Her Prayer

This evening, I was working with #4 on the last of her First Communion paperwork.  Her final activity was to write a prayer to Jesus.  It was obvious from the instructions given that it was to be a prayer of Thanksgiving for the Eucharist and for the sacrament she is preparing to receive.  She decided not to.  Instead she wrote

"Dear Jesus,

Please heal me.  My leg and stomac hurt and I am tired.  You can do it.  I no you can."

And the people say "Amen."

Oh, Honey......No.......

Dear Alicia,
We all loved you when you were completely Clueless.  The girls of our generation, not-so-secretly, wanted to be you....or Cher....because to us you were Cher.  You were the perfect 90s girl we all wished we could at least know once in our lives......sigh.....

You became a vegan, and I still liked you.  You posed nude for PETA, and while I'm not a fan of their work, I respected your ability to stay true to what you believe in.  That's hard to do.

You named your sweet baby boy Bear Blue, and I began to worry a bit about your sanity.  Had all those years of no animal products done something to you?  Were you losing it a bit?  Because, honey, "Bear Blue" is cute for a tiny baby in his footy jammies, but a pimply 13 year old?  You might as well have stopped by the tattoo parlor on your way home from the.....wait...you had him at home? ...ummmm.....you might as well have called the tattoo guy in and had "Kick my A**" scrawled across his forehead.  It would have saved everyone a little time.

Then this morning I turned on the news and you were on there.  Honey?  Ummmm......you were chewing up food and letting your little Bear Blue eat it right out of your mouth.  Kinda like a bird, except I don't know if they have saliva and you do. It is, in a word, revolting.  (Don't believe me?  You can watch it here.  It really is disgusting.)  As if the kids name weren't bad enough, you have the poor guy eating his mom's spit and .....it looks like he's kinda Frenching you there, to be honest... And if that weren't humiliating enough, you made a movie of it.  And posted it on the internet.  On.the.internet.  Where things never go away.  Ever.

Can you just picture it?  In about 12 years?  Jr High is brutal enough without a whacked out name and eating your mom's puke, because that's how the kids are going to see it.  (I took an informal poll of my own children.  That's how they see it.  The looks on their faces should have you worried.)  It should.  It's a cruel, cruel world out there, and maybe you shouldn't be trying so hard to get him beat up.

I'm just a little worried about you.  You seem like a nice girl.  You even named your diet the Kind Diet (although "Kind" is a kind of pot, the good kind, and that might explain a lot.) Which is why I'm puzzled not by the fact that you've lost touch with what the rest of the world considers to be normal, but that you think it's so not a big deal that you're posting it for everyone to see.  I think you're suffering from lack of protein.  I've read your book and you're heavy on the wacky macrobiotic I'm-not-sure-that's-really-food and a little light on the real food.  May I make a simple suggestion?  A steak now and then wouldn't kill you.  I promise that it won't.

Come on over and I'll throw one on the grill for you.  We can watch Clueless and revisit the days when your life made sense, before you were upchucking for your baby.

Color me confused,
Rebecca

Best Advice I've Heard All Day

There are 9 children aged 12 and under in my house this morning, and only 1 me.  The Computer Guy and #1 are at work, so I get to face the hordes of children alone. (Are you super impressed with my bravery?  Yeah.  Me too.)  My brother's children came over just before lunchtime yesterday, spent the night, and will be here until dinner time tonight.  He had a work thing, and took his lovely bride with him.  I don't blame him, she's pretty nice.  The only thing is, me with 9 small kids who are all wound up over so much uninterrupted play time. 

It was just this morning, as I was congratulating myself over my amazing ability to deal, that #7 crammed her whole hand into her mouth and puked all over me.  My 5 year old nephew stood there staring at me in horror.  As the blech dripped off of my elbows and pooled in my bra, he said matter-of-factly, "Aunt B., Your little baby just threw up everywhere and that's really gross."  Just in case I had somehow missed the nastiness running down my legs.  "I just don't think that you should let her do that anymore."

"Yeah.  Thanks."

It's up!

Head on over to Creative Minority Report to see my post When Her Baby Died. 

If you're here from CMR, welcome to StT!  Grab a cup of coffee and have a look around.

3 1/2 Time Outs Tuesday #9

Just like Conversion Diary's 7 Quick-Takes, except it's half as long and twice as good.

Thanks, as always, to LarryD for hosting.

1.

After the non stop "encouragement" from LarryD himself, I'm getting this written.  I seriously thought I was a nudge until he figured out my email address.

2.

I roasted a turkey today for dinner.  I bought several after Thanksgiving and put them in the freezer.  14 lbs of turkey for $5?  Score!

I made Thanksgiving dinner sandwiches.  Turkey, gravy, dressing, and cranberry sauce on the bread my eldest son made.  It was delish!  I know you want to see:

Mine looked exactly like this but without the careful staging or tidied up kitchen

3.

  I know I promised exciting news last week.  No, I'm not pregnant.  Thanks for asking.  Instead I'm doing a series of guest posts at Creative Minority Report!  I'm so excited that I seriously was shaking when Matt asked me.  It was almost as good as when the Computer Guy called me ans said we should go ring shopping.  Almost.  Okay, not even close, but pretty darn good.

3 1/2.

It's almost Holy Week, and I can't wait.  I'm making huge plans with friends to

My Useless Friends

"You seem a lot happier since we moved to Texas," my 12 year old son told me the other day.

"I do?  That's not surprising.  I am a lot happier."

"I think it's your friends here," he said. "They make you smile."


He's right.  They do.  When we moved, I made a conscious decision to find friends who were fun and knew how to laugh.

My Oklahoma friends are all nice women, but too many of them were friends of mine for the sake of convenience.  Our children played together.  Their children took dance classes, learned Latin, played sports, did boy scouts, etc. with my children.  We were on committees together.  We worked together.  We helped each other in our vocations. They were great working friendships, and that was the problem with them.  They revolved around work.  Eventually our lives were so enmeshed that neither side could walk away because to disentangle would be so disruptive to all of our lives.  When you begin choosing words carefully and tiptoeing around each other in order to maintain the status quo, can you call that friendship?

It wasn't until I moved away from it all that I realized how exhausting it all had been.  I decided that this time I would do better.  This time I'm only keeping and seeking out useless friends.  The reality I have learned is that if people have a use and a purpose, you're not really their friend.

I have and maintain lots of acquaintances these days.  There are the people I meet on committees and the parents of my children's friends.  I like them all and we are friendly.  We chat and hang out, laugh and enjoy each other's company.  We trade favors and recipes but we are not truly close.

Then there are the few I love, a few from there and a few from here.  The ones with whom I share my authentic self.  The ones who bring nothing more than joy, peace, and comfort to my life.  The ones without a purpose.  They are the ones I keep for fun, the ones who make me truly happy just because I know them.  They are my wonderful, beloved and truly useless friends.

I hope they find me useless, too.





h/t to LarryD, the useless friend who planted this seed in my brain.  Have you read his 3 1/2 Time Outs?  Are you playing along?  You should!

Getting Back Up

 **before you read this, please know that my friend gave me permission to blog about his situation. So, no worries, I'm not talking out of school here**

I had an IM conversation this weekend with a friend where he referred to himself as a hypocrite.  It's stuck with me ever sense, his self-flagellation.  He is a person of very deep faith who never ceases to impress me on his walk with Christ.  He loves and fully embraces the Catholic Church and all of her teachings.  He's a great person and his family is lucky to have him.

He slipped this week and went against his own very high moral standard and was so upset with himself for having done so.  I can understand the disappointment he felt in himself and his feelings of failure.  The standard he has set for himself is incredibly high, and I am in awe at how often he is able to meet it.

I'm not sure I said the right things to him, and that's why it has haunted me.  I don't like leaving things unsaid.  What I wish I had said was:

My sweet friend, I know how disappointed you are in yourself and how far you feel you have fallen.  In your own regrets, I think you have lost sight of how far you have come.  Your burden is heavy and can never be laid down and yet you carry it with such strength and grace.  You refer to it all as "my cross", and I think you are right, it is.  (You are forgetting that even Jesus fell under the weight of his cross, not once, but three times.)  Everyone falls.  There is no perfect way to bear the weight which you are carrying, and so "falling" is understandable.  The trick is in being able to stand up again and continue on.  Turn your eyes to the Cross of Christ and let Him be your example.  Unite your sufferings to His own, and seek out the healing peace of Confession.  Remember that you are not completely alone on your walk.  I am praying for you every day.

That's what I wish I had said.  I went with the ever more eloquent "I'm sorry.  That sucks.  I've been there."  I'm not always as quick on my feet as I'd like to be.  It happens.

Will you do me a favor?  Will you say a quick prayer for my friend?  An Our Father? Something?  Will you consider taking him to Mass or Adoration with you this week? His burden is very heavy and he could use some lifting up.

Thanks.

What Can You Say To That?

My 2 year old was walking around yesterday with his hand in his back pocket.  All day. After a while of watching him, I asked, "Whatcha got there?"

"My bottom."

"Why are you holding onto it? What's it doing?"

"It's eating me."

Mother's Day Shopping

Mother's Day is right around the corner.  It's slightly more than a month, and I never know what to give the moms in my life.  I'm a pretty unimaginative gift giver.  I just send a card and flowers every year. I always want to be a bit better and spoil these women a bit more, but I don't know where to shop or what to get.  And who has time for all that?

This year, I thought I'd help out all of us who need a little inspiration.  All through April, I'll be giving stuff away (one a week right now, but I'd love to do more) and sending you to sites with great products and great ideas. I can't wait!  You know how much I love to give stuff away!


Selling something you want us all to know about?  Jewelry, cookware, candles, cute sports cars and you want to get the word out? Email me at shovedtothem (at) yahoo (dot) com.  I'll direct traffic to your site and run an ad with a link in my right-hand side bar for the entire month of April.  I hope to hear from you soon!

Can You Help Me Out?

The other day, I sent my mom copies of some of my most recent blog posts.  She called me on the phone and said a bit wistfully, "You're such a talented writer.  It's a shame that no one gets to read what you do.  It just seems like a lot of time and effort for something no one sees."

Ummmm....really, Mom?  I know she doesn't get the internet or blogging.  I know it.....but really?  I think she imagines that the only people stopping by are relatives, my poor friends who feel some sort of obligation, and that creepy guy from college.

Can you do me a favor and say hi?  Something simple like "Hi, Mom!  I'm reading from (your town here) " Then I'll print it out and mail it to her and she can see that it's more than the 5 sad people she's imagining.

Thanks!

***Wow!  Y'all are great!  I'm completely overwhelmed by the number of wonderful comments.  Thank you for the nice things you've said about me (in front of my mom!) but most of all for reading what I have to say.  Thank you.

Exciting!

I'll have exciting news to share next week!  I can't wait to tell you!

Putting It That Way

The other day at our local coffee shop, I overheard some teenage girls talking about their lives.  It started off with the ever amusing complaints about their "lame" mothers who try to rule their lives.  Their voices carried and filled the whole back of the shop.  There was no avoiding their often humorous diatribes.  The girls were funny as they spoke of mothers who hover, control, and eavesdrop.  One of them kept speaking of her mother's obsession with whether or not the bedrooms in the house are clean.  Can you imagine such a thing?  They whined about how the one thing their lives miss is privacy.  Why can't their parents just see that these high school seniors are all grown up and don't need their parents in their business?

My friend and I smiled at each other over our foamy lattes and shared that look that says we've been there, and those independent women at the next table aren't really as grown up as they imagine themselves to be.

Inevitably their discussion turned to boys and dating.  My friend wiggled her eyebrows in anticipation of the "juicy stuff."  I grinned back at her.  They were too cute, these young girls playing at adulthood.

Then suddenly they were no longer cute.

They sat in the coffee shop frankly and loudly discussing their recent hook-ups.  (Yes, that means sex if you're old enough to wonder.) They spoke bluntly about getting laid and moving on.  Their playful banter of a few moments before became harsh, bitter and a little shrill.  They were unspeakably sad and seemed not to know it.  We could hear in their voices the tremble of emotion and watched the heart broken moments when faces were turned away so that they could regain their composure.

I wanted to hug them all. The mother in me just wanted to wrap them up in my arms and hug them.

They just seemed so confused by the adult things with which they were playing.  They have been taught from Jr High on that sex was not a big thing.  I know because they were the messages my generation heard the beginnings of.  Things like we didn't have to be married, just in love and that sex was for pleasure with no mention of the emotional whirlwind which follows in its wake.  They were clueless about the enormity of their actions.  These poor confused girls don't know the the truth of it, because no one has ever told it to them.

So I did.

I set down my cup and walked over to their table.  "Hi," I said. "I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying.  You were kinda loud."

They all looked a bit embarrassed and apologized.

"Can I just ask you something?  Can you maybe explain it to me?"  There was a chorus of "Yes, ma'am"s. This is Texas.  "You have a mother who loves you. Who puts a roof over your head and takes care of you.  Right?"  Nods.  "But you won't let her into your bedroom.  A room she owns in a house she pays for?  Your own mother?  But you'll let some boy from the football team inside of your body?  You will actually let him inside of you?  How does that make sense?"  I stood there for a moment and waited for an answer.  All I got were their stunned looks.  No one said a word.  The color just drained from their faces.

I walked back to my friend who was ready to go.  "Do you think they heard me?" I asked her. "Do you think they get how messed up that really is?"

"I don't know, but I'll guarantee you that no one ever put it to them that way before."

Maybe it's time we start.

3 1/2 Time Outs Tuesday #8

 Thank you to LarryD for hosting!

1.

My baby smells like raisins. I can't explain why she does, but her sweat definitely smells raisin-y.

2.

#1 got her driver's permit today.  I think I was more excited than she was.  I offered to let her drive home and she said, "Do you think it's a good idea to drive for the first time in the rain?"  Probably not, but I'll tell you this...when I was 15 I wouldn't have let a little rain stop me. This new generation is soft....soft, I tell ya.

3.

I tried to sign #4 up for the Arthritis Aquatic Therapy at our local community center pool.  They don't let 7 year olds take it.  The lady gave me 2 reasons why not: 1) she might be too rambunctious and disturb the other people in the class, and 2) it's a class for adults and it wouldn't be appropriate for her to be in there.  To which I say 1) how rambunctious can a kid with arthritic joints be? and 2)what kind of freaky stuff is happening in arthritis swimming class that my 7 year old can't see it?

3 1/2.

#4 is giving up ballet for the rest of the school year.  She's just not going to be able to dance in time for the recital and we're not being fair to the teacher or other students to hold that spot open for her.  The school has been nice enough to offer to transfer her to music lessons.  She's going to be playing the

How Did We Know?

People keep asking me how I knew that something was wrong with #4, something bad enough for doctors and emergency rooms and visits to Children's Hospital.  I know what they are really asking.  They want to know when we saw the train headed for us and what did it look like?  They want to be able to jump out of the way.  I know because I'm a hypochondriac mom and the tale of #4 would have me crazy every time someone had a bump that swelled.  (I really do fear the next big catastrophe.  It's part of my charm. You'll have to trust me on that.)

So here's what our speeding train looked like:

What we now know is that Juvenile Arthritis is an autoimmune disease.  Sometimes they just show up on their own, and often a really bad virus or infection will kick it off. Looking back through her medical history, it looks as if #4's began with a nasty ear infection when she was 2 1/2.  Prior to that, she had a normal and boring medical chart.  After that, it got interesting.

It all began with Malignant Otitis Externa, we think.  That's a fancy name for a nasty outer ear infection.  Her ear swelled up until it looked more like a fist than a little girl's ear, and there was a dark purple ring of infection which spread out into her hairline and around onto her cheek.  Antibiotics stopped the infection, but not the chain of events which would take 5 years to end in Arthritis. (We think.  This is all conjecture based on her medical history, but her Rheumatologist thinks we're right about it.)

For the next 5 years, #4 had what we called "flash fevers".  We now know that these fevers of 102-104, which would hit her suddenly and disappear within an hour or two with no other symptoms, are symptoms of auto-immune issues.  Not quite as common, but just as mysterious were the rashes which would come and go as well.  She was never quite healthy but not really sick either.  Her doctor was puzzled, but as #4 was able to do everything she wanted to do, we honestly didn't look too hard for answers.  The fevers were puzzling, but didn't interfere with her life.  He told us to keep and eye on her, and we did.  She looked like a normal little girl to us.  I don't think I wanted to admit that there was something wrong with her, but I now will admit that I knew it.

When she was 6, my brother got a MRSA infection in his hand which landed him in the hospital for 2 weeks.  He was a single dad, and my nephew came to stay with us.  The day my brother came to get his son was the day I admitted the truth about #4.  I had a newborn in my house, but I didn't worry about him. I stood on the front porch like a crazed woman and yelled at my brother "how dare he put #4 in danger.  She's medically fragile.  She gets all kinds of weird sicknesses and we have to be careful with her. What was he thinking to endanger her that way?"  Medically Fragile.  No one had ever called her that.  I had no doctor to back it up.  I just knew.  There was something wrong with her immune system and we had to be careful.


Fast forward to the beginning of this January.  The pieces started to fall into place when she woke up with this:

It looked like a swollen toe.

It looked like a swollen toe that she couldn't remember hurting.

Then it looked like a swollen toe that never went away.  It started to go down, but never really did.

9 weeks later.

That's where we get to the knee.

You can't see it so well in this picture. Let me see if I can help.

See how the good knee has a knee cap and the other one doesn't?  It was just as swollen on the outside as the inside before they drained it. (That was over a month ago.) The drained part never refilled but the other never went down.  The joint kept tightening until she could no longer get it straight.

This is what sent us to our family doctor who referred us to an orthopedist, Children's Hospital, and a rheumatologist.  It felt like blinding speed which took us from an active child to one with a chronic debilitating disease, but it wasn't.  It was years in the coming.  It's just the tail end of it which was fast.

As of today, she has 4 joints involved: the knee, ankle, and top of the foot on one leg and the toe on the other.  She's on NSAIDS and methotrexate and we're still waiting for improvement.

That's what our speeding train looked like.  A long slow series of unexplained fevers and rashes which never lasted long enough for the doctor to witness, and then the swelling and contracture.

Sometimes hypochondriac moms are hypochondriacs because we know the enemy is here....we just don't yet know what to call it.

If your name is Anonymous...

and you said "Love your blog.

I too am due in about 5 weeks. Would love one of these for the little one :-)"

You win a WubbaNub!  Email me your contact info at shovedtothem@yahoo.com and your guy is on the way!

The nice WubbaNub people were generous enough to give me a second one, so Congratulations to the vercfamily!   You're getting one, too!

Raining Shoes

Yesterday afternoon as I waited with #4 to see the ophthalmologist (we were looking to see if the arthritis had spread to her eyes...it hasn't), I said to her, "It's hard isn't it?  Waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

She turned her tired gaze to me and answered, "It's raining shoes right now, Mom.......the big ugly clunky kind......I'm about ready for some cute ones."

Me too, Baby, me too.

Giveaway!!!!!!!!!!!

Last week, I wrote how much I am in love with WubbaNub pacifiers.  The nice WubbaNub folks heard what I had to say and how it's my new favorite baby thing and they sent me one to give away!

You have no idea how excited I am about this.  This thing is brilliant!  If you're fortunate enough to have a pacifier baby, then a WubbaNub is essential for your sanity.  The little beanie animal holds the paci in place for your baby when he's in his car seat.  He spits it out, turns his head to look around, looks back and ....hey!  there's the paci!  Genius.

My sweet #7 holds onto hers everywhere we go.  She wraps her chubby 4 month old hand around it, and won't let go.  She loves it.  Which is why I can't believe they gave me one!  Wooooo Hoooooo, y'all!

They sent me the ever popular giraffe.  If you know Wubbies, you know that this is the cool one.  Look how cute it is:

You know you want one!

So here's what I'm doing.  If you want him, leave me a comment on this post with your email address.  On Saturday morning, I'm going to randomly select a winner and then he's on his way to your house.

Here's a look at him in action:

So cute I can hardly stand it!

You know you want him.

**This post is sponsored by WubbaNub and my love for them.  They gave me the giraffe to give away.  I'm kinda jealous.  Only my love for my readers could get him out of my house.  Seriously.  Love him.***

3 1/2 Time Outs Tuesday #7

1.

Overheard from the living room: #4 (She's 7) who recently got a cookie bouquet from her grandparents - "I don't have to give you my cookies because you did something for me.  I don't get more cookies because I did anything for them.  I get more cookies because the cookies belong to me.  What are you, a socialist?"

2.

#1 started driver's ed last night.  I'm so excited for her, but I'm pretty sure there's been a mistake.  There is no way I'm old enough to have a child who can drive.

3.

The steroid shot from a week ago seems to be maybe? working at last and easing the contraction of her knee.  For the first time in 6 weeks, she is able to fully straighten out her leg.  She wants to cram a month and a half's worth of playing into one day because she's afraid of waking up tomorrow to find it locked up again and having things she didn't get to do.

3 1/2.

Are you doing the 3 1/2 thing yet?  If not you should.  Head on over to LarryD's place and join the

The Failure Rate

I have been told more times than I can count that if I were truly against abortion I would have to be pro-contraception.  "Contraception prevents unwanted pregnancies," the argument goes, "so putting women on reliable birth control would cut down on unwanted pregnancies and there would be fewer abortions."

It's an old argument, but always flung at me as if it were fresh and new and something I had never considered before this present moment.  I think they expect me to stand there with my mouth hanging open at the cleverness of this point of view.  This not being my first rodeo, I simply smile and ask "What about the failure rate?"

It's a statistical anomaly, I'm told, if only people used contraceptives correctly there would virtually no unplanned pregnancies.  Education and free access are all that separate us from an abortion free world.

"What about the failure rates?" I press them again, only to be told that those are just statistics.  The number of those pregnancies is so small.....

I'd like to introduce myself: I am the Failure Rate.  My husband and I have "defeated" almost every form of birth control available.  Back in our pre-Catholic days, we did the "only sensible and responsible thing " and tried to prevent babies from coming before we wanted them to come.  Look how well that worked out for us:

#1 was conceived while I was on the Pill.  It was 4 months before our wedding and we were not spectacularly thrilled.  (LOVE her now. Just wanted to get that in there.)

#1 was conceived while I was on the Pill

 We couldn't figure out what I had done wrong.  This failure was all on me.  Taking the Pill was my responsibility, and obviously I had messed it up, because I was pregnant. We decided to remove the possibility of error, so we opted for something stronger.  My OB gave me a Depo-Provera shot the day after #1 was born.  It was "fool-proof" we were told.

# 1.5  conceived on Depo-Provera

#1 wasn't even a year old when we found out that # 1.5 was on the way.  I won't lie to you.  I was stunned.  I cried a lot.  My husband was decidedly not happy.  I apologized.  Often.  I was convinced that somehow I had messed up again.  We were poor college students who were struggling to feed the baby we already had.  What business did we have having another one?

We were devastated when # 1.5 died at 11 weeks gestation.

In the midst of our devastation, we decided to have #2.  He was to be our only "on purpose" baby.

We wised up to the idea that hormonal contraceptives might not be the best choice for us.  Since we had no desire to be celibate, we reluctantly decided that it would have to be condoms.  We were not happy.  What kind of married people used condoms?  The kind who could defeat the Pill, that's who.

We learned that condoms and spermicide don't work either the Christmas just after #2's first birthday.  He was a sick and unhappy baby, and I couldn't imagine adding another baby to the mind numbing worry of my life.  It didn't matter what I was thinking.  Stunned or not, #3 arrived the next August.

No barrier was going to stop us from having #3

We were finished with artificial things which didn't stop anything.  Not only were we frustrated, I was becoming more Catholic and couldn't reconcile my actions with my beliefs.  We turned to our last hope, the Rhythm Method (no snickering, NFPers.)  It should surprise no one that #4 came along pretty quickly after that.

#4 - Proof her parents can't count

We were pretty sure that we were done having children. We had 4!  We reverted back to condoms because they were cheap and didn't require me to take contraceptives.  It was all on him, (Hah!) so it was him sinning and not me. (Okay, I know better now, but that was my reasoning.)

Within 18 months we were expecting #4.5

# 4.5 - The last time we used contraceptives

We lost our sweet Bernadette halfway through pregnancy.  It completely devastated us, but convinced us of the beauty of life. It also led to the Computer Guy's conversion.  He joined the Church in June of the next year.....just before #5 arrived.

When we realized that #6 was coming, we shook our heads and laughed a bit.  We were no longer trying to prevent their coming, but they were still arriving in the "every 2 years" pattern we had established.  We had decided that spacing was up to God, and He seems to think every 2 years is a good thing.

We were in the midst of moving and were watching my cycles and charts to avoid pregnancy in the middle of a move.  God laughed.  My midwife looked at my chart and exclaimed "There's no way you got pregnant that month!" but we did.

#7 - The "you can't possibly have gotten pregnant" baby

Once again we beat the odds.  We just laugh it off and love them all.

You can talk to me all you want about the statistical anomaly of the failure rate and how it's only around 1%.  You can tell me that the number of babies from the failure rate would be too small of a number to make a difference.  You can say that all you want, but you'd be wrong.  I know because it has surely made a difference around here. You see, my whole house is bursting at the seams from that insignificant "Failure Rate."

Girls in White Dresses

It has been all too easy in the last couple weeks to lose sight of the big picture around here.  I keep focusing in on the trials and forgetting the celebrations.  This is our Spring of Sacraments, our Season of Grace.  How fitting that in this dark, dark time our family will be receiving the strength and consolation required to get us through it.

I thought I'd share the happy with you.

#'s 1, 4, and 7

Confirmation, First Communion and Baptism all with in a few months of each other.  Is it any wonder the Devil's hitting us so hard?

Finding the Balance

After 19 years with my husband, I'd like to think I know him pretty well.  I think I do, so why do I have to keep reminding myself of the lessons I've already learned?  How many times do I need to learn them before they stick.  (Note to self : The Computer Guy is not me.  Thank goodness.)  The differences in our personalities are never more apparent than when we are dealing with stress.

I am an information hoarder.  I want to find, read, and hang onto every scrap of information I can possibly find.  (Dr Google and I have become fast friends in the last few weeks.)  I want to be warned of every possibility, every pitfall.  I want to meet the challenges of life head on and armed with all the knowledge I might possibly require.  Life is an often treacherous journey and I want the map.

My husband is the complete opposite.  He wants just as much information as the moment requires.  He wants to deal only with the facts at hand and not get distracted by all the possibilities.  He feels that he has plenty of time to learn what he needs when the time comes and that Dr Google will just cause us to waste our time by leading us in the wrong direction.

It kills me.

I have done my usual furious research.  I'm learning terminology and possibilities.  I've discovered alternate therapies and new things to look into.  I have so much information I want to share with him.  I feel the psychological need to dump all that I've learned into his lap so that we can sort it out together.

He shakes his head and tells me to stop.  We're not ready for all of that.  The treatment she is on hasn't even been given a chance to work yet.  He tells me that I'm getting worked up over things which may not ever apply to our situation.  He just asks what he needs to know right this minute, reads that bit and goes on.

Which is why he's the sane one, and I'm the one who deals with doctors.

We need to strike a balance somewhere between knowing enough to be mistaken for someone with an actual medical degree (happened to me twice when #2 was in the NICU) and relying on the doctors to know everything and having no input.  I'm not sure what that looks like though.  How do I know when I have enough knowledge to be an advocate for my daughter and not enough to be dangerous, and how do I convince my husband that he needs to know it, too?

3 1/2 Time Outs Tuesday #6 (I'm pretty sure)

as always, thanks to LarryD for hosting!

1.

I think the poor guy sitting behind me in Mass last weekend has a serious hearing impairment.  He told me how beautifully I sang.  Now, I've been pretty honest about my vocal abilities in the past, and beautiful is not a way a normal person would describe them.

I don't know what to do in that situation.  When he said "You have a lovely singing voice."  should I have a) informed him that he needed a hearing test, or b) called the Vatican to alert them of the miracle?

2.

I've fallen in love with WubbaNubs.  It seems like a dumb idea, sew a beanie doll on a pacifier, but it's genius. They hold the paci right where the baby can reach it when she's on the floor, and keep it accessible when she's in her car seat.  It's my new favorite baby gift.  Having a baby and I know you in real life?  You're getting a couple Wubbies from me.

#7 and her pink elephant Wubbie

3.

Since getting the JRA diagnosis, I've been furiously researching alternative therapies, looking for anything which will complement the traditional route.  We're changing how we eat.  I haven't made a big announcement.  I've just started cooking differently and following an anti-inflammation diet.  My husband has asensitive digestive system, #2 has eczema, and #3 and I have the ADD....I'm thinking it might help us, too.  I'll let you know.

3 1/2.

If you're one of those annoying people who when you hear that my daughter has Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis says something like "Oh, I know how she feels.  I get this awful ache in my knee from time to time."  You don't know, and I think you're an

Falling Apart

***Working it out on paper.  I cuss.  A lot.  I gave it up for Lent.  So what?  I don't have the energy to care right now.  Totally disjointed ADD ramblings.  It's where I am right now.***


Have you ever had a mental breakdown? A humming discordantly to yourself, flapping your hands desperately, tugging on your hair, wild-eyed mental breakdown?  I'm teetering on the edge.  I'm watching myself from somewhere outside of myself and thinking "Shit.  I'm totally losing it here." But in an observer-ish kind of way.

I'm completely overstimulated. My brain doesn't seem to know where to rest and just keeps speeding up.  There's no place to stop.  I have no place of calm.  There is no day of rest.  Ever.

I wish I could hire a maid.  Like in the book The Help?  I need someone to come in and order my life. Or at least my household.  I need it to be clean.  My husband keeps telling me to have the children do it, but that's just one more layer of stress and responsibility.  I just need it done. I need someone to be in charge of the clean.  I need a Captain of Sanity around here.

I need the children to go to the magical land of Somewhere Else while I collect my thoughts and get hold of myself again.

I'm completely overwhelmed.

Family members have offered to come and help but they aren't the right ones.  I don't know which ones the right ones are.

I need my mom.  That's who I need.  Not the brain-damaged woman I've had for the last 20+ years, but the hyper-controlling slightly bitchy one from my childhood.  I crave her competence and steady hand right now.  Can she come back and put it all into order?  Please? Forget that that woman no longer exists anywhere on this earth any longer.  I need her to come back.

Can you hire someone like that?  Coolly professional and in control with an air of no-nonsense command?  An employee who could show up, be in charge, and then go home? Someone to take over the running of things so that I can go sit in the corner and quietly fall completely apart?

I wasn't home for any of last week, constantly on the go.  This week is starting off the same way.  It's 1:20 AM now and in 6 hours I need to be walking out the door to take #4 back to the hospital for more shots.  It will take all morning. When I get home, #1 will need a ride down to the office.  I won't be home until after 3:00 to stay.  Maybe.  Unless someone else needs something from me.

By the time I get back home in the afternoon, the tiny bit of clean which I have carved out in my crazy midnight obsessiveness will be completely subsumed (that's a word, right?) by the "I don't give a fuck" attitude of my boys.  I don't know how to make them care.  I don't have the energy to do it.  To be honest right now, I don't give a fuck if they do care.  I just want them out of my house.  They need to go outside and not mess up the fragile orderliness which I wish would take hold.

I can't afford to pay anyone to order it all.  Can I put all the children, even the baby, in school for a few weeks?  I just need them to be gone.  I can't think of what they need.  Having a conversation takes more than I have in me.  All I want is time alone.  Silence.

I'm drowning here.

There is an undertow of people who need things from me.  They take and I give and I'm empty.  I need to recharge. I don't know where to go to do that, and  I don't know how to begin.

Is This How It's Going to Be?

#4 went to a birthday party today.  It's all I've heard about for 2 weeks, the neighbor girl's birthday party.  It was the light at the end of the tunnel last week for her.  "Just get through this week and then the birthday party."  (Birthday party needs glitter there.  I don't know how to do that.  Can you imagine it?  Thanks.)

It was horrible.

I totally blame the mom.

It's not her fault. (According to my much more sane husband.)

I blame her anyway.

I went over before it started and explained the arthritis issue.  I don't know her well, but she was friendly and reassuring.  It was a spa day party.  The girls were getting manicures and making funky hair accessories.  #4's physical limitations were not going to be a problem.  She was not going to go to a party and be ARTHRITIS GIRL!

And then she was.

 she was......

The party guests decided to take an unexpected detour to the trampoline.  "What could I do?" My neighbor shrugged.  "They were all having such a good time.  But #4 seemed a bit upset by it, so I let her stay afterwards to play for a bit because I think she felt a bit left out."

Ummmm...you think she felt left out?  I can pretty much guarantee that she felt left out, because she came home, curled up in my arms on the couch, and sobbed about the fact that her friend and her friend's friends completely ignored her while they laughed and jumped on the trampoline.....and she thinks she felt left out?  Yeah, mom, she did.  Good call.

My much saner husband pointed out to me that a group of 7 and 8 year old girls are very likely to look in the backyard and see a

TRAMPOLINE!!!!!!!!!!!

(I need some glitter again here!)

and be really distracted by that, and also not every mother rules birthday parties like her own little power trip. 

My daughter stood on the back porch and watched the party which has been her hope for pulling this week out of the crapper become one big festival of YOU CAN'T DO THIS !!!!!

Is this her life?  

Is this the way it's going to be?  I read all of these stories about other RA kids and how normal their lives are.  Those stories are my "birthday party." They're the hope I'm hanging onto as this all seems to be headed in a crapper-ish direction.

I just want it to be nine weeks ago again.  Can anyone fix that for me?  Thanks. That would be great.

He Just Makes Me Laugh

#5 in the hat he swears makes him look EXACTLY like a snake.  I didn't see it until he showed me the moves.  He's right......he's my favorite snake EVER!

Dancing Backwards in High Heels

The last few weeks I've felt a bit like Ginger Rogers, "dancing backwards in high heels." It feels so appropriate for where I am at this point in my life.

• I can't see where I'm going.
• Someone else is in charge
• The steps are complicated and intricate
• I have to keep up
• I have to figure it all out and somehow manage to look confident and capable in the midst of it all.
• The high heels?  ........Cute shoes are always a bonus.

For now, it's relief to not be the person in charge.  It's a feeling I'm trying to learn to like.  I find it hard to give up the illusion of control, but I'm trying.

I just keep reminding myself that dancing is easy.  All I have to do is step into God's arms and let him lead me where He will.  All of this craziness lately?  It's just the big fancy turn where he does all the work and makes me look good.

Can you believe this dress?  Forget white robes in Heaven, I want to wear this little number.

People keep telling me how brave and strong I am.  I can assure you that "brave and strong" are not me at the moment.  I'm just listening to the tunes He calls and trying to dance along.









*If I was starting a blog today, that's what I would name it "Dancing Backwards in High Heels." (If you're starting a blog and need a name...you're welcome.)