Never underestimate the power of a good foot rub

I was awake at 2am this morning. Not because of pregnancy heartburn, difficulty finding a comfortable sleeping position, or the tiny, nocturnal kick-boxer taking up temporary residence within my uterus. No, I can sleep through all that. But what I can't seem to sleep through is my 3 year old yelling with all his might for someone to come and get him from his crib. I also have a hard time sleeping through this same child kicking with great fury at a musical toy attached to the side of his crib. Since Sam has no intelligible words he simply increases his vocalizations until someone responds. And since his coordination could use a lot of fine tuning he completely side steps any attempt at precision when trying to activate a musical toy, instead choosing to whack aimlessly with arms or legs at any object until the desired effect is attained. So all of this was going on... at 2am... in Sam's crib... which is located right next to my bed.

By the time my alarm had gone off this morning (which it really had no need to since I had been awake since 2am... did I mention that?) I had devised a plan. I would get devil child up, feed him breakfast, deposit the older child at school, return home and fall into a deep sleep with the younger spawn who would surely be tired by that time. But he wasn't tired. He wasn't even grumpy. He was downright fucking cheery. By the time he was ready to nap it was time to go get the older one from school and I'd given up hope for recovering any sleep for myself.

This story could have ended in a very ugly way had it not been for the nice woman I paid to rub my feet tonight and paint my toes an uplifting sunny yellow. Thank you, Julie. And thank you Happy Nails.

Born again disabled

Recently a very wise friend and I were discussing Christianity and its views on particular life matters. I mentioned how I really had a hard time with some of the perspectives on disability that come from my Christian friends. I've been told by many of these well-meaning individuals that Sam is here for a reason and that by allowing Sam's disability God has meant for me to learn a valuable lesson. I'm not sure if each individual has their own tailor made lesson to learn but there appears to be a broader goal of learning to trust in God's glory. From my own limited reading on the matter it would seem that disability exists because a long, long time ago in a lush garden two foliage clad humans got hungry and ate something they weren't supposed to and now we all must endure suffering for their sin. So now we've got pain, hunger, etc. And we've got these people with disabilities. But basically it's all okay because we've also got this dude, God, who can make it all better. Now he may choose to make it better by healing the individual with the disability or he may not. The suffering may just have to be endured until death. But it's still okay because there remains a chance for salvation after death. You just have to trust this unseen entity or have.... what's that word.... faith. Let me break it down as I see it: two people I've never met fucked up, wreaking havoc for our world, causing God to "allow" my child to be born disabled so that I, and anyone else who cares to benefit from my child's suffering, may learn how to kiss God's ass while waiting for a miracle cure or maybe just die first. And you wonder why I'm not a Christian.

So this wise friend says to me, "Has anyone ever proposed to you the idea that maybe Sam, himself, chose this path for his life's experience?" Well, no. This seems to presuppose the idea that Sam was sentient prior to conception. And it suggests that Sam is not here merely for my own selfish gain or to stroke the ego of some supreme being. This hints of Eastern religion. And I like it. "So this resonates with you?" my friend asked. I guess if I couldn't just accept Mindy and David's philosophy appropriately called "Shit Happens" and I needed a reason to explain Sam's disability then, yes; the idea that maybe there was something Sam needed to get out of this earthly experience and chose his disabled body accordingly, resonates with me. How can it not when Sam fought so hard in his first year of life just to be here? It is not by the glory of God that he is still with us despite his challenges. Give the kid some credit. Sam is here because he's fought hard for this life. And is there a lesson in this? Maybe. While Sam is here pursuing his own experience we may be able to open ourselves up enough to glean something of our own from knowing Sam. Maybe this child, with his spirit unfettered by the ego defenses most of us carry around, allows us much closer contact with the essence of who he is and a clearer reflection of who we are. Maybe it's in this way that Sam truly is a blessing. This comes not from what he has brought to teach us, but rather from how we may choose to enhance our own experience with lessons learned from such an open soul.

Jackson's wheels

Jackson learned to ride a 2-wheel bike today. I never thought I'd see the day. We've been working toward this goal for a long time and it's not been easy. Jackson has been very resistant to the idea, coming up with every excuse and complaint he could think of. At one point he whined that the seat of his bike was too high and he couldn't reach the ground. I lowered the seat and he began complaining that now his knees went too high when he peddled. I eventually stopped listening to his complaints and started striking bargains. Today I told him we could go to the park as long as he rode his bike there by sitting on the seat and walking his feet on both sides along the ground. I thought this would be as far as we got today but Jackson gained so much confidence just from his ability to balance with his legs dangling at the sides that he decided to try placing his feet on the pedals once he was coasting. The first time he tried it he took off. I know that riding a bike is a relatively simple skill that we take for granted but to see my little boy accomplish this feat for the first time was the most spectacular and breathtaking event I've witnessed all year. And I didn't even have to resort to the beastly trickery of letting go of the back of the bike seat when the child least expects it causing the child to suspect foul play, look back for reassurance and go crashing to the ground. If any parents reading this have ever done such a thing to their own children just remember that forgiveness first begins with you... dad.

My beloved minivan

I think I've resolved my love/hate struggle with my new minivan. I have a new appreciation for the big hunka metal and it's all thanks to the guy who rear-ended me this morning less than a mile from my house. The boys and I were on our way to school and I was stopped behind a school bus at a 4-way stop amidst children walking to school when the man in the car behind us decided it would be a good time to attend to some papers on his passenger seat. He didn't see the big yellow bus stopped or my shiny new van with the 3 red brake lights on. And apparently he wasn't concerned enough about all the small children around about to start their school day to keep his eyes on the road. He plowed right into the back of us. Fortunately none of us were hurt and he was very nice and apologetic about the entire incident. The damage to the van is minor; there's a dent in the tailgate and a hole in the bumper, all of which his insurance will pay to repair. But I started thinking about what a stupid mistake that guy made and how it doesn't matter how careful of a driver I am, I can still be involved in an accident. So I started feeling really good about our decision to buy one of the safest cars on the market. It may not win me any "cool mom on the block" votes but my new van is starting to give me the warm fuzzies when I think about how it protects my precious cargo.

Would he scold my wrong turn and tell me I was being naughty?

This here is a symbol of my demotion from hip mama to tragically dull matronly figure. Our new Honda Odyssey has stirred up more emotions in me than any car should ever be allowed. On the one hand it's a work of stunning genius with amazing detail paid to (almost) every need and convenience of today's family; on the other hand... well, it's a minivan. The love/hate struggle that I face with this car is just something I'm going to have to learn to embrace since it really is a damn fine automobile. The one complaint I have, other than the obvious negative image it denotes, is the unforgivable lack of automatic locking doors. Our CRV had them and I'm finding it very difficult to adjust to their absence. Just this morning I spent a good chunk of time stuck in the damn car because I couldn't figure out how to open the power sliding doors. This shouldn't be a hard task since Honda has provided me with 3 different ways of opening these doors. You've got the handle on the inside, the button on the key remote or the button inside the car next to the steering wheel. But none of these work if the doors are locked. Of course, this might seem obvious but I had assumed the doors were already unlocked because the Honda CRV, which was far less luxurious, had doors that automatically locked and unlocked when the car was turned on or off. You'd think that the Odyssey, which comes with a user's manual DVD for those of us who can't read I suppose, would include automatic locking doors. No such luck. But at least the heated seats were keeping my ass nice and warm as I struggled to find a way to open the side doors.

We had the option of purchasing the built-in navigation system with the van. Unfortunately you could only get the nav system if you also purchased the built-in DVD player and all this cost a small fortune. We could think of a lot of uses for the navigation but couldn't justify the DVD player. While David and I are all for unnecessary luxuries for ourselves we feel that relative deprivation makes for a healthy childhood for our kids. After all, what's a roadtrip without a game of license plate bingo or my favorite, pick a dirt spot on the side window then bob and weave your head to make it "fly" over trees or telephone wires. I'm not sure what that last one is called but I'm pretty sure my brother made it up during a particularly boring family road trip when we were kids. It's this kind of inventiveness that I don't want to deprive my children of by buying a DVD player for our car. At least that's what we'll tell them when they complain that they are the only kids on the whole block without a DVD player in the car.

Since the idea of a navigation system was already planted in our heads and, clearly the Odyssey was incomplete without one, we bought our own. I was actually a bit hesitant at first. After all, I have a cell phone and a husband who works in front of a computer all day. With one simple phone call to him he could pull up google maps and tell me exactly how to get to my destination. Now after using the new navigation for a few days I'm in love. The object of my affection even has a name: Emily. She speaks with a British accent and tells me exactly when and where to turn. I even find her mispronunciation of some of the Spanish street names around here endearing. If I decide to take my own detour she does not scold me; she simply recalculates the directions and does her bloody best to get me back on track. I need to check the manual to see if Emily has a male counterpart.

It's the small things that cause the most suffering... like M&Ms and unborn babies

I've been tired and grumpy lately. Turns out I don't much like having my body taken over by an incredibly small human that grows at a freakishly rapid rate. Don't get me wrong; I like that the end result of this host/parasite experience is a sweet (please let her be sweet) baby but I wish there was a way to make the whole process more enjoyable. There are women out there who claim to love being pregnant. I don't believe them for a second. They are either lying or heavily medicated. Part of my problem is that I can't have chocolate. There are a few foods that cause heartburn for me during pregnancy: cheese, spicy foods and chocolate. The cheese and spice I can eat in moderation and quell any burning with a glass of milk or a couple of Tums antacids. The chocolate is another story. If I so much as eat one M&M I'm ruined for the rest of the day. Nothing seems to get rid of chocolate induced heartburn. I can only take so many Tums; there are warning labels on those things, you know. The world can be a very cruel place.

Just don't misinterpret our intentions

David recently found this contraption on a website of totally absurd inventions. Now, of course, he wasn't searching out strap-on binkies for babies. What need would we have for such a "devious little device"? We already have one. I don't think the product actually made it into stores. We had to make ours ourselves. I guess it's a good thing we didn't follow our friends' advice and try to patent it. One of the flaws the website mentions is the baby's ability to reach up and take the straps off. Oh, but that won't happen if you get yourself a pair of these pediatric arm immobilizers. Just imagine how much happier that kid would look if he just had a pacifier strapped to his mouth.

Blog brilliance

Today's entry comes courtesy of Heather at dooce.com. I haven't the energy to write anything myself having experienced oxygen depriving fits of laughter while reading her latest story. Enjoy!

Vomit, vasectomies and Vicodin, oh my!

Let's talk about perspective. I had a friend call me about 40 minutes before we were to leave to see a movie together and cancel because her almost 6-year old daughter had thrown up. And I'm thinking, "Uh huh... did it look like pea soup and cause her head to spin 360 degrees because I'm still not getting why you can't go to the movie." And this is where you all start thinking I'm a callous wench for having so little compassion. But it's all about the perspective. See, in this household the demonic possession scenario is not so far from actual experience. Sam is an adorable little 3-year old who, when plagued by any sort of illness, turns into Satan's spawn. So a little upchuck from a mild-mannered kindergartener seems almost reason to celebrate, you know.

Perspective. David had the big snip last week and spent the weekend recovering. I use the term recovering loosely because it wasn't too bad at all. A couple of days taking it easy with a bag of frozen peas between his legs and nothing more than some Advil and beer to take the edge off. He didn't even feel the need to fill the prescription for Vicodin; though we did consider filling it just to be a part of the cool crowd. It seems that everyone has some Vicodin lying around the house. And every so often when one of my mommy friends has a killer headache she'll ask our group of friends if it's safe to take a Vicodin while nursing. Forget nursing... is it safe to take while you're caring for young children? And what the hell are you doing with a prescription of Vicodin lying around anyway? But my point was that David didn't seem to suffer too much. This could have been due to the expertise of the urologist who performed the procedure; he's the same urologist that Sam sees on a regular basis and I picked based on his good looks skill. Okay, so I did pick him based on the fact that he's not entirely unpleasant to look at. This is a doctor that Sam has to see on a regular basis and I'll be damned if I was going to waste another moment with an ugly doc. It's a win-win situation for me and Sam, really; he gets the medical care he needs and I get to stare at the good looking doctor. But back to David's recovery. I'm beginning to wonder if he had an easy time of it because of his perspective. After going through some of the things that we've been through with Sam, swollen black and blue balls are just a minor annoyance.

Some very unrealistic expectations

Did anyone seriously think I'd be able to take it easy this past week? Seriously? Okay, I was able to cut out my thrice weekly exercising. And the militant teachers at Sam's school forbid me from lifting Sam in and out of the car and his wheelchair. I don't miss the physical exertion so much but have always looked forward to that moment when I greet him at school and he lifts his hands to my face while I unbuckle him from his chair; then I pick him up and he smiles and giggles and tells me about his day in his own Sam babble. Then I get my hug. You haven't lived until you get a hug from Sam. Even when he decides after a few minutes that your shoulder would provide some much needed relief for his aching teeth the hug is still more than worth it. So even though I saw the good intention in Sam's teacher alerting all the other teachers, the bus aides, the other parents, and the people who live in the trees that when they saw me drive up to the school they were to remind me to stay put and wait for someone to help with Sam and sound the alarms if I so much as laid a finger on my own child, I still resented the fact that I was missing my favorite hug moments. I suspect Sam was a bit resentful, too, by the way he yelled loudly at the teachers when they lifted him from his chair or carseat. But other than omitting those activities my life still remained fairly active this past week.

I still had high hopes when arriving at the midwife's this morning for my belly measurement. The baby had turned to a vertical position and as long as I held my stomach tight and didn't exhale too deeply I felt I could keep her that way until after the midwife had taken the measurement. Well it worked and I'm measuring right on target for my date. This probably means that my amniotic fluid level is fine which only makes sense since I've been hitting the water hard all week.

I'm glad that everything seems to be just fine because how can a mom to a 6-year old and a child with special needs really take it easy. Seriously.

Changing of the title

You may have noticed that I changed the title of my blog. The former title never really sat right with me and, well, it was quite boring. I decided just to use my old stand-by since it's been working for me for a long time; plus, it's in my blog's URL. The term originates from a poem I wrote as a freshman in college:

Ode to my Muse

emerging I again sense the abyss
Reality haunts Memories taunt
i begin my phantasmagoric jaunt
through a green sea
i paint purple paisleys
with each stroke of my naked arms

i sense a gentle presence
a yellow wave presses over me
as i’m submerged in this forgotten underworld
i inhale the heady water
reassured by your cautious touch
i press my hand into yours
and we penetrate the mysterious water
your words create movement in the water
each resulting current caresses my bare skin
transporting me deeper
and deeper
into our intoxicating world

two minds

green fades to gray
your hand slips from mine
i’ve left the amaranths behind
as I come up for air

I hope you enjoyed the brief poetic interlude. We shall return shortly to our regularly scheduled prosaic blabber.