PlayDate Destruction

Yesterday, Oldest Boy had the day off from school (teacher's in-service) which meant that I could either endure another day of constant fighting, bickering, and fart jokes OR I could host a play date. So, play date it was!

Most of his friends are of one of two categories: Only child or Large family (it's a Catholic school, y'all). I invited a friend of his with a large family (remember the Cookie Exchange? It's that family) and rather than have her drive out to the boonies to drop him off and then lather, rinse, repeat less than an hour later, I suggested that they all come - all 4 kids (age 9, 6, 4, and 1 1/2) plus their mom. This meant 8 children and 2 grown-ups running around our still-being-finished basement. I know, I know. But still...

I've mentioned before that Mr. MOTH is a bit...organized. He spent all of Christmas Eve day sorting, separating, organizing and re-building teeny tiny Legos in anticipation of Santa hooking the boys up with more of the same:

After Christmas, he carefully and meticulously assembled all of the Lego Star Wars toys and gave the boys strict instructions that if they got broken he would throw every stinkin' one away gladly re-assemble them when he had time.

Our boys are HUGE Star Wars fans. I'm pretty certain they could re-enact the entire saga, including the Clone Wars, word for word. As a matter of fact, I think they have during the rides to and from school. Anyway, Oldest Boy's friend is also a big fan. He just had a birthday and had received a Clone Wars blaster similar to the ones our boys have which he brought along. They had a great time for over an hour running around blasting everything: each other, the mysterious "bad guys", and their sisters. Eventually, the girls and the mommies decided to venture into the basement to assess the damage. It wasn't too bad and we soon went back upstairs to have snacks. At one point we realized that the 4-year-old little sister was, uh, not where we thought she was. Oh, no. She was in the basement...carefully disassembling every Lego Star Wars toy. When Youngest Boy saw the damage he simply said, "My dad is going to shoot us!!" Yep.

Bubbles the Fish

Bubbles the Fish. That's the silver lining that I could find in the situation that's currently going down at our place. No, we didn't get a new pet (actually, we did get a couple of new fish but they are as-yet un-named). Bubbles the Fish is a pediatric mask used for inhalation of medication. We are currently using it on Little One:

I'm so frickin' thankful that we already had a nebulizer, medication, and this fancy mask that we had delivered when Youngest Boy was originally diagnosed with wheezing that fateful day in late December a mere two years ago. We never used it for him but it's now being used every four hours round the clock for this little sweetheart so that she can breathe.

I don't understand why this happens to our kids. I don't know how to fix it. I don't have all of the answers. But I feel very, very alone. Everyone offers to help but no one can. And truthfully, I just want to BE left alone. I need to process this newest diagnosis and make my own conclusions. I need to get myself to the place where I am mentally dealing with this (physically, I don't have a choice because their lives depend on my actions right now). And even though my family and friends (and even my husband, who has to make his own place of peace) are offering "help" there's none to be given. Thank goodness that blogging is cheap therapy.

Too Much...Sports?

My husband is a sports fanatic. Football (college and pro), basketball (college and pro), and hockey are his favorites. Baseball, well, if you're a Pittsburgh fan, baseball isn't really your "thing" any more. He turns on some sporting event every night, even if one of "his teams" isn't playing.

I started to suspect maybe we were watching too much when Baby Girl's evening routine included her climbing onto our bed - where we read all of the kids' bedtime stories - and declaring, "Daddy! Put HOCKEY on!"

But the real clincher was during mass on Saturday night. I took the boys and Mr. MOTH stayed home with the girls. The boys are...getting better. I would say they were downright angelic this week. However, at one point they made me nearly laugh out loud. Youngest Boy turned to me and said, "Is it halftime yet?"

That was right before he apparently (without my knowledge) took his shirt off and turned it around. Note to self: Never point out wardrobe mishaps to Youngest Boy until AFTER church.

Coincidence Is God Working Anonymously

Last week I began sorting the last three boxes of boys' baby clothes to be donated. It's necessary to get rid of all of the unnecessary "stuff" from the room that will (someday soon!) be our computer room. I had been planning to drop it off on Tuesday. And then I wanted to drop it off on Thursday. And now I know why neither of those worked.

There's an orphanage in Port-au-Prince with local ties. Those folks are accepting donations of much-needed warm clothing and baby supplies. I hate it when the news makes me cry. But in this case I can at least help. Follow this link to an update for the BRESMA Orphanage. If you're like me, it's always best to have specific needs and instructions on how to best help. And it also helps to know that you WILL know the results. If you feel lead, please give.

And if you're local, I'm making Mr. MOTH drop our stuff off on Monday. If you get it to me before then, I'll make him take yours, too. If you need to know where "local" is, my contact is longdazeshortyears at zoominternet dot net.

Temporary Insanity

I had my yearly OB/GYN appointment yesterday (and if you're one of my brothers reading this, that's probably already TMI so you can click that little "x"). It was standard operating procedure for the most part. I was lucky that my aunt was available to stay with the girls (the boys were in school) and I got to go by myself (taking small children is always...interesting). Everything was fine and I was done relatively quickly. And then I used the restroom on the way out. And nearly had a breakdown.

This is the first time since we've been married that not once did I ask questions about pregnancy. Or conception. Or testing. Or deliveries (OK. I actually did ask about deliveries but only because they stopped delivering babies at the hospital where we had all of our babies). And I thought, "Really?!?! You're really even remotely considering that you might want to put yourself through that again?!?! Really?!?!" And then I called my husband. And he said, "What?!?! Really?!?! Are you serious?!?!" And I realized that I wasn't. I'm not serious. I'm just mourning the passing of a time in my life. My child-bearing years really are over. Really. And I'm yust a l'il sad. Not crazy enough to do it again. But sad, nonetheless. {SIGH}.

And then I came home to the insanity that is my current life. Preparing lunch, changing babies, cleaning up more toys than I thought humanly possible baby stuff, getting a call from the school to pick up Oldest Boy, etc., etc., etc. Four is definitely our number...

Can You Feel the Love?

One night I was putting Baby Girl to bed:

Baby Girl: "::whine::whimper::whine::"

Me: "What's the matter, sweet?"

BG: "I'm yust a l'il sad...::sniff::"

Me: "Why are you sad?"

BG: "Um. I dun-no."

Me: "Well, what's making you sad?"

BG: ::pause (presumably for dramatic effect)::"You."

{SIGH}

Out With the Old...

The basement. Oh, the basement. Mr. MOTH spent most of his Christmas vacation (over two weeks!) working on the finishing touches. He's a perfectionist, which means that he wants it to be completely ready (minus the bathroom sink/vanity) before we move the toys downstairs. I am s-l-o-w-l-y sneaking things down but I think he's on to me.

The bonus features that my perfectionist handyman husband has installed:

*Heated ceramic tile flooring in the bathroom.
*Approximately 1 million (or 38) recessed lights - seriously, folks, my auto flash doesn't even work because it's like being on the surface of the sun down there.
*Baseboard heaters - which we don't need during the winter (see above mentioned lighting)
*Custom-built under-stair roll-out storage for toys.

He is currently painting the roll-out storage thingies and I think we will then be able to move. MOVE. I can't wait!

*********
Resolutions are over-rated, I think. Most years by February I can't even remember what mine were! I believe in that old cliche that "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Any day can be New Year's Day. I rarely wait until Monday to start something. I just start it when I think of it - or when I'm ready. This includes "diets". And exercise programs. And whatever other life-improving habits I want to get into.

I started my silver-lining habit early and although I haven't exactly been perfect at it, I am trying to look for the positive (like the fact that Mr. MOTH was home when all of the kids got sick so that I only had to take one child at a time to the pediatrician instead of lugging all four with me). Exercise has been a little harder because most of the equipment is in the basement...where my husband was working during the break.

But my biggest goal this year is pretty broad. I'll try to describe it in words, but it might not make much sense. I am trying to remember that I can't control anyone else's happiness. I finally realized that I spent nearly all of my time trying to avoid meltdowns - by my kids and by my spouse.

Obviously, some of it I can control (like making sure that they are all fed and well-rested) but some of it I can't. Spilled milk? Out of my control. Stubbed toe? Out of my control. Shingles flying off of the roof? Out of my control. By trying to account for every.little.teeny.tiny thing that could go wrong I was making myself INSANE! And I feel like I was also denying everyone the ability to develop coping skills. The kids need help learning this so in their case I do try to soothe with words and actions. But Mr. MOTH has pretty much zero coping skills. And that's not something I can control. He has to do it himself. It's like a lightning bolt zapped me with that realization. The light turns red just before we get there? Deal. Dropped the spoonful of peanut butter on your pants? Deal. There's not a damn thing that I can do about it. I can only love him anyway. And I am doing my best to focus only on the good traits of those I love. And ignore the others. I'm much happier that way...

A Newborn's Conversation With God

I received this e-mail shortly after I had Baby Girl and it spoke to me in a unique way. I sometimes need the reminder of why I "don't mind" walking the floor, night after night, with my sweet babies. I should be working on my resolutions and updates and such, but for now this exhausted mama is taking a shortcut:

A newborn's conversation with God:


A baby asked God, "They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?"

God said, "Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you."

The child further inquired, "But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy."

God said, "Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy."

Again the child asked, "And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?"

God said, "Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak."

"And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?"

God said, "Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray."

"Who will protect me?"

God said, "Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life."

"But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore."

God said, "Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you."

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, "God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel's name."

God said, You will simply call her, "Mom."