Kids and stuff

I used to think it was terrible when I heard mothers wishing school breaks were over so their kids would be out of their hair again. I understand a little better now. I still wouldn't say it in front of them. But really, it's almost impossible to get anything done when you can never be more than ten feet from your child.

Andy was home sick Tuesday with a cough. It wouldn't be a big deal if he didn't persist in coughing without covering his mouth, and not only that, but make it a point to cough on anyone near him because he thinks it's funny to gross them out. So I figured I'd spare his class the ickies. I should have kept him yesterday, but I had my OBGYN appointment to deal with the prolapse. So I had to send him. Today he's coughing pretty bad, so he's home again. Joy, joy. He spent half the morning so far making the silliest noises he could come up with, and the other half telling me how bored he is. Even though he has a stack of books he HAD to bring with us to read.

Oh yeah, we're staying at my parents' house all day because my Mom's mother passed away. So she and some of my siblings - the ones who are usually home - are out of state for the funeral. Someone has to stay here with my Dad's mom since she has Alzheimers and needs round-the-clock attention. I'm sharing the task with my other siblings in the area. It was supposed to be my week to relax and catch up on some much-needed sleep. So much for that idea.

Andy turned 7 this month. We got him his first library card. I wanted to get him a kids' Bible, but they don't make any that aren't just rewritten as stories or else have tiny print. His eye problems make that a bad idea. I'll have to let him use our large print one. I had in mind something that was maybe all the Bible accounts, in real translation, without the genealogies and other not-so-relevant-to-a-child's-mind stuff. No luck.

Anyway, the library card. I told him he could get books from the junior section now, since his comprehension level is beyond his reading level. He likes a challenge and would rather struggle with words than be bored with the story. After all, Mark read the Encyclopaedia Britannica when he was 8 years old.

So he went right to science fiction and started grabbing all these creepy books about demonic stuff. Not just, you know, futuristic stuff. I mean actually evil. Stuff I can't believe they publish for kids. I said no way. He said all his friends have them. I doubt that, and I still said no way.

It was not a pleasant trip.

The second trip was much better. I'm no fan of those stupid Black Lagoon stories, but they beat that other crap. And he likes Diary Of A Wimpy Kid. Which is actually pretty funny, now that I'm reading it.

This kid is nothing like me. Except in almost every aspect of his personality. SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!! Lol. At least I don't cough on people. And I cared about good penmanship. I think that's a boy thing, though. Most of my brothers and most boys I babysat thought neat writing was pointless.

It's been interesting watching the differences between my boys. It's surprising to me that empathy and gentleness don't necessarily go together. Hunter is much more empathic than Andy. Yet he reacts with aggression, where Andy reacts with manipulation. I think I mentioned that before. I would have expected Andy's self-centered mindset to cause more violence, because he is often inconsiderate of others. But it doesn't. And I would have expected Hunter's loving gentleness to prevent physical aggression, but it doesn't. He hurts when people are upset with him, yet he seems to want them to hurt because he hurts. Maybe it's because he thinks they must know how he feels and are deliberately hurting him anyway?

I talked to my pastor Sunday about some of this. I've been coming to realize recently that I am so afraid of using religion to manipulate my kids, that I'm raising them pretty much without faith. And that bothers me. I rely heavily on my own faith, and I want them to have it as well. But I'm terrified of making them feel like I use God to threaten and bully them with. I also avoid reading the Bible when Mark is home, which is the most convenient time to do it, because of the negative connotations he has with those memories. Family worship at their house meant a couple hours of lectures by the Other Mother on why they were all going to hell because God hated them for being such brats and making her life miserable.

I told him about my efforts at gentle discipline, and how despite my best efforts it seems to turn into no discipline. I feel like I could do a lot better if I had more tools, but the fact is that I don't and that's not going to change. I can't just sit here and wait for the changes I want. I rather thought he would agree with the gentle discipline idea, because he is a very gentle person and loves to play with kids. Andy and Hunter love spending time with him. He didn't, though. He said that he really thought it was necessary sometimes to use corporal punishment, not as a regular part of life, but to maintain important boundaries when the kids test them.

I pointed out that I talk to other parents who have more stable families and started earlier, and they are making it work; and I feel my kids shouldn't suffer for Mark's and my mistakes. He reminded me that the Bible tells us children will suffer for the sins of their parents; not because that's right, but because it just is. That's true. Somehow I don't think a court would care, though, and if I advocate the outlawing of corporal punishment, I have to think of that.

I also pointed out that Hunter is one of those kids who isn't afraid of getting hurt, and I will eventually have to really hurt him in order to make corporal punishment work. He said that if I feel that way, of course he doesn't advocate causing injury to a child, and I will just have to turn my whole focus on making the right things a priority in the household.

I am a bit distressed over this. Yes, I can stop doing anything for myself for the next 12 months and spend every minute of every day focusing on my children and their needs. But too many of their needs clash, especially with a new baby who needs to eat frequently and must have quiet to do so. In our tiny house, it's becoming difficult to even feed her when Andy is home until Mark comes back with the iPhone. Only then does the constant pestering and whining and fighting with Hunter cease for any amount of time.

I could make it work for them over time. I'm sure with one year of giving them my undivided attention, I could make a turnaround. I'm just afraid that I won't be able to handle that mentally.

I have a hard enough time just being by myself in that tiny house. It's the size of a 2-car garage, literally. The claustrophobia can be unbearable at times. When Andy gets home, I have to focus on just plain tolerating him. Let alone working with him. I know that's not right, and that it's not his fault. But it still is. And I worry that setting down the path I feel I must in order to make gentle discipline work, will cause me to resent my children inside.

All my life I have been a doormat for other people. I was a servant and babysitter growing up. I became practically a foster mother to Mark when I left home. I have put myself on the back burner, and sometimes just plain off the stove, for my whole life so far. And now that I actually NEED to put myself on hold for a while, I feel like one more year of ignoring myself is going to kill me. I'm supposed to make sacrifices for my kids. I've just been sacrificing so long that I feel like I've got nothing left.

I could visit some friends occasionally for support, if I had my own car. I could invite a friend over occasionally for support, if I had a place for them to sit. I could be more relaxed when the boys get home, if I could get a nap occasionally. I could keep the house neater, if we had any rooms bigger than a walk-in closet. I could play games or do puzzles or make foods and crafts with them, if we didn't barely have room for our furniture and dishes. I could give them some quiet time in their room to calm down when they won't stop kicking each other, if they had a room. I could give them incentives to finish their chores, if we could afford more than the bare minimum or if we had room to do anything beyond survive and watch TV.

How much should my needs that aren't being met be allowed to affect my children?

It's not like Mark can just work a little harder and get us a bigger place. Not in this economy. It will take time. A lot of time. I'm stuck with the way things are for longer than I can justify leaving our discipline issues unaddressed.

Should I consider antidepressants again? Or an anxiety medication? Just to avoid spanking? When most parents around me think a spanking is normal and few of them are abusive with it? In fact, it's ironic that my MIL being the only one who I would call abusive with no hesitation, is one of those who would never encourage having her precious grandbabies punished for anything. I guess that's the BPD though.

I don't know what to do.

Are you KIDDING?!

I have long since ceased to be amazed at the level of cluelessness the Other Mother can at times display. Like when she informed Mark and I on Sunday that she thinks her second oldest son and my youngest sister would be a perfect match. (Insert loud horror film scream here.) My sister has always liked him, but knows better. For one thing, after all I've been through with that family, and what she remembers from her own childhood, I really doubt she wants Donna for a MIL. Mark's brother, at the same time, has never gotten along with me, and I'm sure he doesn't want me for a twice-SIL. Add in the fact that he's abusive to his girlfriends AND to his dog, has both anger and alcohol problems, and has the same PTSD from childhood that Mark does, though less apparently severe and manifesting differently; and, well, I am not about to see him with any girl I give two hoots about.

Still, she seems to think all he needs is a nice young lady like my sister to straighten him out. Whatever. She's a moron, nothing new, I should be used to that by now.

But I was rather shocked when she visited yesterday and jumped right back into the subject, apparently trying to enlist my help in getting them together. I managed not to say ANY of the vast array of replies that came to mind. I think I deserve more than a Klondike Bar for that.

Maybe I should give her the number for the psychiatric hotline.....

Breastfeeding - past and future

A lady whose blog I follow regularly posted about breastfeeding older children. She had two articles that made me really think, and the other one is linked in the one I just linked to.

I always assumed that up to 2 years old was a reasonable age to breastfeed, if mother and child were so inclined. My mom was my lactation consultant, and she didn't go over a year with any of us as far as I know. But she also breastfed her kids against the liberally expressed opinions of her religious mentor, who viewed formula as another God-given invention to make our lives easier so we could spend more time in His service. Which of course had nothing to do with caring for your children, but involved lots of political and religious campaigning to make the future world a more Christian place for your kids to be adults in. So of course my Mom wasn't going to breastfeed beyond the bottle stage.

With Andy, I figured I'd let him wean on his own. But then I got pregnant with Hunter. I just assumed that my body could not support pregnancy and nursing together, so I weaned him at a year. Looking back, I don't think it could have without several changes. I could have made those changes had I been of the mindset that tandem nursing was normal. And if I'd known then what I know now about nutrition. But I didn't. I had a hard enough time nursing Andy, being constantly dehydrated, malnourished, very stressed, and not taking vitamins because I didn't realize I needed them while nursing and I wasn't going to spend the money.

I was completely absorbed by Mark's problems at the time. His doctor had given him 6 months to live without major lifestyle changes, and that's why I got pregnant with Hunter. I was scared of turning into that single mom with a single son whose relationship becomes emotionally incestuous because they both have no one else. I knew I'd never get remarried. I wanted Andy to have a sibling for his own health. I was constantly depressed, didn't know that sleep deprivation is a big factor in poor milk production, couldn't keep enough bottled water around because of Mark's family and friends helping themselves to it regularly, and ate snacks most of the day because I was too exhausted and miserable to prepare a meal.

So it didn't even occur to me to keep breastfeeding through pregnancy. And if I had tried to, I couldn't have. Had I wanted to try, though, I would have probably researched it like I did everything else, and learned things that might have made it possible.

Then I weaned Hunter at 7 months, because he was so heavy and my back was in agony. He had begun to teethe, and wanted to nurse every half hour for about 3 minutes. His jaw was crooked when he was a baby as too; it straightened out around 4 years old. So that meant lots of plugged ducts and sore nipples, as well as feeling like I was constantly drenched in my own breast milk. Most unpleasant. I couldn't take it any more.

Looking back, I wouldn't have had those problems if Andy was still nursing too; he would have been able to nurse evenly and prevent the plugged ducts, as well as finish what Hunter was constantly starting and then abandoning just when I let down. As for my back, when it still hurt dreadfully after more than three years, my mom paid for me to see a chiropractor who determined my hip was out of whack from the difficult birth (10 lb. 7 oz. baby, shoulder dystocia); and after only a few sessions with some electrode thing, I was much better. Should have done it right after he was born. Just like I should have gotten physical therapy for the prolapsing.

So. In the end, coulda, shoulda, woulda. Can't do anything about that now. It got me thinking, though. Both boys have pretty bad cavities. Andy wouldn't have nearly so many without the Other Mother sneaking candy to him every night throughout toddlerhood, but still: would that have been prevented if I had breastfed them until, say, 2 years old? Or even 3? Probably.

I look at Morgan now. She's teething full blast. Having most of the same issues Hunter did, but she's smaller and my back is better now, so I will make it through. I figured I'd breastfeed her about a year. Until she can hold a sippee cup. Now I'm rethinking that. Maybe if I stick with this longer, she won't have the bad teeth her brothers are suffering with. Maybe our bond can be stronger.

And that's another thing. I can certainly see where nursing longer would have greatly improved my relationship with Andy. He would have suffered a lot less from the stresses of our household, I think. There would probably be less antagonism between us, more openness, more peace. It would have made gentle discipline easier. My most regretted moment with him is when he was about four and a half, and Mark was in rehab, and the stress of that was starting to bring out the repressed memories of my own childhood. I was wandering around crying and freaking out, and he tried to give me a hug. I shoved him away and screamed, "Don't touch me!" I will never forget the look on his face, complete shock and confusion and grief. I broke something that day that I'll never fully recover. And that's when I knew something was wrong with me. I wasn't just repressed and jittery and irritable. I had emotional problems and I needed help.

I still haven't been able to get all the help I need, but I found some of it. I apologized to him soon afterwards, of course, but it was already done. I hate being touched. Truly. I have learned to control my aversion over time, once I accepted that it wasn't normal. But it's still there. I tense up and cringe when I have to hug someone. But I wish I had allowed Andy to maintain that bond longer. It would have helped his emotional state during those stressful years.

Mark still isn't healthy. I will consider us very fortunate if he's still around when Morgan enters high school. And she is already such a daddy's girl. Even at only 3 months old, you can tell they have a strong bond. So anything I can do to strengthen the bond between her and me, without interfering with theirs, I should do. Because Daddy may well be gone by the time she enters those vulnerable teenage years. I need to have her trust, and she needs to know she has my unconditional love. Her childhood isn't going to be a basket of roses.

I can't say I will nurse until a certain age. I don't like the kind of clothes I have to wear for nursing, I don't like being unable to go out for more than a few hours without either soaking my clothes or stopping to nurse, I don't like having sore breasts and smelling like sour milk. But I'm a lot more willing to put up with it now than I used to be. We'll see what happens. 

The Lord's Prayer

I have decided to double-post for a short while, to give my readers a chance to move over. Apparently I cannot email anyone from their profile link because I share a computer, and it would require configuring the email to my address. And since I've shared posts on FaceBook from many of you, I don't want to leave my new blog address in your comments. If anyone is having trouble getting my email address, it's as follows: pippi_st.germain@yahoo.com

This week our pastor was gone on a mission trip. So they declared it "Youth Sunday" and had the young people from the church leading the service. Our congregation is small, and last year at this time we had only two families with teenagers in the church. I had the only children. Two more have become regulars since. So it wasn't at all the madhouse you might envision if you attend a church with lots of teenagers.

The 17-year-old Filipino boy who gave the message preached on a subject that has been a major part of my search for true Christianity. The "Prosperity Gospel." He pointed out how many Christians today think that evangelism means telling people all their problems will disappear if they trust in Jesus, and how baseless that concept is if we actually read Scripture. How that what faith truly means, is having the peace within to bear up under the trials that are a part of our everyday lot as humans on this planet. If Jesus had meant to bring us wealth, his disciples would have had fame and fortune, not prison cells and poverty and worse. He brings us hope, peace, forgiveness, and love. The intangible things that make the rest of this difficult life worth living.

I have often thought this past year about the Lord's Prayer and its requests. I think it shows in a nutshell what God feels we should expect from Him: daily bread, forgiveness from our trespasses, and deliverance from evil. That's all it asks for. And we aren't promised those things in this life either. If we receive them, it is only by His grace.

I wish the story of the widow's mite was more elaborated on. We tend to assume that because Jesus commended her decision to give her last coin to the temple, she received temporal abundance shortly thereafter. But we have no reason to believe that, in fact. Maybe she went home and starved to death. Does that mean she wasn't blessed? Every Christian who has ever lived knows the story of the widow. She is immortalized in human history. Blessings come in many forms.

Someone gave Mark a copy of Cormac McCarthy's "The Road." We read it and then bought the movie. (The book was better; the movie left out several pivotal moments, probably because they would not have been appropriate for visual depiction.) I felt I could relate to the father's feelings as he struggled with the reality he was faced with vs. the faith he once felt. He chose to believe that God must not exist, and tried to find another way to depict good and its importance for his son. In sharp contrast to that eventual conclusion is the flashback to one of his happiest moments as a young man, when he thought that "if he were God, he would have made the world just so."

Why do we so quickly accuse God when humans wreak destruction on His beautiful creation? I struggle with it, too. I can't understand why God didn't stop the abuse Mark suffered as a child, when he begged and pleaded and prayed with all the sincerity and faith a small child can muster. Just like Jesus said we are supposed to. Nevertheless, it was his mother's responsibility to stop it. His grandmother's responsibility to prevent it. They were the human beings to whom God entrusted this new life, and they failed to fulfil their obligations. God had the ability, but chose to let the consequences of their irresponsibility, and of the abuser's evil heart, play out. Maybe we don't have a right to blame God for that. But just like we feel better knowing there is a Creator out there, we feel better making it His fault when we (not as individuals, but as the human race) screw up.

I think "The Road" is eerily prophetic. Aliens aren't going to take over this planet; robots aren't going to destroy the human race. Our own ugly selfishness will eat us alive. As I mentioned once a while back, evil is not the opposite of good in the way that we typically think of opposites. It is merely the absence of good. Like heat and cold, light and dark. Humanity minus God (in other words, minus a respect for and belief in God) equals evil. Uninhibited cruelty, destruction, and uselessness. The curse of intelligence and free will.

Change It Up

I have been thinking of changing my blog title again, and my last post decided me. I am nervous about any anonymous family or friends potentially reading it. I have deleted it from here and reposted it on my new site. So anyone who wants to follow me to the next blog, please email me and I will send you the address. This one will be deleted once I get it saved to my flash drive.

Do we really deserve this?

So, this year Andy's class requested donations to the family they are sponsoring in lieu of teacher gifts. I've been griping to myself about how I can't afford to give money, and feeling very guilty about that, and I had been planning to give the teacher something handmade but with the new baby, I haven't even made it through the hat I've been crocheting her for a month now. Hunter's school fundraiser came along, and I barely managed to get the cookies made, and then sat up way too late the night before, while getting sick, when I should have been sleeping, to starch and pin the crocheted snowflakes I finished just a little too late for LAST year's fundraiser. Only to find the next morning that starch was nowhere nearly stiff enough. In fact, I was supposed to have used fabric stiffener. And all I had to show for it was a bad case of laryngitis. The last few years holidays have just made me feel pretty useless because I can't manage to give anybody anything.

So I was awfully surprised when the pastor's wife called Sunday to see how I was doing (I was home sick with a sick baby), and tell us that their community had sponsored us for Christmas. She had mentioned something previously about a group getting gifts together for us, but I thought it was the church, and since they are a small church, consisting largely of elderly people on a fixed income, I had tried to be nonchalant and act like I wasn't desperate to collect the gifts or anything. I have a hard enough time asking for help without knowing that the people giving it have had to sacrifice to do so.

She said they would bring the things by on Monday. And on Monday, she and the pastor showed up, their car stuffed with enough boxes and bags to fill all the floor space in our small kitchen! I was pretty shocked. And I can't help but feel like we don't deserve it. I mean, aren't there people out there who DON'T have minimum clothes for their kids? Or who have to live on beans and rice? Didn't I just read about how the average food stamp benefit per person is $4 per day? We certainly get more than that. Then again, groceries here cost more than twice what they did in OK when we visited my sister, so that's probably a national average. Still, I have a very hard time accepting that we are being helped. And not because of pride. I just don't feel deserving of it.

I talked to my sister about it, and she said she felt the same way after Joshua was born and passed away, and so many people helped them out during that crisis. (Another time when I felt like a turd for being unable to pitch in.) And she said that when she looks around at what other people who are considered needy have, she realizes that she really shouldn't feel bad. I don't visit people since I have no car, and even if I did, I doubt many people in this area live very frugally. My sister sees much more of that where she lives. And having her say that made me feel less guilty.

My expectations for the holidays are always high, and especially with Mark having a real job this month. But the fact is that my biggest purchase for the boys this year was probably going to be a DVD player that works. The Other Mother always gives them a lot of toys all through December, and we are so overwhelmed with "stuff" by Christmas that it's pointless for me to buy them anything inexpensive. There's nothing we can afford to buy that she hasn't already given them; anything that would really impress them is financially impossible. Hunter saw Santa outside the grocery store and asked for a remote control airplane. Andy wanted an iPad. HA! Neither of those are a good idea even if we could afford them. (And the iPad in particular remains a bad idea, even though Mark got an Android which is similar, I have no idea why; and which I'm furious about, and which is useless without wi-fi, and a liability for theft or breakage, and we couldn't afford it, AND it was a completely inappropriate gift for any 6-year-old, especially one who mouths off and refuses to do a single chore and says horrid things to his little brother! Can you tell I'm angry?)

Moving on.....

The gifts were wonderful. Lots of clothes for the boys, some really nice things for Mark and I, adorable things for Morgan, and a few toys. My exasperation over the Lego sets, after I JUST finished collecting and confining the ones Mark and his mom got before Morgan ends up with one in her throat, was abated by the set of Disney beanbag Seven Dwarves. So cute! I have to admire them myself when I'm done vacuuming up tiny eeny weeny Legos. 

Anyway, I started feeling a lot less guilty after I sat down and decided what the new budget was. Once I allowed myself to indulge thoughts of what we needed, it became a little overwhelming. I went out and used the gift cards for things I was going to scrape out of today's paycheck, and then started on the returns/exchanges. Don't think I'm stuck up; we can only use so many glove, hat and scarf sets lol. And several of the sweatsuits were too large. I started with the fewest items first, and went to Target, where I traded a couple of oversized shirts for nursing pads and Vitamin C. Relief to get those out of the way. I have a very bad habit of forgetting things completely after I've gone to a place a few times without being able to purchase them. It will take me a month to remember them again while I'm there. Then I went to Gymboree with a beautiful sweater that was too big for the boys. Hunter needed pants. Between the holiday sale, the return, and a coupon, he got a very nice pair of jeans with the elastic waist he needs. Whoohoo! Those are so hard to find. Then I traded some of the way-too-big clothes from Macy's for a sheet set. (I only wanted a fitted sheet, but they only carried sets. Why is that?) But we needed sheets after Hunter's recent Adventures With Scissors. The small holes get bigger with every wash.

A few things I was able to give to siblings, like socks that were too small for the boys, and bath towels that one of the newer couples in our family needed. We have plenty of towels because Donna brings us the ones left behind by summer campers where she works. They gave us things like hand soap and toothpaste, stain remover, dishwashing packets which I passed on to Mom, and a pretty wall placket that goes with the cabin as if custom-made. I intend to leave it there when we move, because it's perfect there. :)  And I still have a big pile of stuff to return to Kohl's. With that I hope to replace the icky rug in front of the sink, and maybe get a blouse the right size. I guess when you tell someone you are an extra small, they just plain don't believe it lol. That's the 3rd time Vicki has asked me what size I am and then given me something medium. Hehe. She's a wonderful friend, but I think that extra small must not exist in her world. And don't bother hating me. I'm not dressing in oversized clothes just so other people feel better. :P

So maybe when Mark gets paid tonight, we just might be able to get something special for the boys. I'm thinking in-line skates. We don't have a place for them to ride bikes, and the skates can be transported much more easily. They've both expressed an interest. And I'm so happy that I can even think about getting them something they really want.

I think what it comes down to, is that I feel bad for having so many people care about me. Maybe I don't have more stuff than other needy people. But I still feel blessed, because I know that we aren't going to starve or be homeless. And that knowledge is worth an awful lot. 

New photos

My sister took these photos for me today. :D