Halloween costumes 2010

If you are so inclined, pop on over to my craft blog, Specraftular, and take a peek at the making of Super Why and Baby Caesar. Cuteness awaits you.

Super Moses

This is baby Moses. Christopher made him in Sunday School this past Sunday. He came home in a little basket made from a paper plate cut in half and sewn together with yarn.

It is very important to me that my boys be raised in the church. I want them to have that community and the foundation of faith that being an active member of a congregation affords. I haven't been great about getting there myself on a regular basis, but now that Christopher is old enough for Sunday School, I've been making a much stronger effort. Much to Colin's chagrin, as he detests the nursery - or any other separation from me. Ever.

When I picked up Christopher this past Sunday, he told me a little about the story of Moses. As in, Moses was a baby who they put in a basket. Even with the missing details, I was still a very proud Mama. My little boy is learning the stories in the Bible.

We got home and the first thing he did was flip up baby Moses' blanket so that it became a cape. Then he proceeded to run through the house with poor baby Moses flying high above his head while yelling, "It's Super Why to the rescue!!!"

Sigh.

30 days of truth

It's November - that month when bloggers take a solemn vow to post everyday thereby leaving no one to actually read posts so I'm thinking it's a great month to do a meme.

Janet, over at Izzymom, was one of the first ten bloggers I started reading. She designed this here blog template for me too. About a week or so ago, she posted a meme that she was going to do on her blog, and I loved it. It's the 30 Days of Truth, and I thought it would be perfect for the NaMoBloPo (did I finally get that right?).

Kim, affectionately known as Miss Zoot, is also in the first ten bloggers I started reading list. I used one of her free templates for my first blog, and I simply adore her. She's doing the meme too, and you should check out her series.

Here are the days, in case you are game to play along. If you are, please leave me a link so that I can follow you. Even though it's November, I'll still be reading blogs and would love to see your 30 days too.

I'll be starting on November 1, which is Monday. But I wanted to go ahead and post the list in case you were willing to come back and join me!

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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.

Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11  Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12  Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13  A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17  A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21  (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

Still here

I'm still here. I didn't go to Canada or any other vast wilderness. I did go to Chapel Hill and visit the Woman's Birth and Wellness Center. They are so wonderful.

We now know what is too big of a dose for me. Just a few days on the double dose had me - well, you saw where it had me. I didn't even know it was that bad until I started reading the comments on that last post. Then after a few days on the in between dose, I went back and read my own words again and saw where I was.

Scary.

However, I saw in those words that I knew then that I didn't want to stay where I was. I wanted help, and I had already asked for it. That makes me kinda proud of myself.

I have to admit, my instinct was to come right back and start telling everyone how alright I was. I was reading the comments and felt like I immediately wanted to start making everyone feel better. So I stayed away for a few days because it wasn't true yet, and I needed to just own where I was at the time.

Now I've decompressed. I've let the new dosage take effect.

I am getting better.

What I can't find the words for now is how to thank you for supporting me. I'll look for them, but for now, simplicity will have to suffice.

Thank you.

Broken

It's that feeling in my throat - around my throat, rather - that something is choking me. I open my mouth to speak and the words never make it to the surface. I sit and stare off into space waiting for the moment to come when I can utter a complete thought or sentence.

I am broken.

The drugs haven't been a secret. Anyone and everyone knows I started them. I never wanted there to be a stigma with it, and I wanted my family to be aware that I want to be better. I want to always be better for them.

Kevin asked me today where this was before he knew me. Where did I hide the crazy? Not in those words, mind you.

The answer was easy. I burned a lot of bridges. I snapped to a lot of judgments. I stayed out too late. I made bad decisions. I smoked too much, any is that, and I drank too much. Self deprecation and self medication. Survival.

I don't want to be broken.

I sang a song at the Type A Mom Conference. A Julie Miller song called "Broken Things". I always think of it as a song I've come through, but lately, I'm realizing that it's a song I'll always just be.

So beyond repair
Nothing I could do
Tried to fix it myself
But it was only worse when I got through


It's a God song, but a life song as well. I do try to fix everything myself. I'm not unlike my two year old in the number of times I say, "I do it myself," a day.

Monday, I determined that my boys would be better off without me. While they napped, I mapped out a plan for my departure. I would disappear into thin air. I would stop by and see a best friend and then vanish into Canada or some other vast wilderness.

It was absurd.

Instead of booking my flight, I called my midwife group. Asked for help. Made an appointment. Then I got up and took my boys for a walk. Scooter and wagon up the street in my pajamas. Because I was still wearing them at 4:45 in the afternoon. I'm not proud of that; I just own it. I felt better.

Then Tuesday, I got a haircut. I don't know what possessed me, but I decided I needed bangs and layers. I could tell my hairdresser was hesitant, and she was right. It's awful. My hair is the worst it's been in years. I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror.

Something that was supposed to pick me up just kicked me to the ground. Simple things that will grow back and be alright seem to be the end of the world.

It's all just so damn heavy.

I don't know where up is anymore. It's somewhere, and I'll find it. But I'm not sure how. Not by myself, that's for sure.

Goals for 2010

It's October. Mid-October at that. 2010 is just about over and there are so many things I didn't finish this year. For my own sake, here are my goals by the end of the year:

• Blog redesign. 
• Move Triangle Mamas and Specraftular from Typepad to Wordpress. 
• Possibly move this blog to Wordpress too, definitely redesign (same header, different layout/colors).
• Sewing
• Halloween costumes
• Blanket for Project Linus
• Christmas stocking for Colin
• Puppy pants for Colin
• Pillow shams for Mallory and Christopher
• Christmas pajama pants for the family
• Home
• Set up office
• Finish decorating boys' room
• Reorganize kitchen
• Start back meal planning
• Personal
• Get out of my fat jeans
• Finish reading Nurture Shock and Healthy Child, Healthy World
• Clean out closet for real. Get rid of clothes. For real.
• Get back to yoga
• Couple
• Get a couple's massage
• Spend at least one evening a week in studio
• Find a babysitter

I'm quite sure there's more, there's just this little problem of only having tiny chunks of time to complete things. So when you see this post keep coming back in your reader, please feel free to ignore it. I'm just updating the list.

And because this is possibly the most boring post I've ever written, here is a gratuitous picture of my boys.

What a little boy needs

Today, while Colin napped, Christopher and I got out a roll of paper and some crayons. He lay down on his back and let me trace him. I used to love to do this - I remember it as a popular Sunday School activity for some reason. Trace the child and then let the child draw on features and clothes.

He was so excited when he stood up and saw his outline on the paper. 

"Look, Mama! See that? That's His-Pher!"

I drew a big smile on his face, and he added two eyes. We talked about what color he would use for his hair (yellow) and what color he might want to make his shoes (blue). Of course, he didn't do either of those, he just went to town with his red crayon.

He colored his way down his torso, stopping when he got right below his waistline.

"Where's my penis, Mama?"

"Um. I didn't draw your penis, Sweetie."

"But, Mama, I need a penis."

"Okay then." I take my blue crayon and add this:

A penis. Because he wanted one. His daddy is going to be so proud.

Dear cancer

I'm not going to get into the #pinkwashing of October or the ineffectiveness of silly games for social activism. Instead, I'm putting my money where my mouth is and went to the Varian website to write a letter to cancer. I guess I'm finally getting paid to write, only the $50 is going to the American Cancer Society.

Want to really be an advocate for cancer awareness and prevention? Go write your own letter. Varian will donate another $50, and you will have made an actual difference.

Here's my letter. Apologies in advance for my potty mouth. In my experience, cancer deserves some serious cursing.

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Dear Cancer,

I hate you.

The two women in my life who mean the most to me are both fighting you with everything they've got.

You tried to take my momma when I was only seven years old. That was beyond cruel. But she fought you. And she won that round. Thirty years later though, she is fighting you again. You have attacked everything that physically makes her a woman, stripping her of breast, ovaries, uterus. Yet, she is still the most beautiful woman I know.

Now, I wait. Weekly updates come. I wait for her to be able to travel baptize her youngest grandson. Just one more trip, cancer. Can't she have this?

The drugs she takes to fight you off, hold you at bay, make her so tired that she lives her life from her chair. She loses her breath when she crosses the room. You have taken her energy, but you will never take her spirit.

If it wasn't enough to try and defeat my momma, you had to go and attack my best friend. For fuck's sake, she was nursing her child. Her five month old was still getting his nourishment exclusively from her when you decided to attack her breasts. His source of life. Her main source of mothering. She didn't even get to have closure in their nursing relationship because of the toxins required for her initial scans.

But she fought you back. A cancer that takes more women than it leaves, she fought you back and we all cheered for her. Her children are weaned. They are starting school. They are growing up, and she is still here to see it.

Of course, you can't stand that. You can't stand that she won what very well could have been your battle. So you strike her again, taking lymph nodes that she very much needs. Requiring her to go back on chemo, cancel trips and playdates, make room for afternoon naps, and wear slippers to school pick up. What you don't know is that she rocks those slippers. Take that, stupid cancer.

I don't have my head in the sand. I know that you will take people that I love sooner than they should go. But I want for you to remember that they aren't going quietly. They are warriors. They are the strongest women I know or will ever know. They are powerful and brave.

You will not win. Even when they are gone, you will not have won.

I hate you, cancer.

Don't eat the baby chickens

I don't write about Mallory much anymore because she's 14 and her own person. However, she has granted me permission to tell this one on her.

In the four years I've been cooking for Mallory, she has refused nothing. There are things she loves (chicken enchiladas) and things she would rather not have again (butter beans), but she has eaten everything. Even when I'm not cooking, she is game to trying anything. We took her out for sushi one night, not telling her what it was, and her only response?

"It's a little fishy."

She kills me.

On nights that Papa brings Mallory home, we have family dinner. Since the baby came (see how I say that like it was yesterday, not EIGHT months ago), I've been a little slack. So when I fond some organic cornish hens on sale, I thought they would be a nice change from the all pasta all the time. You know, fancy little tiny birds. Kinda creepy, kinda cute.

Everything was going swimmingly until somebody, I'm going to blame Papa because he doesn't do the internet, called it a "baby chicken."

And there it sat. The "baby chicken." Mallory wouldn't touch it.

To make it worse, Kevin made up songs about the baby chicken that included choreography from his baby chicken's carcass. She didn't eat a single bite.

It is, if you can believe it, the very first thing she has ever left on her plate untouched at my dinner table. And really, I can't say that I blame her.

They are a little creepy.