Perfect Balance

    Three hours. That's a chunk of my day I hadn't anticipated a run to the ER, but then do I ever? I suppose we were overdue (ha!). It's been a little over two years since the last one (of course, it was Caelan). To get down to it, Paxton did it all by himself. No sisters were involved. No death defying leaps, no scaling the heights to plummet... nope. He fell off the couch. He's five. He fell off the couch and hit the coffee table. The coffee table we've had since just after we were married, that has held up under much abuse as kids bonked their heads on the undersides as they learned to crawl or they used to guide their first steps. Not once in those eleven years of child abuse to the table has the table ever fought back. And really, it wasn't even fighting back today. It was catching him.
    Much blood later, I was assessing the damage while fighting his need to see the blood streams down his face in the mirror. I can only get out of him that he fell and hit the table. Because BLOOD--it's always so much more interesting when it's literally everywhere. I still haven't convinced him that he has a black eye as well. He's so fascinated with the gash in his head. Then that inner argument of "Do I take him or do we slap a bandaid on it?" The gash was just deep enough to make me uncomfortable. I staunched the flow and slapped a bandaid on it. "Who is on the bandaid?" he sobbed. Iron Man. He sniffled once more, "Ok. I can do this." So I send some texts and pics to a friend who would make a better judgment than I and I loaded him up for the ER.
    Ever take a five year old boy to the ER? Apparently he thought we were in Hershey, PA, at Chocolate World, because the hospital architecture is similar. That was a bit of a downer, but he quickly suggested he needed a chocolate shake after because of all the blood. The room we finally made it to had a TV. I was thrilled-- I left the house with little more than my wallet and the kid. Of course, being cable, there were few kid friendly options. Some weird cartoon on Cartoon Network and the Simpsons. Then I finally found a cartoon he demanded he watched. Because apparently the Catholic Network has quite a lot to offer a kid in the afternoon in the ER. Like how to pray the rosary and the Hail Mary prayer. He had more Catholic education in that thirty minutes than any other time of his life. Sister Faustina kept him calm and explained it all. A friend posted a comment on a FB photo of him on the bed and said he looked guilty. He was just involved with the Sister Faustina's details. Take that how you will. Then finally the nurse practitioner came in.
   I've learned over the years of ER runs that it's just best if the kid explains the accident. I've been the mom the nurse glared at as I've tried explaining, as if I'm making up a story to cover my tracks in roughing up my kid. It's a terrible position to be in. So, by all means, son-- explain yourself to the nurse as we dab at the blood weeping from the gash in your forehead. "I was trying to balance. I fell and hit the table." A bit more information, kid. "Well, I was balancing on the edge of the couch with my arms inside my shirt and I fell over." Your arms were inside your shirt-- like not in your sleeves? "Yep, they were stuck inside my shirt. I was balancing." And you fell but had no way to break your fall except to smash your face on the table? The nurse looked over as she dabbed the glue across the steristrips, "And do you think you have good balance?" Paxton said "Oh, yeah. I have perfect balance." The nurse said "I beg to differ."
 

 

When the Day is Over Way Before Noon

Paxton spends most of the night in an ibuprofen induced sleep for fever and headache, but it's a terrible rest, thrashing and uncomfortable. I spend most of the night dodging his appendages aimed at my face. Two hours of consecutive sleep later for myself, and the boy hits the ground running at 6:30.        *stumbles to the coffee*  Kids eager to be all the things before 7:30 and follow me around. Breakfast and morning chores. Then school. That lovely chunk of day dedicated to educating and molding young minds.   *coffee still in hand- we got this*   McKenna on bookwork, Caelan on iPad, Evelynn on computer, Paxton becoming increasingly whiny and sickly. Catch Caelan playing Temple Run instead of geography. McKenna insists she can't read because she can't read like an adult-- same things she's been saying for months--practice makes perfect, love... Rome wasn't built in a day. Evelynn is blankly staring at the computer "I have no idea what to do- I've never done this before"... like never in the last six months-- REALLY?  In one fell swoop she thinks she can negate months of math lessons by saying "I forgot."   *lost coffee somewhere between McKenna crying over her chapter book and Paxton upset PAW Patrol was not on his channel*   Caelan has lost the country flag flashcards "Oops, guess I can't do them today." Try again. Move McKenna to iPad, get her started on geography... catch her playing Temple Run five minutes later. Death to that app. Paxton is dosed, on the iPad... until his app freezes and it's like his dog died. Evelynn is still on math. Are you for real? She rolls her eyes.   *clutches coffee tightly to chest, left eye twitches*   McKenna does math... um, you wrote your five backwards-- she knows, she "just likes it better that way." That didn't fly two years ago, why do you think it would now? Erases the five and starts over. Oh, good. It's the way it should be, like you did it in Kindergarten. We've made progress today. Caelan has disappeared, she claims bathroom needs... I'm not convinced. Evelynn, still staring at her computer math-- wait, did she just use her fingers to count? It's long division. How can you use fingers for that? And why fingers? You're in 5th grade...  Order of operations for long division are apparently in Cantonese because she's glazed over. Walk through each step by step by step by step for two problems. Seems she's got it. But no.  *sips coffee-- I picked the wrong mug for today-- should have been Darth Vader-- oh, wait, that was yesterday's well used mug*   It's only 10:15. You know what? Documentary. Netflix. Get your science on. "Hey, MOM!!! Come look at these frogs playing piggy back in the wild! They are sooooo cute!   *chokes on coffee*

The Hogwarts Letter

Evelynn is home now and reaping the birthday gifts that were delivered in her absence. 😜



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrafT1-MbZM&t=2s

The post where I wallow in a bit of self-pity and then realize I still have choices

    The last few days have been such a funk for me. I've been looking at that first sentence for five minutes thinking how weird it looks and how I could make it better. I'm leaving it, though. The inner turmoil has been great, epic even; I smile and laugh yet I feel half a second away from crying. Life continues down this path fraught with unexpected tidings at every turn, the questioning of the parts of life that attack me and give me no options. No options. It's a bitter place to be. Not meeting expectations, equally embittering. Feeling the distance of relationships keenly, while not embittering, certainly lonely. Not feeling settled, home but not home.

    Eight weeks. That's how much time the husband has spent at home in the last year. There's no sense of anything normal. The stressors on our life are immense and we have handled them as well as we can despite the miles. Every six months or so I seem to just hit this wall of self doubt, a loathing relationship with self pity. It's this battle of this is the life I chose. This is the life I choose. I would do it all again. In an instant. And against this choice is the overwhelming desire sometimes to be that family that just chills. Has the 9 to 5. Has everyone in one place, under one roof. Who can have Easter together as a family instead of this disconnect that lead me to the McDonald's drive-thru yesterday. 

    I get out, see people, talk with friends and the mantra is "smile- keep calm and carry on" but the thing about this chosen life is so few truly understand what it's like. Honestly, it's those people that do get it that keep me grounded, my problems less consuming when I know that my problems aren't as bad as they could be. It's only been a year. I've travelled so much myself to put our family together. He's not in a place of danger. This time has been so much easier than the years I spent pregnant with toddlers underfoot. But I still wait to hit the bottom; the bottom taunts me, yet I just laugh and say "I stopped wondering where the bottom is a long time ago."

    One more phone call or piece of mail dealing with the PA house nightmare is always there... after two years. It just doesn't stop. The comments of "You handle things so well." or "You make is seem so easy..." from well-meaning people echo around me and stopped doing anything for my heart years ago. I dislike platitudes. Those who say the words and then walk away without another thought or even an arm around the shoulders. Those who offer those thoughts and leave are nameless to me (so if you're reading this, it's probably not you- ha! My one caveat that this is just a blog therapy session and not aimed at anyone in particular or based off of any recent platitudes). Those people have no idea. They recognize the struggle but put off the real moments, the moments I have sat in the floor surrounded by chaos and sobbed. Apparently I'm the queen of appearances. I make the descent into madness look good and graceful. All I know is that it's one moment at a time. It's a phone call to the few who have gone through this life with me. It's hanging onto the few constants: God, family, and coffee. And a good dose of ridiculousness for laughter. Lots of laughter. It's the reminder that I chose this life, the adventure of it, the stress of it, the love of it, the growth from it, and apparently the madness of it. 

    Where we are in this life is such a small point in eternity. I refuse to ask "Why me?" because why not me? It's my story. It's my life to share. While I may not have many options when it comes to how life is currently being dealt, I certainly have choices in how I deal with it. I choose to realize that life is unpredictable (even in that fabled world of working a 9 to 5). I choose to handle the downs with grace. I choose to offer mercy to those floundering with my thorns (because sometimes platitudes are all that some people can offer). I choose to reach out to those in similar situations and be the armful of hugs to those who walk it with me, those who want to be part of the story and not merely commentators.

    In 2 Corinthians, Paul speaks of his thorn in his flesh. He had to learn to deal with it and accept it as part of his life no matter how much it pained him. "Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it leave me. And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Cor. 12:8-10) There are so many things worse that what is happening in my small life. Paul certainly had a few more concerns. See? Blog therapy session nearly complete and I'm feeling much better. It's a good life even though the rose colored glasses have just turned a putrid color at times in the last couple of years. Keep calm and carry on.

Evelynn's 11th Birthday

  Evelynn's birthday is tomorrow. Our oldest girl will be eleven in just a few hours.  She's away for the weekend, hanging out with her grandparents. Due to the crazy that has been our life the last few years, I realized that I have, in fact, not actually been with her on her birth DAY for the last three years. It hurts a bit that there are things so totally out of our control that keep us from being with our kids on their special days. As a family who frequently is here and yon, and topsy turvy, we've tried to show our kids that love and appreciation don't always have to land on the calendar days that demand it and we make the most of the time we are together.
    A couple of weeks ago, I asked Evelynn what she would like for her birthday and she reminded me that a Harry Potter comforter has been high on her wishlist. We searched a few different designs and she settled on one and my geek heart was thrilled to finally receive a rather large box from thinkgeek.com last night. There have been several moments in the last few months where she has dropped hints about the removal of certain items in her room. With her away it is the perfect opportunity to grant her simple wishes and to update her room. I have to say, there is nothing more telling that your girl is growing up than the removal of the doll house, the few remaining Barbies, the board books, the easy readers, and basically just the toys. She doesn't DO toys any more. What was once quite a girly room of pinks and florals and polka dots and all things squishy soft is now the room of a girl quite set on the next phase of life.
    The sweet collection of books that she received as a baby has a new home on a shelf NOT in her room. Her biggest complaint of late has been not enough space on her shelves for "her books"-- the Harry Potter collections, the plethora of Rick Riordan books that thrill her, the books that say a pre-teen lives here now. My girl threw out a plethora of items a couple of days ago that she no longer wanted cluttering up her room. The only signs left of the little girl are the pictures of herself as a baby and a toddler. It's good to be Evelynn these days. So many new things happening to her life. New interests, new adventures, and a growing sense of perspective as she puts it all together in her head (which some days drives the mother insane).
    I fully expect her to be taller than me in the next year (like that was the most difficult accomplishment to begin with). I expect that I will still catch her off guard as our relationship changes (she's already stopped me a few times giggling "MOM! What are you doing? I didn't see that coming.") I expect she will continue to be independent, yet dependent, and let me know about how that's not fair. I expect that we will still fall over in giggles, and our mutual appreciation for the ridiculous will thrive. I expect that she will continue to drive me bonkers with this new idea that maybe she doesn't have to check in with me or maybe I really didn't mean what I said. She will push and pull, and so will I. And it will be an ugly, beautiful mess. And she will be amazing. Eleven will be a good year for her.
    And when she gets back from her weekend away, there will be a letter addressed to her from Headmaster Dumbledore accepting her into Hogwarts, complete with her  9 and 3/4 train tickets, book list, and Hufflepuff scarf.  She has already told me it's coming. So I had to make it happen.

Valley of Fire

The Carrizozo Malpais, or the Valley of Fire, spans about forty miles along the northern part of the Tularosa Basin in New Mexico. Estimated to have flowed about 1000 to 1500 years ago, the lava flowed from a vent near Little Black Peak and not from exceptional volcanic activity. The flows oozed and cooled down creating large, rock-climbing worthy surfaces, craters, and shallow caves perfect for bats and curious kids. This is one of few parks that encourage you to leave the trail and experience the uneven rocks. A little over ten miles of desert separate the black rock fields from the White Sands.

Smokey the Bear

Prior to World War Two, there was no real campaign for the prevention of forest fires. With the movie "Bambi" in 1942 there was more awareness of preventing fire but no official image was used until 1944 when the campaign introduced Smokey the Bear. The Forest Service played up the war effort propaganda by advertising that the prevention of forest fires would save the timber needed for the war. When Smokey wasn't in use, the Forest Service relied on other war time ads to push home the need to prevent fire.

By the time the war ended and Americans, happy to return to some normalcy, began to travel and camp, there was a renewed urgency in encouraging people to properly put out their camp fires and cigarettes. On May 4, 1950, a discarded cigarette butt started a fire in the Lincoln National Forest, raging for days and destroying 17,000 acres. A badly burned bear cub was found hanging onto the side of a burnt pine tree. This little guy was cared for, placed at the National Zoological Park in Washington, D.C., and became the living representation of Smokey the Bear. The bear lived to the age of 26 and then was buried in what is now the Smokey Bear Historical Park. The museum in Capitan, New Mexico, claims that Smokey the Bear is only second to Santa Claus in popularity.

Fun Fact: A couple of days before we went to the museum, I was watching an episode (or five) of Mysteries at the Museum and there was a segment of the show about the harness below and a brief history of Smokey.