Wreckage

Right. So you know how I was all, "I posted in my sleep. Hardeeharhar." Yeah. It's not so funny anymore. Apparently I slip in and out of consciousness more than just at night and last week did it while driving. Going 50mph. On a highway. I ran into an oak tree. There aren't enough thank you prayers in the universe to account for the fact that my children weren't in the car with me.

The car flipped, bounced on the roof, and landed upright in a ditch on the other side of the highway. I have never in my life seen such wreckage.

I'm fine. I think. Mostly fine anyway. I sustained second degree burns from my shoulder to my breast from the seatbelt. I'm bruised and burned across my lap from the seatbelt and have some pretty nasty lacerations on my legs, but nothing too serious. I do not know how or why I am still here. I suppose I should really look into that.

Honestly, I'm just tired. So tired of everything. Life seems to be pressing from all sides and I feel suffocated. My hormones are all over the place. My kids are, well, kids. Joseph is Joseph, and life is life. All I want to do is crawl under the covers and sleep. For the rest of forever.

Which is so contradictory, because after the "wreckage" I've been positively panicked that my run was almost ended. That I was finished. That, "that", was it. I'm so careful, so paranoid, about so many things. And yet, ultimately it's so out of our control. And that is the crux of my anxiety. That at the end of the day, I really don't have all that much say in how the pendulum swings. And yet, that which I can control, I want to give to my sheets.

Enough. Enough for today. It's night and the sheets can win for now. I hope they'll win a little bit less tomorrow.

What the What?!!

So I come upstairs to check my email and see that my old blog is open on my screen. Huh. I wonder why this is open? Wait. What? I updated? What the WHAT?! Friends, I went to bed at 8pm last night. I have ABSOLUTELY NO RECOLLECTION of writing this. None. Zip. Apparently I sleep write. Wake up to use the bathroom? Check. Pump a little milk? Check. Write a drugged blog post after a several year hiatus? Check CHECK! I clearly cannot be trusted right now. Oh dear.

Wednesdays are dead days. Oh, and I'm back. I think. Whatever.

So (awkward silence) it's been a while. Years really. And the whys of it are many, but mostly because I didn't want to remember that time in my life. Which looking back now, seems dumb. It would have been a survivor blog (If I survived it). And perhaps there is the reason why. I wasn't very optimistic that I would come out the other side. But alas, here I am, and none of it is recorded.

So we march on. Claire is 5 and in Kindergarten. Lily is 4 and in pre-school. Thomas is 11 weeks and he loves him the foody very much thank you. Tanktankrthomas. And now it seems we are back on the precipice, trying to decide what course of action is best for our little family. The PPD has been lurking, not good lurking. Not HEY, I've been your reader for a while now and I love you so much how's about if I set up a fund for your three kids and take care of college for you? (You: clearly PPD is not your only disorder at the moment. Me: So true) But angry lurker. Lurker who throws spit wads and creates tension and truly truly wants me to feel ugly about myself, my life, my journey through motherhood and wiveliness (word?).

I feel myself slipping and the only consolation I have is that I came back from it all last time. I came back. It was ugly and less than graceful. It was scary and turbulent. At times the outlook was well, not so good. But here I am. On the other side, a survivor. I managed. I grew. Got REALLY optimistic/delusional, and threw my hat in the ring one more time. With the knowledge that there are many options available, less than ideal though they may be, they are options nonetheless, and I CAN do this. Have I mentioned I'm on Ambien right now, because I really think that ought to be noted. The screen and my surroundings are a bit floaty and not entirely real...so we'll let that be our theme for todays syntax. Druggy otherworldy. Oh. My English teachers would be so proud.

So today is Wednesday. Wednesdays for me, are hell. Pure unadulterated hell. Get the kids to school (seperate schools, seperate times) with a newborn who wants to eat every 14.2 minutes lest armageddon unfold. Pick up Claire from bus stop (and oh yes, I was manually pumping while waiting for her in the van. Howdy doody bus driver!! Why yes my nipples do appear to be in some kind of medieval torture device. Want one? No? Well see you tomorrow!! Milk is dripping down my shirt. My boobs are shamed.

Drive to pick up Lily from Preschool/swim class. Thomas blows out diaper in car seat on the way. Throw Lily in locker room shower, Pull Thomas from poo-soaked infant carrier. Lovely. It's at this point of the day where I switch into what I fondly refer to as, "I am dead inside and have no feelings" mode. I've found it works brilliantly for days like this. Wednesdays are generally a day of anxiety, emotional melt-downs, and mild hysterics round these parts. Okay, in my brain. And this seems to help. Operation Zombie Robot. I do not allow myself feelings on Wednesdays. I can cry about it on Thursday. Feel overwhelmed about it on Friday. Wednesday? Well, we're in crisis mode and we simply must push through.

So! Repeating my dead inside mantra to myself repeatedly, I change the diaper, dry off the milk leak stains from the tatas under the hand dryer. Don't judge. I pumped in the car. While driving. Because I've got everything under control...

Target doesn't have our prescriptions? No problem! I have no feelings! Lily pooped her pants? Wonderful! Zombies love defecation! We change for dance class (at this point I have changed their clothes five times. And have i mentioned my dislocated rib? Lots a vicaden. Can't worry about that and breastfeeding though, because today IS NOT THE DAY FOR THAT!

At this point we only have two hours before Joseph gets home (Blessed be all that is good and holy) and two hours before I start teaching and have orchestra rehearsal. Until 10pm. 30 minutes away.

I've had three hours of sleep for three nights now, and today we started our morning at 430. My favorite time of the day!

So, no matter how craptastically fabulous it would feel to melt into a puddle of goo and cry until 2015, today is the day of no feelings. No goo puddle for you.

You may start to question your sanity and/or the decision making process that lead you to this point in your life. But no. You are dead inside. And those effers just keep on keepin on.

We zombies try to be pleasant. Smile when appropriate and sometimes laugh (we don't really mean it. It is Wednesday after all.) But mostly we stick our elbows out, put our heads down and plow through. Emotions in check. Until tomorrow. When all hell breaks loose.

I never said it was a perfect system.

My sweetest day.

Claire told me "I love u" for the first time today. (or for the first time to any human for that matter. oh yes, she already said it to my father's dog who she knew for a whole ten minutes before the coveted words came forth.)

And I cried. Being a mom is hella hard, but man...

Plane rides and Jack Daniels-- Part Deux

With my daughter Lily screaming in the background I truly feel as though I'm writing in the necessary atmosphere to re-create part two of our story. (She's in her crib. Trying to fall asleep. I don't just let them scream for my writing purposes. Usually.)

4 pm-- At the gate and waiting for permission to board. Other passengers are eyeing us suspiciously.

425 pm-- I approach the check-in counter to see if there are any open seats on the plane so that we might bring aboard one or two carseats for the little littles. There is one. But it's because the stewardess who shall not be named moved my husband from his original seat next to me to across the aisle. Something about oxygen masks and two lap kids in the same row. I don't know. What I do know is that they moved my husband across the aisle from us and plunked him down in a MIDDLE seat with an almost two year old. And then the passengers next to him started eyeing him suspiciously. (Rightfully so good friends, rightfully so!)

430 pm-- Our seating arrangement is as follows

Window (Claudia) Middle (Baby seat and Lily) Aisle (Me) -------- Aisle (Poor man who got what he had coming) Middle (Joseph and Claire) Window (Man who is still in therapy)

Joseph and I kept looking at the man who got what he had coming with doe eyes in effort to get him to switch seats, but to no avail. And so... he got what he had coming. He has no one to blame for what transpired but himself. And my child. And maybe the stewardess who shall not be named.

432 pm-- We have already pulled out most of the toys from the bag and Claire is bored with all of them. She wants to run up and down the aisles.

445 pm-- We pull out the dvd player and put on one of her favorite Sesame Street episodes.

446 pm-- Claire apparently hates earphones. Man who got what he had coming hates Claire.

450 pm-- Man who got what he had coming starts ordering JACK DANIEL shots each time the drink cart passes by.

5 pm-- Claire throws a full on fit because Joseph won't let her close the book of the man who is still in therapy.

The next couple of hours are still a bit hazy as I have blocked them from my memory until my mind is in a safe enough place to handle it. Which roughly translated means I probably never will. I do know that Claudia got some type of food poisoning from the chicken/spongy thing she ordered off the "gourmet" menu and that I kept running back to the forbidden land of stewardesses to get more ginger ale, ice, and lemons. (their suggestion. apparently this has happened before.) The people behind me watched bouncing baby head for about two hours and Joseph and Claire well... let's just say the man formerly known as he who got what he had coming changed his name to drunk as a skunk and after four hours we all exited the plane glassy eyed and ten years closer to meeting our maker.

On the way home there were TWO empty seats by us and the girls both rode in their carseats happily for the majority of the ride. Aaaaaah. How about you? Do your littles (or bigs. whatever.) travel better when strapped down? Or do you rely on some other magic ploy?

Planes rides and Jack Daniels--Part I

Just got back from "vacation" ala "the baby tour" and have 234 posts in my google reader. In part this is because I've been gone but mostly it's because my computer has had a VIRUS for two weeks. It's on antibiotics now and is doing much better thank you.

ANYWAY, so I could really talk about fourteen bajillion things for this post. Fun with pack 'n plays, so your toddler's in love with a dog, sleep training--get some!, another anniversary comes and goes, funnest (yes a word. back off) friend in the world--a. this one's for you, or journey into the seventh dimension of hell--four hours on a plane with a toddler and a baby, two seats. DAMN! AND I THINK WE HAVE A WINNER!

Son of a bitch! Now I'd heard from friends (ala read on other blogs) that though you need not buy a seat for humans under two it's recommended that you do so for your sanity and for the sake of the other 459 passengers on the plane. BAH! I said. We'll save $900 dollars if we just hold em on our laps! And so our descent begins. Good Lord.

3 pm-- Arrive at airport with babies and 965 pieces of luggage in tow. Back off Delta man eyeing me suspiciously, we're only checking one per person, the rest are carry-ons.

315 pm-- Approach nuclear x-ray machine with 963 remaining pieces of luggage. Security man eyes me suspiciously.

317 pm-- And so the undressing/disassembling begins. For EVERYONE. Really? Really?! My toddler looks to the be the type hiding bombs in her keds? My ten month old too? Bet that's been a real problem for you in the past. And IT'S FORMULA. You can swipe your bomb swabs over it again and again but it's not going to change the fact that it's not going to explode! Nevermind though, you just keep trying.

345 pm the next day-- Complete metal detector fun.

346 pm-- Notice husband has been detained and guards are searching one of his carry-ons.

346.5 pm-- I approach and explain that I packed all the bags. His included. If there's anything suspicious involved it's my fault. (How dumb am I? When in doubt blame the au pair! Just kidding Claudia. We love you. We'd never let them haul you away for packing those fingernail clippers.)

347 pm-- Man asks me if there's anything sharp in the bag.

347.5 pm-- I'm peeved that we've been here for twenty minutes already and sarcastically joke about the Dr. Seuss books inside and how they could be considered a hazard.

348 pm-- Man pulls out GIGANTIC SHARPENED SHANK from bag. WHAT THE HOLY HELL?

348.2 PM-- I pee myself.

348.7 pm-- Man is embarrassed for me and thinking what detaining room would best suit me and my "carry-ons".

348 pm-- Seriously. This thing was a foot and a half long, looked to be some kind of letter opener slash machete and had ornate carvings all over it. AND I'D NEVER SEEN IT BEFORE IN MY LIFE. Someone slipped a freaking WEAPON (letter opener/machete) into one of our carry-on bags.

349 pm- Frantic non-sensical explanations and profuse sweating ensue.

350 pm-- Security guard eyes me suspiciously AGAIN and then HANDS ME BACK THE WEAPON. Because he didn't think that it could do any "serious damage."

351 pm-- Mouth agape and shoeless I am left speechless at this turn of events. Does guard want me to hijack a plane? Is this some kind of test? Am I being punked?

352 pm-- I Bewilderingly look around for hidden cameras and/or swat team.

353pm-- Take shank and put back into carry-on.

354 pm-- My hand sanitizer was confiscated.

To be continued . . .

I'll take "Are you Insane?!" for 800 Alex

She's crazy. Oh she's still sweet, and fun, and lovable in a million different ways. But crazy. We've entered full blown tantrum mode this past week, which I know is perfectly normal for things her age. But MY WORD. I don't even think SHE knows what she wants but hooboy is she ever willing to hurt herself over it.

When we have "hurts" with the littles they're called "bonks." So if Claire trips and bumps her knee she cries over the "bonk" gets hugged and kissed and we move on. Lately, it seems she's become a little too attached to this process though because there's been a suspicious rise of bonks around the house. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all about luvs and attention whenever I can get it (except at night when I'm tired please don't touch me) but even I realize that there are rules.

Before when Claire went Hiroshima she’d fling her body back full force and bang her head into the ground. Carpet, tile, wood floor, whatever. Now I know that these things aren't the smartest at this age but damn. Time and time again she'd knowingly bash herself about in mad attempt to demonstrate just how deep the rage lied. And then despairingly cry, "BONK!" Right... But you still can't play with the toilet plunger or have the cookies for breakfast. They're mine.

Then she upped the ante. Now when facing dejection she looks me straight in the eye with her tear filled blues and accusingly yells "BONK!" before launching her cranium into the floor. All with the face of "THIS IS GOING TO HURT ME A LOT MORE THAN IT HURTS YOU!" Yes indeedy and WTF?

Now I can't judge her too harshly for this crazy ass behavior because I did much the same thing during my single years in college. In fact head banging might have even been the better solution. But alas. Why?! And how do I make it stop?!