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Showing posts with label I love my kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I love my kids. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Wordless Wednesday: Little Pig, Little Pig...
Saturday, April 16, 2011
School Daze
On Thursday, I registered Julia for kindergarten at the school down the road. I cannot possibly put into words how torn my emotions are about this.
(But I'll try.)
I have a love/hate relationship with public schools.
When I was in elementary school, a public one, I loved just about every moment of it. I looked forward to getting out of bed, shoveling my cereal into my mouth, and hopping in the car to have my mom drive me the three minutes to my school. Admittedly, I was more than a little bored with the work and finished way ahead of schedule, but that didn't bother me. I looked forward to chatting with my teachers while the other students worked, and I ran errands and went to the library and wrote stories...I filled my time. My teachers? The BEST. I'm still in contact with some of them today. The worst thing about school was getting in trouble for talking to my friends, and I had a lot of those.
Until Middle School. Grades six through eight were hard on me. Being smart went from being something about which to be proud to being something that made me different and disliked. And if you're different in Middle School, it's apparently not a good thing. Again, my teachers were spectacular (::waves:: Hi, guys!), as were a core group of my friends in our school's gifted program. But talking with these people and my one day a week in gifted classes was just not enough at that point. I dreaded getting out of bed in the morning. Glasses. Braces. Kids hated me for being a "teacher's pet," when in actuality I talked to the teachers all the time because they were the only ones who were nice to me. (Also, they were the only ones who could hold an interesting conversation, in my opinion.)
I thought high school would somehow be different. I was wearing contacts. My braces were removed. New students from a school across town would be merging with our school, and they wouldn't know that they weren't supposed to like me. A week into school, they knew. I never realized how fast a label can carry; it's like I was wearing a big sign on me that said, "Hey! Hate me! I'm different!" I did enjoy the classes more than I ever had in the past. I was able to take honors and AP classes, and I was actually challenged more than I had been in the past. Classes were more fun. My social life, however, was not. I learned things I should not have been learning and did things I should not have been doing, and in the end I spent most of high school depressed and moping. What a waste.
College was more of the same.
And then?
I started teaching. In a public elementary school.
You know how people say that schools today aren't what they were like when we were kids? True. For better or for worse, that's true. Now I was the teacher with the one kid attached to me at the hip, begging for conversation, pleading to help me sort papers or run errands. Now I was witnessing kids being ostracized for being different from an age much earlier than what I experienced. Too smart. Not smart enough. Too much money. Too poor. Looks funny. Talks funny. Is funny. I tried to help students work through their differences. I tried to teach to the various skill levels in a class. And in the end, I decided that I just couldn't make this a perfect environment. I was agonizing over something that just doesn't happen. It's impossible to make everyone get along. It's impossible to make sure no one falls through the cracks--you can't put all your energy into helping one person write a thesis AND put all your energy into helping their neighbor learn the alphabet. A teacher's energy is halved, at best. Or at least mine was.
And that's the thing. Many teachers are AMAZING, whether they teach in a public school, a private one, or at home. They are much better teachers than I was and somehow never seem to be spread thin. But the reality in today's school systems, with huge class sizes, and pressures of THE TEST, is that lots of teachers are just like me. Lots. They want to be all they can be for every student, socially and educationally, but realistically there's never enough time in the day or money in the budget. That's the teachers that want to be there and do their best--what's scary is that not all of them want to be.
When Brynn was born and I decided to become a stay-at-home mom and hang up my ruler and grade book, Julia was just a few months past turning two years old. Already I could see that she was a smart cookie. She knew her letters and letter sounds, could count to at least a hundred, and had a better vocabulary than me. Already, her creativity knew no bounds. By three years old, she was reading books on her own. And at age five, she's reading chapter books.
This started to worry me a couple of years ago. If she goes to school, will she be bored? What will she do when all the other kids are learning their letters? Is she doomed to a life of trouble for talking and fidgeting and being a social outcast? How will they possibly challenge her enough? She began to remind me so much of myself, so I instinctively went into protective mode.
I decided that we would home school. After all, I have a teaching degree, a little bit of knowledge, and we were already basically doing "unschooling" anyway. The days passed, she learned more and more, and we had sort of a learning groove. I knew how to challenge her. I made sure she had activities so she could be around other kids. And this was just for preschool! YAY! We were doing this! This is working great for us!
Then a few months ago, she dropped a bombshell on me: "Mommy, I can't wait until August so I can go to REAL school!"
What does she think we're doing here? Is this pretend? And where did she even learn about an actual school building, much less that it starts in August? Either someone had been informing her, or she read about it. Either way, I was more than a little upset. How do you explain to a preschooler that a school doesn't have to be an actual building? That it doesn't matter where you're learning, as long as you're learning? How can you say, "I know what's best for you, and that's being home with me so you're challenged and don't fall through the cracks?"
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I had my answer.
You don't.
We are firm believers in letting our children form opinions about things in life on their own, as long as it's not something that will harm them. Julia was so excited about school and all the things she thinks will happen there, and I knew it was something I should allow her to experience. But being away from her for hours every day--yikes! I wanted to send her to a half private/half home school here, but our family's one income, though my husband works very hard for it, won't support the cost. She may go to a traditional school, realize it's not for her, and ask to home school again.
Or (gulp.) she may go to school, love it, and thrive. She might have one of those teachers like I had in elementary school, one who seems to be able to find extra time for her, no matter how hectic the school schedule. Maybe they'll be able to accommodate her learning needs. Maybe she'll make lots of friends and feel like she fits in. I hope so. I really, really do.
And if not, I'm here for her. We'll do this until it doesn't work anymore. If Brandon and I sense that she's losing out academically or she's becoming bored and frustrated, we'll try other options. If she starts learning or doing inappropriate things constantly, we'll try other options. There are always other options, but there's just this one time to start kindergarten.
She was so thrilled to be at "real school" on Thursday to register. As I filled out her paperwork, she was literally bouncing around that cafeteria. They did a quick skills assessment on her (knocked it out of the park, of course), and she became fast friends with a teacher who shares her first name. She pointed out the lunch lines, the ice cream machines, the Girl Scout registration table. She didn't stop smiling for the entire hour we were there.
PleaseOhPleaseOhPlease let her keep that smile. Please let her keep that love of learning. Please let this be okay.
After all, who am I to say I know how she'll learn best? Who am I to think that my experience will be hers? Who am I to think I can keep all the negative out of her schooling?
I'm her mom, that's who. And I'll be here to help guide her through this, no matter what happens or what she decides.
Please let this be a good thing. Please.
(But I'll try.)
I have a love/hate relationship with public schools.
When I was in elementary school, a public one, I loved just about every moment of it. I looked forward to getting out of bed, shoveling my cereal into my mouth, and hopping in the car to have my mom drive me the three minutes to my school. Admittedly, I was more than a little bored with the work and finished way ahead of schedule, but that didn't bother me. I looked forward to chatting with my teachers while the other students worked, and I ran errands and went to the library and wrote stories...I filled my time. My teachers? The BEST. I'm still in contact with some of them today. The worst thing about school was getting in trouble for talking to my friends, and I had a lot of those.
I thought high school would somehow be different. I was wearing contacts. My braces were removed. New students from a school across town would be merging with our school, and they wouldn't know that they weren't supposed to like me. A week into school, they knew. I never realized how fast a label can carry; it's like I was wearing a big sign on me that said, "Hey! Hate me! I'm different!" I did enjoy the classes more than I ever had in the past. I was able to take honors and AP classes, and I was actually challenged more than I had been in the past. Classes were more fun. My social life, however, was not. I learned things I should not have been learning and did things I should not have been doing, and in the end I spent most of high school depressed and moping. What a waste.
College was more of the same.
And then?
I started teaching. In a public elementary school.
You know how people say that schools today aren't what they were like when we were kids? True. For better or for worse, that's true. Now I was the teacher with the one kid attached to me at the hip, begging for conversation, pleading to help me sort papers or run errands. Now I was witnessing kids being ostracized for being different from an age much earlier than what I experienced. Too smart. Not smart enough. Too much money. Too poor. Looks funny. Talks funny. Is funny. I tried to help students work through their differences. I tried to teach to the various skill levels in a class. And in the end, I decided that I just couldn't make this a perfect environment. I was agonizing over something that just doesn't happen. It's impossible to make everyone get along. It's impossible to make sure no one falls through the cracks--you can't put all your energy into helping one person write a thesis AND put all your energy into helping their neighbor learn the alphabet. A teacher's energy is halved, at best. Or at least mine was.
And that's the thing. Many teachers are AMAZING, whether they teach in a public school, a private one, or at home. They are much better teachers than I was and somehow never seem to be spread thin. But the reality in today's school systems, with huge class sizes, and pressures of THE TEST, is that lots of teachers are just like me. Lots. They want to be all they can be for every student, socially and educationally, but realistically there's never enough time in the day or money in the budget. That's the teachers that want to be there and do their best--what's scary is that not all of them want to be.
When Brynn was born and I decided to become a stay-at-home mom and hang up my ruler and grade book, Julia was just a few months past turning two years old. Already I could see that she was a smart cookie. She knew her letters and letter sounds, could count to at least a hundred, and had a better vocabulary than me. Already, her creativity knew no bounds. By three years old, she was reading books on her own. And at age five, she's reading chapter books.
This started to worry me a couple of years ago. If she goes to school, will she be bored? What will she do when all the other kids are learning their letters? Is she doomed to a life of trouble for talking and fidgeting and being a social outcast? How will they possibly challenge her enough? She began to remind me so much of myself, so I instinctively went into protective mode.
I decided that we would home school. After all, I have a teaching degree, a little bit of knowledge, and we were already basically doing "unschooling" anyway. The days passed, she learned more and more, and we had sort of a learning groove. I knew how to challenge her. I made sure she had activities so she could be around other kids. And this was just for preschool! YAY! We were doing this! This is working great for us!
Then a few months ago, she dropped a bombshell on me: "Mommy, I can't wait until August so I can go to REAL school!"
What does she think we're doing here? Is this pretend? And where did she even learn about an actual school building, much less that it starts in August? Either someone had been informing her, or she read about it. Either way, I was more than a little upset. How do you explain to a preschooler that a school doesn't have to be an actual building? That it doesn't matter where you're learning, as long as you're learning? How can you say, "I know what's best for you, and that's being home with me so you're challenged and don't fall through the cracks?"
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I had my answer.
You don't.
We are firm believers in letting our children form opinions about things in life on their own, as long as it's not something that will harm them. Julia was so excited about school and all the things she thinks will happen there, and I knew it was something I should allow her to experience. But being away from her for hours every day--yikes! I wanted to send her to a half private/half home school here, but our family's one income, though my husband works very hard for it, won't support the cost. She may go to a traditional school, realize it's not for her, and ask to home school again.
Or (gulp.) she may go to school, love it, and thrive. She might have one of those teachers like I had in elementary school, one who seems to be able to find extra time for her, no matter how hectic the school schedule. Maybe they'll be able to accommodate her learning needs. Maybe she'll make lots of friends and feel like she fits in. I hope so. I really, really do.
And if not, I'm here for her. We'll do this until it doesn't work anymore. If Brandon and I sense that she's losing out academically or she's becoming bored and frustrated, we'll try other options. If she starts learning or doing inappropriate things constantly, we'll try other options. There are always other options, but there's just this one time to start kindergarten.
She was so thrilled to be at "real school" on Thursday to register. As I filled out her paperwork, she was literally bouncing around that cafeteria. They did a quick skills assessment on her (knocked it out of the park, of course), and she became fast friends with a teacher who shares her first name. She pointed out the lunch lines, the ice cream machines, the Girl Scout registration table. She didn't stop smiling for the entire hour we were there.
PleaseOhPleaseOhPlease let her keep that smile. Please let her keep that love of learning. Please let this be okay.
After all, who am I to say I know how she'll learn best? Who am I to think that my experience will be hers? Who am I to think I can keep all the negative out of her schooling?
I'm her mom, that's who. And I'll be here to help guide her through this, no matter what happens or what she decides.
Please let this be a good thing. Please.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
To Brynn, Age Three
Dear Brynn,
Three years. I cannot believe you have been in our lives three years! It seems like yesterday that you decided to make your entrance to this world three weeks early, just so you could surprise me and be born on my birthday. I ate my cake in the hospital room and stared at your beautiful chubby cheeks and long brown hair.
Oh, that hair! When your sister first saw you, the first thing she said was, "That baby's got a lot of hair!" It fits your personality so well! Wild curls like yours are for free spirits.
We had some interesting phases with you as a baby. Colic. Reflux. Screaming just to hear yourself scream, happy or sad.
(Not much has changed about that last one.)
But I could feel you loving us right from the start, and every moment you've ever been happy, you have been positively blissful. When you turned six months old, all the fussing stopped, and your real personality began.
I have always loved that intensity about you. You cry wholeheartedly, and you laugh with every fiber of your being. When you give hugs, you grab us around the neck and hold so tightly I think you'll never let go. But you do let go, mostly because you don't want to be still.
You are my energetic girl, running and giggling, curls trailing behind you. Making funny faces, jumping on the bed (my little monkey), splashing water out of the sinks, laughing loudly, trying any excuse not to wear clothes. You're a girl who likes her freedom, for sure. And we're going to have to discuss that before you're much older. ;-)
You've always been a constant eater, so much so that it's almost humorous! When you were a baby, you'd nurse for long periods of time and very often. Now, you want to graze all the time...peanut butter and honey sandwiches, pickles, celery, apples, and parfaits are your favorites, and when you visit grandparents, you go straight for the popsicles and chips. I don't know where you put all this food, you're so tall and skinny!
At three, you are turning into such an interesting, empathetic, creative person. You're getting better at sharing things, and you love to play with your best friend, your sister. When Sawyer cries, you sing him "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," and he calms down almost immediately. You've always needed time to yourself, and I often find you carrying an armload of princess or animal figures to a corner to play. I love to listen to the conversations you make them have in your not-quite-perfect three-year-old voice. And my heart melts when you tell me, "I wuv you, Mommy."
I wuv you, too, Miss Brynn. You are such a sweet girl, and you make everyone around you feel so joyful and alive. I am amazed by your beauty and your pure spirit. Thank you for being my unique and perfect Brynnie.
Love, Mom
Three years. I cannot believe you have been in our lives three years! It seems like yesterday that you decided to make your entrance to this world three weeks early, just so you could surprise me and be born on my birthday. I ate my cake in the hospital room and stared at your beautiful chubby cheeks and long brown hair.
Oh, that hair! When your sister first saw you, the first thing she said was, "That baby's got a lot of hair!" It fits your personality so well! Wild curls like yours are for free spirits.
We had some interesting phases with you as a baby. Colic. Reflux. Screaming just to hear yourself scream, happy or sad.
(Not much has changed about that last one.)
But I could feel you loving us right from the start, and every moment you've ever been happy, you have been positively blissful. When you turned six months old, all the fussing stopped, and your real personality began.
I have always loved that intensity about you. You cry wholeheartedly, and you laugh with every fiber of your being. When you give hugs, you grab us around the neck and hold so tightly I think you'll never let go. But you do let go, mostly because you don't want to be still.
You are my energetic girl, running and giggling, curls trailing behind you. Making funny faces, jumping on the bed (my little monkey), splashing water out of the sinks, laughing loudly, trying any excuse not to wear clothes. You're a girl who likes her freedom, for sure. And we're going to have to discuss that before you're much older. ;-)
You've always been a constant eater, so much so that it's almost humorous! When you were a baby, you'd nurse for long periods of time and very often. Now, you want to graze all the time...peanut butter and honey sandwiches, pickles, celery, apples, and parfaits are your favorites, and when you visit grandparents, you go straight for the popsicles and chips. I don't know where you put all this food, you're so tall and skinny!
At three, you are turning into such an interesting, empathetic, creative person. You're getting better at sharing things, and you love to play with your best friend, your sister. When Sawyer cries, you sing him "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," and he calms down almost immediately. You've always needed time to yourself, and I often find you carrying an armload of princess or animal figures to a corner to play. I love to listen to the conversations you make them have in your not-quite-perfect three-year-old voice. And my heart melts when you tell me, "I wuv you, Mommy."
I wuv you, too, Miss Brynn. You are such a sweet girl, and you make everyone around you feel so joyful and alive. I am amazed by your beauty and your pure spirit. Thank you for being my unique and perfect Brynnie.
Love, Mom
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Nice to meet you.
I had a plan, and this was definitely not it. I'd be at least thirty. I'd have multiple degrees and a successful career. I would have been married for years and spent time touring Europe (again) and driving across America (again).
But now I was sitting in a tiny room wearing a paper gown, giving Brandon updates over the phone while he worked. Just days ago we had celebrated my twenty-second birthday and were making plans to attempt a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. And now?
I was pregnant.
That flu I thought I had was obviously something more.
I would have waited until he got home from work to take the test if I had actually thought it would be positive. I took it kind of as an afterthought and set it aside. By the time I washed my hands, there was that word staring back at me on the digital test.
PREGNANT.
I couldn't breathe. I took a walk. I took a drive. I took another shower. I took another walk. My head was spinning.
OHMYGOD. This is not happening. This is not my plan. Ten years from now, sure. But now? Not now. I'm in college and my first degree is still a year away. I have no career--I'm a career student. We're going to Boston next month, and there goes that trip; we'll need the money.
NOT NOW!! Please. PLEASE!
Brandon came home and I couldn't tell him. I just showed him the test, and then he took a walk.
And now here I was in this little room and they were putting cold gel on the wand of the ultrasound machine, looking to see just how pregnant I really was. Did I know how far along I might be? No, not a clue. This wasn't supposed to happen, so I wasn't keeping track of things like that.
Up on the screen was gray and black fuzz, circles, moving lines, and numbers. The ultrasound tech was really quiet. I got dressed, and she led me into the doctor's office. He sat down and looked solemnly at my baby face.
"It looks like there's nothing there but a sac. We think we should be seeing something by now."
My head started spinning. I was crying immediately and shaking my head. (But isn't this what I wanted? Didn't I want it all to go away?)
"Come back after the weekend if you don't miscarry on your own. We'll take another look, but chances are that we'll have to do a D&C to get rid of what's left."
What's left.
He handed me some tissues and left me alone for a while. After I cried (what was wrong with me?) my first round of tears, I walked out of the office, sat in my car, and called Brandon.
Those few days were some of the darkest of my life. Guttural sobbing, no food, no sleep. I could not figure out why I was so upset. Life could go as planned now, right? And I could finish college, hop on a plane anytime I wanted, grow up before I had to raise someone. Why did the idea of these things seem so wrong now?
Brandon's mom drove me to the appointment. He was working his minimum wage job and they fired people who didn't show up, no exceptions. I never miscarried over the weekend, so I cradled my belly on the way to the office, thinking it would be the last time I'd be pregnant, even if it was with just a sac that never developed into a baby. I kept thinking that I still felt pregnant and was already mourning the loss of that feeling.
At the office, the OB showed me to the ultrasound room and left me with the tech while he prepared for the D&C. My mind was trying to be anywhere but here. Those gray and black blobs popped up on the screen again, and I closed my eyes. My chest ached as I tried not to cry.
"Why did the doctor say he needed to do a D&C?"
Why was she asking me this? Couldn't she look at my chart? So cruel.
"The baby didn't develop." Tears.
"Really?" Silence. "See that right there?" I opened my eyes and looked at the screen. What was I seeing? That infamous empty sac again?
"That's definitely a heart beat."
I stared at the screen, and I was crying more. My hand flew up to cover my mouth as I just kept staring at that blinking on the screen. From the seat next to me, my mother-in-law asked me, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
Good thing. This is definitely a good thing. I'll never forget that question, because it's the first time I realized the answer. This baby was a perfect, good thing.
And this baby was supposed to happen. I want this. I want this for my new plan, and I want this for us.
As I called and told Brandon the good news, I could tell that he felt the same. When I showed him the picture of our little baby with a heartbeat (and the words the tech typed, "Hi, Mom!"), he beamed with the pride I'd grow accustomed to seeing on his face. This is what happiness feels like.
Six years and three beautiful children later, our lives are full of more adventure than we could have imagined back then.
College? I finished my degree, taught fifth grade, and made another important decision--to stay at home with these kids that are my life.
Travel? We travel often, as a party of five.
My age? I have three children at an age before I thought I'd have even one.
And I couldn't imagine it any other way.
I will never forget those days of agony when I thought the baby I didn't even know I loved was gone. I'm sure that this has something to do with the intense anxiety I feel throughout my pregnancies.
Brandon and I are overprotective parents now, admittedly. We know that nothing in life is guaranteed, and we know how much our family means to us. At least this experience helped us to make this realization. The most we ever leave our kids is to run an errand, and we worry about them the whole time. People joke with us about it, but nothing is more serious to us than the closeness of our family.
This is the family that might not have been. This is the life that almost wasn't. And we will cherish each child, each moment, each gift.
ETA: Each pregnancy has had a moment similar to this. I had a subchorionic bleed/threatened miscarriage with Brynn at 8 weeks, but it resolved itself within a couple of months on its own. I was on bed rest with Sawyer for pre-term labor. With each pregnancy, I've learned even more to cherish the blessing of a healthy child. I have come close to losing them, but thankfully have not had to experience what so many families have to endure.
But now I was sitting in a tiny room wearing a paper gown, giving Brandon updates over the phone while he worked. Just days ago we had celebrated my twenty-second birthday and were making plans to attempt a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. And now?
I was pregnant.
That flu I thought I had was obviously something more.
I would have waited until he got home from work to take the test if I had actually thought it would be positive. I took it kind of as an afterthought and set it aside. By the time I washed my hands, there was that word staring back at me on the digital test.
PREGNANT.
I couldn't breathe. I took a walk. I took a drive. I took another shower. I took another walk. My head was spinning.
OHMYGOD. This is not happening. This is not my plan. Ten years from now, sure. But now? Not now. I'm in college and my first degree is still a year away. I have no career--I'm a career student. We're going to Boston next month, and there goes that trip; we'll need the money.
NOT NOW!! Please. PLEASE!
Brandon came home and I couldn't tell him. I just showed him the test, and then he took a walk.
And now here I was in this little room and they were putting cold gel on the wand of the ultrasound machine, looking to see just how pregnant I really was. Did I know how far along I might be? No, not a clue. This wasn't supposed to happen, so I wasn't keeping track of things like that.
Up on the screen was gray and black fuzz, circles, moving lines, and numbers. The ultrasound tech was really quiet. I got dressed, and she led me into the doctor's office. He sat down and looked solemnly at my baby face.
"It looks like there's nothing there but a sac. We think we should be seeing something by now."
My head started spinning. I was crying immediately and shaking my head. (But isn't this what I wanted? Didn't I want it all to go away?)
"Come back after the weekend if you don't miscarry on your own. We'll take another look, but chances are that we'll have to do a D&C to get rid of what's left."
What's left.
He handed me some tissues and left me alone for a while. After I cried (what was wrong with me?) my first round of tears, I walked out of the office, sat in my car, and called Brandon.
Those few days were some of the darkest of my life. Guttural sobbing, no food, no sleep. I could not figure out why I was so upset. Life could go as planned now, right? And I could finish college, hop on a plane anytime I wanted, grow up before I had to raise someone. Why did the idea of these things seem so wrong now?
Brandon's mom drove me to the appointment. He was working his minimum wage job and they fired people who didn't show up, no exceptions. I never miscarried over the weekend, so I cradled my belly on the way to the office, thinking it would be the last time I'd be pregnant, even if it was with just a sac that never developed into a baby. I kept thinking that I still felt pregnant and was already mourning the loss of that feeling.
At the office, the OB showed me to the ultrasound room and left me with the tech while he prepared for the D&C. My mind was trying to be anywhere but here. Those gray and black blobs popped up on the screen again, and I closed my eyes. My chest ached as I tried not to cry.
"Why did the doctor say he needed to do a D&C?"
Why was she asking me this? Couldn't she look at my chart? So cruel.
"The baby didn't develop." Tears.
"Really?" Silence. "See that right there?" I opened my eyes and looked at the screen. What was I seeing? That infamous empty sac again?
"That's definitely a heart beat."
I stared at the screen, and I was crying more. My hand flew up to cover my mouth as I just kept staring at that blinking on the screen. From the seat next to me, my mother-in-law asked me, "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
Good thing. This is definitely a good thing. I'll never forget that question, because it's the first time I realized the answer. This baby was a perfect, good thing.
And this baby was supposed to happen. I want this. I want this for my new plan, and I want this for us.
As I called and told Brandon the good news, I could tell that he felt the same. When I showed him the picture of our little baby with a heartbeat (and the words the tech typed, "Hi, Mom!"), he beamed with the pride I'd grow accustomed to seeing on his face. This is what happiness feels like.
 |
| Our first family photo. January 2006. |
Six years and three beautiful children later, our lives are full of more adventure than we could have imagined back then.
College? I finished my degree, taught fifth grade, and made another important decision--to stay at home with these kids that are my life.
Travel? We travel often, as a party of five.
My age? I have three children at an age before I thought I'd have even one.
And I couldn't imagine it any other way.
 |
| Our family today. Julia, Brynn, and Sawyer (each one a miracle). |
I will never forget those days of agony when I thought the baby I didn't even know I loved was gone. I'm sure that this has something to do with the intense anxiety I feel throughout my pregnancies.
Brandon and I are overprotective parents now, admittedly. We know that nothing in life is guaranteed, and we know how much our family means to us. At least this experience helped us to make this realization. The most we ever leave our kids is to run an errand, and we worry about them the whole time. People joke with us about it, but nothing is more serious to us than the closeness of our family.
This is the family that might not have been. This is the life that almost wasn't. And we will cherish each child, each moment, each gift.
ETA: Each pregnancy has had a moment similar to this. I had a subchorionic bleed/threatened miscarriage with Brynn at 8 weeks, but it resolved itself within a couple of months on its own. I was on bed rest with Sawyer for pre-term labor. With each pregnancy, I've learned even more to cherish the blessing of a healthy child. I have come close to losing them, but thankfully have not had to experience what so many families have to endure.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
The Day Our Lives Began
Dear Julia,
Five years ago at this time, I was sitting in the hospital room, nursing you constantly, and staring at you for hours on end. I could not believe that you had just come out of me. You were so perfect and so beautiful. I watched your daddy change your first diaper and saw you try to hold your head up right from the start. You've always been precocious.
I was so nervous when I was learning to be a mom. I laugh now thinking about how scared I was to give you a bath, how I anguished over dressing you, and whether you were getting enough food. Or sleep. Or tummy time. I must have done something right, because you are simply wonderful.
I want to remember forever that you were just like this at age five:
As a big five year old, you love to read. You started reading small books when you were three, and now you're up to chapter books. The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh is what you're reading to us at night right now, and we've decided to throw a Pooh party when you finish it. I love that you take the time to read to your sister and brother, and books are constantly scattered around our house because you read so many of them a day!
At night, you listen to The Magic Tree House books on CD, and you have about a million of them!
Playtime for you usually includes Princess figures and your toy Cinderella's Castle. You come up with elaborate stories for them, and you shout, "Dreams come true! Dreams come true!," just like you saw them do at Disney World. One of your scenarios includes every character bringing a gift to the one having a birthday or getting married. And there are hundreds of them. You are very dedicated and will not allow us to clean up the mess until you are finished, which sometimes takes days. Most of my time is spent trying to pick up your figures so I don't step on them.
For Christmas, you got a pink Barbie house, which is another toy getting thrown into the rotation. You have decided to name your Ken dolls Speeder, John Handsome, and Nickel. I've only heard one Barbie have a name, and that was Sylvia.
You play Wii games with your dad, and you both yell at the screen, though you have no idea what you're yelling or what it means--you just want to be like him. Games are some of your favorite things. We've played Candyland, Chutes and Ladders, Pretty Pretty Princess, Tic-Tac-Toe, and more. However, you're infamous for scattering pieces all over the house, so we rarely have all the parts we need to play! Recently, you've started playing Scrabble with us in a modified way. And you win, because you're definitely a better speller than we are. Or at least better than your dad, for sure.
I keep thinking that you're growing out of the dress-up phase, but then you see Brynn dressing up and your interest is high again. The two of you play together and fight together. I enjoy watching you girls play your made-up games (like "Gifts" and "Princess Party") that have rules only the two of you understand. And you love your baby brother so much, too. You're constantly telling him, "I'm right here, buddy. It's okay, I'm right here." He calms down when you talk to him or rub his head. Since he was born, you've spent hours reading him books and giving him toys. You're such a big help to me.
When you grow up, you say you want to be a chef, a nature photographer, a veterinarian, a doctor, a teacher, a scientist, and a dancer. You spend lots of time cooking, taking pictures, exploring, experimenting, and dancing, so I have no doubt that you could do all of those things.
You're in a phase of making up jokes, too...except that the punchline is almost always, "Because he was eating beans!!!" And then, there's your famous one of, "Why did the flower die in the spring? Because he wasn't a flower at all; he was candy!"
Uhm...you might might want to work on those. Not sure you're quite getting the concept of a joke. And you're funny enough without trying.
You give us so much joy and make us laugh all the time.
"Reach for the stars, but watch your head!"
"God said, 'Wake up and eat marshmallows.' And we woke up and ate them. And it was good."
"Oh, really? I just moved here from Botswana!"
Pineapple pizza, celery, carrots, apples, peanut butter sandwiches, and chicken nuggets are foods I can always get you to eat. I still water down your juice, but you remind me that you don't want to drink much of it because it has sugar...though you don't seem to mind sugar in the form of candy or cake.
You're a wonderful artist, and your various drawings (especially of rainbows) cover our fridge, art display board, and walls.
I want to remember you as you are at this moment, but I am also excited to watch you grow and accomplish all the things I know you will. You are kind, funny, thoughtful, compassionate, creative, and determined. You are the most precious five year old I know.
When all this ice and snow melts, we'll have a Strawberry Shortcake birthday party for you on Sunday, and everyone there will love you and tell you that these five years with us has been the best five years of their lives, just like they have been for your daddy and me. May you have many, many more years of living life to the fullest. I am proud to have given birth to you, and I will spend my life in awe of all that you are.
I love you more than you'll ever know.
Love,
Mom
Saturday, January 8, 2011
A Letter to My Son at 6 Months Old
**The main reason I started this blog a couple of months ago was so it could act as a written account of the lives of my children. It's a baby book of sorts, and I hope that one day they can sit and read about the things they used to say and do and see pictures of their cuteness. Most of all, I want them to know their mom loves them.
This is an entry for Sawyer to document his life at six months old.**
Dear Sawyer,
I knew as soon as I found out I was pregnant with you that you were a boy. I'm not sure if it was a gut feeling, a mother's intuition, or just a sincere longing, but I knew. We kept your pregnancy a secret for three months, and I spent hours of that time rubbing my belly and talking to the baby I knew would be my "Mommy's Boy." In February 2010, we went for an ultrasound that confirmed what I already knew--you'd be our first boy. While we were in the midwife's office, it started snowing. Since it hardly ever snows here, I took it as a sign that something soft and pure, perfect and unique would soon be coming into our lives. I knew I'd never forget that moment.
Your birth in July was so calm and full of so much love. It's almost as if you didn't want to make much trouble for me, and I went through most of labor with only a bad tummyache and pushed you out within two minutes. I reached down and delivered you myself, pulling you up onto my chest. Perfection.
You're growing up so fast. Sometimes I swear it sounds like you're saying, "Yeah," and "Hey." You can chatter away with everyone, and smile and laugh like you're following every conversation. Peek-a-Boo makes you laugh because you giggle every time you get scared. And then you try to scare people with your grunting and blowing raspberries! I am usually covered in your slobbery kisses, drool, and spit-up, and I don't mind one bit. Your sisters adore you and will sing to you and play games with you often. Julia wants to take care of you and make you happy. When you fuss, she says, "It's okay, Sawyer, I'm right here," and you calm down. She reads you books and will sing your favorite song, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," which almost always makes you relaxed. Brynn is only two, so she can't do as much for you, but she constantly brings me blankets that she says are yours and wants me to give them to you. She'll rub your almost-bald head (which Julia says looks "just like a peach") and is very interested in what you're all about.
I've never met such a content baby. And that's not just me being a proud mom--it's what everyone says. Your grandparents are all especially smitten. You have everyone you meet wrapped around your chubby little finger and people comment to me often about how sweet and calm and happy you are.
And you ARE all those things.
People can pass you around and carry you like a sack of potatoes, and you just enjoy the ride. And I enjoy that no matter how much fun you're having with someone else, you always look for me and give me a big slobbery grin when you realize I haven't gone anywhere. I'm right there with you. Always.
This is an entry for Sawyer to document his life at six months old.**
Dear Sawyer,
I knew as soon as I found out I was pregnant with you that you were a boy. I'm not sure if it was a gut feeling, a mother's intuition, or just a sincere longing, but I knew. We kept your pregnancy a secret for three months, and I spent hours of that time rubbing my belly and talking to the baby I knew would be my "Mommy's Boy." In February 2010, we went for an ultrasound that confirmed what I already knew--you'd be our first boy. While we were in the midwife's office, it started snowing. Since it hardly ever snows here, I took it as a sign that something soft and pure, perfect and unique would soon be coming into our lives. I knew I'd never forget that moment.
Your birth in July was so calm and full of so much love. It's almost as if you didn't want to make much trouble for me, and I went through most of labor with only a bad tummyache and pushed you out within two minutes. I reached down and delivered you myself, pulling you up onto my chest. Perfection.
 |
| Going to be weighed. 8lbs 8 oz |
 |
| My Old Soul, 1 Day Old |
That's still your personality--calm, not wanting to make much of a fuss.
You began to nurse immediately, and you really haven't stopped since. You turned six months old yesterday, and all 21 pounds of you has been grown only with breastfeeding. I am proud of you for that. I'm proud of both of us. No bottles, no solid food, just Mommy. You're bigger than lots of babies and have been wearing 9 month sized clothing for a month now. You wear Blueberry cloth diapers on the largest setting and FuzziBunz in size medium.
Sweet boy, you have had us smiling from the beginning. When you were first born, you whimpered like a puppy when you were sleeping, and we'd watch you and listen to you instead of sleeping ourselves. At first, you would nap in a Pack-n-Play cradle and sleep at night with us. You started rolling over from your back to your belly at about two months old, so the cradle had to go. From then on, it was just our big bed for you, until a few days ago. We decided that leaving you on the bed is now too dangerous because you're so roly-poly, so we bought you a crib and placed it beside our bed. Now you nap there, and sleep at night in our bed with us. I love cuddling with you all night. You always want to be touching me in some way, whether it's nursing or curling up your feet and putting them on my leg. And honestly? I want that, too.
One day you'll have a room of your own, I promise. But for now, I nurse you and rock you to sleep every single time. I know that the time you'll allow me to do this is fleeting, and I love watching your still-baby-grey eyes getting heavy as you drift off, then gently placing you next to me to rest.
At half a year old, you already love to play. Taggie blankets are a favorite, mostly because you love anything you can put in your mouth! You love to chew on the one my friend Miranda made for you, as well as one shaped like a starfish that your sisters didn't enjoy and passed on to you. We have to keep a supply of cold teethers ("colds," as your sisters call them) for you to gnaw on, too. So far, no teeth. And I'm pretty grateful for that. So far, no sickness, either, unless you count the runny nose you had on Christmas, and I don't count that since it was gone in a day and didn't bother you.
As far as other toys, you've got a fascination with Tiggers (Is it the bold colors? Or the tail?) and dressed as Tigger for Halloween, along with both of your sisters.
If it has lights and makes music, chances are it's a toy you love. For Christmas, Santa brought you a tool bench that does both things; he must have known that our house is filled with princess toys and that you needed something a little more manly. We had our first white Christmas in decades, and I just knew it was for you. Again, it made me realize how pure and perfect you are, and as I'm writing this to mark six months of your life, I'm waiting for it to start snowing again.
We put you on a blanket in the floor with several toys, and immediately you flip onto your belly, where you raise yourself up high on your hands and look around. You can flip back over to your back, but you hate to do it (too fast a motion, maybe) and will fuss until I turn you over or until you give up and just do it yourself.
You are the third baby to use the toy chair that you adore, even though it's lost lots of the toys through the years. You're so curious about how everything works, and you love getting to stand up in it.
You're so curious about the world, in fact, that you have always wanted to face outward when in a baby carrier so you can see what's going on.
If I'm rocking you in a chair, you want to sit facing outward, as well. The only time you want to be cradled like a baby is when you're nursing; otherwise, I think you are afraid you'll fall asleep and miss something. And as for sitting? You learned to do that on your own this week. You can sit for about 30 seconds to a minute before toppling over and moving on to play some more.
You're growing up so fast. Sometimes I swear it sounds like you're saying, "Yeah," and "Hey." You can chatter away with everyone, and smile and laugh like you're following every conversation. Peek-a-Boo makes you laugh because you giggle every time you get scared. And then you try to scare people with your grunting and blowing raspberries! I am usually covered in your slobbery kisses, drool, and spit-up, and I don't mind one bit. Your sisters adore you and will sing to you and play games with you often. Julia wants to take care of you and make you happy. When you fuss, she says, "It's okay, Sawyer, I'm right here," and you calm down. She reads you books and will sing your favorite song, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," which almost always makes you relaxed. Brynn is only two, so she can't do as much for you, but she constantly brings me blankets that she says are yours and wants me to give them to you. She'll rub your almost-bald head (which Julia says looks "just like a peach") and is very interested in what you're all about.
I've never met such a content baby. And that's not just me being a proud mom--it's what everyone says. Your grandparents are all especially smitten. You have everyone you meet wrapped around your chubby little finger and people comment to me often about how sweet and calm and happy you are.
And you ARE all those things.
People can pass you around and carry you like a sack of potatoes, and you just enjoy the ride. And I enjoy that no matter how much fun you're having with someone else, you always look for me and give me a big slobbery grin when you realize I haven't gone anywhere. I'm right there with you. Always.
I know that people think babies can't do much in the first six months after being born, but they are wrong.
You're the first grandson and great-grandson in our huge family to carry on the family name.
You've helped my heart grow even bigger to make room for enough love for three kids, and each time I see you smile, it grows even more.
In six short months, you've managed to fill the hole of what was missing in our family and make us more complete. We all love you more than we could have ever imagined, and we can feel your love for us.
Thank you for blessing us.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, December 16, 2010
It Happened at Daycare--Or, How I Became a Stay-at-Home Mom
Have you been over to visit Mama Kat?
Besides being a bloggess extraordinaire, she also does this cool thing where she lists some writing prompts, just in case you're stuck. I've never used them for blogging purposes before, but I visit there often because reading the prompts usually makes me remember things that might have slipped from my mommy brain (and, let's face it, there are lots of things). But today I saw a prompt that pretty much slapped me in the face and screamed "WRITE ABOUT THIS!"
Honestly, a part of my brain is telling me not to write about it. Cause it's hard to write about. It's hard to think about. And I have a lump in my throat just letting my mind go there. That means that there is no doubt in my mind that this needs to be said and be open for everyone to read. So here goes nothing.
I stayed at home with Julia, my firstborn, for about eight months before I had to go back and finish my student teaching. We are attachment parents, and we were attached to the extreme. When she wasn't nursing, she was cuddling me in the rocking chair or sitting in my lap to do every activity. I was there to answer her every need and desire. I loved being at home, but I had to finish school and wanted to give this whole teaching thing a try. I eased in slowly, only having to leave her a couple of times a week at first. Eventually, she was spending five days away from me... hard for anyone, but especially trying because I'd been so spoiled spending every second with her. She was staying with my mom's friend, who was keeping her for the tiniest amount of money ever, just so I would finish college. I love her, and Julia loved her, too. I never worried about her safety while she was there, and I knew she was having fun with T's kids...in fact, the only worry I really had (besides missing her terribly while I was away) was whether or not I could pump enough breastmilk to keep her fed (I could at that point). Graduation happened, and then three glorious months at home with my baby girl. Because I was no longer a student, I felt guilty allowing T to keep Julia any longer, especially since she was doing it as a favor and had FOUR boys of her own. I decided on...
Daycare.
I traveled around and looked at several places, finally choosing one that was shiny and new and affordable. Worries crept up, of course, but I attributed my more-than-a-little-bit-shaky nerves to my newly-discovered pregnancy and starting a new job teaching fifth grade. (Go with your gut. Lesson learned.)
She seemed to be fine there, if fine is "good enough." She inevitably came home with more sicknesses and more bumps and bruises, but she was around more kids now. Later, I'd realize that those things are normal, and I should have been focusing more on things that weren't. Like the constantly bickering teachers. Like the yelling matches when one got fired. And like the fact that they wouldn't tell me why she was fired--did it involve my child??
Brandon and I came up with a system for dropping Julia off at the daycare each morning. We would drive our cars there and both go in to get her settled in for breakfast. Because I was suffering from what I now know was probably prenatal depression, Brandon would be there to help cheer me and balance me when the thoughts of leaving my baby girl each morning made me want to not only cry, but grab her and run back to my house. Plus, he got to make sure she was safe and secure and happily eating before heading into work himself. It's always good to start a day with a good image of your baby, and as she shoveled cereal into her mouth by the fistful, she looked perfectly delighted each day. So it went for a couple of months.
And then there came an image that is so burned into my mind that it triggered anxiety like I had never experienced in my life.
We got dressed and out the door a little bit late that day, mostly due to my morning sickness. I watched Brandon and Julia in the car in front of me. I could tell they were happily singing and talking.
I didn't see the smoke until we turned into the parking lot.
I didn't notice that the daycare was mostly ashes and still smoldering.
Maybe I didn't want to see it.
And then it was right in front of me, black, and hot, and surrounded by firemen, policemen, a calm daycare director, and sobbing children and their parents.
Gone.
Immediately, thoughts started swimming in my head, and I was crying. When Brandon walked to my car, I heard him talking but couldn't speak myself. I couldn't put words together and form sentences.
We decided to drive back home and collect our thoughts and emotions (yeah, right.). I made it as far as the basement playroom before I had to sit on the floor and pull Julia into my arms. I hugged her tightly even when she began to try to break away.
What if she had been there?
What if I had been at work when this happened?
What would she have done without her mommy there to protect her?
Brandon stayed home that day with her, I think. I know I went into work after a couple of hours of composing myself. Or trying to compose myself. I remember wondering how everyone could be acting like nothing had happened, going on about their business as my mind kept flashing to the image of Julia's spare Dit-Dit (her favorite blanket) and cherry-patterned onesie in her cubby melting in the flames. Then my mind would go where no mind should--to picturing Julia perishing, as well.
It didn't happen.
Julia is okay.
Julia is okay.
Julia is okay.
I kept repeating this mantra over and over throughout that day, and throughout the next week as my mom came to watch her until her new daycare (gulp) officially opened. I had to constantly calm myself as I teetered on the edge of panic attacks. The "what ifs" pummeled me, and my mind came up with a million scenarios of what could happen to her. And the rational part of me knew that even if I was with her constantly, her safety would not be guaranteed. But this was not a time I could think rationally for long.
The newspapers screamed out the headlines about the fire being "suspicious." I think I already knew this. I was suspicious. Two people became persons of interest--the director for insurance money, and the woman she had just fired.
The woman who I had just seen yelling and screaming at the director (who yelled and screamed back).
The woman who had just been Julia's teacher.
I should have been worrying about them all along, I told myself. Why was I wasting time worrying about whether or not they fed her breastmilk before jars of baby food? Why did I waste time worrying if other kids were being nice to her or if she was napping well?
Truthfully, rationally, I had no reason to worry about ANY of these things. And she WAS fine, because whoever torched the place did it when nobody was there. No one was hurt. And I don't think anyone was ever charged. I stopped allowing myself to read about it.
I got over the shock as much as possible, and Julia started a new daycare a few days later. The incident had left its mark, however.
I began to hate work. I began to hate grocery store trips. I began to even hate midwife visits. I began to hate anything that took me away from my daughter for even a second. I cried every single day on the way to work. Brandon started calling me on my cell phone and driving with me until I turned into my school...not the safest thing to do, but better than driving while bawling.
Brandon was the most supportive husband I could ask for as my anxiety crept in. He declared out of the blue one day that I should just stay home once this new baby came. Could I do that? Could we afford that?
Not really, but we'd make it work.
Wouldn't it be worth it if it could help diminish some of my anxiety over being away from my baby (and soon to be two babies)? Going against my instincts to be with her was not doing good things for my psyche.
And just like that, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I stopped crying (as much) on the way to work. I was counting down not only the days until this new baby was to be born, but also until I got to be with my girls all day long, every single day. So when I went into labor over spring break three weeks before my due date, I was ecstatic not only to be meeting Brynn, but to know that I wouldn't have to leave her or Julia again.
And so I became a stay-at-home mom.
I had suffered with depression and anxiety since I was a teenager, and it was exacerbated by pregnancy, birth, and shock. The thing is, staying home with my kids has not magically made it disappear. But it has eliminated one of my triggers, and probably the biggest trigger. I know myself better now, and I know what I'm comfortable with allowing to happen. I cringe at the thoughts of my kids spending the night away from me (only while I'm in the hospital having another baby, and only then at our house and with grandparents coming here). I can't let my mind think about any of them going to school, or growing up and going off to college, though I want that for them and will cross that bridge when I get to it.
Nowadays, you'd probably never realize I have struggled with anxiety issues, unless you really know me well or are paying lots of attention to everything I do and say (and that's just creepy). I'm actually at a point now where I'm pretty calm and rational and jubilant.
Would you think I'm extremely overprotective? Absolutely.
But mostly what you'll notice is a mom who is happily attached to each of her children and is blessed to be staying home with them.
I thank the Lord that whoever decided to set that fire was kind enough (?) to do it with no children in the building. That day in those flames, I lost some of Julia's things, but I didn't lose Julia. In fact, I gained more time with her and a better understanding of my comfort level as a parent. Those flames damaged so much--but ironically, they helped me start to feel less damaged.
It happened at daycare. My life as a stay-at-home mom, a happier mom, began. Blessings are sometimes highly-disguised.
Honestly, a part of my brain is telling me not to write about it. Cause it's hard to write about. It's hard to think about. And I have a lump in my throat just letting my mind go there. That means that there is no doubt in my mind that this needs to be said and be open for everyone to read. So here goes nothing.
I stayed at home with Julia, my firstborn, for about eight months before I had to go back and finish my student teaching. We are attachment parents, and we were attached to the extreme. When she wasn't nursing, she was cuddling me in the rocking chair or sitting in my lap to do every activity. I was there to answer her every need and desire. I loved being at home, but I had to finish school and wanted to give this whole teaching thing a try. I eased in slowly, only having to leave her a couple of times a week at first. Eventually, she was spending five days away from me... hard for anyone, but especially trying because I'd been so spoiled spending every second with her. She was staying with my mom's friend, who was keeping her for the tiniest amount of money ever, just so I would finish college. I love her, and Julia loved her, too. I never worried about her safety while she was there, and I knew she was having fun with T's kids...in fact, the only worry I really had (besides missing her terribly while I was away) was whether or not I could pump enough breastmilk to keep her fed (I could at that point). Graduation happened, and then three glorious months at home with my baby girl. Because I was no longer a student, I felt guilty allowing T to keep Julia any longer, especially since she was doing it as a favor and had FOUR boys of her own. I decided on...
Daycare.
I traveled around and looked at several places, finally choosing one that was shiny and new and affordable. Worries crept up, of course, but I attributed my more-than-a-little-bit-shaky nerves to my newly-discovered pregnancy and starting a new job teaching fifth grade. (Go with your gut. Lesson learned.)
She seemed to be fine there, if fine is "good enough." She inevitably came home with more sicknesses and more bumps and bruises, but she was around more kids now. Later, I'd realize that those things are normal, and I should have been focusing more on things that weren't. Like the constantly bickering teachers. Like the yelling matches when one got fired. And like the fact that they wouldn't tell me why she was fired--did it involve my child??
Brandon and I came up with a system for dropping Julia off at the daycare each morning. We would drive our cars there and both go in to get her settled in for breakfast. Because I was suffering from what I now know was probably prenatal depression, Brandon would be there to help cheer me and balance me when the thoughts of leaving my baby girl each morning made me want to not only cry, but grab her and run back to my house. Plus, he got to make sure she was safe and secure and happily eating before heading into work himself. It's always good to start a day with a good image of your baby, and as she shoveled cereal into her mouth by the fistful, she looked perfectly delighted each day. So it went for a couple of months.
And then there came an image that is so burned into my mind that it triggered anxiety like I had never experienced in my life.
We got dressed and out the door a little bit late that day, mostly due to my morning sickness. I watched Brandon and Julia in the car in front of me. I could tell they were happily singing and talking.
I didn't see the smoke until we turned into the parking lot.
I didn't notice that the daycare was mostly ashes and still smoldering.
Maybe I didn't want to see it.
And then it was right in front of me, black, and hot, and surrounded by firemen, policemen, a calm daycare director, and sobbing children and their parents.
Gone.
Immediately, thoughts started swimming in my head, and I was crying. When Brandon walked to my car, I heard him talking but couldn't speak myself. I couldn't put words together and form sentences.
We decided to drive back home and collect our thoughts and emotions (yeah, right.). I made it as far as the basement playroom before I had to sit on the floor and pull Julia into my arms. I hugged her tightly even when she began to try to break away.
What if she had been there?
What if I had been at work when this happened?
What would she have done without her mommy there to protect her?
Brandon stayed home that day with her, I think. I know I went into work after a couple of hours of composing myself. Or trying to compose myself. I remember wondering how everyone could be acting like nothing had happened, going on about their business as my mind kept flashing to the image of Julia's spare Dit-Dit (her favorite blanket) and cherry-patterned onesie in her cubby melting in the flames. Then my mind would go where no mind should--to picturing Julia perishing, as well.
It didn't happen.
Julia is okay.
Julia is okay.
Julia is okay.
The newspapers screamed out the headlines about the fire being "suspicious." I think I already knew this. I was suspicious. Two people became persons of interest--the director for insurance money, and the woman she had just fired.
The woman who I had just seen yelling and screaming at the director (who yelled and screamed back).
The woman who had just been Julia's teacher.
I should have been worrying about them all along, I told myself. Why was I wasting time worrying about whether or not they fed her breastmilk before jars of baby food? Why did I waste time worrying if other kids were being nice to her or if she was napping well?
Truthfully, rationally, I had no reason to worry about ANY of these things. And she WAS fine, because whoever torched the place did it when nobody was there. No one was hurt. And I don't think anyone was ever charged. I stopped allowing myself to read about it.
I got over the shock as much as possible, and Julia started a new daycare a few days later. The incident had left its mark, however.
I began to hate work. I began to hate grocery store trips. I began to even hate midwife visits. I began to hate anything that took me away from my daughter for even a second. I cried every single day on the way to work. Brandon started calling me on my cell phone and driving with me until I turned into my school...not the safest thing to do, but better than driving while bawling.
Brandon was the most supportive husband I could ask for as my anxiety crept in. He declared out of the blue one day that I should just stay home once this new baby came. Could I do that? Could we afford that?
Not really, but we'd make it work.
Wouldn't it be worth it if it could help diminish some of my anxiety over being away from my baby (and soon to be two babies)? Going against my instincts to be with her was not doing good things for my psyche.
And just like that, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I stopped crying (as much) on the way to work. I was counting down not only the days until this new baby was to be born, but also until I got to be with my girls all day long, every single day. So when I went into labor over spring break three weeks before my due date, I was ecstatic not only to be meeting Brynn, but to know that I wouldn't have to leave her or Julia again.
And so I became a stay-at-home mom.
I had suffered with depression and anxiety since I was a teenager, and it was exacerbated by pregnancy, birth, and shock. The thing is, staying home with my kids has not magically made it disappear. But it has eliminated one of my triggers, and probably the biggest trigger. I know myself better now, and I know what I'm comfortable with allowing to happen. I cringe at the thoughts of my kids spending the night away from me (only while I'm in the hospital having another baby, and only then at our house and with grandparents coming here). I can't let my mind think about any of them going to school, or growing up and going off to college, though I want that for them and will cross that bridge when I get to it.
Nowadays, you'd probably never realize I have struggled with anxiety issues, unless you really know me well or are paying lots of attention to everything I do and say (and that's just creepy). I'm actually at a point now where I'm pretty calm and rational and jubilant.
Would you think I'm extremely overprotective? Absolutely.
But mostly what you'll notice is a mom who is happily attached to each of her children and is blessed to be staying home with them.
I thank the Lord that whoever decided to set that fire was kind enough (?) to do it with no children in the building. That day in those flames, I lost some of Julia's things, but I didn't lose Julia. In fact, I gained more time with her and a better understanding of my comfort level as a parent. Those flames damaged so much--but ironically, they helped me start to feel less damaged.
It happened at daycare. My life as a stay-at-home mom, a happier mom, began. Blessings are sometimes highly-disguised.
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