I've always been a dreamer.
Well, not really. I'm actually a strict realist.
But I've always had, and remembered in detail, vivid dreams.
When I was young, I had four main dreams that cycled through the years.
The first dream was yellow. That's it. No plot, no characters, no setting. Only yellow. But it was an amazing yellow. Not fluorescent. Not creamy. More like a daffodil yellow; a true yellow. It was peaceful and slightly spiritual. Perhaps it was just the reminder of story-book angel images. Or perhaps it was God's way of bringing calm into the life of a very behaviorally-challenged child. Whatever the source, the dreams were a special gift to me. And the color yellow still makes me smile.
The second dream was flight. This one varied a bit, but always resulted in my flying high above the earth. It was freedom and exhilaration and adventure that was novel to me- a child haunted by claustrophobia, acrophobia, agoraphobia, and hydrophobia. *
The third recurring dream I had was a bit more detailed. It may have come from reading the complete and unabridged Gulliver's Travels at a very young age. Or possibly hearing the raindrops night after night on our gabled-ceilings was the reason. But I began dreaming that many little men would sneak into my bedroom, turn me into a hot-dog and squirt ketchup and mustard all over me. Although I would laugh when recounting the dream in the morning (a vital part of the dream process), I was thoroughly frightened at night.
The last dream I had as a child was my fear-based dream. This one was so scary to me, that I would actually venture into the dungeon (the slightly damp, cold and dark basement which housed my parents' bedroom) for instant comfort. It was one of those dreams where perception was distorted. Far was near and near was far. Up was down and short was tall. Try as I may, I could never control any aspect of that dream and it terrified me.
I dreamed that Easter eggs were falling from the sky toward my upturned face. I don't remember the colors or designs, but they were Easter eggs in my mind. They would grow, morph and expand, but just before they would hit me, they would disappear. I realize now it was the distortion that caused such fear and uncertainty.
I have not had any of those dreams in nearly twenty years, but I still have amazing dreams.
And lately, you people have been in my head.
First, it was BusyDad. He showed up in the middle of a perfectly normal dream to see if I would take his 5 year old, Fury. He just couldn't handle him any longer. He was going to pay me $5000. And then the dream changed before I could answer him.
Dude, I totally would have done it for 2K.
And then OhMommy.
Ms. OhMommy.
Ms.I-wear-stilettos-at-all-times-my-children-are-gorgeous-and-well-behaved-and-my-house-is-so-clean-you-can-lick-the-floors OhMommy showed up at my my-house-is-so-messy-you-can-lose-a-child-in-the-laundry-mountains house to ask Ms. I'm-glad-if-I-get-my-teeth-brushed-before-4pm Jenni how to make pierogi. I told her to go ask her Mamusia and I was neither classy nor fabulous about it. **
Perhaps I should stop catching up on my reading at 1am, huh?
*None of which I currently suffer from. Having been replaced by Chiraptophobia and Menophobia.
** I realized as I was reading through this again, that I sound super catty and nasty. I adore OhMommy and her supposed perfectness. And I'm sure there are days when she has mountains of laundry too. Except not really.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Get Out of My Head!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Attention Budget Busters
The Price of Oil is Through the Roof. Do You Want to Beat High Winter Heating Costs? I Can Show You How in Three EASY Steps!!!
Step 1. Ensure poor sleeping habits in your children. The sooner they crawl into bed with you, the sooner your savings begin!
Step 2. Keep one sick child on hand at all times. A mid-grade fever works best. *
Step 3. Place fever-laden child in the middle of the bed. Place other children around him/her. Place one heat absorbing adult on each end of the bed.
That's it! Your body temperatures will rise to approximately 107 degrees F virtually ensuring you can turn off your furnace at night. By decreasing your need for fossil fuels and electricity, you can reduce your heating costs and save the planet at the same time! Act now before cold and flu season is over.
Try the daytime budget beater. Gather on the couch with sick child on parent's lap. Place a heavy blanket over entire family. Surround with books and voila, instant internal boilage!
* Also try the Superbug and Staph varieties.
Intermittent tossing and turning will help speed heat distribution. Limbs flung over end unit' bodies may result in searing heat. Please be aware that the abrupt departure of one end unit from the bed will result in immediate drop in temperature.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Emerging From the Dark Pit
I have been to the seventh level of hell. And it is run by a sick two-year old.
I have not spent more than one consecutive hour in the last five days without a sick child in my arms. First my five year old was sick. He wasn't too bad. A slight cough and an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Two days and he was well. My kind of sickness! Then the next day his sister was sick. She also had a cough, but accompanied by a low-grade fever. She is a snuggler, so I just held her a little more during the day and she was fine. She took a few naps, ate a little less and sneaked into our bed each night. Not that that is abnormal or anything. She, too, was fine in a few days.
Then baby C got sick. And I discovered what true misery is. He turned two last week, and subsequently discovered the delights of automatically saying "no" to every possible statement.
"Do you want some cereal?" "No"
"What do you want to eat?" "No"
"Where's Daddy?" "No"
Having a two-year old and being pregnant are two simultaneous things I can handle. Having a sick-two year old and being pregnant are not. He has been a nightmare. Granted, he got a much stronger dose of the crap than his siblings did. He has a bad cough, runny nose and a relatively high fever. So he has every right to be miserable. I just wish he could go live somewhere else for a few days. Sorry, but I'm a little sleep-deprived.
During the days, he has been entirely too clingy. Now I love my munchkins, and I don't mind snuggling and kissing and hugging, even though I am completely disgusted by these actions in adults. At least adults in public. But, after ten straight hours of holding a coughing, boogery child, is it horrible to just want a little personal space? I tried laying him down on the couch.
"No, mom, no," arms lifted up in that pitiful you-don't-really-love-me look.
"Up, up, peese."
Even I am not cruel enough to walk away. So, I basically carried him non-stop for the last four days.
The nights have been horrible. Every night he started in his own bed and fell asleep quickly. I am a believer in letting fevers do their job, so I usually don't medicate my kids unless the fever is really high. When they're not sick, I think it's fine to dope them up as much as necessary for a good night's sleep. Anyway, he would fall asleep well and promptly wake up forty-five minutes later. And every forty-five minutes thereafter. The entire night. For five straight nights. He is actually crying right now. And now there goes the middle child. Yeah, no sleep for me again!
So, of course, I just bring them into bed with me because if I'm going to be miserable, so is Dave. T is OK. She just snuggles in and goes right to sleep. She might wake up a few times coughing, but as long as she can feel my neck and massage it for all it's worth, she'll sleep well. Granted, I am ready to chop off her fingers because she sucks them so freakin' loudly (oops, there goes that resolution), but at least she sleeps.
C likes to sleep close to me. Let me rephrase. He likes to try to re-enter the womb when he is sleeping. He climbs on me, then puts his face on mine, then wraps every limb around me. It is really adorable. For the first two minutes. But everyone knows that the core body temperature of a pregnant woman is 125 degrees. When you add a feverish little soul to that temperature, the poor little bun in the oven risks becoming charcoal. So I gently pull him off me just like we used to pull the leeches off after playin' in the crick. And I try to move away just a tad. Like maybe two inches or so. But C always awakens and starts his plaintive little cries.
"Mom, iss (kiss), mom" I kiss him on the forehead, avoiding the booger/germ/virus laden areas.
"No, mom, iss, outh" I say a quick prayer and enter the danger zone.
"More, mom, iss" He obviously won't mind strangers hugging him in church.
Actually, I'm amazed that I haven't gotten sick. C has obviously not learned to cover his mouth when he coughs. So I have had countless coughs directly into my nasal passages, eyes and sometimes open mouth. Real fun, this parenting thing is. But, as of now, I am still healthy, albeit tired, so I can't complain too much.
I'm hoping the next few days will bring healthy kids and warm weather. I'll be glad to have a few extra hours of personal time. And I'll be glad for some time alone with Dave. I have to admit, though, I'm probably going to miss the extra snuggles and "isses."
Update 9/24: I can't believe it. The entire family slept until 8am! Actually, the rest of the family slept. I lay in bed and listened to coughing, booger-induced snoring and finger sucking. But it was rest, nonetheless, and I feel so refreshed. Yeah!
Thursday, February 08, 2007
A Very Valiant Effort
My kids have this idea that the very instant they awaken in the morning, they must eat. If they have to wait five minutes for me to pee, put on some pants, or God forbid sleep an extra ten minutes, they act as if they are going to die. Baby C is the worst.
This morning, T and C awoke pretty late. Around 6:45. I had been sleeping for approximately four hours at that point. C climbed into my bed and started whining, "eat, eat, eat." I ignored him. "Mom, mom, mom!" Now I know you all have been on the receiving side of the endless "moms." But C has his own not-so-pleasant way of saying it. His version is half-goat, half-Massachusetts. "Ma-a-a-a-a-hm" Actually, there's some semi-automatic weaponry in there as well.
So anyway, the "eats" and the "moms" were coming non-stop and all I wanted to do was lie in bed. So I carefully explained to C that T would go get him some cheerios and mommy would go back to sleep. T loved that idea. Anything that puts her in a position of power is good to go. She jumped up and ran downstairs, narrating the whole way.
"I'm going to get C some ceweal. And I'm going to get his bowl. And I not going to spill it. C, COME HEWE. COME ON BUDDY. I'M THE MOMMY. I'm going to give him two dwops of ceweal. C, YOU NEED TO COME DOWNSTAIWS. WIGHT NOW. FOLLOW ME!!!"
He, in the meantime, wanted nothing to do with her. Instead he decided to turn up the effects. He snuggled in close to me, and started patting my arm, saying "mom, mom, mom" the whole time. This went on for a few minutes, until he noticed a freckle on my arm which, the way he picked at it, I'm guessing he thought was an errant cheerio.
Then he went for the full-body effort. He draped his little pee-laden-pull-up body over mine so that his cheek was on mine and his mouth directly on my nose. He started plaintively calling, "mom, mom, eat, eat" hoping that if the words went directly into my body via my nasal cavaties, they would have to be heard.
Then he started to get angry. He moved his body away from me, turned his feet towards me and started kicking my head. "MOM, MOM, MOM." A came into the room right about then. "Mom," he said, "I had a dream about a mockingbird saying 'mom, mom, mom' over and over again."
Breakfast was on the table ten minutes later.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
A Bad Case of VD
We had a few unwelcome visitors in our house the last 24 hours. Vomit and diarrhea decided to grace us. It started around 3:30 am. A woke up complaining of stomach pains. Having very limited mothering skills after midnight, I never considered a virus and told him to come on in to the family bed. A half an hour later we were awakened to barf all over the new bed and pillows. Normally, Dave doesn't awaken for anything child related, but I guess he could tell someone precious to him was in distress. He instantly was out of bed, barely glancing at A, rushing to the linen closet to change the sheets on his new mistress.
The rest of the night was a blur of throw-up towels, back rubs and hot showers. I finally fell asleep around 6am, only to be awakened by my own rumblings. They need to have an emergency farm where you can send your kids when sick (you, not them). I love taking care of my kids when they are sick (and not nearly as mouthy), and I even like nursing my husband when he moans for hours on end during a terrible injury (splinters can be really painful). But when I am sick, I want to be left alone. I don't like kids looking over my shoulder while I am heaving up my stomach lining. So I pushed them out of the bathroom and hoped their plaintive cries would wake the sleeping giant in our bed. Dave was up late laying tile (thanks to the Bad Man, I'm getting a whole new house!), so I put the kids in front of the TV and went to bed. Bad Mom.
The problem is, I am an incredibly loud puker. I don't try to be, I just have a very powerful diaphragm (stop giggling and look it up), and it gets full usage during barf sessions. I didn't realize just how loud it was until baby C started mimicking me.
C- "Aaaaheeee"
Me- "You need to go potty? Good boy, let's go."
C- " Atch ee" (I have yet to birth a child that sees the necessity of first consonants.)
He skips the 10 minute ritual of getting a step stool, lifting both lid and seat, putting back down the seat and finally sitting down. Instead, he lifts the lid, puts his head all the way in the toilet and starts saying, "UUHHH, UUHHH, UHHH"
It would have been funny, except just watching him made me spew again.
Thankfully, it seemed to be a 12 hour bug. I have kept down half a glass of water, half a pretzel and some applesauce for a big 50 minutes now. I guess I should go unchain the kids from the couch.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Not in MY bed
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish they may, I wish they might. Stay in their own freakin' beds tonight.
A while back, I posted about the frustrations of having a family bed. Every night, either one, two or three little people would end up in our bed. Having neither the energy nor the inclination to actually solve the problem, we decided to buy a bigger bed. I love our new bed. (Bergad Isoform, if anyone is interested.) As a lifelong insomniac, this is a big deal! Now the problem is, we like it so much, we don't want to share.
Last night, T went to bed just fine. She was worn out, no doubt, from a day spent speaking the most horrible things a three year old can come up with. She told me, "mommy, you're pushing my buttons." She told me (at the top of her lungs) that she was going to put her fingernails back on after I held her down and clipped them. And when, after a five minute conversation on why she could not spray Lysol on herself ("my butt was so, so tinky"), I told her we were finished, she looked right at me and said, "Well, I'm NOT finished." It was an exhausting day, but she peacefully went to sleep, restoring my love for her and a measure of my sanity. But sometime during the night, she and her little kickers ended up next to me.
A usually sleeps really well. He has a reading lamp and goes to sleep with hundreds (seriously) of books around him. But last night, he woke up with nightmares. I tried not to laugh, but when a five year old tells you how scared he was of the goats in his dream, it's hard to suppress. I guess I need to add Heidi to the Do Not Watch list. So, in came A and his not-so-little body.
By far, the worst offender lately is baby C. For the first year, he was my number one sleeper. He went to bed on his own, he stayed in bed, he slept all night through. I loved him the most, for sure. But now, not only does he wake up and come into bed with us, he won't even go to sleep on his own. Since we switched the boys to bunk beds, I have to lie down with C to even get him to sleep. I didn't mind the first few weeks. But now that I have my bed-of-the-gods, I cannot stand sleeping on his. Plus, between naps and bedtime, he is beginning to rule the roost. So a few nights ago, we decided to draw the line. We've increased the bedtime routine by an extra twenty minutes or so, just reassuring him, to no avail. As soon as I leave the room, he pops up and runs after me. After a few times of telling him to go back to bed, and him saying "No" quite clearly, I spanked his hiney. Then, for the next hour (yes, hour), I spanked him every time he got out of bed. It got to the point that as soon as I came around the corner to his room, he was holding his butt and saying "ow, ow, ow." I was in tears when daddy took over. He grabbed a flashlight and put on his daddy voice. I climbed into my bed with A (who stays up a little later and was getting daddy-time), and sniffled.
"Mom," said he, "stop being a baby."
"A, I'm sad. Aren't you sad when you hear C crying?"
"No, mom. He needs to learn his lesson. Be strong, like me."
My resolve strengthened, I went back into the battle. I couldn't believe it. My husband was scaring C!!! He was sitting in the dark with the flashlight off. Every time C would get out of bed, he would shine the flashlight on his own face and say, "Get back into bed!" in a Darth Vader voice. I was absolutely appalled, screamed at Dave that C is "only one" (of course he was "almost two" in the conversation we had had earlier about disciplining), and promptly went into C's bed to snuggle him to sleep. I decided that I actually like contortioning my body to fit his bed. It keeps me limber. And C was so exhausted that he didn't come into our bed until morning.
Tonight, I didn't even bother trying. I just held him to sleep and enjoyed the smell of his freshly washed hair. I let T wear her pink princess shoes to bed and let her turn her light on and off as many times as she wanted. They may still wake up at 6:30. They may still come into bed with me and kick Dave in the groin. They may pee on my sheets and slobber on my pillow. But maybe, just maybe, they'll sleep in and so, dear-God-in-heaven-let-it-be, will I.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
The Family Bed
We ordered a new bed last week. We bought a king-sized memory foam bed. The sales lady and her brochures touted the magic of visco-elastic foam. "It's designed by NASA and recommended by 1 out of 4 chiropractors." But Dave wasn't interested in any of that. He remembered the commercial where the glass of wine was on one side, and the lady was jumping on the other side without the wine spilling(b/c we all know we have to be able to do that in bed). He wanted to know one thing. Would he really be able to sleep through the kids climbing in and out of our bed all night.
We didn't really set out to be a family bed family. I wasn't even familiar with the term until 2 years ago. I always nursed the babies in bed, but assumed as toddlers they would sleep in their own beds. Now, I must say, we do start them in their own beds every night. But somehow, about 4 nights a week, we end up with 1, 2 or even all 3 in bed with us. Neither of us really mind. It's kind of nice waking up to snuggly little warm bodies. But, it's been a tight squeeze the last few months, thus the upgrade to king sized.
It started with T, when she was little. She was never a good sleeper. She nursed until 17 1/2 months, at which time I was 8 months pregnant with C. I was too exhausted with pregnancy and the other 2 to really help her transition into her own bed full time. So, after I weaned her, I just let her come into bed with us whenever she cried. Since the new baby was a great sleeper, I thought I would just give her a few months and then set my foot down. After a few months, and T showing no signs of wanting to sleep on her own, Dave said it was time. This was mainly due to the fact that she would wake up screaming 3-4 times a night, kick and hit him, and basically demand that he leave "her bed." For some reason, she just didn't like to wake up next to daddy.
Now, I'm a pretty strong willed chick, and I can really dig my heels in when I want to. But T, she is made of steel. Remember, she was only just 2 at the time, and she absolutely went balistic when we told her she had to stay in her own bed all night. She was in a full-blown headbanging stage and would bang her head over and over on her door. This was usually 2 am or so, and Dave had to get up around 5:30 at the time. So, for the first few days, I would lie down with her in her bead. But b/c I was still getting up nursing the baby 3 times or so a night, I was none to happy with this arrangement. After several weeks of making no progress at all with T, and realizing that I just didn't have her willpower any longer, we decided to let her keep sleeping with us, as long as she started in her own bed. This worked well for quite a few months.
Then, out of the blue, A started coming into bed with us too! He was 3 1/2 at the time, and had been sleeping on his own for years. It was so weird, but we rolled over and made room. Every few weeks we would tell the kids it was time for them to start sleeping alone. It would work for awhile, then Dave would go out of town, and they would be back with me.
Now, with the traumatic paci removal of last week, baby makes number 5 in our bed. I always seem to be the one with the least amount of space. I'm usually trying to contort my body on the very edge of the bed, so the little ones don't fall off. One night, I fell out after I was pushed by someone's little feet. The last few nights, I've been lining up the kids next to daddy, and sleeping on the other side of the bed. That works fine until I get a 5 yr old's foot in my crotch. Not fun.
There are people who plan on having a family bed. They don't even start the kids in their own beds. Mommy, Daddy and kids all go to bed together and don't miss any precious bonding time. Personally, I am at a loss to see how they manage more than one child, but I'm guessing the couch has something to do with it.
So, now we're waiting on the delivery of our new gigantic bed. Of course, there won't be room for us to walk in our bedroom, but Dave says jumping over the bed to get to the closet will be good exercise. And there will be plenty of room for all of us to get comfortable. I'm just hoping the kids didn't see the promotional video and start balancing sippy cups on it.
