sueeeus

I can’t think of anything selfless that I did today.   As for blessings?  I think the highlights would be baby laughter and both kids finishing their dinner without a  three hour struggle.

Kind of frustrated with Gadget, though, and if I even dwell on it, it completely blows my glass half full exercise out the window.   I could stop here.  I could.  I should.  But  I won’t. (It’s my blog and I’ll whine if I want to, whine if I want to, whine if I want to…  …you would whine to if it happened to you…  hahahaaahahhahahhaha)

It would be nice if I weren’t the only one who noticed that the baby needed a new diaper, that  BB’s bed needed to be made, that the soiled bedding needed to be washed, that the already washed clothes needed to be folded, that the now-folded clothes needed to be taken upstairs and put away, that the baby needed another new diaper, that the dinner leftovers needed to be put away, that the dishes needed to be loaded in the dishwasher, that the dishwasher first needed to be unloaded, and the clean dishes put away, that the baby needed another diaper, that the baby needed a bottle, and then another, that the kids needed to be put to bed…

I might as well be a single mom.

…and he has the nerve to get irritated with ME for asking for help, because when I want help, I want it NOW, not in a minute, not later, not any other time besides now.  NOW.

Because I shouldn’t even have to ask.

First up, the obligatory beautiful baby picture.  Oh, those delicious cheeks.  This reminds me of Where’s Waldo?…

So.

I think it would behoove me to take some time each day to recollect something positive about the day.  Count my blessings, as it were.  I think it helps to establish and maintain a glass half full outlook, which has to be good for one’s overall well-being.  Surely.  And moreso, I want to take it further and do something intentional each and every day that is at least a little bit selfless or somehow a blessing to another, even if it’s only a very small thing.

That said, here we go.

Today I attended an executive meeting in which the execs were surprisingly down-to-earth and friendly, and they didn’t shoot down our project.  In fact, they even brought up a “wouldn’t it be nice if only we could do such and such” for which my team already has a solution in the works (and it’s actually my idea to begin with, so I might even get some credit for it).  We will get another audience with those in the echelons in the near future to present the concept.

I got home before everyone else today, so I had a little bit of quiet, empty house, me-time.  Bliss!

I’m going to try to get nearly a full night’s sleep tonight, which means no pumping at 2 a.m.   More bliss!

As for doing something intentional for the benefit of another?  I stopped in traffic to allow a big rig semi truck to make a turn, because they need several lanes to do so.  I don’t think the impatient drivers behind me were thrilled, but the truck driver was appreciative.  I know, it’s small, but it’s something.

I sent my fetal heart monitor to my niece who is newly pregnant, and she was able to hear her baby’s heartbeat!  This blesses us both, because we’ve both had traumatic miscarriages, and the assurance that the sound of a healthy heartbeat gives an expectant mother is priceless.  Plus, her daughter was able to hear the heartbeat, and that helps make it real for her as well.  She’s very excited to become a big sister.  (And I’m very excited to be a new Auntie again!)

I can’t resist.  He’s just too gorgeous.  And yummy.  And no, I’m not going to cut his hair until he turns 1, no matter how crazy it gets.

A coworker of mine died in his sleep the other day.  He was only 41.  He had two engineering masters degrees, was working on a law degree, and was an accomplished cellist and violinist.   So young.  I found myself pondering, as I walked up and down the halls of my office, whether I am where I want to be.

These halls, these walls.  I’ve spent the better part of 23 years behind these walls, earning my keep.  I was restless in the early years, thinking this was but a stepping stone on my life path, and I was anxious to find the other path.  The one I really wanted to follow.  But somewhere down this very road I realized that it’s a very good road to travel.  I am happy here.  There is a comfortable rapport, standing shoulder to shoulder among these people with whom I share my life.

I’ve written a bit on mortality recently, the main point being that I dearly hope to live long enough (at the very least!) to see my children to adulthood.  But if today were my last day, could I say that I have lived well, that I am living well?

I could say that.

Yes.

The answer is yes.

I am surrounded by fine people.  I have stimulating and important work.  I have a husband.  I have children.  I have a comfortable home and reliable transportation.  A closet filled with clothes.  A pantry stocked with food.  I have a blessed and beautiful life.  Certainly there were rocky passages, but here, now, the way is smooth.

And with cheeks like these to nibble on?  Could life be any better?

I watched a video yesterday that really shook me up.  It had to do with Salma Hayek visiting Sierra Leone, where “one in five children die before reaching their fifth birthday and tetanus is a big contributor.”  A baby happened to take its last breath, just as Salma was stroking her beautiful little face.

I don’t have words to express the depths of how this makes me feel.  To see life just disappear like that.  It’s not like all the flashy mayhem we see on TV.  All that Hollywood stuff.  It’s serious.  It’s real.   It’s heart wrenching.  It’s heart numbing.

There is bloodshed the world over.  People fighting wars.  People caught up in wars, whether they want it or not.  Again, serious, real, heart wrenching, heart numbing.

But children dying.  Children.  I didn’t want to see a child die.

I don’t know how to think or what to think.  I hold my own children close and breathe deeply their warm, living scent.  My comfortable home seems criminal in comparison to the standards in which those struggling people live.

It’s all relative, though, isn’t it?  A rich man might shake his head and think, poor miserable soul, to see the conditions in which I live.  Even so.  It makes me think about what can be done for the greater good.  Obviously there’s too much for any one person to tackle.  I could donate all the money I have, and it would hardly be a drop in the bucket.  I could donate some of the money I have, and it will still be only a drop.  How much can I do?  How much should I do?  What difference can I make?  Since our immediate needs are met, should we then turn any excess over to those more in need?  Or use some to work toward our own hopes and dreams, and set some aside in case of our own rainy days?  I don’t have a complete answer to this, but prudence tells me that I should have a safety net, because that will prevent me and mine from becoming a burden to the public system, especially in these trying times.  That much I should do.  And what of the rest, of those less fortunate than me?

I like the pay it forward concept.  If everyone did something, any thing, to help someone, any one, then good happens.  We can all change lives for the better, one thing at a time.

I’ve been thinking of sponsoring some children in an under-developed nation.  There are always infomercials on about that sort of opportunity.  I would like for my children to give of their bounty to others less fortunate.  I think it will be good for them to learn to share and help others in need.  Now, to find an agency that’s legit.

Hello there, my Beautiful Boy!  You are such a fine young boy.  I love how you say, “I don’t know ever-fing, cos I’m just a booooooyyyyyyy.”  You look so grown up!  You sound so grown up!  You are quite the conversationalist, and I’m often astounded at the things you say, although we all could have done without you matter of factly calling your dad an SOB last night, because he wouldn’t let you have your way.   We knew it was a matter of time when you’d try that one out.  Sometimes your antics drive me batty, and I have to remind myself that you’re only four.  You are as sharp as a tac, and because of that, you keep me on my toes, always!  You are very very good at behaving badly, and how can I fault you when you explain that “it’s fun for me-eeeeee….”   I’m so challenged, finding ways to explain to you how to behave.

I love the way you talk to me in the morning, after you’re refreshed yourself with a good night’s sleep.  Often you lift your sweet face to me, and say, “Mommy, I’m sorry I acted up last day.”  We talk about you working on your attitude and your temper, and you promise to try harder.  It’s so hard to be four, isn’t it?!

You are a light in my life, my Beautiful Boy.  You have a big, beautiful, loving heart.  I love the way you hug and kiss your little brother.  I love that you still like to snuggle with me.  I love the way you spontaneously wrap your arms around me and bury your face in me.  I love the way you kiss me goodbye every morning when I leave you at daycare, and the way you always turn the last kiss into a big raspberry.  I love your sense of humor.  I love your sense of compassion.  I hope and pray that I can always be for you the mother you need me to be, to nurture you, guide you, teach you, and raise you to be the best  you can be.

I love YOU, my Beautiful Boy!  My beautiful, four year old boy.  Happy Birthday.

I have so very much to be thankful for, but this…  …this lights up my life and fills my cup to overflowing.

Bliss.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Barricade, as those in the know, know, is the name of the Transformer Decepticon that masquerades as a police car. So, whenever a police car is spotted, there is always an excited exclamation, “It’s Barricade!!!!”

Last week, BB happened to peer out the window and started jumping up and down, “TWO BARRICADES!!!!!!”

As it turns out, we have some fine neighbors. One woman was arrested. We don’t know the story. The house next door has recently had the garage converted to another house, so there are two rental houses where there used to be one, and all sorts of noises and late night parties and general mayhem seems to take place there.

This morning we were working out front, pruning and weeding, and a child was crying for over an hour at the top of his/her lungs. A very, very unhappy child. What does one do? Poor thing was miserable, obviously. And then some adult yelling and shouting started, and escalated. It went on for quite some time, and eventually Gadget called the sheriff. I was a bit nervous about this, as we were obviously the only people outside, so the call would most likely have come from us, and who knows what these people might do. I tend to be nervous about things like that, being a chicken $#!t and all. The thing is, you never know what violent people might end up doing. Because they don’t seem too concerned about reeling in their emotions and all. Anyhow, not long after, along came “TWO BARRICADES!!!!!!” Apparently they come in pairs for domestic violence calls? Second time in less that two weeks. Nice.

Some day we might move to a neighborhood with a little higher socio-economic demographic, perhaps. If we can afford it. Our little cul-de-sac is generally quite nice, apart from this set of neighbors. And we don’t spend much time outside, for whatever reason. I just hope all remains safe.

In more happy news, BB earned enough Good Boy points for his next prize. He’s very pleased. Once he gets the hang of this Good Boy business, we’ll start making him work a bit harder for his points. So far it’s an excellent tool, though. It’s working great! He helps me load the dishwasher, make the bed, hang the towels, pick up toys, wash the counters, put things in the recycle or trash bins, and such. Of course I have to actually do most of these things in tandem, or re-do them, but he’s learning, and that’s the important thing. I am very pleased as well. My beautiful boy. He fills my world with much joy.

Even with the two barricades incident, I’m feeling like I’ve had a happy, happy day. Our front yard no longer competes with the front yard on Malcolm in the Middle, we have a full tank of fuel in the van, a refrigerator filled with good vegetables, fruits, milk, cheese and eggs, the baby hammock is up, the sheets and towels are clean, the hospital bag is half-packed, and we had a delicious supper of grilled sirloin and asparagus, red peppers, onions, and mushrooms. Gadget hasn’t produced the car seat yet, but he insists he knows exactly where it is.

Today I happened across a blog in which the author is a young (looking) gorgeous mother of three, who is a mixed media artist living in a showcase home in Long Island. I gaze upon the photos of her home and her studio and see nothing but success, and wonder how on earth can such a young person have so much (seeming) perfection in her life. The answer may be that she is married to someone who provided that incredible home, and that she is free to work her crafts, mother, and fulfill her soul. Or maybe she or they inherited. She has lovely craft, but it doesn’t seem to be the volume or price to afford such a home.

For so many, the mere act of providing a home, any home, is nearly overwhelming, and in order to do so, one often has to sacrifice one’s crafts, one’s self-expressive dreams, whatever they may be, to make the ends meet. And we make nice homes for ourselves, with what we have within our reach. They may not be showcases with gleaming surfaces and architectural intricacies, but they are the places that we call our own.  And our lives may seem harried, with the strains of mothering, working, and wifing consuming us, leaving us spent and too weary to pursue our craft with the purity we’d like to afford it.

How I imagine I’d love to have a showcase home, studio, and life!   Not to showcase, but just to love and enjoy. Because I love beautiful design and style. And quality. My home is an average suburban home. It’s a comfortable and lived in home. A showcase home is not within my immediate means (without taking on substantial debt). Some day, perhaps… …but not now.  And a showcase life may never be in my stars.

I’m not a business woman, so the peddling of craft is a mystery to me. I’d so much rather give it away. Something about putting things up for sale takes away from the joy of the craft. Or maybe it’s because the price I’d want for the effort and love and thought put toward something is so much more than I’d feel that I could or should ask, so I’d rather just not ask. (Also, the quality that I’d produce most likely wouldn’t pass my expectations, so I’d not entitle myself to price things anyway. Perfectionism can be a curse.) Idyllic as it seems, if I crafted for a living, perhaps I wouldn’t enjoy it as much. I’m not sure that I’d know how to marry business with pleasure.

There was a brief twinge of jealousy, while browsing that blog. Living in a beautiful home, working one’s art, mothering and wifing. It seemed so ideal. And so far away. And reading of recent events in local blogland as well. Other people’s lives. They seem so charming, or so full, or so successful, or so something. Something that mine is not.

It’s crazy, though, because my life is actually incredible, and full to overflowing with blessings, if I’d only take a moment to count them.

For instance.

Today my beautiful niece turns 12. She is an amazing person, brimming with wisdom, poise, charm, kindness, intelligence, and all things good.

Not long ago, she shared something with our family that stirred us all to our innermost cores. I don’t think that she will mind that I share it here.

Hi. I lately have been really stressed; a lot has been going on. I’ve felt pain for my dad that I haven’t felt in 2 years. It has been 2 years and 7 months and I wanted to just come on and say how much we love him and miss him. I feel like since he was so connected to our message board and his computer, by writing a quick few words he will get them wherever he is, and he will experience all of the family coming together through something so simple but so vital to all of us. So here goes: “Daddy, I have missed you for almost 3 years now. There isn’t a day I don’t think about you. I am not saying that in sadness but in joy that you blessed me with enough time to create memories with you. I have decided a new path for remembering you. Instead of being sad that you left, I’m going to be happy that you were here for however amount of time you were. Although some of the memories I have with you are not necessarily great, they are still with you. I love you. I miss you. And I am sooo sorry for forgetting the promise I made you. But believe me I will get it taken care of. I know you are better. I can finally feel it. I feel like the chains keeping me down, in worry for you have been released. Finally, I know this is what you wanted. Every day our family is getting stronger, closer, and I’m happy to say that I’m not mad, disappointed, or sad anymore. You freed me. My family and my friends have just continued to help cure me. Although no one will ever replace or refill the empty space in my heart for you, there is no need to worry; I have my uncles, cousins, aunts, mom, sisters, and even brother (lol). I’m OK. Thank you. I know I couldn’t have done anything to save you now. I think I’ve felt guilty all this time. Like I had the most responsibility for you and I failed. But now I feel like there was nothing I could do, I will always remember everything. The moment when we went to T– mountain, your life changing smile, and how much you loved family. No matter what, you enjoyed visits from everyone. That is the biggest memory I have. And I’ll never let go. Your ashes will be spread in Italy, I will keep my promise. Also, I won’t forget about the Caribbean. You always said you just wanted to run away there, so I will put some of you there too. I will keep every promise I made you (except the whole Olympic thing). Well, now I have to go but I wanted to share this little conversation with everyone in the family.” I decided to write that because I want to talk about him more, I want to have an intriguing conversation on the great memories everyone had with him before I was born. I feel like talking about him more and remembering him more will make him seem more alive, more, I don’t know, just more. So I thought I would say that. Oh, and I did something I have been afraid to do: I read the message board from October 27th and behind. I read all this stuff I was too afraid to know, it definitely helped. I recommend looking back at the board to years and years ago; our family has grown and although there were some hardships, we are still as close if not closer. I thank you guys for being so helpful with pulling me out of the place where I was hiding. I am forever grateful, and so is Daddy.

And from my sister:

That’s right, Princess!
Thank you for so thoughtfully honoring your dad,
and for sharing those thoughts with the family.
In this, you have instinctively brought him to life
in our minds, in the most loving way.
To understand his love for us is yet alive,
is to understand a very empowering secret:

We are his heaven.

We can live there, inside his best giggle
and most loving intentions for his family,
and watch in wonder as all his dreams
are coming true.
The best of Six of Nine is still
very much alive.
Thank you for showing us, Princess.

And from my other sister:

Princess, when you write or speak it’s as if you’re a channel through which God speaks to us. You are a true angel and such a tremendous gift to this family. We all love you more than we could ever say. Together we’ll all remember all that was beautiful in your Dad’s life. I’m so glad you realize there is/was NOTHING you could have done to change anything, but what you CAN do is live well and be happy. Your soul has so much wisdom that must come from somewhere in the spirit realm, a place that is timeless. When you decided to be happy and thankful for the time you had, rather than be sad for time you missed, you discovered a very important truth to living a great life. Always remember that and be thankful for all the blessings that you do have. When I was feeling down at your age your Grandma used to always say, “why don’t you go count your blessings?” and it’s true. One blessing I’ll be sure to count is having you as my niece, and you’ve added a great deal of happiness to my life. I love you darling.

And they all say it better than I, but this girl of ours, she is most precious indeed, and we love her dearly, so very dearly.

Happy Birthday, Princess.

I’m working through an emotion. It’s difficult to express. It’s a sort of grieving. Gadget doesn’t understand it, and has no patience for it.

I might not feel this if I were a younger woman, and if I didn’t have the fertility challenges with which I’ve been faced. But I’m no spring chicken, and the road traveled has not been without its bumps and bruises. In all likelihood, there will be no more children. So this is the day in which I acknowledge that I am a mother of sons. And I love, love, love that I am a mother at all, and I am grateful beyond any human expression that I will be the mother of two. Two healthy boys. It’s beyond words. Yet there is a part of me, albeit a selfish part, that wanted a daughter – a girl to raise and nurture and fill with a sense of belonging in this world. I wanted to give her all that I lacked in my own upbringing. I dreamed we would be the best of friends.

There’s just something about a girl.

I suppose it truly boils down to ultimate selfishness. Perhaps it was a do-over, in the largest sense. I wanted to raise her with all the love in the world, so she knew she was wanted and of value. Something I never felt. I wanted to raise her to love herself and be comfortable in her body, to embrace who she was, to know that she is fully accepted, without condition. Again, something which I never felt. Yes, it does seem to be mainly a selfish wish for a do-over, to project myself forth. A dangerous undertaking with potential for much folly. It would be so much better to simply come to terms with who I am and embrace my own self as someone of inestimable worth in this world. And now that I’m in my forties, I can say that I am much more comfortable with who I am than I have ever been before. It’s a shame that it took this long, but a blessing that it happened at all.

I know that all is and will be well. What would I have done if she’d been a Barbie fanatic or a girly-girl to the most extreme? Dolls have always creeped me out. I was second of nine, so there was no need for dolls. I had real babies to play with. I liked to play with dirt and Lincoln logs. What would I have done to help her come to terms with things, if she’d ended up with the tweaked out reproductive system of her aunts? How would I have managed seeing her through the cliques and stages and social pressures that girls go through? In many ways, girls may be much more difficult to raise than boys.

I wonder if this one will be Bert to my Ernie, or Felix to my Oscar. Not that big brother is Ernie or Oscar, but he’s certainly not Bert or Felix. Another Bam-Bam. If fetal movement is any indication, he may well be Ernie to the extreme. He is so much more active than his big brother was. And big brother was extremely active. And still is.

I see a future with more monster trucks, ballgames, dirt, and Transformers. But I love all these things. I love boys. I hope that little brother doesn’t grow up daunted in the shadow of big brother. I will do all that I can to teach big brother to encourage and bolster little brother, rather than taunt, torment, and dominate him. I think, with vigilant parenting, the latter can be avoided. Certainly I witnessed sibling torment in my own childhood household, but our parenting was far from vigilant. I want my boys to grow up to be the closest of friends, each strong and confident in his own abilities. I want them to bring out the best of each other.

My traditional family name, the one that first daughters have been given for generations and generations, my middle name, my mother’s middle name, my grandmother’s middle name, my great grandmother’s middle name, and so on and so forth, and with it the heirloom paisley shawl, pristine and well over a hundred years old, will have to wait, either for my sister, should she be blessed with a daughter and choose to follow the tradition, or for another generation yet to come. It was a first daughter’s tradition, and I find this a little sad. But it’s only a tradition, and traditions are only as much value as we allow them to be.