SchlegelRock

Yesterday I was reading a blog I follow (Mommy Snark) and at the tail end of her post she said something along the lines of I urge you to read this post, “ It’s a beautiful post about a Mom falling in love with her baby – a baby much different than the one she expected.” Then she gave this link:  Nella Cordelia’s Birth Story  It is a SUPER long post but totally, completely worth reading. But get your tissues first.  If it were me I would read it and then come back to read my comments but you do what you want.  It’ll just make more sense that way.

I immediately knew I wanted to read this post.  I have a deep down to the bottom of my soul fear of having a kid that is anything but 100% normal.  I’m terrified that I’m not the type of mom that could love a child with a major disability.  A disability that would cause me to mother in a very real and hands on way for the rest of my life.  I mean for crying out loud I have this whole bipolar thing going on which takes a lot of my energy.  I wonder if my kids needed more of me in a very serious way if  would be able to give it to them.

The answer is absolutely, without question, with my whole heart, YES.  But I didn’t discover that until I read this post.  Once I realized that it was OK to grieve and feel sorrow over the life that is lost and then recover from that,  I realized I could do it.  I only focused on the pain of losing that ideal child and never thought of getting over it.  But she did.  And quickly too.  I’m sure the grieving and processing time is different for everyone.  Some shorter, some longer but in the end, that beautiful baby is yours.  It’s just like any other baby and only wants your love (and milk and diapering skills but you know what I mean).

I even get scared that if something happens to one of my boys and he becomes seriously disabled that I would break somehow and not be able to love them anymore, but how could that possibly happen?  They’re still my boys.  They’re still my perfect, sweet, loving, got roots deep down into my soul boys.  That’s just doubt and fear that make me think that I couldn’t take care of them.  Doubt and fear have no place in love.

This post changed my life a little.  I’m not dealing with anything like this in my life right now but I have walked past families in town that have a disabled kid and I have cried for them.  I have literally cried in the middle of Target because their situation seems so overwhelming to me.  But not anymore.  That disabled kid is just like any other kid in their family.  They love him/her just as much and love that they are a part of their family. They don’t look at them and see insurmountable work.   I’m not down playing how hard their jobs as mom/dad must be but I will no longer look at those families the same way.  Hopefully it wont scare me anymore but will delight me that a family has so much love one for another.

So it’s probably pretty obvious from this post that I have had little to no interaction with children with disabilities.  I had a friend who had trouble walking but he was awesome and 100% self sufficient so I never even consider him disabled.  I have had no experience with life long, need hands on care disabilities and as far as that goes what I didn’t know, scared me.

Please don’t judge me too harshly.  I was never judgmental of the child or thought anything bad about the child.  It was the responsibility of being that hands on mom for the rest of my life that scared me.  There’s no retirement and just jetting off for the weekend on your own.  There always has to be a caretaker but I would imagine with such a special, well loved child there would be a huge support circle.

Now my post has turned into a novel.  I was just so touched by Nella’s story that I had to share my change of heart.  My awakening to a world of possibilities outside of the realm of “normal”.  The mom’s journey the night of the delivery will stay with me for the rest of my life and give me hope that all pain has an ability to be overcome and life can once again be embraced.  All life.  No matter what.

Here’s video that I love that also helped me understand what it means to parent a special needs child.

First of all, I know, what am I doing posting two days in a row?  Don’t worry, you probably wont hear from me for another six months.  I just have to tell you the ridiculousness of my bathrooms.

Let’s start at the beginning.  In this house that we’re renting we have four bathrooms.  That’s right!  There’s almost one bathroom per person.  Now I know you’re wondering…two are full and two are half baths.  One of each on each floor.

So I have found that no matter where I am in this huge house I will only use my master bathroom.  Doesn’t matter if I’m downstairs and am in the middle of a project.  I’ll traipse all the way upstairs just to use the one I’m most comfortable with.  This is not because the other bathrooms are ugly or outdated.  I just prefer to pee in my own private luxurious space.

So that’s not the weirdest part of our bathroom situation.  We have a bathroom right by the mud room that the kids use when they are playing outside.  Super convenient.  Well they were playing hide and seek the other day and someone was hiding under the sink and broke the pipe so I took some painters tape and taped off the bathroom until it can be fixed.  Ever since then the boys have been using the master bath since it’s located upstairs (really the ground floor).

I was in using my bathroom the other day when Oli came running in.  When he saw I was in there he turned around and ran downstairs.  I assumed he ran downstairs to use one of the two bathrooms down there.  Well, I finished up and went downstairs to get a box of tissue and there was Oli just sitting there on the floor.  He said, “Oh good, you’re done!”  And ran upstairs and used my bathroom.  There were two, count them, two, bathrooms at his disposal and he waited to use mine.

Now the only way I can explain the over use of our one master bathroom is that it is huge.  It’s like a master bedroom all in itself.  It’s got a large stall shower, a huge jetted tub with a shelf all the way around and a major walk in closet, not to mention the double sink area (there’s actually only one sink but there’s ample room for two). (The pic is off the internet.  Believe it or not our bathroom is much bigger than this.  It’s super ridonkulous.)

Now this would be nice if no one ever used any of the other bathrooms.  Then I would only have to clean one but the other ones still seem to get dirty.  I don’t know how it happens when they’re always in my room but it does.

So that’s it.  My bathroom story.  I’ve never in my life had the problem of too many bathrooms and which one to use until now.  I guess it’s a good problem to have!

Truth be told there are probably a lot of things you don’t know about me but today I’m going to divulge two of them.  These are things that Scott teases me about because he thinks they’re weird but I’m here to find out if I’m the only one.

1.  I don’t really care for most sunsets.  The oranges and the pinks.  Not a big fan.  It’s not like I hate them or think to myself, “God,  Why did you create such an ugly sunset?”  It’s nothing like that.  I just happen to prefer Second Coming sunsets the best.  You know with the billowing white clouds and the white and yellow and blue sky.  The kind that literally look like God could walk out of.  Those are my favorites.  And now that we have huge windows to look out at sunsets from I’m noticing that the Second Coming sunsets are pretty rare, which makes me love them even more. (btw This photo is nothing compared to what I see out my window, but it’s the closest I could find.  It’s not quite as spectacular as what I’m referring to here.)

2.  I do not like snow capped mountains.  I mean for reals.  Either cover them with snow or melt it all away.  I don’t like the half and half.  Make up your  mind already!  Is it Summer or is it Winter?  You tell me.  Green on the bottom, white on the top?  Geesh.  This one I have a firmer opinion on.  I just don’t like it.  I don’t like the indecision.  The middle ground.  One or the other, please. (These are the Wasatch Mountains but not quite the view from my house.  Still though, you get the point right?  White majestic mountains.  C’mon, you can’t tell me it’s not beautiful.)

Now I can’t be the only one on the face of the planet who has these interesting points of view.  Maybe you don’t agree with me.  I’m pretty sure you wont but seriously, is it that strange to like snow covered mountains the best or Second Coming sunsets over the usual, blah, seen it already yesterday sunsets?  I just don’t think so.

I went to the Fashion Place Mall (somewhere near Salt Lake) today and walked from Nordstroms to the Food Court.  I passed a dozen or so kiosks selling anything from some kind of green tea miracle drug to flat irons to Direct TV.  And do you know what, not a single sales person talked to me or even looked at me.  It was glorious.  So glorious that I drafted a blog post in my head to tell you guys how amazing it was.  It was pretty spectacular not to have to put on my best smile and say “No thank you” over and over again.

I remember being at the Valley Fair Mall in CA and it’s filled with kiosks and every single one of them will try to reel you in to their products.  It’s all about no eye contact when navigating that mall for me.

So I draft this blog post and finish my lunch with Oli and walk back through the mall only to have my attention sought after by vendor after vendor.  Oh well, I thought this new mall was just a lucky mall but it’s the same as all the rest.  I’ll adopt my no eye contact rule next time I go.

How do you get through the mall without being accosted by all of the vendors?

I don’t know if you guys know this about me but I don’t think very highly of myself.  If I believed everything I thought about myself I’d probably never leave my bed.  As it is I struggle and struggle to fight against the negative thoughts and imagery that I’ve associated with myself.  When I look in the mirror I see blemishes and I see sun spots and I see other imperfections.  I see a too big stomach and flabby thighs and saggy breasts.  I only focus on the negative.

There are random occasions when I look in the mirror and think, “Wow.  I look good today.”  But do you see that I have limited it to “today”?  About 10 years ago while I was with Kaiser in Sunnyvale one of the Doctors offered a course on Self Esteem.  I was too scared to take it and no joke to this day I regret it.

I just cut my hair and I found a picture I liked, the stylist worked with me to get it exactly like the picture and you know what I thought when it was all done?  ”I’m not cute enough to pull off this haircut.  The cut is too cute for me.”  I honestly think that people will see me and think, “Woah, she can’t pull that off.”  or “Her hair is wearing her.”

I care so much and so deeply about what people think about me.  It drives Scott batty.  He wants me to have clear, concise thinking about myself.  It’s so hard though since I’m bombarded with negativity from my own mind.  I am literally my own worst enemy.  Some days it’s crippling.  I try so hard to be my own individual person because on the whole it makes me happy.  But if I look different than someone or my life choices are different than someone my initial reaction to to think I’m inferior and there is something wrong with me.

I guess moving has brought this to the forefront because I am so very different than the people I am surrounded by.  And at the same time, I’m exactly the same as them.  But I focus on the differences and assume they think I’m weird and strange.  Because that’s what I do.  I make negative assumptions about what people think and feel about me.

But this is really my opportunity to grow.  To open my eyes and see that people do really care about me and genuinely think I’m a good person to be around.  To look at new friendships not as people feeling sorry for the new girl and inviting her to do things but as people really wanting to get to know me, Alisa, and all the wonderful things about me. (Deep down I know there’s more than a couple things about me that people can appreciate.)

Our life in Utah is new in so many ways.  So many things are different here.  So why not me?  Why can’t I be a more positive, confident person?  Make a change.  Shed my self doubt and loathing.  It’s held me down for too long.  Not any more.  Self, did you hear that?  Not any more.  I don’t care if I have to stare at myself in the mirror like on SNL (Stuart Smalley) and tell myself that I’m beautiful and I’m good enough.  Something is going to change.

How have you combatted your negative thoughts and images of yourself?

I got a ticket last week.  Been in Utah for a month and already got a ticket.  This is my first in 10 years so yay for me but still.  I’m not that familiar with the area so I was going too fast through a school zone and the cop nabbed me.  Totally my fault.  I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings.  The thing that sucks is I have to go to court next Tuesday.  I guess that’s just how they do things around here.

Anyway, so the cop told me I need to switch my license and registration over to Utah pretty soon.  Just take my birth certificate and my registration and they will take care of me.  Easy.  So I head over to Farmington (three cities away) on Tuesday and it’s snowing.  I think to myself, “Suck it up Alisa.  You live in Utah now.  It snows.”  So I’m driving and I’m being overly cautious and not paying attention to my gps and end up getting lost.  For an hour.  I drove around Farmington for an hour because I was too scared to look at my phone.  I even stopped and looked at it but then I would just get lost again once I set out.

After a grueling hour I make it to the DMV.  Turns out I need my Title to register my car.  OK.  Then it turns out the place to get your license is in another part of town.  So when I get there I don’t have half the things I need to get a license.  Needless to say I was frustrated and cried all the way home.

So I went back Tuesday and stupid me didn’t look at the Title.  My name isn’t on it.  Scott bought the Pilot for me as a gift so I wasn’t there.  So she sends me home with the paperwork to get my name on the Title.  At least I knew where I was going this time so I found the DMV on the first shot.

License was a lot easier.  I did have to take the written test but they gave me the booklet to “cheat” off of.  Oli sat and played the DS the whole time so it couldn’t have gone better.  Until I realized that in Utah kids have to be in car seats until they are 8.  What the heck is going on in this state?  Eight is WAY too old.  But we’ll comply.  Last thing I need is another ticket.

If you haven’t heard my complaints before about lunchtime you’re about to get an eye full.  Which is totally funny because I only have one at home now but it still effects me the same way.  I hate lunchtime.  I hate it with a passion so fierce I can feel it tightening my chest even now just thinking about it.  Why, you ask?  I’m not sure what the root causes are but I have come to loathe lunchtime more than any other time of the day.  And you know how much I hate mornings so I’m being real serious here.

I guess it started when Max was little and he would start asking me about lunch time starting at 10 am and then every five minutes after that until noon.  Add another kid and it’s another mouth asking when lunchtime is at ridiculous intervals.  Then the third comes.  Oh my gosh.  If one of them isn’t asking the other two are.  It’s non stop.  And yes, I do feed them snacks so they’re not starving.  Thank goodness I finally drilled it into the older two’s heads to watch the clock.  Stop asking me and look at the stinking clock.  Is it 12:00?  No?  Then it’s not lunchtime.

Then lunchtime actually comes and all I hear is, “I want a peanut butter and honey sandwich,” “I want a turkey sandwich,” “I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”  ”I want cheese bread,” “I want grilled cheese,” “I want a cheese sandwich.”  Can you hear me screaming?  Because I am.  No one ever wants the same thing.  Do I look like a short order cook?  Because I’m not.  I am a loving mother who wants to make sure her children are fed but who would like to make one type of sandwich a day.  That’s all I’m asking.  One type.  Not four (Jessica our neighbor has been with us this Summer).

I even tried making one type of sandwich per day but it didn’t stop the little voices.  ”But I want turkey.  Why can’t I have turkey?”  ”I don’t want peanut butter!”  ”I said I wanted two squares one rectangle and a triangle.”  ”His squares are bigger than mine.”

And don’t even get me started on the shapes they want their sandwiches cut into.  Someone who shall remain nameless actually took cookie cutters and cut shapes out of their sandwiches for them so of course that’s what they want me to do.  I am not Martha Stewart people.  I’m not even grandma.  I’m mom and I cut in half.  That’s what I do.

So a month ago I finally wised up and started making the older three make their own sandwiches.  That way they can make whatever they want and cut it into a bajillion pieces if that’s what their hearts desire.  And now that the school year has started I’m going to let Max and Tru make their own lunches the night before so they can do whatever they like with their sandwiches.  Genius, if I do say so myself.

It’s looks like everything is taken care of right? Well, I’m writing this post because at 9:30 this morning Oli came into my room and asked if it was lunchtime.  I just about lost it.  I guess it’s time to start teaching him how to read the clock.  Poor kid has no idea his mom has so much built up anger about the subject.  But I am not a short order cook people.  I love being a mom but I do not love making four different types of sandwiches and cutting them in four different shapes.  I have my limits.

Now I’ll take a deep breath and try to put this all behind me.  There’s just one more kid to train.

I know there’s something that you have to do as a mom or a wife that drives you absolutely batty.  And it comes up almost everyday if not everyday.  I know I’m not alone.  What is it?

Update:  Even if you’re not a mom or a wife there’s gotta be something that makes you nuts.  We wanna know.

Once upon a time there was a fair maiden who had a brand new Pilot.  She loved her Pilot so much.  She used to have a van, which she also loved, that had a handy little tissue dispenser that hung from the passenger side seat.  This tissue dispenser did not fit in the Pilot.  She despaired and thought, “What will I do that I may have tissue in my new car?”  Alas, one day the thought came to her that she should just throw the tissue box in the center console.  It might not look very pretty, but you never know when you will need a tissue.

The next day the gorgeous maiden and her super fabulous son were driving back from Safeway when the little one cried out in agony, “Mommy, open my door!”  ”I can’t open your door,” said the majorly hot maiden, “I’m driving.”  ”There’s a booger on my finger!” said the sweet, helpless little boy.  Our dear heroine reached into the center console and handed her spectacular child a much needed tissue.

The smart, intuitive maiden recognized the beauty of following the prompting of the day before and vowed to always (well, as much as possible) follow the promptings she receives in the future.  The day and the car were saved.  

And there was much rejoicing!

Now I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not drunk.  Yes, I am on drugs, but only the ones my Dr. gave me.  I know I’m not over here much and I thought you might be feeling neglected so I thought I’d share a story with you.  It’s hard work trying to get a blog off the ground so I’ve been spending most of my time over at Blog the Day Away.  Please forgive me and know that I’m tying to find more things to write about.  Thanks for hanging in there with me.  I really do love blogging.  I’ve just got to find some balance between my two blogging loves.

Want to know what mine is?  For sure it’s our couch.  We bought it when we were first married and have loved it every day since.  I spent a grand total of nine months of bed rest on that puppy.  The color is a beautiful cranberry/wine and the leather is as soft as butter.  Want to know where we got it?  JC Penney.  Yeah, can you believe it?  It’s held up almost nine years now and we have not a single complaint about it.  Not one.  

Now, I’m afraid we’re going to see some wear soon because the kids use it as a jungle gym.  I know there are some of you out there that are appalled at that but we live in a tiny condo.  There are very few places for the kids to horse around so we allow them to jump on our furniture.  So even they love our couch.  It’s our meeting place.  Where we hang out and it’s served us well.

So, what’s your favorite purchase?  Your home, your car, your cell, your vacuum, the haircut you got when you were 17 and haven’t been able to replicate since?  Come on, tell me.

Why is that?  Why do I have three potty trained children that cannot keep the pee in the toilet?  At friend’s houses, at school, in the car, in the dining room, at the park!!!  Holy crap.  If they would even give me one minutes warning I could at least get them to a bush.  Just kidding.  I would at least get them off of my carpet.  I guess the one’s where there is a bathroom in the same building is the one that baffles me the most.  And yes, it is all three of them that are currently peeing in their pants.  I’m about to have a nervous breakdown.  One of them actually said to me today that he peed at school but didn’t tell anyone and is still wearing the same pants.  I guess that might be OK if it was the first time.  This happened last week also.  Is there a puddle of pee under his chair just waiting to be stepped in?  Did he only pee a tiny bit so it really wasn’t a big deal?  I don’t know the answers to these questions.  This has been going on for three weeks now.  Every time I turn around at least one of them has peed somewhere other than the toilet.  I’m baffled, I’m perplexed, I’m sick of cleaning up pee.  But I digress.  I know in a few weeks I’ll have a clean and tidy house, car, classroom, park, etc.  and I’ll forget all about this.

 I just thought you might like a change of pace from the election so I decided to throw all my garbage on you.  Thanks for letting me vent.  I mean there’s nothing I can do, right?  It’s just a passing phase, right?  I look at those angels and think “Why are they doing this?” and I have no answers.  Oh well.  Has this happened to you?

My friend Clisty posted a challenge on her blog to get real with your mess and post some pictures of your own.  Scott keeps our house clean so there aren’t too many places where I’m actually able to make a mess but I found two that I could show you.

The first is of my shoes.  I like to kick my shoes off when I’m done with them.  I personally like them in a pile on the floor. It just feels good to me but in light of this challenge I’m showing you how nice my shoes can look if I just organize them.  

They do look nice and tidy.  I’ve actually kept them this way for about two weeks now.  Yeah, me.

Then we have one cupboard in our bathroom that I am in charge of.  As you can see bottles are falling on top of bottles and there are pads falling out all over.  I can even see the underwear they gave me at the hospital when Oli was born.  What are those even doing in there?

Here’s our beautiful cupboard sans underwear and all nice and neat.  I will admit I like it better this way.  Although I could find whatever I wanted before I will do my best to keep my cupboard well organized.

Then I don’t have any before pictures for you but this is what our kids room looked like when we were going through our closets.  We had all sorts of baby stuff that we were storing plus all of my big clothes that I was too afraid to give away.  We had to lay down the seats in the back of the car and just filled it full of bags and bags of stuff we didn’t need but hope someone else can use.

So there it is Clisty.  Those are my messes.  Not the everyday trash the house messes but the staring me in the face for years messes.  Btw, Scott sends a big “Thank you.”

I was on the treadmill yesterday with the kids in the front room watching a movie. All of a sudden Oli and Tru come in my room with these big eyes and I couldn’t figure out what they wanted so I told them to go back out to the living room. They wouldn’t budge. Finally, I raised my voice a little and told them they needed to go out and watch their movie. Tru started walking out and then stopped in my doorway and stared at me with terrified eyes. That’s when it finally hit me. Someone was in my house! I turned off the treadmill heart racing and walked slowly out my door. There was a woman.  I relaxed momentarily until all of a sudden she started yelling at me. “I am going to call the cops on you. How dare you be on the treadmill and not taking care of your kids. I’m an old woman and look at me I have goose bumps. How dare you. You should be taking care of your kids. etc.” Needless to say, I was shocked. I had no idea what to do with this stranger standing in my living room yelling at me. What I finally gathered through the screaming is that Oli and Tru had gone out to the street to throw sticks at cars. They were also collecting sticks out of the street. This woman drove past and it scared the begeebers out of her so she yelled at them and followed them home to yell at me. When she finally left the house I called Scott in complete hysterics and he thankfully talked me down to a calmer place. So I get that she was worried. I really get that. When I found out they were outside playing in the street I was quite upset. What I don’t get is why she thought it was appropriate to walk in to my home uninvited and yell at me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been yelled at either. Once I was yelled at because someone felt my children were walking too far away from me while we were walking home from the bus stop. That was some fierce screaming of obscenities. Then there was the time it was raining and I took my kids to the Target parking structure to ride their scooters in the covered second floor where NOBODY goes. The security guard didn’t even stop his truck to yell out the window about how dangerous this was and how dare I. The nice thing about that one is that he actually came back and apologized for yelling at us. I completely get that these people are concerned about my children’s wellbeing, but when is it OK just to yell at someone? Isn’t a rational conversation more appropriate?

Have you ever been yelled at because of something your kids are doing or is this just a knack of mine?

btw Max took this picture of me tearing my hair out in my favorite Harry and the Potters shirt.

OK, so I need to vent.  I don’t get road rage in the extreme sense.  No wanting to run into anyone’s car or even shout profanities (it doesn’t count when it’s in your head right).  But I do take issue with people who park in the fast lane.  If you look ahead of you and the road is empty and you look behind you and there’s a line… it’s time to get over.  I’m no Danica but if there’s an open road, I like to cover it as quickly as possible.  Please, please let me.