Poop

Poop.

That is what Naomi said to me a little less than 2 hours ago when she walked up to me with a big bit of stuff on her thumb and pointer finger.

Poop.

I was folding clothes in one of those brain-dead, space-out ways and came back to see actual poop on my kids hand.

Poop.

I said.

Naomi is that poop!

If she had the ability I think she would have said, "yes, Mom you dumb shit. I just told you its poop."

Instead she said.

Yesh. That's how she says yes. Its quite wonderful.

Yesh.

Naomi had poop on her hands because she has discovered how nice it is to get her hands in her diaper and play with her exciting parts.

And today when she went in for a little self-love she came out full of poop.

I am so. So. So. So. Glad she came to tell me about it rather than just wipe it all over the chair, or on her clothes.

Yes. I am at a place in my life where I jump for joy that someone walked up to me with poop on their hands and it was my job to clean it up.

Oh glorious peak of lifetime accomplishments.

3 Years 2 Months 11 Days

That is how long I've been the parent of at least one child whose heart is beating outside of my body.

That is how long I've been afraid that 1 or 2 of my children would fall down the steps with or without me.

3 years 2 months 10 days is how long I lived as a parent with at least one child whose heart is beating outside of my body who hadn't fallen down the steps.

It happened today.

Naomi fell down the basement steps.

She cried.

She fell about 3/4 of the way down.

Thank goodness it was the basement steps that had a lot of laundry on them.

She has a bruise on her face.

She cried.

She didn't cry as much as I thought she would.

She didn't bleed.

It wasn't as loud or as terrifying as I thought it would be.

She didn't face plant from 10 feet up right onto the edge of a step and have one of her eyes explode (that has been my fear - well I used a bit of hyperbole there - still the face-plant part has been my fear).

She rolled down the steps and was clearly scared and cried and now she has a bruise on her face.
And she is okay.

We all lived through it.

I'd like it for that to be the one and only time one of my kiddos falls down the steps.

It was enough for me.

We're Okay

I noticed one of Eliot's chemo pills sitting on his dresser yesterday afternoon. That means that Tuesday night I remembered to actually get Eliot's medicine (and a cup of water) and bring it upstairs and put it on the dresser (right next to the diaper wipes so I wouldn't miss it). And then I managed to forget to give it to him altogether.

In my life I've not been a terribly consistent medicine taker. I found out in junior high that I'm allergic to milk. Which means I've consumed a total of about 9 glasses of milk since I was 13. I was instructed to take calcium pills. Oops. Haven't ever been able to keep that one up.

I was supposed to take pre-natal vitamins while pregnant and nursing. Oops. Didn't keep that up.

The few times I've been on antibiotics in my life I've always managed to miss at least 1 or 2 or 3 or a few more doses.

I've just never been a committed medicine taker.

Over 9 months ago Eliot was diagnosed. He has had an amazing recipe of medicine. On some days he was given medicine at 3 and 4 times a day. Each day of the week is different.

I have remembered each day I've been around which was pretty much every day except about 5.

And the other night I forgot.

And although I realize its not recommended to skip a dose of chemo.

I feel like we crossed a line into being really okay. Normal.

We've arrived in the world where I'm relaxed enough to goof up.

Yeah. Sigh. Sigh. Thank gawd. 9 months and 10 days.

A Real Conversation

Tonight I hit maximum capacity of times I can answer the question, "why".

I sighed. I paused. And I asked Eliot if we could take a break from answering questions.

His response was that he wanted to talk.

He didn't really whine.

He pretty much just said it matter of fact like that. Eliot wants to talk.

So I paused.

And said okay lets talk.

Truth be told I was at maximum parenting capacity (my activity for the afternoon was driving around town so I could listen to the radio and pretend I was alone - which was being thwarted by Eliot's desire to talk).

I don't know how the conversation opened up. I do know that we ended up driving by a park in downtown Minneapolis and Eliot asked me the name of the park.

I looked over and realized that it was Elliott park we were driving by.

So I giggled a little bit and said, "Elliott."

Eliot laughed.

He laughed.

Not a silly, someone just tickled my tummy, or I'm getting chased around laugh.

A recognition of a joke laugh.

A pause followed by a belly-laugh.

He said, "noooooooooooo its not".

And I said, "yes it is. That park's name is Elliott. Its Elliott Park."

And he laughed more.

And we went back and forth like that several times. And he told me he thought I was joking. And we both laughed. And we even called Aron for confirmation on the whole thing.

It was a conversation. It ebbed and flowed. It included authentic laughter by both of us.

It was the most fucking cool thing I think I've perhaps ever done as a parent. Well next to giving birth and that whole gestation thing and nursing and making it through each day and somehow making it through 12 days in the hospital and all of that other stuff.

This is one major door we walked through.

I fell in love a little more today.

Message Received

This morning I put two plates on the table for breakfast. A Pink one and a Blue one. I didn't give it any thought at all. They were on the top of the pile, they went on the table.

I put the pink one in front of Eliot and the blue one in front of Naomi. I gave it no thought at all.

It was morning.

I was tired.

I was cooking and trying to get some dishes in the dishwasher and wasn't paying any attention.

Eliot looked at the plates and said he didn't want his. He wanted the blue one. And the pink one was for Naomi.

He said it in a matter of fact way. As if I should know that the pink one was of course for her. The blue one was of course for him.

My heart shed a tear.

I haven't been vigilant about keeping pink away from Naomi and blue away from Eliot as some of my fellow open-minded, new-aged mama friend of mine are.

I've also made a point of offering up all sorts of options for my kiddos. Eliot had 2 baby dolls. When he asked for a Barbie band-aid twice at the clinic I let him have them. When I offered him the choice of shirts to get at Target and he wanted the pink one he got to have it.

It got through tho. Pink for girls. Blue for boys. Sigh.

He'll probably get picked on a lot less now that he has 'learned that lesson'.

Still I hate this stuff.

How long until he thinks he can't cry. Or has to be macho. Or refuses to snuggle.

How long until Naomi things she isn't allowed to fight back, or negotiate, or say what she really thinks.

Oh how I wish it could stop at the color coding. Oh how I pray it will.

How I Know I'm Done With the At Home Gig

Exhibit A - about a month ago Aron and I were sitting in a restaurant and we saw a woman walk through the lobby with her 7 year old or so son - she saw some people drinking beers and said something like, "Oh doens't that look fun." She essentially said, wow, I wish I wasn't a mom right now - right in front of her kid. Aron looked at me and said, "Thats you."

Exhibit B - I think I eat out of boredom. I'm fat now.

Exhibit C - I spent an amazing 14.5 hours out of the house without my children yesterday and with adults who I enjoy. I mentioned no fewer than 6 million times how happy I was to not be with my kids. So I basically talked shit about my own kids behind their backs all day.

Exhibit D - Yesterday I was given the option of what task I'd like to do to help out. My response was, "anything but stuff with kids." I ended up doing dishes for over an hour. I was perfectly happy about it.

Does This Make Me A Bad Person?

I'm aware that these two darling children (who were not sleeping here - they were just being silly - I would NEVER let my kids get so tired that they passed out on a rug) had an adventure of a life-time this morning. Their awesome aunties Laurie and Amelia planned an adventure into the park across the street from their new place. They dragged the moving boxes from their recent move (which includes two gigantic mattress boxes) into [oops! edit later on - what I meant to say was ACROSS the street not INTO the street] the street for a full-on toddler maximum fun adventure.

And I'm not sad that I'm missing it.

Both of my sisters and my new sister Amelia and my niece and my two kids - so basically a huge chunk of my top 20 favorite people ever were all having a great adventure and I spent the morning paying bills.

And I'm not sad.

I'm happy to be here.

Maybe I'm not a bad person. Maybe I'm just basically insane.

And in dire need of time to myself. Which I'm having and happy for. Very, very happy for. Very. Very. Very happy for.

She Has A Name

Naomi used her own name today. We were sitting upstairs in the kids' room and she pointed at Eliot's bed and said Eliot (Ahl ee aht) and pointed at her bed and said Naomi (Neigh me).

I had her do it a few more times to be sure and then went downstairs and got her to do it for Aron - which was no small task - that girl is no ones puppet.



She is so utterly and completely her own person it boggles my mind.

And she is brave. Tonight we went out for dinner and she wanted to hold my credit card so I gave it to her with the bill and told her she could bring it to the waitress.

She looked really nervous about it, yet she walked over near the waitress. She never quite made it.

Still. She got close.

I think that is brave.

Naomi Looking At Daddy

OMG I'm a Parenting Theory Fundamentalist

A few weeks ago I ranted on about parenting theory fundamentalists and how they're doing no one any good really. Today I came front and center with the fact that I am a parenting theory fundamentalist being harassed by none other than me.

I didn't know this about myself until just a few hours ago.

Despite research that says kids ARE okay if they go to day care or have a nanny I think my kids are better off being raised by me.

I know there is pretty much a ton and half (can we call that a shit-ton?) of actually scientific research that supports my fundamentalism. There is also a whole bunch of research done by scientists such as the best hair stylist at our local Great Clips who says the best behaved kids are the ones who are being raised at home by their very own parents.

There is also new research which I logically believe that says the happiest, most well adjusted kids have happy parents.

Crazy huh?

Happy parents = happy kids.

Weird.

So I believe it. I believe that theory with all of my heart.

And for 3 years now I've been telling myself that I need to do whatever I can to be happy so my kids have a happy mom so they expect to grow up and be happy people. The whole they'll do as you do not as you say theory.

And for 3 years I've been telling myself that I'll be happy at home doing some volunteer work and a few odd jobs.

And for at least a year and a half that has been far from reality.

I haven't been happy.

I've been going insane.

Obviously with the whole cancer deal that is totally understandable.

And heres the thing. Just days before Eliot's diagnosis I was on the phone with my friend telling her how I had to get the hell out of the house or I was going to go batty.

Its not just the cancer.

This was happening before that came along.

I've been fantasizing about and making a resume for a new job now for about 2 weeks. What started out as a thing I'd do to appease Aron has now become something I think about constantly.

I want out. I see a way out and I'm taking it.

And.

The parenting theory fundamentalist in me is giving me no end of shit.

Sara, you could be happy just give it some time.

The kids are bigger now it will be more fun.

Consumer debt and 3 more years of no retirement or college savings are FINE.

Just volunteer, its totally rewarding and what you WANT.

Eliot's too fragile for day care.

You can just have play dates and you'll be totally fulfilled.

You could write you book finally.

The kids are better off with you. They're better off with you. you. you. you. you.

Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Motherhood is the absolutely number one most challenging, heart wrenching, pain in the ass thing I've ever done and can ever imagine doing ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The fact is getting a job isn't getting out. I'll still be a mom. I'll still be their mom. I'll still be involved. I'll be very involved.

And goodness. I might actually be happy.

Imagine that. A happy person for the kids to grow up to expect to be like.