sueeeus

Thoughts whir about in my mind, spinning, spinning, spinning.  Sometimes fragments get caught for a moment, and I can get a glimpse of what they might be.  Mostly, they spin.  I’ve been collecting these fragmented pieces, bit by bit, and generally find myself thinking two things.

One.  He could have kept this boat afloat with only the tiniest of investments.  I could have kept the life pattern we had on steady hold for quite some time.  Years, or even decades. It wouldn’t have taken much, on his part.

Two.  Why did he not love me?

Ultimately, I’m glad, even relieved, that he didn’t try to invest that tiny bit of himself in us, because the outcome would have been only a half-lived life.  I don’t want a half-lived life.  I want to live fully.  To joy, and rejoice.  To howl with laughter so rich that it hurts.  To love and be loved.  So we’re all better off this way.  Truly.

But I think that I am also angry.  Angry that he didn’t love me.  He was free enough with those words, but not the substance that supports them.  Without that substance, how could those words carry any weight?  So yes, I’m angry, because what’s not to love?

The pragmatic part of me reasons that people are people and we’re all unique.  Different.  Sometimes we don’t mix well.  It’s just the way it is.

He’s angry too.  He wants nothing to do with me.  He’s angry that I rejected him, but he doesn’t seem to get that I (r)ejected him because he rejected me.

~*~*~*~

BB wanted to see him this weekend.  He kept asking about his dad.  We called and left messages.  We thought he might perhaps come by, but he didn’t call and he didn’t come by.  Sunday evening he did call, and BB was at the dining table playing with his Transformers.  “I don’t want to talk to him,” he said, and kept concentrating on his Transformers.

My heart wrenched, tied up and twisted inside of me.  It nearly took my breath away, and I tried not to let my expression change or show what I felt.  It’s hard to describe the thoughts and concerns those seven words produced.  I looked at my child, and wondered if he was just being five, or if there was a deeper hurt in there.  And I’ve been watching him ever since.  Gazing at him intently, but not so that he notices me.  Watching the way he plays, the way he acts.  He seems fine.  And yet.  Today when I picked him up from daycare, he looked melancholy and said  he didn’t feel well.  My aching heart.  I was cheerful and teased him and he snapped out of it within minutes, but it’s all new, this forlorn look.  Of course he knows to try to play me for whatever he can, be it getting out of picking up after himself, helping him finish his dinner, trying to stay up later or watch more TV.  But this time it was different.  Or else he’s learned a new trick.

I need to remain vigilant and be prepared to make countermeasures to any emotional distress he may be feeling.  I want to chase those demons away.  Be gone!  Leave my boy alone!

~*~*~*~

Today I saw a counselor, for the first time in my life.  Overall, I feel a bit frustrated by the experience.  We talked about several things, but the suggestions she gave me were nothing new.  More like strategies to address the symptoms, but nothing to seek to expose and address the root cause.  I know exactly what sorts of things I should be doing to make myself feel better and more whole.  Eat sensibly.  Exercise regularly.  Get enough sleep.  And so on and so forth.  I know these things.  Doing, that is the problem.  I want or need help bridging the chasm between knowing and doing.  Sure, I could eat sensibly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Sure, I could exercise regularly, as long as I felt like it and nothing came along to make me feel otherwise.  Yes, there’s a pattern.  Sure, I could get more sleep, as long as I didn’t have a toddler who kicks his blankets off and gets cold and wakes up unhappy, with just enough consciousness to see me tucking him back in, after which he wails if I leave the room, so I’m left with the choice of letting him cry himself to sleep, holding him until he nods off again, or taking him to bed with me, and hoping he settles back to sleep.  I’m too blessed exhausted to do anything but the latter.  And how can I let him cry?  What could he be thinking, other than that he wants his mama to snuggle him until he doesn’t feel alone anymore, and why is she walking away and leaving him all by himself?  Some say they are just manipulating you, because they can get what they want when they cry, and to an extent I agree, but I can understand wanting someone to hold me until I don’t feel alone any more, so why is that not a valid interpretation of those tears he cries?

Tell me what you need so I can tell you what you need.  This counseling relationship is off to a rocky start.  Yes, I need to balance my life and take better care of myself.  Yes, I even know how to do those things.  But what I don’t know is why I don’t.  Other than, because I don’t feel like it.

Five is a great age!  So much personality shines through.  So much is said.  For instance.  Chatter chatter  chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter chatter [pause for a breath] do-you-not-know-what-I-mean?  My other favorite is, “Is today tomorrow?”

I took a vacation day, pulled him out of daycare, and took him to the movies.  We were alone in the theee-AY-doe, which was good, since he wouldn’t sit still.  We started in the middle, moved to the very back, then the very front.  I think he had a good time.

He requested a cake with strawberries in the shape of a face.  It was a very creepy looking cake, but he was happy.

What better to mark the momentous occasion of one’s fifth birthday than losing one’s very first tooth!  The new one is practically already in.  It was very, VERY exciting to put the tooth under the pillow, and wait for the tooth fairy to come. Good thing his little brother woke up at 3 a.m., else that tooth fairy might not have lived up to expectations.

~*~*~*~

His birthday was last week, and I haven’t had any time to post.  Since then, he’s lost the second tooth!  He is very excited about his sudden wealth, and sad for me that I don’t have any teeth to lose, so the tooth fairy won’t be coming to visit me.

Oh, how my moods are wearisome.  Bang, bang, as in up, down, slam, slam, no neutral ground.  Polar oppositional.  I wish I would hurry up and cultivate that side of me that takes a moment to take things in, rather than reacts in a knee jerk trigger, resulting in bedlam and emotional mayhem.

The other day I was cheerful, bright and hopeful, on the verge of elation.  I’d received a letter from the court with instructions for the hearing.  It also meant that if Gadget were going to pull any last minute funny business, he’d have had to have served me or otherwise notified me by yesterday.  And he didn’t.  Which means all systems go.  Things are lined up for a smooth and uneventful closure, come Monday.

So why would I be agitated today and yesterday?  The kids push me to my limits and I find myself yelling, mostly at BB.  He wiped his nose on the drapes, and I exploded.  I hate to hear myself like that.  I hear myself screaming and like an out of body experience, I observe and shake my head and wonder, who IS that shrieking harpy, and can’t she see he’s only nearly 5, and of course he doesn’t think about much besides himself.  At what age do children learn consideration for their fellow life forms?  Eventually he cries because I’ve hurt his feelings for shrieking at him.  Ace.  Such a good mother.

After things cool down, I snuggle with him and we talk about it, and I ask him if he understands why I was mad, and what it was he did that made me upset.  He usually does a pretty good recap.  We forgive each other and all is well.

Meanwhile, LB is an imp.  The pediatrician said the most important thing is NOT TO REACT when he does something he shouldn’t do, because that teaches him that there is a response to an action, and that’s kind of fun.  I’ve completely botched this on many occasions.  He stands up in his high chair, and I give him a stern look and tell him to get down, so he sits down, and I say, ‘Good boy!’.  So he does it again.  It’s a game.  I have to be vigilant and remember to strap him in at all times, lest he try this while I’m not sitting directly in front of him.  When he’s decided he’s had enough food, he spits out the bite if the decision comes when there is a bite in his mouth, else he just starts throwing food on the floor or across the room.  Granted, I can see how this is fun, but Lordy, I’m getting tired of the mess.  The thing that frazzles my nerves, however, is the game in which he hurls himself at the fireplace.  We have a gas insert and a brick surround with a brick hearth and a brick mantle.  So much rock for him to smash his head into, and so many angles and opportunities.  I’ve tried putting rugs on the hearth to soften the edges, but that leaves the fireplace and the vertical edges exposed.  I’ve tried large cushions and pillows to make a deep and wide barrier, but he climbs on them and it’s all that much more fun to charge and fling himself at the pile of cushions.  Currently I’ve got a narrow table directly in front of the fireplace, and a big speaker in a speaker stand flanking each side.  This consumes the hearth, and provides a more vertical barrier and a less inviting space to hurl and fling oneself towards.  I don’t like having a table in front of the fireplace, though, and the whole visual effect is less than inspiring.  I need a better solution.

Thank God he knows how to navigate the stairs.

There’s an opportunity to take them to see Walking With Dinosaurs in the spring.  BB loves dinosaurs, and might love the show, but at the same time, might be a little freaked out by it.  Or a lot.  He doesn’t do well with loud noises and vibrations.  A boat ride on choppy water this summer traumatized him, poor little guy.  BB, my gentle giant.  The question is whether or not LB could handle it.  He takes to danger and excitement much more than BB, so he might actually be fine.  He’ll be about 20 months old, when the show takes place.  To go, or not to go.

Now that I’ve taken some time to write it out, it doesn’t seem so bad.  BB is playing his Wolverine spelling game next to me, and LB said ‘Nigh Nigh’ and let me put him to bed.  I’m so proud of him!  No fight.  He was tired and wanted to go!

I have my lovely little daybook that I’m planning to write in every day.  It’s more do-able than committing to a blog post.  I think if I took a few moments to organize my thoughts and make a plan, I might not feel so agitated and frazzled.

No resolutions.  Just plans.

It’s been quite a ride, the past few weeks.  Months.  Year.

And just now, Gadget came and got the kids for the very first time since his departure.  He’s taking them to see Santa at the mall, and to see his new place.  I have mixed feelings.  Happiness that he’s reaching out to them.  Relief to have a moment to myself.  Anxiety that they’re not in my hands.

I might not have felt so anxious had he not wrecked the truck two weeks ago.

Until then, he wasn’t playing nice.  And then.

It humbled him.  Before he was just acting out in anger, and being very childish and selfish (IMO).  After,  he was more broken and afraid.  The latter is more real, and I can see someone I recognize again, whereas the angry man was such a stranger.

The weekend after that, a pipe burst, and I had to call on him for help.  It was traumatic, but he came through.  And I appreciate it, probably much more than he knows or believes.  I told him as much, but his ears are mostly closed to me now.

And last week.  Work.  Oh, my goodness, work.  It was a momentous week.  We had first flight.  It’s a big, big deal, and it stirs some sort of pride in me, even though I’m far removed from anything specific to do with that effort.  Add to that an emergency server migration, and for icing on the cake, the maiden release of the software application that has consumed me for the better part of the year.  It doesn’t sound like much, when parsed into these few words, but for me, it’s huge.

I was and am so close to an emotional meltdown.  The sheer exhaustion resulting from the pressures and strains from all aspects of life of late.  It’s a lot to bear, and I try to take it in stride, and carry it gracefully.

Of course it all culminates during the holiday season, which in and of itself is a time when depression and stress tend to surface with a vengeance.

BB and I were talking about Christmas, and how exciting it is to wake up on Christmas morning and open your stocking to see what Santa brought.  I started to tell him about how, as children, we’d be SO excited, and we weren’t allowed to open any presents until our parents were up and ready, but we were allowed to take our stockings.  Oh, the joy, wonder and excitement.  And I burst into tears, just thinking about our ratty tatty stockings, and what my destitute mother must have had to go through emotionally every year, to try and find a way to make Christmas for nine children a magical event.  She always pulled it off, though.  It was always wondrous for me, and I think it was as well for the others.

How fortunate my children are, not to know poverty.  Yet, dire straits can teach some great life lessons about the true value of life experiences in contrast with material things.  I know I overindulge them, but I hope I will always be able to temper it.  I hope I can teach them to be considerate of others and not to be selfish.

BB asked me if Santa was going to bring just one present or a whole bunch.  I told him I didn’t know, that we’d have to wait and see.  I bought myself a little time.  Help!  Part of me wants to establish the Santa ground rules.  Does Santa just bring one present?  What if other kids will get lots of presents from Santa?  How does one sort out the comparisons?  So far there is nothing under the tree except things for other people.  What to do.  I’m tempted to say that Santa brings just one present.  If that’s the case, maybe I can put some things under the tree now, and that will be exciting for them to see.  Oh, what to do, what to do.

It’s only hair.  It grows back.

He wanted the Stegosaurus, but it’s more like a cockatoo.  Or one of those little yapper dogs.  I forget what they’re called.  And his little brother, well, it was all I could do to just trim the sides, so he gets the fauxhawk as well, intentional or not.  I practically had to hold him in a headlock.  Apparently he no longer likes the sound of the clippers.

Even so, my GOODNESS, my kids are gorgeous!!!  (Totally biased, I know.)

No worries, they look mostly normal without hair gel.  Aren’t the matching skull and crossbones bathrobes something?  All they need now is a heart tattoo with the word MOM emblazoned on their upper arms.  I actually have some temporary biker tattoos around here somewhere.  That would be fun, to give the grandmothers a fright.

This one gave his mother quite a scare.  Toddling is such a dangerous pastime, but he wasn’t even toddling when this mishap took place.  No, he was flat on the floor, whining and fussing, and jerked his head to show me he was mad and wanted more attention than I was giving him.  Only there was a bookcase in the way, and he smacked it hard.  I scooped him up instantly and the red line popped out instantly, and the goose egg burst forth instantly and this poor mother shed more tears than her injured babe.

It was alarming to see such a swell grow so quickly on his beautiful little head.  I soothed him and kept an eye on him for pupils dilating strangely and any other signs, and called the doctor.  Of course this happened on a Sunday, as all emergencies seem to take place outside of normal business hours.  By the time the on call doctor returned my call, he was calmed down and behaving normally, as evidenced by the photo above, and the doctor let me know the signs to look for over the next 24 hours, but that from the sounds of everything, he was fine.

And so he is.

I made him wear a helmet for the rest of the day, though.

(Until he figured out how to remove it.)

I love this age of conversation and reason.  He is nearly five, and he has so much to say.  He conveniently listens only when it suits him, but that may be what any normal child does.

I love to tease him!  Recently he’s shown a sensitivity to boy-girl teases.  In Monsters vs Aliens, there is a scene where Susan smooches Derek.  Now, if I say, “My name is Suuuuuuusan, and I’m going to smoochie smoochie you,” he runs and shrieks and covers his face and blushes, “NOOOOOOOOOO, Don’t DO that Mommy!”

He also thinks it’s funny that my name IS Susan.  He makes sure he tells every passerby, “My Mommy’s name is Suuuuuusan.”  And when asked what HIS name is, he responds without missing a beat, “Gallaxhar.”   Only it sounds like “Gow-ax-ove,” so I have to translate and explain, because, well, not everyone has seen Monsters vs Aliens.  Fifty. Thousand.  Times.

He memorizes full scenes.  “Derek, you are a selfish jerk.”  All the way to “Lime green jello with fourteen pieces of pineapple.”

All I have to say is a few obscure words from the movie and it will send him into giggles.  I love that!  I especially love his reaction when I say, “What the flagnar!”  –He gets very animated and tells me, “Don’t SAY that!”   It’s swearing, after all.   We’re working on his vocabulary of approved expressions.  “Oh shoot.”  “Holy Cheezits.”  “Darn-it.”  “Goodness gracious.”   I get severely reprimanded if I say “Dammit,” even when justified after severely stubbing my toe on something.

what the flagnar!

I wonder if I should be concerned that he usually wants to be the villain.  Darth Vader.  Megatron.  Gallaxhar.  Maybe it’s just a male leadership testosterone thing, and not the makings of a future sociopath.

He’s very much into make-believe right now.  I hear him talking to Susan and Gallaxhar, or about them to an imaginary somebody.  He integrates bits of reality.  Recently, he was telling an imaginary someone that Susan and Gallaxhar were dead because they got in a car crash from a drunk driver.

Sometimes he gets things spot on.  “Daddy is being a selfish jerk.”

I don’t want the grown ups’ differences to wrench at the kids, and I want to keep them shielded from my personal emotional unrest with their dad, which is at times very difficult to hide.  So I tell him, “Daddy is just going through a hard time right now and he’s angry, and sometimes when people are angry, they act like that.  Hopefully Daddy will feel better soon.”

And I mean that.

It’s a rough ride for him, being forced to grow up and move into the world on his own, my forty two year old teenager.  Life is much different when you have to concern yourself with accountability and responsibility, when you have to make your own way, pay your own bills.  Anger is probably much easier to work with than fear, uncertainty, and despair.  So anger he manifests, but I can see the frightened boy, and my heart breaks for him, but I have to let  him go.  I have to stay this course.

It’s so very hard, and there’s no easy way through.

Then and now.

They seem so different, and yet, when viewed like this, they could almost be the same person!  In the first picture, BB is 9 months old.  In the second picture, LB is 14 months old.  They both started out at nearly 10-1/2 lbs (10lbs 7oz for BB and 10lbs 6oz for LB), but BB has stayed on the BIG BOY growth curve, whereas LB has shifted to the Little Boy growth curve.  (Actually, he’s still on the tall side, but he’s not ginormous like his big brother.)

Where did my brown haired baby go?  I have two blondies with blue-grey eyes.

My BB loves to draw, and I just love the things he comes up with.  I think he’s very good.  He uses different colors and makes designs and shapes and stays within the lines when he wants to, and beyond the lines when it suits him.  I love that!

This drawing was a heart breaker.  It’s the first family drawing he’s made, and he did it the very day that Gadget left.  Look!  I have extra arms, because I do so much.  (Artistic interpretation taken liberally.)

This one cracks me up.  He did this just the other day.  ‘Mommy, this is a sign.  It’s a no BB sign.  You put it on your door.’  Genius!  I swear, I have not taught him the sign symbol with the circle and slash that represents ‘do not’, and I can’t think of any on our normal routes.  Dora, Diego, or Sponge Bob must have taught him.  I do bark at him to stay out of the bedroom while I’m trying to put LB to sleep.  Every. Single. Night.  He just wants attention, but insists on demanding it at precisely the time when I need to be exclusive with LB.  Any distractions stir up the sleep cycle and the meltdowns commence.  It’s a precarious balance.

“Mommy, this sign says ‘No running across the street and jumping in puddles or else you will get in big trouble because you could get hitted by a car and runned-ded over and have to go to the hobspital.’

This one is very Van Gogh.  All the windows and lines.  I especially like this one.  The spaghetti sauce is a nice touch, too.  You know, real.  Authentic.

One problem about loving to draw is that one who loves to draw might, especially if he’s 4-1/2, draw on, oh, just about anything.  To help channel this love, I thought it would be good to provide an allowable space for artistic expression.  What could be better than a whole wall?!

Chalkboard paint is a great invention.  It can even be tinted (within a limited palette), so I got blue.  Blue is, after all, BB’s favorite color.  Am I a thoughtful mother, or what?  BB being BB, however, was unable to resist the temptation to continue drawing on any available surface while waiting for the chalkboard paint to dry.  During this time he decorated my camera case and eventually had to do a little time for his crime.

LB, not wanting to miss any of the action, joined him.  (How I wanted to get a picture of the moment when they were standing side by side, both noses to the wall!  It was short-lived, since the curtain was much more interesting.)

Finally!  Let’s draw!  They had just come home from daycare and didn’t even wait to take off their jackets.

He likes to draw aliens, lately.  These are inspired by ‘Galaxar’.’

And here it is, in full splendor.  It makes me smile.

I’ve got loads of work to do, but am so, so tired.  I just can’t bear it right now.  I end up feeling anxious because the load is looming, but I have to remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, it will get done, and the world will keep on spinning.  It doesn’t have to get done this instant.

I’m referring to the day job.   I don’t have nearly as much trouble procrastinating when it comes to the rest- of- the- day- job.  I’ve got back-burner projects that have been on simmer for ages now.  I get the important things done.  The clothes get washed, the meals get prepared, the dishes get washed.  The boys get tucked in to bed.  I get a shower every now and then.

I had a three day exercise streak last week in which I managed to drop by the gym on my way home from the office.  Then Gadget got called out of town so I had to give up the gym in order to pick up the kids in time from daycare.  Late fees are very steep.

Gadget’s dad passed away a few weeks ago.  He was 87 and ready to go.  There was a flurry of coordinating family gatherings and preparing for the memorial.  He was a neat man, and we will miss him.  LB is named in part after him, and I’m proud of that.  The circumstances were sad, but the family gatherings were so nice.  I got to meet Gadget’s twin brother, who lives in New York and hasn’t seen his sibs for 15 years, and hadn’t seen some of the older sibs for 25 years!  It was sort of intriguing to observe the (fraternal) twin and get a chuckle out of the similar looks, expressions and mannerisms.  There were late nights with a room full of brothers playing guitars and singing, and they had good appetites and gobbled everything down that I made, which made me feel very happy.  Gadget says things like, “What in God’s green earth prompted you to buy pulled pork?” instead of, “Wow, pulled pork is quite delicious in tacos.”  His brothers were always thanking me and complimenting me on the delicious food.  Of course, their respective domestic partnerships may have contributed to their level of gratitude.  And similarly Gadget’s level of take- it- for- grantedness.  It felt great to feel appreciated, while it lasted.

My niece had her son at 31 weeks, the day before LB’s birthday, due to toxemia.  He was 2lbs 4oz.  Both mama and baby are fine, thank God, and the baby is breathing on his own!  He’ll be in the NICU for a while, but he’s growing and putting on weight.

I finally got to meet another niece’s son last week, who is now 2.  He’s a miracle boy, born with hydrocephalus.  He’s amazing to see, really.  He’s doing SO WELL!  He is a trooper.  Cognitively, he seems fine.  Physically, he’s a bit delayed, but everything works, and he’s figuring it out.  Truly, he’s a miracle boy.  His sister is BB’s age, and is as sharp as a tack.  She talks circles around BB.  She’s got an amazing vocabulary.  Granted, BB’s a brute, but he seems to be a smart boy, so she’s a super-duper smarty.   They were playing a game where one was supposed to cover their eyes while the other hid an object.  When the item was hidden, the hider would say, ” Ready or not, here I come, peekaboo!”  How cute is that?  BB had a hard time not peeking, and when he was the hider, he would tell her where to look.  Suspense is not his thing.  Silly goose.  Bless his heart.

I seem to have pulled a back muscle in my sleep.  If I turn or move just right, it takes my breath away.  Hrumph.

LB has developed separation anxiety.  When I drop him off at daycare, he flails his body and screams and spouts tears.  I remember BB did this also, but don’t remember how long it lasted.  Hopefully not long.

In the world of corporate takeovers, Gadget and his boss did such a good job shutting down the last warehouse that they’ve been asked to take care of the rest of the warehouse closures across the country.  That’s good for him, in that it helps elevate him in the eyes of the new company (which hopefully means he will get to keep his job), and gives him some bachelor time, but bad for me in that it leaves me a single mom.  Although, somehow I managed to take care of everything and then some, while he was gone.  Go figure.  Maybe I’ll take a couple of days off the next time leaves, and go visit my sister.

Lordy, I need a vacation.