There was laughing!

I'm not exactly the most hands-on mom.

By that, I mean, I really encourage my kids to entertain themselves. I have important shit to do, like laundry and dishes and read Scary Mommy Confessions.

When I got pregnant with Charlie, the first thing that people said to me when they realized that I would have two kids under the age of two was, "Oh, they'll be SUCH good friends!" And then Charlie arrived.

Sam LOVED her baby sister from day one. And by LOVED, I mean she head-butted her with love, she laid on top of her love, and she stole all of her shit love. I was beginning to doubt that these two would ever get along, since we simply could not teach Sam what it was to be NICE to her little sister.

And then yesterday happened. As per usual, I had the kids in the room with me while I put away a dozen pairs of shoes and some clothes I forgot we owned. (Yes, my kids wear the same clothes over and over, never wearing the super duper incredibly cute shit hanging in the closet with the tags on.)

And it happened.

Charlie walked over to Sam who was sitting on the ground. And she full on tackled her. I look over and both of them are giggling and there is NO SCREAMING. And then Sam started tickling Charlie and laying on top of her and there was MORE GIGGLING.

Holy shit.

People were right. They will play together. They will get along. I know there are many more fights and screaming and crying to come, but at least I know now, there will be laughing too.

Loss

Yesterday, the world lost my uncle.

My family lost my uncle.

My aunt lost her husband, my cousins lost their father, and my cousin's kids lost their grandpa.

He was only a year older than my mom.

I am sure that he got mad, but I don't remember ever seeing it. I also am sure that many of my cousins who are older than me probably did.

He worked on the farm his whole life. First with his father and his brother, and then with his nieces and nephews and his son. The stories my cousins tell of working on the farm, I am surprised anyone made it to adulthood. I am sure they are not exaggerated at all.

When I met Workaholic, I decided to bring him to a family wedding after dating a few short months. And my uncle declared himself Morality Patrol since we were all staying in a hotel. It is safe to say that nothing happened that night with MP trolling the hallways. For years after, Workaholic would refer to that uncle as Morality Patrol. (What can I say, I have a big family...it is hard to remember everyone's names.)

Last Christmas, I decided that I wanted to go to Southern Indiana for Christmas Day, just like I did as a kid. I had missed the last few years, since my immediate family celebrates on Christmas Eve, and I would spend Christmas Day with Workaholic's family.

It was a rather uneventful day, chatting it up with family and enjoying some good, home cooked dumplings. What I remember the most (as does Workaholic) is the next morning. My aunt and uncle invited us over for breakfast. What I didn't realize is that of the 27 grandchildren, I was the only one invited.

It was a breakfast for the siblings, my mom and her brothers and sisters. My youngest aunt made sausage and white rice, and scrambled eggs and biscuits and gravy. After we ate (and ate and ate) Workaholic turned to me and asked when I was going to learn to cook like that. It was damn good.

Samantha played her usual charming self and Charlie napped while we sat around the table and talked. We talked and talked. They couldn't understand why I would talk about poop on the internet, much less my own constipation during pregnancy. They didn't believe me when I told them that Elvis died of constipation. One of my aunts offered to take out her dentures, and they all asked me what was so gross about your parents having sex. (Really, you have to ask??)

It was a very nice time. I left there thinking, "I really need to get down here more often."

That was the last time I was at my uncle's house when he was alive. I will forever be grateful for them inviting me to that breakfast.

Because now? Now we all have to live with a hole in our lives. It is a very difficult concept for me to grasp, that his family will never see him again. Hug him again. Laugh with him again. His younger grandchildren won't get to really know what a great guy he was. His older grandchildren will miss spending time with him, talking sports and making him proud when they played.

We'll all miss him. We all love him. We are all better people for knowing him.

One Year

This? Was a year ago. (OK, let's be honest, a year and 5 days ago)

This? Was a couple of weeks ago.

Yes, it is true, my baby Charlotte Mae is now one year old.

I can't believe it has been a year. I am a mom of two little girls. Who have the faintest of red hair.

And my little Charlie? Is an awesome kid, if I do say so myself.

She cuddles, she WALKS, she loves stuffed and animals and real animals alike. Her and Kale get along fabulously. Which is to say that they fight over his toys. (She may or may not have gotten caught recently eating dog food, chewing on a previously chewed rawhide bone, and feeding Kale her afternoon snack. And dinner. And breakfast.)

She can say Hiii, and MOMMY, and apparently Daddy too, although I have yet to hear that one. Since everyone was so happy to take Sam when she was born, Charlie is a bit of a momma's girl. She is getting better, but I'm still her favorite. For now.

While she isn't as great a sleeper as Sam was, she still will sleep 12 hours at night, just not as heavily. She'll play in her crib for an hour before deciding to get up, and then is ready to go back down for a nap an hour later. Unless there is something going on. In that case, she wants to be up and all involved in the action. 

I can't wait for the day when she takes Sam down. I have said this over and over, but Sam sort of deserves it. A friend recently brought her 6 month old daughter over. She was amazed at how rough Sam was, literally trying to rip her baby out of her arms. So I guess the fact that Sam will wrap her arms around Charlie and fall backwards with her isn't. quite. normal. At least Charlie is tough because of it. She hardly cries at all anymore when shoved to the ground. (And yes, we have tried telling her to "be nice" "be gentle" etcetcetc. Sam takes that as BE ROUGHER!! And then cries when put in time-out.)

I've fearfully started Charlie on whole milk, since the whole AWFUL gas thing that put her on soy formula at 6 weeks of age. And true to her form, Charlie handled it like a champ. She guzzles it down and doesn't even notice that there is no Karo syrup in the bottle. She has taken to sippy cups like a duck to water, coincidentally, she also likes watching ducks in the water. 

She likes the lake, and boat rides, and her cousins. She doesn't like running water in the bathtub, being hungry or thirsty, or people she doesn't know. She has mastered going up and down the stairs and has yet to actually go down them the wrong way. This time of her life is so far my favorite. Her personality is starting to shine, and I just LOVE it. I can't wait to see what the next year brings. I am guessing many take-downs and many more sibling fights.

Not to Complain or Anything

So it is no secret that lately I have been struggling. Did you read my last post?

But sometimes, it makes things so. much. worse. when you realize what other people are going through. And then you think to yourself, "Self, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

For example, my uncle had a quadruple bypass 2 Friday's ago. And he is not recovering well.

So his wife and children, brothers and sisters, and various nieces and nephews have been spending time hours away from home, days at a time, to be with him. The emotional ups and downs of a hospital watch are... well, yeah, they suck. I feel bad complaining when they are going through that. And yet...

Summer has flown by. And we have had a good time, don't get me wrong. I got to spend a great weekend with a great friend and her family that I hadn't see in over 2 years. And I spent another fun weekend with other friends. And I have another fun weekend coming up with more friends.

But there is also the couple of weeks when Kale got neutered, and got diarrhea. And Fonz's toe has been infected for a couple of weeks, and now his ears are too. Little Charlie turns one on Saturday, and I am having a hard time getting in the mood to celebrate. Or plan her party. Which I have already committed to.

This is what it is like to be depressed. For no reason. And then you get mad at yourself for feeling sorry for yourself. And that just makes you shut down even more. Workaholic has been busy beyond belief, which means he can't be there to, well...pick me up. Like usual. 

I wish I could just snap out of this. I wish the new meds would work. I wish I had that fire in my belly that everyone else around me seems to have that gets them through their day. Part of me wonders if I am just lazy. I suppose it is possible. But am I really choosing laziness over self worth? Over feeling good? Over feeling like I got something accomplished? Goodness, I hope not.

Struggle

I have this daily struggle.

Get out of bed.

Get things done.

Do my work.


It is every day that I have this struggle. It has been 5 weeks and 3 days since I started my new medication. I think it is working a little bit, but not nearly as much as I had hoped. I miss the part of Pristiq that helped me to get out of bed in the morning. I hate getting out of bed in the morning.

Do you ever watch the show Hoarders? You know, the one with people who keep trash in their house and think that it is something that should not be thrown away? Sometimes, those people actually get their houses cleaned up, and they often say how much better they feel about life.

I can totally relate.

My house does not qualify for Hoarders, yet. But I have things strewn about. Things that have no real home right now. If Kale tears up a paper towel from my office trash can, which he seems to do weekly, I don't mind if it sits on the basement floor for a week. Eventually, I pick it up and throw it away, and then wonder why I took so long to do it.

We are in a transition stage right now. Workaholic is working much more than usual. Until he is done with his latest project, I feel lost. I have things that don't belong in my dining room in my dining room. I can't wait for him to be finished so I can get my dining room turned into a playroom, as it should be. I can't wait to get the toys out of my living room and into my dining room. I need to get the boxes of books out of my bedroom...to anyplace else.

Every time I get a space cleared, it stays that way for about a day. And then it is cluttered up again. I can't wait until things calm down. I need things to calm down. My mind has a hard time focusing on anything. I can't get my work done. I can't get a decent blog done.

Even though I know I need to get organized, I can't get myself organized. I keep telling myself that it will all be OK soon. In the meantime, days pass, and I hardly even notice. I hate that. I wish I had that fire in my belly to get me motivated, instead I have nothing. All I want to do is hide in my bed all day long.


I struggle.

Part Two...

I would like to update you on the rest of my Day One of Vacation.

3:30pm

Go into Charlie's room, where she is taking a 3 hour nap.

Reel backwards from the smell.

Peek at her, laying so cute in her crib.

With poop smeared all over the sheets, blanket, pacifier, and child.

Yell for help.

Wonder why my children have such a facination with taking off their diapers.

Fortunately for everyone involved, there were no more poop incidents for the rest of the weekend.

Day One of Vacation

I took the next 3 days off of work for vacation. Let's review real quick what I have done so far on day one... (It is 9:09am)

• Been woken up at 5:30am by Workaholic's alarm on his phone. That goes off every day. And doesn't wake him up.
• Been woken up at 6am by Workaholic, not sure if it was his alarm or him leaving or what.
• Been woken up at 6:30am by a whining puppy. Who doesn't understand what vacation and sleeping in are.
• Gotten up with the puppy. Fed the puppy. Medicated the puppy. Let him outside. Let him inside.
• Poured a 30lb bag of dog food into a plastic bin for Fonz. Fed and medicated Fonz. Let him outside. Let him back inside, but kept the puppy outside for a few minutes. This is key.
• Unloaded and reloaded dishwasher. Talked to new K for a couple of minutes. Decided to let the puppy back inside.
• OHDEARGODWHATISTHATSMELL??????
• Almost vomited multiple times when I realized that dear sweet mother-blanking puppy rolled in fresh poop.
• Bathed dear sweet mother-blanking puppy.
• Bathed myself.

Needless to say, I think that instead of beginning my day and running a ton of errands in this debilitating heat, I am going to lay down for a while and rest. It is vacation, damn it.