Just Call Me Dr. Google… April 16, 2009

When I was a little girl, I was dubbed “A bull in a china shop” by the bitchy Grandma. Wow at 33 years old, I can still hear her saying those words.

Recently, I have been talking to someone who has Adult ADD and she was describing ME.

So I decided to consult Dr. Google. After reading the symptoms I felt as if someone jumped into my brain and typed up all the things I have been struggling with since oh I don’t know… the 4th grade maybe? I took the test, you know the one, at the end it disclaims that it is not a diagnosis but gives you a score and depending on such score it tells you if you should A. Not worry, you’re fine or B. Get thee to a Medical Professional immediately. Well, Dr. Google thought I should get off the damn computer and make an appointment. Apparently the only symptom of this that I did not exhibit was the hyperactivity but it does explain why my feet are always moving… a habit that drives The Old Man bat shit.

My car or my apartment for that matter is a metaphor for what has been happening in my brain as long as I can remember. It is a cluttered, trashy, mess. It is a conscious effort to remember to do simple tasks like brush my teeth or put on deodorant hence I have a whole arsenal of toiletries in my desk drawer at work for such occasions. I have 6 different hair brushes because it is easier to have one in every room so I know I can always find one… but I can NEVER. FIND. ONE! I have never gotten the hang of paying bills, balancing checkbooks, making and sticking to appointments. It is not because I don’t have the money to pay them. There is no reason with my salary that I cannot support our family. Yes, it would still be tight but there is no reason I can’t pay my bills or my rent on time. You know, and it is not because I can’t do the math either. I just can’t bring myself to add those things into my daily regimen… I forget, I procrastinate, and I forget. I totally under/over estimate how long something will take. I start projects only to leave them undone and start sill other projects. I cannot hold my concentration on reading material except if it is really interesting and even then. If it were only one or two of these symptoms, even four? would not mean that I have this problem but I had all but one of them.

My thinking has always been so disjointed and so garbled. I have struggled with a low-grade (and sometimes not-so-low-grade) depression my whole life. Apparently people with ADD are at a higher risk of depression and/or anxiety. In fact ADD often goes undiagnosed because it is attributed to depression/anxiety instead. Those silly ADD folks just can’t seem to take their freaking medicine… imagine that.

So hey, perhaps, these aren’t character flaws. Maybe I am not just an unorganized, undisciplined mess of a failure… maybe this thing has a name. Maybe, if it has a name there is also a solution; a wonder drug perhaps. Maybe I will be able to get my life together for once.

Appointment is set for the end of April.

It is that time of year… April 10, 2009

Peep Photo deleted… apparently nyc dreamer was not amused…—-

I am not Christian. I celebrate the pagan/commercial version of Easter. Now, I believe in God and I love the nice sentiments of what Jesus said when it is not being wildly misconstrued. I do think the last thing he would want to see if he ever graced us with his physical presence would be a cross and quite possibly we would treat him like a psycho cult leader if he ever announced he was here amoung us. All that said… I think the man could get behind the consumption of Peeps in his name.

“Do this in remembrance of me” or “”Body of pastel baby chicks for you.”

Peeps are my favorite part of Easter/Ostara/Spring. I know they make them now for other holidays but for some reason the Easter ones taste a litlte different to me.

My sweet & lovey cousin Nick Nak mentioned a great idea to us one year and we have observed this particular tradition in our house ever since… We roast the pastel baby chicks over a candles flame and eat them toasted to a crisp. It makes this yummy confection that much better.

Peeps don’t last long at our house. They barely make it into the easter baskets. Sometimes the Easter bunny takes a bite out of the Peeps head just to let Mogo know that the bunny likes them too.

It is dangerous when you start talking to yourself… April 8, 2009

Rattle Snake Canyon

Originally uploaded by MogosMama

Dear Me,

This is a reminder… WWI was not your fault. WWII also had nothing to do with you; you were not even born yet Sheesh. The plight of starving children in Malawi will not be solved by you this week. People go through stuff and you are not required to fix it. There is no fix for much of this stuff anyways. When things seem like they are going to bring about the apocalypse; just remember its really just normal everyday life stuff and you have no control over the outcome. Yes, I know how you feel about control and no you still don’t have any!

Oh and hey do me a favor will ya? Allow folks to feel whatever they are feeling. Feelings are not right or wrong. And quit using the words “should” and “you always” or “you never” they are not helpful. You have to take ownership of your own feelings and you can’t go taking offense if others don’t follow your script. You don’t have to take everybody’s emotional temperature all the time and BTW it is really annoying when you do so knock it off.

Now after all that… there are things that you have SOME control over – paying your bills on time, making sure that everything is packed BEFORE moving day, feeding your small children, eating food with ingredients that you can pronounce, and a walk around the block never hurt anybody… those things are your business. Get off your fanny and get moving.

Oh and, BTW… Love is an action word.

Love,
You

Personality/Pregnancy Differences April 6, 2009

Mogo & Charlie

Originally uploaded by MogosMama

I suppose it is a given that Mogo & Charlie are so different. I am not really sure why that surprises me. Their personalities are as different as their pregnancies were. I did not post often when I was PG with Charlie. This was mainly because I was trying not to dwell on the fear, I was trying to put only positive energy into the universe where pregnancy was involved but also because I knew that the thoughts floating in my brain were not the type to say out loud until well after the fact. Now that Charlie is 7 months old and passed the point where my PPD reared its ugly head with Mogo, I feel I can talk a little about it. I think I have escaped without falling into a black hole.

With Morrigan, my pregnancy was long. After multiple pregnancy losses and some complications requiring 5 months of bed rest, I was filled with anxiety but the post partum was far worse. In the beginning, all was well but slowly I developed a severe case of PPD. Wow, those were some of the darkest days of my life. It took over a year after giving birth to Mogo for me to feel somewhat “normal” again. Now, with Charlie, the pregnancy was normal with the exception of a little thing called Gestational Diabetes. Depression and anxiety showed up much earlier for Charlie’s pregnancy though, those very dark days were met with instant relief the minute she entered the world. Toward the end, I was going absolutely mad. The insomnia, the nightmares about dead babies, all were just so hard to handle. It was a 1 day at a time sort of thing, sometimes it was 1 minute at a time to get through it. I was so scared. I lived at the Labor & Delivery Triage – seriously the nurses knew me and tried hard not to roll their eyes. I had an open invitation to have Charlie’s heartbeat checked any hour of the day. Eventually, Charlie was taken early… for my sake, not hers. I simply could not last another day of not knowing if she would live. Despite the fact that she was perfect and growing beautifully, I was certain the longer she stayed in there the more danger she was in. I simply had to have that baby out – she would be safer in a NICU than in my belly as far as I was concerned. It was so irrational and I knew it was irrational, but it did not stop being true… in my mind anyways. My OB/GYN was awesome. She humored me, she understood, but she also helped to encourage me to hang in there as long as possible. In the end, she agreed that my mental state was not helping Charlie or my blood pressure and she agreed to take her early. I actually showed up at L&D and told them I intended to have my baby that day. No, I was not in labor but I was done and I was not leaving there without a baby. One look at my Old Man confirmed that no, I was not kidding.

You know… I am grateful Charlie was ok and that the only consequences of my impatience were a lazy suck and some formula supplementation. I got off easy. I can only imagine the guilt that would follow had she experienced any complications as a result of my insistence that she make her birth date 3 weeks too soon.

Since her birth, there has been no depression, no horrifying thoughts. The only pictures in my mind have been of bouncing babies and not babies bouncing (as in down the stairs). Charlie has been able to have a Mom that is present; a mom that is clear-headed and sane. She seems so innocent and so new to the world unlike her sister, who always seemed to have this very old soul. I am grateful that I am not experiencing PPD this time but I can’t help but feel like Mogo was cheated. When Mogo was born, I was elated. I had so much joy about her entry into this place that the love seemed to physically hurt. The fear was debilitating. It went so far beyond waking up and checking to see if she was breathing. My jaw would not unclench, my hands shook, and I became concerned that I would neglect her or hurt her. I did not think I was safe to be alone with my own daughter. I knew something was wrong but I thought if I told anyone, they would take her from me. It wasn’t until I decided I was nuts enough that maybe someone should take her from me that I spoke up. I avoided inpatient treatment by the skin of my arse. I was determined to nurse. The only reason they let me go home was because I had a good support system. Matt would leave for work and wonder what he would be coming home to. Sometimes I wonder if he will ever forgive me for that. I am not sure I could forgive it.

Granted, I got the help I needed. Mogo has continued to develop normally and we are bonded; I just can’t help but think that she was cheated out of something very important because her mom went crazy for the first year of her life. I wonder if when she is a woman and starting to think about having her own children, if she will understand when I tell her about what PPD looks like. I wonder if she will be angry with me or feel somehow less loved that I did not have the same problem with Charlie. It just doesn’t seem fair that Mogo has not been able to experience a carefree childhood. She has experienced so much in her little life. She is wise beyond her years. I don’t know if that is because of her experiences or if she arrived in the womb that way. I would like to think that perhaps she chose us because her spirit knew she could handle it. I’d like to think that I am not the reason my 6 year old talks to me like she is 40.

Spring Has Sprung… April 3, 2009

Charlie the Bunny

Originally uploaded by Minarae

THis is Charlie @ 7 months doing her impersonation of Little Bunny Foo-Foo.

It is spring! Hooray! Spring cleaning! Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs! Hardboiled Eggs that have been dyed a color never to be found in nature! Cadbury Cream Eggs! Fuzzy Bunny Ears! (We love fuzzy bunny ears when they grace the top of a head so sweet) Oh, and Pagan celebrations of rebirth and fertility! (I will stop short of running around nekkid in the moonlight.) I love spring even with all the sneezes and allergies that plague my house this time of year.

and, in the spirit of Spring and, new beginnings and the associated symbolism of whatnot… this little clan of ours is moving again – starting over if you will. The rent on our teeny 2BR/2BA apartment has been raised from “God Awful” to “That is Freaking Ridiculous” and the burden of making it from paycheck to paycheck with out selling myself on a street corner has become too much. So, we are moving to a smaller place where I can afford the not quite God Awful rent and perhaps I will save myself a few hundred dollars per month. I need that. I really, really do.

With all this change, Mogo gets a few changes of her own. She will be starting a new school in the fall and she is very excited. To be honest, I am a little excited too. She will be attending a brand new school with all the current technology and it even has… wait for it… it has a library – with a librarian even. She could you know, check out books to read and forget to bring them back and I will be responsible for her incessant late fees but COME. ON. NOW… A school MUST have a library. There is some sort of a rule about that isn’t there? The school she is at currently? No library. In fairness, I should say there is a library but since there is no librarian, the children are not allowed to use it and that? Well, that is preposterous to me. So this will be a good change. BTW… have I mentioned that the State of CA can kiss my lily white arse? The budget cuts to San Diego Unified are absolutely unconscionable. Our government really ought to be ashamed of themselves but that is a post for another day.

Keeping with the new beginnings theme, I am attempting to simplify my life. I am downsizing the amount of crap we have. I am throwing out clothes I have not worn in at least a year and I have vowed that I will have clean surfaces and vacuumed carpeting. I will have dishes in the appropriate cupboards and I will fold AND put away my laundry. I will not continue to have a disaster zone for a home.

Ok well, I vow to work hard to have all those things be true. My little bunny eared girl is going to be crawling soon and I really just have to make things safe for her to do that.

I will keep you posted.

Climbing the Generation Ladder = No Fun February 23, 2009

Lane Leroy Carroll II, who was for all intents and purposes my Father died on Friday evening 2/20/2009 after battling with that complete bitch also known as Cancer. On this day the world lost one of the last “Good Guys.”  

Lane was many things… He was a loving Husband, a Father, a Papa, a Son, and a Brother. He was an athlete, an Old Pro, a beer drinker. He was wicked smart and would explain a subject to death if you asked his direction. You just might end up with the formula to make an atom bomb by simply asking tax advice. He was kind. He seemed quiet to those who did not know him well. He was also funny, sort of sarcastic, and occasionally perverse in his humor. He was a prude and embarrassed easily, he did not like to be fussed over. He was Lovey, and Grumbly all at the same time. He was selectively deaf in both ears; he was fuzzy and growly. Sometimes I joked and called him Chewbacca because when he did yell he sounded just like that big Wooky – the fuzz only added to the comparison. He was athletic, competitive and liked to give the young guys a run for their money on the soccer field. He regularly violated Mom’s “Prime Directive” which was not to get hurt on the field. His knees were often bloody and scraped up from playing hard. – He was ours.

There was this joke that Lane had married my Mother for her Chocolate Mousse. Really he married her because he was thoroughly in love with her and would walk the ends of the earth if she only asked. That kind of love is rare. My Mom tells a great story about Lane watching us kiddos while she was out on what must have been a horrible date and asking her if she was done kissing frogs. He then leaned over and gave her a great big smooch; indeed she had kissed her last frog and found herself a Prince. They spent 25 years together and only really ever bickered about Honey Do’s. I try to model my marriage after theirs. I have never known 2 people who loved each other that much. I am grateful I got to be a witness to it.

Lane was a good Dad to us kids. He was our Laney and later he became Papa to our girls. Lane taught me to tie my shoes and ride a bike. He showed up for school stuff and bought the bulk of my Girl Scout Cookies. He watched Fraggle Rock & the Muppet Show religiously with me and took me for Donut Holes on Mondays. He occasionally growled but really only if we were giving Mom a hard time. He was her champion and while he would put up with quite a bit directed towards him, there would be no disrespect to her – that was that. He was home; he was a part of the furniture of our life. He stood in the background like this solid wood beam always holding everything up. As I grew and did the foolish things young women sometimes do; I could come home tail firmly tucked, head hung low… there was no judgment, no “I told you so” just a warm safe place to land and a hug or maybe two.

Lane loved his Grandgirls. He spoke to them gently and like they were 40 years old. He and my Morrigan especially had a very cool friendship. They were dessert buddies and they had a lot of fun together. Towards the end of his life, Morrigan said to me “Papa is just not the same since he cut off his hair.” So true… if only cancer, then radiation and chemo had not jumped in to our lives, our Papa would be just the same and he would be here to share a dove bar and explain the world to her once more. Our youngest daughter Charlotte Lane is named for him. She is too young to know Papa but I know we will tell her Papa stories as she grows and she will know that he loved her too and as Morrigan pointed out… as long as we have Charlotte, we still have Papa. 

Papa, you are missed, you are loved and you will never be forgotten. 

Christmas Card 2008 December 21, 2008

PWYPark_Family Photo Better one

Originally uploaded by MogosMama

Happy ChristmaHannKwanzaYulikah from us to you!

On the agenda today is the wrapping of gifts, the buying of more gifts, and the cramming as much yuletide joy into one weekend that we possibly can.

This morning we are off to make Gingerbread Dwellings with the cousins and Gramma. We will have to see how much candy atually makes it onto the houses this year. My main duties today are keeping the Divine Miss M from gorging herself on the toppings (especially since we had some wonky stomach virus yesterday) and doing my best to keep my control issues in check and just let Mogo do her thing without taking over.

I will let you know how it all goes. Meanwhile, I hope you and yours are enjoying the season.

Love,
B.

Obligatory Baby Photos December 9, 2008

Screaming Mimi – Nov 2008

Originally uploaded by MogosMama

Since it has been awhile… Here is one of the latest Charlie pics. Here she is doing what she does best since she began teething. Fussing.

Did I mention she’s teething?

Here’s a sweet one.

More Random… December 8, 2008

This is a writing exercise stolen from my Brother’s friend Aaryn over at “thematically fickle.” I regularly stalk her blog and Flickr account. She is a very talented writer and photographer. She is also a very nice lady with a little girl that I want to gobble up every time I see her.

***********

I live day to day by the skin of my ass. Most days I am so preoccupied that I derive no enjoyment out of it whatsoever. As soon as I blink it is already tomorrow.

I work just hard enough to get my paycheck every other week but not hard enough for a promotion or a raise – that is a-o-k with me most days.

I talk so loudly. I get even louder when I am nervous and I giggle too. I realize it only when someone gives me that look that says “Man, that woman is obnoxious” and then all the blood rushes to my face. It is only 30 seconds of time or maybe less but; it feels like an eternity when that happens.

I wish I had paid more attention to the love I had instead of longing for the love I was missing.

I enjoy singing Christmas carols at the top of my lungs with Mogo. For just a little while, I feel 6 years old too.

I look so very old for 33.

I smell his little knit cap sometimes when I am alone in the house. I keep it in the small green box they gave me at the hospital. Each time I open that box, I am surprised that it still smells like him. I don’t open it very often for fear that one day it won’t anymore –one day I will have sniffed all the smell out of that little cap.

I hide my vanilla creamer from Matt because he likes to put it on his cereal.

I pray for other people. I think “What’s his Name” up there has heard enough out of me.

I walk with purpose; accept when I am looking at my feet. In fact, I usually look at my feet until I realize I am doing it. Then I become preoccupied with the fact that I am looking at my feet and not walking with purpose. It is a vicious cycle that makes my brain hurt.

I sing Indian songs my old friend taught me to Mogo. There is one about The Bear and another one Blessing the Tress. I can hear his drum beating, and I can smell the burning sage as I sing it to her. Those songs will always remind me of him.

I can make an awesome Mac & Cheese without a box.

I watch other couples and wonder why we are not more affectionate.

I yearn to travel with my husband sans children, to visit far off places and dine in fabulous hole in the wall restaurants where the locals go. I want to sit in front of coffee shops in other countries and make fun of those people for a while. I want to hold hands with him as we walk down unfamiliar streets and meet quirky people there and have a few adventures just my Old Man & me.

I daydream about owning a house of our own. A place where Mogo & Charlie will feel safe and know that is their place, their home. You just don’t get the same feel from an apartment.

I want to scream at people who speak to their children with disdain. You know the type? The ones who have completely broken their child’s spirit in public? Actually, I would love to punch them in the nose.

I cry easily.

I read a blog once written by a lady whose son died the same day I lost Aidan. He had been stillborn too. She wrote exactly what I was feeling at that moment. It was so strange and surreal.

I love to watch people interact with each other. I love to make up outlandish stories about them in my head. It would be so much more fun to tell someone else their stories though.

I wonder if he ever wishes I was someone else.

I touch the hair on the back of his neck whenever he is sitting next to me. It sort of pisses him off but I like the way it feels on my fingertips. I also sort of enjoy annoying him.

I hurt my knee practicing my Pirouettes in the kitchen when I was in the 8^th grade. I was incapable of standing still then. I was always practicing some dance step and I was also a bit of a klutz. Never was the ballerina type.

I fear that I might break them with my words, that they will never know just how much they are loved. I worry they will turn out like me.

I hope to grow old & grey with him. I hope our only regret will be that we don’t have another 100 years together.

I break for pedestrians.

I eat “AT” people. You know, sort of an “I’ll show you… see this brownie here? F-U I am EATING it” I often forget that if I eat in someone’s general direction, they aren’t the one whose ass gets bigger. Come to think of it, I smoke at people too.

I quit smoking for babies but I have a hard time staying quit for me.

I bathe with smell good girly soaps and bubbles, while burning candles, and reading trashy romance novels every chance I get. My mother has the world’s largest bath tub and it is pure decadence when she goes out of town.

I drink 2 cups of coffee in the morning during the week with tons of vanilla creamer and I splurge on a vanilla latte or 4 over the weekend too. Charlie is the most caffeinated baby on the block.

I save the top of my muffin for last because I love it so.

I hug. Yep, I am a hugger. My husband’s hugs envelope me and sometimes crack my back when I need it. I really like hugging tall men with big bellies, and little kids. I cannot stand light – half hearted hugs. Hugs should be big wonderful squeezes. I don’t understand or trust people that don’t hug. I often hug the non-huggers anyways. So what if it’s awkward.  

I miss playing outside with my friends until the street lights came on. I miss hide-n-seek, and I miss riding my bike down a steep hill at dusk when the air is a bit chilly and I am hot from the exercise.

I forgive other people easily. I have the hardest time forgiving myself.

I’ve learned that things don’t ever really get better… they just get different.

I have the utmost respect for those who can shop the day after Thanksgiving and keep their sense of humor. I myself cannot hold my temper enough to consider it. I stay far, far away from any retail establishments on “Black Friday”

I don’t have an artistic outlet that really gets me going. I have a few hobbies or pastimes that I try out now and then but none of them have turned into full fledged passions for me. I am jealous of those who have something like that.

I kiss the bottom of Mogo’s feet even when they are stinky. She will probably only let me do that for a little while longer though.

I wonder if all those wishes and prayers for world peace will ever be answered… I wonder if perhaps they already have but the answer was no.

Prehensile Toes December 8, 2008

Prehensile toes

Originally uploaded by Minarae

She has them.

Mom could always pick up objects with her toes. I remember her cleaning house she would be vacuuming and would stop to pick up a sock or some other foolishness that was in her way with her toes. I thought this was a wonderful multi-tasking tool.

I can do it too. I drive Old Man crazy untying his shoelaces with my toes at random times – like during church services. Looks like Mogo & now Charlie have also inheireted this gene.

If you tickle her toes she will grab your finger with them. She grabs it tight. She is a monkey child.

Also those toes… are very good for nibbling on.

(Photo by MinaRae)