Thankful

My favorite holiday is just one day away. Lovely Thanksgiving, with all its deliciousness and warmth and fun Turkey Trotting to start it off. When I was a working gal, outside the home, of course, I looked forward to this beautiful gift of a three-day-work-week. A bonus Friday off, to boot! A little sorbet of freedom to wash down the richness of the previous day's obligation-filled feast.

I don't, of course, love the nonsensical myth attached to Thanksgiving. Please, like the Pilgrims (pilgrims, thank you) could have afforded buckles, to start things off. Maybe somewhere in the genesis of the relationship between Native People and Europeans back in seventeenth-century/northeast current-day-USA was a benevolent, or even benignly indifferent sense of community. But I doubt Squanto and the Wampanoags really didn't bargain on the next few hundred years of genocide, disease and land snatching.

But I digress.

Our family life, as of late, has taken a sharp right turn and we've been stuck smack dab in the middle of Insanesville for almost three weeks. My whole self has been absolutely consumed with E, and to a lesser extent O, and their emotional and physical well being. Which is not to say I'm some sort of neglectful mother otherwise. But things have gotten INTENSE over here. Double ear infections for both boys, anti-biotics, no sleep, teething, newfound limit pushing, and did I mention no sleep?

I have been trying to surrender, or as C likes to say, let life lead in the dance. It is nearly working. I am walking a fine line between surrendering and feeling steamrolled.

There are certain things I am willing to overlook. Screaming for screaming's sake=mostly fine, as long as no one is napping. Kicking a little brother in the chest=not ever OK. It is difficult to sort these things out and maintain some sense of confidence, that somehow I am not warping these little minds and hearts.

The other afternoon, as I was driving the boys to have their pictures taken, a song came on that just knocked the wind out of me. It took me back to a time almost three years ago now. Then, E was ALMOST sleeping through the night, an older infant. I was starting marathon training in the frosty winter, looking forward to finishing and then trying to get pregnant again. My life, while at the time seemed overwhelming, was so simple and naive and easy. Every time I hear this song I can picture where exactly I was on my long run, slipping through the snowy streets, huffing and puffing and singing under my breath:



And so when, on the Thruway the other day, it came bouncing out of the speakers, I was taken back and I mourned my old self. I mourned my girl who hadn't yet been conceived but was so imagined and wished for. Part of the plan that unravelled before it could even be put into place.

When I was pregnant with Calla I remember wanting to run up until the Turkey Trot, which put me at about seven months pregnant. I smugly ran the 4.97 miles that Thanksgiving morning in 2009, thinking I was well on my way to a healthy delivery in a few months. Then January 2010 came and smacked me in the face, knocked me on my ass and screamed "HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCH?!"

I need things to settle down here, because the last thing I can think about is my sweet girl. I miss visiting her in my heart, having the luxury of a few minutes of peace to remember her dark curls, her sweet, silent face, her tiny fingers and toes, her perfect mouth.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, wherever you are.

Greetings From The Rock Under Which I've Been Living

***This is a post about my living children. I'm apologizing in advance if this makes you uncomfortable or  sad. I totally understand if you bolt right now. xo

Not really under a rock, but my life has been . . . omigod I don't even have the words for how insane things are over here. My big boy has some things going on that I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out. It started, well, I don't know the exact genesis of E's new behavior, but suffice it to say we haven't actually slept in a week. ONE WEEK.

I am not exaggerating. Every time we try to put him to bed for the night or a nap, homeboy SHRIEKS AND WAILS as though we've strapped him to the sun itself. Jumps out of bed. Runs out of his room. This is a child to whom it had never even occurred that he could get out of bed once he was in it. As in, when he was in a toddler bed 10 inches off the floor he wouldn't even reach down to get something that had fallen out. And now this. Even if we get him to sleep, he wakes up in the middle of the night and one of us has to sleep in his bed with him.

Also? I can't leave the room without him freaking out. Nor can he leave the room without being accompanied by me. I just. I don't get it.

After a trip to the doctor on Tuesday we found out he has an ear infection in both ears, something that manifested itself only in his behavior--atrocious--but no fever or obvious pain. So we've been doing anitbiotics and ibuprofen, and lots of relaxing. Except. Now he's over-tired and wild and cranky.

I think, too, there's some separation anxiety going on. Ironically he's totally fine at school, the one place I'd expect separation anxiety to be the worst.

My point? I have absolutely no time to do anything. Which includes responding to so many amazing pieces of writing I have sitting in my reader. Also? NaNoWriMo is a no-go for me, I guess, this year.  If you've sent me an email or written something especially beautiful, know that I've read it, but haven't had a hand free to respond. (Well how the hell am I writing this you ask? Autopilot and coffee. No thinking required.)

So um, yeah. Any advice? I'm seriously on the edge here. I am stumped beyond stumped and have pulled out every trick in the book. Everyone tells me this will pass, but I'm dubious.

One Year

Happy Birthday to our baby boy. 366 days ago I still believed the gaping hole in my heart could never be repaired. Even as I listened to his heartbeat all night, the night before being induced. Even after a good-looking amniocentesis. I still couldn't believe he'd actually get here.

But he did.

One year ago today our youngest baby was born. Our second boy, our third child.  My sweet little soul, who loves his mama, who smiles whenever he sees a camera, who dances whenever he hears a tune or a beat. Not technically a miracle baby, he was my miracle. He helped repair a heart that seemed smashed wide open forever--it was a miracle, to me, that I could love someone so fearlessly and wholly again.

I am swamped right now by life. We lived through getting a new roof, are fighting a double ear infection (E), are coming down from Halloween and its spooky accoutrements. We're trying our darndest to get the house is reasonable order before the big birthday party this weekend. Last week was C's 40th bday and all its grand celebrations. E has decided that sleeping, and going to bed, and staying in bed, id for the birds and has taken to shrieking and wailing whenever any of those activities are suggested.

Mama is tired. And VERY behind on the projects I want to tackle, namely NaNoWriMo and watching everyone's video blogs. Le grand sigh.

But I can't NOT share some pics of my beautiful birthday boy. The love of my life. My happy dude.