August 6, 2011 ~ Day 239 Missing That Spark

Our babysitter is back - the REAL babysitter. The 20 year old local college student that my children adore.

Adore - as in, my six year old son has a massive crush on her to the point where the decibel level of his volume increases 20-fold when she walks into a room.

"SONYA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" he will scream, and then run around in circles like a puppy trying to chase his own tail. He crashes wildly into furniture. He makes unintelligible noises that resemble barking seals and squeaking dolphins.

My husband had to go out of town for work this weekend and I knew that by Saturday afternoon I would be needing a break, so I organized a small window of time where Sonya could come to take care of my kids while I ran errands and took a breather.

Thank goodness I'd asked for her help - there were a lot of kid complaints and bad dreams last night; the kids and I ended up with about five hours of sleep all strung together.

What relief I felt this afternoon when our doorbell rang at last!

Sonya amazes me - she exudes nonstop energy. She is so smart and capable, but also really athletic and enthusiastic. (I'm getting a sense of what my son's "type" may turn out to be someday.)

This girl puts me and my 35 year old 'low-adrenal Mom energy' to shame.

It's a little discouraging, actually, because yesterday my son confided in me that he misses his Dad *all* of the time, not just when he is out of town.

"I like you too, Mom," he assured me in a consoling kind of voice, "You're nice… but Dad helps me to get my energy out - and I need that so I won't hit my brother all the time."

* * * * * * *

The thing is, my son is right. We are lucky to have three small, vibrant children who DO need a constant outlet - and I don't really provide that for my kids. I'm not that energetic. They DO need a high spirited cheerleader… I just don't typically have that kind of electricity to spare.

I'm not sure if I ever was THAT zesty - but definitely after experiencing the past several years of health stuff, I've been proud of myself for managing to get up at 6:30 every morning with a positive attitude and a spring in my step. It takes a lot of perseverance to live as normally as I can, especially when 'living normally' actually means taking care of three little livewires who are all juiced up and ready to explode several times a day.

Not that I'm lounging around sleeping all of the time, far from it. We're all GO-GO-GO for 18 hour stretches with very few breaks. But when it comes to that extra little boost… playing soccer in the park, playing tag, running in circles, all of the fun stuff - I just don't have it in me right now...

...not if I need to come back into the house twenty minutes later to make cook dinner, clean a kitchen, give a bath, read bedtime stories, put three children to bed and still do content writing for hours.

* * * * * * *

Does this sound defensive? I'm pretty sure it does. Oh dear...

I sound like I'm trying to justify why I'm not as spunky and fast as our fantastic babysitter.

The truth is, I just feel a little old when I see her playing so happily with my kids, chasing them around the back yard while I smile from the window.

She is 20. I am almost 36. It shows.

(I would like to know how I got to be nearly 36. Wasn't it just yesterday that I was 17 years old and going off to college? How is it possible that nearly two decades could have passed since then?!!)

Life races by so much faster than you expect it to when you're a teenager. It amazes me that I am now 'middle aged', even though I don't have a problem with that. I love being alive, every single day. I look forward to being a happy old lady with silvery hair and lots of grandchildren. (Not too soon though, guys. I can be a grandmother in 25 years or so, okay?)

I was a late bloomer though and sometimes I wonder why it took me so long to find the right partner with whom to start this beautiful family life.

(At least we got here! Better late than never.)

I have this uncomfortable suspicion though, that the bloom has faded from my rose. Grocery clerks call me "Ma'am" a lot these days. Nobody cards me when I buy my husband beer or wine. White strands are weaving their way subtly into my hair, and my breasts seem to have disappeared on a journey from whence my gynecologist compassionately informed me they will never return.

"It just happens sometimes, after women have multiple children," she said. "Some women get much bustier. For others, they just go away."

If I'd have known they were going for good, I might have thrown them a party to say goodbye.

My husband, bless his dear heart, pretends not to notice the many changes time and illness have wrought in me. "You make me look like I've robbed the cradle," he smiles - even though he is less than 16 months my senior. In truth, I believe that he looks even better and younger now than he did six years ago when we started having children… I'm a mighty lucky girl.

He also has that rare gift of vibrant energy at the age of 36, the kind which my son loves and responds to so well. He plays hide-and-seek and tag with our kids like he's just one of the gang. It's adorable.

In return, I've bred him a team of future cyclists, swimmers, hikers and campers - everything he could ever wish for in life partners. I've promised to drive the slag wagon for their big family bike trips.

My heart is in the right place. Even though I can't keep up with their pace, I've encouraged him to take them into the mountains or on the bike trails anytime ~ while I hit the mountain retreat spa!

* * * * * * *

I wonder if I will ever get back there - back to the kind of bounce and sparkle that surely I once had. I actually *did* these things before living through three pregnancies:

I played sports, bicycled, worked out, hiked, ran. I lifted weights. I was extremely busy and in great shape.

Will I ever get there again? Will I transcend the spinal injuries and bacteria and autoimmune exhaustion and get back to having the zest of a teen?

I still harbor hope that someday I'll be the mother of their earnest, energetic dreams!

Until then, thank heaven for the babysitter.














*Name changed to protect the privacy of the party in question

August 4, 2011 ~ Day 237 Just Plain Happy

I'm happy.

It isn't often that I start a post with those words - even though happiness has been a large part of our family life this year.

Typically at the end of the day when I finally have time to blog there's been some incident with our kids ~ some issue that we're working through ~ that has captured my attention.

I frequently chronicle the episodes of our own real-life family situation comedy; landing us somewhere between Family Ties and The Simpsons I guess.

Lately we've had some dramatic moments. It's been easy to get caught up in recording the things that aren't going well, or describing some of our hard-won victories.

Happiness is such an ephemeral feeling, hard to put into words. For me, it means a peaceful kind of contentment. Sort of like watching the sun go down over the ocean on a warm September afternoon, sitting next to your best friend, not talking. Just enjoying the moment. That's happy.

Right now I'm relaxing on our well worn green couch, the one we bought second-hand in perfect condition from an old friend/coworker of mine five years ago for the bargain price of $300.00. We got our money out of this thing years and years ago... and since then, it's just been a cosy, comfortable joy.

My husband is seated not far away at the dining room table, working hard on his laptop. It's 9:24pm but that sweet guy is still working - trying to wrap up some code that's been vexing his brain today. I love looking at his profile, such a handsome strong face. He focuses with razor sharp clarity upon the screen, sometimes smiling (when he solves a problem) and other times running his hands through his hair as he grapples with a new dilemma.

His dedication and passion for these esoteric languages inspires me, even though I cannot relate to them at all. It's a beautiful thing to watch someone you love fully engaged in a challenge that fulfills them at a deep level. My husband soaks up the complexities inherent in his work with intensity and vigor. It's super attractive.

Our three children are currently "falling asleep" (ha ha ha) in three different rooms nearby. They always end up in the same room that they share, but for the purpose of falling asleep they need to be separated. So, they've gone to bed.

What does this actually mean?

From each room we are listening to a different set of sounds. Our younger son is 'reading' Green Eggs and Ham in the doorway of one bedroom. "You may like them, you will see," he recites from memory. "You may like them in a tree!" He uses a slow, syncopated voice as though he is actually decoding the words, which of course are coming from his memory and imagination. Every so often, he giggles.

One bedroom over, his elder brother is trying to puzzle out real words. "What does J-o-h-n spell?" he calls out. "Ja - aw - huh - n"... Silence for a moment. Then, "Mom, what time is it?"

"It's 2:30 in the morning, honey."

"WHAT?" the six year old comes running out of his room. "It's 2:30?"

"Yeah, you're going to be SO tired in the morning when we wake you up in 3 hours," I smile.

"WHAT?"

He checks the clock in the main room and starts to laugh. "MOM! You tricked me!!! It's only 9:38pm!"

"Yeah, but that's really late honey," we both respond. "You need to get some sleep or you really WILL be that tired in the morning."

"Daddy!" calls out his little brother, joining the conversation.
"Daddy! You have to go to bed at Butt-Butt time."

(Have I mentioned that recently *everything* with our little guy talks about winds up linked to rear ends?)

My husband and I are trying not to laugh out loud, but it's hard. We're in a great mood, and his four year old comment strikes us both as pretty darn funny. We exchange a long glance, as our mouths open in silent laughter and we tacitly agree that our children crack us up.

The baby girl has at last succumbed to sleep, but not without jumping on her bed, tucking in her dolls, ripping up a book, telling herself a story, and crying briefly when we at last turned off her light and shut the door. She's now curled up with a bear in her big brother's bed, tousled curls flung across her pillow. She manages to be so fierce and innocent at the same time. Just peeking in on her as she sleeps makes me smile.

These are the moments - the moments that are least emotionally charged but most Real. These are the moments of our life. Traumas and tantrums alone do not make a family; major upheavals and challenges are not what keep us together.

No... what MAKE us, what unite us in a sort of magical and forever sort of way are the balmy summertime evenings when everything is just plain okay in our world. Good, even. We're contented. Our evening feels steady, comfortable, cheerful and warm.

These are the quiet, unobtrusive moments that bind us together - an invisible glue hard to quantify in words.

Tonight the five of us ~ a family ~ are connected by an invisible web which threads from room to room, from heart to heart.

This is love. This is happiness.

August 3, 2011 ~ Day 236 We're All In Time Out

Our house is quiet right now. For the first time in days.

Okay, maybe that is a slight exaggeration. Generally speaking if I can get all three of my kids to sleep at the same time, we have a quiet house. So if you came by at, say, 4am on any given night (last night included) you would probably think we were a very peaceful family.

During daylight/waking hours though this place is a den of chaos. At any given moment you might have one child banging on the piano while another one screams over not being given a second sippy cup of milk... while the third one marches up and down the hallway shouting "BA RUM PUM PUM! BA RUM BUTT BUTT!!!" at the top of his lungs.

Generally speaking, we've got a happy kind of noise going on over here. If you don't mind LOUD (and messy!) it's a pretty happy place to be.

Sometimes though I just lose my mind amid the sheer volume. My children seem to have only two settings:

- OFF (asleep)
- ON (screaming shrilly)

As I tried to explain to my six year old son today, there is only so much noise I can tolerate gracefully before I start shutting down.

This is a clear byproduct of having grown up essentially as an only child. My four siblings were all grown and out of the house by the time I turned eight years old - meaning that I spent close to a decade on my own with two quiet, musical, gentle people (my parents) who never raised their voices and never made noise that wasn't beautiful.

Even as an adult, on my own, I shared apartments with relatively quiet friends - low key boyfriends - and then from 1999 to 2004 I lived all alone. Five blissful years with pure, absolute silence at my fingertips whenever and wherever I wanted it. A few of those years were spent mainly with my husband but still, I *could* have had total silence at any time I chose.

Today my son asked me what time I went to bed last night.

"About 1am."

"Mom!!!! 1am!!!! That is too late!!! How will you be healthy if you don't get enough sleep?"

"I know, son. I know."

"Why do you stay up so late Mom?"

"It's the quiet, honey. I just really like sitting in a quiet house."

"What do you do when it is quiet Mom?"

"I think. I read. I write. I dream. My brain relaxes."

"Oh. That sounds good."

* * * * * * *

Summer vacation from school has been passing by, some days better than others, and mainly we've done okay because our younger son has enjoyed daily preschool and a set routine that the rest of us could work around. With a few camps and some swimming lessons thrown in for good measure, we've had a sense of predictability and normalcy which got us all the way through the months of June and July.

Thanks to his injury last Monday though, my son's school days AND our swimming lessons wrapped up very suddenly. For two weeks now we've had four or five of us at home together every moment... which is A LOT of togetherness.

During the acute period of his accident, for at least 72 hours after it happened, none of us wanted to be apart. My husband stayed home from work to help and all of the kids just wanted to be together. We really pulled close as we rose to the challenge of healing our little guy - such a valued, valuable member of our family.

After a week passed without incident though - no fever, no more swelling, everything safely hidden away in a cast so we can't actually see the gruesomeness ourselves - we slowly returned to our normal patterns. My eldest son started to pound on his little brother again... just a little, here and there. His sister started pulling his hair again. We started to give him time-outs again for breaking family rules, just like the other kids.

With every passing day the noise level in our home has risen, until today when it really hit a crescendo. My morning was a cacophony of

"MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!! HE HIT ME!!!" and

"MOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, HE'S SITTING ON THE BABY AGAIN!" and

"MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, I NEED YOU TO WIPE MY BUTT!!!!!!!!"

Oh, and a lot of other things related to their little rear ends. Right now it seems like their favorite release from time cooped up at home is engaging in bathroom banter:

"Brother, I see your BUTT!!!!"

"Ewwwww.... you said BUTT!!!! BUTT BUTT PEE PEE!!! Heeehehehehehheheee!"

"Mooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, brother said Pee Pee!!!"

"Don't tell her that YOU! I'll POOP on YOU!"

Etcetera.

They've even managed to get their two year old sister to sing the song she made up about "butts", which she sings in her tiny little muddy toddler voice.

Sigh. So much for Disney princesses! Our house is a magical land of bodily functions, apparently.

* * * * * * *

After about six hours of this today while I worked side by side with our housecleaner to scour this tiny, ridiculously messy home, I finally got to a tipping point. There are only so many times you can say, "Please don't use potty talk in our home, I really don't like it and I would really appreciate it if you would stop" before courtesy goes out the window.

Around 2pm my response changed from polite and firm to reactive.

"That's enough!" I announced, using my MOM voice. "The next person to talk about their bottom is going to lose dessert."

(Yes, I know, the consequence totally does not match the crime at all. Anyone got any good ideas about an appropriate consequence/natural consequence for mouthing off about bodily parts and functions? When I was a kid my dad used to wash my mouth out with soap for saying stuff like that... which I'm NOT going to do... so dessert is usually the first thing to go.)

"OOOOO KAY!!!!!" my younger son snapped at me.

"Awwww, MOOOOMMMMMMM!" whined his older brother.

"Butt Butt Butt," whispered the little brother under his breath and then giggled.

"MOM! HE JUST SAID 'BUTT'!!! HE LOSES HIS DESSERT!!!"

"Did you say that?" I stared at the little guy in frustration, who grinned back devilishly.

"I just said it quietly."

"Well, I guess that means no dessert then."

"What????????????!!!!!!!! WHAT?????!!!!!!!!?!" He burst into a storm of tears, as though he'd had NO idea that dessert was on the line.

Ignoring the crying, I reiterated my position.

"We don't speak like that in our home or anywhere else. It isn't polite to talk about bottoms, and people don't like to hear about your rear ends and what comes out of them."

"BUT I DO!!!!!!!" wept the little one. "I LOVE TALKING ABOUT BUTTS!!!!!!!!"

"He thinks its funny, Mom," added his brother.

"BUTT BUTT BUTT!" chimed in the little girl.

* * * * * * *

At this point my daughter decided to ratchet up the action by (a) hitting her brother across the face, and (b) stealing the marker he was drawing with.

Still weeping over the loss of his dessert, he chose to retaliate with force and punched her back in the arm.

She promptly burst into loud, angry screams and ran to me for consolation. I consoled her and took the marker away, as my daughter has lately shown herself to be a terrific graffiti artist - especially talented with permanent pen and paint.

When I tok her marker away, she then hit me too, hard, right on the chest.

"Ouch!" I shook my head sadly. "That hurt! Mommy is so sad that you hurt her."

My daughter laughed uproariously.

* * * * * * * *

So there we were:

A little sister hitting and stealing markers,
A little brother hitting, shouting gross four year old body jokes for HOURS, and throwing a loud and anguished tantrum,
A 35 year old mommy VERY frustrated that her children are hitting, stealing, ignoring her polite (and later, firm) requests and throwing dual tantrums,

and one six year old boy who thought the whole thing was pretty funny. But he'd still rather have been playing Angry Birds.

...and I just gave up.

At that moment, my brain was so frazzled with noise I just didn't have any good thing left to give.

"Okay," I sighed. "Guess what? We're ALL in time out."

"WHAT?" shouted the six year old boy. "WHAT DID I DO?"

"Nothing honey. You're not in trouble. We just all need a break from each other. We need to take a break. We need five minutes alone in different rooms so that we can all take a deep breath. Mommy needs a time-out too. I need to remember how to be a good and patient Mom."

"Do I have to take a nap?" he asked with a quivering lip.

"No, of course not. We're just going to take a time out. A little break."

He sighed. (The other two were still fussing.) "Okay, Mom. Okay."

* * * * * * *

Here we are then, and it's been more than five minutes. As it turned out, as soon as my daughter and younger son got into their separate rooms, they both screamed for like two minutes and then promptly fell sound asleep.

My elder son is in the bedroom my husband and I share, working on writing a letter to his best friend who moved to Australia last year. He pops his head out every few minutes to ask me how to spell a word.

I'm here sitting on the couch, since there was no bedroom for me to retreat into for my own time out. There's a computer on my lap and I've spent the last thirty minutes decompressing by venting my day onto its screen.

Slowly my headache is clearing up and I do feel as though I've reclaimed a significant portion of my inner balance. I'm ready to try again, to summon up the "good mom" inside of me and give her free reign over these feisty little ones. Maybe we'll try the park, when they wake up.

My take-home from today's chaos is that I probably should have insisted on a nap earlier in the day even when the kids said they were not tired. As my mother-in-law wisely says, tired kids get into trouble. Nap time is a better option (and typically better-received) than "Time Out!" any day.

In a pinch though, it's obviously better to take some space from each other than to continue a heated discussion with a four year old and a two year old over foul language and hitting.

I'm laughing out loud just re-reading that last sentence. How do we manage these things? How did I manage to get into a 'heated' discussion with small children over anything? At this point it seems truly funny.

Time out gets a bad rap... but for me, today, it was a lifesaver.

August 1, 2011 ~ Day 234 Bye-Bye, Bad Bugs

Tonight around 8:45pm our telephone rang unexpectedly.

It's pretty rare that we get any calls past 7 or 7:30 as our families both know that we put the kids to bed around 8pm and our friends are typically busy putting their own children to sleep.

Glancing at Caller ID as I answered, I saw that it was my rheumatologist calling. "That's odd," I thought -

"I am not expecting any news or results. I wonder why the clinic is calling me..."

Yet it wasn't truly that out of character because my rheumatologist and his staff are the most committed, dedicated, hard-working and kind people I've ever come across in the field of medicine. They work such long hours, and they have saved the health and quality of life of so many people I personally know.

This wasn't their first after hours call just to check on me, or give me information.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Dr. Garcia* calling."

"Hi Dr. Garcia! How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. I wanted to let you know that we just got back your labs today for the Yersinia Enterocolitica."

"Oh? How were they?"

"Extremely high. You have a very high positive antibody titer to the bacteria."

"Really! That's great news... I mean, that's exactly what I suspected."

"Yersinia Enterocolitica is known to cause Reactive Arthritis and is associated with many other autoimmune type problems."

"Yes, I believe you were testing me for it due to my Hashimoto's thyroiditis. We had discussed all of the studies I had read correlating thyroid disease to Yersinia Enterocolitica. Will it change my antibiotic protocol?"

"No, not for now. We can discuss it further at our next appointment in September."

"Okay then... well, thanks so much for calling!"

* * * * * * *

When I got off the telephone, I whooped with joy.

"I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I ran to tell my husband the news. One more piece of my puzzle has fallen into place.

You see, for me the last 18 months -- especially the past year -- have been like walking one long and winding path looking for clues.

The journey that started with such fear and apprehension about a "mysterious" and "incurable" autoimmune disease has led me to SO MANY ANSWERS about environmental toxins, genetics and bacteria. All I can say at this point - and excuse the graphic language - is:

Autoimmunity my ass!

Here are the list of bacterial infections I have tested positive for this year:

Mycoplasma pneumoniae
Borrelia Burgdorferi (lyme disease)
Babesia Microti
Extreme overgrowth of Group B Strep
Yersinia Enterocolitica

and I have also learned that adrenal function is severely compromised by exposure to heavy metals such as mercury - which unfortunately, I know for a fact that I have had more than a small share of in the past 3 years.

A word to the wise -

If you happen to break an old-school mercury thermometer in your bathroom, DO NOT CLEAN IT UP WITH YOUR BARE HANDS AND A SPONGE. That plus an adult flu vaccine with thimerosol really sent me over the edge.

Anyway here we are...

It's a year after all of the worst moments - I feel GREAT, I'm looking better, I have energy, I'm getting my LIFE BACK.

Why? Well, I'm on antibiotics. I'm chelating heavy metals. I'm detoxing in saunas. I'm working on eating better and exercising more. I'm gluten free.

I'm 100% healthier than I was last July when I first learned about the esophagus problem and I couldn't eat for 5 weeks.

And I'm here to say that ANYTHING CAN BE CURED IF YOU ARE BRAVE ENOUGH TO LOOK FOR THE ROOT OF IT, rather than just masking your symptoms.

My friend Jen that I wrote about in this post a few months back is in the midst of making a remarkable recovery from cancer AFTER having cured herself of scleroderma. Truly a staggering comeback. She's writing a book about it as she goes, and I cannot wait to buy that book. She is such an inspiring, committed, incredible person.

I don't mean to sound like I'm shouting from a rooftop here -

...but I'm shouting from a rooftop here!

I'm so excited to continue uncovering proof through scores of studies on PubMed that there are real, documented CAUSES for mysterious autoimmune illnesses - and real, well-traveled pathways to wellness.

My mother asked me tonight if I have any idea how I got this Yersinia infection, which is relatively uncommon in the United States. They diagnose about 1 in 170,000 people with it each year in our country. (My husband points out that they probably just don't think to look for it in most of the cases... since it is often a self-limited infection.)

From what I've read it comes from eating pork that is not cooked well enough, or drinking unrefrigerated dairy products. It is more common in Europe than in the United States.

So here's what I think. When I was 19 years old and living in Italy - where we ate lots of sausage and the milk was never refrigerated, I got terribly ill - felt like I was dying - with food poisoning. I remember calling my mother and bawling my eyes out long distance, to be so very ill and so very far away from her.

This could be a root. My doctor has told me that bacteria often lives in a body for years without causing problems and then when a woman goes through pregnancy or experiences extreme stress or trauma (e.g. the death of a loved one) the bacteria take advantage of physical vulnerability and have a field day.

Of course, it also could have been any number of other times when I ate bacon for breakfast and then thought I'd gotten a stomach flu. Who knows. At this point, who cares?

I may have carried a lot of these "bad bugs" for 15 years or more.

But boy howdy... I know NOW that they're there and I'm not going to make them feel too comfortable :-) If it's got to be me or them... it's going to be THEM.

I'm sticking around this joint, and I'm going to BE here to spend long years watching with pride as my darling, exciting children grow up.

WOO HOO!!!!!!!















*Name changed to protect the privacy of the party in question.

July 31, 2011 ~ Day 233 Jealousy and a Barrel of Monkeys

I surprised myself by bursting into tears this evening in the kitchen after our kids had gone to bed. After a brief and snotty bawling session I wiped off my face with a paper towel and felt like a whole new woman. Calm, renewed, and ready to keep on going.

The tears may have been a release of all the pent-up emotion I had from this past week full of worry and stress. Perhaps while we were actually going through all of the chaos and intensity I just couldn't allow myself to let down and sob. Now that we've rounded the corner and everything seems to be getting better, my guard went down and I had a good cleansing cry.

What can I say. Maybe it's a chick thing.

It's actually been a pretty wonderful weekend - certainly no cause for tears.

First - one of my best friends in the world who I've been so close to for almost 30 years, she's just like a sister, came into town with her darling family and I've been lucky enough to see her twice in two days.

Second - a band that I absolutely love (and its members who are such truly good people) came into town for a reunion show and my mother graciously hosted our family for the night so that "grandma" could watch our kids while my husband and I went to the show. It was his first time seeing this band live, a band that had been truly important to me not just as musical inspiration but also as a tribe of inspiring, brilliant and warm-hearted people who made a major impact on my life 10 years ago. I was so happy to share the experience of their music one more time, now with my husband.

It was a great show!

On top of which, I finally got a nap this afternoon and re-joined the land of sane and rested people who do not have toddlers that scream bloody murder in the middle of the night.

So in actuality, I don't have anything to complain about.

I do have a little jealousy problem though, or perhaps its an admiration issue. I admire my best friend and her children so much - and I'm jealous of how darling they are and how seamless her parenting is. I wish I could be more like that!

My friend is the mother of two of the most precious little sweetheart daughters you could possibly imagine. I mean, they are some of the sweetest children I have ever met. Genuinely. Her eldest is sunny, cheerful, smart, thoughtful, beautiful and pretty much everything you could ever hope for a child to be. The little one has only just turned one but seems to be shaping up just like her big sister.

We got our five children together for a playdate yesterday and I was a little mortified by the way mine stood out. Even though I adore my kids!

My daughter, who has been really cranky on the antibiotics she is taking for her pneumonia, was in rare form. Throwing milk on the floor, demanding bananas, sneaking into rooms of my friend's house that she had been told to stay out of... grabbing for toys, throwing tantrums.

Actually, she may be a pretty typical two-year-old... but when compared with two perfectly angelic little girls playing near her, my daughter came across in a pretty fussy way. I'm not blind, I saw it - everyone saw it. My friend had to explain to her mother that my daughter has just turned two... as a way of apologizing for all of my little girl's antics.

Agg!!!

My boys, who were on their absolute best behavior for our playdate, still also came off as a bit wild in the face of total sweetness in their gentle companions.

I know that comparisons are ridiculous and you just can't compare your children to other people's kids - because they're all going to have their unique attributes and strengths, and then other areas where they struggle.

I have to wonder though whether the issue is nature or nurture. Is it something in the way we are parenting these three children that they are so full of fire and life?

Is there something I could be doing differently that would have my daughter be less adorably cheeky, and more adorably adorable?

Yet, even if there were something I could do to take away her cheekiness and strength... I'm not sure that I would really want to.

I really love my children. I love them just the way they are. I know they are not the easiest children in the world, and I can see for myself that a lot of my friends have easier children... sweet kids that are more mild-mannered and peaceful.

My kids are a handful and that's a fact. We all know it, they are a rough-and-tumble rowdy kind of bunch that giggle and yell and dance and jump and fight with each other and mouth off to me frequently. Trying to tame them is like trying to sedate a barrel of monkeys. The only way to do it would be to medicate them away from their own vibrant, vital personalities. I would never do that.

From what our mothers tell us, my husband and I realize that there is a REASON why our children are so full of beans... apparently, they get it directly from us.

I was never a violent child but I had strong, passionate emotions - tempestuous emotions. I think this can be seen in my children. My husband was so loud as a child that his father (a doctor) joked about removing his vocal chords. He also loved a good debate (still does!) and thrived on exercise and athletics. So the fact that our children are loud, emotional and full of energy seems to have roots in the obvious.

The saving grace in this is that maybe they will get some of our best characteristics too - our love of music, learning, life and friends. Our joy in nature, and our optimism. I would love it if they could experience some of the blessings we've derived from our personalities... maybe our open minds, warm and loving hearts, or the capacity for loyalty and integrity that he and I both possess.

So... in the end, despite my twinge of jealousy (and admiration) for the wonderful job my friend and her husband are doing with their beautiful and precious daughters; I look at our own unique, inventive, creative and enthusiastic children and know that I would not trade them for anything.

They are my rough diamonds, my cherubs with a twinkle in their eyes. They make me laugh, they make me cry, they fill my heart with true love. They make me the mother and woman I am today.

July 29, 2011 ~ Day 231 Trains Gone Wild

Note to Self:

The next time it sounds like 'fun' to take three small children and a stroller on public transit - ANYWHERE - all by yourself, THINK AGAIN. You might as well go hit your head into the wall ten or twenty times... it will yield about the same headache and level of exhaustion.

Sigh.

Here though, is the story of the first ever "real" train travel my children have experienced... in a heavily abridged version detailing only a few choice moments. The truth is, I'm very tired.

For the third or fourth night in a row, my two year old daughter woke me yesterday evening around 3am and it took me such a long time to fall back asleep. She also awakened her brothers, which explains why this morning we all slept in about an hour past usual... getting up around 8am (which any parent with small kids can tell you is VERY late... almost a miracle).

Eight a.m. is a beautiful number during summer vacation; except when summer camp (at the other end of the city) starts at nine. Looking at my three kids lounging in their pajamas and demanding homemade waffles, it was pretty obvious to me that it would take a massive Divine intervention to get the three of them bathed, fed, dressed and in the car while still giving myself enough time to get my eldest son to the camp before the campers "departed" for their daily adventure around town.

"How important is it to you to go to camp today?" I asked my son.

"I'd rather stay home and play here," he replied.

"Done," I nodded, relieved. "I will go start working on the waffles and think of something fun for us to do today."

Usually there are tons of options for fun activities to do with the kids but due to my younger son's recent injury I realized that we would be a lot more limited in our scope. The art museum is not as much fun when you don't have a hand to create art with... similarly, "hands-on" activities such as riding bicycles to the park or flying a kite are totally impossible when one of your hands is mittened in a thick cast.

Then I had a brainstorm - trains!

My children have always wanted to ride on a "real" train. We've taken little trains at the zoo before (actually, at several zoos) and so they get the basic idea. They also watched plenty of Thomas the Tank Engine when they were smaller, and every time we see a train whiz by us on the hill above a certain traffic stoplight they shout and point at it. "I want to ride on a train!" has become a common mantra.

It had been over a decade since I looked into local train travel but the idea sounded like fun, so I checked it out and sure enough there was a train running where we could take a relatively short round-trip journey for about $20... since my two younger children would be free of charge.

"Do you guys want to ride on a train today? A real one?" I asked.

"REALLY??? A REAL TRAIN?"

"Sure, why not?"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

It looked as though we were in for a great day.

* * * * * * *

Someday in the not-too-distant future, I have confidence that this kind of spontaneous travel WILL actually be fun. My kids and I will be able to take off for adventures ~ to see movies, go to theme parks, go hiking, see shows in other cities. It will happen!

Today however, my initial burst of enthusiasm for riding the rails was instantly tempered by the actual process of getting all three children ready to go. Just getting into the car (fed, bathed, dressed, WITH the diaper bag and some toys) is a major procedure around here - and the more children are involved, the harder it becomes.

We agreed on our train trip around 8:00am and I had high hopes of us making the 11:03am train leaving from the north part of our city, arriving at the southerly end exactly one hour later and then making a return trip.

In actuality, thanks to innumerable meltdowns, we left our home around 10:55am with absolutely no hope of catching the 11:03... and then had to plan an entirely different route. Where would we catch the train? Where would we park for the day?

This latter question turned out to be quite significant. To catch the train downtown, it turned out that we would need to pay $10 for the privilege of parking our car. Then we discovered that there were no parking lots close enough to the downtown station for my two year old daughter to walk comfortably, and I was leery of having to bring the stroller.

We circled the station about twenty times, looking for a space. There was plenty of two hour parking - but since the round trip journey promised to take around 3 to 4 hours, that timing wasn't going to work for us.

My sons grew restless and began to bicker.

My daughter grew hungry and began to cry.

I started to wonder how we were going to make it through to our destination with only granola bars and water to subsist on.

I checked the train schedule.

Happily, I discovered that the same train would stop just five minutes away in a different part of the city where there was ample free parking. "Let's go!" I cheered. My children, happy to have stopped circling, cheered too.

It ended up taking us about 45 minutes just to find a free spot though at the other station.

"Mommy, I have to go potty."

"Sure honey, just as soon as we've parked."

"No Mommy. I have to pee NOW."

"Oh dear. Honey, we're in the middle of a parking lot. There is nowhere for me to take you right now."

"But Mommy, I have to GO."

"Unless you want to sit in wet smelly shorts for the rest of the day, I really hope you can manage to hold on, buddy. We can't just get out of the car right here."

The tough little man managed to hold on, but suddenly our parking dilemma had an entirely new element of stress.

By the time we'd parked, pulled out the stroller (because there was no way my daughter could walk all the way to the train as quickly as we needed to go), crossed through the parking lot and entered the station, my son was basically hopping on one foot. Poor guy.

Time had run short though and if we didn't go to wait on the platform right away, we would miss the train.

"I'm so sorry buddy," I consoled. "You can go potty the very second we get on the train."

We purchased our tickets from a silver machine in the middle of the track. All sorts of people milled around us. A heavy-set man with a special dog came by and showed us how his dog could count to ten by tapping his feet, in exchange for treats. He thought my kids would be excited - actually, they were terrified of him and hid behind me. My children are not big fans of male strangers.

"What a great dog!" I thanked him, while shepherding them along. My younger son whimpered. "That doggy is scary Mommy!"

Then came the larger question of how we were going to board the train.

It didn't occur to me until about 8 minutes before arrival that the train itself had steps which we would need to climb up. Difficult to do with a 30 lb girl strapped into a stroller. I am not remotely strong enough to lift her, the stroller, the diaper bag, the camera bag and our book bag by myself.

Yet since there was not enough time to return the stroller to the car, somehow we would have to make it work.

My six year old is tall and muscular, also a good helper. "I can lift it, Mommy!" he encouraged.

"Why don't we try doing it together?"

The only way to make that work though was to release the two year old from her straps so we could fold up the stroller to lift it.

Anyone with a two year old knows, letting them "free" on a train platform is not exactly an easy decision. Suddenly there are too many pinballs rolling through the maze - three little children, unbound; a stroller; three bags, and one very stressed out mommy... about four feet away from fast moving trains and a train track on either side.

"Um, I think maybe we should have waited to ride a train until Daddy could be with us," I murmured.

"I WANT MY DADDEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!" cried my daughter as she ran around me in circles.

"I wish your daddy was here too!!!" I thought.

"Mommy, I HAVE TO PEE!!!"

I began to sweat. Suddenly our day had gone from Thomas and the Magic Railroad to Man Vs. Wild. Grabbing my cell phone from my purse, I decided to let my husband know that we'd changed stations... only to discover watch it die right in front of me.

"GOODBYE!" flashed Samsung before it cut me off from all contact with family and friends.

"Argh! Why didn't I charge my PHONE?" I wondered in dismay.

My daughter shoved my younger son who began to cry about his cast.

The train whistle blew in the distance. Knowing our big moment (climbing onto the train with a toddler in one hand and a stroller in the other, assisted by a six year old AND a four year old in an arm cast) was about to arrive, I began to pray.

DEARGOD, PLEASEHELPME. THISWASPROBABLYNOTMYBESTIDEAEVER. PLEASEHELPSOMYCHILDRENDONOTTRIPANDFALLONTHETRACKS.

I tried to visualize us successfully on the train.

And then, AT LAST, it arrived.

* * * * * * *

Somehow, some very awkward and ungraceful way, we managed to muddle our way up the steps and onto the train. It involved a lot of fast twisting lifting and forceful speaking on my part. But we made it.

We got all three children, a large stroller, three bags and a very stressed out mother onto the train (where my boy raced into the fairly clean bathroom by the sliding doors) and at last, I thought we could relax.

And I DID relax.

I relaxed for all of two minutes until my daughter began to scream.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" she screeched as the train began to move.

"I NO LIKE ITTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WANNA GO HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT SCAREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!"

Gosh, the folks in the surrounding seats really started to love us then.

We were technically two minutes into our journey, and already I couldn't WAIT for it to end. "What the H#$( was I thinking!!!"

* * * * * * *

It wasn't ALL bad though.

My sons really did light up like Roman candles when they began to watch the countryside fly by. They were mainly happy for at least 30 minutes before they began to complain about hunger, thirst, fatigue and boredom.

So that part was good.

My daughter DID chill out for a little while when I handed her an etch-a-sketch and a granola bar.

"Maybe this won't be so bad after all," I dared to hope. I tried to take their photo only to discover that the camera I was lugging around was also, like the cell phone, out of charge. Sigh.

In actuality, that was actually the only calm and happy stretch of the day - but at least we did get that one peaceful interlude.

A beautiful landscape rising up before us, full of trees and valleys, blue sky and even some beautiful water scenes. For a brief moment I was reminded of how much I have always loved train travel; it is my favorite form of transportation.

Ahem -

Without small children in tow, it is my favorite form of transportation.

I found myself missing my husband even more, thinking how romantic the train ride would be if shared with him alone.

One more thing to add to my "when they're older" list.

* * * * * * *

Highlights? (Lowlights?) from the rest of our day:

• Sons get into a huge fight over what kind of food to eat for lunch. (My solution - go to a grocery store where everyone can get what they want.)
• One son steals food in the grocery store and rolls his eyes at me when I try to explain to him that we can't just TAKE anything we want in a store.
• My daughter, angry that it is taking too long, throws the salad I have just put into a box, all over the floor. There are black beans, lettuce and tomatoes all over the floor. I spend five minutes wiping off the floor with paper napkins and apologizing to the staff member that has to come help me clean up the mess.
• My son begins to cry and scream at the top of his lungs when I tell him that, because he stole food from the store when I asked him not to, he will lose his lunchtime dessert
• I ignore the crying, but cringe when I see the faces of the other shoppers around us
• We accidentally board the wrong train on the way home, and end up about an hour out of our way
• My younger son gets jostled while waiting for the train and manages to pour water from the bottle he was drinking onto his cast, necessitating that we head back to the hospital when we FINALLY return to our parked car
• My daughter falls and scrapes her leg while waiting for the train
• My elder son manages to drop his favorite treasury of bedtime stories in the crack between the train and the tracks as we are boarding to go home. He freaks out, drops the stroller, and tries to stick his little hand into the space between the train and the track. In an instant I grab him - all fifty pounds of him - back onto the train and recapture my daughter's hand.
• My very tired, very emotional daughter (a) Decides to show the rest of the train her underpants and (b) Lays down on the floor of the train in front of the bathroom and won't get up until we finally yank her up. This also happens on the floor of the grocery store AND (later) the hospital. Good thing we believe in building her immunity...
• As the final train approaches it blows a hot wind full of dust and fine rock particles directly into my eyes. Ouch! It takes about two hours and several rinses to get my eyes "clear" again.
  
  As I try to rinse them while sitting with my three kids, I remember to be grateful for all of the important things that I take for granted - like having eyes at all. I also give thanks that my three of my children are capable of running (around me in circles), screaming (because they have lungs) and telling me off (because they have functioning brains).
  
  Lastly, I am so grateful that my son and daughter are both healing and could be with us on the train.

* * * * * * *

Around 4:34pm we finally rolled back into the original station - three exhausted, fussy children and their totally worked mama who was more than ready to curl into a ball and sleep for a year.

As we raced to the hospital before it closed at 5pm, to get my younger son's damp cast checked by the tech, I gave thanks that the adventure was over and that I had a husband at home who I knew would be kind enough to help me make dinner and put the kids to bed.

Just as I drifted mid-reverie back into reality, I had one last surprise.

"That was really fun, Mom," announced my son - same one that had been crying his head off at the grocery store and by the side of the train track just hours earlier. "I want to go again tomorrow."

July 28, 2011 ~ Day 230 (Slowly) Getting Better At It

One of the interesting parts of keeping this 365 blog for 230 days now has been watching myself slowly evolve as a parent.

Subtle changes that I would not normally have been aware of become more obvious because I've actually thought and written about my views previously; gradual shifts in perspective become more blatant.

This afternoon, our two year old daughter was diagnosed with pneumonia for the second time in a calendar year.

The first time she had pneumonia last December - right after I started to keep this blog - I was absolutely beside myself with worry.

In fact, I wrote an entire post chronicling the depth of my concern for her health and well-being. I even called it Worry ~ and in that same piece I dredged through the deeper issues of my lack of faith and tendency to equate anxiety with love.

Seven months later, I find that I'm in a totally different mental and emotional space about this new pneumonia.

First of all, so much has happened this year. We've been through a lot as a family and had many tangible successes... so I've started to grow in my capacity to feel faith. There have been a lot of moments when I needed to trust that everything was going to be okay; for example, when we moved to a brand new community in our quest for better schools and a better life for our kids. We took such a risk and left so much behind... but in the end, it all turned out better than I could have hoped for. Sometimes, a leap of faith is the only way to go.

Next, I've started working again as a tutor. A little here, a little there... but all in all, having my own work gives me a sense of personal power that I didn't have seven months ago and I no longer feel as though everything in my world is outside of my control. Even when truly bad things happen, like our son getting injured this week. Because our financial picture is brighter, I have confidence that we will be able to pay for any treatment that our children may need to heal. It's such a good feeling.

Then there is the case of my own health. In sum, it is so much better. Huge leaps forward. So that gives me a sense of permanency and greater belief in a bright future.

It's also true that within the last 6 weeks my son and then my husband both came down with a walking pneumonia. So, this "pneumonia" thing that I used to think was so rare? Not so rare at all. At least, not rare in our family. We've had four cases of it in seven months! From this I have learned not to get so worked up about illness. Kids get ill, but they also get well - in fact, getting well is the typical outcome.

Lastly, I've done a lot of studying this summer about the Law of Attraction and I realize more than ever that when I project fear and sorrow into the world, I usually manage to draw more situations in that create fear and sorrow.

It won't help either of my children for me to dissolve into a pool of anxiety over their respective health situations; so I'm choosing to keep my thoughts on how wonderful they are when they are healthy and 100%, and how grateful I am that they've come into this world to be my kids. At the very least, this keeps me calm and able to deal with them a lot more rationally and positively... which I believe helps them to heal!

I've seen firsthand the powerful effects of prayer too, thanks to the amazing women in the Mom's church group I started attending a few months ago. I have a different sense about faith, community and the web that connects us all together. I'm better now at asking for help, and requesting prayer or positive thinking when I truly believe that we need the support. There is no question in my mind that prayer can play an important role in regaining vitality.

All of this put together gives me a totally different attitude about our little girl's newly diagnosed illness.

I felt completely calm while making her doctor's appointment, and assumed based on our recent family history that she probably did have a pneumonia... but didn't go rushing right into their office. I waited for four days to see if her fever would break first. (It didn't.)

When her doctor suggested a chest x-ray today (just like she did seven months ago) I didn't worry at all. Didn't even blink an eyelash, not even about her radiation exposure. I now know that a chest xray contains about 1/400th the amount of radiation of a single CT scan; in essence, nothing worth writing home about. No biggie.

"Ok, sure - where?" was my only response... and then off we went to get it done.

When my daughter screamed so loud in the lobby that the office manager of the x-ray facility actually asked us to go outside, I took it in stride and managed not to get frustrated with my daughter... even though she next decided to lay down flat in a parking lot in front of an oncoming car and WOULD NOT get up until I had to physically pick her up to stop her from getting run over.

"Poor thing just isn't feeling well," I understood, and I hugged and kissed her.

When the doctor called two hours later to affirm (based on the chest x-ray) that yes, she DOES have pneumonia, my only question was which antibiotic she was going to receive.

I didn't feel anxious about going to pick up the prescription and was even able to give her the first dose myself ~ whereas a year ago, that was a tough thing for me to do.

Now my girl is sleeping peacefully and I'm feeling pretty relaxed knowing that two out of my three children are actively healing right now (and the third one is presumably healthy).

Within a week, both of them should be infinitely better. I actually feel pretty happy right now... much better than last night. I am filled with gratitude for modern medicine, and relief that I may actually get a full night of sleep tonight for the first time in days!

So either I've grown a little in the last 7 months... or maybe I've just reached a saturation point where my body physically cannot absorb any more stress, given the week we've had; so my brain just isn't going to let me get too worked up about a little mycoplasma pneumoniae.

I love my sweet girl like crazy and I am totally convinced that she will be 100% well in no time at all.

* * * * * * *

Before signing off, a little bit of good news did come out of our appointment with the pediatrician. I asked our family doctor about the likelihood of the tissue necrosis that the ortho physician had described to me yesterday for my son's hand... and she said she thought that was very rare and quite unlikely. "The greater risk in a situation like your son's," she added, "is really just the risk of an infection getting into the bone. Tissue necrosis is pretty unlikely."

This news brings such a relief! Obviously none of us can see what is going on inside that bright green cast of his, but our boy says he can wiggle all five of his fingers and they are hurting less - so that has got to be a GREAT thing! No infection so far after 4 days, which has also got to be a good sign that the antibiotics are doing their job.

Onward and upward. Knock on wood but I've got a good feeling right now -
I think we're rounding another corner as a family.

More than anything tonight, I realize that I'm not exactly the same mother I was seven months ago. This is a good thing! Very grateful for the wider perspective that continues to come with time and experience.