Mom and Dad

I am the youngest of five.  I also live the farthest away from my childhood home.  I wish I was closer.

About four weeks ago, I checked my phone after my class at the gym.  I had two missed calls from my mother....uh-oh.

My heart was racing and I could barely think as I dialed her back.  I knew it was something bad.  Sure enough, my dad was in the hospital in Pocatello having a heart attack.  All ended ok, my dad got a stint put in and was recovering quickly.  I was so grateful for that.

But I still dread THAT phone call.  You know the one.

I felt completely helpless stuck so far away.  My parents are definitely aging, and no one is around to just check in and make sure they are ok.  My mind always reverts to that old church video where the little old lady dies in her house and no one even knows?!!  AAHHH!!

My sister and two brothers live in Utah, but boys don't seem to really care or feel the same amount of concern and worry that girls do. :)  I don't know how to get back.

Anyway, just wanting to write it down.  There are so many people in my ward out here whose entire extended family lives within about an hour of each other.  I miss family close by.  I feel neglectful by hoping someone else takes care of my mom and dad.  Ugh.

It drives me crazy...I'm already crazy anyway.  Certifiably nuts.

A pebble in the water

    I must write this down so I don't forget.  It was kind of unbelievable.

    Ever since Landon got his retainer, it has become a toy for him.  I understand...he is 9.  But still, he flicks it up and down, up and down constantly.  Some of his teachers think he is chewing gum because of the flash of white they see.
    Last week about 8, I was picking Landon up from Tae Kwan Do.   I had Julie, Annie and Norah in the car with me.  He got in the back, and I started to drive.  Now it was dark...and the music was on. ( I am not a quiet music listener.  I like it loud.  Otherwise, what is the point?)

    Anyway,  I look back and Landon looks like he is...I don't really know....he looks funny and is moving around in his seat.  I ask, "Are you ok? "

     He puts his hands around his neck and squeaks out, "choking!"

    I stop the car and then hear a huge upchucking sound.  Uh-oh.  As I turn around to see what is happening, Landon (who is now teared up) says, "I was choking on my retainer!"

     He apparently had been flicking his retainer up and down like always, when he took a drink of water.  His retainer went to the back of his throat and got stuck.  Hence, the weird noises and thrashing around.  Landon said he remembered learning the heimlick maneuver from scouts,  so he tried doing it to himself, and that is when the retainer came out.

     I gave Landon a talking to about WHY WHY WHY we don't flick that dumb thing around in our mouth!  Honestly, choking was not the first reason I thought of, but it is now.  And guess what?  He still does it!  Probably less often, but still.

     The whole episode made me think about our choices.  Just like a pebble thrown into water, the ripples go on and on and on.  And so do our consequences.

   

Asthma

Anyone have kids with asthma?  I don't...at least I didn't think I did.

Last Monday, annie woke up coughing.  We went about our normal morning, and as we were driving to the gym, I noticed she was coughing a lot.  A LOT.

Being endowed with endless amounts of compassion, I was ticked.  Great, I thought.  They probably won't even let me finish my class.  But I shoved her in there anyway.  After the hour was up, I went to pick up the girls.  The teacher mentioned she was coughing...yeah, I know.

Whew.  Made it.  :)

We go home and mill about doing normal stuff.  Cleaning, playing, etc.  Her coughing continues.  Then around lunchtime, I have a primary meeting at my house.  Norah is napping, and Annie has fallen asleep on the couch.  She wakes up in about 30 minutes, so I get her lunch.

She is coughing so much, and can barely eat.  It appears she is too tired to eat, but her blood sugar is fine.  I continue on with my meeting.  I keep watching her though, and she lays her head on the counter between each little bite.  I seriously write this all off as part of the cold she has.

Annie manages to eat a little, then moves and watches a movie.  After a while, she comes and sits on my lap.  Then Marianne (one of the women in the meeting) says...is she asthmatic?

No.  I don't think so.

Marianne then tells me Annie is retracting.

She's what?  Lift up her shirt, she says.  Now watch her chest.

It completely gets sucked in under her rib cage as she struggles to breathe.  She needs a breathing treatment...ASAP.

It is time to pick up my other kids from school, so I go get them, then pick up a machine from Marianne to help Annie.  I already have leftover medicine from a difference cold she had, and was wheezing that time.  (Yes, I realize what I genius I am at this point.  The child has been wheezing before, but she always does with a cold, and it usually gets better quickly)

Annie has her breathing treatment as soon as we are home, and is instantly better.

I, however, am not.  I start researching asthma, and find that Annie was suffering from a serious asthma attack.  Falling asleep because she was having so much trouble getting air?  And I just kept going along like an idiot.

Frankly, I worry so much about her sugars that other things seem to just get ignored.  Who would think she would be asthmatic as well?  Could we not spread things out a bit??

Brian and I do not have favorite kids, but Annie just has her own spot in our hearts.  Her suffering becomes almost unbearable for us.  As she was hooked up to this machine with a mask over her face, Landon asked me, "does she have asthma, too?"

Seriously.  Really?

But on the bright side...Marianne is awesome.  She saved my little Annie.  And I am learning a little about compassion.

The worth of a woman

More specifically, mine.  I think I may have posted something like this before, but clearly this kind of thing troubles me.

I grew up in a house with a father who was bossy.  I love him, but he bossed us all around...except my mom.   They discussed, argued, fought...whatever.  Sometimes I will read something that says, "my parents never said a cross word to each other."  Liars.  I don't believe it.  Probably because that was absolutely not the case in our house.

Dad told Mom what to do, and she did her own thing.  Oftentimes she would be going along, then my dad would try telling her how to slice the tomato (on his sandwich SHE was making for him), and suddenly that sandwich was being hurled at his face.

In a nutshell. :)

In a conversation with my mother, she told me she didn't raise me to be a 'women's libber'.  Hahaha.  Maybe not intentionally, but she did.   For as long as I can remember, I wanted to prove something.  My own value, I suppose.

In the mile race in third grade, I wanted to be the fastest one.  I usually was in races.  But one kid was faster...a boy.  My motivation was solely to beat him.  And on the last little stretch, I passed him up.  I was thrilled, and he cried.  I ate that up.

In sixth grade, we had a arm-wrestling competition in my class.  I could beat everyone, boys included.  Well,  except for one boy.  But he was massive.

I became extremely competitive in all aspects of my life.  I wanted to be the best, the smartest, the funniest...you name it.   (I must say here, that my desire was great, but my execution was not.  I really did want to be the best one at everything, but never was.  )

And then I went to college.  I was still the same.  I figured when I got married and had children, I would stay home with them.  My mom did, and I wanted to as well.  Brian and I even had this huge fight (while engaged) about me working or not.  I was insistent that even when my kids went to school, I would be home...he wanted me to work.  It makes me laugh now to think of it.

So Brian and I got married.  We both had school and work to manage.  I liked it.  Loved it actually.  After my first year of grad school, we were all supposed to do an internship.  Brian was finishing his undergrad and applying to medical school.  Well, he got a good internship down in CA, and I had nothing....so I worked temp jobs.  Even now as I think of it, I felt like a loser.  Here my classmates were doing meaningful (at least related to our classes) work, and I was stocking shelves at Kmart, doing data entry for an online toy company, more data entry somewhere else.  It was awful.  I really was happy for Brian and his experience he was getting, but I resented him a bit.  Why had I worked so hard in school?  to work at Kmart?  It was difficult to say the least.  Continually trying to convince myself that I was smart and capable, but I just felt disappointed.

Back to school was great,  and I found we were pregnant with Samantha.  She was born just as I graduated, so I stayed home with her.  Those days were interesting.  Not quite what I had envisioned.  Newborns are boring.  so I watched a lot of Lifetime channel for a while.  But, after the 15th beaten woman who took her life back and got revenge on her old lover...blah blah blah.  I've seen that before.

So life continued on.  More children came, medical school, I stayed home but managed apartment buildings.  Then one day in 2007, I decided to get certified to teach aerobics.  I did, and I started teaching at the Y where I lived.  And I absolutely LOVED it.  seriously, loved it.

Why?  I do love to exercise, but I was getting a meager little check each time I taught.  People would tell me they liked my class.  I felt worthwhile.  Staying at home has been more difficult for me than I ever anticipated.  Who knew I wanted to work?  But not just a job, something I loved to do.   It was a real, tangible thing I could prepare for, execute, and then get instant feedback.  It was awesome!

Sadly, in 2009, I left CA and have not had a teaching job since.  My life has become even more hectic, but I yearn for that outlet.  I love it.  People will sometimes come to me and tell me how much they love Brian, what a wonderful doctor he is.  I know he is.  But let me tell you about the last time someone said what a wonderful mother I am................................

wait.  it never happened.  Probably because my kids just burped out loud and then pushed your kid down.  Oops.

Knowing how I have struggled with these ridiculous feelings of inadequacy, of not reaching my potential, of guilt for wanting to leave when I know I should stay...why would I have 4 girls?  I needed to have boys.  Boys I could push to be the best, to become whatever they would like to be.  Instead, I talk to my girls about picking a career that can possibly be flexible with a family later on.  It hurts my heart to even say it....be awesome, but not TOO awesome because that might prevent you from staying home and raising your kids.  Yuck.

Mostly, I guess I hope they can marry wonderful men who will understand that they really are equals in every way, and not less than their husband.  In this church, I find those men are few and far between.

Whew.  That is enough ranting for today.

Permanent Teeth

About the beginning of May, Landon had come with me to pick up produce from this weekly co-op thing I participate in.  His soccer game was shortly afterward, so he, Annie and Norah came with me.  Brian had the other girls.

There was a big line to wait in, but thankfully a playground was nearby.  I asked Landon to take the little girls over there and play while I waited.  He disappeared with them.  Just before it was my turn, Landon comes over to me, holding his mouth and crying.  His entire soccer jersey is covered with blood, running down his face and chest.  I feel nauseous and light headed.

It took me a minute to gather myself together enough to think what I needed to do.  I didn't panic, but I was in a stupor.  Just stood there while the women around me asked what they could do.

Someone handed a burpcloth thing to Landon to keep in his mouth, while I went and got the little girls. Someone else gathered my food and helped me to my car.  She was actually trying to carry Norah, who was pitching a royal fit the entire time.  But I am already carrying Annie, so I just keep going.

I try to open Landon's mouth to see the damage, but he is in so much pain he can hardly cooperate.  I thought his teeth had been knocked out, but then I see that the front two teeth have just been shoved right back up through the gums.  It is disgusting.

We get in the car and my mind is racing.  I call Brian, but can't hear him very well, and he is already at the soccer fields with Julie.  I contact a few people about the dentist I know in our ward.  I leave him a few messages.  After a few minutes, he calls me back and tells me to come over and he'll look at Landon.  I am incredibly grateful, as it is Saturday.

I show up at his house and the entire family is outside doing yard work.  I feel even worse.  He takes one look at Landon and says, "Yep,  we need to go to the office."  I feel hopeless.

Once there, he starts working on Landon's mouth.  He keeps telling me it doesn't look good, but I keep praying for him to keep his teeth.  His PERMANENT FRONT TEETH!  Please, please, let him keep the teeth.

My little girls are out in the front part of the office, so I go to check on them.  When I come back, one front tooth is gone.  The dentist said in his effort to pull that tooth down a bit, the whole thing just came out.  I am shocked and want to throw up.  That was a lovely answer to a prayer.  As he keeps working, I have to sit and look away, feeling lightheaded and unsteady again.  I hate myself for being such a wuss.

The office part only takes about 15 minutes, and then we are driving home.  I am in disbelief about what has happened.  I feel incredible guilt.  What if I just hadn't taken him with me?  Why did I have to ask him to watch the girls?  why am I so lazy?  What if I had gotten there sooner...or later?  What if?  Why did I?  It could go on forever.  Still, I wish I could go back and change it.  I have an incredible amount of guilt.

So now Landon looks interesting.  He has a flipper, which is a retainer with the missing tooth attached. He has lost it multiple times, dropped it in a wave pool (where it was stepped on), and he constantly flips it up and down in his mouth like gum.   He is a 9 year old boy, after all.

So we just keep doing this until he is about 17 and can get an implant.  He will also need a bone graft for his gum, since he broke his maxilla right above the tooth that came out.  The whole deal stinks, and my heart hurts for Landon.  I would much rather have a broken arm, broken leg...those things heal!  Dang teeth are irreplaceable.

I'm not beautiful, but I am vain.  I know it.  If I wasn't, maybe this wouldn't bother me so much.  But it does.  And patience does not come easily to me.  My children's misfortunes are the worst part of parenting.  To have to sit on the side and watch bad things happen is torture, but what can be done?  It is a part of life.  But I will hate that part forever.

Toilets

I am in the midst of pee at the moment.  Pee on my tile, pee on the carpet, pee on rags, toilet paper...you name it, it has been peed on.  That's right, I am potty training Norah.

She exhibited all the appropriate signs before I started...staying dry during naps, totally interested in the toilet.  She would even sit on the dang thing every night before she got in the bathtub.  About 4 days ago, I decided to get more aggressive with it.  She seriously kept her diaper dry for two days!  Only going in the toilet.

Sweet!  I am totally ready for this.  It will be a cinch, I know it.  I am a seasoned mother now.  No more rookie mistakes, no more ridiculous pull-ups!  Norah will be potty trained over the weekend!  Whoo-hoo!!!

Somehow, this delusional line of thinking kept running through my mind.  It is right up there with having more children (pregnancy goes fast!  It's only 9 months!  Who cares about heartburn?  You are tired anyway, whats the big deal?)  Yeah, delusional I tell you.

So I jump in and put Norah in underwear.  It is going pretty well, but all I have done is potty trained myself.  I examine Norah's face and look for any signs of...what?  Relief?  I don't know.  I chase her around forcing her on the toilet every 30 minutes or so and get more crazy by the minute.

In the meantime, I was called to be the primary president of my ward on thursday night.  What?!  The president of a newly created ward, with no one in any callings whatsoever!  If it seems like that burden is light, you are absolutely correct.  I barely even think about it.  ;)

So off we go to church on Sunday.  I put Norah in a pull-up.  I realize this is a mistake, but what can I do?  Primary has to be run, Brian is at the hospital...I feel stuck.

Basically, it has come to this.  Norah thinks pull-ups are awesome and wants to wear them.  I rotate between keeping her bottom bare and underwear on.  She occasionally tells me she needs to go, but today I just decided she has to learn to tell me.  So I gently ask, but no longer force.  Hence, the pee.

I put her down for a nap today at 2:30...forgot to get her up until 5, and then made her go back to bed at 8.  AAHHH!  I just needed a bit of time without stressing about where she is, what she is doing, is she on the carpet?

I hate potty training, but I refuse to give up.  We've come this far, baby.  I hope tomorrow gets better.  I don't know how much more urine I can take.