Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Green lungs.

I've been sick...

fuhhhhhhhh
eeeehhhhhh
verrrrrrrrr.


(forever)

which is not true. I've been sick for about three weeks, as has the baby E, as has my mother, as has me.

It is mostly just draining of energy. and we coughs a lot.

but we had a couple of super nice days this week, playing in the yard and dreaming about a summer garden. Edie befriended a plastic horse that's lain dormant in the corner for ages, riding it (though it doesn't move in any way - it used to sit on springs like the pinchy riding horses of childhood), neighing for it, and giving it hugs and kisses. The weather was so nice that even Champ got into playing ball, though he's usually too tired or old or something. We took him to an off leash dog park, where he got busy herding the other dogs, and where Edie got lots and lots of doggy kisses.

I think Mountlake Terrace is a pretty great place to be right now. It's pretty out, and when the sun's not shining, the greenness is. Green green green green glorious green.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Today

We are doing a bit better now.
Wee One's spirit is back - she can't scare it away for long. Where yesterday morning she was laying on the floor, listless and vacant, today she was trying on paper bag hats and discovering small daisies in the grass. Apple cheeked, and still sick, sounding like a winterbound goose when she opens her mouth, but happy. Happy today.

And next week her Hoppers will be here, to appreciate the changes a month can make in a Wee Thing. Grammy can bathe her proper again, and Grandpa will sing her the pie song from the first movie she ever saw. Best of all, she won't be at school for those last two hours of the day when we all go out to play and she sees me not coming to get her for what feels like forever.

Here's what I love today:

The garage sale that Laura called to tell us about, where eight dollars became two pairs of dangly earrings, two funky scarves for dress up, two pretty shirts, two rope lights for our bedroom, one green one purple, four issues of Babybug magazine, one wooden car, a stack of plastic cups and bowls, a necklace with two keys (one big one small), a purple beaded flower ring, a sturdy skirt for playing in, a pair of leather baby shoes with bears on them, a pair of baby socks, and a novel about streetcops in jazz-era Seattle, Rat City. The woman selling her things is the director of an arts-based preschool and is a retired dancer for the Bolshoi Theater herself.

This poem, written by Neil Gaiman for Tori Amos' Wee One, unborn at the time.

The writing of Robert Fulghum. I just blazed through Maybe (maybe not) though maybe I should take his words easy. They are meant for pausing between, in quiet reflection. Ha. And right now I'm reading Words I Wish I Wrote, which is full of tasty nuggets.

Lemon Ginger tea for sore sorry throats.

Avocado Chocolate Shakes for all occasions.

Finding a lost baby shoe, two days later on the gravel roadside where and when I least expected it yesterday.

The sky between six and seven pm, lately. Holy Clouds! Dark and broody sky meets jubilant sun as it bids our diamond studded emerald forest farewell for the evening.

Walking the same route up and down the hill, noticing the flowering trees cranking it up just one more notch each time.

An epiphany concerning the female duck's drab choice of costuming, uncovered while walking past a drake and his mate at the transit station. Him, gaily colored and bearing a crust of bread toward his sweetheart, sitting in the bushes and nearly impossible to see. Oh...right...a sitting duck, wearing camoflauge as she warms her Wee Ones to life. Something I neglected to learn during childhood, when one can reasonable expect to learn things about ducks and their logic.

A gigantic bag of frozen fruit from Costco, mostly peaches white and yellow, which has diminished considerably under my devoted attention.

Likewise a fortunately not so gigantic bag of Sundrops- the prettier, healthier cousins of M&Ms. Their shells are colored with beet juice, beta carotene, and purple cabbage; and if you pay attention, you can just taste the colors.

Fitting into some clothes unexpectedly. Thanks, feet. Thanks, hills.

Lost. (the tv show, though the state of being by the same name definitely has a place in my heart as well.)

Speaking of shows, I just discovered Yo Gabba Gabba on Nick Jr. Actually I found out about it from reading a blog. But I have the feeling that I'm one of the last to know, as usual. It feels like the first time I ever found the Nickelodeon channel when I was a kid, watching TV in the summertime by myself. I'm pretty sure the show was "You Can't Do That On Television," and it was so awesome that I looked around me in disbelief, the way I always do when I stumble across something awesome that nobody has ever mentioned before. Check it out, the Yo Gabba Gabba compilation cd just jumped to the top of my priority list and bumped Andrew Bird's new album down to second place.

That's it, because it's late and I am about to go love on some Grey Gardens remake with Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange.

But also? I am not knitting all that much right now.
Which might be kind of a good sign, in a way.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

separation

this is very very difficult for us both.

I'm worried she's not eating enough healthy food either. In the mornings, she just wants to nurse. At school, she cries too hard to eat. At night, she just wants to nurse and then she passes out.

So if I've been a bit hard to get ahold of, or if I've forgotten to return an email or text message or phone call, please forgive me. I've been either at work or one hundred and twenty percent belonging to the poor exhausted Wee One.

And now she is sleeping, some soup and tea are heating, and an episode of Lost is beckoning.

See you when we emerge from this tough time.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

this week

Has been a little rough for the Wee One.

Days two and three were progressively worse, I think, as it dawned on her that this might be a regular thing, our getting on a bus and going to this neat place with other kids and new toys, only to have me say goodbye and leave without her, then reappear at other parts of the day, in the distance, such as during the fire drill we had on Tuesday where the class I was in marched single file right out to where the class she was in had been carried, and she saw me over her teacher's shoulder and gestured for me to come there, saying "MaMAH?" like she does now, with a question mark at the end. I waved and blew kisses while the assistant director counted heads and complimented us on our quick escape from a burning building, and her wails followed me back down the ramp as I brought up the rear of the line, urging the children to hurry up for god's sake, to lessen the amount of time my daughter would have to watch her mom walk away from her, and maybe to escape the sound of somebody's heart breaking, mine or hers I am not sure.

It'll get better, yeah, when she gets used to it. That's what they say and it's true. I just wish she didn't have to get used to it. I like having a job but being Edie's Mama is my biggest and best job now, and it's all day, every day, even and except for when she's standing at the gate of her play yard, straining to catch a glimpse of that two-timing mama who keeps ducking behind the slide to avoid being seen, screaming hoarsely over and over, "MAMAAAAH!"

Wednesday she pooped big time on the bus ride to school, so I changed her before dropping her off. This gave her time to consider what surely lay just ahead, and she was reasonably clingy. I tried to put her down several times and she lifted her legs so I would have to lay her down on her back or keep holding her. She hadn't nursed much that morning so I took her to a corner of the room and offered her milk. She ignored my offer and instead picked out a little plush frog that said something complicated that was definitely not ribbit, when I squeezed the target on his belly. We hung out for a minute, then it was time to do that worst thing ever.
"Okay sweetie, I love you."
She stared at me and shook her head no.
"Bye bye."
Instantly a hot stream of vomit splashed across my front, cascaded down my sweater and pooled onto my skirt. Um. I sat, paralyzed as if Edie were one of those strange insects whose venom immobilizes its prey. My little volcano erupted two more times, in quick succession, on herself and the frog and the pillows nearby and maybe a little bit on the rest of the plush toys. Her teacher Maritza came back from a break and started to clean up the mess while I slowly gathered my thoughts. Trying to be helpful, I changed Edie into some new clothes before saying bye bye again, but this probably only heighted her anxiety. The rest of the day, no matter where in the center I was, I could hear her screaming herself raw.

Thursday she was sick and we both stayed home.
Today she was still congested and coughing and pretty miserable, so we both stayed home again.

And around six o clock, while I was looking for the remote to turn off the TV Edie had turned on, there was a crash from the kitchen and the kind of cry she only uses when something hurts. I ran in and found her on the floor in front of the high chair, which she'd been trying to climb on. Her left foot looked funny but I scooped her up and nursed her back to a state of calm, then tried moving it gently and it didn't seem to hurt her at all, so I didn't worry.
Then she got down to go pet the dog, and when she put her left foot down she cried and stumbled. I had her try again, with help, and it still hurt her.
I put her in the sling and walked down to Stevens Hospital to get it checked out. Grandma joined us after putting the groceries away. Remind me to update the baby book. First X-rays (screamed), first dose of nasty pink Tylenol (spit half out the side of her mouth), first pulse taken using little glowing finger sticker. She and my mom do this "E.T. Phone Home" routine where one or the other will point her finger and then the other will do the same. So while they took her pulse and she leaned against me with all the weight of being sick and tired and sprained, her finger glowed just like E.T.'s.

The incredibly handsome doctor, after reporting the lack of brokenness on her X-rays, and congratulating us on nothing being wrong, and after looking the other way as we batted around an inflated blue glove pilfered from a supply shelf, bid us good night and told me, "You are blessed." I agree.

And I continue to pray that Edie hold off on phoning home just yet, though to her, any and every thing can be used as a phone (napkins, calculators, glasses, even tiny stickers apparently link to the mothership). Let my ship come first, in good order.

And please let next week be softer on our hearts.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Oh okay so it's been a month.

Almost.

Here's what's going on.

Me and Emily have moved in with my mother and taken control of the ex-my-bedroom turned computer room turned my-bedroom again. Kenneth got an apartment on Capitol Hill, so he can be closer to his job and besides, we broke up.

Yesterday was Emily's and my first day of school/work, respectively. She screamed until she vomited after I hugged her goodbye and then did the unthinkable: turned and walked out the door without her. I then blinked back a couple of wee tears, made coffee, and then grinned, giddy at the thought that I actually did it! Okay, grinned might be too strong a word. But I was surprised to find myself smiling. I don't actually want to spend my weekdays away from my daughter, avoiding the windows and doors where she might catch a glimpse of me and get upset all over again. I'd much rather hang out with her all day, feeding chips to the dog and throwing dolls down the stairs or whatever. Whoa, I'm pretty sure I've typed that line before. Anyways and However, the giddiness came from the prospect of getting paid, and the relief of finally doing what I've been dreading, and surviving. Sure, she screamed. Sure, I heard it from the hallway as I went into other classrooms and learned the names of other peoples' children. Sure, the older kids had to be my lookout on the playground, telling me, "okay, she's not looking," as I darted past her field of vision to duck behind the barn so I could pour someone a cup of water. Sure, she saw me once or twice because some genius installed windows linking all the classrooms together in a series of picture within a pictures, and I happened to reach for something just as she was washing her hands at the sink a few feet away, behind the window, and our eyes met, I ducked back saying "SHIT!" loud enough for several 2 year olds to stare at me wonderingly, and Emily erupted in a fresh spurt of crying. (She's here!? I've been crying all morning and she's frakkin' right there!?) But the freedom is exhilarating. I'm bringing home the bacon! My boobs get a break! My kid gets new friends and fresh experiences every day! And, if anything goes wrong with her, I don't have to drive like mad (ride the bus like mad) through bad traffic with high pitched anxiety turning my organs upside down. I'm right there, already. Our morning commute is pretty easy (or will be, once Edie gets the hang of staying in her seat while the bus is moving and we won't have to play Cowboys and Piglets the whole way there) and our evening commute is even better.

When it was finally six o clock and we finally got down to a handful of kids, our groups combined to have snack in one classroom. I scooped the Wee One up and held her, then sat her on my lap while she devoured some animal crackers, some fish crackers, and fed me pretzels. Then she scooted off my lap to sit in her own chair beside me. Uh, what? I kind of thought she'd be clinging to me like a barnacle when I picked her up, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say she actually seemed fine.

On the bus ride home she was in a great mood, playing peek a boo with the other passengers, giving me her version of an eskimo kiss which is more of a head butt, and trying to grab the person in front of us whose gender I could not with confidence discern. I kept it neutral, "Um, we don't grab other people on the bus. Not everybody wants you to touch their hair. Let's keep our hands to ourselves." We got home and Edie actually went to the other room. By herself!

So she's pretty independent. And awake now.

We've got to get ready for our second day of school/work.