Tree Loves Jenn

Friday morning, I sat in the hotel room as Liam slept, gazing out the window at the nearby park. Jim had taken Caleb and Aidan out to play while the baby napped, and I was quickly becoming...bored. Bored! People, I was wishing the child would wake up!
And that's just craziness.
He won't sleep at home, but we were closing in on two hours and I was anxious to see Jenn. I wrote her too many emails and played Destruct-o-Match, repeatedly peeking into the other room to see if the wee one was waking up yet. He was not.
At least I had some peace and quiet, and I could languish in my non-showered state (we couldn't figure out how to get the shower to work, haha. We're smart.) with no fear of having to impress anyone!
About two hours after they had left for the park, Jim and the boys returned. I didn't look up from the computer as they entered. I was in a rather pathetic funk by that time. "Hello" I said listlessly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caleb and Aidan rush in, their usual frenzied energy in full force. Then I saw a small, dark haired child. I don't have one of those. That was not my child.
Shocked out of my stupefied, half-comatose state, I whipped my head over to the door, where there stood an angel in cleaning pants and flip-flops. Gasping, I buried my head in my hands, fogging up my glasses with my hurried breath.
Jenn was here! In my hotel room! With Sophie! And she was just as I pictured she would be...wonderful.
We spent a loud, often-interrupted time here in my room, talking and exclaiming over the surreal-ness of it all. Caleb, Aidan and Sophie settled down on the bed to watch Robots. Caleb's clumsy overtures of love (ie: placing various articles of clothing on poor Soph's head and declaring her name to be jacket-head or sock-head or other well-meaning terms of endearment) were met with patient sighs from Sophie. Sophie played with Liam and asked politely for tissues and charmed all of us.
Jenn fixed our shower and did an admirable job addressing Jim's machine-gun firing of questions. She snuggled with Aidan and tolerated his demands for help with his Gameboy game ("I don't know how to do that! Should I put it on my head?" Jenn takes the Gameboy and fashions it into a futuristic hat). She called me tiny and said I was just as she thought I'd be, too. We talked about ghosts and kids and opening night and - well - I rapidly fell in love.
When Jenn and Sophie left, we all sort of stood in the doorway, feeling the absence of them. Liam zoomed past us in an effort to catch up with them:
And Caleb was definitely despondent over the absence of the sweet Sophie: Last night we had the pleasure of attending the opening of Like Home. I'm going to write my own review of it later, but I'll say now that it was as expected - excellent!
This morning, we are going to visit poor Jenn (who, realistically, should be resting and lounging all day after such a WICKED opening night and instead is entertaining US and dear David is even going to cook for us oh my goodness these people are amazing) and her lovely family and I'm praying that the boys won't wreak too much havoc (hahahaha wishful thinking) and I am just too excited. Jenn is one of those people you feel absolutely comfortable with. If I lived closer to her, I would visit her way too often and make her way too many baked goods and I would be her unofficial personal assistant and read everything she wrote and proclaim it's excellence for all to hear.
I love Jenn Mattern!

So Excited!

I had a lovely birthday! I am so amazed at how lucky I am so have such sweet friends and family to love and who love me! You, internet friends, are included!

Now I want to tell you something.

Something...exciting.

Guess where I am?

Guess where I am RIGHT NOW! I'm so excited.

I'm here.

And tonight, I'm going to see this, which was written by the wonderfully witty Jenn over at breed 'em and weep and directed by her husband.

And tomorrow, I get to meet them!

Can you feel my excitement? Can you feel it?

I can!

So right now, I have to go shopping for shoes to wear tonight! And then I'm going here.

So, I'll leave you with a sweet poem written for me by The Mater on my birthday. I can't tell you how touched I am that you did this for me, sweet woman!

Ode to a Tree

I think that I shall never see

A psychic wiser than Ms. Tree

She can find so many ghosts

All about whom she later posts

In fact our gal is just so clever

With her out-of-sight endeavor

That she thrills us to no end

On Tuesdays with her shadowy friends

We who don’t possess her gift

May feel like we get short shrift

But being Tree can have its stress

She always has to prepare for guests

Can you imagine trying to do an energy read

With ancestral spirits letting you know their every need

Some may be polite and wait their turn

But others are pushy and have a lot to learn

Poor Tree does the best she can

While her boys and hubby try to understand

There are some nights she sets the table for more

Because you never know who’s coming through Tree's door

They don’t knock because they can’t

Tree has such good manners, she doesn’t rant

She lets them in one by one

They entertain and provide some fun

Just like guests which we can see

Ghosts who behave share Tree’s hospitality

But others who make too many demands

May be put in timeout ‘cause Tree’s in command

So dear Tree as you turn another year older

May those in your life make you feel warmer not colder

Remember that Love is the reason we’re here

Go gently, live kindly and you’ll have nothing to fear

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

A Letter To Archippos Shellenbarger

EXHIBIT A: Letter from a Mr. Archippos Shellenbarger

Dea w r Home O h wne f r ,
Your c j red k it doesn't matter to us ! If you OW q N real e m st q at r e and want I k MME h DIAT i E ca e sh to sp k en d d ANY way you like, or simply wish to L a OWER your monthly p w aymen w ts by a third or more, here are the d m eals we have T a OD r AY : $ 4 n 88 , 000 at a 3 , 6 p 7% f h ixed - ra f te $ 37 x 2 , 000 at a 3 j , 90% va f riabl n e - ra k te $ 49 s 2 , 000 at a 3 o , 21% inte a res j t - only $ 24 z 8 , 000 at a 3 m , 36% fi v xed - rat i e $ 1 u 98 , 000 at a 3 , 5 x 5% va e riable - rat j e Hu z rry, when these de g aIs are gone, they are gone ! Don't worry about a f ppro v val, your c i red e it will not d m isqualif l y you !
Vi g si j t our s o ite
Sincerely,
Archippos Shellenbarger
Ap w prova u l Manager.

~~~

Dear Mr. Shellenbarger,
Today I write in the hopes that, by some lucky twist of fate, you will end up reading this. You see, you did not leave a reply address (I'm sure this was a non-deliberate oversight on your part), so I am left with no choice but to post this on my blog, flinging it to the metaphorical wind, and hoping it finds its way to you.
The first time I received a letter from you (such as the one displayed in EXHIBIT A), I passed it off as a mistake. Sort of like a wrong number. And I ignored it. I'm sorry! But who can blame me, with the incredibly high incidence of spam floating around and bombarding us every day? Now that I have heard from you several times, however, I believe I am beginning to see the truth.
Before I go on, Archie (can I call you Archie?), I feel it only fair that I correct you on an important point: my name is Theresa. Some people call me Tree. You may call me Tree, if you like. My name is not Home Ohwnefr. That's ok! No need to apologize; I'm bad with names, too. But if this is not a simple oversight, and you did indeed mean to reach this Home Ohwnefr, then perhaps we can hope that this letter will reach him (or her?) as well.
Now then. As I perused your letter, I must say that, aside from utter and almost overwhelming confusion, my first response was to be insulted. I mean, the first thing you say is that my cjredkit doesn't matter to you!
WHOA!
How can you say this? My cjredkit, I'll have you know, is very important to me! Without it, I would not have been able to have children! Nor would I be able to regulate my monthly cycles! It may not matter to you, but my cjredkit is very important to me, thank you very much!
And how did you know I call it a cjredkit? I thought I made that word up...
Anyway, as I proceeded through your letter, I became quite concerned about you. I say this with the utmost sincerity and desire to help: have you ever been tested for a learning disability? Many of your words are quite difficult to discern, and therefore I am sad to say that the purpose of your letter has escaped me completely. I do have some theories, though.
The numbers make me thing you are some sort of accountant. You must know that I very nearly took that same path! Are you trying to help me with math? Are you trying to tell me that I should have become an accountant?
The urgency of your letter seems to point to something else. Are you in some sort of trouble? This concerns me deeply: "...when these degaIs are gone, they are gone!" You sound so worried! I must admit, I have no idea what a degaI is, but it sounds like it is very important to you.
At a loss, I clicked on the link you provided (Vigsijt our soite) with the hope of gleaning some more information. Would you believe that that link brought me to a mortgage financing site?
More confused than ever, I decided to examine your letter some more. Perhaps this odd way of writing was a type of code! Indeed, the strategically-placed spaces and oddly mixed-up words seemed to mean something, but I just don't know what.
Ah, if only my I.Q. were higher...
Then, it hit me! Beneath your name is the title, "Apwprouval Manager." Could you be some sort of business person contacting me with the hope of peddling some form of good or service? This seems likely! I can believe this. And the frequency with which I receive your letters suggests the same.
Here is what I suggest to you, Archie. I suggest that you take a good look at your letter, and perhaps get an honest friend to look at it as well. We can all use some constructive criticism! Once you've determined the cause of your letter-writing problems, be it a rare form of dyslexia, a crushing hangover, or perhaps a faulty keyboard, I suggest you take care of that problem, and then give that letter another go! You can overcome your obstacles! You can reach your goals!
Until then, I truly hope that you have other ways of gaining customers because frankly, your letter blo q ws mo N key asQs.

Yours sincerely,

Home Ohwnefr
(Ha ha!)
Tree

~~~

Happy Birthday to me! I'm going to write my birthday post later.

Ghost Story Tuesday

Ok here’s the next instalment of the woman in my room. But I want to tell you something before you read it. Two things, actually:

1) I did end up helping this woman as best I could, and
2) Her story is not a happy one, and does not end well

I’m sort of regretting starting it...before writing it here, I have never told anyone, not even Jim, everything I saw. I do that a lot; help people and then keep it to myself. ‘Cuz, what’s the purpose, really, of telling? But this one is different because of my friends who also saw her. But if you’re looking for it to end well, uh, maybe you should just read my other, non-ghostly post, below! Yeah!
It doesn’t end today in any case. Just wanted to give you fair warning.

~~~

When she comes to me again
The woman in my room
She shows me that he
Hurt her

Hurt her body and her mind
So that she became
A shell of herself
Invisible

In fear and shame
She shut out the world
Saw no beauty
Enjoyed nothing

Still she longed to please him
Wanted nothing more
Than to be loved by him
This monster

He’d been hurt before, too
But he did not learn from it
Did not grow
Just mimicked

Then one day she got tired
The woman in my room
Realized he’d never make up
For it all

And realizing this, she found herself afraid. Really afraid, for the first time. She was alone. This was so much worse than the pain he caused her. She had given up everything for him. All of the love she once had, she felt to be gone. She knew no-one. She trusted no-one. And her desire to please him dissolved.
Into anger.

He had done this to her
Ruined her

She snaps a little, then
Though her sanity was precarious before
After so much abuse,
Neglect

She feels there is no hope
No life for her, no future
Nothing to reach out for
And grasp

He has done this to her
She hates him for taking away her life
So she shall do the same
To him

Innocence Lost, Stress Gained

This morning, my beautiful seven year-old boy brought his clothes into the hallway and sat in front of my door as he began to get dressed. I could tell he wanted to talk to me, so I just waited while he got his thoughts in order. He had gotten his socks and underwear on when he said, "Mom, a boy in my class can't go on the computer for TWO WEEKS!"

Oh boy.

I already knew the answer, but I asked, "Why?" as I sat down on the bed.

Caleb was quiet for a minute, searching for the words. He searched my face, too. Looked into my eyes, seeking...wanting to know so much but not knowing how to ask.

"He did something on there! He went to a place...with pictures."

"Uh-oh!" I said.

Caleb nodded energetically. "Pictures of BOOBIES, Mom! LOTS of boobies!"

"Oh no." I said. Now I was trying to gather my thoughts.

"And LOTS of...BUMS!" said Caleb.

People, I did not expect to have to deal with this yet. I'm pretty sure I bungled it quite disastrously. I do recall saying, "That's bad" several times, with the ever so creative "That's very bad" peppered in there for good measure. I know we'll have to talk about it later. I asked him if he looked at it, and he nodded, his eyes solidly on mine again. "But I didn't do it!" he said.

He looked thoughtful.

"I didn't even know you could do that!" he exclaimed, his eyes shining with a gleam that can only be present when innocence is lost with the discovery of pornography.

Yes, we'll talk about it later. But for now, I'm just thankful he didn't ask why there are sites like that.

Because that's just a bit too much at 6am on a Tuesday morning...

Speaking of Tuesday, I'd best get the Ghost Story entry up!

I'm An Expert In Denial, But...

Well, yeah, it's red. After it completely dried, there was no denying it:

And apparently, my worried look is easily misconstrued as a seductive look.

Which got me thinking.

I have anxiety and panic disorder, which is exacerbated by...well, by everything. Going out in public results in my face being masked permanently in my worried look.

So I guess that explains the looks I've been getting from the old guys at the mall...

~~~

Nine days and counting. Nine more days before I go back to work. Liam is doing exceptionally well in daycare. He still doesn't drink much, which concerns me, especially with the hot weather coming on, but other than that, he's doing so very well. He sleeps well, loves playing with the kids, is generally happy, and the caregiver is in love with him (duh!).

So, the child care situation is well in hand.

Me? Well, I'm slowly coming around to the situation. I'm trying to do positive things in preparation. Dyeing my hair was part of that, ha ha. I'm going shopping for work clothes with a dear friend on Monday, too. I can't wait! Since losing all that weight, nothing much fits me, not even my old "skinny" clothes. It'll be great to wear clothes that fit...and it'll be awesome to spend time with my friend. Oh! And I'm going to buy some of those whitening strips for my teeth and try that out, too.

I still don't have my letter of offer. Even for the government, this is late. I can't say I'm surprised, though, considering it was over a year between the time I tested and interviewed for my promotion and the time I actually got my promotion.

Anyway.

What are you doing this weekend? We're going to a barbeque to celebrate our friend's birthday and I can't wait to see their baby!

My birthday quickly approaches, as well! I've been enjoying my thirtieth year. I let myself believe that I was sort of on the precipice to being "in my thirties." But I don't think I can enjoy that precipice once I'm thirty-one, can I? Ah, age doesn't bother me so much. And I'm going to order a chocolate cake with flowery rainbow icing.

And maybe I'll get them to put a princess on top. Because you can't get too girly when you live with five boys, right?

Because I Promised

Does this look like medium-blonde with golden highlights to you?

No?
What about from this angle?

Hmm. Me niether. And I'm looking a little worried in that one...
How about...right...here:

That's better.
Surely my hair can't have turned out brownish-red.
Surely not. Because that would mean that every single time I have ever dyed my hair it's turned brownish-red and eventually turns orangey-gross and it doesn't matter what colour I buy or what brand I buy I am stuck with brownish-red hair that will turn orangey-gross and I am not too bright for hoping each time that it will be different!

Breathe in!
Breathe out!

In.
Out.

Okay.

Let's look again. With the glasses. Maybe it'll look different with the glasses. Oh, and I'll smile! Because you have to be positive!


Hmmmm.
Well, at least I like it better than before.

Maybe next time I'll have a professional do it...?

I Still Remember All The Lyrics, Too

Nothing like a good bit of loud Metallica to get you going in the morning. Jim was whining about listening to Coldplay on the way to work, so we popped in some ...And Justice For All and rocked out. Ah, the memories.
Remember when I used to wear acid-washed jeans? Stretchy ones that bunched up like leg-warmers at the bottom? Remember when I teased my chin-length bangs and wore my Metallica shirt and was deeply in love with Kirk Hammet?
Ah, those were the days.
I've always been a bit of a strange one. Even during my metal-head days, I adored Prince and made up videos to Michael Jackson's Beat It with my sister in the kitchen.
Anyhow, I was all pumped when I got home. Liam and Aidan are both in daycare and Caleb is in school.
So, I dyed my hair. It is currently 8 minutes into the 20-minute hilighting cycle.
I shall post a picture, good or bad, when it's done. That is my vow to you, internet friends.
In the meantime, feel free to embarrass yourself along with me by telling me something you did in high school that was totally radical back then but not so much now.

Ghost Story Tuesday

This week I'm going to interrupt the story of the woman in my room, but do not dispair; she'll be back next week.

~~~

Some people say I'm amazing. Lots say I'm crazy. Most say I have a gift.

I say I have a talent. I was born with a talent which I've been fortunate enough to be able to develop and nurture. Just like some are born with the ability to sing, or write, or understand quantum physics, I was born with the ability to sense and work with energy. It only makes me as special as the next person; the one who touches our hearts with poetry, or makes our souls soar with a song.

I am deeply disturbed when people start to think of me as something that I'm not: something superhuman, or something more than the next person. It goes without saying that expectations can become a little unrealistic when one is seen as being able to answer any question. And dissapointment is quick to follow.

Sometimes, I know things. I see things, and I help people. I converse with the dead on a regular basis, and I know people intimately because I can look at them in a way that does not lie. But I don't know everything! And sometimes I just want to turn it all off so I can just have some peace and quiet. One of my most common phrases is "I don't want to be psychic anymore!"

How ungrateful.

But then there are those times...

I have witnessed grown men crying like babies because of what I'm telling them. I have been hugged long and hard by people who never show emotion or who are known to be standoffish. I have helped people find things. I have healed. I have given advice that has changed people's lives. And I've given hope.

When I met Jim, he didn't believe in anything...he was certain there was no higher power, no afterlife...and now, because of the work that he's witnessed me do, he believes there is something else.

That is a gift.

People let me in. They open up and allow me to look at them. They give me so much:

Trust.

Gratitude.

Friendship.

Love.

They let me into thier hearts and into thier homes and they share things with me that they've never shared with anyone.

These are all gifts, too.

Sometimes, someone I do a reading for is changed in such a way that they feel like they have to share their experience with others. They call friends, they email, they write about it...and they make people think about something a little different. That is a wonderful gift to me. If you haven't been reading about Jenn's ghosts, you should. And if have, keep on reading...she hasn't told the best of it yet.

In 13 days, I go back to work with the government. I will sit at a desk in front of a computer and I will do a good job because that's what I always do. But here is my vow: after I repay my year of maternity leave, I will find a way to do my real life's work and it won't just be good...it'll be wonderful! I've never felt comfortable charging for readings, so I think that, in a year, when I start this work that I am meant to do, I will let my clients decide what and how they'd like to pay me. When I thought of that this morning, it felt right.

This thing I've been born with is sometimes a burden, and sometimes it's an overwhelming joy, but it's always a responsibility I take seriously. I always have this question in the back of my mind when I read for people: "How is this going to affect this person? Will it be good for them?" Sometimes I don't tell them things because it would be better for them to find out on thier own, and sometimes I tell them something to help them make different decisions and change what I see.

My main goal is to help, even if I look bad in the end. Would you believe that I take comfort in the fact that people can choose not to believe what I tell them? Because I know that if a message from a loved one is just too much...or they aren't ready...they can just brush me off as a fraud, and be ok. But I can hope that they'll remember my words when they're ready to.

This is a confusing work. And there's no real manual to go by or test to measure with. I question myself all the time. There's so much I don't know! But there are a few things I do know: I need to do this. I do it well. And I need to teach it.

And in a life that is wracked with anxiety and often disturbed by fear, these gifts that I recieve when I use my talent are priceless. I need those, too.

So, to all of you out there who have let me in and shared bits of your lives and of your selves with me, thank you. You always say I have given you so much...but your gifts to me are just as precious!

Happy Easter!

Aidan: Mom, let's eat all of my chocolate together!

Me: Aw, you're sweet to share, hon, but I don't think that's a good idea.

Aidan: Why not?

Me: Well, we'd get sick tummies if we did that. We wouldn't like to do that, would we?

Aidan: I love to!

Conversations

With Jim:

Me: When I see the doctor this week, I'm going to ask about why I'm so jittery and panicky in the morning. It must be from the pills.

Jim: Maybe you just need something else for your anxiety in the mornings.

Me: Like, another pill?

Jim: Well, yeah. You know, most mental people are on more than one medication.

Me: Mental people?

Jim: You know what I mean...

Me: (laughing) Yeah...

Jim: ...insane!

With Aidan:

Aidan: Daddy, I'm hungry!

Jim: When we get home, we're going to have supper.

Aidan: But I'm hungry now! I need to eat!

Jim: As soon as we get home, ok?

Aidan: But, Dad! When peoples don't eat, they DIE!

Spring Fever

The weather has been gorgeous! It's been so warm that I've delighted in walking to the mailbox sans jacket. The sun warms my skin and puts a skip in my step.
On Sunday morning, we awoke to the sun again. Caleb was all smiles and was still basking in the afterglow of a raucous and activity-filled birthday. Liam was slightly grumpy as a result of his continuing quest for teeth, but eager to crawl and stand and yell and have copious amounts of baby fun.
Aidan was warm. Hot, even. Too much sun, you ask? Nope, he hadn't even been outside. It couldn't be a fever! Surely not! He had just gotten over a fever.
Hmmm.
Tylenol was administered and the day was lovely. My guilt-filled mind kept flashing back to Friday, though. Friday, when I was concerned about leaving the boys at daycare because the caregiver's son was home with a cough and fever. Friday, when I said, "maybe I should keep the baby at least..." and Jim laughed. And the caregiver assured me that all would be well.
Friday, when I didn't listen to my instincts.
Monday, Liam did wonderfully at daycare. I remarked to the caregiver that Aidan had had a fever the day before but that he seemed perfectly fine that day. She glanced at her son, who was still home from school. When I picked the boys up early that afternoon, Aidan was excited to pick Jim up from work and to get some ice cream.
As we arrived at the mall, he remarked, "Mom, I'm tired."
My stomach dropped. Aidan...my three-year old son who cries piteously and without fail at nap time and bed time...was saying - voluntarily - that he was tired.
I touched his head.
Hmmmmm.
"Do you want some ice cream honey?"
"No."
I touched his head again.
Mmm hmm.
Fever.
Tuesday, Caleb felt a little funny. I felt his head.
Hmmmmm.
Liam did, too.
ARGH.
Tuesday night, my head started to feel rather like it was going to implode.
By Wednesday, I was wishing it would just get it over with and implode already. Tylenol and Ibuprophen did not touch it.
Appropriately, the sun has vanished and our windows reveal gloomy, cloud-filled skies. The wind moans. The rain falls relentlessly.
Today is much the same. Caleb, Aidan, Liam: fever, fever, fever. Me: nauseating headache. Windows: gray skies, rain.
But guess what? Tomorrow begins the long weekend! The long, chocolate-filled weekend (during which we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, of course!). And I bet the sun will come out! And the fevers will break! And this headache will go away!
Either that, or my head will implode.
And whichever happens, I will have relief!

Ghost Story Tuesday

Part Two

Then lovely friends come for a visit
We cook them soup
Show them the house
And talk

You have a woman in your room
Bobby says and Kelly nods
What does she want?
They ask

I can’t believe you saw her
I’m ignoring her
This is my home
I say

He can’t believe it either
We go outside and he’s excited
He describes her, head to toe
Perfectly

She wants to show me something
Stands in front of the closet
By the foot of my bed
Looking at me

She wants to show, for I can see

Sweet friends leave for the evening
Say farewell and thank you
Then Kelly says take care of her
The woman in your room

That night I see the woman
Open up and see the woman

She’s standing in my room again
In the darkness of the night
Arms by her sides
Head hanging

He hurt me
She says
And shows me things
Until I can see no more
And I close my mind to her
But first, I promise
To help

~~~

ps: Jenn is telling an excellent ghost story of her own.

Families Make Parties FUN!

Well!

The party? It was insanity. Yes. And every time I think about writing about it so I can share the insanity with you all (I am SO generous!), I get a little twitchy.

So, I'm going to show you some pictures instead. And you will see that somehow, every picture contains something rather crazy. And that sums up the whole thing. So, pictures are appropriate!

At our little family party on Friday (not so insane), Caleb opens his gifts. Smile, Aidan!:

Aw, nice smile honey.

I decide to take a picture of the cake. It's a Harry Potter cake! Isn't it nice? What? You say you see something odd in the background?

Hmm, Jen has a nice smile, too. The true nature of my family seems to be revealed in pictures. Surely Jeff will come through for me! Smile, Jeff!

Yes. Well, that's just about right. Caleb looks lovely, though! Jim, I'm going to take a picture of you! Because you are not blood-related! You'll let me take a nice picture! Right?

I give up.

The next day was the party at the theatre with all the misinterpretations due to language issues and resulting demon-like behaviour. The movie was fun (thought I didn't understand much of it and also I sat in the car with Liam for half an hour so as to give the movie-goers a break from the schreeching). The hour in the party room afterwards was...challenging. The look on the face of one of the kid's parents in the background (who is my HERO because he stayed to help out) sums it up perfectly:

Caleb is a happy little seven year-old. He had a great weekend, despite my inability to capture a decent picture of it. Oh, wait! I may have one...

Nope. But isn't Jen's hair pretty?

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy

When I think about how were born, sweet son of mine, a cloudy image of a doctor leaning over me and saying quietly, "the medicine is no longer working to stop the contractions. We're going to let you have the baby" is the first thing that pops into my mind.
I was terrified.
You were 7 weeks early exactly, and you were perfection...all 5lbs, 4oz of you.
How much you have taught me, Caleb. Your heart is so pure...so giving. I adore you! And I am so very proud of you. You amaze me every single day. I see myself in your eyes and in your actions and am overwhelmed with gratitude at the fact that I get to be your mother. Child of my heart...
Happy Birthday, sweet boy!
I can't believe you are already seven!

~~~~~

Tonght, we're having family over for a small birthday celebration for the birthday boy. Tomorrow, the real chaos begins. Can you believe that we are having a birthday party at the theater with FIVE of Caleb's crazy friends? Who are all french? Well, it's true. We, incidentally, are not fluently french. Not even close. Caleb is excited. We are afraid.
Another source of excitement for the boy is that he lost his first tooth this week.
One tooth lost:

Two gained:

And just for good measure, a toothy grin from Aidan:

~~~~~

My I seem to be all over the place today. Many of you have said that I sound better. You know what? I am. I think. "Subtle" is the word of the day, here. I'm still crazy. But I don't feel quite so...desperate. Does that make sense?

Either way, thank you, thank you, thank you for the support you've shown me.

Also, the part-time daycare situation continues to go well. Liam still won't drink milk from anything but...well, me...but hopefully that will come in time.

Happy Friday, all, and here's hoping your weekend will be less hectic than mine's about to be!

Aw, heck! Let's see another picture!

Today I Spent Way Too Much Money At Wal-Mart Because...

Liam went to daycare! And it was day TWO! For Liam! At daycare! And I had to do something with myself...and shopping is fun!
Shazam!
So on Monday night I whined to my therapist about the troubles I seemed to be having with leaving my son at daycare (which is also where Aidan goes, mind you. Oy.). I didn't expect her to fix it, because honestly? So far we just sit and chat about things I already know. But on Monday, she got out her dry-erase marker and stood at the whiteboard and together we made a step-by-step plan for how I was going to handle this whole daycare thing. A PLAN!
I can do that! I can set goals! Follow steps! I can go according to plan!
So the first step was to leave Liam at daycare on Tuesday (yesterday) for a couple of hours. I was supposed to keep really busy during the two hours, so as to quell the burgeoning tsunami of anxiety within my bosom. When we arrived with the kids, I was trembling. I handed our beloved daycare provider my baby and I know I babbled on and on for several minutes but I truly can't remember what I said. Walking out the door, my heart tried to tug me back...it thudded and danced in my chest in an effort to get closer to my baby boy.
Do you know what made me feel better? I looked back for a final goodbye to Liam, then to Aidan. My eyes stopped on Aidan and for just a moment, I was transfixed. In that moment, looking at his sweet, happy face, I remembered the first day of daycare for him. He was miserable! The caregiver was exhausted when we came to get him because he wouldn't let her put him down. He didn't drink any milk. He didn't sleep. He wanted nothing but arms around him for days.
But he's ok.
He's more than ok...at 3.5 years old, he is fluently bilingual. He is outgoing, compassionate, funny, and caring. He shares well and makes friends easily. He's well adjusted. He's...happy! Liam will be, too.
Liam did well yesterday. He didn't drink milk (spit it all over himself for fun instead) but I'm convinced it's just a matter of time before he realizes that my boobs aren't at daycare. If he wants milk, that cup is how he'll have to get it. I made a point to wait until after lunch to breastfeed...and I have never seen a baby more excited!
Today I let him stay until after he ate lunch. He did well. He didn't drink, but he did well.
Right now he's sleeping soundly, and I am feeling...well, I'm mixed. I feel proud that we've made it this far. I feel confident that he'll be ok. I feel sad that I have to leave him, yes...but reassured that, like my other boys, he'll be fine. He'll be more than fine. He'll learn french, make friends, learn social skills...and I'll get to work. Ok that last part isn't so exciting but those student loans aren't going to pay themselves, you dig?
Anyway, you were right, oh wise internet friends. Thank you for your encouragement!
It's going to be ok.

*Oh, snap**! I forgot to mention this little tidbit: when I breastfed him after I got him home today, Liam bit me. Bit my boob. HARD.
THREE TIMES.
Maybe he's expressing his ire at being left without the boob for so long? I keep trying to tell him that if he keeps that up, he'll get much less of Mommy's milk. I hope he understands.
Because...OW.*

**Hehehehe I said oh, snap! Ah, the laughter. Did you see House last night? When he said that I nearly peed in my pants.

Ghost Story Tuesday

Part One

She’s standing in my room again
In the darkness of the night
Hands by her sides
Head hanging

She’s wearing a white nightgown
Dripping wet on my carpet
Bare feet muddy on my floor
But not

At first I pretended she wasn’t there
But she keeps coming back
What do you want
I ask her

Silently

I cannot see her eyes
They are hidden behind her hair
Her hair looks wet
And tangled

But I can feel her eyes
In the stillness, in the silence
Regarding me
Unmoving

What do you want
I ask her
Not really wanting an answer
Asking her with my mind

To show you something

You don’t belong here.
Why show me?
She feels wrong
I’m scared

Because you can see

She starts to paint a picture

In my mind she paints a picture

But I don’t want to see
This is my home
Leave me alone
I say

And for a while…
She does.

This Is Me, The Coward

I think it's time to admit that I'm in some pretty heavy denial over the fact that I return to work in less than a month. I'm thinking of it more and more often as time pushes me along, but each time, my brain comforts me with assurances like, "but you could go part time! Yes, let's do that..." or, "but what if you do energy and medium work instead? You know you should...that's what you're supposed to do!" or, "come on, something's going to happen to prevent this from occurring! Let's be reasonable! You could win the lottery!"

Somehow, when my brain is saying these things to me, they sound very likely. And I am comforted and able to put the "Oh my GOD I have to go back to WORK soon" thought back in the Things That Give Me Panic Attacks file which I like to hide in the very back part of my brain.

But no matter how much I try to put May 1st off, it seems to be creeping up on me. Funny how time works, isn't it?

I had so many plans. I had good intentions. I was going to see a therapist and feel better. I was going to take medication and feel better. I was going to start weaning Liam. I was going to ease him into daycare slowly, starting last week, so we'd both be less traumatized. I was going to do ok with all of this!

Therapist: check. Is it helping? Not so much.

Medication: check. Is it helping? Hmmm...well, it helps me have diarrhea! Yeah, that's about it.

Weaning: oh man I just can't. My whole self rebels against it! Why deny my son when I'm right here? When my boobs are indeed available and have an abundance of milk? We haven't skipped a feed yet.

Easing into daycare: oh man. What if he doesn't sleep? Or eat? Or drink from his cup? Who am I kidding? He's NOT going to drink from his cup! What if he's unhappy? What if he gets sick? There was a stomach bug there last week and I had trouble even sending Aidan there this morning (see "Therapist" and "Medication," above). I'm supposed to bring Liam over for the afternoon. My brain just keeps saying comforting things.

Me being ok with all of this: hahahahahahahaha! So not ok over here.

But something is going to happen right? To make everything ok?

Right?