Pity Me

They say that a near death experience will change a person. Make them examine their lives from a new perspective. Help them to realize what's truly important in this world.

If that's the case, then a nasty virus will do just the opposite. It'll make you shake your fist at the universe. Bury your face in a pillow and cry long into the night. Wonder what you ever did that was so awful, so unforgivable, that you would deserve a punishment like this.

At least, that was my reaction to it.

But then, I never have handled suffering too well.

Pain is one thing. A sprained ankle, a broken bone....childbirth...all things that I can abide with a certain amount of grace and composure. I might tremble a little and sweat like a pig, but (so help me) I will be dignified! And the best thing about pain is that you only have to put up with it long enough for the pain-killer to kick in.

But give me a fever and a sore throat and I'll show you a dramatized misery that will make you cringe in embarrassment.

You see, suffering doesn't have a quick fix. It isn't held to any deadlines and it certainly wouldn't care if it was. Suffering can take an average, (only slightly rumpled) woman and turn her into a bloated, feverish, and altogether unrecognizable lump of mucous-hacking misery.

And there's truly nothing worse than feeling like garbage and still having to care for other human beings. All you want to do is curl up in bed and try and forget you were ever born, but these small children keep tugging off your covers and making unreasonable demands for things like food and water.

Must I do everything?

I went to the doctor and she gave me antibiotics. That's all well and good, I told her, but what I was hoping for was some tranquilizers.....for the kids. She gave me a funny look and said she couldn't prescribe something like that for children. Then she asked me for my home address and a physical description of Luke and Evie. Naturally, I told her I lived in Guam with my African-American husband.

As I was driving home (and trying to ditch the unmarked car following me) it occurred to me that I really was on my own. I mean, seriously, what am I supposed to do with my kids when I'm sick? Nobody wants to babysit them...they're contaminated. Not to mention the den of filth and misery they would have to enter in order to actually retrieve the children. And the one person in the world that would have been willing to do it had spent an ill-advised day with us last week and was now suffering the same fate as I. (Sorry, Mom.)

So, I was left with no other option. I became the world's most rotten parent for a week and watched my kids from the living room couch. And don't think they didn't sniff out my weakness like a couple of blood hounds.

Actually, "circling vultures" might be a more accurate analogy.

Let's just say they learned lots of new tricks in the span of seven days.

For example, Luke learned that if he ran to the other side of the room when Evie started to cry, I couldn't actually pin anything on him by the time I got there. He also discovered an important loophole in the system...Mommy doesn't have the energy or the ability to discipline both kids at once.

Evie learned that the handle for the drawer beneath the oven is perfect for standing on to reach that elusive stove-top. She also remembered how easy it was to climb on top of the kitchen table and found that she could actually steal food off her brother's plate if she did it during lunch time.

And, in a critical scientific break though, she discovered that if she clenches onto an object tightly enough, her brother eventually stops trying to take it away....and her mother gives up even sooner.

Both kids found out that when Mommy is pasty and trembling, she responds well to temper-tantrums. She makes PB&J for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And she plays whatever DVD is screamed for the loudest....all day long.

But what the little darlings don't realize is that this, like all things, must eventually end. Oh yes, the hour of reckoning is coming, kiddos. So buckle up and brace yourselves...

Mama's startin' to feel better.



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The Second Sense

Then...


The crackle of a fire

Warm, rich voices in muted conversation

The musical clinging of a wedding ring against the side of a ceramic mug

Coffee brewing

My Dad singing in random bursts throughout the day

My mom's beautiful and contagious laughter

"I love you, Honey. I've already said that, haven't I? Oh well, I just can't help it."

"How about a knuckle sandwich, Stephie?"

"Hi, Hungry. Nice to meet you. I'm Mom."

"If you're bored, you could always clean your room."

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

"Her mother and I do."




Now...


Giggles

Loud, wet kisses

Coffee brewing

My son singing in random bursts throughout the day

Tiny feet slapping against a tile floor

My daughter humming quietly to me as I rock her to sleep

Luke matching his breathing to my own as we cuddle in bed together

White noise on a baby monitor

"Wuvooh, Mommy."

"No more Coke, Evie."

"Muh? Muh? Muh? Muh?"

"Luke, keep your sock out of your orange juice!"

A toilet flushing..."Bye bye, poo-poo!"

A distressed cry..."Mamaaa!"

A welcome voice at the end of a long day...

"You look beautiful, Honey."

"Liar."


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Sink or Swimp

A conversation with Luke during bath time...


"Bop it, Evie!"

"Luke, can you say STOP IT?"

"Bop it."

"STOP?"

"Bop."

"Luke, can you say SAM?"

"Sam."

"Now, say STOP."

"Bop."

"Hmmm....Luke, say SUN."

"Sun."

"Good! Now say SIT."

"Sit."

"That's great, Luke! How about SIP?"

"Bip."

(sigh)

"Luke, can you say SLEEP?"

"Feet."

"How about SHEEP?"

"Feet."

"Okay, interesting. Can you say SWIM?"

"Swimp."

"Well, that's good...sort of. Oh no, don't touch that, Luke! That's Evie's no-no spot."

"No-no spot."

"Luke! You said SPOT!"

"Bot!"



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It's such a thrill to see Luke's personality emerging every day. He's so laid back and loving...and curious.

The other day we were looking at some pill bugs in the back yard. He was fascinated by them and not at all scared. He even designated a "Mommy bug" and a "Daddy bug" from the bunch.

I put the mommy and daddy together to see if they would fight to the death, but they got along swimmingly. By all outward appearances, their marriage was healthier than mine! But they didn't fool me....I know their type. Mister and Misses "Perfect Couple" are rarely that. They were probably embroiled in a bitter Pill Bug divorce.

Mommy bug spends most of her time rolled into a tiny ball, unwilling to face the world around her...and Daddy bug has a bad temper. The Pill Bug police have been called to their leaf pile several times in the past year.

Outwardly, though, they were keeping up the appearance of civility. Which I appreciated, since my son was present. Luke is just too young to be exposed to a failing Pill Bug marriage and I want to protect him as long as I can.

As Luke and I were searching for more bugs (without a history of domestic violence), it occurred to me that my little boy is getting closer and closer to the Build-a-Buddy stage. This is the stage in his young life when Chris and I can brainwash encourage him to share in our own interests. The stage when I become more to him than a caregiver and disciplinarian, and he becomes more to me than someone to constantly protect and nurture. Not that those things aren't important, they are critical!

But sometimes it's nice to just be buddies.

Even if all we're doing is squatting together in the backyard, watching emotionally dysfunctional Pill Bugs crawl through the dirt...


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Evie Reading - VIDEO

This was recorded over a month ago but I just now got around to posting it.

Evie and Paw-paw.

Three's a Crowd?

I overheard a harassed sounding mother in the store today, tiredly scolding her rambunctious children. She was in the next aisle over so I couldn't actually see her face...but that kind of bone-deep weariness sort of projects in the voice, ya know? During a brief lull in the chaos, her daughter asked a question.

Mommy, do you like having three kids?

She didn't answer.

And I didn't blame her.

But it reminded me of my current indecision on when to have another child. Some days, the idea of a sweet-smelling, silky-haired little angel is SO appealing to me. And other days, it's all I can do to keep my current children from killing themselves or each other.

My sister-in-law has four very young children and puts in at least twice the parental effort that I do each day. You'd think this would make me feel a little better about my own situation, but I'm finding that my capacity for self-pity is nearly limitless.

I was asked recently in one of those silly e-mail questionnaires what my goal in life was. I answered "survival." I was trying to be funny but I suppose it wasn't far from the truth. I don't have time to sit around these days and think about my personal dreams. My whole life revolves around my children now.

My dreams are always for them.

So my immediate goal really is survival. It's keeping these little stinkers alive and healthy long enough for them to realize their own goals and dreams. And some days are easier than others.

A few weeks ago, Evie climbed up on our couch.

I immediately purchased a pen light, a neck brace, and a first aid kit.

A few days ago, she climbed up on our kitchen table.

I started writing a eulogy.

Some people might call me a "Stay at Home Mom." I think a more accurate title would be "The Babyguard." Like that movie with Whitney Houston only without the romance and hazard pay.

Oh, and the intrigue. Definitely no intrigue here.

But plenty of bodily harm. And more than enough peril to go around.

Luke has had less of a death wish in his old age, but he's more than happy to assist Evie with hers. Like a two year old Kevorkian, Luke has facilitated his sister's deadly stunts again and again.

That time she got up onto the table?

Luke was up there with her.

Every time she falls off her little push-car and cracks her head?

It's because Luke was propelling her across the room at break-neck speed and ran her directly into the wall.

And he's gotten clever about it, too. We've taught him (in no uncertain terms) that it is not OK to shove his sister down. So now, when he wants her away from something, he turns around and nudges her backwards with his rear-end until she falls over.

As if we wouldn't catch on to that.

So I guess there's really no dilemma after all. For right now, I think that two children are about as much as I can handle.



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And yet, every time I start to feel like I'm in way over my head slightly overwhelmed...the little boogers go and redeem themselves.

I made the mistake of leaving Luke alone downstairs for several minutes today while I got Evie out of bed. He was naked.

Don't ask me why, it's just something that seems to happen with regularity around here. Naked babies, that is.

Anyhow, when I came down the stairs, Luke was waiting for me.

"Poo-poo."

Oh crap.

I pushed him aside and ran into the living room, sniffing the air and baying like a hound. Scouring my eyes over the floor and furniture...dreading what I might find.

"Poo-poo!"

His voice was coming from the bathroom.

Could it be?

I looked around the corner and there he was, standing (proud as a peacock) in front of the toilet.

I walked into the room, peered inside the bowl and nearly toppled over in surprise.

He had climbed up onto the potty and gone poo-poo...all by himself.

If someone would have told me, when I was pregnant with Luke, that my proudest moment in his first three years of life would be him making a poo-poo in the potty all by himself...

I would have shoved them off a table.



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