Birthday #5 for Mr. Max

We had a small family birthday party for Max tonight at my in-laws.  My MIL baked the cake and then commanded my FIL to decorate it, barking orders at him something about green and the Incredible Hulk.  This is what he came up with:

The Incredible Hulk One-Eyed Clown? Awe, just kidding, Max ate the eye.  He was a little unsure as to what it was, too…

I think I may have to send this to Cake Wrecks, one of my favorite _make me laugh out loud_ blogs.

And this is me holding my brand new nephew who I happily snuggled with almost the entire night…

I have never been one to jump at holding an infant, EVER.  Now that I’ve had two of my own, and they are both far out of that stage in their lives, I just can’t get enough of that sweet newborn soft love.  My nephew is the best.  And the best part?  Why, handing him back to his mama, of-course.

Day 3: “I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.”

Saturday started out pretty rough.

Words for a writer are like paint for a painter and wood for a carpenter.  Heart and Soul would rot of death if they had no access to the written word.  Had I been stricken with this awful disease before typewriters graced the tips of calloused fast fingers, if I had no access to a computer, the words would melt a hole in my head like a wild fire taking over a garden.  The stench of burnt and lost forever syllables would be torture.  Pain keeps the old fashion tools of pen and paper out of my hands.  I always need a way to spill my moonshine-mind out into the world.   To keep burning emotions locked in a manic-writer-brain would drive a word-smith into madness.

If you made it through the ashes of sorrow without pity, smugness, or feeling chafed by vexation, thank you.  I can hardly believe I share such pitiful reflections with total strangers through metal and wire.  I do appreciate your soft presence.  It is not without consideration for the worse of possible criticism that I write – yet I write as if you are not there anyway.  Though, there is something about knowing someone else is reading that keeps me from loosing perspective in the sea of self-pity suffering.

After the digging of anguish, much of the darkness lifted and dirt fell from my eyes.  It was a beautiful day by Florida standards, in the low 70’s, which allows for outdoor fun minus the usual buckets of sweat.  So outside we went…

On our way home from Lola’s, Bella gave Max all of her M&M’s.  He then shared all of his M&M’s with her, doling one out to her every time he ate a few.  I’m always comforted by how well they get along.  They have a strong bond, those two.

“Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty.”

Sometimes…

Max makes me feel like I wasn’t cut out for motherhood.  He’s a bit of an energy vampire.  Needy of my attention.  Difficult to direct and redirect.  CONSTANTLY looking for approval and praise.

I feel like I created a monster.  His temper rivals any adult’s {though, he doesn’t break or physically hurt people or things – counting blessings, here…} and his mouth is about as disrespectful as they come when he’s angry {short of cursing me out}.  He’s emotional.  Dramatic.  And screams at me.  I don’t really know how to respond to him, so a lot of the time I ignore the behavior and deal with what he wants.   When I can’t ignore it because he’s pushed me too far, I yell at him – things like, “Don’t take your anger out on me!”  And, “Just because you are mad doesn’t mean you can treat your family like dirt!”  I’m not sure what effect this will have on him in the long run, or if it is doing any good in the moment.  He knows he’s allowed to verbalize his anger but he’s struggling with how to do it in a way that isn’t name calling.  I’m struggling with how to help him.  It’s hard to deal with the wrath of a four year old.

Sometimes…

I worry that I’m teaching him its okay to verbally abuse people {specifically women} when he’s angry because I don’t force him to stop.  But, it feels impossible to “force” him to do or say anything.  I’d have to hit him, several times, and there’s just no way I’m going to do that.  He’s not afraid of me and I’d like to keep it that way. There’s gotta be a way to help him without inducing fear.

I don’t like to cater to his every whim ‘cuz I’d never leave the floor if I did.  I’d never be a person if I did.  He wants me to play the role of a playmate and I am trying so hard to break him out of that mindset in the most gentle of ways.  I am not a playmate, I am his mom.  I can be his friend, sometimes.  And yes, we do fun activities together.

I get so tired of him constantly saying, watch this, look at me, look at what I made, and then expecting me to clap.

I did this… the clapping and loud shouts of approval.  Every adult in his life did this as he was growing, before Bella came along, and even some after she got here.

I have other responsibilities than stroking his ego and ultimately helping it to grow too big for the likes of anyone.  I have another child.  And you know, when I really look at it, it’s not that he wants me as his playmate, but that he wants my constant attention and praise – this is what I don’t like.  Should I just suck it up and learn to like it?

How do I change this situation?  Maybe he’s just the kind of person who needs constant praise?  I get so annoyed by people like this, and here I am, the momma to one.  I know, I can’t pigeon-hole his personality into any particular character, that’s not fair.  My feelings are just at a heightened intense level right now because HE WON’T DO HIS OWN THING. 

Like Bella…

There, I said it and I feel horrible for it but its the truth.  Bella is a different creature.  Highly independent.  Enjoyable company.  Easy to be around.  Also, the second child.

Jesus Fucking Christ.  I gotta find a way to deal with my son.  This isn’t the first time I’ve had to learn a new skill to get along with him, to help him get along with me, to teach him what he is ready to learn at the age he is today.

Finally…

As I was typing all this, he pulled out all the blocks and is building with them.  He just needed to wind down from his Saturday morning TV-time and figure out what he can do.  Seriously, the TV is a constant issue for us.  Too much makes Max intolerable.  Then, it becomes a crutch so that I can get work done, rest, or regain my composure so I don’t kill him.  It’s times like the one we just got through that make me want to pack us all up and move out to the boondocks so I could send the kids out to play with the rocks, sticks and snakes.  So they would have a forest to frolic in within walking distance or a magical children’s garden, nature made, right in our back yard.

The flip side is that he does entertain himself, more than my complaining is giving him credit for in this post.  He’s at a stage that I’m trying to figure out and catch up with.  My guess is that he is the kind of child that needs steady intellectual and physical engagement in a way that I am not ready for.  He likes to move.  He likes to learn and figure things out.  I’m tempted to hand him a screw driver and our toaster – unplugged, of-course – and let him have at it, take it apart.   He is just that kind of kid.  The problem is, I’m not the kind of person who wants to sit with him while he does these kinds of activities.  I’m not physically active {working on changing this}.  I need to meet him half way and I’m having a hard time finding my way to do this.

Imagine permanently having a cold and one newly broken bone in your body.  The cold depletes your energy and the broken bone that never heals causes you to feel aches and pains if you move too much or too fast.  But you still want to be the best mom you can be, as if you were physically healthy.  That about sums up what mothering is like for me.

Writing in this blog is part of the process in doing what needs to get done.

I swear, just when your children are all peaceful and content, they go and grow and change on ya.  When as an adult, I’ve been re-conditioned to accept that  growth happens slowly, change happens differently, slow like molasses, compared to children.

The kids are playing together now, bouncing a ball up and down the staircase.

Motherhood is an evolving discipline.

Whew, writing saved me once again.

Day Two: “All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.”

I took a much-needed nap today.  Thank you, BellaGrace, for cooperating with my tired body.

It’s time to start preparing homemade salad dressings ‘cuz I hate olive oil and vinegar concoctions paired with any dish that isn’t Italian.

While I’m not interested in eating all raw foods {I realized today}, raw food cuisine is exciting to explore.  We also have a raw restaurant a couple towns over that I’ve only been to once, but am wanting to visit again.

Feeling mildly better, but not enough to get me excited.  Still tired and sluggish with sore toes and feet.

What I ate today is pretty pitiful by any health novice standards.  I’m on a long, slow, winding road towards change.

I have never been a health nut and I don’t plan on becoming one, now {maybe a little nutty on some level, but never about my health.  I was an asshole vegan, once, way back in the day – but again, that was not about my health}.  The idea of fanaticism about anything turns me off.

Eating my bowl of zucchini tonight felt like an act of rebellion _not submission_ to these changes.  Like a big fat, Fuck You Change!  I’m gonna eat like crap even when I’m eating something healthy!  So NAH! Really, I know there are tastier foods I could choose – but I’m just so fraking mad that I even have to think about it.

While I was writing this post, Hal was in the kitchen making a raw almond based hummus.  OHMYGOD, it is delicious.  So now, for dinner I had steamed zucchini, raw carrots, rice cakes and this hummus:

Almond Hummus Recipe

Makes about 2.5 cups

Ingredients:

2 cups almonds, soaked for 12 hours, then rinsed
2/3 cup raw organic tahini
1/2 cup water
2 cloves garlic
Juice of 2 small lemons
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley or cilantro

Directions:

Combine all ingredients in a food processor and puree.

Hal is a huge help with all of this.  A bit of a home-grown nutritionist, vegetarian/vegan chef, he’s also getting interested in raw foods.  His palate is more accepting of diverse flavors than my own {more sophisticated, shall we say?}, so a lot of his dishes are hit or miss for me.  But oh my word, I love it when he makes a dish that’s yummy to my tummy.

I don’t think I could make these changes without the support of my partner.  It makes me happy that he understands me so well and shows it so easily.

Withdrawing from processed foods is hard.

I’m not looking at this change as “I have to control what I eat.”  I’m looking at it like this: I have choices, what are my choices? I have a lot of food choices.  I can eat a variety of foods.  Here are my choices.  Now choose.

Instead of: I can’t eat anything I want!  I have to control myself from eating all those foods that will make me sick!  ControlControlControl!  I can’t eat anything anymore!  WHAAAAAA!

Fuck that.  The reality is this:

There are a lot of foods that I can eat.  Sometimes, I will over indulge on foods that taste good – no worries, it’s okay.  This is transition.  There is always room for imperfections, mistakes, and failure – no matter what is going on in my body.  I have the rest of my life to get this Major Life Change right.  I don’t need to know everything about eating healthy right now.  It doesn’t need to happen over night.  It will come in pieces.  Slowly.  And softly.

I know all of this from experience.

Thank you again, BellaGrace, for all that you have already taught me and will continue to teach me about life.  I wouldn’t know this was an option – that I can be successful at – if it weren’t for you.

You really are quite magical.

“In order to change we must be sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

My body is not doing well.  It could be the way I eat.  It could be because Bella is nursing less and this causes my hormones to shift and decrease, having an effect on my joints.  It could be because I have gained a lot of weight and this agitates my joints.  It could be all these reasons combined.  I don’t know what is going on, but I know I’m not feeling well.  My feet hurt so much I’m limping and my toes are swollen.  I am so tired I could sleep for days.  My energy is very low.

The only thing I have control over is what I eat.  This is one of the most difficult things in life to control – AND to do it in a way that is mentally, physically, and emotionally healthy is even harder. It’s depressing the shit out of me that the only way to potentially improve my health is to faithfully and consistently choose the right food.  The alternative to eating healthy is far worse: Eat what-ever the hell I want and endure the crippling pain, low quality of life, side effects of all the medication I will need to take to control the pain/inflammation, and ultimately, a shortened life span.  I wish when I ate the food that I love {which is not any different from the average vegetarian who eats moderately healthy, mostly vegan, and with the occasional processed tofu meal}, the only thing I had to worry about was making time for exercise every week.

The pressure to get it right every day is enormous.  And again, I won’t know if  changing the way I eat is worth it or working until I’ve stuck to it for a good six months to a year.  The plan is to eat a whole food, vegan, largely raw diet.  This means cutting out high fructose corn syrup, dairy, wheat, eggs, gluten, and eventually soy products – essentially, everything processed.  It also means trying new recipes, preparing more veggies to eat, and being more mindful about the process of eating.  I’m sure I’ll feel the difference in my energy level within days.

My body has changed since giving birth to Bella, which if you remember, her allergies lead me to give up all the foods that are common allergens for 10 months.  I felt really good during that 10 month period, especially when I finally got use to eating 99% whole foods.  It took about 7 months to get use to it.

*sigh*

The reason I went back to my old eating habits is because I wasn’t eating healthy for my body, it was for BellaGrace’s body.  Going back to the foods I love was always part of the plan.   I thought it was a temporary situation from the get-go.

Now that I have to do this for myself, most likely for the rest of my life, it scares me.

But I know I can do it.

I just gotta keep my chin up, talk about it when it’s down, and keep my eye on the prize: A Better Quality Of Life

The lame ethnic stereo-type did not make it past my radar for Racist Jokes Naively Committed By White Folks.  Had they left out the fake Afro-wig, this video would be perfectly silly.  The Afro-wig and the current reality that raw food diets attract mostly white people and folks with a certain type/amount of privilege - self included obviously – is an irony that is not lost on me.

Can someone tell me if I used the term “irony” correctly? I think you understand my point, anyway…

“To fight is a radical instinct; if men have nothing else to fight over they will fight over words, fancies, or women, or they will fight because they dislike each other’s looks, or because they have met walking in opposite directions…” or even while sleeping because there’s an asshole in their dream…

Last night, sometime early in the morning, it was still dark outside, I felt a swift gust of wind pass my face as a solid hard thud hit the pillow inches away from my nose.  That thud was my sleeping husband punching his pillow three or four times.  He was grunting, too, in order to add that little extra force to the punch.  It took a second before I felt it was safe to reach over and wake him up.  Literally, inches away from my face.  I think he may have even nicked my nose.

I asked him today, what on Earth happened last night? You almost beat the shit out of me! Well, apparently, Hal’s dreams are very intense and very realistic.  He was dreaming that he and Glenn Beck were in a coffee shop, sitting in the same booth, arguing about something.  Hal got so angry at Beck during their argument that he started walloping on his face.  Hence, the pillow punches.  I mean, Hal is a very chill dude in his waking life, but damn, he’s a bad ass psycho in his dreams.

Any man who kicks Glenn Beck’s ass, while sleeping or awake, is hawt stuff in my book.  Though, seriously, I think Hal needs to lay off the AM talk radio shows on his drive to and from work.  And maybe I should put a big body pillow between us for safety.

“In a consumer society there are inevitably two kinds of slaves: the prisoners of addiction and the prisoners of envy.”

I bought our first “real” sofa today, which is to say I bought our first overpriced, not that well made, new sofa today.  The tossup was between Ikea and Rooms-2-Go.  The brown modular 4 piece sectional at R2G won out based on how well I think it will hold up with two active children and a dog climbing all over it {not to mention Hal and I plopping down after a long hard day _like a ton of bricks_ to do any number of evening activities}.  Ikea definitely better represents our aesthetic preferences, but when I look at those little detachable peg-legs underneath and think about us assembling it in our home {which leads to thoughts of Max and Bella jumping so hard the legs break or those two working as a team to disassemble it in our home}, R2G looks like the better option for what we need.

It is a lower-middle-class accomplishment to acquire brand spanking new furniture.  And you know you fall into the income bracket of “lower-middle-class” when *someone has to die before you can afford to buy a new sofa.  And then, you have to choose between buying the sofa with your inheritance or buying groceries, because even the generous relative who is able to save money, is only able to save a modest amount.

But still… we are counting our blessings because being lower-middle-class is still a better lot than destitution.

To make our home look like a “grown up” home is a pretty big deal.  By “grown up home,” what I mean is a living space that has furniture in each room that represents what that room’s function is and is furniture that we choose because we like it.  Form and function, not just function – KWIM?

It’s the middle-class way of life.

Almost all of our furniture has been given to us or bought for us.  Some of it was thrifted {these pieces are ultimately my favorite in the house}.  However, I really appreciate having something new every-now-and-then.  My favorite overall homey-look is one that ties together the old and new.

Do you also feel like large money purchases are exciting and nauseating all at the same time?  It’s exciting because – OH MY GOD, I can actually buy something that I’ve wanted for the last 15 years!  And nauseating because anytime my ATM gets swiped for an amount larger than what we spend on groceries every week, I can’t stop the fluttering images of monthly necessities from flooding my brain-reel.  Food, kid’s clothing, bills, car repairs, pre-school costs, medical costs, dog expenses and more, all flash through my peeps causing me to throw up a little in my mouth.

Spending a large chunk of change is hard.

Though, damn, I can not wait to stretch out on that big new sofa.  What I bought is a bigger and better couch to lay on while watching TV and drowning out my worries of financial despair.  I’m so fraking excited!!!

OH, and we’re gonna really do it up, too, by kicking-up our punk music posters with some Ikea frames.  Oh yeah.

*Thank you, Grandma! I know you would approve – having appreciated life’s creature comforts, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Totally unrelated to our sofa…

I’m so glad I made the time to study at the library last night.  I would have totally flunked the test today had I blown it off.

The young woman who sits next to me came in late and whispered, exasperated, “Whuh??? We have a test today???” I may have felt a bit smug {having crammed at the last-minute myself} had I not been so acutely able to relate to her flightiness.  She continued to whisper to me with an effort to avoid letting the professor hear her.  I did my best to quietly answer her questions.  However, I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable when the test was in the process of getting passed out and she wouldn’t stop chatting.  Then, I can’t believe I’m even writing this, when the test was in progress she tried to question me about the test.  Now, I’m annoyed at her utter lack of respect for the fact that her behavior could have a negative affect on someone else – ME.  The last time I checked, what she was doing, and trying to rope me into doing, is called CHEATING.  I went deaf, both times she questioned me, and wouldn’t even so much as look at her.  When I see her on Thursday, I’m going to say something.  This is a fraking ETHICS class for crying-out-loud!  Dummy-Up, kid.

Mama don’t play that.

Kids…

I think their plan, being orchestrated mostly by Max, includes running me down to a shell of a woman.  I would take them somewhere, but I only have so many spoons to dish out in a day.  If you have never heard of, The Spoon Theory, you can read it by clicking on that link.  It is a good read that helps to illustrates the difference in being sick and being healthy.

I have one spoon left in my pocket that I’m saving for the library tonight.

Lupus overlaps with rheumatoid arthritis (RA).  I was diagnosis in 2003, with RA.  I have a lot to say about being sick, but never want to write about it and rarely talk about it.  You would not know I was sick just by looking at me.  Anyway, that’s all for today.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to.

Halloween!

Lola, dressed as I dunno what, an extra in a Stanly Kubrick film? and The Fairy Princess, BellaGrace:

Our family is growing and I have to say, it is sweet to witness.  However, last night I really did not want Max to hold the two-week old baby because he’s getting over a cold.  When I said ‘no’ for the fifth time, he started crying the most pitiful cry and yelled, “I’M NEVER GOING TO GET TO HOLD AN INFANT!”  He was so upset that, Lola, bless her heart, could not stand it and let Max hold his new cousin. I have to admit, it made this mama’s heart uterus swell to hear her oldest yearn so badly to hold an infant.  I told Max not to talk, kiss, yawn, breath or even look directly into his face.  Sinonie’s cry/scream filled my breast with milk.  While I held him, he turned his head towards the sweet smell of milk wanting to nurse and it took some serious mantra’ing to prevent myself from automatically nursing him.  I had an unexpected and weird sense of tension when feeding him his bottle.  I guess my mama-instinct to nurse, and ability to do so, got kicked in to high gear when faced with a fussing infant. 

Here is Max and Sinonie {who Max loves dearly and made sure to tell him a million times}:

Bella also wanted to hold him, but didn’t resort to throwing a fit about it.  She did help me feed him a bottle, and so gentle she was.  However, she’s got other serious matters to tend to, like waving her wand and carrying her Pug pup:

I neglected to get a photo of Little Sylvia, aka: Mamas {age 2} dressed as Snow White.  I think its likely that Mamas and Bella will grow up being friends.  It is neat that my kids have so many cousins {by extension of our Tongan relatives, about 47 cousins, most of them living in our neighboring town}.

Si {Ninja}, Junebug {Batman}, Nessy {Ninja}, and Max {done Trick-or-Treating and stripped of the hot costume before the cousins arrived.  I can’t imagine being on time anywhere, either, with five children under the age of six in tow.  Hell, I can’t imagine ever leaving the house with that many children.  I’m sure it ain’t easy.}:

BellaGrace, Maxamilian, Si, Junebug, Nessy:

Mamas and BellaGrace:

And this is Max with his, Let’s Get Serious, face letting us know it is time to go Trick-Or-Treating.  His costume was originally, Dracula, but at the last-minute got switched to a Bakugan Player:

I love Halloween.

Home Again.

Mr. Max has been sick all week!  He started running a low-grade temperature last night.  It wasn’t high enough for me to worry or give him Tylenol.  His cough is getting a little more flem. And he’s starting to get cranky.  I think the crankiness is due more to being around me too much, rather than the cold.  We love each other to pieces, but when we are together a lot, we get on one another’s nerves.  There just isn’t enough room in one house for two Alphas.

He’s missing a fun week at school {I am not going to tell him}, because there is a Halloween party tomorrow in his class.  Unfortunately, his pediatrician isn’t available today and I hate making appointments with anyone else in her office unless it is an urgent matter.  His appointment is tomorrow at, 10am.   He needs the doctor’s note to get back into school and while we are there, he’s getting tested for the piggy flu.  I’m not worried that he has it, but of-course I’d like to know.

Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten {VPK} is state funded so they wanna make sure if they are paying a school, the child is going regularly.  More than three absences in one month and you need a doctor’s note.  Hence, our doctor’s visit.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t even be taking him to see his pediatrician this week.  I like to let a cold run for 7 days and a fever for 5, before involving her.

Max and Bella are outside now.  The word, MOMMY, is starting to get on my nerves.  I may have to go for a drive with them later just for a change of scenery.  A lady can only handle being called, mommy_stupid_freak, so many times before she wants to run away.  I’ve started to mimic Max when he starts in on the name calling.  It seems this is the only way to break the tension.  He catches on to what I’m doing and lightens up instantly.  We still use the, stop and let’s take a deep breath/let’s have a do-over, methods of calming each other down.  However, for the name calling that he resorts to when he’s ticked off about something, humor is the best approach.

Our local CSA {Community Supported Agriculture} program, a sustainable organic hydroponic and Earthbox farm, is toying with the idea of monthly payments to join their crop share program.  This would be fantastic for us because it is  rare that we have a large chunk of change any given month to join their current program.  I think it is so important for Max and Bella to know where their food comes from.  Actually, its good for all of us to know where our food comes from.  The CSA is opening a farm stand for the public a couple days a week as well as opening their farm for “pick-your-own” days.  This is so very exciting since it is in the same town as we live in!  I’ve got Max signed up for their Tiny Green Thumbs three-day program that is for ages 4-7.  The program is held on three different Saturdays during the crop season so that the children will be a part of three different activities related to growing the food on this farm.  I’m looking forward to doing  this with Max.  When Bella is four, our whole family can take part in the fun of the Tiny Tots program.  I’m proud of my town for getting a quality CSA program started {the farm is about 10 minutes away from my house!}.  Maybe at some point in the future we can get even more involved with it.

I’m currently looking into composting… wish me luck on follow through!