If I were Queen of the Universe…

it would be illegal to call your company Eating Right when your breakfast cereal has 19 grams of sugar per serving (2/3 cup). Come on! I sent the Damn Husband to the grocery store and this is what he comes home with.

“Hey, what do you want, it was in the health section.”

What's a poor guy to do?

And then my favorite- after dinner he pours himself a big bowl. (ah, much bigger than 2/3 of a cup) and then tells Mikaela:

“No, you can’t have any, this is Daddy’s cereal.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I finished all my dinner that’s why I can have it”

Ugh!!!!

5am

When I heard her feet padding along the hall I felt myself cringe. I had planned to shower and spend some desperately needed time alone working on some writing. That plan ended as she came around the corner.

“Mommy, I had a bad dream.”

I offer her my cure-all, knowing some day soon it will not be the answer:

“Let’s snuggle together.” She allows me to lead her back to bed.

“Mommy, I was in the desert all alone and lost.”

We curl up under the warm comforter. When I hear her sleep breath begin I start to plan my escape again. Before I can move I hear Nigel stir and chatter. He crawls over Mikaela, onto me and slides off the bed. Then surprisingly, he turns around and climbs back on top of me. He snuggles his face into my neck, grabs hold of my ear, sighs and falls back to sleep with his body sprawled across mine. I feel the quick beat of his heart like a baby bird’s. I give into it all and relax, surrounded by the warmth of my children. Nigel has never snuggled with me like this before. It is a new stage for us and I concentrate on my breath to keep from crying. Thank you Mikaela, for making this moment possible.

From the second Mikaela came out of my body I snuggled her, caressed her, kissed her, smelled her and I have never stopped. Nigel met me for the first time when he was ten months old. For him that would have been too much too fast. We had to grow our feelings towards each other slowly. Love takes time. He always wants to be held but often he is not discerning about who holds him and he is far too busy to relax and seek snuggles. Raised by many caretakers, he must learn the concept of mommy. One mommy. Me.

Breath in

you are my son.

Breath out

I love you.

I spend the next hour dozing on and off and meditating on the sweet smells of my children and the sound of their breath. Mikaela rolls and flops her arm across both of us.

Nigel’s butterfly kisses land on my cheek as his eyelashes brushed against me. What are his dreams about?

When they wake up we giggle and tumble and tickle around in bed. Michael hears us and returns to bed also and joins the fun. Within moments it is a full ruckus. Nigel barks, Mikaela whinnies, Michael groans that he is late for work.

Over breakfast Mikaela relays the rest of her dreams. Like me she dreams epics with many twists and turns and seemingly unrelated subplots. She stops in mid-telling, crunches up her face and folds her arms.

“I’m thinking” she says

“You're thinking?”

“Yes. I am trying to decide if I should tell it the way I remember it or add some stuff so it is more interesting.”

I can’t help smiling. “ You are trying to decide if you would like to be a reporter or a story teller.”

Nigel whinnies and rears up, pawing the air with toast still in his clenched fists.

I remember a quote I read just yesterday.

"When I was a little boy, they called me a liar, but now that I am grown up, they call me a writer. "
— Isaac Bashevis Singer

A Friday Night Family Event

I came home from Open Connections and heard the screams before the front door was even open. Blood covered towels were strewn about the kitchen, the Damn Husband was flopped on the couch looking done in and poor Nigel was inconsolable. His chin was swollen and scraped raw and his mouth was bloody. With a closer inspection I saw that his tongue had an inch and a half jagged cut with two flapping edges. My stomach tightened and I went into full mommy mode – tried to get ice on the wound, called my pediatrician’s off-hours number, called Colleen while waiting for them to call back. Colleen has been there several times with her boys, she is my voice of reason. You can’t sew a tongue was Colleen’s input. It heals better on its own because kids just spend their energy picking at the stitches and making things worse. When the office nurse finally called me back and I described his tongue she told me I must take him to the ER for stitches. He can have no food or drink because they will need to sedate him to stitch the tongue. I keep thinking of Colleen. You can’t stitch a tongue. I call my sister Barb, a charge nurse at the local hospital who is unfortunately in New Mexico on vacation. Barb gives appropriate long distance sympathy. I call Amy, a friend and ER nurse but she is not home. Michael and I look at each other, both seeing dollar signs due to our lousy insurance plan. We can’t take the chance and we pile into the car.

A bored, unhappy Nigel walks the hospital halls with daddy.

waiting and waiting

Nigel fell because he was standing on a chair and dove off landing his chin on the nearby kitchen stair. What was he trying to do? Fly? Only Nigel knows. I think of the hundreds of times I have said Nigel, chairs aren’t for standing. I have tried quick responses, no standing, lengthy diatribes explaining the dangers (you could fall and split your tongue in half!) My husband is fond of loudly toning Nigel, NO, which is equally ineffective. In the time it takes me to walk to the living room to get something for Mikaela, Nigel has pulled a chair over to the sink and sat in dishwater. For about a week it worked to lay the chairs down after we ate but he quickly learned to upright them again. My boy loves climbing. We go to the park often for climbing and set up safe climbing zones throughout the house but Nigel prefers the riskier climbs- walking along the top of the couch, climbing up dresser handles, climbing up shelves, swinging on refrigerator doors, balancing on stacked trucks with slippery wheels.

He looks pretty good here, doesn’t he? For a boy with a bloody split tongue who hasn’t eaten for hours and is up way passed his bedtime and bored to death in a hospital waiting room. I think he is trying to say, Mommy, call someone, get us out of here.

After three hours of waiting the PA sees us. Verdict: you can’t sew a tongue. Apparently the tongue, being the amazing muscle that it is, will eventually rejoin its gaping edges and heal on its own. She gives us a cleaning protocol, food restrictions and a scary list of warning signs to look for that signify an infection and sent us on our way. Next time my only call will be to Colleen.

At 10:30 my tired tribe finally head upstairs to bed. I go to sleep thinking about the Continuum Concept and how it relates to my son. I count out the list of positive experiences I have been able to give him starting at ten months and lament the ones I could not offer him. Will it be enough?

Spreading the love

Cough, cough, cough
cough, mommy, cough
yes sweetie
cough, can you snuggle me? cough
sure, baby

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

It is 3 am and I am quoting Nietzsche. I am so weary of not being able to sleep. The rest of my family is sleeping so quietly. I stayed in bed listening to the rhythm of their breathing and finally got up.

Monday night Mikaela noticed that our chrysalis had turned black. The next morning we could see the orange color of the wings showing through. An hour later the monarch emerged, wet and crumbled. Over the next few hours we watched as its wings slowly expanded and dried. We released him on a butterfly bush near where we found him.

The two black dots on the lower wings tell us it is a male.

Really, how did that butterfly make its transformation? How did four inch wings unfold out of a one inch chrysalis?

I have the flu and everything hurts. Somehow it feels fitting to have my body hurt as much as my heart hurts. Last Sunday our agency called and told us to cancel our plane tickets. Although Yaebsira is legally our daughter, there are more complications and I do not know if I will ever see her again. I can’t believe I am having to write this. If any one told me a year ago what I would be facing this year, I would have said there is no way I could handle all that. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

Metamorphosis

Mikaela and I leave in 14 days for Ethiopia to pick up Yaebsira. Once again I am staring big change in the face and once again a caterpillar is my inspiration. On September 10th we plucked a monarch caterpillar from its happy home at Kathy’s pond and brought it to our house on a large stem of milkweed. Debbie donated a large pretzel container as a temporary home and Mikaela and I watched as it doubled in size every couple of days. Mikaela named her Milkweed. Every day she ate and ate and grew and grew.

This part of the change I would be very good at. It is the second part that I have trouble with. After a week of nonstop eating and a lot of frass production, she stopped. She spent the day crawling all over the container, trying out different locations. Finally she settled on the netting at the top of the pretzel jar and hung upside down in perfect ‘J’ formation ten minutes before Mikaela, Nigel and I were walking out the door for the day. We contemplated taking her with us. (We had already taken her vacationing in Ocean City) We were worried that she might not yet be anchored securely enough to travel. When we returned home we were happy to see her still hanging in her ‘J’ and not yet a chrysalis. We stayed up as late as we could watching her. In the morning she had transformed into a florescent green chrysalis. I guess change of this magnitude is a very private thing.

Here is a video that managed to capture this remarkable change.

This morning I got up and stared at Milkweed’s chrysalis. What is going on in there? I want to make a magnificent transformation in one week. I can’t help but think of Disney images. I want to be transformed into a princess. Okay, not really, but there is a part of me that would love to know what it feels like to be beautiful. I imagine stopping everything and only working on myself. Just the idea of curling up into a cocoon sounds wonderful, even if I came out the same after a few days of peace and quite. Is it like that or is it contained violence that is going on inside that chrysalis? The caterpillar’s mouth must change from one that is made to chomp on milkweed to one that has a delicate tongue for sipping sweet nectar. Just picturing those dental changes alone makes me cringe without even thinking about what would be required to create wings from a fat striped belly. I don’t think it is peaceful in there. Once, many years ago I stopped everything and did a Seshin at Zen Mountain Monastery in Mt. Tremper, New York. For seven days we made no eye contact with anyone, did not speak or read. For seven days we meditated in the zendo except for the few hours we slept each night. Although to an outsider, a room filled with meditating people might look peaceful our minds were anything but peaceful. It was scary in there at times! Imagine seven days inside your head with no escape or distraction. That turns into some serious monkey mind activity. It is wonderful to remember this. I haven’t thought about this in years. When Seshin was over, I was transformed in many ways. Watching Milkweed I am wondering how I can have a similar transformation while cleaning the house, packing for Ethiopia, working…

It is time to be very present.

Fire and Attitudes

Mikaela and I are lucky we have good noses. We were packing to head down to the shore for two days, a gift from my mother. This is our only family vacation for the year. I smell something burning. Something plastic, the bad scent of an electrical burn. I tell Michael. A few minutes later Mikaela tells me that something smells wrong. All packing stops. Michael heads down to the basement and Mikaela and I sniff around upstairs. In a 200 year old house it could be coming from anywhere. I imagine smoldering wiring in between the walls. Michael couldn’t find the problem and the smell was getting worse. I think we should call the fire department and Michael heads back down the basement where he finally finds the problem: melting wires inside the hot water heater. What causes a hot water heater to suddenly have a melt down? Michael turns off the circuit breaker and we begin to air out the house and eventually start packing again. We are so lucky this happened before we left. I imagine coming back from our mini vacation to find a smoldering ash pile.

We do eventually leave, many hours later than planned. I ask Michael countless times, Are you sure the circuit breaker is off? Driving down to the shore I keep thinking about fire and attitudes. M had a fire in her house, also caused by a faulty hot water heater. It was a traumatic fire. Everything in the laundry room and hallway burned and the thick smoke from the melted fiberglass washtub covered everything else in the house with a layer of plastic soot that could not be removed. It looked like someone poured black strap molasses over the whole house.The clean up took months but no one was hurt. For years afterwards (still to this day) M broke up her life into before the fire, and after the fire and would still make comments about inane things like gravy spoons- I lost that in the fire. Every holiday there were reminders of things lost. About the same time J also had a fire. We had plans to spend the day at Longwood Gardens. When I called her house to confirm the time she said she had lost her address book and was glad I had called so she could get my number. We spent a nice day at Longwood and it wasn’t until the end of the day, while relaying a story about something else, that she mentioned the fire that had destroyed her entire house less than two weeks before. Two people with very different outlooks.

At times my imagination can be the enemy. Mine is vivid and well used. I can imagine all sorts of catastrophes with lightening speed. It runs in the family. B can imagine impending storms ruining plans weeks before a weather report is available. There could be a cold front moving in… Lately, my imagination has needed to be tamed. Without warning I can suddenly travel down a path that sees continued health crises, financial doom, travel nightmares trying to bring my daughter home from Ethiopia and now fires that ignite without warning.

It is all a matter of attitude and outlook. The glass full or empty. We were lucky we were home when the melting started. We had a wonderful two days away, even though half of the time the weather was uncooperative. I love the beach. Nigel loved exploring the sand and the water. We ran into fellow OCers on the boardwalk and got to hang out together. We are so very lucky.

Now that we are home, the adventure continues. Michael is upstairs taking a very cold shower. I am sure he will be quite awake by the time he comes down. I put a pot of water on the stove for doing dishes. It feels a bit like Little House on the Prairie. A great history opportunity for Mikaela and me. Maybe we will turn out the lights too.