grrlTravels

I think we only need two more miracles and we're there.

11 years. We have known each other for 21 years and have been married for 11 of them. Thankfully we are both still happy about it.

Looking back through the archives I see that I tell you every year that we aren't celebrating that year for a variety of reasons. That leads me to believe that there is very little need to mention that we aren't celebrating this year either. I think K. is a celebrator and I am not. Three preschoolers tend to put a damper on these things for me. One of the preschoolers is crying right this minute as preschoolers tend to do.

I am feeling sentimental and squashy and old today and have to hold myself back from writing Ye Olde Tribute to K., A Man Above Men. He is a fine person, genuinely likable, and very handy with the legos. Many, many admirable qualities. Plus he goes along with my hair-brained schemes and hardly ever says Exactly WHAT were you thinking? Tell me RIGHT NOW. Also he has never once yelled THIS VACATION IS OVER at me like some guy did (to his significant other, not to me) on our first trip to the Bahamas. I give him a lot of credit for that. He did get annoyed at me on our honeymoon because I was all crazy tired from taking Dramamine to get through the Exciting Helicopter Ride Over The Erupting Volcano! and I wanted to crawl into the back seat of the car to sleep as we bumped, bumped, bumped to the only black sand beach in the whole world and when he suggested that we swim I looked at him blearily and snorted. See? He's a saint and I love him.

Flickr pains me mostly

I've finally gotten through all of the photos from China, and uploaded what's worth uploading to Flickr. You can see random photos from our trip to adopt R. in my China 2008 set.

I will warn you that there are 64 photos and very, very few of my family. Mostly scenery type stuff. The stuff my grandmother disliked. She never saw the point of taking a picture that didn't have a person in it. A point on which we disagreed. As you will see if you click through my photos. I loved my grandmother a lot—she made crazy good cream cheese and olives on celery and she washed paper plates. But she was just wrong in her photographic sensibilities.

Anyway. Photos. Lots of them. Mostly without recognizable people. For you. Or not.

random thoughts shooting through my randomized brain

1. The letter FINALLY came on Saturday telling me that the mammogram was clear. I cannot tell you. I have the number for the high risk breast cancer group and I am going to call it.
2. E. has that 5-year-old honesty thing going. Each day I get the status: he loves me, he doesn't love me, he might love me—he's not quite sure, he likes me ok but he really loves daddy. Most days for the past week have been "I don't love you today Mommy." Sigh. I say, "I think you are angry with Mommy because some days I am busy and I can't play with you. It is ok to feel angry. I always love you. I never don't love you." And I grit my teeth and hope we get through this soon.
3. I was following a car the other day with a bumper sticker that said:
   This is America
   "Speak English"
   Besides wondering what on earth could possess some person to permanently affix such drivel to their car I am fairly certain that the quotation marks are completely superfluous and most likely grammatically incorrect. The entire time I followed that car I thought to myself You are a bigoted moron and now everyone knows it. Thanks.
4. Z. ate mashed potatoes today at therapy for no good reason. Go Z.!
5. The local junior high informs me that April is Child Abuse Prevention Month. Just thinking out loud here, but shouldn't every month be Child Abuse Prevention Month? Should someone not take this up with the proper authorities?
6. R. must have a heightened sense of smell. He can find any bit of food in any room of the house within 2 minutes of entering the room. It is quite the superpower. He snuffles around like a sweet little puppy which is endearing and a teensy bit frightening.
7. I joined a doll quilt swap. It seemed like a good way to get myself crafting something, new children notwithstanding. Of course I have never made a quilt and I did not play with dolls as a child and Z. cannot be considered a doll person at this time. I am flummoxed.

P.S. Edna Waller assures me that "Life is pleasure with antidepressants!" Edna, I couldn't agree more. Thanks for the friendly little email reminder to cheer me up.

patience is the art of coping

When the OT told me that Z.'s gait was odd I just smiled to myself. Z. has her own way of getting places and her own pace getting there I thought to myself. She requires us to wait. For what I don't know. At this point I'm just waiting.

It's been a rough few months for Z. We suspected the transition occasioned by adding a new member of the family would be most difficult on her. We were not wrong. She and R. spend their days following me around jockeying for position. Those are the nice days. There are other, less nice days too.

But Z. has more on her plate than just a new brother. We are in the process of being evaluated by the school district with our eye on the integrated preschool class next fall (special needs kids in with NSN kids who are invited via a lottery). So far we have met with the OT and the SW, and we still have the speech therapist and a standardized test they are going to administer. Z. knows instantly when she is being evaluated these days. It isn't that difficult. The signs are there—there is a stranger, odd requests, and her mother gets that voice and is a little too cheerful.

I have mixed feelings about the evaluation by the school and about Z. going to preschool in the fall. But then again I have mixed feelings about most everything with Z. So we are moving forward, having the evaluations performed, meeting with the Child Study Team, preparing to send her in the fall. It isn't easy on Z.—she must have mixed feelings too.

Then there is feeding. A great thing happened for me when we met with the IA doctor for R.'s first visit. R. was being watched and the doctor and the OT were asking me a million little questions. The subject of Z. came up. I was just waiting, and immediately pounced. I screwed on my most pathetic mom face and said, "Things are not going well with the feeding therapy. We aren't getting anywhere. Are there any IA doctors who specialize in feeding?" The doctor and the OT gave each other a strange look, but I forged ahead. "I mean anyone. Anywhere. We will fly across the country to consult with the right person. We don't know what to do and the current therapy isn't working and we don't know why and we are considering the doctor in Virginia who everyone loves but living there for 4 or 6 weeks would be difficult. Anyone? At all?" They both gave me a long look. I wondered if I had offended them in some way.
"You're looking at them." It took me a second to realize what they were saying. Were they saying that they were experts in feeding within the IA community? Why did I never know this?

Blah blah blah. Lots of talking. We arrange for Z. to see the already solidly booked OT. We go to the appointment. It is much, much different than our current feeding therapy. It is very, very difficult for Z., and not much fun for me. It is challenging. I feel afraid and exuberant at the same time. I take Z. and her stash of stuff home and begin to implement the new regime.

Z. crumbles. She cries, a lot. She acts unhappy. She begins to refuse to make eye contact during meals, and then refuses eye contact with me intermittently all day long. She begins an all-out rejection of me, doesn't want to be touched, doesn't want me at all. Ever. I persist. I hug her and make eye contact and continue on with the program. She gets gaggy. And then she vomits right in the middle of her dinner, the first time since November.

I email the OT and we decide to take a step back, skip a session, and wait and see. We continue with a few little changes and try to decide whether Z. is upset because of R., upset because of the new therapy, or both. More question marks from our Z. She is a veritable question mark factory, churning them out night and day at breakneck speed.

More question marks. More waiting. I take a deep breath.

wait a minute...

I had the films taken and it turns out they don't read them right away any more. Huh. It's been 3 or so years, but I could have sworn...

Anyway, they will call if they "need more films". I will get a letter in 5 - 7 days with the results. Thanks and have a nice day.

It's a good thing in the long run. I have been trying to decide for far too long if I should get myself into a high risk program and now I've decided once and for all. Yes, I am going. I will talk to them and know what my risks and options really are and go from there. And I bet they will read my films right away.

No news is good news I've decided. Happy weekend!

it's my own fault and I know it

After my first at age 30 the mammograms weren't bad. Yes, they squish the boobs more than seems reasonable or even prudent, but the boobs did always manage to spring back amazingly quickly. Because of my family history I schlepped into the city to a hospital with "better" machines where they didn't squish the boobs quite so energetically and read your films before you got out of your gown. [Do they do that for everyone now?] I had ten years of good baselines and I felt good about it.

Enter Z.

I didn't go to a single doctor for 3 years, save my endocrinologist because I needed the meds. No GYN. No dentist. No dermatologist. No nothing. Looking back I sometimes wonder what I was thinking. But deep down I know what I was thinking—I was thinking I am completely overwhelmed with her issues and blindsided by the amount of doctor and therapy appointments we are attending to for her. Not to mention the attachment stuff and the fact that she full-on rejected us for 9-12 months straight. And don't forget the vomiting.

All that to say there is no excuse and I know it. On Friday I shall go and have the long overdue mammogram sorely lacking my previous devil-may-care attitude. I have turned 40 and 40 has changed everything. My mother was diagnosed with her breast cancer at 40. And my maternal grandmother in her early 40s. Right now 42 feels like if not a death sentence then a sentence which may include but is not limited to surgery/mastectomy, radiation, chemo, and/or a series of drugs with long-term unpleasant side effects. I dread Friday. A lot.

Ever rational K. tells me not to borrow trouble, not to assume, and if the news should be bad that he will help me to cope and make the necessary arrangements so that someone can care for my children while I vomit profusely. I know K. is right. I know he is right most minutes of the day. But the minutes when I feel vulnerable, when I wake in the middle of the night and it is black outside, minutes when I am lonely or frustrated or terrified by life, minutes when I question my genetic predispositions, minutes when I feel the winding fingers of the depression creeping back, in those minutes I am not able to listen to K. I am only able to feel cold and simultaneously long for and dread Friday.

Sometimes 4/1 is just April first

Today was surprisingly good. So good that I was inspired to take out the camera and snap a few photos.

This morning before breakfast my sweeties lined up patiently for juice without even being prompted.

After breakfast was over they cleaned up the mess they had made very quickly. Look at them go!

Later in the morning they all sat on the couch and snuggled with lots of kisses.

At lunch Z. asked for seconds and took a huge bite from the big spoon right out of the pot. She didn't even gag.

After lunch I let the kids ride around the block on the bikes. There was not one complaint, and no one asked if we were "almost home".

After the bike ride the kids ran out back and jumped right in the lake to cool off with all of their clothes on. Oh how we all laughed and laughed.

Later in the afternoon we took them all out for ice cream and let them ride in the back of the truck as a treat. It was so fun to watch them all careening around back there. Oh, they were giggling!

Or. Not.

Happy April first!