A Bump in the Road

The road.

I've been working really hard the last three weeks to improve my health.  Now that Will is back in school, I have been taking the opportunity to go walking each morning with Linden.  We walk two miles each school day - an amazing accomplishment when you consider I averaged a mile or two a week during the summer months.

I've also arranged to swap baby-time with a new friend so I have been able to add another workout to my weekly schedule.

While I can't techinally diet while nursing, I have cut out sweets, stopped eating late in the day, and tried to curb snacking as much as possible.

And it's working.  Slowly.  But it is working.

In three weeks I've lost five pounds and definately began to rebuild some lost muscel mass.

I still hate getting dressed in the morning, as nothing fits right and I'm so disappointented in the person I see in the mirror.  But in this case, it's definately better than the alternative ... not getting dressed.  

All and all, I'm okay with my progress, but realize it's a long slow road ahead of me.

The bump.

I've been sleep training Linden the last few days, and it's been hell.  I've spent more time listening to him crying in the last three days than I have in the ten months of his life.  I'm not getting any sleep and my nerves are shot.

Tuesdays and Thrusdays are always tough at my house as they are the days I take Will to tuttoring.  He gets off the buss at 3:00 and he's tired and really just wants to disappear into his room for about an hour and veg.  But we have to leave by 3:20 to make it to the tutor on time.  Once we drop him off, a little before 4:00, Linden and I have an hour to hang around the area until we pick him up.  We make it home about  5:30; usually with a screaming baby and a tired boy.  Then it's rush, rush, rush, through homework, meals, and baths so that everyone can be tucked into their rooms about 7:30.  It's just stressful.

Today, Steve came home early with a stomach bug.  Then, on the way home from tutoring, Will began to complain about not feeling well.  Just as I laid Linden down for the night, Will starts giving back everything he's eaten all day.  An hour later, everyone is in bed or asleep, except for me.  I'm attempting to locate a package USPS has manged to lose, answer emails, and print out files for orders tomorrow.

But that's not the bump ...  this is:

 

I don't even remember the trip to the kitchen to get it, but I looked down and there were nothing but crumbs on the wrapper that use to contain a frigging huge blueberry muffin.  Seriously, I ate an entire 4-servings size blueberry muffin at nine p.m. without even thinking about it.  There's my bump.

I'm seasoned enough to know there will be delays, set backs, road blocks, and bumps along the way to any goal.  But wouldn't it be nice to have a little warning beforehand?

Not a Housewife

I had an epiphany tonight: I'm not a housewife. I never married a house. I never even dated a house. And I sure as hell never made one any promises.

Women my age were born right as a woman's role within the family was changing. And many of us, although more modern in our thinking than the last generation, are still tied mentally to the older expectations.

I have always felt like a bad housewife. I don't enjoy cleaning or cooking - and seldom make either a priority. Even when I really try I just can't seem to get everything done.

Not succeeding at something, that others seem to take in stride, has always bothered me. I don't like failing at anything.

Tonight, I realized I haven't failed. I don't stay home to clean my house or prepare meals. I stay home to raise my children; to make sure their first years are spent with family. To give them the best start possible on developing into people with the values Steve and I (and not some babysitter) think are important. To give them a sense of security and a solid foundation from which they can grow into healthy and strong individuals.

I'm a stay-at-home mom.

I take care of their basic needs, introduce them to new places and things, encourage them to spread their wings, support their interests, offer guidance and discipline when needed, teach them how to handle the highs and lows, show them how to make sacrifices and love one another, and I'm always there when they need me.

(And yeah, that does involve some cooking, laundry, and house work . . . but not as much as you would think.)

And you know what? I'm good at it.

The Burning Question

We've had an ongoing issue with Will's diet. He does not get enough fruit, vegetables, or grains and so suffers from reoccurring stomach aches. Two weeks ago, Will almost cried with cramps located in his lower back. I expected it was his kidneys and asked if he'd experienced any burning when peeing.

"Sometimes," Will responds. "But I just dip my penis in water and it feels better."

My first fear was that the willy-dipping had taken place in the sink, where I often brush my teeth. But, I realized he was to short to reach that high - and I'd removed the steps in the bathroom over a year ago.

Then I got all involved in making Will feel better and the question of where exactly he dipped his penis was forgotten. I bought cranberry juice and forced water down him. In a few days things were back to normal.

Tonight, Will comes out of the bathroom and tells me it burned again when he went pee.

As I had shared my moment of fear with Steve weeks earlier, and we'd laughed about it, I looked at my spouse and smiled. "Will dips his penis in water so it feels better," I reminded Steve. Then I asked Will, "Do you need me to get you a wet rag to wash off?"

"No," he tells me calmly, "I filled a glass and dipped my penis in it. It feels better now."

The only glasses in the bathroom are the small paper ones we use when we brush our teeth - the same ones that are often spread all over the bathroom cabinet and I have to re-stack. "Do you throw the cups away after you put your penis in them?" I ask with trepidation.

"Sometimes."

The Note

I've been thinking about all the adjustments Steve has made over the last year as we prepared for a new baby, and then as the father of a new born.

In addition to having Linden in the house, Steve has lost most of his wife's time, and gained a lot more responsibility towards Will.

I wanted to let him know I was aware of how life had changed and that I appreciated the acceptance on his part towards those changes. As having a serious talk with Steve is a hit-and-miss, with his humor jumping out at the strangest moments, I decided to leave him a note.

I explained that I was sorry he had to make his own breakfast and pack his own lunches. Sorry the house wasn't clean and the laundry hardly ever done. That meals were often abbreviated affairs or burnt offerings. That I had no time to spend with him. I even expressed sorrow that I had gained weight, seldom put on nice clothes, and never had time to fix my hair or put on make up. But I was not sorry that I had him, Will, or Linden in my life . . . and I never would be.

When I woke up this morning, I saw that Steve had written "Me too" next to the end of each paragraph. It didn't bother me at first, but then I noticed he'd even written it next to the paragraph about me being sorry I had gained weight and never wore makeup.

I was all, "What the hell did he mean by that?"

How dare he say anything about me putting on weight! (And I was off!) I mentally tallied a list of imagined insults. Eventually, the insult train had a layover and reason boarded. Then I was mad at myself.

Steve hadn't gone out of his way to make me feel bad. I was the one that put all those statements on paper and made them real. All of a sudden, I felt like the woman asking her husband if her pants made her ass look big. Don't ask if you don't want the truth.

When Steve and I were sitting around the living room this evening, after the boys went to bed, I brought up the note and my see saw of emotions regarding his response.

The man is either really good at saving his hide, or honestly didn't mean the "Me too" the way I'd taken it.

"I meant that I too had gained weight and never had time to dress up for you," he said.

Isn't he sweet?

Be Were Bear

I'm a huge fan of paranormal stories. I'm not really into ghosts, future or past travel, or aliens. Vampires? Sometimes. But what I really enjoy reading is a book with any type of 'were' in it.

Last year, Steve had a good laugh when I read about my first werebear. I've read about so many at this point, I can hardly recall what was so funny about it in the first place. Familiarity may, or may not breed contempt, but it certainly builds credence. I've read stories about werewolves, werecougars, werelions, werehyenas, werebears, and once, even about a wearbunny - but that was a spoof.

Steve and I were talking about the problems I've been having with mercurial mood and hormonal swings. I hate the loss of control and my own reactions during these unexpected outbreaks. I am comforted by the fact that I understand what causes them and eventually they will go away. I am also blessed with a husband that understands and knows how to correctly handle the situations when they arrive - duck and run for cover!

This man, who has never caught a hint in his life, doesn't have a clue about most relationship nuances, and can be plain blind and deaf to situational strife, has shown a startling ability to identify one of my mood swings from the onset -- often before I am even aware I'm headed into the danger zone. All he has to do is look at me.

That's when it dawned on me, my 'were' must be coming out.

This photo was taken at the onslaught of an 'episode'.

As soon as we started joking about my 'were' abilities, I could clearly see it. I struggle constantly to present a calm and competent persona to the world, to my family. But lately, I seem to have no off switch. Any emotion or reaction (anger, resentment, concern, etc.) comes out of nowhere and rips through my skin until I feel like a belligerent bear.

Thankfully, the episodes don't last long, although they do commonly include a bit of mauling of the unwary - just until the bodies stop fighting and remain still. After which, I am left feeling remorseful and pained by my actions.

So, I'd like to take this opportunity to forewarn you. Should you be in my company (let's say any time in the next five years), and notice Steve tripping over furniture as he runs away for no apparent reason . . . I suggest you race after him. Because you know what they say, "You don't have to out race the bear, just the person in front of you."

The Unusual Phone Tree

Today, I sold a baby item Linden had out grown on Craigslist. Although the item was not special, and I didn't make much off of it, I doubt I will ever forget this particular transaction. Well, I'll never forget the phone call I received regarding the purchase anyway.

Yesterday, I received an email asking if I still had the item, and if I did, to please text my address to a phone number that was supplied. So I did.

Later that day, I received a phone call from a woman that lives in Kyle, about 15 miles away. Her daughter-in-law was the number I had texted earlier, the number which had been supplied by the woman's daughter - who is expecting. It seems her daughter moved out of the state recently. She (the daughter) found my item listed on Craigslist and contacted her sister-in-law (who lives in Pflugerville - 35 miles on the other side of Austin) and asked her to pick up the item. When the sister-in-law saw our location, she called her mother-in-law and asked if she could pick it up, since she lives in Kyle.

As the woman on the phone told me, she would love to pick it up for her daughter, but she doesn't have a car. However, her mom is driving from Austin to take her to a doctors appointment in the morning, and she (the grandmother) is willing to drive her (the mother) over to pick up the item.

How could I refuse the request to save the item for the next day?

I could hardly wait to meet mom and grandma, and I sort of secretly hoped a few other relatives might show up for grins and giggles.

Although, I do have to admit to being a little jealous of how the entire family pulled together to ensure a young mom from out of state would end up with this incredibly exciting used vibrating bouncer that has only mild scratches and light fading.

In fact, I've come up with my own slightly skewed phone tree for the next time I want something from Cedar Park (about 35 miles north). I'll call Dave, in ND, and see if he can pick it up for me - because he does live north of me. Then Dave can call Kathy, in AZ, since that is much closer to Texas than where he lives. Kathy, being the smart one, will remember that Greg and Stephanie actually live in Texas and call them to pick it up. Then Stephanie's no-nonsense German raising will have her calling Oma and Opa to pick it up since they really are closer to Cedar Park than I am.

Or, maybe I'll just go pick it up myself.

Or, and tell me if you think this is weird, maybe I'll only buy stuff in the area I live in.

A Bump in the Road

The Break Down

This afternoon my car broke down on the side of the road. I had Will and Linden with me. My car has been acting funny for a few days. At first, we thought it was the battery, and I made sure to charge it overnight and charge-up our jumper box to put in the vehicle. So when my car began to show signs of dying, I made the decision to pull off of the busy road I was on and onto a less traveled path. My thought being, I would quickly jump the car and get back on the road . . . I was only about 3 miles from the house.

The problem was that the jumper box had lost it's charge. Now, I was stuck. I called a friend I had just been visiting with at a local park and asked if she was going to be driving by and could help out. She would be by, but first she had to drop off her grand daughter - in the opposite direction. So I settled in for the wait.

The Wait

I had pulled into a small area where a road had been shut down but still remained, just barricaded. The area was isolated and had thick shrubs. At the end of the road, there was a huge pile of some sort of gravel or dirt. Will spent forty minutes playing king of the mountain, sliding down the hill, or walking along the top ridge. I opened doors on either side of the car and the light breeze lulled Linden to sleep. My main concern was trying to balance my time between staying close to the car and keeping Will in my line of sight - unfortunately, this didn't leave me visible to people driving by.

The Help

We had only been there a few minutes when a scary looking older man in a small truck pulled up. He looked over the kids and I, then asked, "Anyone know you're out here?" I answered, "Yes", and he rolled up his window and left.

A nice woman in her mid-thirties stopped about fifteen minutes into our stay and offered us a jump. She didn't even know how to open her hood or how to fold down the rod to support it. The real suprise came when we realized you could not access the negative post to her battery - it was covered by her fuses. She tried calling her husband for help, but he was in a meeting. She finally left, without us ever figuring out how to get to her battery.

Then there were three different drivers that all did the same thing; they slowed down and yelled, "Got help coming?" As soon as they heard, "yes", they took off - never hearing the "But I could use a jump." Damn that slow southern drawl!

The Cost

The boys and I ended up spending about an hour outside. There was a cool breeze and plenty of shade. Will got to do something I dreamed of doing as a child - climbing a huge pile of dirt on the side of the road.

My friend and my hubby showed up within minutes of each other to help me out and I made it home safely. Turns out, it was the alternator. Steve spent all evening replacing it; and it cost a pretty penny.

Speaking of which, Will found a pretty penny while we were waiting for assistance to arrive ... along with a pretty dime.