Little Things

So many thoughts and needs and wants have poured through my brain over the past week. The stress and fear have left me ragged, depleted. I feel like I can't process any more. There are many details to try and see to before the insurance coverage runs out. The little man has gone to the dentist. In true Alex form, he was a riot. " Hey dentist lady, you gonna look at me teeth, aaahhh?!" No cavities, hooray. But, his beloved " ni-night" that he stuffs into his mouth and is so comforted by is causing his teeth to disfigure. As soon as the dentist, a nice lady younger than I asked if Alex was still using a pacifier and I answered, "it's not a pacifier" Alex joined in with - " it's my finga's - see" and popped two in his mouth and started sucking. He has never, no once sucked on his fingers, nor a pacifier. Always his blanket. I don't know how he knew that we were headed into that awful territory of you can't have your blankie anymore, but my man lied boldly through hi damn fingers without batting an eye. Sigh, he loves his stinky ass " ni-night."

Pediatrician's appointments for well visits have been made. Cait and Alex went yesterday. Vision, hearing, an vaccination updates were on the menu. They did fabulouslly until they realized that " shotses" were intended. The doctor hadn't even come in for the exam and they were both crying and screaming, " no shots, I don't want shots Mommy." Breaks my heart, but I do believe vaccinations are necessary. Catie bearly cooperated for her wellness exam. Alex performed for his. " I am a turtle, I am a monkey, I can stand on my head with one foot in the air, no shotses ok?" Poor kids. 5 for Catie because the 4 year old well visit is just brutal, she shrieked and cried and good God it was awful. Alex cried for her " why you do that, no hurting Catie." And then it was his turn. For 1 flu shot. He was all revved up by previewing his sister. But it got done. The afternoon at home was nothing short of sweet and pathetic. Caitlin proclaimed, " I feel like I am going to die." Then qualified that statement with " like not die for real, just like I am going to die of shots." She also required pictures of her band aids and boo boo's. She also declared she was unable to clean up her markers and paper because " my arms hurt too much to move" and gave a display of letting them hang limply by her side as she meweled pittifully. The drama. Alex was full of hugs and " I love you Mommy and Daddy." It is these moments that bolster my spirit and give me courage. He was being a nose honker as well, and really thinks that he is hysterical. Anthony get's his turn at the doctor next week, hopefully the little one can keep the secret...

Before bed, I asked Alex for "big hugs". In Alex world big hugs are an entire little body that wraps himself as tightly as he can around the other person. It is a fabulous hug. He solemnly held up his fingers and said " only two big hugs Mommy then I go night-night."

These little moments and these little laughs and smiles are what I am learning to appreciate more and more each day. Every single person has worries. I have huge worries but all of these little things now seem so much more important the big worries. Hopefully as we work our way through this mess of unemployment and insurance loss and money worries the little things will shine through more and more. I love my 3 little things more than I can describe.

Alex is comfortably cocooned in bed with the offending "ni-night" firmly grasped in his teeth

3 of Catie's 5 boo-boo's

" take my pitya Mommy!"

A little critter comfort after a long day

Then What?

The horrible thing about depression is even that I know I have suffered from depression, at times horribly, when it comes crashing back in an unexpected time or moment it blindsides me. I guess my depression is more anxiety. An overpowering, heavy brick that sits on me and won't let me come up for air. I shake and it will not stop. I get really agitated with the kids, and their normal kid stuff. The paperwork I am trying to gather in order to get insurance coverage for the kids when Joe's benefits expire on October 31 is daunting.

Trying to make phone calls to plead with utilities and other bill people is horrifying and embarassing and it doesn't fail that a child comes and starts hollering in my face while I am trying to make progress. And the pressure builds inside and I feel like I will explode. I walk away because there is no other option. I don't feel like I can properly and fairly instruct and discipline them when I am feeling so out of control with myself. How will I get this stuff done and protect my children and provide for them? I feel alone. My husband doesn't seem overly concerned. He thinks he will quickly find another job. I worry about what is going to happen after his last check comes. Then what?

0.88

Deep down, I know that we have very supportive families. Both of our sets of parents have pledged their help and support in any way possible. My husbands parents may be able to help financially if we need them to. And, I really do know that it could be so much worse. No one has died or been struck seriously ill.

My chest squeezes so tight I can barely breathe when I think about the phone call that came on Friday. My husband was " terminated." After 13 years of dedication and hard work for a corporate giant. He often gave more to the giant than to me, to his kids, to his family. Panick attacks grip me at the unexpected times of day these last few days. It is horrifying and humiliating. I know that at this very moment, we are ok. We are under a roof which doesn't leak, with windows that aren't cracked or broken. We have food in our fridge and pantry, and a tomato plant that hasn't realized it is mid-October and just sprouted 6 tiny new tomato's. The shoes still feet on their feet at this moment, we have enough clothing that fits on their bodies. We aren't behind on our bills now, so maybe if we start falling behind we can work something out. The feed bins for our furries are mostly full. Hopefully the preschool that Catie and Alex go to will be willing to work with us. It is a wonderful school, they love it, Catie especially is thriving. Fear. I know it could be worse. How do I decide where the money goes when there is none. Will we lose the house before long, or should I hope that they don't foreclose and pay utilities so we are warm and clean and able to cook and clean. How do I negotiate a lower car insurance premium? The fear closes around me and makes it feel like I am being sucked down into a pit with the air holding me under.

I am hoping that with this, he will become more involved. We will do more as a family together. I hope that he will start being a husband and daddy again. I hope that this is the message for our family, because if it isn't than I don't know what THE HELL YOU ARE TELLING US GOD. 0.88 is the number in our account. Please don't let anyone get sick, or hurt, after October 31 because I will not know what to do God. Really, I will not know what to do.

Scrambled Eggs

It is thin, fragile, white, brown, shimmery, dull. Inside is mush, slippery or firm, hard, bending or a fragile form developing, precious and tiny. Outside, a strong barrier, a protective shield until dropped or kicked or banged, or nudged or tapped wrong.

It can bear tremendous weight when distributed correctly but shatter when carelessly moved. You can not tell what it's state is using only sight or a simple touch. Deeper inspection, holding it to the light, cradling it in your hand to feel it's warmth or it's chill. What is inside and how it has been cared for. Is it spoiled, never given a chance? Is is fertile, nurtured, warmed, protected? Will it sustain others? Will it become or is it already gone?

Do not assume to know. Do not assume the outside reveals what is inside. Each is a mystery waiting to be discovered. Aren't we all just as fragile and varied? Inside we are so many things. Soft and hard, fragile, bold. Take time and care to find out what is inside before cracking the shell.

I Am From

I am from wiffle balls and bats, kool aid and powdered iced tea mix. I am from the large house that looks forlorn and lacking in basic upkeep, with faded, peeling white-ish asbestos shingles, with the fire engine red front steps. I am from the green yard with patches worn to dirt where home plate and the pitcher's mound are. Where the pussy willow bush is a great climbing tree. I am from the muppet show on primetime and Saturday afternoon horror theater, snuggled on the couch beside my dad so I could hide my eyes! From trips to the Pocono's once a summer when we knew that we would have some fun, we"d go as a whole family and she would not reign with as much terror. I am from Martha and Tim and Grandmom. Grandmom who let me have the last teeny sip of her beer, and always gave me a dollar. I am from people who hold no extended family close and who envy, judge and rival each other. From a man who went to war in Vietnam because his country needed him to and it was his duty. A woman who met this man and married him and moved across the country because she didn't want to be near her family. I am from a strongly Roman Catholic father, who insisted we receive sacraments, go to catholic school and believe the catholic doctrine. There was no room for questioning this religion. I am from an Irish man, and a german, dutch mother. We love lasagna and tacos with hand made shells that taste so much better than the store bought kind. I am from the Philadelphia suburbs where we hold dear our Irish heritage and really don't give a damn about the rest of it. Because we are Irish. And stubborn. I am from the car ride to Indiana with the station wagon seats folded out and 3 kids crammed into the back with sleeping bags and luggage. The Irish Uncles and my dad who would get drunk and go home to their mother and march through her house singing "Yellow Submarine", wearing lamp shades on their heads and continuing their march across the dining room table, much to my grandmother's delight. I am from a father who consistently said we could have one dog, and one cat - only, who helped me try to save baby squirrels and baby pigeons and hand made critter keepers for my newts and garter snakes and caterpillars, who also now has 4 cats at his house none of which were suposed to be living there. I am from old envelopes of developed 35mm film kept in a dusty box under a dusty bed. The box was rarely brought out, my mother would get mad. There were no family photos adorning the mantle or walls, no obvious pride as we turned from babies to toddler to school ages and graduates. Although there was a picture frame my mother bought at a yard sale because she really liked the frame, it really is a lovely frame, but she never removed the picture of the strangers.

2 dollar Goldfish

Anthony the Fish has resided dutifully in a tank, in Anthony the boy's room for over 3 years. He is a symbol of Anthony the boy growing up, becoming a big boy. You see, my Anthony was a real binky addict, this was enabled by his mother ( me ), of course it was. I know. I slowly started " weaning" him from it when he was about 2. I had him cut down to just at bedtime when his baby sister was born. She came in the door with a binky in her mouth, Anthony looked pitifully around the room and pleaded for his binky. My husband was ready to tow the line and I said, give him his binky (enabler). 2 days later the newborn wanted nothing to do with her bink and my binky addict was a very satisfied little man!

Flash forward to his 3 year old check up at the dentists office where talk of " permanent mouth disfigurement" and " orthodontics" arose. Oh Lord, why didn't I just stick to my guns. At 3 my Anthony was a very smart boy. He heard the discussion and flatly said no, I will not give up my binky. I resolved to do the deed got all hormonal and wanted to let him be a binky addict as long as he wanted. But I realized it was time. It was time to be a big boy. I needed to get ahold of myself and get the damn binky away... (Thank GOD the baby rejected the bink at day #2!)

I did what any good mother does and went to the internet in search of ideas. None appealed to me. Cutting holes in a latex pacifier seemed a very unnecessary choking risk. He already had a new baby to give the binkies to and he knew damn well that wasn't going to happen. Binky fairy, he didn't blink. Cold turkey with no reward wasn't happening from this angle. I couldn't handle the though of it. Somehow, I came up with the idea of replacing the binky with something he would really like to have. . Darned if I could come up with something to give him that he thought was a good idea. Until one afternoon we wandered around the petsmart store because he LOVED to look at the fish did it dawn on me to ask him if he wanted a fish! Hello! He said yes, he wants a fish. I told him all he had to do to get a fish was give the binky to the people at the store to pay for his fish. He didn't bite. But that afternoon when we went home he asked and asked for a fish. So, I finally gathered some mother sense and told him that on Friday, we would go back to the store and get a fish. But, he had to give his binky to the people at the store so he could have the fish. I told him that this means he would not have his binky anymore. He thought about it and said, " but I can have a fishy?" I said yes, you can have a fish but no more binky. He said ok. So every day, I told him how many more sleeps until Friday ( you know, like you have to go to sleep at night time 4 more times, that's how we count down our days here on the ark - it works don't knock it.) Back to the fish and binky. He was getting excited as the days went by. He could tell me that he would be getting a fish because he is a big boy and he will give the binky to the store and he will not have a binky anymore. Friday morning, we got up and I told him it was Friday, no more sleeps! He was very excited for his very own fish.

So, we get to the store where I have to corner the fish kid and explain the deal, she looked at me like I had 12 eyes but I gave her that don't screw this up sort of desperate look and she went along with the plan. My boy was looking at all the fish, I showed him which tanks he could choose from. When he decided, I knelt down and asked him what he had to do to get his fishy, he told me in a very quiet voice, " give the lady my binky, no more binky for big boys." I melted away and snatched him and his fish and his binky out of there. I handed him his binky inside a baggie and said ok buddy, let go ahead and get you your fish. He very shyly walked up to the still very skeptical fish kid and slowly raised him hand out and looked up at me with excitement and fear, but he did it. He handed the girl the bag and asked if he could have a fish. He then ran to the tank and pointed crazily at the fish he wanted! The fish girl at this moment rose to the occasion and let my boy help her get the fishy into the net and into the bag! He really was so proud! We spent about $40 on a bowl, rocks and food and water conditioner a net and a smaller catch bowl for water cleaning day, and 2 dollars for the fish who Anthony immediately named, Anthony. My big boy! We got the bowl and fish all situated and he called Daddy and Mom Mom and Uncle Rich on the phone to tell them all that he is a big boy and his very own fish! It was awesome. Until, bedtime. He cried and cried for his binky, he told me to take Anthony the fish back he doesn't want the fish he wants his binky. I think I cried too, but I did the smart thing and got rid of all the extra binkies before this could happen so I really didn't have any to fall back on. It only took a few nights and he stopped crying, he occasionally asked for the binky back, but was always so proud of his fish. He still to this day can tell you how he got Anthony the fish.

This morning, my daughter came running into the room telling me there was an emergency with Anthony the fish. Oh no. My heart sunk. You see, 2 days ago my youngest son earned his very own goldfish too and since I had no intention of have a 3rd fish tank for all of 3 gold fish ( yep, Catie the fish lives in Caitlin's room in a tank because she pooped in the potty) I told the boys that the fish would share their tank just like they shared their bedroom. They both bought it and proclaimed Anthony the fish, and Goldie Train Whistle ( yes, Alex is a way more creative fish namer than the other 2 are) were " bestest friends!" But it seems the shock of sharing his tank with the new fish was not one Anthony the fish was prepared for. He was on the bottom of the tank amongst the rocks barely moving. This is worse than a dead fish. Because how can I just let Anthony the fish die. I have to do something to save him. My husband looked at me like I had again lost my mind. But I could not just let the fish die without trying something, my Anthony had done the bravest thing possible and GAVE UP his BINKY for this fish (ok, this is actually AF #2 because the cat ate AF #1 but Anthony the child DOES NOT KNOW THAT.) I googled. I salt bathed the fish. I googled some more. I changed filter cartridges, the old one wasn't very dirty and only a few days old since we put a new one in the day we brought the interloper into the tank. Finally I scooped up the fish and some tank water into a bowl and drove to the pet store and said please help. My son's heart will break if he finds his fish dead 2 days after adding a fish to the tank. He will blame the new fish and his brother. I can't let this happen. Again, kids at the fish store. They sold me $14 worth of remedies to try. They don't appear to be working. Anthony the fish was still lingering on the bottom of the tank.

After Anthony and I got in from school pick up, my husband and I told him that we had to talk about Anthony the fish. His face just drooped and he asked did he die. I explained that he was very sick and he probably will die, that we got medicine and we hope that it will make Anthony the fish better but it might not. He said, "ok, can I get another fish?" Seriously kid? I was like a nut all day trying to mend this stinking fish because he was your first rite of passage! My father said," next time think with your head not your heart. It's cheaper." Seriously, this fish is a symbol of my very first baby boy growing up. It's not just a fish. To me it's so much more than a 2 dollar fish.

Anthony the fish is just below Goldie the killer fishon their first day as "bestest friends."

How

There is so much emotion swirling around inside my head. I don't know what to do with it, or where to put it. The scars on my arm are still visible, though barely. The scars on my heart are invisible and so heavy. She did not have kind words. She did not have a soft voice. She did not have patience. She did not show love. She was never proud of me. She did not teach me self respect, generosity, kindness or love. She taught me that I was not acceptable, unworthy, unloved. I did not start trying to hurt myself until I was about 13, maybe 14. I thought if I was bleeding, she would help, fix, care. Instead, she yelled what the hell did you do to yourself? Stop crying like a baby, it can't hurt that bad they are only scratches. I cried from pain inside my heart, not from the blood trickling down my arm. Even blood did not make her care. I slammed my hand in the door as hard as I could trying to break it, mother's are tender and make things feel better when they are broken, she said God damn it, how the hell did you do that. I'm not taking you to the hospital. She didn't offer ice or a hug. The man (yes man who was 8 years older than the teenage girl who only wanted to someone to love her and care) I started dating when I was only a teenager was mean, he pushed me around and put me down and made me think I was wrong when I didn't want to do something he wanted me to do. He said I didn't love him when I said I wasn't ready. I gave him my heart, my innocence and still felt worthless, but I held onto the hope that someone was loving me. She did not ever, not once say you are worth more than this, better than this- never once. There is still a huge hollow void where all of the love, encouragement, pride and acceptance should be. If the one who gave me life could not fill this up, I fear I never will be able to do it myself. I struggle every day to find hope and love within myself. I am so very afraid that I am not doing it right for my own children. I want them to be strong, confident, generous, kind and caring little people. I hug them and kiss them every day. I tell them every day that I love You, you are my favorite Alex, you are my favorite Caitlin, and you are my favorite Anthony. But every once in awhile the things that haunt me come through and I lash out when they are misbehaving. I have cried myself sick for slapping one of my children while holding and trying to tell my child how sorry and how wrong Mommy is. How am I ever going to do this right when NOBODY every taught me how?

They are the only hope I have of ever filling my heart with love and joy and acceptance. Please God don't let me get it wrong.