Gahbage

Sam is walking around my living room, with goggles on, blue jeans, dinosaur t-shirt, and Jessie's purple belt on, wearing a pair of blue flowered socks as his 'gahbage glubs' (garbage gloves), carrying a little toy frying pan, and picking up various toys, muttering to himself "come here gahbage, gahbage, I wooking for you." Every now and again, he yells for me to say "Dis going well, Mama."

You know how some mornings, you just can't do it?

Just can't get motivated? No matter how much coffee you drink, no matter how many favorite shirts you put on, how high you pull up the ponytail? I'm exhausted - and there's no real reason. Other than the fact that I've decided against going to bed at a normal hour - it used to be that Marc stayed up later to bring Jess to the potty, and I'd go to bed around nine thirty or ten. But he's been bailing out lately, so I'm sitting up to take her to the bathroom (which totally isn't working, as I'm washing her bedding for the second morning in a row). The weather is still crappy - all icy and overcast, so that's not helping... and Sam is so grubby that I HAVE to toss him in the tub. And you know that's not going to go well... Why does the child hate baths so much? What's up with that?

Jess danced off to school happily enough - she's so cute. I feel guilty, she got so many new toys for her birthday, I didn't realize how much she did NOT play with her old toys. She must have somehow outgrown figurines and dollhouses when I wasn't paying attention - because now that she's got a thousand Barbies, she's back to playing in her room by herself for hours. She's reading too - she still needs me to sit beside her and help her sound out the words, but she's doing 90% of it herself.

What a boring post... I'm in a boring mood... but I'm on the third cup of coffee, and who knows? It could suddenly get much better.

Sam's favorite song just came on the Disney Channel. That's what I mean - it was so cute - he screamed "MY SONG!" and is now in there warbling "We break it, We Fix It." Now I'm having a good day :-)

Jessica Mary Carruth Cohen

I'm a bit late in my birthday post for my girl - but it was a busy weekend. Six years (and two days) ago, my little girl was born. I have two cherubs, and love them both (and in about six months - you'll have to read thru Sam's love letter). But six years (and two days) ago, I became a mom, and met the person who'd change my life forever.

From the first second I saw her, there was such an instant bond and almost desperate need in me for her. I knew that my happiness, my survival, in a real sense, was suddenly dependent on this other person. I had a bit of a snag with my blood pressure after the C-section when Jess was born. I had gone into labor, and things were clicking along perfectly well, until I hit nine centimeters. Then everything stopped, and after a couple of hours, they decided to do a c-section. The surgery went great, and all was well... Marc brought her over to see me afterwards, and she was so amazingly beautiful. Her face was perfect, her eyes were huge and wise, and it was the most incredible feeling. Disbelief, awe - all of that, but mostly, I think I was still a bit surprised that it had actually happened - you know how you reach that point where you just think you're going to stay pregnant forever?

It was after the surgery when I realized how motherhood was going to change me. I had been brought back into my room, and was shaking from the medication. Shaking so much that I couldn't hold her. And I couldn't stop the shaking... and was so upset that I couldn't have my baby that I closed my eyes... and from what I've been told, I blacked out, my blood pressure bottomed out and it became a crisis situation. From my perspective... everything went black and hopeless and fuzzy... until Marc brought me my baby. He held her close to me for the first time, and I looked - really looked - at her - and then, only then, was I okay. I looked into her eyes and saw her, really saw her, and she saw me for the first time - and it was okay. It was more than okay - it was the most incredible feeling I'd ever had. Without her, I had a hard time remembering why I was here. Without her, when I couldn't hold her, when I couldn't stop shaking, it was easier to just give up and sink into oblivion.

She's amazing to me. Constantly. Six years later, I still lose time, just watching her sleep or eat, or read or play. Everything about her is a miracle to me - this much loved, so wanted child. She's the epitome of what Marc and I could achieve together - a living representation of our relationship - and so much more. She's her own person, with likes and dislikes and quirks and habits and thought processes that I still struggle to understand. She's brilliant and funny and so sweet. And while there are many things in my life that have changed from six years (and two days ago) - one of the constants is that I don't know what I'd do without her. I can't imagine being happy, or being at all, really, without her in my life.

Getting ready

I have so much to do right now - and have a hormone induced migraine - and feel as though my best option is to curl up under a quilt, snuggle and nurse Sam to sleep and doze for a couple of hours. I'm having Marc's whole family over tomorrow for Jessie's "family" birthday party. Granted, various family members on my side are coming as well, but I'm not as concerned about the house being pretty for them. They love me and think I'm fabulous already - and toys all over the place isn't likely to change that. Not that Marc's family isn't lovely - because most of them really are - but still, there's a lot more pressure when they are coming.

So tomorrow - I'm going to get up, sing happy birthday, give my girl cupcakes for breakfast with a candle in it, shower her, dress her in a gorgeous dress and ship her off for Hebrew School. Then I'll do the dishes, and the laundry, sweep the floors, mop the floors, reorganize the toys, bake two cakes, frost them, set up decorations, feed everyone lunch and then put on my hostess hat and be cheerful and merry. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I hate migraines.

Go in your room until you are done

I don't know what I'm doing with Jess half the time. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but really, I am never completely certain on what the best way to deal with her tantrums would be. I've done just about everything at one time or another. I've tried indulging her, holding her and sympathizing. I've tried punishing her, putting her in time out every time she has a temper tantrum. I've tried ignoring it, just letting her cry and paying no attention whatsoever. I've tried reward charts, a sticker earned for every time she stopped herself mid-fit and pulled it together.

For the past couple of months, I've been using the "Go in your room until you are done." It's not a punishment, it's not ignoring it, it's just drawing a line in the sand that if she needs to cry and rage and scream, that's okay, but it's not okay to make everyone else deal with it. She can come out whenever she's ready, and at least some of the time, she'll calm down enough to forget about it and start playing with her dollhouse. Sometimes she comes out and we can talk about whatever's bothering her calmly without tears, and more often than not, she comes out crying just a little bit less intensely and gets sent back in there.

She's an intense kid - everything is real and huge and worthy of utter intense focus for her. I think sometimes my job, with Jess, is to teach her to deal with her emotions, to be able to control them, not to just let herself go in the flood of drama that's always right there for her to tap into. You know what I mean? She lets herself be so influenced by circumstances, and I've thought, from the time that she was an infant, that she makes life so difficult for herself sometimes, just by letting herself get so upset by things. I wish I could teach her to shrug it off, to have a smile on her face, because if she could do that, she would have an easier time making the circumstances of her life suit her better. Just smile, ask for help instead of collapsing into tears and whining.

But even though I wish she could make things easier for herself sometimes, she's so magical about the way she thinks. She's brilliant and kind and so amazingly herself - mostly, I'm just grateful to have the opportunity to be her mother. She's so much more than I ever hoped for in a daughter.

You know that feeling?

That sense of just utter exhaustion, when you feel as though it would be such a blissful relief to melt down into a nice, soft clean bed with no toddlers in it? When you can feel it in your shoulders and in your lungs and your legs and in your poor tired brain, that's so ready to just relax and not hear "MOMMY!" over and over and over again...

I'm so there.

Marc's lost over thirty pounds - which is wonderful. Really, great. I mean, he put on so much weight with me when I was pregnant with Jess, and it's fabulous that he's devoted and dedicated and putting so much time and effort and committed to it. But... there are nights when I'm so completely ready for another adult, someone to distract Sam, just long enough for me to put Jess to bed by herself. And then keep him busy and happy for another hour or so - just long enough for me to collapse with a good book and nobody pulling on me or asking for a drink or complaining that Sam's sitting on her, or Jessie won't play with him (probably because he won't stop sitting on her).

I don't mean to complain. Really, I don't. I'm just tired and wishing it was an hour or two from now. The kids will drift off to sleep easily enough tonight, I'm sure. Jess had her first day back to school in several days, and Sam took a shorter nap today than usual. I just need enough energy and sunshine to get thru until then.

Sick, sick, and more sick

Walking pneumonia is no joke. I finally took Jess into the pediatrician, after considerable thought and stress. Although it seems as though I haul the kids into the doctors all the time, I always sort of agonize over it. Is she really sick enough to go? Really? Should I wait? And it doesn't help that Marc is consistently explaining that I'm over-reacting, and wasting the co-pay, she's fine, it's a cold, it'll go away on it's own. He actually said to me yesterday that if she was coughing up blood, then it would be a good idea to go. Once I realized (again) that his criteria was a little... what's the word??... INSANE (if she's coughing up blood, I'm going to the ER), I made the appointment. And lo and behold, it's walking pnemonia. Which, according to WebMD, may last for up to a month. She's not contagious, and as long as I keep her drugged up with tylenol cold, she's bouncing around and cheerful as can be. But when she first wakes up, she's just so sick, coughing and miserable, and I've kept her home from school for the past two days. I tell her that she's staying home, give her some tylenol, and within a half hour, she's singing and dancing about... the only hitch is that it only lasts three or four hours and then she crashes again, whimpering and coughing and seeming so much younger than her almost six years. We repeat the cycle (tylenol with three chocolate chips to get rid of the taste, half hour recovery) and she's dancing again :-)

Meanwhile - it's a Monday, and I'm in a glorious mood. Had a fantabulous weekend, excepting the walking pneumonia diagnosis. Saturday was relaxing and peaceful, spent the whole time with just Jess because Sam was having a play date with his best friend Glennys and Marc was out and about picking up medication and getting the car inspected and ferrying Lilli to and from dance class. Sunday was lovely as well, excepting some forced time with Marc's ex's family at Lilli's award presentation at the Worcester Art Museum. But the game was fun, the food was great, and I slept exceedingly well last night.