It's Not Luck

It's no surprise that it annoys me beyond belief when people make assumptions about our parenting decisions or our overall lifestyle choices. The biggest, which I've talked about before is my decision not to nurse. I can't believe the looks of distain I still get, even though the baby is now almost 17 months old and had been off a bottle all together for 5 months. Does he look like a sickly toddler to you? Do my girls look unhealthy, unhappy and like they're suffering? No? Than shut the hell up!

The other one that really gets under my skin is when people tell us how lucky we are that I can stay home with our kids. It's not luck. We planned it and planned it long before we had our first baby. There is a reason we waited almost 5 years into our marriage before having kids. For us, it is a matter of priorities. Now, that's not to say that our list of priorities are or should be the same for somebody else, but like everything else in our parenting style, we do what is right for us. We don't pay for texting or internet connection on our phones, we don't have any premium cable channels, we rarely go out to eat - all sacrafices we are willing to make so that I can stay home. So, please don't ever assume we just got lucky. It is a choice we made, planned for and continue to live for.

Getting THE Picture

I, like every parent, has spent countless hours trying to get the picture of their kids. When we had one child, piece of cake. Two children? Not that hard. But three? That has proved nearly impossible. So much so, that my friend Christy and I have an ongoing joke* about trying to get the picture.

*not so much a joke as we're both completely serious about it - much to the frustration of our children.

In our household we've come close quite a few times, but when inspecting the picture closer realize it just isn't it.

It never fails that one or more (or in the case all) of my children aren't looking at the camera....

Or that one or more of my children decides to give us that ridiculous fake smile.......

Let's not even talk about the phase we had where Lexi refused to even be in any of my pictures, so it seemed as if I only had two children.....


Or when Jack got mobile and every picture either had him crawling or walking away or he had something (cell phone, keys, camera case) in his lap to keep him still.....


Or most of our pictures which are any combination of the above.

But this Easter I swore I got the picture. So much so that I even posted to Christy's Facebook wall to tell her!


So, upon closer inspection I realize it's not the best picture of Samantha. And the background isn't nice at all. And it appears that my baby son is flipping me off. But, they are all looking at me without any obviously fake smiles. Sure Jack isn't smiling at all, but I've actually got a picture with Lexi's real smile.

Around here, we call that success. You know, until the next time I decide I'm going to torture them to get the picture.

Walking a Fine Line

I was going to post about our Easter today, but I've got something on my mind that I need to get out. I'd like to say I'll post about Easter tomorrow, but that most likely means I'll never post about it. We did have a pretty good Easter though.

But now to what's on my mind. Samantha has a "friend" at school who is just plain mean. I don't know much about her except that she is the youngest of 3 kids and her mom just went back to work. But she likes to make of fun of Samantha and I think truly gets enjoyment out of seeing her upset. Her favorite things to do right now are tease Samantha about being in the school musical and about the clothes she wears (even though my girls have nicer clothes than I do!) I guess I should say, Samantha is not the only person she does this to though. Samantha and I have had long talks about what it means to be a friend and that real friends don't hurt your feelings on purpose, nor do they like to see you upset. We've talked about what do when this "friend" starts being mean and we've discussed other friends she might want to play with. We talk about what kind of friend she, herself, should be. And how sometimes hanging out with the bully will make people think she is one too. I've also made it very clear that I will not tolerate her treating anybody else that way. But for some reason, she gravitates back towards the bully. She has walked away from bad situations with her and I have seen seen her ignore the bully when she's being mean in the morning line. But still, almost every day she's told me they've played together, along with "but she was nice today."

Today my best friend was over and we were talking about a mutual friend who's feeling got hurt by another person. Samantha was surprised to learn that it happens even when you're grown up. I didn't want to depress her with the fact that no matter how old you get there are going to be those toxic people who like to see you upset, but I did take the time to talk a little bit about her situation. I once again explained that real friends don't like to see their friends upset. That I'm sure there have been times where I've hurt people's feeling and mine certainly have been hurt, but when it's been on accident and it's not all the time, those friends are ok to have. Samantha told my friend that her feelings get hurt everyday. Cue heartbreak for me. I don't really think that is true (and I will never discount her feelings) because most days she comes home very happy. But I can tell when I pick her up when it hasn't been a good day. I understand that little kids equals little problems, but I also understand that in the limited world Sam lives in, this is earth-shattering.

So, I'm walking a fine line. She is the one who has to go school everyday. She is the one who sees this girl everyday. She gets to choose her own friends. So I listen and we talk and we talk some more and I remind of how true friends should treat each other. But what I want to do is scream "why are you friends with that brat?"

And to think this is just the beginning.....

I Am Angry

I just got home from our school board meeting where they voted to close one of the 5 schools in our elementary school district. Thankfully it was not Samantha's school. But that isn't to say it doesn't pose some possible problems to us. We are transfers to the school Samantha attends, albeight from within the same district. We chose this school because the girls went to preschool on the same campus and fell in love with the school and they are comfortable being there which makes me comfortable with them being there. Samantha is now "in." She can not be transfered out. However we are still awaiting the approval for Lexi who will hopefully (fingers crossed) be starting there this fall. We were at the top of the priority list with her having a sibling already there, having attended the preschool on campus, my being on the PTA. But now? I'm not sure where she falls. I left the board meeting in the middle (yes, the board meetings have been going until midnight the last few months), so I don't really understand the priority list now, but I have to assume the displaced students of the closing school would get priority.

So now we sit and wait. And wait. And wait some more. I've got a select few (but important select few!) of our schools' staff saying they'll fight to get Lexi in there, so I hope they can help. And I feel a bit bad even worrying about this right now when an entire school is going to have to go to new schools, but I am. Worried. Because this school is our home. I never thought I'd say that about a school, especially as a kindergartne parent, but I feel that way. Between the PTA and my volunteer time and Samantha's participation in school events, we know a great portion of the entire school....and they feel like family.

I know we could find a new "family" if we had to go a different school, just like I'm confident the families of the closing school will do, but I don't want to. I don't want to pull Samantha out of the school she loves or deny Lexi the opportunity to go the school she is so excited to start, but if one doesn't get in, I have to move them . Logistically I can't have them in seperate schools.

Did I mention I'm horrible at sitting and waiting?

But most of all I'm angry right now. I'm angry that as a district we had to close a school. I'm angry that parents felt like their schools had been pitted against eachother in some sort of Survivor type competition where one is getting voted off. I'm angry that our board meetings have turned into the maturity level of a bunch of 3 year olds, throwing tantrums. But I am so angry at the State of California for ever allowing our district to be put in this position. And I am annoyed by our federal government (but what's new) that they aren't stepping in to help in any of these districts that need help. I find it so hard to stomach that money can be spent to run Superbowl ads about the census, then a letter the week before the census to remind us of the census, then the actualy census, then a postcard reminding to us to make sure we filled out the census, and then on the news tonight I heard they'll be sending census workers around to make sure you actually filled the census, but not any money to keep our schools open. WHAT.THE.FUCK? Sorry, normally I'd abbreviate that, but I am so angry it warrents it being spelled out. Where exactly are my property tax dollars going? And that lottery money? I am so tired of hearing how education is a priority when the actions of our government historically shows it absolutely is not.

We looked into private school, but we can't afford it. I don't believe in the philosophies of our local charter schools. And damnit, I like our school. And even after this school closure, our district is still in the hole. Crazy.

But now it's late and I'm tired and I should probably stop typing now that I've had a glass of wine. I will keep you updated on where Lexi gets into.

Time Keeps Going

There are those things in life that sometimes feel like they just happened yesterday, even though it's been years. Things that make you realize how fast time is going by. Most are happy things, like my kids getting older or vacations we've taken. But some are horrible things. Unexpected things. And yet time keeps going.

My uncle passed away 6 years ago yesterday. And that number is something I should know, since he died right after I had Samantha and she is now 6. Yet, it seems impossible it's been 6 years. Wasn't he just right here, over the moon that we were expecting our first baby? Wasn't it just yesterday we were having Survivor nights at their house? In reality, I know it's not - that little one we were expecting is now 6 and she has two younger siblings. Survivor is in it's something like 20th season. But those memories are fresh....and maybe that's a good thing.

Maybe one of the reasons it's so hard to believe that so much time has gone by is that his passing was so unexpected. He was having a problem with his eye, he thought he might have the flu and then the bomb was dropped. Exactly two weeks after I gave birth to Samantha, I was back at the hospital because my uncle had been admitted with a broken ankle....and cancer. The fastest spreading cancer they had seen. Not even 2 days after being admitted, the cancer had spread to his entire body. He passed away that following Monday. Not even 5 days from diagnosis to death.

He never did get to meet that little baby he was so excited about. Nor the two we had after her. And oh, how I wish he had. They all would have loved eachother. I suppose I have to take solice in that my kids have some pretty kick-ass guardian angels looking over them. But I'd honestly rather them be here knowing my kids.

I don't neccessarily believe that time heals all wounds. I think there are some wounds that just can't be healed. Sure, life goes on, but because it has to. We are approaching the 12th anniversary of one grandfather's death and the 1st anniversary of another. And even though there have been a million memories in between, I still miss them both the same. So 1 year, 6 years, 12 years; expected or unexpected deaths - they should ALL still be here.

Uncle Marty, know that you are thought of often, missed daily and loved always.

Martin Eric Nelson
March 19, 1946 - March 29, 2004

I'm Still Alive

But to be honest, it felt like it was touch and go there for awhile. What? Me, melodramatic? I think not. In all seriousness, I have been recovering from the flu and it was the sickest I think I've ever been. That doesn't bode well for a stay-at-home to 3 kids, 2 of which still had to go to school. Let's just say it was a long 2 weeks. But I'm feeling better now, so that's what matters.

Now I get to spend my time cleaning up the disaster that has become my house. I tried to pick up during the day at best I could, but when making lunch for my kids was a challenge, you can guess that not much got done. And who knew that my inability to clean up anything turned in the inability for anybody in my house to clean up anything. I can't be the only one in this house who gets annoyed by clutter. They must have known I'd recover though and that eventually all of their stuff would be restored to it's correct place. It hasn't happened without a bit of bitching on my part.

There were many things I had planned to blog about, but never quite got around to. So quick recap on Team Lua: Samantha did the school musical and it was wonderful! Being a diva apparently suits her, since one day when I took her over there she got out of the van and walked away, leaving the door wide open. When I questioned her about it, she looked at me and said "Mom, stars don't close their own doors." Yep, she's only 6. Lexi starts t-ball on Wednesday and is oh so excited for it. Trying to convince her that wearing her mit to school was in fact, not a good idea proved to be challenging though. And Jack is Jack. Into everything, cute as ever (and knows it) and talking up a storm, which unfortunatly, I understand very little of.

Hopefully I'll have something more interesting to talk about soon. For now, I'm just happy to be able to lift my head without feeling like it might literally explode.

It's Who I Am

I have red hair and feckles. I am 30 years old. I have a college education. I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister. And I am a mother who's child almost died.

Yesterday, somebody very close to me called because her daughter had just had a seizure and she needed advice. And she sounded so scared and I felt so far away. I've mentioned on occassion here how we almost lost Samantha, but I've never gone into detail. At least not here. And as we're approaching the 5 year anniversary of that, maybe I will. But that is for another day.

I haven't brought it up much here because in a lot of ways, I feel like a broken record. It feels like it comes up in the most random of conversations and I don't want to be that mom that is all "yeah, my child almost died." But guess what? I am that mom who's child almost died. For better or worse, it is a part of me. A part I wish wasn't there, but a part none the less. I know there are people who feel we should be over it by now, but the thing I've realized is that you never get over it. Life does get back to some sense of normalcy, you are able to sleep again, you are able to let your child of out of your sight. But then there are those times, like when they spike a fever for no reason, or they zone out just a little too long, or you can't get them to wake up to take their temperature when they are running a fever, where you are instantly brought back to that place. That place in time where you almost lost your child.

This person close to me, who experienced something similar the other day was by herself with her two girls when it happened. I was lucky in a way because I had people there with me who could help when I panicked (and I did) and who will always understand why I can't get over it. A sounding board for those days where fear strikes me. Who understand why I still cry everytime I talk about it. And who won't judge me because I'm not moving on as fast as some think I should. If she needs it, I hope I can be that person for her. Because I do get it.

Today, I was researching information online for her because she desperately wants answers and right now there aren't any. And I remember (and she's smart enough to know) how scary doing internet research can be. I figure I can be her filter. So today, I looked up what Samantha was finally diagnosed with, which was status epilepticus, which basically means a seizure that lasts longer than 30 minutes. Samantha's lasted well over 2 hours before they were medically able to stop it. But while reading, I came across this:

Status epilepticus (SE) is a life-threatening condition in which the brain is in a state of persistent seizure. Definitions vary, but traditionally it is defined as one continuous unremitting seizure lasting longer than 30 minutes [1], or recurrent seizures without regaining consciousness between seizures for greater than 30 minutes (or shorter with medical intervention). There is some evidence that 5 minutes is sufficient to damage neurons and that seizures are unlikely to self-terminate by that time. First aid guidelines for seizures state that an ambulance should be called for seizures lasting longer than 5 minutes.[2] The mortality rate of status epilepticus is very high especially if treatment is not intiated quickly.[3]
(courtesy of wikipedia)

I knew we had been close to losing her, but I didn't know this. Even almost 5 years later, I didn't know this. And it brought to my knees again, so thankful for everybody around that day. To my stepmother who knew just by the look on my face and the tone in my voice when I said "help me" that she needed to call 911. To my brother-in-law who insisted she be brought to the better hospital even though it was further away because we didn't live around there and knew nothing about the hospitals. To the ER doctor, who later admitted she didn't know if it was a seizure and took her best guess. To my dad, and my sisters and my grandmother who held our hands and let us cry, who assured us she'd be fine, who sat in the emergency room, away from us with very little news, but who we knew were there fighting for our little girl on the worst night of our lives.

I went on to read the following

About one in five, a total of 42,000 annually in the United States, will die within 30 days of having an initial status epilepticus seizure.

I didn't know this either. And it's better I didn't. We were barely getting any sleep as it was, so this would have completely done us in. And it proves to me that we do have a miracle living with us in our newly 6 year old daughter. She beat the odds, when they didn't think she would.

But I do know, and I guess I always did, that I had/have reason to be scared. Her seizure wasn't common, it was serious and it was life-threatening. I am not exaggerating when I say that. I am not lying when I say we came minutes from losing her (per the ER director, btw, not my estimate). That whether fair or not, when people told me about how their neighbor's cousin's son had one and he was fine, it was ok for me to be angry (although never at the person because I do understand they were only trying to help) and to explain "this was different." Because it was.

And so, I will continue to talk about it because it's a part of who I am. And I will continue to be amazed by the young lady she is becoming and I will always be remember how lucky we are to still have her here with us. But there is a part of me that will always be a mother who's child almost died.