Mother of Twins & more

Hmmm..Has anyone else had trouble with Blogger?

2007-10-22T19:21:00.000-04:00

I was unable to get on the site to post in quite a while!

So, here is the 411:

I got the credit card back (after quite some effort) , the new school is working out rather well for the boys (TY Maria Montessori!) , I finally have sitting room furniture that I like (XXOO Ikea!) and all is well in general.

It's good to be away from all the stress and tension at the shop. It was kind of like a relationship: great at first, then progressively not. This is without pointing any fingers, and without taking all the blame on myself. "Mistakes were made" to quote our mad bad leaders in da gummint. Bad decisions were realized and arguments were had on such a regular basis, I really almost got used to it! Now that I have removed myself, I feel much lighter, am able to sleep better and can focus on the really critical parts of my life: my family.

The DH was diagnosed with a total cholesterol of 279. Yikes. We now have oatmeal and Smart Balance on our table with regularity. Baby B sees his own Tell-Me-About-It doctor twice a month and at school the little "issues" all children seem to have are settling easily. Example: Baby B got into an argument with another child in the classroom, the child pushed him, and Baby B went to tell the teacher. YAY!!!! Last year he would have screamed, hit the boy, pushed him back, or something. I see that the therapy, the asthma medication, the new eczema cream and age are all working well in combination. I told my Tell-Me-About-It doctor about this, and I said, "It's so great the way these situations just work out with time." She pointed out, yes, the passage of time certainly plays a part. However, my efforts in getting Baby B into therapy, going to therapy myself, taking my own meds, getting him on the right asthma medication and my being more available for talking, playing and so on during the day is the biggest part of it.

Gosh, but I love those sessions when I get patted on the head. Kinda nice for a change!

I hope to post again soon, but if Blogger is inaccessible again for a while, leave me a message in the comments and we can email to chat.

XXOO

MOT

2007-08-02T12:56:00.000-04:00

Okay, get this:

When I owned a shop, I used my personal credit card a few times, so as to have more buying power. These aren't the real numbers, but let's say the store had $10,000 worth of credit, I had a limit of $7,500 on my card, so there you go. I only ever used about $3,000 a month on my own card, so all was well and good.

Well.

Thanks to the new owner blocking the shop's bank account, the last check I wrote for business charges on my personal card was returned. Owing to incredible bad timing on my part, the check I sent for about $400 worth of personal purchases, on my own personal credit card, was also returned. (I did not realize a direct debit I had called to stop went out anyway.) The credit card company has a rule that two bad checks in one month mean the account will be closed.

Naturally I'm furious. This will reflect badly on my credit report. I am mad at myself for making the extra payment for my own $400 worth of purchases. I'm mad because I didn't even need to make that payment, I just wanted the balance to be zero. If I hadn't made a second bad payment, then I would not have lost the card and had a damaging line on my credit report. One mistake on my part, on my own card - I could deal with that. I cannot deal with the other bounced check.

Why, you ask? Why am I so angry about this bad business check? Why don't I just think, " Oh, mistakes are made, that's how you learn?" This is why:

I am pretty annoyed at my former business partner. The reason the new owner blocked the account, leading to a bounced check was because if her. She was supposed to open the store on Tuesday. She was not there at all that day. The new owner could not reach her at all that day, and neither could I. The following day, Wednesday, the same thing. No call, no show.

The last we knew, she went to a party out of town on Saturday night. The new owner was rather worried - she left town on Saturday night, and was not heard from for four days. So, he blocked the bank account, so she could not be forced to take money out of the bank and give it to her "kidnappers" or something. I don't know the real reasons, nor do I need to. The new owner wanted to block the account because his partner vanished, and he did.

Now, I am left with a little nightmare to untangle - I need to write to the credit card company and explain what happened. I need to convince the bank manager to write a letter stating that I did not know the account was blocked and had no control over the bounced check, and forward that too. I need to ask the new owner for a new check, from a new account, to bring my balance to zero, which is one of the provisions of me maybe getting the account open again. I need to do all this as soon as possible, so I don't get a bad mark on my credit score.

If I do see a reflection on my score, then I need to write to Equifax, explain the situation forward all the letter I hope to get, and chase down some more rabbits. This is a real pain in the neck. I sold the shop so I could take time for my children, not so I could spend hours on the phone and writing letters!

I called the woman at the shop, told her about this problem, and to call the bank manager. She said she would. I should hope so! Do you know the reasons she gave for not opening the store for two days with no call and no explanation? First, she was getting a mattress delivered, and her second reason was she was worn out and needed a day.

I can't even begin to try to understand. All I can do is work on making it all better, which is what I do best, thank God.

A few changes, et un petit peu de la meme chose

2007-07-29T12:35:00.000-04:00

Plus ca change, plus ca la meme chose.

The more things change, the more they are the same.

I'd assign the quote, but I fergit who said it.

The Celexa is working out really well, and is very, very effective. I know this for sure, because I forgot to take it the other night. I took my tab immediately upon rising, but it did take a few hours to hit me. In that time, I shrieked at the boys and felt as cross as two sticks until 12 noon.

Now, it is difficult, of course, to know whether I felt grouchy because I knew I had not taken the meds, or because there was no ciltalopram in my bloodstream. The power of the placebo is not to be underrated. I kind of think it was both, but mostly the lack of drugs made me feel different. I am so very, very sensitive to it all.

The first three weeks I was on the Celexa a literally felt a buzz on top of my head. It was like I had a small flannel soaked in warm seltzer water resting on my skull. Warm, tingly, and a teensy bit if pressure. That faded after a week or so, but after that, for almost a month, any time I was in a stressful situation I felt the return of the tingle.

It was as if I had a little chemical/robotic friend telling me, (read in a robot voice) "Halt! Halt! Do not stress! We are here to keep you calm! Nerr!! Nerr!!" I am a bit sorry that tingle is gone. It was pretty cool.

I've always been this way - sensitive to drugs. I avoid Ben-Gay, I'd rather use arnica if I get a bruise. I drink a big glass of water if I get a headache, one aspirin is usually too much. Ask my friends - two glasses of wine and I'm giggly, and half a tab of acid was always plenty.... Ha! Ha! I never dropped acid. Just micro-dots. Just once. And I didn't inhale.

My Dr.-Tell-Me-About-It has wondered if I feel calmer because I am away from the store, which caused me a lot of stress, or if it's the drugs. We agree that it's impossible to know which egg came before which chicken, because this all happened at the same time. I still have a bookkeeping tangle or two to unravel. In fact, the books have become a Gordian knot. I'm hoping my DH will be the Alexander and chop his way through it all. I should have hired a damn bookkeeper. Well, it's one more lesson learned.

I heard about a businessman who made a very costly error. His business had to fork over about 10 million dollars to make it right. A week later he went to the Board of Directors to hand in his resignation. The Chairman refused to accept it, saying, "Why would we get rid of you? We just invested 10 million dollars on your education."

I'm in the same sort of situation. I made a frost of the bookkeeping, and I had to pay a "fine". Hmmph.

This is very true: unless we make mistakes, we do not learn. This isn't to say, "Oh, made some errors, oh, well, I was inexperienced, so it's all okay. Whatever." No, it's more like, "Golly, I made some stupid mistakes, I need to really pay attention to what now know and learn from it. "

For example, now I know that when I start up my next venture, I will have a bookkeeper on hand, and only use a CPA for the taxes. I also know I will only start a business again once my children are in school full time. You know, like when they go away to college.

So, here I am still making mistakes, still trying to keep on keeping on, still doing my playgroups and still running and running around and still at home with the boys. Plus ca la meme chose.

The plus ca change is feeling better about myself and my life choices. Another change is my patience renewal. Another is my ability to sleep better and yet another is my relationship with my mother. It's better than it was; not yet great, but not terrible anymore.

But that story is another post. Right now, they boys and I are off to the pool for a bit if splishy splashy fun. I know, life is tough..

NOT!

Thank God.

My boys were expelled from school and I'm taking drugs...

2007-06-23T12:43:00.000-04:00

...but it's not really as bad as all that.

I'm now on an anti-depressant, and the boys are now seeing a therapist. The doctor is helping the whole family, which is great. The drugs are also helping the whole family, by really helping me, which is incredible.

Yep, I'm medicated. I admit, I feel a little bit of the inevitable, gosh-I-wish-had-done-this-ages-ago, but not too much. I know those thoughts are dangerous, for that way, guilt lies thick. What I am really feeling is simply more patient and less critical, with myself and with others. I would have never thought it possible. Those SSRI's really do the trick sometimes.

As for the boys' expulsion...I never really fit into the crowd at that snooty school anyway. I love the method of teaching, so we chose another school, about 15 minutes drive away, with the same philosophy. However, it's much less snooty, cheaper, and they know to look out for Baby B's terrible temper. I have high hopes for the combination of a new school, child therapy, mom-on-drugs and me not really working.

Yes, "me not really working" is what y'all just read. I am working on the sale of my business by the end of this month. I should clear a few grand, so no money will have been lost, and much peace will have been gained. As for work, I'm going to punch the clock part-time at the local mall for a few hundred a week. I've done it before, I like that kind of small ticket selling, so I don't anticipate too much stress. I hope to get a job by the end of the summer.

Thank you all for your advice and words of kindness left on the last post. Please stay tuned for more details!

As ever,

The Optimistic (I don't let the Turkeys get me down!) MOT

My booking at The Bad Place has been extended

2007-05-18T13:32:00.000-04:00

And just when I think it can't get worse...

Here we go with a major whinge.

Today I was called, at 10:30 am, to pick up Baby B from school. He had thrown a wooden block at a little girl, and had cut her eye. Today is exactly one week to the day after he hit another little girl in the face and cut her nose. She needed two stitches. It's simply baffling.

The teachers called me into the office and gave me a big lecture on how we need to work together. They asked me, "What are you doing at home to reinforce the lessons at school? What is your DH doing?" and so on. Needless to say, I was in tears by the time they had finished wiping the floor with me, and I left totally determined not to let Baby B get away with this.

As usual, most of his behavior is totally my fault. I get furious and impatient and I have thrown things at home. I too have screamed and have had my share of tantrums. However, I have never chucked a wooden block at someone, catching them in the face, gashing open an eye. Maybe that's because I'm not a very good shot. Whatever. I know Baby B has seen this and I also know he has inherited my moodiness and basic sense of discomfort of self. Perhaps he has also inherited my depression.

Right now he is in an extended time out until he will answer my question, "Do you know why you are bring punished?" Last time I asked he just shrugged his shoulders and whispered, "I don't know." I am supplying the answer for him, "You are being punished because you hit two of your friends in the face. You cut one girl's nose and cut another girl's eye." Until he says it, he's staying where he is.

When I first collected him he was somewhat contrite, but also very happy to see Mama. I asked him why he was so angry and violent at school. He said something interesting, "Everyone is talking and talking and making so much noise that I can't breathe and I can't make them stop."

Hmm. I called the Child Development Center where he had a few tests last fall and asked about panic attacks in four year olds. I had to leave a message, and hope they get back to me. Panic attacks are a logical explanation. It makes sense, at least to me. If he gets stressed, he can't breathe, and then acts out to call attention to himself. Or perhaps to shock others into silence. He is always telling me that Baby A and his endless chatter is hurting his ears. And he did just have tubes put in his ears when he had his Tonsillectomy/Adenoidectomy two weeks ago. It's likely he is still sensitive.

I wonder if he truly doesn't understand that he has hurt these girls. If he doesn't understand I have a lot of work to do over the next week or so to make him understand. If he actually does understand, then I have to wonder why he is not willing to talk about it? Is he ashamed of his actions, or worried about further punishment?

I wrote out a card for him that reads: "There is too much talking and too much noise. I can't breathe. Please help me find a quiet place!" I told him to show this to the people at school. Let's see if it works.

Just last night a girl I know said, "You know, you are exactly like your mother."

There is nothing anyone could say that could hurt my feeling more! I spent all last night, and all this morning (until the phone call from school) worrying about this. If I am like my mother, and I don't like my mother, then I don't like myself. This is very unpromising to my future happiness.

I fretted about the ways I know my mother and I are alike: We both force gifts upon people in a vain attempt to get them to appreciate us. We both act partially out of guilt, partially out of love and partially out of a bizarre feeling of obligation - I must take care of everyone before me!
Both of us are simultaneously intelligent and idiotic. We both like to think we are worthy of respect for the decency we display, but then we make the most caustic and withering remarks, which pulverize any respect in an instant. We both hide and cry when we are in a blue funk (she hides in the bedroom, I hide in the bathroom) and we were both pretty at one point. Well, to be precise, we were both pretty until we had children.

I know our children are another common point: We both can't help but regret having children at all. We both resent the demands those children place and continue to place upon us, and we both feel a strong sense of protection towards those children. In my mother's case, that desire to protect doesn't extend itself to actually spending time with the children, but I think it's there.

These are our similarities.

We differ in that I admit my mistakes. I actually I wallow in them and I can never forgive myself for the wrongs I have committed. I also do not spank or slap my children, like she used to spank and slap us. Nor do I insult and belittle my children: You are so clumsy/stupid/what's wrong with you/how could you be so idiotic, and so on. I remember those insults and still chafe beneath the labels fat and clumsy, so I will not do this to my two. I can tell already they will have enough emotional trouble. Having a depressed and neurotic mother is a burden in and of itself.

Case in point, if I had, when I was four, injured my classmates as Baby B has done, I would not have been put in a time out. No, I would have been scolded, spanked with a wooden spoon, and been sent up to my room with no supper. Baby B is sitting in a comfy chair, staring at the wall, being bored. I hope it's severe enough, but I can't bring myself to hurt him to make a point.

Yes, there are ways in which my mother and I are very alike, which is not very surprising. After all, I spent eighteen years in her company, every single day. She is a strong willed and demanding person, and, until I was about 25, she always got her way. Yes, that deeply affected the person I am today.

There are many great and wonderful things my parents did for their children: our education, all the traveling, the instillation of a love of good food and wine and music and books and culture. All that is to be lauded and I am grateful for it too. I am hoping my children will reap the same benefits, from a similar childhood. I just don't want the emotional price to be as high as the one I paid.

The emotional price was very, very high. A lot of my parent's behavior to us was unhealthy and crippling emotionally. This is why the comparison of my mother to me is so wounding and hurtful. I hate to think I will torture and cripple and intentionally wound my own progeny in a like fashion.

I don't think I can cry much more today, and still look quasi-decent for this girl party tonight. I weep in self-pity (I'm like my mother! I hate myself!). I weep in frustration (Why is my child so violent and why doesn't he care?) I weep with exhaustion (The same little monster who wallops his friends also kept me awake from 4:00 am until I crawled out of bed at 6:30 with his kicks and snores) and I weep because I don't know what else to do.

I am also crying because I can't stop thinking about the cream cake in the fridge. The effort of NOT eating it is actually causing me pain, and the fact that I am back to obesessing over food again hurts even more.

I am at a Bad Place again

2007-05-14T14:59:00.000-04:00

I have been on a low carb/high fat/high protein diet for the past three weeks now, and I lost about eight pounds. It has been a struggle and I was just on the verge of getting my energy back.

However, right now, I feel like exploding. I just found out - Baby B hit a child at school in the face, gashed the bridge of her nose, and she needed two stitches. And - Baby A still bites his classmates. And - for the past month I have been busy hurting a friend's feeling with my big mouth and cocky attitude and general all around poisonous personality, but she didn't want to say anything because she was afraid I would be even worse.

Therefore, I did what all of us with eating disorders do: I just gobbled down three ounces of cream cheese frosting intended for my children's banana bread, a ham sandwich with two thick slices of bread, four Lu Le Petit Ecolier cookies and four stale Mint Newman's O's. The last three cookies didn't taste very nice and were an effort to stuff in, but I managed. Now I feel totally queasy and I just know that I just gained it all back again.

So, please excuse me while I go get my husband's new 32 caliber Glock and make a genuine effort to shoot myself in the foot.

I'm such a freaking moron.

*****
Dear Anonymous -

So sorry for the mixup!! I just grabbed the nearest weapon.

I really meant the .32 Kel-Tec! I know it's a 32 caliber, because that's the number on the Speer Gold Dot 60 box.

The Glock 21C is a 45, which I did not use. It would have made too much of a mess out of the hardwood floor.

I just love these Anonymous remarks! They keep me on what's left of my toes.

MOT

The Pingvin lives on!

2007-05-11T16:37:00.000-04:00

Do y'all remember the long drawn out and agonizing tale of my boy's Pingvin from Ikea? If you were spared all that, but would like to wallow in the tale of an obsessive mother and her international quest for a stuffed toy, please see January 2006.

At any rate, I got a comment on one of those posts from an English Mama whose son loves his Pingvin. This boy, like many other two year olds, will not go anywhere without his favorite toy. He sleeps with the Pingvin, eats with the Pingvin and feels comforted by its presence. Enough build up? OK, English Mama wrote to me asking if I could spare a Pingvin because her son lost the baby of the set, and is rather upset. She is very afraid of what may happen if he loses the mama as well. She asked if I could possibly sell her one of my collection of 9 beasties, because I have so many and Ikea has none, anywhere in the world.

I thought about it for half a minute and popped two in the mail. I remember how long it took, how many calls and what a bother it was to get more Pingvin for Baby A, and that was in January 2006. These toys haven't been made since that time, so how could she possibly find one 16 months later? I am glad to know that I can be helpful, like the Scottish sales clerk was so helpful to me. The two Pingvin I sent are the two I bought on eBay. So they have now travelled from the Ikea factory to the shop in Canada, to my home in Connecticut and now to England. To Hertfordshire, actually, which is where Elizabeth Bennet and Co. lived. I wonder if those two will now be named Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy?

For flightless waterfowl, they sure get around.

I am also very glad to know I am not the only obsessed mother out there who takes quasi-ridiculous precautions to spare her child disappointment and upset. I'll bet the English Mama says, "just in case" to herself as she tucks that second spare pair of socks in her handbag. Just like me.

Well, I seem to be posting every few months now...

2007-02-26T20:23:00.000-05:00

Today I had a snow day with the boys. This was what we did:

Up at 6ish, as usual, for breakfast and early morning chaos.

The DH then went to work at 8:00, after taking 20 minutes to shovel out the car and clean the snow off the windows.

Around 9:30, after tidying up breakfast and getting everyone dressed, we played in the snow. I made a few business calls as I pulled them on a sled. (multi-tasking, as always) I felt obliged to explain to the vendors I was pulling three year old twins on a sled, otherwise they would not have understood my heavy breathing. Silk and cashmere blends at competitive prices are certainly exciting, but not that exciting!

Then we went back inside, had steamed milk and honey (warm milk and honey on stove top, steam cold skimmed milk in cappucino maker. YUM!!) and I made a few more calls.

After that, playtime (Lego, Magic Markers, running and screaming and chasing), then lunch, then more calls for the MOT.

Then, as the screams bordered on tears, in the car to the market for wheat-free-egg-free-taste- free waffles for Baby B (who still has allergies - boo hoo!!) I kept them perky on the way to TJ's by exclaiming in my excited voice, "Look! A snowplow! Look! A huge tree! Hey! It's a barn!" This usually will keep them awake so we can do the shopping before they nap. (The DH is even worse than I am. He'll yell out, "Hey, look! A TRAIN!" When they guys wake up and ask, "Where?" He'll say, "Just kidding." The rat.)

We did our shopping, (without taking any bags, thank you) and drove home.

(I don't take plastic shopping bags from the market, or even paper bags, anymore. When I remember, I bring my "Bags for Life" that I got from Waitrose in England. They are these really strong Gore-tex bags that are supposed to last a long time. Somehow, they are bio-degradable at a certain temperature, and don't out-gas noxiousness. I really am not at all sure how that works! So what I do, when I forget my Waitrose B4L, is simply fill the cart as usual, skip the bagging step and put the things back in the cart. Then I unload the said things into the trunk, and, once home, unload from the car (which goes into the garage) directly into the house. Yes, it's about three more steps, but my, oh my, do I feel good about saving the planet one plastic bag at a time...)

The boys fell asleep on the way home, thanks to a combination of the heater, Roxy Music and being tired, and they slept from 3:00 until 5:30. In that time I finished my last three calls, placing orders for clothes and making appointments for a New York buying trip, repaired my favorite espresso coloured Lilla P Origami wrap, tidied up my sewing box, made chicken soup (DEEE-lish!) got the fish ready for dinner and greeted the DH as fondly as a harried MOT/small business owner can. ( In other words, we got in three kisses and a tight hug before Baby A woke up hollering.)

Once the boys rolled out of bed, we had dinner, then I got on the computer to sort out the bills and print out the bank statements for the accountant. Thank Heaven for CPAs. I'd be in tears for a week if I had to do the taxes on my own!

Even with the DH working along side me, it took a little while to write ten checks, balance a checkbook on line, print three months of statements, break up a mini-twin fight, find a missing penguin (yes, the Pingvin is still an object of love and adoration - see posts from 01-07-06, 01-10-06 and 01-19-06) photo copy the expense reports, get the boys in their PJ's, brush and floss their teeth, make bread and butter sandwiches because they were inexplicably hungry, brush their teeth again, floss their teeth again, read Where's Wallace and settle them to sleep.

That is why it's almost 11:00PM as I post this "All in a Day's Work" entry.

When I think about it, I've put in a 17 hour day so far, and I'm not even ready for bed myself.
Sometimes I think I'd like to switch places with the single girl I once was (but where is my trusty time machine?) and get more sleep! But then I'd miss my joys and my five boys, (DH, twins, two cats) so I'll just keep on keeping on.

But I'm not making any promises...

Dear Blog,

2006-10-29T09:41:00.000-05:00

Dear Blog,

How are you? I am fine! I am really, really busy these days, in ways I never could have imagined last year!

As you know, I am the proud owner of a popular boutique in the downtown shopping district of my little city . Our first day we sold about $1,500 worth of clothes and have been busy ever since.

I have a business partner, a lovely young lady from our fair city, who really has a knack of finding really great clothes, and putting it together well. She does our window displays, the buying (with me) and Lordy, she is also just as good a salesperson as I am, which is rare! So few people know how to hustle these days. This young lady works during the day and I come by in the evenings, and I am there all weekend. Yes, we are open Saturday and Sunday too. The weekends are terribly busy! She is in her twenties and single, but she has seen a lot in her life. What is also important is that she wants what I want too - a boutique with reasonably priced, pretty and practical clothes in a wide range of sizes. We also both hope to open another shop, in another town in the next few years, so we do have a common vision.

I am the one doing the paperwork, and the organiziation, and it's difficult to find time to take care of my personal life, but I manage.

My DH, my DDH, is the on call Daddy all weekend, and he does about 90% of the laundry. Which is why my clothes are kind of linty these days, but that's okay.

I have a few plans to give me more time with my guys, apart from the hours after school and before the naps, which they usually take (blessedly!) from 3ish to 5ish every day. I can't afford to hire a housekeeper again, so I guess I have clean the bathroom instead of sleep, and clean the kitchen whilst the family eats. I need to learn how to play with/hang out with the fellas and let the rest of the house go to Hell, but us obessive compulsives have a hard time with that.

I will also really try to continue with the spinning classes and Pilates at my gym. The guys are only in school for three hours a day, so I will really have push to get the house cleaning and the shopping and the gym in in that time. The shop opens at 10 am, and I would need to leave by 11:30, so there's not much point in my opening, just to leave again. Besides, I really do need to take care of my children/husband/laundry/cooking/shopping/house/physical being, as well as mental self.

Speaking of mental selves, I have forgotten abut my appointment with my Tell-Me Therapist about three times so far. Which is terrible. I need to remain mentally fit in order to keep it all together . I think it's simply shocking I forgot about my appointment - how careless could I be?! My only excuse is that the times keep changing, and day too, so it's not a regular habit yet. I would like to go back to Saturday mornings, as difficult as it was to get up early on a Saturday, because then it doesn't force to me sacrifice a gym day. Dr. Tell-Me would like to meet at 10:00 on Thursdays, which would be perfectly possible. I could do what I have done so many times already, which is sit in the car and do my phone calls. But I'd rather be spinning. (Sounds like a bumper sticker...)

At any rate, I still have issues to work out, demons to battle and Thing to Get Done. The major difference now is that, unlike my plump little body, the boutique is really showing results, and is definately going to be what I want it to be. It's a hell of a lot healthier for me to focus a big part of my boundless energy, endless patience, reasonable intelligence and collection of neuroses on improving my business, rather than focusing it all on my plump thighs. I can overlook a juggle with enough distraction. Taking care of my three year olds, my house, my cat (which was run over by a car - my DH's car!!! That's another story) my health, my mental fitness and a soon to be very successful business is enough distraction for me!

Most of the time.

Bye for now, and come and see me sometime.

XXOO

The MOT

I am now a Proprietress!

2006-09-05T17:31:00.000-04:00

Ha! I compose my posts in MS Word (like most normal people who use Blogger) and spell check tried to change that to Procuress. Snort.

Yes, it is official. I have a lovely little boutique for ladies clothing and accessories, in the heart of my little city. For you locals, my store is across the street from both the school of architecture building and that church that was converted into the Rep Theater.

We are buying clothes as I type, from LA and New York and I have a few fabulous vintage pieces from the 1960’s, hand made in London and Hong Kong, coming soon! I am a bit nervous, a lot excited and golly, I am so glad I have a project!

My children have been to the shop with me several times, they like my partner and now they ask, “Are you going to the gym or the store?” when I get ready to go out in the evening.

That is another fabb-o part of this deal: the schedule.

I am going to work on PR and in the shop while the boys are in school. I will also work one evening a week, and I'll be on site all day Saturday and Sunday. I can still go the gym a few times a week, and go out with my buddies and all that. Best of all, I’ll be with my boys every day after school and before and after work, just like always.

Deep sigh. This is great.

Wow, It's been a long time

2006-08-20T11:41:00.000-04:00

Shouldn't "seminal" all girl bands, like The Go-Go's and Hole and The Bangles really be referred to as "ovarian"?

Just today I thought, "My, you have not posted in a looong time! Why not let the folks know what's up?"

This is what's up.

I have not posted in a while for several reasons; one, I was looking for a job; two, I have my children at home for the summer, and my oh my, do those little fellas take up a lot of time; and three, I really haven't had anything amazing to write.

However, since I am typing this on the computer at my new job, and since the children are with the DH and since I am working on a new and exciting project, a post was possible.

The new job is at a small boutique in the small city in which I live. For the past year or so I have been telling people (and Gerald) that I needed a job/a project/a "thing" of all my own, apart from my delightful family, of course. I was just stuck on the taking care of the children issue. I mean, what kind of job could I find that would allow me to work only weekends, and during the day for an hour or two? I also wanted a job that would lead to something bigger, better and even more interesting.

One would think I could get back into cooking easily. I made myself available, and was hired by a couple. They wanted three meals a week, for the two of them and their small son. I made three three course meals, brought it over and charged $150. It was too much, so I made four "one pot" meals, brought it over and charged $52.50. She asked, "Can I give you $50 even?" I thought, "No, you may not nickel and dime me to death!!" but since she is the friend of a friend, I just tool the money and ran. I am not doing that again. Yo, if you can't afford me, you can't afford me. I know what my talents, education, experience and time are worth, and it's not fifty bucks for five hours work. Besides, I simply don't want to get back into catering. It's simply too brutal and too time consuming and not very rewarding finacially. Nor do I find it "fun", which I have learned must be a part of whatever I do that will take me away from my children. I was thinking and thinking - what can I do?

Then I met Miss. Smith.

In May I was shopping at a small boutique and got to chatting to the store manager. I went back to shop and chat with her a few more times, and got to thinking about fashion as a career. She told me, after we got to know each other a bit, that she wants to open her own shop.

Then, on World Cup Day (Italia! Italia!), I was at my DS's house for a party (Forza Azzuro!) and got to chatting with one of her buddies, who manufactures fancy jewelry. The buddy agreed that I needed a project and talked up fashion as such fun and so rewarding. I went to the phone, spurred on my the convo, I called the boutique and offered my services. Miss. Smith hired me over the phone, for weekends only. How perfect! The DH had had the idea I could work weekends, so he could attend to the progeny. This is really ideal.

I have been here for about four weeks now, and so far, so good. I am a bit tired from a five day work week then a twelve to 18 hour work weekend, but I am managing well.

The new project also came from the World Cup Party (Forza Cannavaro!) when I told one of my sister's chums about my new (ten minute new) job. She got this look on her face, and said through a moue of distate, "You want to work in a clothing store?" I hastily assured her, no, I would not merely be working there, but I would really be getting experience to be store manager, and maybe, in a few years, open my own place. She looked relieved, and I felt thoughtful. Hmmm, manager of my own store? I went back to the party (Nice save, Buffon!) and got my mind to work.

I have done the "my own business" thing a few times before, and it was always missing something. I used to live in Atlanta, and had a lot of gal pals from my night gig at Clarins at the department store. Some of them also sold Mary Kay. They made it sound so great, and so easy, and cool and fun. Naturally all those job charactaristics were so appealing to a rather dizzy 20 something year old girl, which I was me at the time. Therefore, I spent the required $500 on products and display peices, and set out to make it as a Mary Kay beauty consultant. However, I was being new in town and did not have a network. I also have an obvious Northern accent, which really did work against me. Also, I did not understand that working harder was not the same as working smarter, so I got a bit burned out. As a result, I was not able to make it as a Mary Kay beauty consultant. I also tried to sell vitamins as part of a multi-level marketing scheme. That didn't work for some of the same reasons.

From those experiences I learned that in order to succeed in the retail world you need to have fun at work, you need to believe in what you sell and you need to genuinely want to help the people to whom you sell. That was why I was such a smash hit as a Clarins consultant. I truly loved the product and the customers felt the love. This is why I feel an upscale boutique is the right fit for me.

Therefore, I am working the store, checking out designers and fashion on line, really reading style magazines, watching what people are wearing on the street and I am enjoying myself.

That is, briefly, what I am doing these days. It's a very funny feeling to finally know what I am going to be when I grow up. I know there will be growing pains and mistakes made and problems. I know there are so many people to meet and talk with, and so many designers and styles and ideas to see and learn. I know I will get tired and exhilarated and have terrible days and fabulous days and I know this for certain.

It's going to be great.

What I really meant was...

2006-06-24T00:18:00.000-04:00

Tonight I spoke with a friend, about my last post. She said, in different words, this is not a quote, that I sounded whiny and silly, complaining about what most people would call a very nice life. (She said it differently, but I spoke to her on my way to catch the late show of An Inconvenient Truth. I am now so rattled and upset by the film that I can barely remember what anybody at all said to me today.)

My last post did not convey what I meant it to. I did not mean to upset Gerald, nor did I intend to complain. I was trying to write about being torn between feeling happy that I have time to pursue my interests, and feeling obligated to make life as comfortable as possible for my family before I take care of me. (The gym is not relaxation, it's really work - more on that later.)

I am fully aware I am a stay-home-mother, in the new classic definition of the term. I do not work for a paycheck, and the children, the housekeeping and the organization of those two are fully my province. If I go out at night, I make sure there is a meal ready to be served, and that the pj's are set out, complete with diapers, to make the post-bathtime moment as seamless as possible. I feel torn between wanting to embrace this role of SHM and excel in it, and feeling the futility of keeping the floor clean, and the like. There are so many parts of mothering a young family that are thankless and frustrating. For instance; the frustration I feel whilst attempting to diaper a wriggling, screaming child. Or the thanklessness of watching something you have just cooked/cleaned/tidied/put away/brought home/put on getting destroyed faster than anyone can move to save it.

I love my children. I delight in their voices, their expressions, their creative play. I relish the funny and sweet and crazy things they say and do. I adore how they show they love me; I love the noisy kisses and the choking hugs. I grin ear to ear when Baby A runs to the door of his classroom and announces to the world, alto voce, “Mommy is he-ah! Mommy is he-ah!” I feel the prick of tears whenever I see Baby B’s eczema flare up – I don’t want anything to hurt my baby. I have searched and researched the entire world to find something to help him, and I finally discovered that pure, unfiltered Shea butter from Ghana works best.

I love my husband, and I appreciate all he does for me individually and for the family. He is a hands-on guy, with the children and with the house and with me. (Teehee!) He is an amazingly devoted husband and father, despite our occasional parenting style differences.

I am very happy with my little house. This is the first place I have ever felt truly at home. I feel more at home after four years here than I ever did in the New York apartment in which I lived for almost ten years. My mother owned that apartment and never let me forget it. I take great pride in the prettiness, neatness, and organization of my own house. I have done a lot of work with my own little gloved hands, and I am, for the most part, rather pleased with the results of my painting, decorating, plumbing, construction and choice of artworks.

Tonight my friend asked me if I will ever be content. If she meant to ask, will I ever feel it's not necessary to cook something, or clean something, or organize something just because I have a free moment? Will I ever just rest, read a book, watch the grass grow or sleep? Well, I don’t know. It’s my personality to always be Doing Something, if I have the time in which to do it. I inherited that restlessness from my poor mother.

She also asked if I will ever be content with myself/my body. Well, right now the answer is no. I am not happy with my physical form, and never have been since I realized, at age nine or ten, that I was short and fat and had terrible, thick legs and stumpy, flabby arms. At least, I do compared to my “perfect” mother and stick thin sister. I was, and am, fatter and shorter, and always will be. I work-out a lot in an attempt to hold the obesity at bay, but because I have self-defeating tendencies, I over-eat. I over-eat when I am frustrated by something beyond my control, like the boys toddler fighting, or the cats endless miauing to come in or go out, or the hot weather, or the neighbor’s teenager with the stinky, noisy, oil burning car. I also over-eat when I am bored. Therefore, I keep busy. In theory then I won’t have time to get bored, and therefore I won’t over-eat. In theory. In reality, I run around, and wind up having lunch in the car. I am not comfortable eating in the car. I don’t pay attention to what I eat in the car, and often over eat, just to empty the lunch box, so as not have one more thing to lug about. I pack a light lunch, which works at times, but at other times I am just so hungry, I eat some of the boys lunch too. I truly do try to organize it well, but I am not perfect. Like you didn’t know that already, right?!

Gerald wrote: “Find another therapist and investigate the use of healthy coping and people first skills. Or better yet go, get a job” This is not constructive, realistic or practical advice. My therapist is excellent, covered by my insurance and was chosen after I had seen four different people several times each. I know I cope extremely well, given the stresses of daily life with young children. I don't excel, but I definitely cope. And, if I did not have people skills I would not have friends. (Like Gerald. Du-OH!) As for getting a job, I adressed that in my comment to the aftermentioned Gerald.

I wrote that last post at a certain moment, after a long, hot day, at about 10:00 PM, when I was tired and taken for granted. It was a moment, and yes, I was whiny and silly at that moment.

I am a tired now, and had another long, hot day, which included an ill-advised trip to Chuck E. Cheese to make a friend’s child happy. No-one was happy after the visit and I got a headache. Lesson learned. Whatever the late hour, I felt compelled to explain myself more effectively, if a bit long-windedly. Is “long-windedly” is even a word? I will have to research that, when I have a free moment, of course.

I have written before about the broken finger phenomenon. If one person has broken finger and another person has a broken arm, it doesn’t necessarily hold that the broken arm is more painful than the broken finger. To the person with the broken bone, size does not matter. The pain is real and present and hurts. Yes, I have a nice life, and even an easy life, but I still feel frustration and exhaustion at times. At those times, the pain is real and present and hurts. I see I picked the wrong place and time to vent that small hurt.

I will take some time off from this blog, and get back to it later.

Au revoir.

Woof

2006-06-21T10:33:00.000-04:00

Well, as I wrote before, the Dog Days have arrived, and I am "relaxing" and "enjoying" my "free time". I put quotes around all that because, as y'all know, so much is subjective.

Thanks to the five four-hour twin free mornings at my house, I have been able to attend to a bunch of projects - finally painting the trim in the playroom, finishing the sewing and getting those last spring plants in the ground. I have also been able to go to the gym, tidy the house AND go shopping all in the same morning, which is a treat. This sounds ridiculously obvious, but having four hours instead of three is SOOO much more time. Often, I almost feel relaxed.

Almost.

Yesterday, it was business as usual. We all woke up around 6:30, the DH and I had our breakfast, got dressed, got the guys breakfasted, dressed, and coated in sunblock, got the bags, the lunches and my list of errands in the car, and off we went. I took the fellas to school, sat in the car for twenty minutes and made some phone calls, went to the tailor to drop off some pants, took a 60 minute spin class, met with my trainer for an hour (we boxed - LOVE IT!), took a shower, coated myself with sunblock, sat in the car for twenty minutes and ate my lunch, whilst reading a book, and got the guys from school at 12:30.

Then we met some freinds at Ikea for lunch and the children ran around the store like mad. I did a little shopping myself, and around 3:30 we got in the car to go home. The guys were tired from all the running around, and I was looking forward to a few minutes of down time.

Whoops! I suddenly remembered I had a dentist appontment at 4:00! I called the DH, who met me at the dentist's office. By this time the boys were sleeping, so I thought it was nice for the DH; he'd have some time to get things done when he got home. I asked him if he was okay - he looked all pissy. He kind of grr'ed at me, "The traffic was terrible!", and took off.

I had my apppointment - no cavities - Yay! - and called home at 5:15 to let the DH know I was stopping at the crunchy granola shop to get my Stress Buster Yogi Tea. I asked what he was doing, and he said, "Laundry." I thought, how nice, did my shop, read my book for half an hour in the car, and got home by 7:00.

At home, all the boys were outside running around. The kitchen was a bit of a wreck, and the laundry was in the washer. But nothing else... I asked about the naps, and he said the boys woke up at 6:30.

Me: What were you doing for two hours?
DH: I got the laundry going.
Me: Did they eat?
DH: There is a pizza in the oven.

I can't help but think - what about the lunches for tomorrow? What about the door that needs a coat of sealant? What about the curtains that need to be hung? What about a martini for your hard-working wife?

So, today I dropped the fellas at school, came home, cleaned the bathroom, made some phone calls, organized a cake for a friend's party this afternoon, sewed up yet another pair of little pj's, folded the laundry in the dryer, hung up the wet laundry, fed the cats, cleaned up breakfast, vacummed the bedrooms and took a minute to post this.

I am a tiny bit annoyed that the DH leaves me to do all the house things, but I am a bigger part understanding. I know I do it better, faster and cleaner than he does. Besides, right now, the DH works in an office and I work at home. So, it is my job to clean, cook and sew. How nineteenth century! But in spite of therapy, reasonability and logicial thinking, I feel mixed. Should I be annoyed?

Anyway, let me post this. I need to get a coat of sealant on the door and start on the fruit salad for later. I hope I don't have any trouble getting that door off the hinges. I really hope I don't drop it either - it's kind-a heavy. And I really, really hope I don't - God forbid - break a nail. After all, part of my job description is looking good, and that is the hardest part.

The dog days are here...

2006-05-30T15:39:00.000-04:00

and my boys will be barking up a storm at the Montessori Summer program.

Yes indeedy, my parents suggested I enroll the twins in the five week Montessori Enrichment Program, which is specially designed to help the toddler transition from one classroom to another. With a name like “Enrichment” I had an idea the program was designed to improve their white blood cell count and fatten them up a bit at the same time, but no...

There was a little saga about their enrollment, because, as y’all know, nothing in my life can ever be simple and streamlined. In April, when the signs advertising the Summer Enrichment Program (SEP) went up all over the school, I looked at the price, winced, and didn’t look again. The deadline for enrollment was May 12, and the tuition was due, in full, on May 26. My parents came over on Saturday, the 27th, and my father asked about our summer plans.

Daddy: Hey, what are the twins going to be doing this summer?

MOT: Driving me crazy full time, me thinks.

Daddy: Why not enroll them in a summer program somewhere?

MOT: Well, there is one at their school, but it seemed kind of pricey.

Daddy: Oh, we can take care of that for you...OUCH! (My mother kicked him under the table)

MOT: Well, guys, I’ll look into it, and if there’s room, I’ll enroll them.

Mummy and Daddy together: Oh yes, we can help you with the tuition, no problem.

MOT: You do realize we’ll have to pay up front, because I missed the deadline?

M and D: Oh, yes, we can blah, blah, demur, demur.

Therefore, when I dropped off the fellas today I asked the administrator if there room in the SEP. She said there was, and I filled out the application on the spot. She told me I needed to get a check to the school Ay-Sap, andI said I would.

While I was at Stop and Shop after school, I called my mother:

MOT: Hi Mummy, I was able to get the boys into the Summer program, so now we need to cough up the tuition. Here’s how much we need...

Mummy: I don’t know how you expect me to pay all that, I am re-doing the kitchen, you know.

MOT: (keeping her cool AND her head) Mummy, I didn’t tell you guys about the program because, as I said before, I thought it was too much money. The DH and I can’t afford the full tuition on our own, as I said before. This was Daddy's idea. I was ready for them to be home- really. It’s fine; they don’t have to go. Will I see you this weekend?

Mummy: Now wait! I didn’t say I COULDN’T help you a bit, I think I might be able to stretch it to $1,000. Will that help?

MOT: That’s great, and yes, it will help. Would you mail the check to the school?

Mummy: (deep sigh) Yes, I will.

I think my sessions with Dr. Tell me About It helped me in that situation. I was all grouchy and shaky for a few hours afterwards – why does she make me jump through hoops all the time? Why can’t she fulfill her promises without trying to torture me? And if I refuse to be tortured, why do I feel guilty? Do I fell like I have deprived her of some fun? Or does she need to make me know how difficult it is for her? Or does she just want to me really, really appreciate her? Or does she simply like to belittle me and get me to beg?

I’m glad the boys will be in a program; I don’t know if I’d be able to have them 24/7 for 3 long hot months without a break. I don’t handle humidity very well. I only wish I didn’t have to feel as if I had done something wrong. The SEP was my parents’ idea; my father offered to pay, without any hint from me, but still the resistance. As infinitesimal as it was, it still takes a lot out of me.

I regret to report I cried a teensy bit, and was sensitive all afternoon. The boys are napping now, and I hope a snack and a nap work will work wonders for Mommy just like they do for babies.

I think I'll have some graham crackers and apple juice...YUM! Better already!

Out of the minds of Babes

2006-05-11T10:48:00.000-04:00

You know how it is when you are a bit tipsy, or a bit sleepy and you unintentionally say something that comes across as hilarious? Well, the other day, Baby B was just up from a nap, and at the yawn-y, heavy in my arms stage of waking up. I carried him outside, to where his brother was frisking and gamboling. We sat for a moment on the lawn as he woke up and looked around. He focused on the garden, pointed and said, “Thass a wheelbarrow.” My little Obvious Man.

Baby A is Obvious Man too at times. He was banging the plastic hammer from his tool chest on the table. Wham, wham, what fun! He paused, looked up at me and said, “This hammer really loud!” Hey, you are right. I wouldn’t have noticed.

Like many little boys, my two have a fondness for wheeled things, construction equipment and farm machinery. They have a small fleet of tractors and trucks at home, and they like to know the specific names for each vehicle; track excavator, mobile crane, front loader with digger, tractor and so on. Nowadays, before we go for a drive, each boy will request a particular toy. Baby A likes his “yellow fork-a leeeft” and Baby B like to play with this red combine harvester. Guess what he calls it? Yep, he’s two and a half and says, “Combine, please.” My boy is a genius - call Yale.

Miss Malaprop is SOOOO funny!

2006-05-04T17:53:00.000-04:00

My dear friend, whose husband calls Miss Malaprop, said just the funniest things recently.

Last night we all stood by our cars, saying "Bye, Bye" and "See you soon" and "What a nice time". I went from person to person, saying “Mwah, Mwah” and kissing both cheeks. This lady’s husband missed the second kiss I dished out, because he wasn’t expecting two kisses. Miss Malaprop said, “Oh Honey, The MOT swings both cheeks.”

What, when I walk?

A few weeks ago, at a playgroup, all the children were running around and doing this and that, and the parents were sitting and chatting. One of the children needed help dressing a Jessie doll. You know, Jessie? Woody’s girlfriends from Toy Story Part Two? A few of the parents started dressing these dolls and I saw that the family had three Woody dolls, of various sizes and materials. I commented on this, and asked why the dolls weren’t more consistent. Miss Malaprop said, “Well, you know, all Woodies are different.”

So I have heard. So I have heard.

A Half Assed post

2006-05-02T15:57:00.000-04:00

A quick update

Since I have been so busy lately with my one-hour nap boys (grr) and the siren song of the great outdoors and my flower garden, I have not been updating this blog that often. Recently I have had requests to do so, hence, this half-assed post.

I saw my new endocrinologist last week and my TSH went from 2.80 to .75 in one month, just by following her advice: take my meds at the same time every day, on an empty stomach. By empty, she means, don't eat anything at all for one half hour after taking the meds. Not even juice. I also added another pill once a week, so I am taking eight tablets a week; I take two on Wednesdays . I definitely feel less moody, but I still get pissed off when the babies throw all their clean clothes out the second story window onto the muddy grass. D’ja think that makes me unbalanced? Ha.

I had a nice lunch with my parents over the weekend. I expected nothing therefore was happily surprised. I didn’t ask for a lot and as a result got more than I had expected. My Dad did tell me I looked like kinda chunky, but since I won the Scrabble game, he might have been “getting even.” Ho.

I have been going to the gym a bit more lately; somehow I am able to squeeze it in and still do other crucial stuff, like scrub my bathroom, take the boys to the playground and eat and sleep. This week I went to a spin class on Monday at 9:30, worked out with my trainer from 10:30 to 11:30, then went back for another class that night – kickboxing. I took the spin class today and plan on going tomorrow as well. I meet my trainer on Thursday at 7:30, and then I have an appointment to have more blood sucked for another doctor. Then I am going to a friend’s house to help her prepare an impressive dinner for her in-laws before I collect the boys from school. I will take the yoga class that night. I plan on taking Friday off, because I meet with my Dr. Tell Me at 7:30 on Saturday (just for a few weeks, then we are back to 8:00 am), so I can take the 9:30 Saturday Pilates class at the gym. I need to get a schedule worked out for the summer - I will so miss those three hours three days a week of me/gym time...

So, as y’all can see, I am busy. In a happy way. It feels nice.

A Nutcase's Progress

2006-04-09T18:19:00.000-04:00

Just today I got a comment on my last post that expressed the opinion “your a nutcase”. Naturally, I disagreed and wrote the anonymous a little comment back. It should have been written "you're a nutcase".

As y’all know I have been seeing a therapist for the past month or so. I have also been taking an extra Synthroid once a week to boost my levels of TSH. The extra pill just once a week might be enough, because thyroid hormone is cumulative in the body. It was a good idea, and I think both are therapies are working quite well. I also attribute some of my “feeling better” feelings to the flower essences, which I take about three times a day. Man, do I love my homeopathic remedies!

Talking therapy is proving quite interesting, in that Dr. Tell Me How You Feel About That agrees with some of my self assessments, but also points out some obvious issues that I have not been able to see. For example, I have a bit of a rocky relationship with my mother. Many of us do. I am quite similar to my mother in many ways; we both like to be in charge, we both like to feed people and give presents, we both like to keep order in our homes, we both feel we can’t relax unless everything is taken care of first. Man, that’s exhausting. However, unlike my mother, I can admit failure and show weakness and I can yell, “HEEEEELLLLLPPPP!” as I have done just recently. My poor mother is unable to show signs of failure, which is a bit of an emotional failure in itself, don’t you think?

So here I am, discussing my parental relationship with Dr. Tell Me How You Feel About That, and she says (these are not direct quotes), “Well, I see that you are here.” She holds her hand to the left. “And I see that your mother is over here.” She holds her hand to the right. “You are both inhabiting rather small spaces, and need more room to be happy. Through therapy and through talking and by admitting the need for assistance, you are increasing your space. Your mother seems not to be able to do that right now. But you shouldn’t worry about crossing over into her living space. There’s enough room for everyone.” We discussed this further, and then she said, “Don’t be afraid of turning into your mother. Your ability to be self aware already makes you your own person.”

I thought that was great advice. I can be like my mother, without being a clone of her. I can be my own person, and my own charming self, but still can hold an echo of my parent. I can be a nutcase if I want to be one, and can continue to have a terrific relationship with my children. I can be like my mother without having to be my mother.

There is a lot I admire in my parent; her strength for one. My mother left her home country, left her friends and her brother and mother and moved to Canada. She had just been married two years, had a year old baby and was pregnant with me. She set up a new home and then my parents decided to move again. This time she moved with a 2 year old, a six month old and she got pregnant with my brother in about six months of settling into her third house in as many years. Everyone who meets her says how charming and intelligent she is; it’s once you know her for years that you realize she’s pretty self-centered.

Gosh, it’s scary how alike we can be! Y’all might be saying, “Gee, we knew this all along,” but self-realization is a powerful thang…

As good as this therapy shtick is turning out to be, I am also going to have my blood tested for TSH in a week or so, and see the endocrinologist again. I really need to be aware of how exercise, emotional changes, hormones and life with little boys in general can affect my thyroid. I wonder if talking therapy has boosted my cortisol levels as well. As you know, the adrenal glands produce cortisol. When you are stressed or emotionally taxed or injured or sick for a long time, the adrenal glands get over worked and are unable to make enough cortisol. As a result, people get tired and depressed and sick more easily. Adrenal hormones also help maintain blood sugar. I might have had an overworked adrenal gland, from feeling stressed and anxious for the past few years. This would explain the dizzy spells and nervousness, and panic-y feelings.

The lovely endocrinologist is having all these levels tested. She is the first one to do so, and if her hunch is right - stress was making my thyroid work too hard, then she has my undying loyalty.

I will let y’all know about my blood-work, in the interest of science. It will be interesting to see how quickly one recovers quickly from these kinds of adrenal/thyroid imbalances. I’m enjoying not feeling super moody and I am really looking forward to not feeling dizzy.

The Sense of Spring

2006-03-31T16:36:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, as the babies and I were frolicking about in our Music Together class, I suddenly felt a surge of light. I almost became teary; it was a clear, acute sensation. It was happiness.

I was holding one baby; the music teacher was holding the other baby, and we were dancing to this Canadian sailor’s song, Lukey’s Boat. Both Baby A and B love this song, and we play it 5 times in a row in the car. Baby A was laughing and clapping, and Baby B had the biggest smile on his chops imaginable. We were all singing away and I felt so light and bright, like I had a cloud in my chest.

I have had the same kind of sensation in the past, at other purely simple and happy times. It has been when I was doing something fun and interesting or when I was getting ready to go somewhere and I knew it would be great. At these times I get the feeling of looking down upon myself, but not in a removed sort of way. I am definitely still part of the scene, and can feel and see and smell and taste with an extra sensitive touch.

Perhaps it is the sunshine, or the scent of warmth and new shoots. Perhaps it is the therapy or the flower essences. Perhaps it’s the fact of Spring and the pollen; it’s making the DH sneeze, it could be affecting me too, but mentally.

The happy cloud blew away and I was back to my regular programming. I got the dinner organized, got the apple and strawberry tart together for the playgroup the next day, and did some laundry. By 8:30 I was ready for bed, but the boys were resistant. Baby B threw his fire engine down the stairs and nicked our new paint, and Baby A ran around yelling until about 9:30. But, eh, s’alright. B didn’t mean any harm and we can paint again. A was just over-excited about being alive, and he eventually put a sock in it.

So, I felt a bit crabby by late evening, s’alright. I’d be inhuman if a pair of whiny 2 and a half year olds doing a I-don’t-wanna-go-to-bed shtick after a 16 hour day didn’t make me feel a bit grouchy. I feel perfectly content, even if my fine, white cloud has dispersed. Now that I have been reminded of the feeling, I am sure it will come back.

It could be Monday's visit to the endocrinologist. My TSH was 2.74 in November of 2005 and in now, in March of 2006 it is 2.95. She increased my Synthroid by one extra 88 mcg pill every six days. I took the upped dosage that day, and it might be affecting me already. I am a sensitive blossom...

Only two days ago I spoke about this happy cloud and light sensation. I was just telling someone about a happy time in my life a few days ago, and how I used to feel as if I had a light bright cloud inside me that illuminated my life. A light that shone upon the best path for me to take and kept me from stumbling. How odd that I should feel it again so soon after verbalizing how much I missed that light!

White cloudy days are here again.

Well, y'all know I don't sunbathe!

Flower Power - available in England since 1930!

2006-03-28T07:21:00.000-05:00

Recently, between rushing around with the children to school and to music class and getting me to the gym for a two hour spin sessions to help work out demons, I had a few conversations with my lovely friend in Nashville. She and I are quite similar in that we both have a penchant for trying all kinds of New Age healing processes. (Cranial-Sacral massage! Fabulous! Make me an appointment, would’ja? Eye Movement Desensitization and Regression Therapy? Sounds super, and I think I actually know a practitioner! Honey, did I tell you about that Feng Shui reading I did on my house? Ever since I hung that mirror next to the door to help my Qi bounce back into the home, I have felt sooo much better….)

I called her as I was running errands, as she had left a message, concerned about me from my last post. (Gee, I wonder why? Heh.) Anyway, as she was telling me all about these flower essences she has been taking as part of her therapy, I walked into my local Happy Granola Organic Market. Just as she was describing the power of Oak extract, I walked over to the part of the market where all the natural cosmetic and vitamins are sold. What did I see before me? A whole shelf full of flower essences and mixing bottles and sprays of this concoction called Bach Rescue Remedy. Do you know how many times I have been in that store? Maybe 200 times in the past four years. It is the source for non-chemical skin care products, organic laundry soaps and the like. I get 90% of my vitamins from HGOM, and I have been to that section almost every time I have been shopping. Had I ever seen the selection of Bach Flower Essences and the enormous “Guide to Using Bach Flower Essences” hanging on the wall behind the register where I have paid for hundreds of purchases? Nope. They were just there, waiting for me to have my consciousness awakened.

I got several different essences and started taking them right away. I chose Crab Apple, Impatiens, Oak, White Chestnut and Willow. Here are the brief descriptions of each essence’s intended use:

Crab Apple helps you when you feel self-disgust, and cannot look in the mirror and appreciate how you look. Crab Apple helps you look at yourself without unrealistic critique.

Impatiens helps you when you get impatient and irritated with slow situations or people. Others appear slow and inefficient and you get frustrated; Impatiens helps you relax and cope calmly and diplomatically with irritating problems.

Oak helps you when are exhausted but you keep to struggling on. You are normally strong and brave, but because of your sense of duty you ignore your tiredness and do not allow yourself rest. You feel tired, frustrated, stressed and depressed. Oak helps you restore your energy and makes you recognize the need to take time off to relax and look after yourself.

White Chestnut helps you when your mind is full of unwanted thoughts and mental arguments. White Chestnut helps you clear your mind and get the thinking under control and can be put to positive use in problem-solving. Worry is replaced by trust in a positive outcome.

Willow is for those times when you feel bitterness and self-pity. It is also to assist you in forgiving past injustices when you feel resentful and critical. Willow helps you regain faith and optimism and. Feel that you are in control of your own destiny

There is another company, from California called FES , that sells slightly different blends and essences. I am quite interested in one, Buttercup. Here is a description:

Buttercup: For potentially self-assured people with a radiant inner light, who suffer from feelings of low self-worth, and an inability to acknowledge or experience that inner light and uniqueness. Buttercup helps rebalance the self-deprecating.

I’m going to get a gallon of that.

I am sure some of you might think this is all in my mind, and that drinking flower essences don’t really help anything. One of my friends actually suggested I get the DH to slip me a placebo drink for a few days to see if I notice the difference. I thanked him for his suggestion, but I’m so totally not going to do it. That is precisely the thinking that caused a bit of bother in the recent past.

You know, thinking my troubles are “all in my head” and that I should try the “just don’t worry about it” tack. Repressing my desire for help has led me to the edge of the cliff of mental instability. I have only been seeing my Dr. Tell Me About it for three weeks, but already I feel more confident in my abilities to decide what I need to do to help me. I will not let self-doubt and un-needed worry get me in my own way, damn it.

This flower essence thing has been around in its present form for about 80 years, and, obviously, has been used for thousands of years. It is working already.

Why, just the other night, I happily brought home my new oil paining, purchased from a real gallery, by a real artist (with a real price tag, 'natch). I leaned the painting, wrapped in paper and bubble wrap, against a low cabinet as I took off my shoes in the dining room. Baby A, who had not seen me in a few hours, was equally delighted to see me as the large amount of bubble wrap I had brought home. Before I could move, he knocked over the picture and stamped on it, to pop a bubble, of course.

Naturally I was a bit concerned for my picture, and took it into the kitchen to assess the damage. Of course it was damaged; there was a big dent in the top quarter, because, of course, when he knocked it over it fell with the picture up and the hollow space behind the stretched canvas down. When he stamped, the canvas went down that 1 and a half inches and left a dent. I fixed it by moistening the canvas right behind the dent and allowing it to air dry. This shrank the canvas and smoothed out the dent. But really, Baby A! Such violent exuberance. Please note, I did not freak out. The DH was on the cusp of flipping, I saw it in his face and heard his voice, but I felt oddly floral and calm. I really think the Impatiens Essence helped in that situation; I had just taken it a few hours before.

I am going to ask Dr. Tell Me what she thinks about flower essence therapy. She might tip her head to the side and ask me “What do you think I think?” but it’s worth discussing.

The Bouquet of Flowers

2006-03-17T15:23:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago I called my parents to see if my mother wanted to meet me at Ikea one day to look at kitchen cabinets. Two days later, I was beaten up and made an appointment to see a psychiatrist.

That night, a Monday, my father told me that I needed Prozac because I am deeply depressed. I pointed out that my thyroid was messed up and that I was weaning myself off coffee. He said, “You are depressed! Whenever we see you, you are always upset and angry!” I said I got anxious around them, but since my sister has scolded me about it, I was doing my best to be “normal” when I saw them. He agreed I had been better that last few times I saw them and then he told me that a TSH of 3 was just fine and my thyroid levels had nothing to do with me being moody. We got into a little squabble about that, when I said new studies show that a level of 1 to 2 is best for women. My father, with his 1967 medical degree, is a little bit stuck in is ways, and disagreed. He is a doctor, but he thinks homeopathy and naturopaths are twaddle. I also told him that I get dizzy spells and have periods of exhaustion, even after a night’s sleep. He said, “If you lived in Iraq you wouldn’t worry about dizzy spells!” Well, you’re right, Daddy – if I lived in Iraq right now I wouldn’t worry because I would probably be dead! What a comfort. Really.

A friend recently told me that she has had the same difficulty – reconciling her right to have problems with the fact that there are others who suffer too. My view is: my broken finger, while not as big or as painful as your broken leg, really, really hurts, and I have the right to say so. Everyone hurts, and has a right to feel it. I really do have an obligation to myself and my DH and my babies to go see someone. I am waiting so eagerly to see this new endocrinologist, and to hear what she says about the thyroid/moodswing/anxiety realationship. Because I really do have anxiety attacks and mood swings. I am not depressed – I never just sit and cry and feel incapable of doing anything. I know I am capable of doing everything and I know I need to get it all done before the babies wake up/go to bed/get out of bed/come home from school. I just can’t seem to get it all done and that makes me anxious, nervous and upset.

A lot of my “problems” come from me having unrealistic expectations and getting all flipped out about the failure to accomplish impossible goals. I have known this and I have tried to talk myself out of behaving this way for many years, but to no avail. For twenty something years I have been saying, “Now, MOT, don’t let it bother you!” But that doesn’t work. Therefore: the therapist. I hope that a trained professional will help me find what it is I am seeking, and help me find in myself. Then I can stop looking for fulfillment in cut abs, lean legs, flawless skin and a real conversation with my parents, because none of that is ever going to happen.

I have never been skinny, so why do I think I can do it now? I need to do some deep soul searching and discover exactly what I hope to accomplish by being a size 6. At the same time, do I really want that? If I really do want to be sexy, why do I them engage in self-destructive behavior, like eating? Why do I persist in eating dark chocolate on a daily basis? Am I trying to sabotage myself so I don’t have to find out what it’s like to be sexy, because I might not like it?

I have never had a great relationship with my parents. I was petrified of my mother’s disapproval for millions of years, and I still am. If she says, “Sit and wait”, I do. She was always late to come get me from school, or from the train when I was in college, but I would just sit and wait – sometimes for hours. I got a lot of reading and snacking in, as you can imagine. In the same conversation in which he made his Iraq comment, my father, told me that my mother is now afraid of me, and vomits before I come to visit. I make her that nervous. I find that beyond ironic – the child who was scared of her mother now terrifies her right back.

I wanted to apologize to my poor mother for making her vomit, so I called the next day, a Tuesday. I thought we should get this out of the septic system of our relationship, so I asked her, “How can you be scared of me? I am helpless and powerless! Why do I make you afraid? What can I do to stop you throwing up? How can I apologize? How can I be nicer?”

She told me that I made her incredibly nervous and twitchy and that she never knew if was going to get mad and yell. She also said she didn’t have any time to talk, as she had a busy day at the office and rafts of mail to open and so much to do and proceeded to tell me about her frantic lifestyle for the next twenty minutes. She completely avoided the reason I had called, didn’t let me say more than, “Yes, but…” and “Well, I …” for the rest of the “conversation”. By the end of it all I was so frustrated I was crying so hard I could hardly breathe. Her last remark was, “I always feel I never tell you what you need to hear.” I wanted to respond, “I don’t want you to tell me anything, I want you to listen to me tell you for once,” but I was choking, so I just said, “Don’t worry about it, goodbye.”

My babies were in school at the time, so I no one to distract me, or to get mind off the frustration I felt. I just got madder and madder. The DH was in a meeting and my sister wasn't home. I thought and thought and became somewhat hysterical. I screamed, I roared, I wept and sobbed. I screamed as if my mother could hear me, and I screamed at myself. I shook my fists in the air and then took them to myself. I punched my legs, my abdomen, my arms; everything I have always hated and been ashamed of. Then I slapped my face, over and over and hard, until I managed to get a grip. I beat myself up because I couldn’t force my mother to listen to me.

I beat myself up for being too weak to make myself heard, for being incapable of telling her what she needed to hear. Because I can’t, and never will, be able to slap my parents and say, “Stop ignoring me! I have a right to be,” I gave myself multiple bruises and two black eyes instead.

The next day, a dear friend saw me and cupped my face in her hands; I saw the start of tears in her eyes. I made to note to self: Call a shrink. I actually called five, have met with three, and have decided on one. This psychiatrist says, “Tell me what you think about that,” and “How does that make you feel?” She also pointed out, as I told one of my many stories, that my mother, as a young woman and a young mother was just holding on by a thread all through my childhood. Does this mean I am like her, or does it mean I have greater abilities because I am willing to admit failure? I am comfortable with defeat and with seeking professional help. I wonder if my mother ever saw a shrink? I am 110% sure her own mental discomfort is why she became a therapist. She thinks: If you are a therapist, you don’t have to go outside yourself to seek help. Unfortunately, she is not right about that.

Just knowing that I have a sympathetic, experienced ear to listen to me is a real relief. I am not sure if I will go the medication route – I will let the therapist advise what’s best for me, and not push her one way or the other.

Meanwhile, I am going to follow my brother’s advice. I asked him what he thought I should or could do about the unhappy situation with our parents. I asked what he would do if he lived just thirty minutes away and never really saw them, unless it was at their house, on their terms on their schedule. I asked how I could get our parents to come see me, to relax a little, to play with their grandchildren and listen a little. I asked what he would do. He said, “You know, my new daughter is almost six months old. They have been away three times since her birth and have not even considered coming to see her. They can’t be bothered. MOT, they will never approve and will never love you and pet you like you need to be loved. They care, but they can’t show it. They don’t know how to show it, and can’t be bothered to learn. It’s too hard for them to change at this point. So, fuck them.”

Let’s see what my brain doctor says about that; but, when I feel like I do now, I think my brother is absolutely right.

From the mouth of babes

2006-02-26T11:15:00.000-05:00

Baby B likes peppermint. He rummages through my nightstand regularly, because once I found a decrepit Star Brite Mint in the drawer and gave it to him. One mint, one time. Now he asks "Mommy, have it mint? Baby B eat it mint?" whenever we go into my room. During the holidays he would make a bee line for the Christmas trees in the houses we visited, would ask for a candy cane and crunch it up on the spot. He also likes to get his teeth brushed, d’ja know why? He wants the toothpaste. When it’s tooth-time he will say, “Candy cane mouth!”

They tend to scold the things that cause them injury, like each other, of course, and any furniture they crash into. From Baby B: “No! Bad Baby A! No biting! Naughty!” From Baby A: “Bad chair! No hurt Baby! No chair hurt Baby A!” And once, hilariously, from Baby B, as he was holding the cat’s tail, “No Meow Meow! Let go! Owweee!” The cat wasn’t too fussed, just puzzled. He gave Baby B a look to say, “Shouldn’t I be yelling at you, dude?” Thank goodness he’s so patient and understanding...and lazy. Methinks he just can’t be bothered to get up and run away.

Both babies say “it” a lot. They use it as a conjunction. “Baby B hold it fork,” "Daddy drive it car," “Baby A read it book,” “Mommy take it bath,” and so on. Sometimes, especially when Baby A is releasing on of his bizarre stream of consciousness sentences, “it” sprinkled liberally about gets confusing. Last night he said “Mommy hold it knife cut it Meow Meow outside it cold knife it no hold it Baby A.” I was cooking, didn't want him to touch the chopping knife and earlier I had let out the cat. You got that, right?

I wonder if the UN has a position for a simultaneous translator from Toddler into English? Now that would be a job for me.

I'm off the ledge, thank you.

2006-02-14T19:32:00.000-05:00

Well hello there, Internet. I’m off the ledge now, and ready to get on with my life, AKA The Survival of the Glibbest. I am sure it’s the weather/being cooped up/being a little unwell still/missing my spin classes for a few days that have made me feel crabbier and less tolerant than usual. I have my appointment with the crunchy granola endocrinologist, all set up. He has promised to look at more than just the lab results when dealing with my thyroid disorder. I hear he actually asks "How do you feel?" I have reasonably lofty hopes about this fella – I was referred by a fellow hypo-thyroidic woman, and I read some good stuff on the Internet about his approach. Maybe I really am a bit out of whack. (Now, Don’t say “Duh!” quite so loudly, Signorina Fiorentina…)

However gloomy as I have been, these past few weeks, I have not lost my all of my glib-itlities. Why just this afternoon I made a gal pal laugh out loud. I told her, when she called me on the cell, that I was taking my boys out for a Republican Party nap. She thought I meant that I had put them in the car for a drive because they were being so naughty – therefore – Republican. I actually meant that I was driving around solely to get them to nap. I didn't really need to be in the car, therefore I was unnecessarily burning fossil fuels. But her interpretation was kinda accurate. I hope I won’t soon be calling those drives ANWR Naps. Let’s cross our fingers as we watch C-Span, eh?

Glibness is a trait my boys have definitely inherited from their mama. Baby A charms his teacher at school by singing "Twinkle Twinkle" as he goes about his business all day, and the front office administrator told me that she was just in love with Baby A. He had broken away from his class, on the way in from the playground, had come into her office. He then proceeded to tell her all about her office – the books, the snowman picture, the flowers and so on. She said, “Oh, he’s just like a little man, who knows exactly what is going on! But he’s so small!” (Today was Valentine’s Day, so to seal this “relationship” I asked him to give her a big bunch of roses. He walked right up to her, and said, “Take ‘em!” and she was just so delighted. They were great roses, a light pinky purple, and he did look so sweet carrying them the door. I swear; all the oxygen was sucked out of the room by her intake of breath. I hope this means she’ll waive the late fee if I’m late with the tuition…)

Baby B has his own charm, and a way of repeating something I have told him, but for days and days and days and days. Over a month ago there was an emergency street cleaning/snow-clearing ordinance on certain streets in our fair city. That meant that all cars had be moved off certain blocks by a certain time or they would be towed. However, since the signs that explained all this were quite small, and only posted on two telephone poles along an entire three block “state of emergency” street, about fifteen cars were towed away at once. The towing occurred at 12:00, just as our playgroup burst out of the church where we meet, right before the watchful eyes of our playgroup. All the toddlers (my two included, ‘natch) were very concerned by this and needed lengthy explanations as to what was happening. Preacher Mom told the children that the cars were being naughty, because they were not supposed to block the street. That seemed to sink in, and we dispersed. It really sank in for Baby B, who, for weeks afterwards, informed me “No block street! Naughty Naughty!” every time we passed a line of parked cars. Yes, every time.

Also, there was a day when we drove past a car sliding on the ice lump left by a snow plow. You know what I mean – that speed bump the city plows leave blocking your driveway after you have spent two hours shoveling it all clear? Well, this poor lady’s city plow speed bump was solid ice and she wasn’t going forward or back. I pulled over, hopped out, and put a towel under the front tire. That way, when she started the car up again, and I gave her a push, the tire had something to grip. Two pushes and hey! Presto! She was on the road! Of course I had to explain it in detail to the boys. Baby B was really impressed and every time was pass the drive way he says, “Lady stuck car! Lady stuck car snow! Lady stuck snow!” Yes, every time we pass the driveway on the way to school, three days a week, twice a day, he says his thing. Every time…

I know all toddlers say the craziest things – so far mine have said -

Baby B “Tractor sleeping, sleeping with blanket!!” This is because there is an old tractor under a tarp in our neighbors yard. He wants to go for a ride and we had to explain why he couldn’t.

Baby A “Baby A no sleep! Need yip cream!” He calls his lips “yips” because he has a hard time with “L”. Baby A sees me apply a multitude of creams and unguents before I go to bed. One night I told him I couldn’t sleep unless I put on my night cream, so now, apparently, he can’t either.

Baby A likes to kiss things goodbye. He once kissed a Christmas tree “Bye Bye”, and then told me “Tree bite Baby A! No biting, tree!”

Both babies love the Yellow Submarine soundtrack. We listen to it often and they each have a favorite song. Baby B calls All Together Now “A-B-C-2-3!” for obvious reasons and Baby A asks for Hey Bulldog by saying “Yay b’dog! Yay b’dog!” until I play it.

Until the DH took away the TV, tired of the fighting over who watched what when, the twins liked to watch Bob the Builder. Now that they think the TV was broken, they ask to watch it on line, very occasionally. Baby B will refer to it as “Bada-bida”

Hey, this could work out…his aunt does live in New Jersey. When he gets older, she can take him take him to that bar – you know, The Bada-bing.

Uh-Oh!

110% of happiness

2006-02-08T22:44:00.000-05:00

Hello dear reader, thank you for the comment! I know what I have to do – eat, sleep, and exercise. Yes, I have done it. That is, on Monday, Tuesday and today I went to the gym but I really don’t feel any better. I just feel drained and overwhelmed by all these demands on me. Where are we going now? What are we going to do? When are we going to eat? What are we going to eat? Where are the socks/mittens/coats/cats? Where are my marbles? I can’t be the only one responsible for all this life! Why am I the one 110% in charge of everyone’s happiness? Do I have to be the one at fault for any mistakes? Or is that just the way it is?

Don’t any of you feel that this mothering gig is just way too much emotional effort for little to no return? When are they going to say "Thank you"? How old do they have to be to realize that I am making everything happen? How old do I have to be to give out? I mean, what is the good of all this sleepless drudgery? How much can you endlessly entertain and listen and talk and sing and dance and cook and clean and tidy and wash and fold and put away before you collapse in a frustrated heap at the feet of your messy, noisy, willful, ungrateful children?

Now I know why my mother dislikes her own children. She is just plain old sick of the sight of us all. She was a stay home mother for 12 years, and got completely burned out. Is the same thing going to happen to me?

I know there are mothers who think that being a “mommy” is just fantastic. They think that motherhood is so fulfilling and that their children are just the most amazing and delightful creatures on earth. They think that their husbands are perfect and their houses are dream-like, their friends are just so fabulous and supportive and understanding and on and on. I spoke with a mom like this at my school the other day. We wait in a gaggle in the hall, wait for the classroom doors to open and for our progeny to burst out and attack us. This one mother is hoping for her third child. I asked if that weren’t going to be a bit much to handle, three under age five, and she said, “Why? I just love having two children and I want another baby.”

Another mother is expecting her second in a few months and I tried to tell her how it can get so tough with two. She gave me a blank look and said, “Well I can’t see that it will be too different from having one.” Yet another mother, who has a six year old and a three year old said, “No, it won’t be too different. I have never felt overwhelmed or regretted having a second baby.” The pregnant lady was reassured. I was ashamed.

It all made me feel like some kind of freak. About a year and a half ago I wrote a post on how, in my own experience, with my own history and with lack of support I had at the time, I found it so amazingly challenging to just stay alive whilst nursing twins. I aslo wrote that it seemed no one understood me. Someone wrote an anonymous comment that basically said if I CHOSE to define myself in such a way that I suffered more than other mothers of twins, than yes, no one would understand me. I think she was commenting that if I said, “Woe is I! It is so much harder for me than anyone else!” I will alienate people and then yes, no one will understand, because no one will be listening. I am having a lot of those same feelings again – it’s harder for me to keep up with the boys and to stay above water than ever before.

For now, I no longer have anything to anticipate! Walking, weaning, eating at the table, going to school - it's happened. No longer do I have any excuses or reasons to believe it will get better! As soon as I meet some other mothers, as soon as it is summer/winter, as soon as we get through the hectic holiday season/the slow summer/the birthday madness - it's happened. No longer do I have a crutch to lean on! They are now two and a half. They go to school three days a week, for three hours a day. I belong to a gym. They are weaned and can sleep for ten hours straight. They can eat with forks and spoons and have a little group of friends to socialize with. We have three playgroups to choose from and people actually call me sometimes. So what is my excuse now? I see that life is going to be like this for years and years to come, and that makes me cry.

I am still fat, I am still tired, I am still overwhelmed, I am still frustrated, I am still depressed.

I don’t sleep with them every night, and I still toss and turn.

I have weaned them, and didn’t lose an ounce, let alone the ten pounds everyone said I would.

They are in school and I still can’t get jack done.

They don’t need me every second like they used to as infants, but I am still freaking worn out. I may still be tired from the illnesses we just recovered from. But isn’t that just another excuse?

The other day someone was over and saw my wedding picture. This guy said, “Wow. You have aged quite a bit.” The picture was taken a mere three and a half years ago. I look in the mirror and compare myself to that picture and I have to agree. In the wedding picture I could be twenty-five. In the mirror I could be forty-five. If I had know that having a baby or two would be so stressful, demanding, demeaning, messy, insulting, difficult, exhausting and headache inducing I would not have done it.

People ask me if I want any more children. “How about going for that girl?” they ask, with a smirk. I say, “I used to think I wanted three children – like the family I grew up with. Now that I have twins I realize - I want just one.” That always gets a laugh, but I mean it. The mother at the school door said she never regretted having her second child. I realize my remarks will alienate me from the rest of the world and therefore no one will listen, but I regret my first. I regret the loss of myself.

I lost myself before I even gave myself an opportunity to discover who I am. Now I won’t ever get that chance, unless I push my family away to get the space to explore. My parents did it to their children and I hated the experience. I won’t do the same to mine, so it’s me I give up on. I give up.

Deep signs abound - of relief and frustration

2006-02-06T21:55:00.000-05:00

The relief is from knowing we are all well and that no one is about to vomit in the near future. So we are good as far as our health is concerned. Baby A is eating like he has a hollow leg to fill and Baby B is back to his normal self. That is, he is loud and crazy and shrieks for no reason but to hear himself bounce off the walls. It’s so sweet. They both slept about eight hours last night, ate two waffles each for breakfast and finally went to school today. It was the first time I had been baby-free during the day in my own home for two weeks. I was going to start crying non-stop, instead of just intermittently, if I didn’t get alone time at home. I really need some peace, you know?

I am delighted the babies feel better, but I still feel like I was just cooked in a microwave – flabby, pasty and tasteless. As if all my nutrients were leached out by the 2,500 megahertz it takes to reheat a frozen Mama.

I know part of this is because I was sick, then the boys were sick and then I was overtired, but had to keep hopping to take care of them. Also I didn’t get to the gym for fifteen days straight. I know I am addicted to exercise - if I don’t work out, or walk or get moving at least three times a week I am grouchy, tired and moody. Plus I don’t sleep so well, which means I am not as efficient as I need to be. I had a little time to work out today and feel better for it, but I am still down and dumpy and lumpy.

And that’s just my butt.

And my abs.

And my arms.

And my thighs.

Basically I hate how I my body looks (and my eyebrows are pretty nasty these days as well) and there are days when I could just explode with frustration at the mirror. I work out, I eat less than I want to, I keep the fats and refined crap-ola to a minimum, I don’t drink and I still look like a trash can. I really do think those people who tell me I look “fine” either have extremely low standards for “fine” or they need to run to the optometrist, ‘coz that prescription ain’t workin’ toots.

It’s those darn short-stature-lumpy-heavy-legged-thick-arm-person genes I inherited along with my critical personality. It’s so hard to fight genetics! Yes, I know, I know I am hard on myself, but if I let myself get away with – Oh, I look fine, let’s have some banana cream pie – I will be a total troll.

No wait, according to Mumsie, I already AM a troll. Or at least a Troll Mama, which is the same thing.

Deep freaking sigh or frustration. Deeeeep freaking sigh.