break

This is where Heather ceases to become Zen Mama.

We’ll be back later.  Probably.

Ticket To Ride

It’ll be a long time before I stop thinking “if I had just looked in the folder sooner.”  We have spent so much time this week looking for that little blue book.  Sifting through papers, page at a time; methodically searching places we know it can’t possibly be.  And then searching again.  And then a third time, because things always show up somewhere you’ve already looked. 

I still don’t have that sick feeling that something is really wrong — not like I did the first time I went looking for my Ricks’ diploma after we left Hawaii.  It was years before I could admit it, but the first time I went looking at and it wasn’t where it should be, in my heart I knew it was gone, and I could have thrown up I was so sick.  I don’t feel that this time, so I keep holding on to the hope that we will find it.

Paul has accepted that it is gone.  He has reviewed every possible scenario of what happened to it since he last had to get it out.  He’s ready to expidite a new passport but to get it before we leave for Vancouver means he needs to apply today.  He’s just waiting for me to acquiesce.  I’m afraid this is one thing he’s going to have to do alone.

When we first discovered the passport was missing I was in the folder of important documents looking for something else, and ritualistically checked our passports.  I didn’t get that sick feeling.  All I felt was very deep annoyance.  And my first thought was that I was not going to let this ruin my biannual trip to Canada.  I’d go without him if I had to.  I’d be sad that my father would be out all that money for Paul’s ticket, but what does make me sick is the thought of forking over the $200 it will take to get a new passport in a month.

As I was looking again last night, looking in the places I knew it couldn’t be, but looking and re-checking, stubbornly willing it there, I finally realized why I’m clinging so fiercely to the idea that it’s here, somewhere, and it’s up to us to look hard enough.  I have to hold faith that it’ll show up, and we will be fine, because doing so also buoys my faith in this endless job search.  If I give up on the forced optimism that this will work out, how many other things will crumble?  Everything is so delicately tied together in the mantra that things will work out.

Today I just don’t know.

Lessons Learned

Today Little Red learned that even after you stomp it with your shoe, you should not pick up a bee.

Today I learned that Little Red is not allergic to bee stings!

A Tribute to the Bassinet

When we moved to California, pregnant and practically penniless, I was overcome with gratitude when Lisa offered to lend us her bassinet.  I didn’t care the condition, I was just grateful to have something more than a laundry basket for our new baby.  I was very pleased when we picked it up to see it was such a nice piece!

The bassinet had dutifully cared for her three children before she lent it to us.  And since we didn’t have a crib right away we pushed the recommended weight limits, as it was such a cozy place for Little Red.  Finally we returned it to its original family.

When I was pregnant with Boy Blue Lisa again called me and offered the bassinet.  Her fourth had outgrown it and she was done.  This time, would I please take it for good?  Use it until I was done and pass it along?

Again, I gratefully accepted.  And it was a cozy bed for Boy Blue until he moved out of my room and into the crib.  Before I got around to passing it along, Daytime Brother entered the mix and again we pushed the weight requirements. 

Finally I conceded that it was time to pass along this beloved piece of furniture, and Miss Ella made it her home for several months.  Her family is in charge of storage for it now, to use until they are done, and pass it along.

If you’ve lost count, this same bassinet provided a cozy bed to eight children, and it still looks as good as it did the first time I saw it.  Kudos to the good people at Graco, you make a fine product!

 

EDIT:  (thanks for the info, Lisa!)  Before Little Red used it, the bassinet had also been used by another family.  This bring the baby count up to 9.  Way to go, Graco!

Keep Wishing!

Little Red: Someday when I’m ready, I’m going to with upon a star. I’m going to wish for a new baby.

Monkey Boy

Turns out the little guy can climb out of his crib.  This afternoon was the first time he did so as far as I know, but he did so quickly and without falling.  I suspect that after we put the boys to bed at night Little Red climbs in and out of the crib, and that Boy Blue has been taking notes.

If I didn’t need the crib for Aiden, and, you know, if we had money for a new bed, that kid would totally be in a toddler bed right now.  But if he must remain in the crib, I’m glad he can get out without hurting himself!

Time Management

Paul’s passport is not in my “folder of important things.” Unlike when things usually go missing, I do not have that sick sensation of wrong in the pit of my stomac. I am strangely calm.

I’ve done a lot of cleaning and organizing in the past 20 hours since the discovery. I have even whittled down the unread (and mostly expired) messages in my yahoo account from 1056 to 1.  I’m quite proud.  I don’t remember when last I had such numbers.

The passport, however, was not there.

Strange, n’est-ce pas?

The Uphill Climb

We all have them, and we all use them, but the problem with coping mechanisms is that they can so easily become crutches. What begins with one small indulgence in the afternoon of a very long day quickly becomes a ritual, and a necessity.  The next thing you know, you’re twenty pounds heavier and no better off emotionally than you were before.

Okay, so not all coping mechanisms are food, but whatever it is we lean on to get us through tough times can so easily become another stumbling block. Instead of dealing with the children’s difficult behaviour, how many of us white-knuckle it through thinking “they’re just tired, it’ll be better tomorrow” and suddenly realize we’ve justified the past three months of bad behaviour and the behaviours are escalating? We’ve paralyzed our own parenting instead of evolving with the children’s needs.

I’m so sick of coping mechanisms. I’m so sick of not being on top of things. Yes, we’re going through a difficult time right now, but coping mechanisms are supposed to be short-term, and we’ve been at this for eight and a half months. It’s time for the bad behaviour (from all of us) to stop. There is no excuse.

I’m trying to exercise more. I’m trying to use that as my outlet. Unfortunately my yoga sessions happen in the same room as my children. How medidative can I be in a difficult pose when I’m mediating a toy battle? I’m supposed to finish tired, but not angry and defeated.

I have so much work to do.

GastroUpdate

The tests are done, for now. Some of the bloodwork indicated something unusual in the liver, but Dr. Kim was quick to assure us this is no time to panic. The abdominal ultrasound showed no malformations or blockages. The antibody test was negative for celiac. We aren’t going to bother with the Upper GI.

We are instructed to continue with the instant breakfast and check in with Dr. Kim in three months, unless we have another episode. We can schedule a weigh-in with the nurse’s clinic any time we want, to monitor his weight gain.

The news is that we don’t have any news. As with every other aspect of our lives, I’m sure we’re fine but I don’t have any proof.  Things could be a lot worse, and we are blessed despite the uncertainty.

If Music Be the Food Of Gods …

Last Sunday I played a solo in church. It felt good to be practicing again, and it felt good to play.  I like myself better when I’m playing; my posture is better, my mood is better, my outlook is brighter.  I organize my time better, and I make clearer priorities.  I am able to reconnect with the person I have been since I was five.  It feels good to play.

I didn’t realize it had been so long since I last played in church, but some of the people who used to know I could play, had forgotten.  Gil even told me “you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel.”  Yikes!  So I thought about it, and realized that it had been several years.

I’ve always struggled with doing musical numbers in church.  I demand that the piece has enough substance to it that it interests me as a performer, but I often worry that it would be too ostentatious, or – worse – that people will think I’m doing the musical number to show off.  This week I was able to see that the music made people happy, and that as I shared my life’s work with others we were all edified.  For the first time I didn’t worry about someone thinking I was pretentious.  I just presented my offering for everyone to enjoy. 

It’s so much easier to get out of the apartment to practice now that the boys are older.  I will do another musical number.  Soon, I hope.  It feels so good to play again.