A Series of Unfortunate Events

I've been writing blog entries in my head but haven't summoned the energy to sit down and write here. Truthfully, I've been in kind of a slump. For now, life is hard and it takes enormous amounts of effort to breathe through each day. A lot of things are piling up, ranging from the very serious (we are broke, the birth center owes us $3000 and refuses to pay so now we have to go to court on August 31, and in the meantime, there are car repairs and checkups for our cats and a sleep study for Roy waiting in the wings) to the moderately serious (I need a root canal and we don't have dental insurance, and also I hurt my back) to the annoyances of the everyday (Simon's slobber managed to kill my phone and my laptop power cord, neither of which are cheap to replace; there are ants in our kitchen; our toilet is leaking; it's fucking hot outside; my kids like to scream loudly all day long; I'm not getting enough sleep; I feel hungry all the time and there is not enough junk food in this house to satisfy me; my toenails look like claws; I have Sesame Street songs playing on repeat in my head every single day).

So. You can understand if I'm a little grouchy. I'm kind of like an old guy growling at people to GET OFF MY LAWN. I'm even hunched over like him because of the aforementioned back injury.

I feel the need to retreat, and so I'm taking a break. I'll see you back here when I'm feeling better.

In the meantime, stay off my lawn.

Charlie's Favorite Songs

In no particular order:

Blueberry Pie by Bette Midler


One Day by Matisyahu (feat. Akon)


Howl by Florence and the Machine


Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) by Arcade Fire


If I Had a Boat by Lyle Lovett


The kid's got eclectic taste in music. I wonder where he gets that from?

A Second Chance for Robert

Friday morning, as Charlie stood on a chair at the kitchen sink and “washed dishes” and Simon rode on my back in the Ergo, I read the latest Dear Sugar column.

Saturday I went to the post office and mailed out an extremely late Father’s Day gift to my dad.

The two events are not unrelated.

It’s not uncommon for Sugar’s column to make tears roll down my cheeks, but her most recent advice offering to a father who’d lost his only son broke me wide open. I stood in the kitchen with my grief burning in my body and I sobbed right there for both of my kids to witness.

I’ve done my fair share of bitching about illness and fever and teething lately but the month of June was so much more than those things that have led me here, to this place where I am once again a grieving woman. Father’s Day, for example. I think it may be the most bittersweet day of the year for me. On that day, I smiled and laughed and I meant it because my boys have a wonderful father who loves them and they will never have to question that. I have loved watching Roy grow into his role of daddy and I am so proud of him. All of that is tempered by my relationship with my own father. It’s practically non-existent and it feels like it lives only in my mind. It doesn’t feel real. Only the grief does.

And so while everyone posted on Facebook about how much they love their dads, I had nothing to say aside from a shout-out to Roy. I posted a video about forgiving our fathers but there was no response. Either no one saw it or no one knew what to say or no one wanted to talk about the places that hurt on a day that’s supposed to be celebratory. I’m okay with that. I do love my dad. He’s half of the reason why I’m here today. But we don’t have a relationship. And that I am not okay with.

I will never be okay with it. It’s the grief that keeps on grieving.



Simon’s middle name is Robert, which is my dad’s name. We knew, as soon as we found out I was pregnant again last year, that if we had another boy, his middle name would be Robert as a way to honor my dad. I wonder sometimes what it means to saddle a baby with the weight of a relative’s name. Will he develop a brain tumor like my dad did? Will he live in a way that my dad couldn’t? Will history repeat itself or will he write his own story? I asked Roy these questions today. I needed answers that were once clear but had become muddled.

“It’s a second chance for Robert,” my dear sweet amazing wonderful husband replied.

And it slapped me across the face like it does every once in awhile, the realization that I will never have a dad like the one in Father of the Bride, that my kids will never have a grandpa to play with, that there is a person sitting in a crappy nursing home in Waco, Texas, who is half of the reason why I’m here today and yet he is lost to me. Forever fucking lost to me.

I don’t know what to do with that. It’s been almost 30 years since his essence was taken, leaving this shell behind, and I still have no idea what to do with this howling emptiness inside me. I try to silence it, by sending out Father’s Day gifts and writing cheerful cards that say things like, “Charlie is 2 now! He’s such a smart and sweet boy. Simon is 7 months old and is crawling and pulling to a stand. We wish you were here. We love you.” It’s all bullshit. What I want to say is “Charlie is 2 now. Why didn’t you call? And what about my birthday? Why didn't you call? Do you even realize that you have a 32 year old daughter and two adorable grandsons? If I tell you I love you, will you say it back? I hope you’re not suffering. Are you suffering? I don’t think I can bear it if you are.”

(I know he is suffering.)



My dad will never have a second chance. I sometimes have to sit with this and let the enormity of it pass over me. I don’t know what to do except breathe and feel the screaming space inside me.

My dad will never have a second chance. So we gave his name to our second son because it’s the best we can do to give him the impossible.

My dad will never have a second chance. He will remain in the nursing home with the big picture of John Wayne over his bed and in his fragile and damaged mind he will drift away to happier times. This is perhaps the only thing that makes his suffering okay, the fact that he can escape it.

My dad will never have a second chance. And someday he will die, just as someday we will all die. Of course, we don’t know when. He’s defied our expectations by hanging in there for much longer than I think any of us expected. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve seen him. Charlie was six months old. It was Christmastime. In less than three months, I would be pregnant again with a little baby boy who would be given his name, a little boy he has yet to meet.

My dad will never have a second chance. I understand this, and that is the place from which my sorrow speaks. There is wisdom in that sorrow, and understanding, and compassion. And yet, like Sugar said in her column, I would give it all up to hear him tell me he’s proud of me and that he loves me.

And this is why I find myself here this morning, reaching for healing, despite the fact - no, because of the fact that my dad will never have a second chance. After all this writing and this spilling of my sad, sloppy guts, I still don’t know what to do with all this reality.

And so I will sit awhile. And breathe.



(All pictures in this post were taken by my dad in his college days, pre-illness.)

(If you don't already read Dear Sugar, you should start. Her column is one of my favorite things about the internet.)

Summer Style

I was in desperate need of new summer threads and kicks. (Do you see how I did that there? Made myself look uber cool by using words other than "clothes" and "shoes"? I may be 32 now but I am still totally hip.) All I really wanted for my birthday was a basic summer wardrobe update, as I had no shorts, two bikinis that I hated and avoided wearing, several pairs of jeans that were hanging loosely on my hips, and a pair of Crocs flip flops that I've been wearing almost every day for the past two years and really wanted to retire.

I was completely in love with this tankini, but by the time it came for my mom to buy it, there were none in my size. I scoured the internet and couldn't really find anything that I loved as much. On a trip to Target while my mom was here, I happened to pass through the swimsuit section and found a very similar one. I was stoked. It fits great and makes my boobs look awesome.



Roy bought me a pair of Sseko sandals with these straps. Love these shoes. The interchangeable straps and the multitudinous ways to tie them? Genius. What the company stands for? Nothing short of awesome.



In the last few months I've become obsessed with Threadless, and my mother-in-law was more than happy to feed my addiction with these two shirts:


(Breakthrough)


(Secret Garden)

I am such a jeans and T-shirt type of girl, and it's so easy for me to get sloppy. But I could never feel dowdy while wearing a Threadless shirt.

My mom also bought me some long & lean jeans from the Gap. With the skinny jean craze going on, it's ridiculously hard to find wide leg jeans. I looked for a long time and then it occurred to me that I should check The Gap, where I got my wide leg maternity jeans. These jeans are awesome. I already had two pairs that I had bought at the beginning of the year, but I needed to go a size down. Now I have jeans that fit, and I guess I'll hang onto my bigger pairs in case I put a few pounds back on.



And then we went to Old Navy, where I got some cropped pants and some shorts. I later went back to exchange the pair of shorts I got for a pair similar to the ones below. I got them home, put them on, and loved them so much I had to go back and get a second pair. At $10 each, I think these are a steal. While I was there getting my second pair of shorts, I also picked up a pair of cheapie flip flops and some cute sunglasses.




I'm so happy with all my new clothes, but particularly my shorts. It's been years since I've really worn shorts proudly and it feels damn freeing to show some leg, varicose veins and all. I decided it was time to really embrace my pasty whiteness and just wear what I like instead of worrying about possibly blinding people.

The only clothes-related thing left that I really want is a pair of TOMS shoes. I've been drooling over them for probably about a year now. I got some money for my birthday, which I was planning on using to buy them, but since I am now 32 and a responsible adult, I may have to use said money for responsible adult things like gas and groceries. Bummer.

However! There is still a chance for me to possibly be frivolous and get the shoes. And I am having a hard time deciding which pair to get. Here are my favorites:

Blue Leopard Women's Vegan Classics

Passport Black Women's Vegan Classics

Passport Lilac Women's Vegan Classics

Which is your favorite pair? And while you're letting me know, tell me about your summer must-haves.

(Also, I am so not a dress girl but I want to turn that around some day. Maybe next summer! Here are a few dresses I love, among some other clothing choices.)

this big exhausted weepy baggy mentally ill cellulite unit known as mommy

I missed the official first day of summer. I had grand plans for that day, which really only included busting out the sidewalk chalk and writing SUMMER! on the driveway and then taking a picture and posting it here as a way of showing you all that yes! I am alive and cherishing the 100 degree heat! yes! I am one of those people who lives entirely in the moment! who never wishes any minute of her life away! who can take some lame sidewalk chalk from Target and use it to make a masterpiece worthy of display at the Museum of Modern Art! who is so fucking happy it's dangerously close to saccharine!

You see, I exhaled too soon. And this week, which was supposed to be about getting back to normal, all of a sudden became about Simon's first tooth coming in. And the fever. The runny nose. The crankiness. The refusal to eat. The sleepless nights. Basically a rinse and repeat of the whole month of June, which I am boycotting, by the way. I hate you, June. Forget the fact that you're my birth month, and my son's birth month. You've betrayed me, you mercurial Gemini you.

Last night was a terrible one in Simonsleepland. I mean, so terrible that at one point in the darkness I could not even see my baby's face - instead I saw a gigantic head with hollows for eyes and a mouth lurching toward me, like some kind of horror movie creature. I wish I was kidding. I had to have Roy take him away for awhile because he was freaking me out and I was crying.

If that's not a sign of sleep deprivation....

My mother-in-law came over this morning, and by that I mean Roy walked over to her house this morning and brought her over to stay with the boys while he slept the sleep of the almost dead and I left the house. I treated myself to breakfast. I ate. I read my book. I did not have to share my food. I did not have to ask the waitress for extra napkins because Charlie spilled his drink all over the floor. Then I went to the bookstore. I browsed. I flipped through magazines. I read a couple of poems. I lingered over the bargain books. I did not have to wrestle yet another Elmo book out of an insistent toddler's hands when it was time to leave. I did not have to pick up my baby and strap him to me because he was fussing about being in the stroller. Then it was time for a brief trip to the library. I got a few free (old) copies of National Geographic. Then I had to go home because Simon really, really needed me at that point.

My date with myself? Oh so needed and deserved, especially after three weeks of fever/illness/teething hell. I think I'll make this a Friday thing I do. I think I will be a little more aggressive about getting Simon to take a bottle, if for no other reason than I would like to go out with my husband to celebrate our wedding anniversary next month.

Late this afternoon, I finally got to hang out with one of my friends, her daughters, and her parents for the first time in about a month. (We have a weekly playdate.) We went swimming (Simon's first time) and had a little BBQ. Charlie stuffed his mouth full of grapes and then spit them all out, half-eaten. Charming. I danced with my friend's daughters in the living room and admired all the art around the house. The light outside was perfect as we were driving home listening to First Aid Kit. It was all very summerlike. What can I say? I love you, June.

(title graciously stolen and mercilessly bastardized from one of the wonderful works of Anne Lamott)

Exhale

It's been two weeks. Two weeks of one small cold (parents), fever with no symptoms (Charlie), terrible crankiness and refusal of food (Charlie), phlegmy cough (Charlie), fever and cough (Simon), full-blown cold with fever (Charlie), full-blown cold (Roy), and hardly any sleep at all.

Somewhere in there, we had two birthdays, Simon started crawling, my mom flew in, we went to a baseball game, we had a birthday party, Roy's work got broken into, a skunk took up residence under our house, Simon turned seven months old and pulled to a stand (twice), and my mom flew back to Texas (with a cold).

What a ride.

My friend Kim was nice enough to send us an edible arrangement in response to my last post. Seriously, if this is what complaining gets me, I'm never going to stop.





Pretty! Yummy!

(Thank you, Kim. So wonderful of you!)

Things are getting better. I smiled as I typed that because I can hear Charlie in the next room throwing one of his mega nighttime tantrums. This is how I know he is better. And while I loved the cuddles we shared while he was sick, I'm so happy that he's back to his old sleep-fighting self.

There were some scary moments. His fever was like a metastasis, returning day after day. I would lie on the floor next to his crib at night, listening to him struggle to breathe. In my head: "This is YOUR fault. You didn't breastfeed him. If you had, he wouldn't be this sick. You are a terrible and selfish mother."

Love that mom guilt.



I'm ready to get back to normal life, whatever that is, ready for playdates and hanging out with my friends, going for walks, playtime in the backyard, reading and writing and art lessons, Monday movie night with the husband. I guess I'm even ready for laundry and dishes.

We have had so many bouts of illness since Simon was born. I wonder if this is just what it's like with two kids or if we are just so sleep deprived that our immune systems are incredibly compromised. We are going to be making some changes around here to give ourselves a boost. Boy, do we need one.



(But Simon's hair doesn't. It's awesome, yes? It just started doing that on its own recently.)

Tomorrow is Father's Day, and I doubt I'll be making an appearance in this space. I'll be with my family, and we'll hopefully all be feeling good enough to do something fun to celebrate the day. My own father won't be far from my mind, though, because he never is. Here's to daddies everywhere.

Delirium + Dreams

Both of my boys are sick.

Charlie's three-day fever lasted from last Monday night through my birthday through his birthday and ended on Thursday, the day my mom flew in. It got up to 104 on his birthday, a nice little gift from the universe, and after popsicles, Tylenol, and a bath, it went down and stayed there. I know that I sound rather casual about it all, but let me tell you that there is nothing like holding your baby and realizing how hot he is, a mini overheating radiator, while all through your mind thoughts of meningitis and cancer race. I make those leaps easily, and before you know it, I am close to tears. I am almost always able to breathe away those thoughts, push the crazy back into my brain's mess, and be a somewhat normal, somewhat functioning adult.

Charlie's fever broke, but he kept his major attitude, and we spent the majority of the weekend preparing for our birthday meal on Sunday night.

My time in the kitchen went something like this: Measure out half of ingredients for strawberry cake. Comfort crying baby. Measure out other half of ingredients. Change toddler's diaper. Mix ingredients. Throw dirty dishes in sink. Give insistent toddler a banana. Rescue banana from clean soapy water in kitchen sink, where he threw it once he was done. Comfort crying baby again. Put cake in oven. Strap crying baby onto my back. Peel whining toddler from legs. Remove cake from oven and let it sit for ten minutes. Remove it from pans and watch the entire cake fall to pieces as it comes out of the pan. Rinse and repeat process for the rest of the day.

We managed to pull off a most excellent birthday dinner with only a few mishaps: the strawberry cake that fell apart, setting one of our plastic cutting boards on fire, and filling the house with smoke while making the pizza. It was a good time and a ton of work.

That night, right as Charlie was put into his crib for bed, he started coughing. And not some wimpy cough, either. A cough that said, "Attention, Mom and Dad! Phlegm!"

Monday was supposed to be his two-year well check. I took him in and refused the shots. The doctor pronounced his throat irritated but couldn't see much else wrong with him. By the time we got home Simon was running a 101 degree fever. Last night Simon had his worst night ever, burning up for part of the night, waking up once an hour all night long. Charlie, meanwhile, woke up about six times. Today they both had fever. Charlie's got a runny nose and cough. Simon coughs from time to time but is mostly just cantankerous. I'm glad the illness has finally made an appearance because fever without some kind of sickness makes me incredibly anxious.

The dreams started last week. In the first one, I found out I was pregnant again, already 25 weeks. Roy and I were waiting to have an ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby, but we had to sit through a bunch of baptisms first. Then fast forward (you know how dreams go), and Roy and I just got home to find Charlie screaming and Simon lying on the floor pinned under a chair. The top of the back of the chair was right on Simon's neck and he looked like an old man instead of a baby, his eyes bugging out of his head. He was ... not alive. I can't even say the word for what he was, because even in a dream, it's just wrong.

The second dream involved me and a friend going to the mall with both Charlie and Simon. We were in a shoe store and I left both boys with my friend to go use the restroom. When I returned, Simon was sitting in the stroller but Charlie was nowhere to be found. We searched and searched but he was gone. I was frantic, scared out of my head. The last thing I remember was CPS getting involved.

Then this morning. Once it was light out, Roy took Simon, and I slept a little on my own. And dreamed of a vampire apocalypse. My brother's best friend (who looked like his old best friend) and I were going to the top floor of a house to escape the many vampires that were on their way. We were huddled up there when from a distance I saw Charlie with my mother-in-law walking across the bridge to get to the top floor (where we were). Charlie had no idea what was going on; he was just being his cute little self and running around aimlessly. He was wearing his Easter shirt and blue jeans, his blond hair was flopping around as he ran. He ran right off the edge of the bridge. I was horrorstruck.

Then later someone showed up with Simon and he was given to me. At that point the vampires had arrived and were coming up to where we were. By some miracle, Charlie had lived through falling off the bridge and had returned. He also was given to me, and I was holding both him and Simon so tight. We were surrounded by vampires. It was just like a damn action movie, stupid music playing and all, and we were almost done for. I found myself wishing for two Ergo baby carriers because I had no idea how I was going to hold onto both of them and fight for our lives.

It was at that point that Roy woke me up, and I felt otherworldly. I can't say "I dreamt of a vampire apocalypse" with a straight face but it all felt so real. These dreams are almost exhausting as all this sickness.

Roy has been sleeping in Charlie's room for the past week. I've woken up in the middle of the night to find them both asleep in the glider, or Roy asleep on the floor with Charlie in his crib, or both Roy and Charlie on the floor. Simon and I sleep on the futon cushion on the floor in the other bedroom. If we are lucky, Roy and I get to have a face-to-face conversation during the day. If we are really lucky, we get to have some cuddle time in our bed (which largely remains abandoned these days) before one or both of the boys wakes up. It's a very strange delirium of a time. I miss my husband. I'm worried about my boys. I'm feeling guilty because my mom's here and there's all this sickness and we can't go out and do much and I'm tired and crabby and not my best self and I hole up in the office to write these bitchy blog posts instead of spending time with her but I so need the time to myself.

I'm feeling the weight of these dreams and I just want them to stop. I'm drowning in these terrible possibilities. I'm becoming a little afraid of the dark and of what sleep has to offer me. But I need need need, oh how I need that sleep. I can't remember the last time I slept through the night; I'm becoming somewhat of a wreck.

(Helppleasesendchocolatemaybesomeflowersanighttimebabysitterandsometranquilizersforthekiddosokaythanks.)