House of Estrogen

Sink or Swim?

Sorry for the lack of blogging lately, but right now I'm teetering between a desperate dog paddle to the side of the pool and lying at the bottom of the deep end with the weight of my world chained to my ankle. I thought my load was heavy before Monday. Then J.C. crashed, and the load just got exponentially heavier. The trashcan in the kitchen that used to empty itself every couple of days now overflows until I figure out I have to be the one to take out the trash. The kids who used to have a ride to track-out camp now depend on me for every ride every day everywhere they need to go.  The diaper pail that used to get dumped when the stench was overwhelming now stinks up the house until I find the time to take it out. The baby who cries during the night now has only me to comfort her. The dishes piling up in the sink don't get washed any more. I think I need to buy paper plates. I know we'll get through this, and I'm hoping J.C. will get upgraded to a brace with some range of motion in the next few weeks, but for now, things are hard. Most days, I feel like I'm drowning, but I'm clinging to a few floatation devices to keep me afloat...

1. Stronger, by Kanye West. Yes, I know he's an ass. I probably shouldn't support his music career, but I bought that song before he was such a jerk to Taylor Swift, so I don't feel too guilty listening to it. Repeating, "N-n-n-now that that don't kill me can only make me stronger" over and over to myself is a good mantra right now.
2. Starbuck's gingerbread - slices of heaven, that stuff. If I gain 50 pounds while J.C. is crutch-bound, you'll know why.
3. Addie's hugs.
4. The gorgeous Carolina blue skies that come out between the rainy days. There are also a few remaining trees with bright red leaves hanging on for me. Once the leaves are all gone though, I am done with fall and winter. Bring on spring, please.
5. Candy Cane Joe Joes - my other seasonal love. Trader Joe's and Starbuck's know how to nail seasonal comfort food. Part of the above mentioned 50 pounds can also be attributed to Candy Cane Joe Joes.
6. Friends and neighbors who have carted my kids around and brought us meals.
7. Hot baths at the end of a long day. If the baby cries while I'm in the tub, she just has to wait.
8. I Gotta Feeling, by the Black Eyed Peas because how can you not smile when you're singing that song? I haven't been smiling much lately, but that one still works on me.
9. McDonald's and Wendy's, while horribly unhealthy for my kids, I figure an overdose of fast food for a couple of weeks is better than their mother having a mental breakdown over trying to prepare a well balanced meal and clean up after it.
10. J.C. trying desperately to help out when he can. There's only so much he can accomplish from his perch on the couch, but he tries hard.

I bow down to all the single parents out there. Thankfully, I am not one, but I'm getting a taste of it with this injury. It is HARD WORK. I have an enormous amount of respect for moms and dads parenting solo. I'll be glad when my partner in parenting is back on his feet. For now, I'll just keep on treading water.

Not a Fun Afternoon

You know how your knee is only supposed to move forward and backward? Well, apparently, when your knee can move in three directions, and when the lower part of your leg stays put when you raise the upper part of your leg, there is much pain involved. I learned all this today after getting the call from JC that he was in the ER after a mountain biking crash. Not only was he in the ER, but he had arrived by ambulance. As if our lives weren't busy enough already, he decided to spice things up a bit.

The poor guy doesn't even have a good story to go along with this injury though! That's the pitiful part. He comes home from downhill biking trips to Snowshoe, WV, with barely a scrape or scratch. Yet, today, the asphalt greenway kicked his ass. His wheel spun out on a wet patch of moss, and as he put his foot down to catch himself, his knee bent in ways it isn't designed to do. Ouch. As much as he would like to deny it, it looks like surgery is in his future. You can't tell from this picture, but his knee is swollen to soccer ball size.

 

After I got him safely home and doped up on Vicodin, I had the job of telling the girls. I learned quickly that giving bad news is not one of my strengths. I started with something like, "Girls, Daddy fell on his bike today..." and before I could jump into the "He's OK... he's fine... but...", Nina burst into tears. The poor girl was sobbing, and Elise put her arm around her in an effort to comfort her. Of course, all of this turned on the faucets in my eyes, so there I was blubbering away, trying to convince Nina that he really is OK, that he is sitting at home watching TV and eating cookies. Nice way to give her confidence in the situation, huh? I clearly failed that little parenting test.

It looks like we have a long, long road ahead of us with surgery, crutches, physical therapy, and lots of moaning and groaning from him about not being able to bike, and lots of whining and complaining from me about pulling double-duty in the parenting department.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving though, I suppose I should find the blessings in all this. J.C. will tell you the biggest blessing is that this injury happened at the end of the Snowshoe biking season rather than the beginning. I feel blessed that he injured a fixable knee rather than his head, neck, or back. There... blessings have been counted. Now can I say that this all really, really, really sucks on so many levels? Because it does. Really. Suck.

Note To Self

Dear Self,

When your children are teenagers, do not let them take up drumming. Even if she cries that you are stifling her creativity and holding her back from her life long dream of being a drummer, do not give in. Do not let a drum set creep on to a Christmas list. As cool as a garage band might sound, do not allow it to take up residence in your garage.

When you start to cave on the pleas for drums, remember this day. Remember what it was like to have not one, not two, but THREE teenage neighbors who are drummers. Don't do this to your neighbors, Self. I'm begging you.

Love,

Ann

Is It Ski Season Yet?

I'm so ready for ski season. It can't get here soon enough. Didn't know I was a big skiier? Uh yeah... 'cause I'm not. The commencement of ski season, however, marks the transition from mountain bikers to skiiers riding the lifts up and then barreling down the mountains. During ski season, I won't hear, "It looks like it is going to be GREAT weather up at Snowshoe this weekend....". During ski season, I won't hear, "Since I bought a season lift ticket, it is practically FREE to go up there. It would be a crime not to go, what with the good weather and the lift ticket and all."  &*$% lift ticket.

Due to good weather and a season lift ticket, I find myself single parenting once again this weekend. Good times. Nina and Elise's screaming matches are at an all time high. Nina "accidentally" kicked Addie in the head this morning (although when you're hurling your feet wildly around people's heads as your frenzied mother yells, "Stop waving your feet around! You're going to kick one of your sisters!", can it really be called accidental?). Karma wins though. A little later in the day, Nina somehow managed to fall off the toilet and smash her own head on the floor resulting in a lovely forehead bruise. I still haven't figured that one out. I went outside for all of 10 minutes this morning and came back in with about 40 mosquito bites. After arguing over what to have for breakfast (what sort of warped 5 year old turns down going out for donuts?), we finally made it out of the house and to the Farmer's Market. Along with fresh fruits and veggies, I bought some locally raised pork sausage, all of which I left in the car when we got home. Nice. Can the pain from a UTI result in death? If so, I think I'm well on my way. To top it all off, just a few minutes ago, I discovered this lovely artwork on the bathroom door.

  

One might assume it is the masterpiece of a toddler, but odds are easily 50/50 that it is the piece de resistance of an unruly five year old. Considering her American Girl doll is once again in time-out for the star tattoos drawn all over her face, pink highlighter on a door is certainly not outside the realm of possibility.

Last weekend, one of Elise's Brownie friends was over here and said, "It is so crazy here. You guys have all these kids. I think you should have just had two." Gotta love the insight and honesty of a 9 year old! Maybe she was on to something though. Things are just... uh... a tad bit out of control.

So....here's to an early winter, lots of snow, and a long ski season! Here here!

 

Thank You, Hannah Montana?

Over the weekend, we went shopping for fall shoes and boots. In typical Nina style, Nina chose a wild pair of boots with a thick band of fur around the top, huge pom poms on the side and more heel than any five year old needs. They were actually cuter than I care to admit but just completely impractical.  They would never work with most pants because of the fur trim and pom poms. They might work with a few skirts, but they just weren't very versatile. Nina was totally enamoured however, and was not going to be swayed. Then Elise put on a pair of Ugg knock-offs. Nina said, "Hey Elise, those look like Hanna Montana!" I'm ashamed to admit I jumped all over that. "Wow! They sure do! Those look just like something Hanna Montana would wear. That is too cool!! You look JUST like Hanna Montana!"  My shameless exploitation of Hanna Montana worked, and we left with "Hanna Montana boots" for all three girls.

I'm a little scared though of the backlash when this little interchange comes back to bite me later. How do I eat my words when the girls come to me with a too tacky, too glittery, too short micro mini skirt exclaiming, "It looks just like Hanna Montana!!!"?

I'm in trouble, aren't I?

Sunday Morning Surprise

Friday night, I put Addison in a zip-up sleeper for bed. When she had a night terror later that night, and we went in to check on her, she was in her diaper only, having apparently taken the sleeper off. After the night terror ended, she handed the sleeper to me. I asked her if she wanted it back on. She nodded, so I put her back in the sleeper. By morning, she was once again in her diaper. As a third-time parent to a toddler, you'd think I'd recognize the "I can undress myself, and I'm really proud of it" stage and zip her in to her sleeper backwards. Instead, I made the rookie mistake of thinking, "She must not like wearing pajamas." You know where this is going, right? Last night, I put her in bed in just a diaper. This morning, I was greeted by a naked baby and a crib full of poo. Awesome.

Tonight, there will be duct tape involved at bedtime. I have learned my lesson.

Hard to Stay Mad

Without going in to lots of details, suffice it to say that yesterday was not an exemplary day for Elise's behavior. School supply shopping quickly disintegrated into "Mom, I want...", "Mom, will you buy me...", "Mom, can I have...", and then escalated into a screaming match in the car between Nina and her. Then, in the afternoon, Nina narrowly avoided an ER trip when Elise threw a stick at her that missed her eye by less than an inch. Nina has a lovely scrape and bruise on her cheek to show for it but thankfully, her eye was spared. Clearly, Elise was not in my good graces most of the day, but it is hard to stay mad when I see these notes.

After shopping:

(You can click on it to see it full-size, or read the text below.)

 

Dear Mom,

I am vary sorey we were so noty today. I fell like I shud not be aloud to have deset [dessert] for a week or go out to eat.

Love your doter, Elise

Then, after injuring Nina:

 

Dear Mom,

"I am tarible soory that hapend"

I leraned a good lesen NEVER thero stecks.

Here are 2 dolers.

Love, Elise

Gotta love how she is terribly sorry "that hapend", and doesn't go so far as to say she is sorry for throwing the stick. My guess is that she is sorry Nina got hurt and that she got caught! Regardless, how cute is it that she gave me two dollars? Love that!

The letter to Nina didn't photograph well, but it said:

Der Nina,

I am taribile sory I acidentile bumed [bumped?] you. Here is a nuther marble.

Love Elise

and it had a marble taped to it!

I swear I think this is how children live to adulthood. They drive their parents to the brink of insanity and then do something so incredibly cute that their parents can't help but let them move back in!  It is like the toddler who makes you wonder why you ever had children when she throws her cup on the floor 50 times during the meal but then blows you a kiss and says "love you" for the first time just as you are dialing the number to an adoption agency to give her away. It must be some sort of survival instinct... understanding when you've pushed your parent too far, and then making yourself unabashedly cute to save yourself.

I Don't Think the Tattletale is the Problem Here...

Nina: "Mommy, Elise punched me in the stomach, and kicked me in the forehead, and pushed me against the wall."

Elise: "No I didn't!  Nina is just making that up to get me in trouble!"

Nina: "No I'm not!"

Me: "So, Elise, did you do those things?"

Elise: "Just two of them. NOT THE THIRD!"

Nina: "She really did! She punched me right here and kicked me right here and pushed me into the wall!"

Elise: "Nina, STOP TATTLING! YOU'RE MAKING ME FEEL LIKE A JERK!"

<followed by fits of silent laughter from the parents who can't be seen by the children>

 

Should We Be Nervous?

Elise and Nina: "Do NOT come in our room until we are finished getting it ready."

J.C.: "OK"

(10 minutes later)

J.C.: "Nina needs to come out to take her medicine and brush her teeth."

Elise: "OK. Do NOT go in there to get her. I'll send her out."

J.C.: "OK"

Elise: "Plus, the floor is wet, so if you went in, you might slip and fall."

Heart.Stopped.Beating

I was sitting at my desk this afternoon when I glanced at the clock and realized Elise would be getting off the bus any minute. J.C. typically meets her at the bus stop, but he hadn't touched base with me to let me know he was heading home which he often does. Then I remembered my manager had stopped by my office about an hour earlier to say he was leaving to go biking with J.C.. Putting two and two together left Elise getting off the bus by herself. We have conscientious neighbors who also meet their children at the bus stop and a very responsible bus driver, so I felt certain she would be taken care of if we weren't there. On my way out the door, I called one neighbor and left a message asking her if she could bring Elise home with her if J.C. wasn't at the bus stop. Then I rushed home. I got there about 10 minutes after the bus would have come by. I found Elise's backpack on the front porch. I looked in the garage, on the back porch, and yelled her name. She wasn't at the house, so I called the same neighbor I had called earlier. Nobody answered, and their car was not in the garage. I know they sometimes have after school activities, so I figured they had gone through the carpool line today before heading to ballet or choir. I ran to another neighbor's house whose children ride the bus, and they weren't home either. About this time, J.C. got home. He drove to another neighbor's house to look for her while I knocked on another door and called the one neighbor a third time. When I finally knocked on the door of someone who was home, as I tried to ask him if Elise was there, I fell apart in tears on his doorstep. He was on the phone, but immediately hung up and came outside to help me look for her. We both walked around the cul-de-sac yelling her name. It was like a nightmare... a really sick, awful, horrifying, wake-you-up-in-a-sweat nightmare... the kind that makes you run in your child's room to check on them in the middle of the night... but it wasn't night. I wasn't in bed. This wasn't a nightmare. It was my life.

You know that feeling when you lose sight of your child for an instant in a department store or on the playground... how your heart stops beating, and adrenaline floods your entire body? Try that on for size for 10 or 15 minutes. I felt sick, physically sick. I ran up to the porch to her backpack to see if she had left a note. Nothing. I went back in the house to check the answering machine. Nothing. I got ready to call the school in hopes of talking to the bus driver. If that hadn't panned out, I really didn't have any other ideas besides calling the police. My.   Child.   Is.   Missing... mine... MY CHILD... MY FAULT... MISSING... an Amber Alert...  My mind kept going there which just made me feel even more nauseated. I felt so helpless.

I really thought I might puke, but I had to keep looking. But where?  Finally, J.C. called and said he had found her. She was at the home of the neighbor who I had called three times and left a message with who never answered the phone. The kids were playing and having a great time. The dad was busy lugging stuff in and out of the attic.

Elise had even left me a note in the mailbox telling me where she was. What a great kid...she didn't know I would be having a panic attack, but she knew I would check the mail... a perfectly logical, reasonable place to leave a note. If only logic and reason hadn't been ejected from my brain the minute I got home, I might have found her note.

She's home. She's safe. She's fine. I am not. I still haven't recovered. I know I shouldn't let my mind wander to the what ifs, but I'm not very good at controlling that. The what ifs make me even more sick.

This just rocked my world today. I want the day to end, and I want this out of my mind.