Momma Ink

I haven't been on lately.  With court issues and single parenthood, I've fallen into a rut.  We go to court for more custody issues on the 8th, so after that I will hopefully be posting again regularly.  In the meantime, I have this:

Moments Not Forgotten: A Memory And A Snapshot

There are so many moments that I try so hard to hold on to, but as time fades away, the memories become more faint.

This is one of my favorite pictures.  It was taken on my cell phone, which has a way of distorting things (like Jellybean's head) so that they don't appear to be the correct size in proportion to the rest of the picture.  (In fact, when I texted this picture out to friends and family they all commented on how big she was--but she was actually a fairly small baby.)  The resolution is crappy.  But this shot remains a favorite.  It was taken when I first brought Jellybean home from the hospital. 




















Right before this picture was taken, my mom attempted to hold her for just a minute so that I could get something to eat.  Jellybean cried her little newborn eyes out until my mom handed her back to me.  The moment she was back in my arms, the crying stopped.  That was the most wonderful feeling in the world.  She wanted me.  For once, I was the one with the magic touch.  My baby.  Breathtaking.

As I write this, I realize how easily I have forgotten that feeling.  Sometimes when she is whining for me and I can't so much as go to the bathroom by myself, I get frustrated.  Just a minute alone, please!  I have taken that feeling for granted--being the momma.  Being the one who can always make it better.  How could I so easily lose sight of just how lucky I am?

I seem to find myself fighting for space now, not realizing how much it will totally suck when I get that space that I've been craving.  One of these days she is going to be thirteen and will be too old to be held.  She will turn sixteen and spending time with me won't be her favorite thing in the whole world.  She will turn twenty and then twenty-five and she will marry some guy and I won't even be her go-to person anymore.  And all I will have is the memory and this snapshot.

Fighting A Case of The Whiny's

I am currently engaged in an epic battle with a case of The Whiny's. 

I realize that Jellybean does not possess the verbal skills that most children her age do.  This is a result of the ear infection that she had for so long, hindering her ability to hear and therefore repeat words.  And although she has recently used words like "pup" (up), I don't think she is yet capable of accessing those words on command.  When she wants picked up right now and emotions are running high, she doesn't always remember the word she wants to use.  Or maybe she can't even remember that there is a word to describe what she wants.  So her solution is to toddle around the house, whining nonstop.

Sometimes I understand what it is that she wants.  When she is whining at my feet with her arms up in the air, I know that she wants picked up.  When she is whining and tugging on her shoe, I know that she wants her shoes off.  But understanding is only half the battle.  If I give her what she is whining for, isn't that just reinforcing the negative behavior?  It's true that there are times when I cannot give in to her whiny wants/needs because I am in the middle of cooking dinner or cleaning up a mess; but there are also times when I simply refuse to give in because I know that giving in to the whining means there will only be more whining in the long run.

Even now, it might be too late...

The whining has become a habit.  Now I wonder if I should have been giving her exactly what she wanted before the whine ever grazed her throat.  That way, the whine would have never come.  And if the whine had never come, then it couldn't be a habit.  A daily, hourly, sometimes minute-ly (Yes, the whining has gotten so bad I had to make up a word for it!) habit. I just don't know if I can handle one more "WAH" without flushing my head down the toilet.

I'm all ears for any advice.  Please.  Oh God, please.

Happy Freaking Holidays!

We have officially made it through a major holiday weekend with NO trips to the ER! 

W. and I took Jellybean to the ER on Independence Day for an ear infection.  I took her again the evening of her birthday party (after the party) for a skin rash that was spreading quickly.  And, most recently, we spent Thanksgiving in the hospital.

So, to make it through this entire weekend without any hospitals, doctors, or issues whatsoever, is a merry freaking Christmas to me!

Christmas Spirit

Sometimes I wonder what I could have possibly done to deserve such a great life.  I have made a few poor choices, yes.  Bad things happen to me, yes.  But every time things start to get bad, some way, some how, someone comes through to help me feel nothing short of blessed.

Each year at work, we participate in the Adopt-A-Family program.  If we can get six coworkers to participate, that means we can "adopt" a six-person family for Christmas.  It is all 100% anonymous through the Adopt-A-Family program.  We each pick a family member to shop for and then we all chip in on food for a big Christmas feast.  And although we don't know who it is we are helping that year, it has always been our first thought on Christmas morning that we had provided something wonderful for a family that otherwise wouldn't have it.

It was announced that this year we would not be participating because "times are tough" and not everyone can afford to spend the $30.  I was outraged.  Who exactly are times tough for around here?  We work in a government office where most everyone is severely overpaid.  I am a single mom who has not received any child support and even I was willing to let my bills pile up and set aside a few bucks for a family who has nothing.
I thought this was pretty much the opposite of Christmas Spirit...

...until I came into work this morning...

My boss and two of my friends at work called me into a spare office.  When I walked in, there were two large boxes of diapers and four pairs of pajamas.  Jellybean and I had been "adopted."  And it wasn't over yet.  Inside an envelope was cash for one month of my babysitter's fees.  Inside another envelope, were bill stubs that my friend had "stolen" from my desk and paid with a credit card.

I don't even know how to thank somebody for something this huge.  There is nothing that I can do that will top two boxes, four pairs of pajamas, and over $500 in bills paid.  How can I possibly show my appreciation?  Here I am every day--blogging when I should be working--and they are going out of their way to show me these extreme gestures of kindness!

For the rest of my life, I will be paying this forward.

Do You Believe?

This December, I have been battling Santa Claus in my brain.  The same jolly old fat man who brings such joy to millions, brings me only a sleighful of frustration this year.

Much to the dismay of my family members, I have been considering the idea of not playing the "Santa Charade" with my daughter.  I know, I know... but just hear me out...

The entire ordeal is a lie.  That's it.  You can rationalize it all you want.  Tell me it's not really lying.  Tell me that Santa is the *magic* of Christmas.  But, no matter how you look at it, it is still lying.  Sorry.  I don't know how I can preach honesty while telling my child that an idea as silly as Santa is truth.

I've always thought that Christmas could be magical without the lying.  We can still pretend that Santa is coming.  But would it totally kill the joy if she knows--up front--that we are just pretending?  Kids are great pretenders!  A child can be a princess, a doctor, and then a cowgirl, all in one afternoon.  And deep down, she understands that she isn't really a cowgirl;  but for a brief moment in time, she is totally content with just pretending.

My main hangup with the whole Santa Conspiracy is partially due to personal experience.  I was an only child, so in many ways my parents were also my peers.  So when they preached the value of honesty, I assumed it was a two-way street.  When my friends began telling me that Santa was a just a big story, I defended my parents' honor.  They would never lie to me!  We always tell the truth!

When mom finally did tell me the truth, I was devastated.  Not because Santa wasn't real.  Not because my toys didn't come from the North Pole.  But because it was a big joke.  I'd been had!  And to top it all off, I defended the liars to my friends...  Maybe it was because I had no siblings to share the experience.  I felt singled out.  I pictured my parents sneaking around the house, eating the cookies, putting on a big show.  All so they could "see the look on my face" when I believed the hoax.

And what else did they lie about?  The Tooth Fairy?  The Easter Bunny?  Jesus?  How could I be sure that Jesus was even real?  Well, if praying was anywhere near as affective as writing a letter to Santa, I wasn't going to bother with that.  And that is the main reason that I loathe the Santa Conspiracy.  It shook my faith.  I struggled with my belief for years after this.  How old would I have to be before they finally told me that He was a "story" too?

I understand that Santa, obviously, cannot compare with the One who died for our sins.  This is very true... in the adult world.  But in a child's world, in an American child's world, the two are very close in running.  The only major difference that a small child can truly understand is that we only worry about Santa's judgement at Christmas time.

So please, shed some light on this for me.  How did you feel as a child?  How have your children felt?

To believe, or not to believe...

Tubes

We went to the Children's Hospital to have tubes inserted into Jellybean's ears.  The doctors really try their best to make things fun for the little ones.  Even though Jellybean wasn't as aware of the situation as, say, a four or five year old would be, they still let us try on funny hats and play with the doctors' equipment before going into surgery.


















One thing I learned about my child, is that she does NOT sleep on medication.  Since she couldn't have any food or drink before the surgery, she wouldn't take a nap.  After all, who wants to nap on an empty tummy?  After the surgery--which took all of ten minutes--she woke up feeling pretty groggy.  The nurses warned me that she would be fussy until the anesthesia wore off, but then she would probably sleep for the rest of the day.  They were wrong.  Very, very wrong.  Not only did Jellybean not nap, but she wouldn't even go to bed until 9:30 p.m.  I just don't get it.

Alas, dear blogging world, we can all rest easy that this incident is finally over!