devastation they were showing.

I watched with tears rolling down my face as a Coast Guard helicopter rescued one person after another from the roof of what had been their homes. I listened to the stories of the survivors and wondered how one even begins to rebuild a life destroyed by a force with such an innocent name as Katrina. There is heartbreak on every corner, as far as the eye can see. I sobbed when they interviewed the man who followed his wife's request and let go of her hand so he could hold on to their children. She is but one of what will no doubt turn out to be hundreds of lost souls. When Kylie found me on the couch with tears flowing and my hand covering my mouth in horror at what was flashing on the screen in front of me I tried to explain it to her. How does one go about explaining something like this to an almost seven year old when there really is no good explanation? Her eyes grew wide as she watched some of the coverage with me, and she said "Momma, will we ever get a storm like that here?". I assured her that it was unlikely our little corner of the world would ever have to face such a beast, and turned off the TV before I provided more fodder for her nightmares.

God bless the people affected by Katrina, and also the rescuers who are doing what they can to help them. On a related note I hope there is a special corner of hell reserved for the looters who see this as an opportunity to get a new television, jewelry, or other luxury item without paying for it. I'm not sure how low on the evolutionary chain you have to be to capitalize on a situation like this, but I'm pretty sure it's somewhere in the range of pond scum.

A nifty fifty mystery

This coming Saturday my sister Cheryl will turn 50. My family has been bugging her for weeks, encouraging her to plan a party worthy of marking such a milestone. My brother Boyd turned 50 last year. We celebrated his big day by dining on lobster, steamed clams, corn on the cob, and strawberry shortcake in his yard on a gorgeous July evening while listening to the music of his youth.

Cherie has been quite nonchalant about turning 50. When asked about a party she has been shrugging her shoulders and making a "hmph" noise, as if to say "ahhh, no biggie...". Last night my brother-in-law Mike called to share with us the first hint of a celebration. We are to be ready to go at 6:15 on Saturday night, at which time a limo will be picking us up. From our house the limo will proceed to the houses of our other family members, gathering us together and taking us to an undisclosed location. All we know is that dress is casual, and we only need to bring money for cocktails. Hmmmm.....I can't wait for Saturday!

High fashion

I have a dirty little secret. For someone who is stressed out by clutter I have certain closets in my house that should send me screaming into the streets. Fortunately in my case clutter isn't quite so stressful if it can be hidden behind a closed door. Having said that, my bedroom closet has been in serious need of decluttering for some time now. I keep thinking I'll do it on a rainy day, but then it rains and I find more pressing things to do, like giving the cat a manicure, or teaching the dog how to flip a treat off it's nose and catch it in mid-air. Pretty much any task is preferable to cleaning out closets.

The other day while Bella was sleeping and Kylie and Phillip were watching TV downstairs I seized the moment. Great, I thought, I can take a few minutes and tackle my closet! Of course you know what happened. No sooner was I up to my eyeballs in shoes that no longer fit, (I'm tired of stuffing my now size 8 feet into my pre-childbearing size 7 shoes) and clothes that I haven't worn in years, when Kylie came in to see what I was doing. She was thrilled to see the pile of clothes and shoes on the floor and within minutes was deep into fashion show mode. I continued with my task, trying to ignore her as she pulled things out of the different piles I was making (keep this...throw this away...donate this...). Phillip, never being one to miss out on anything, quickly noticed Kylie's disappearance from the downstairs and joined her in hunting for treasure in the growing mountains of apparel.

By this time all I really wanted was to finish cleaning my closet, get rid of the stuff that wasn't going back in, and put the rest of the things back in some semblance of order. I was trying not to pay much attention to Kylie and Phillip, mainly because I was too busy grinding my teeth together and muttering to myself under my breath so I didn't snap at them to leave me alone - I tend to get rather goal-oriented when I get involved in a task like this. I wanted to finish and I knew all they were doing was making more work for me by messing up my piles. When I finally looked up from sorting through the rubble I had pulled from my closet this is what I saw...

Their beautiful grins and infectious giggles pierced my heart like an arrow, causing a lump to form in my throat and tears to spring to my eyes. Suddenly I was embarrassed and ashamed of myself for being upset with them. Someday much sooner than I would like I will have plenty of quiet time to clean my closets. There will be no laughing little blonde girl to stumble around in my high heels, no mischievous little blue eyed boy to pull my old "mommy jeans" up over his body. They will be busy with their friends, or doing homework, or just gone - to school, to a part-time job, to college, to their own lives. It happens in the blink of an eye. I should know that as well as anyone, I have seen it with my nephews, both of whom are leaving for college this week, and with my nieces. For a moment in time they are little and they are ours, but that moment is precious and fleeting.

As I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiped the tears from my eyes I reached for the camera. For the next few minutes I took pictures as Kylie and Phillip put on a fashion show that would have brought the mavens of haute-couture to their knees. I'm going to frame at least one of the pictures and display it prominently in our home, as a reminder to myself that closets don't matter - little people do.

The idiosyncrasies of me

I'm it, I'm it!!! I have been tagged by my friend Mopsy to share some of my idiosyncrasies...feel free to laugh at and/or with me!

1. When I'm driving, the thermostat in the van has to be set on an even number. I seldom notice what it is set on when my dear hubby is driving, (unless he's freezing me out, which come to think of it happens quite frequently), but I always have it set on an even number.
2. When Rob is traveling I will leave the TV in the bedroom on all night. I hate waking up alone in a dark, quiet room. I much prefer waking up at 2:30 a.m. to the witty banter of Sam and Diane from Cheers, or Jack and Janet from Three's Company (thank goodness for TV Land and Nick at Night!!).
3. The toilet paper must roll off the top of the roll, not the bottom. I cannot stand toilet paper that rolls from the underside of the roll, and I have been known to change it when I find it that way in other people's houses (how rude of me!). My Mom now puts it on "upside down" just to irritate me, then laughs at me when I change it. (This also applies to paper towels.)
4. Wrinkled clothes drive me nuts. I iron pretty much everything. Rob teases that I would iron our underwear if I could get away with it. What chance did I have, growing up with a mother that ironed my dad's handkerchiefs ("But Mom, he's going to blow his nose on that!")?
5. Clutter stresses me out. The only thing on my kitchen counters is the microwave. The coffee maker, toaster, sugar and flour canisters, all those things live in the closet and sit on the counter only when they are in use. I went to one of Kylie's friends houses one day and the kitchen counters were covered with things, as was the top of the refrigerator - I almost hyperventilated.
6. The toilet seat and lid both must be closed (fortunately Rob agrees with this one). I hate going into the bathroom and looking into the toilet, I don't care how clean it is. We've had builders at our house for the last two months, and when we're not home they use the bathroom. I don't mind at all, except they leave the lid (and sometimes the seat) up. Wouldn't you think they would leave it the way they found it?

Okay there's more, but I've probably already shared too much! I would gladly tag someone else for this, but I only have a few blogging friends and they're already playing.

Gloomy Me

A few weeks ago when my boss was on vacation I brought Kylie to work with me for the day. My sister's office is directly across the street from mine, so after spending some time with me Kylie went over to visit her aunt. Following that we all went to lunch, which was preceded by a little shopping (we work within walking distance of what is arguably one of the best shopping areas in the state). My sister wanted to buy something for Ky, so we went to a neat little toy store. It was no big surprise that we ended up in the stuffed animal section, where we found this guy:



His name is "Galoompagalots Glus", but I suggested he be called "Gloomy Gus" for short. I convinced my sister that he was the perfect addition to her office and that she just had to have him. She left the store with Gloomy Gus in tow.

Today I was a little down when I came in to work. Robbie and I took last week off and it was tough to get back into the swing of things this morning. As much as I appreciate the fact that I have a wonderful job and I only have to be here two and a half days a week, it is still hard to leave the kids (even if it is with my parents who spoil them rotten the whole time I'm gone). I was having a tough time finding a smile until the elevator door opened and I saw this sitting in my chair:



His name is Galoompagalots Podge (Gloomy Podge), and he made me smile. My sister is awesome.

Through a mother's eyes

It's amazing how being a mother changes your perspective. Yesterday we took our children, along with one of Kylie's friends, to a local amusement park. I have been to this park countless times as a child, teen, young adult, and even as a mother, but yesterday is the first day I really experienced it through "mother's eyes".

The first ride we went on was the "Sea Dragon". This is a large ship that swings like a pendulum, carrying you high up into the air then dropping you back down. The girls wanted to sit in the very back seat, so I sat in the middle with a little six year old on either side. My first thought when the safety bar lowered across our laps and my hands gripped the top of it was "hmmmm, this feels disgustingly sticky, I don't even want to know how many germs are using this rubber covered bar as a breeding ground", of course, this thought was quickly followed by "hmmmm, this bar really doesn't feel like it's locked in the down position, I hope it doesn't release mid-ride and send us all plunging to our deaths". Unfortunately that thought was taking place as the ride was making its first swing skyward. It was that thought that prompted me to move my hands from the bar and place them over each of the girls' hands, as if that alone could hold them in the ride in the event of a catastrophic event (much like my mother used to throw her arm across my chest when we would be riding in our family's old station wagon and she would stop fast - yes Mom, that would keep me from flying through the windshield in an accident). Thankfully the bar was locked, the ride was brief, and despite Kylie's insistence that she was going to throw up if they didn't stop the ride we all survived with no bodily fluids being expelled. (And the finger prints I left in each girls' hand had pretty much disappeared by the end of the day!)

Not to be deterred, we moved on to the big roller coaster. The girls insisted they wanted to sit in the front seat, and since there was only room for the two of them I sat in the seat behind them. The seat belt and "grip" bar in the roller coaster were also sticky and no doubt "germtastically" nasty. Any second thoughts I may have had over the girls choice of seats was confirmed when I heard a woman a few seats behind us say to her companion "look at how brave those little girls are, sitting right in the front seat!". No sooner did the words leave her mouth than the ride started. It was 1 minute and 40 seconds of stomach lurching, brain bouncing terror at speeds averaging 62 mph and numerous drops, the largest of which was 82 feet. My eyes were closed the entire time, except for every few seconds when I would pry them open to make sure there were still two little blond heads bobbing around in front of me. I resisted the urge to hold on to the pony tails in the front seat instead of the metal bar, but it was tempting.

After that ride Kylie decided she wasn't quite as brave as she had first thought. This would have been fine with me, I was finding that my enjoyment of thrill rides was not nearly as great as it used to be. Unfortunately this meant that Ky's friend Madi, who is a bit of a daredevil (and therefore a perfect match for Ky, or so we thought), had nobody to accompany her on the rides. Since we obviously couldn't let Madi go on the rides alone, and since dear hubby, having recently been diagnosed with arthritis in his knee is off the hook somewhat these days for things that place a lot of stress on said knee (for example, bending to get in and out of amusement park rides), I knew who Madi's co-rider would have to be.

It's surprising what thoughts run wild through your head as you are buckled, strapped, or otherwise restrained inside an amusement park ride. On "The Flying Trapeze" I wondered just exactly how (and how often) one checks rides for metal fatigue, how sturdy the chains holding the swing on which I was sailing high above the park at a dizzying speed were, should that bolt above my head really be that rusty, and if the shoes flew off the feet of the riders in front of me and smacked me in the head could that possibly kill me? On "Thunderbolt" I wondered why there was the need for a sign in the operator's booth that said "BE SURE RIDE COMES TO A COMPLETE STOP BEFORE PRESSING THE BACK BUTTON", and I wanted to point out to the young girl in the booth that we had really only come to a rolling stop as her finger reached for the button. Unfortunately before the words could form in my mouth we were zooming around backwards. I think it was at this point I found myself hoping that if I was indeed killed in some freak amusement park accident and headlined the local 6:00 news that my family would at least retain the very best attorney available and run the owners of said amusement park into the ground. Oh yes, I also spent a lot of time praying, which seemed appropriate since so many of the rides took me high up into the air and presumably closer to heaven.

Looking back on my experience yesterday I wondered when it all changed. When did the fun-filled amusement park of my youth become the bacteria filled petri dish complete with creaking, treacherous, "should it really be making that sound" attractions? It only took a minute for me to find the answer. It all changed at 2:59 am on Tuesday, October 13th, 1998 - the moment Kylie was born. Before we had children I worried about something happening to the people I loved, or how they would move on with their lives if something happened to me, but that was nothing compared to the anxiety that accompanies motherhood. Now I know why my mother always had that look on her face when we went to the amusement park when I was a child. It was a look of apprehension, mild disgust, slight fear, and fervent hope that in spite of everything her child would enjoy every minute. I suspect that's the look that was on my face yesterday, as I experienced the park through a mother's eyes.

Mommy guilt

My sweet Bella, who is without a doubt the easiest and happiest baby I have ever seen, has recently decided that her preferred method of napping is on a blanket on the floor. This was discovered quite by accident, as this is how she ended up napping when I took her to work with me this past Tuesday. Since then she has had no interest in falling asleep while nursing or being held, she likes to be on the floor. She will lay there for a little while looking around, then she will roll onto her side, pop her chubby little thumb in her mouth, grab the blanket with her other hand and fall asleep. She will easily sleep this way for 1.5 - 2 hours, completely unaffected by ringing phones, screaming siblings, barking dogs, slamming doors, and the various construction sounds (table saw, nail gun, hammering) taking place outside the open window. This picture is from a few minutes ago - clearly she gets comfortable!

So, I should be feeling pretty good about my sweet girl's ability (and willingness) to put herself to sleep with no assistance from me, no fussing, etc...right? Wrong. Any joy I might feel is being largely overshadowed by another not so nice feeling - Mommy guilt. I feel like a terrible mother letting my four month old baby fall asleep on the floor alone. She's fine with it, she started it! When I put her on the floor in my boss' office on Tuesday I thought she would lay there and "play" for a bit then fuss to be picked up. Nope, she fell asleep and liked it. I know I shouldn't feel bad about this, she's comfy, cozy, secure, all good things. But for some reason that Mommy guilt is just eating at me. Maybe it's not so much guilt as feeling that at the tender age of four months she is already becoming independent. **Sigh**...clearly I'm not a well person... ;)

Great expectations

When I was pregnant with Kylie I imagined how wonderful life would be with an infant. It was with great anticipation that I awaited the birth of our first child. I could see myself rocking her to sleep in the rocking chair that Robbie had bought for me before we even knew I was pregnant. I pictured lazy afternoons strolling the neighborhood with her cooing contentedly in her stroller, cozy evenings snuggled up on the couch with her snoozing on my chest, late night feedings with her nursing for a bit then drifting back into her sweet newborn dreamland. Boy was I in for a surprise.

It quickly became apparent that while I had been dreaming for nine months about the idyllic bliss a newborn would bring, Kylie had been plotting to overthrow the regime that would be her parents. From the start she made it clear that she was the boss. There would be no snuggling on the couch. Snuggling was fine, as long as the snuggler was moving. This little snugglee demanded constant motion to be happy, and lest you think the motion was only necessary until she fell asleep just try to sit down while holding her and watch the happy sleeping baby morph instantly into the unhappy screaming baby (trying to lay her down was also a cardinal sin). As for strolling that was fine too, as long as she was being held, don't think for one second that she was going to sit in some stinkin' stroller. Don't even get me started on "drifting" into dreamland. If she fell asleep nursing she would sleep only as long as I left her on the Boppy pillow and didn't attempt to move. In order to get her to fall asleep I had to dance with her, and dance, and dance, and dance... At 3:00 in the morning she and I would be dancing around the TV room to the sounds of Garth Brooks on the stereo as I prayed for her to sleep.

My mother-in-law insisted that she was a colicky baby and that was her problem. I knew better though, even in those early days as a new mother somehow I knew that Kylie wasn't colicky. She didn't have a "problem", she was just, well, Kylie. Even as an infant my firstborn had very definite ideas about how things should be and how the world around her should function. As she approaches her seventh birthday nothing has changed. She is determined, tenacious, persistent, and wonderful. Despite my exhaustion in the early months when she demanded constant dancing and bouncing from me (for some reason in spite of his best efforts dear hubby couldn't meet her exacting standards) I refused to admit that motherhood or my sweet baby were anything less than perfect (and I would gladly unleash my wrath upon anyone who dared to suggest otherwise). Yes, she was challenging, but as far as I was concerned she was the sweetest baby in the whole world because she was mine.

My motivation behind writing this blog entry is that I now have the baby I dreamt of so many years ago. I brought Bella to work with me today. My boss is on vacation, so after nursing and changing her I placed her on a blanket on his floor. From my desk outside his office I could hear her cooing and every few minutes I would peek in the door to see her looking around and checking things out. Within ten minutes of placing her on the blanket she popped her chubby little thumb in her mouth, rolled onto her side and fell asleep. She is what I expected when I got Kylie. And yet somehow, if Bella, or even Phillip, who was also a very mellow baby, had been born first I wouldn't have appreciated them nearly as much as I do, nor would I be as good a mother. While I spent my pregnancy with Kylie anticipating teaching my baby so many things, she taught me so much more. From Kylie I have learned, among other things, patience, grace under pressure, and that love isn't always easy. She continues to teach me, and even though she wasn't the baby of my dreams I wouldn't change a thing about her, then or now.

Multi-tasking

Two weeks ago the kids and I went to the dentist. In hindsight I will admit I was perhaps a little ambitious when I made our appointments back in January, given that I made them for Kylie, Phillip, and me all back to back. As the day of our appointment approached I was a little apprehensive about how we would all fare in the dentist's office for what would probably be an hour and a half with a three month old baby.

It started out well. I volunteered to go first so I would be free to tend to Bella while the kids got their teeth cleaned. I no sooner got in the seat, laid back, and opened my mouth, when Bella started fussing. It was obvious that she was not going to be happy sitting quietly in her carseat while my teeth were being tended to. I got her out of her seat and laid back in the chair to let the hygienist do her work. The whole time she cleaned my teeth I was bouncing Bella on my tummy and/or laying her back against my knees. Sensing my total helplessness, as soon as the hygienist got to work Kylie and Phillip, like two little vultures hovering around fresh road-kill, took up positions on either side of me and started with a barrage of questions.

Kylie: "Mom who's going next. You said I could go next but
Phillip says he is, who's going next Mom, Mommmmm!"
Me: "Uuuuuu fan do dex" (the best I could muster with my mouth full of
dental instruments and two hands)
Phillip: "Momma, there's no place for me to sit, I want to sit, where
can I sit? Momma, answer me!"
Me: "Uuuuuu fan fit ad de boddum uf my hair."

You get the idea. The whole time my teeth were being cleaned and I was bouncing Bella (which, by the way, makes for an amazing bicep workout) Kylie and Phillip insisted on asking me questions. Which animal should they choose (Our dentist has little rubber animals that the kids get after their cleaning. He had them when I was their age and I can't believe they still make them. I suspect he bought several million of them in the early 70's and he's still trying to get rid of them.); how much longer would I be; what color toothbrush should they pick; how much longer would I be; they were hungry/tired/had to go to the bathroom; how much longer would I be...you get the idea. Pretty much all I could do was laugh, which I did. Becky, our hygienist, said at one point, "I wish I had a camera, I would love a picture of this!".

After my cleaning and inspection by the dentist (no cavities - yay!!) I went to see the receptionist to get the insurance forms so I could complete them while Kylie and Phillip were having their teeth cleaned. She looked at me holding Bella and giving her a bottle and said "your hands are full, you can't possibly fill these out now". I gave her my best "obviously you're not a mom" smile and, puffing up my chest, said "I can leap tall buildings in a single bound, feed hungry babies, quiet angry toddlers, referee sibling squabbles with a mouthful of dental instruments and complete your stinkin' insurance forms all at the same time - I am a Mother!" Okay, I didn't say it exactly like that, but I did assure her that completing the forms while giving a bottle to Bella was entirely possible.

As I returned to the room where Kylie and Phillip were I ran into our family dentist. He was laughing and said to me "Becky just said she couldn't believe how calm that mother was getting her teeth cleaned while bouncing an infant and talking to her two other children." He continued, "I just laughed and told her "That's Edie Mae, I've known her whole family since before she was born, she's been coming here since before she had teeth"". I love living in the town in which I was raised!

All in all it turned out pretty well. Bella fell asleep and I managed to complete three separate insurance forms while holding a sleeping infant, nobody had any cavities, Kylie left with a pink hippo and a pink toothbrush, Phillip left with a blue lion and a yellow toothbrush, and an hour and a half after we arrived I left with my sanity - oh, and a purple toothbrush!