Gloomy

Today, we have no money. None. Literally nothing.

 Thankfully, I got a cleaning job yesterday, but they paid me with a check. I have to wait until the money clears. So today, we have nothing. I have nothing for dinner, and we are on our last roll of toilet paper.

I can't wait for this day to be done. I just want to go to bed. My head is pounding, and I can't stop cracking my jaw.

Not feeling the love from the universe today. Oh..and it's the last day of school, a Monday, and it's raining.

Fantastic.

Tomorrows promise.

My Olivia turned 9 last week. I am really still in a little bit of disbelief about it. I still have a diaper bag tucked in a closet around here, that has remnants of her babyhood in it, along with beach sand, an old swim diaper, and a very expired lip balm. I swear. I just found it the other day. There was a pacifier in the inside pocket of the bag. I laughed when I saw it. I tried so hard to get her to take one, and she never did. Ever. Every time we drove out of state with her to see family, her screaming, torturous shrieks literally had me crying right along with her. I jammed that pacifier in her little rosebud mouth, only to make her more angry. I never learned. She was the boss. Some days, I still feel like she is.

My mom and dad came for her birthday. They have always been there, for every mile stone for all of my girls, but a little bit more for Olivia. They were there the second she entered this world. I remember my mom telling me, "This baby will never go without. Anything she ever needs, she will have". And really, they have been amazing like that. For all of my girls. Just really present in their lives. And in mine.

We sat and watched the girls play in the neighbors driveway, where their best friend lives. They were running in the sprinkler, and eating ice pops, stopping now and then to write in chalk. They laughed and sang at the top of their lungs. It was sweet to watch them, but even more so to listen to. They were free, and just being kids. Enjoying the first real sweet summer days, of many to come.

My Dad looked sad. He is going to be 72. He shook his head and said that he doesn't envy us, and worries even more for those girls. He said he is glad to be where he is. Done. Kids raised. College tuition's, including his own, paid for. We all agreed that we, David and I, are part of a generation that might not do as well as they did. And the girls generation...it seems not promised. It doesn't seem like the world will be their oyster. It seems, things have really shifted. I am afraid they will continue to go like that, for a long time to come.

9 years ago, when I had Olivia, I was a newlywed, and a new Mom, and a new homeowner. I felt that the world was our oyster. That life seemed to just be continuing on an upward climb. Things were only going to get better, and what we did today, would promise an even better day for my new baby. I believed that my own life's possibilities always seemed endless. Obstacle free. I never doubted this to be untrue for my own children.

I watched my girls run through the sprinkler the other day, and never felt more unsure of that possibility.

 I could barely hold back my tears.

Scenes from a very long weekend...

9 happened fast.

So unbelievably fast.

Requested birthday gift. That and feather earrings.

(not a fan of the earrings)

She was just blowing out an Elmo cake.

Memorial Day weekend always reminds me of being a new Mom.

So much between now and then.

Sweet summer is here.

And I have begun to paint.

=)

They call it a vacation?

Thanks to a wonderfully merciful winter, that was warmer than normal, and kept our snow shovel firmly hung on the wall, in it's place, and a giant bag of salt next to my front door, unopened, we are now poised for the end of the school year. It is coming. Sooner than most realized. And earlier than ever. I talk to wide eyed mothers daily who are half in denial about it, and half filled with dread. I am the latter.

I love my girls. I really do. I am amazed that they are even part of the universe. That I had something to do with their very presence is mind blowing some days. It truly is. I am amazed that they walk, and talk, and get sarcasm. Charlotte tells jokes. Actual jokes that she made up, and 3 out of 10 times, are actually funny. Olivia has a singing voice that blows me away. I hear her, when she doesn't think I am listening, and I can usually be found with tears in my eyes. To me, her voice is like an angels. Lovely.

Molly, the baby, is pretty groovy too. She is little, and cute, and still thinks that I am so cool when I slice strawberries, and put them on her peanut butter sandwich. She will get it soon enough, and slowly begin to think that I don't know what I am talking about, just like the rest of them, but while she thinks that I have something to do with the sky getting dark at night, I will eat up her adoration.

But, and it's a BIG but...3 months. 3 months of being together. CONSTANTLY. I am literally at a loss when I think about the enormous stretch of time before us. Together. Day and night. For 3 long months. It makes my heart beat speed up a little bit.

I try to convince myself that I am that Mom. The Mom who doesn't mind them coming in and out of the front door fifty times in ten minutes. That the mud prints are cute, and a beautiful ingredient of childhood. Hand written notes of love written in steam on the bathroom mirror are adorable. They really are, and I should...SHOULD....just sit back and love it all, and soak it in, because I already know all of this is fleeting.

But three months of it. It's a lot. I am more of a creature of habit than I ever thought I would be. Interruption of my daily grind is a bit....what's the word I am looking for...annoying? My girls fight. All day. Weekends are spent breaking them up, sending them to their opposite corners, and sometimes, well lots of times actually, plenty of yelling on my end.

I just went on a website that was titled "60 things to keep your kids busy all summer". The first project was making cork stamps. You can dip the corks in paint, and make all kinds of fruit and vegetable pictures. One big cork print was red, and a top was drawn on it to look like a beet.

3 months.

 I am going to need a lot of corks.

Bleh..

Sickness has been creeping though the house. The stomach virus is the pits. I had it alongside of Molly last week, and felt so helpless not being able to take care of her. I heard her crying in fear, and it killed me. Slowly, it is making the rounds in the house. Nasty thing.

Yesterday, we just sat on the deck. All day. I literally had coffee, lunch, and finally came in from the fire at 10:00. It was beautiful. The weather was beyond dreamy.

Yet, I have that awful, panging stress hanging over me. When I want to be relaxing, I am tallying numbers in my head. There is so much more that needs to go out this month than is coming in, and I am scared. Really scared. I just don't know how we are going to do it. I really don't. I am used to it being like this. And normally, it is what it is. But this month has been just plain awful. I am home here, with limited gas, and even more limited food, and I am worrying about everything. My nails are bitten down to nothing. I am working on the cuticles currently.

Olivia is home from school today. Stomach pain, and fever. And there is rain. Gone is that really vibrant blue sky.

Pecking order

When David and I were engaged, and living on nothing but love, we got a dog. Of course we got a dog! That is what you do before you get the baby. The "test" child.

We picked her out of a big litter of little squirmy, Jack Russel puppies. She had a brown circle right on her backside, which stood out on her white fur. I remember asking the woman whose dog had the litter, if they shed. She looked away, and said "no". HA! Small white needles of hair have become my daily cleaning chore here. Liar!

We took Sophie home, and she ate her way through her puppy hood. Lost were pillows, and beloved shoes, that I spent too much money on in my frivolous single days. We took her everywhere with us. We even gave her a Christmas stocking. In the winter, she had a red jacket we put her in...after all...she was our baby. (She ran like the wind each time we broke that jacket out)

After we got married, (and seriously considered Sophie being involved in the wedding) we still babied her. When I went to the hospital in labor with Olivia, I even took a photo of her along with me, to concentrate on through the excruciating pain. (Didn't work!) I even called my newborn baby Sophie a few times on accident. She was my first little commitment to caring for something.

But then suddenly, the baby came home, and Sophie, who had been our baby, became the dog. She had never been the dog. Suddenly, she was banished from rooms. Walks became less frequent. She got yelled at when the baby slept, and she decided to go nuts when the UPS truck barreled down the street. Treats, and runs at the park weren't a daily event anymore. Now when we went for a walk, it was with our new shiny baby, in her stroller. Sophie left at home.

That is how it has gone for the last decade or so. And now, Sophie, with her whiter snout, and rounder belly, and inability to jump like she used to, is really turning a corner. This week, she was very sick. So sick, that David and I didn't think she would make it through the day. Even worse, was that a trip to the vet was just something we couldn't afford this week. It made me so sad. I sat and pet her, and felt just awful. Awful. I made a wish she would hang on.

So far, so good. She has returned back to her old, crabby self. Snarling at the girls if they come too close, and barking at every deer and chipmunk, like she has never seen one before. Her appetite is back, and she is back to her post, standing underfoot, while I prepare meals.

 I feel relief that she is OK, but frustrated that if it comes down to groceries to feed the girls, or a canine blood test, the choice is not good for Sophie.

 I hate that more than I can say.

Confession

I have so much to write about, that I am actually shaking here, at my keyboard. Mostly a combination of too much coffee, which causes me mental confusion, and a complete inability to organise a thought.

I have become a little obsessed with politics lately, and find myself becoming angry, so many times a day. I post non-stop about this on Facebook, and really, am quite sure I have lost friends because of it. I would de-friend me too, actually. I just can't understand all of this bull shit with people sticking their noses in others business. From the bedroom, to fertility, to breast feeding. Everyone has an opinion on how everyone else should live their lives, and I think everyone should just mind their own business.

Here is a confession. One that I have hid, because I knew what people would think. Molly just turned 3 last week. Do you know I breast fed her up until only about two months ago? Horrifying right? I didn't think it was. We only nursed at night. At bed time. It was quiet. And beyond peaceful. I could see how happy, and secure Molly felt, as she drifted off. Believe me, I really did want it to end. And it has. She is done. But it worked for us. It worked for all of my girls. And I hid it. I almost feel ashamed to admit, that it made me feel ashamed. Like if people knew, they would think I was strange.

BK...before kids...I thought it was strange too. Like a hippie thing to do. But I made the decision when those girls were born to nurse, and I really only thought I would do it for a few months. But I didn't. I nursed them, after being horrified by the price of formula, out of both convenience,being cheap, and that it worked for us. It really did. I nursed Olivia until she was 14 months. I nursed Charlotte until she was 2 1/2. Molly was the longest.

I felt embarrassed with all of them, because I heard all the comments other moms made. And I knew what society "felt" about it. So I told no one. Just David and I. But I feel terrible for feeling ashamed. I feel really sad that it has to come to that. With everything. Whether you nurse, or not. Who you love. All of it.

I am not going to be ashamed about it. I feel proud. I saw that Time magazine cover, and I got it. Shock value. But it also made breast feeding seem sexual. And that has really bothered me, because anyone who has nursed a child knows there is NOTHING sexy about it.

Some expert said that nursing an older child was mental molestation. I have a real problem with that. What I experienced was nothing short of love, and warmth, and safety, and has made my girls healthy, and strong.

There was nothing terrible about it. Not a second of it.

I try hard, every day, to impress upon my daughters not to give a hoot about what other people think, and do what makes them happy. I made a terrible mistake not following that.