Easter....eggs...oh, no

It's safe to say that I am hyper-aware of the things I want my child to remember.  As if I have a choice, ha!  I treasure and fondly reminisce on yearly traditions I had as a wee-one.  I am certain most of the memories weren't choreographed by my parents either, which takes my hovering to a new silliness-level.

So consider me: mom who wants to create smiley memories at every turn, and add into the mix Easter (a holiday traditionally marked by egg coloring)  along with new-found veganism.

My tradition-o-meter was flashing and honking and steaming and raising a ruckus that had my blood pressure rising and tears forming in my eyes as I considered that egg dying my not be in my child's future.  I spend a good few minutes freaking out about this.  Then, all hail the internet, I checked in with my vegan brethren and found my new traditions!

As my wise old Uncle Joe told me (nearly 6 years ago- so don't quote me verbatim): we are making a new family, with new traditions and new habits- you are a new unit, the old one is still there, but this one is for you to take and make your own.

My Uncle Joe married us, but before he would he wanted to meet with us and chat some.  Good move, Uncle.  I remember that ALL the time.  I cherish it.  It gives me permission to be a new family, unbounded by the old one and free to make new choices, if that is what we want to do.

Our new tradition looks like this: cover a small balloon with tissue paper painted over with a flour/water mixture, let it dry and pop the balloon to get it out.  Fill the "egg" with goodies (this year will be stickers, Annie's gummy bunnies, and something else) and then hide the eggs Saturday after the wee-one falls asleep.

OH MY GOSH I CANNOT WAIT!

I love, love, LOVE watching my kid explore new experiences.  It's like crack for me- I get so amped up to see what she'll do, how she'll problem solve, her excitement at figuring things out.  What a rush!  I guess vegan Easter won't be ruined after all.

On a related note: stay tuned for an unlikely Easter bunny story, coming soon to this blog near you.....

Today is not the day

Today is not a day where I think, "Hey, look at what a cool chick I am!".  Or, "Wow, I'm pretty good at this 'life' thing!".  I'm not going to use this day as a prototype for future days.  Nope.

Granted- it's only 2:30pm.

I feel like my frustration cup is brimming, overflowing while my patience cup sits dry and forlorn.  I'm going to have an ugly-face day.

Most mornings, this one included, my husband wakes up feeling less than stellar.  Some new ache or ailment, some barely audible croaking about not getting enough sleep.  My morning attitude has taken a turn for the worse, thinking, "Please, just don't say whatever it is", I feel judgmental and irritated.  Not my best wife moment.  So I get up, change a diaper and shut him into the bedroom while Ro and I scrounge around for breakfast (quesadilla, anyone?).  We, inevitably, are too loud in our weensy house and the big man doesn't get the rest he so desperately desires.

Now he's grumpy, his 'tude is transferring onto the toddler and frustration coupled with epic whining are all my ears can hear.  The logical next step of course, is that now I'm irritated.  My victim-brain says to my situation, "Why do  always have to be the adult?  Why am I the one who is left to handle it all?  Why am I left taking care of two little kids?".  Of course none of this is true.  Being the victim is so much easier than being responsible.

So off I went.  Whisked myself and the child away to a friend's to do crafty things.  With my irritation level on high alert, it was a relief to find my friend had actually set up an activity for Ro to do, unlike all the crap I brought witch was not toddler friendly.

Eventually we left, Ro was getting into all the things she was asked not to (and who could blame her, there wasn't much for her to do) and it was nap time.

For 20 minutes, she tossed, turned and practiced gymnastics while laying in bed.  I called it quits.  I left her there and told her to please go sleep now.  The calmness with which she agreed was creepy, and short lived.  Dramatic crying and sobbing about how she was sad followed with requests to be done sleeping were not far behind.  Throw in a few other annoyances (see: cat while I'm trying to eat) and I'm spent.

The thing is, this isn't unlike most days.  I must only have so many that I am able to cruise through before I max out and freak out.  I feel like my heart is tight and my head is heavy.  I've got the, "I don't give a f*ck" feeling pumping through me.

The feeling sucks.

The kid's asleep now.

Wordless Wednesday: Getting ready for bed

Creating

It's been awhile since I've been creative.  I didn't even know I missed it.  The part of my brain that was resting, un-stimulated was so quiet that I had forgotten it was there.

Then a few things happened right in a row that shook the sleepy dust off of my left brain, and it awoke with a hunger!  People that I know, women, were experiencing the same thing.  They wanted, no they needed to create.  So we got together and did it- created.

Glue, scissors, paper, canvas, paints.

Tissue paper, paint brushes, photos, glitter, tape.

All came together to form art work for baby's nurseries, kid's rooms, wall decor and memory boxes.  Ideas and colors, chit chat and laughter flowed.

This sort of gathering has happened four times for me in the past three weeks.  I have art work that I adore and have no where to put it.  Even such, I want to make more.  My brain in pulsing with ideas and inspiration.  I leave these gatherings feeling happy, light and fulfilled.  I suppose I have missed social interaction.  It's rejuvenating, whether I create something super cool or not.

Momma Trauma

Moments like this one, where my kid is in her bed, screaming "Mommy!" while coughing and choking on heavy sobs, make me wonder: what was I thinking?

I've already put her back to bed twice.  I can see her on the monitor.  I've decided that my methods aren't working (this is a trend for the past four nights).  I can see her getting out of bed so I call to her from my spot on the couch, "Lay down Rosanna".  A fresh gusto of dismay and tragedy pours out of her.  She lays down and pulls the covers up.  Her small body is jerking with spastic breathes and she is still crying.

I am fighting reasoning against intense momma-bear coddling that is urging me to go in there and hold her until her breathing is normal again.

This sucks.

In this moment I ask myself: what was I thinking?  In a few years this upset will be small beans compared to what the world will bring to my most treasured soul.  It will tear me up and require of me to make more choices that won't make my baby happy, might even make her mad at me.  And it will be the best choice for her.  It'll likely give me heat palpitations (like tonight is) and I'll cry myself.

I signed up for this.

Right now she's quiet.  Every so often I hear a hard sniffle, one of those gasps that last for awhile after a hard cry.  She's still in bed.  I didn't even get up.  I feel like this should be a proud moment for me.

Ways to love your kid

Take them outside

Show them around

Create with them

Let them be free to create

Sing songs in the bath

This is how we loved our kid today.  It was amazing.

Salty wound

One of the only pieces of mail is from Kaiser.  "Weird", I think, because we are no longer insured by them...or anyone for that matter.  I settled on the explanation being that it's regarding Ro, since she is insured there.

Nope.  It's actually for me.  For "Melanie".  Gee, thanks for the courtesy of spelling my name right.  It's printed correctly on everything Kaiser has for me, but apparently this was too much trouble.

"We notice that your due date of 3/29/12 is fast approaching!  We hope to make your experience here as lovely as possible and want to be sure you are registered at L&D and blah, blah, blah, blah"

Oh, God.  Seriously?  I'm hurt, angered and start to cry.  My face feels hot.  I call Ethan and tell him about the note.  I start to lose it.  I even go so far as to mock my conversation to Kaiser, "Hello!  You're the ones who aborted my baby!  Are you freaking kidding me?"  I want them to know my hurt at their oversight.  I want to curse at them and cry at them and have them feel awful.

Oh, the theatrics.

Of course, my baby wasn't aborted.  My baby wasn't ever going to be a baby.

I realize, as a result of this letter I received in the mail today, that I am still very emotional about it all.  I suppose I thought I had  grieved and it was over.  Turns out, if you have the right angle, I can get all worked up about it, all over again.

Ro starts to fuss, she bumped her head on the table.  And I'm all better.
I snuggle her and we talk about what happened.  I ask her if she wants to help me put away some clean clothes and she hops up, her hurt head all but healed.