A Little Smile Goes A Long Way

Blogging is slipping again, from the list of things to do. My husband doesn't have a job. We don't have health insurance. I am lucky to have my own job, one that can give me extra hours, because there are always people calling for help. But, I am tired. So, so tired. I know his job loss isn't his fault. Really, I do. But I find myself being so angry and resentful. It seems that only my life has changed. I am working 16 and 24 hour shifts. I am finding that my age is creeping up on me. My knees are sore, my back is sore and I am weary. I want to cry. I know that I am not the only person, mother, wife to feel like this. But sometimes it feels like I am so alone. I miss my babies so badly yet I get short tempered and snap at them. I want to halt time so they can stay little for just a moment longer and yet I want them to get older so I can come in from work at 7am and go to sleep. Depression sucks. Even if all were right in my little world it would still be there creeping in like a serpent trying to suck me down into it's deep, dark, vacuum. My babies are happy, they are healthy, we do have a roof over our heads, heat comes from our furnace, water runs cool or warm. We have enough to eat. I know it could be so much worse.

We splurged big time last Friday and took the kids to see Arthur Christmas. They all got a box of candy (from 5 Below) and we shared a large soda and popcorn. They all loved it and wore their 3D glasses and it almost made me feel completely better for having missed Thanksgiving with them because I worked.

Alex is totally our comedian. He has made me want to strangle him and laugh out loud in the exact same moment from his antics. As I scolded my oldest for inappropriate behavior at the dining room table, Alex says " hey Mommy, you be nice to Anthony." So, I sternly tell my Alex, " you are being fresh, you do not talk to Mommy or Daddy like that, do not talk back." To which Alex slaps his forehead while saying " wooont woont woont!" " I am a secret agent." "Yes, Alex you are a secret agent!" And a Mimja Mommy, a mimja fireman.

At least he made me smile again :o)

My secret agent, ninja fireman wearing his 3D glasses at his first movie!

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?

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.

School Woes

Anthony is an old-pro at this thing called going to school. He had daycare when I was working full time as a paramedic. Then when I started staying home because daycare outpriced my salary he went to preschool. For 2 years. Then full day kindergarten, Praise God! Somehow though, the switch to the public school system for elementary school has been really difficult for me. Aside from the fact that I am catholic and baptised my children catholic and fully intended them to go to catholic school, aside from feeling like I am letting down my dad for not sending him to catholic school, aside from the fact that I know, I really do know, the public school system has more to offer than catholic school ( even with the funding cuts), I still feel anxious sending him off for the day. I suddenly feel like my baby is alone in an unending sea of other kids. He was one of 33 kindergartners last year. He is one of 20 1st graders this year, but the school is SO BIG. It's a huge mass of people swarming the building every morning and afternoon. It's my fear though. He, has had no trouble with this change.

goodbye mom sigh

He did not cooperate with 1st day of school, 1st day of FIRST GRADE ANTH--- pictures. Seriously, the only thing he is bugged about is lunch. I pack his lunch.

3

In my thirtieth year, I gave birth to my third child. Lots of 3's right there. And in my thirty third year, he turned -------- 3!.

My third child, my baby boy was the biggest, best, scariest surprise I ever received. Biggest, because the only bigger surprise I can think of is well, I can't. Best, because I wouldn't trade him for anything. Scariest, well, I wasn't planning on a third. His sister was only six months old. We were BROKE. Broke. I already had postpartum depression, how the hell could this be happening again??? Well, I know how it happened, but really God, do you really think this is a good idea? Me, as a mother of 2 is kind of pathetic, you are going to add a THIRD to this mix, and what? You'll hope for the best for the child, for the mother? I was so scared. I was so angry. And then scared again. I already doubted my ability to mother the children I had. I felt overwhelmed and anxious and I worried all the time. I didn't have fun with this thing called motherhood, and here we go again. That was three years ago.

I still have PPD. I still have fear. We are still broke. I still don't know how to have fun with this thing called motherhood on many days. But oh how they make me melt. Especially this third child, my baby boy who is not a baby anymore. He is 3 now. He will start preschool, and I will cry when I let him. Because he is my "last" baby. Happy Birthday Alex! You are such a funny boy. You are strong willed and you really know that people see you. You know you leave a mark! You add hilarity to everything you do even when I am restraining my self from locking you in a closet! The way you tell me " shhh mommy, you need to use nice words to me!" makes me want to laugh my ass off and swat your behind at the same time. You still LOVE your " NIE-NITE!" I do too kiddo. Love you my little man.

The last night as a 2 year old!

I'm not listening to you people sing Happy Birthday to me!

Tuckered out after a long birthday, Mommy's heart melted!

All they do is fight.

It seems like all they do is fight. They scream at each other. They grab from each other. And I respond by yelling. So how do we get out of this mess? I want my children to love and care for each other. I want them to share more and consider each others feeling more. What am I doing wrong that they are so combative. How can I change my parenting to help them get along better, to love each other better. Can I teach this? Yet another thing I feel like I am failing at. But, there are some sweet moments that they play so well together and it is like gold- we have very little gold in this bunker.

Leaves and Children and Dogs, Oh My!

The weather was beautiful here on the east coast port for our Ark. I decided to get the kids and husband out to rake leaves and clean up the yard. My kids think raking leaves is fantastic. Usually, I start raking into 2 or 3 piles situated in strategic locations throughout the lawn. This takes awhile and really is not a favorite task of mine, you see, none of the leaves belong to me. Not a single, solitary tree on my property. I have the leaves, they all fall into my yard. Nobody elses yard. But, the kids, oh the kids love leaves! I fear this time of year, see our dogs - remember those inhabitants of the ark, they poop and pee in the yard. We (yard boy and I) diligently muck up the solids on a daily basis, but really, where do they think the liquid goes? Ugh, into the leaves and grass, and dirt, oh my.

No. No. No. We cannot, will not, you WON'T jump into leaf piles. THERE IS PEE AND POOP HIDING IN THERE SOMEWHERE.

 

 

And dogs named Boo Boo hide in the leaves too!

Some Arkeology

"The Ark" was a term that my brood sort of seemed to aquire somewhere along the way, waaaayyy before I added a husband and kids to my world.  You see, I have always been "an animal person."  Since I was a little kid, I would do anything to have pets and save as many critters as I could.  Many pigeons did not survive, much as I tried to save the little things.  Squirrels were on the list too.  A few survived and a few didn't.  My father for some reason was not a big fan of my penchant for dragging the critters home to be saved.  Maybe they kicked and screamed saying "I'm ok.."  At any rate, my first rescued kitty was named Peanut Butter, I was 16 and working at our local rectory and she was there, a little tortie girl all of about 8 weeks old, and they were going to call animal control, "oh no you don't" I said.  I told my poor father it was a gift from the pastor, thrilled he was.  Ah, but Peanut was the best first rescue.  She was a constant companion and quite an oddball.  She had a very strange and distinctive meowow that was reserved for me calling her name.  Eventually she learned the sound of my totally awesome honda civic,( the go cart :o)) and would meet me at the door when I came in. Awesomeness to have a cat-dog!  It went on from there!  Downhill if you were my parents and uphill if you were me.  I love the critters and the ark was open for business! 


Fastforward about 5 years and I met the man I knew was going to be my husband.  There was a problem see, he didn't have any pets.  I introduced the ark mates and told him this was his opportunity to leave. He stayed -- the fool. No, seriously. He did.  I had Peanut the cat, and Jake the million dollar dog as he was dubbed by those who had labeled me the ark dweller.  Jake was my first puppy. He was my best friend. If you're an animal person you get that, if you aren't you don't and just won't.  Jake got sick as a puppy and the treatment cost over $100 a month as long as he was going to live.  He was worth it!  I'll properly introduce the Jakeman another time.

Now-time.  The ark is full up.  I am the Momma of the ark.  There is a begrudged Dad of the ark, but I still call bullshit because I gave him his out a long time ago, and I wouldn't have tried to convince him to stay if he walked.  Then there are the ark kids, 5 year old son who loves the puppies and suddenly thinks yard poop duty is a great game -  have at it yard boy!  Ark daughter, 3 years old.  Loves her fish.  Loves the kitties.  Everything else is smelly and she doesn't want to deal.  She is going to have a really tough sail on the ark, because keeping afloat is an all hands required operation.  Finally, our youngest Ark Boy, 2 years old.  He is the main reason that Ark Dad grumbles on a daily basis about the furry inhabitants of the ark.  2 year old little boys eat everything off the floor, and have in the past danced in puddles of puppy pee, poked at cat vomit, gross yes, but an inherent risk of Ark life.  He's my crazy man though and I wouldn't trade him for the world.

The Ark critters--  Lexi, a german shepherd I adopted from a humane society as soon as I bought my house, er Ark.  First time Ark Dad was faced with the facts that he readily agreed to beforehand, I don't want to hear it- you were warned.  She was 6 months old, gorgeous and completely mentally deficient of the intelligence that the breed is supposed to possess. Oops.  We didn't really need the couch she chewed through, and the shoes she ate were taking up space anyway.  Prozac, Valium and long walks finally made life easier, for Lexi, not Ark Dad.  Tabby, a tabby colored kitty that grandmom found and decided would be welcomed on the ark. Sure thing. Not a chance I am saying no Ark Dad, go back to your computer. Boo Boo is about 5 years old.  She was adopted from Sixth Angel Shepherd Rescue, inc.  She is a beautiful, loyal, sweet, loving girl who had a horrendous life before she was saved.  Domino, black cat, found as a kitten in the Pocono's. No, I could not just leave her there.  Ark Dad protested because Ark daughter was only 2 months old.  It's a kitten, food and litter and it's all good.  The latest additions are Oreo and Lulu. Lulu is Ark Dad's precious little british short hair kitten -  oh no, no mangy mutt like kitten for Ark Dad - he ark's in style!  Oreo was adopted from a rescue group to asuage some of Ark Mom's guilt about buying a cat. Period.  Lulu is a bad bad bad kitty.  Oreo is not. So there! 

The past residents of the ark are the main reason this ark, will always hold ark status.  They will get their own special place of honor on the Ark blog, but seriously I can't figure this damn blogger business out so I am sure it will take awhile. 

So, a LOOONG introduction and I am sure I will hate it as soon as I decide to post it.  But in a nutshell, there are the nuts.