Der Bienen

"Mom, I wewly have to go potty!!"  This was the third time my preschooler had informed me of this breaking news at a potty-free park.  The most secluded bush was clear across the very large fenced-in playground .  Carrying my toddler (who was optimistically singing, over and over "Ashes, ashes, we all fall down," her favorite part of the song) while pulling my potty-eager child on the other hand, shouting "I'M GOING POTTY!  I'M GOING POTTY!" I slipped into "nirvana mode" (i.e. focusing on nothing), trying hard to ignore any disapproving glances from other moms who guessed the planned desecration.)  Scooting behind a rhododendron, I told Cecilia, "Okay, you're going to pee on the ground like a squirrel!  Just hold on to my arm..." 

 "WHAT??? I AM NOT A SQUIRREL!  I DON'T WANT TO GO POTTY ON THE GROUND!  MOMMY! WHERE'S THE REAL POTTY?" 

The child has one volume sometimes...  but she succeeded.  We survived.  But while exiting the playground, just in the small space created when a shoe flexes as you walk, a bee flew in and stung my foot.  I squealed, jumped, popped off the shoe.  "Mommy you threw a BEE away!  Silly Mommy..."  Stupid bee.  Well, maybe stupid me... see the photo from yesterday's post?  Obviously my choice of clothing tempted the bee beyond its power of control.  Who to blame... hmm...

Hobbling now, I carried bag, baby, and kid in tow, pausing to look at a dog they liked, the stinger unfortunately going deeper with every step.  I made it to the van, belted them into car seats, handed out juice boxes to buy myself time, had a look at the damage and realized that I am now part bee... as in, with swelling, there was no way I could get all the stinger out now.  I scraped at it with my health insurance card (if anything should have worked, it was that, right?) and tweezed and grimaced and gave up and applied ice.  Well, applied the side of my iced coffee anyway.

Sometime later, after realizing that--in all the excitement--I had forgotten about a dentist appointment, and following a phone call about it with a secretary who acted rather like a female canine, I realized I felt sick.  Flu-like symptoms.  Being a busy mom, I decided to drink more water.  It was only when the nausea hit hard while driving my kids home from soccer, and feeling like I was going to pass out, that I realized I needed more than extra water.  After making it home, my husband gave me two benadryl... and I felt 100% better in 20 minutes.  Which means, if I'm doing the math right, that I have a mild allergy to bee venom.  Fantastic.  I will add this to my growing list of medical marvels.  

I'm better today, and enjoying the rain, sadistically hoping the bees are getting wet somehow... I've always disliked and feared them.  So afraid that my mom had to put masking tape over the picture of a bee in my dictionary as a kid.  When I was two, I decided to pet a bumblebee (I'm told) and was stung on the hand... so the bee terror has existed ever since I can remember.  When I ran crying inside because "there's a bee out there," I was always told, "Don't bother them, and they won't bother you."  Which has turned out to be abundantly untrue.  How have they stung me?  Let me count the ways!

• Stung in the face while walking in the woods (hornet was flying one way, I was heading the other)
• Reaching up to fix my hair, bee on barrette.  I was in a college class.  I shrieked.  The professor, the dear Dr. Marshner, said, "Madam, are you terrified of that creature?" He picked up the nearest guy's backpack, slammed it onto the bee on my desk; the class roared with laughter, while he continued teaching as though nothing had happened.  This was probably the most entertaining time, followed by this close second
• Sitting on a bee that was between couch cushions.  While with a date at a formal dance.  Oy.

I think this is the only other time... Never had a reaction before.  This was a honeybee; besides the hornet, the rest were yellow jackets.  Huh. Go figure.  

Obvious moral of the story: ladies, beware your choice of clothing this summer.  Animals and insects may not be able to control themselves.  :)  

Oooo I get to look up a Bible verse on bees: "Compared to most flying things, a bee is very small, but the honey it makes is the sweetest of foods." Sirach 11:3 Hmm.  And their sting is a big pain in the... well, one might add that, for realism... just saying. :)

Ugh

Feeling lousy. And it's all the fault of this object:

More on that later. Pills, bathroom, and bed are calling... Annoying but nothing serious. Oremus pro invicem! :S

Happy Elevensies!

As of 2:35 PM today, I've been a mother for eleven years.  Well... some months before that to be precise, but that's another story.  Today was all about Annemarie, my tall, strong, kind, maternal, hilarious tween.  Though you'd think, for the effort involved, moms should get something for the day too, you know?  When I'm not planning parties for kids later in life, I think I'm going to get a massage on each of my "labor days."  Good idea, huh? :) (Incidentally, if you want a TMI and--I'm told--hilarious description of my first birth experience, scroll back in the posts to "Christmas letter 2002" which tells all about our first June 5th. :D)

This is the picture my three year-old drew of me today, which aptly captures my current strung-out feeling from a few days of kid's parties.  

Though I am depicted with 6 or 7 fingers a hand, I'm not as up to typing right now as usual.  The pistachio (yes pistachio) coffee, followed by a maple french toast flavored coffee (!) didn't work this morning.  So I'm going to let the pictures do most of the talking tonight.  

This was the first party, last Sunday.  It involved sprinklers, hoses, and water guns, per my eldest's request.

The party then moved damply indoors for entertainment...

"No cake till you get off the table."

That was just the school friend edition.  Today I kept her home from school (gasp), got babysitting for the little ones, and had Annemarie and Mom time for hours.

And first time at Dave and Busters.  :)  (She'd won a gift card for it some weeks ago.)

Then got our little friends back to help with last minute shopping.

Nana helped make posters.

And a favorite childhood friend made the fun complete.

They updated their childhood pics too.  :)

Happy Birthday, Annemarie.  I'm so proud and grateful to be your mom.  Thanks for giving me the job. :)

"For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, 

so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago."  Ephesians 2:10

Boxed into parenting

Sometimes, as a mom, I feel trapped.

That sounds ungrateful.  But it's honest.  

As a new mom, the first thing I missed was the ability to just go somewhere without thinking about it.  Just to jog right out to the car, hop in, and drive.  Now it's always a process: "Is everyone wearing matching shoes?  Do you have your ballet bag / bagged lunch / lunch money / money for the fundraiser / fundraiser raffle tickets / tickets for wherever we are going?  Has everyone gone potty?  COULD EVERYONE PLEASE PLEASE HURRY?!?!"  And then the last minute jog back up the steps to the house to get whatever they forgot. I miss simplicity.  

I miss silence.  I miss being able to stop in the cool and quiet of a church and lose myself in prayer, without a thought of who needs me somewhere else.  

I miss sleep.  Dude, do I miss sleep.  Uninterrupted slumber and actual unconsciousness for hours strung together. 

I miss not needing babysitting.  (Perhaps that's a double negative, and I don't not care but we'll let it go... ;) 

Hubby:  "Wanna go to a movie tonight, sugah plum?" 
Me: "Sure, handsome hunk!" has become:

Hubby: "Wanna go to a movie 32 days from now?  The Hobbit will have been in the cheap theater for a week then so there shouldn't be a line... Who can we call?"
Me: "Well, you know mom and dad don't do nights, and that's dress rehearsal weekend for the girls, so it has to be a night.  Maria's on vacation, and Julie charges $15 an hour now... We already asked those friends like three times last month.  Eh, I'm liking Red Box right now.  Hey, how about I meet you for your 45 minute lunch break in the car... hopefully the little ones will be napping?"
Hubby: "Sounds like a plan!"  Except, they don't nap, and demand your sandwiches from their car seats while you try to talk over the din.  

That's probably the thing I miss the most: not being interrupted.  Being able to finish a thought.  A project.  A sentence.  Or just to get this book upstairs without bringing two preschoolers with me.  That was probably the hardest transition to being a mom: the first time I was trying to discuss something important and life-changing with my husband--like where to buy a house--and seemingly getting somewhere while realizing that the conversation was going to have to be finished at another time because we had two tiny kids clamouring for our attention.  The seeming sacrifice of sanity was what kinda blew my mind.

Like just there, between this sentence and the last, I stopped to play a "roar" game with my toddler.  This consists of her piping out her tiny tiger sound, and me acting terrified.  It's absolutely adorable.  And terribly monotonous.  Over and over again.  

That's what I find hard about parenthood.  On a personal level... well, after I danced in dismay to "If you're sexy and you know it," I realized a fellow Zumbite was actually an old friend of mine. We hugged, exchanged pleasantries, the usual: where do you work; oh I'm at home with four kids; FOUR kids! Yep four kids; How do you do it? Ha ha, I have no idea; so what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a neurosurgeon at RI Hospital."  (Gulp.) 

"Wow.  Good for you."  I'm not envious.  Not one itsy bitsy little bit... Really!  No, really.  My super-competitive nature retired when I graduated from college, right?  Sigh...

I just thought I would have done more by now.  I was at the top of most of my classes throughout school.  I was always told I had so much "potential."  I'd planned to get a doctorate.  And dear Lord!  I really would have thought I would have made some money by now.  But that doesn't often happen when you get married at 23 and become (unplanned :) a mom at 24 AND want to stay home with your kids.  A couple years of teaching here and there, and freelancing assignments don't add up to a fraction of the career I would have thought I'd had by now.

But, I also would not have thought I'd know such wonderful beings as THESE:

And for them to call me "mom."  And for me to call them "mine."  The person for whom they save the best smiles and worst behavior.  There is no job I'm more proud of.  Even though I sometimes feel like I'm boxed into it, waiting to be rescued, like my daughter on the right there. 

Incidentally, she put her own sweet self on the shelf, and is merely caterwauling because her shoe was incorrectly put on.  Here, Cecilia plays me, the occasionally discontent domestic housewife, and little Felicity will portray "Super Mom."  I know a few.  As in, "I love to clean, I adore being pregnant, I thrive on crafts, I live to cook!"

On right below, me: "It's mealtime AGAIN!?!  Are you SURE there's no leftovers around?  Cereal, anyone?"

On left below, Domestic Goddess:  "Oh I froze my pre-made dinners for this week a month ago.  I'm off to make an cake from super scratch!!"

I do have other, non-maternal dreams I hope will be met someday.  Yet, I do feel--despite the sometimes outrageous sacrifices--that I'm doing the "big stuff" now.  

You know, this box kinda rocks, when I think about it...

"Brethren, let every man, wherein he was called, therein abide with God."

1 Corinthians 7:24

On the murder of melons

Crunch.  Pfft pfft.  Crunch! Pfft pfft...pfft pfft... pfft pfft (expletive) pfft.  Sigh.  Tap tap tap tap tap.  TAP.  Scrape.  Poke.  Poke!!! Jab jab jab... stab.  Start over....

Those, my friends, are the sound effects of me using "Pop Chef," the food cut-out system advertised on a bunch of kid programming these days.  My soon-to-turn 11 year-old was just dying to have it for her birthday, because it would make her dream of affordable homemade edible arrangements soooo much easier.

And somehow it was I, myself, moi, me,who stayed up to 1 AM completing these delectable creations, with tiny fruit butterflies and hearts and flowers.  I still have fruit residue on my hands... I'm telling you, it won't fully wash off, this evidence of the produce massacre I caused... I killed that watermelon in cold juice and just mercilessly gutted it for hours.  Just have to live with that I guess.  And the sticky floor that needs cleaning, again.  No, I don't like cooking/food prep, why do you ask?  :D  In general, let alone using an ineffectual toy I idiotically bought... for hours.  While exhausted.  I see it all in my dreams now...

Yep, I ended up doing it myself, without the kids... and on a side note this is why--though I love animals, though they beg me, though I'm just certain I am somehow ruining their characters by thus depriving them--I ain't gettin' no pet till the youngest is... I dunno, would you say 20 sounds good?  Okay, fine: I will totally buy a hairless creature that doesn't poop or use water once I find it, I promise.  Anyone with me here? :)

But yeah, in general I'm a nice mom, particularly around birthdays, and dubious as I was (and apparently should have been) I got the %$&*#*! gadget.  My husband went to the grocery store with her and purchased a watermelon, honey dew, cateloupe, pineapple, two mangoes, and six kiwi.  He then with supportive thoughts sat down to watch European football, leaving me holding the peeler with two hyper tweens bouncing around the kitchen.

I carefully dispatched each piece, peeling so as only to take a small amount of my own skin, handing the eager girls precut and prepared pieces for them to punch.  (ooo alliteration alert, hee hee)

And they had sooo much fun for the first 9 minutes... I mean, just a blast!  But then it became apparent that "Pop Chef" was imperfect.  It had flaws.  The stupid balloon piece meant to "blast" your cut fruit through the cutter was, to be kind, pathetic.  (Pfft pfft.)  If you had a thinner piece at the peak of ripeness yeah, it "popped/dropped" out.  But try anything thicker and you had to take extreme and violent measures to extricate your perfect flower mango from that blasted thing.... which in the end leaves you with a mangled mango.  (Btw, I've never worked with mango in my life before... it has like stringy smooshy outside with a tough fibrous core.  Is there a secret to this?  UGH!)

As I worked on past midnight, doggedly determined to have something to show (Arranged!  In a friggin vase!!) for the purchases, time, and mess of it all, I thought, and discarded, the idea that my children were ungrateful.  They're just kids, I reasoned.  They had thanked me profusely, but were disappointed and tired and had to go to bed anyway...  Time will teach them what to value.  I comforted myself that, really, this all was a valuable lesson in the untrustworthiness of advertising.  I thought, and accepted, the idea that making the best of a unpleasant situation was a worthwhile endeavor.

I finished the arrangement.  I had only skewed myself three times.  Exhausted, I stuck it in the fridge.

The next morning, in great glee, my daughter grabbed it in haste and.... spilled perfection all over the floor.

She teared up.  Oh no... I don't think so!!!  No worries honey.  Momma's got this. With grim determination (me vs fruit now, all out war) I picked up the scattered skewers, washed the pieces, and stuck em' right back on.  Okay, a little more soggy and rumpled then before, but otherwise, good as new, right?  Yeah, sure!  Ignoring my pains of arrangement the night before, I thrust the drippy sticks into the vase, into my daughter's hands, and directed her out the door to share with her friends, who merrily devoured them.
In 9 minutes.

I think someday my girls will look back fondly and remember mom's labor of love here.  Hmmm.... Till then, save your money, and eat fruit whole, with peels on!  More fiber that way.

And thank you, Lord, for still working patiently with me, with all my flaws, till we create something beautiful together. :)  I think I can only check off some "love" and "forbearance" for today.  Working to getting more into tomorrow... ;)

"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, 

kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."  Galatians 5:22-23

To Dance With No Music

This is my mother. 

This is her with my kids. :)

They are at a park, and simply decided to dance. So my mom hums something, and they do.

Growing up, I did not know Shakespeare said that "all the world's a stage." In my family, I simply knew it to be true.  At any moment, my mom could break into a jig or a song and require me to join. Wherever we were.  Whoever was watching. And I always did, shy as I was, because I knew it made her proud.

I'm not saying it was not sometimes more than a little embarrassing. My humble piano, recorder, and even guitar skills (of which I knew five chords) were trotted out at every nursing home.  Company over for dinner was always treated to some sort of performance by the Mitchell kids. "So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen" etc... remember that song? Yeah, did that every time we kids went off to bed and left my mom and the other adults to chat. Oh no, I'm quite serious.  Thankfully, there are no pictures...

My mom's confidence spurred me on through auditions, acting in plays, performing in choirs. Whenever I sang--and even now, as recently as this Mother's Day in church--my mom signs an "L" to me. Nope, not for "loser"... It meant "loud" as in "sing louder!" :). And for her, I will sing a forte.  She gave me the ability to face life with song, with confidence, optimism, and joy.

My mother and I are different. I'm a bookworm... My mom claims she does not like to read, though she frequently researches things on Google.  I'm not sure she knows about blogging yet, and she still does not trust Facebook. :) Yet, my love of reading is from her. I can still hear the cadence of her voice as she read me endless Madeline's growing up, sitting on her lap on the old tweed couch. She wanted me to love something because she knew was good, even though she didn't love it herself. 

My mother and I are the same. We eat to live. Mind you, she can cook well--no one could beat her chicken cutlets or lasagna, and her chocolate chip cookies have won competitions.  But the usual fare of my youth?  A can of green beans, instant potatoes and extremely well-done hamburg was a perfectly acceptable dinner... Come to think of it, how about just grab an apple and forego the whole cooking stuff altogether?  I married into a family that was horrified at my culinary techniques.  One I'm still teased about: Drop block of frozen ground beef on a frying pan.  Scrap off meat as it cooks and thaws.  Yes, this results in some burnt bits with medium rare hamburger.  I was trained in more acceptable defrosting techniques.  My dirty secret?  I prefer my mom's original way to this day, burnt bits as a spice that remind me of the home I grew up in.  

My mother taught me what was most important: to thank God for everything, in everything, through everything.  When I sulked during adolescent, my consequence was to write what I could be grateful for in a "Blessing Book."  I kept it from the age of 13 till I started this blog.  :)  My mom taught me to cherish children: to treat them as the individuals they are, who can't help being young.  She taught me to love one's family, to have compassion, to not cry over spilled milk; when I broke something, she would help me sweep up the fragments while telling me not to worry about it. I learned that women did not have to be squeamish.  When I got sick, she would hold my hair back till things were over, telling me I was going to feel so much better soon.  She imparted a love of animals: to my father's dismay, we would regularly seek out and rescue birds for mom, usually pigeons. I remember being up late one night with her, bathing a fat bird that had gotten tar all over, gently scrubbing its feathers with old toothbrushes.  We would release them later, holding hands in pride and some wistfulness as they took to the sky.  

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. Having retired from teaching some years back from the school she taught at with my father--from whom she is inseparable--she now spends most of her days indoors: at church, then to the nursing home for her mother-in-law, followed by visiting her homebound dad.  But knowing how she loves to be outside, my sister and I prepared a picnic. Someday, we hope to finally get her to Ireland, her lifelong dream, but for now, a day by the water with grandkids will do.

Now that I'm a mother myself, I appreciate my own so much more. I understand why she was the last to sit and the first to rise form dinner. I admire how she hosted so many parties, so readily, at the drop of a hat.  I laugh thinking about how she made dad take us camping. I honor her childlike spirit, the one that believes the good in everyone and encourages it to bloom.  I love that she taught me to make my own music and dance despite the world, and that I will pass this on to my children.

"Awake, my soul!  Awake, lyre and harp!  I will awake the dawn." Psalm 57:8

Going for it

"Cecilia, do you want a meatball sub or oven-roasted chicken sandwich?"  My mom swung the Subway bags playfully before my three year-old's vision.  She was watching my girls during doctor appointment #27.

"Nana... my mommy feeds me healfhy things.  I do not eat oven-woasted chicken." 

Amused, my mother asked what nutritious delicacy my discerning preschooler was accustomed to?

"Ceweal."

So yeah, as it turns out, I'm still not perfect/myself and, thus, I suppose, could still use some help.  Lucky for my brood's nutritional near-future, the meal train chugs on...  And came today in the form of meatloaf and scalloped potatoes. I had just Windexed the finger prints off the front door when it arrived.  My good impression attempt was short-lived however... In the span of 30 seconds--during the time where I profusely thank the person while I receive re-heating instructions I will likely not remember--my kids had smashed a small bird egg with their fingers while trying to show it to me, the preschooler had thrown a tantrum because her panties were literally in a twist, and the toddler had torn into the meatloaf with her bare hands...

So, I'm trying to say "yes" when is offered. But I feel guilty...  I was very much raised with the New England mentality of pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps... is that how they say it?  Anyway, I mean that self-sufficiency was considered among the highest of virtues during the years of my ever further-off youth.  So doing stuff like accepting meals from a "meal train" was verboten.  I'm pretty sure my parents never sat down and told me that in words, it's just a sense from being raised as I was.  It's in the water.  It's in my blood.

But these days, I'm trying to do what makes sense... I mean, especially since you all are much better cooks than me. :)  So saying "yes" makes all kinds of sense.  Since my loss, I've had fits of productivity in cleaning and cooking followed by me staring into space, forgetful and absent-minded.  Especially these days as I go through medical testing and varied results-- Was it a medical issue with me?  A chromosomal issue with her?  The most recent finding was, "Yeah, looking more closely at the micro-array result, we found that her gains on chromosome 6 were neither benign nor disease-causing.  Rather, the result shows an 'unknown significance.'"  

Oh thanks!  Oh goody.  

So!  While I wait for results and live life, per the advice of a dear friend, I have joined a Blogathon... yeah like yourselves, I barely know what this means yet, other than I got to cut and paste a cool "badge" on my blog. I registered under the "Spiritual" category because humorous grieving Catholic mom who likes the Bible just wasn't an option. :)

I am hoping being part of this Blogathon will mean the following:

• That I get better at this whole bloggishness--particularly the techy side--and possibly learn to make posts that are shorter than novel chapters. 
• Also I may win a pwize!!!  Yayyyy! Not 100% sure what those are yet, but yay! :)
• And... this supposedly means I will be posting daily for the month of June.  Feel free to remind me if you don't see a post by 11:59 pm.  I think this means I will be writing on a wider variety of topics, like I'd originally planned.  Hoping to make that happen... :)
• Oh yes... if you are new to this blog and actually made it through this post: welcome. :) Thank you for sharing this journey.  Read back for the backstory.  Read ahead for my next ones. :)  Like you, I wonder what good things He has in store.  

"So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God."

1 Corinthians 10:31