RenovationGirl

6 Days, 35 Hours

Today I end the sixth day of work streak.  As of 7 PM this evening, I will have worked 35 hours.  While this is normal to most Americans (and a little more), what makes this quite unique is the fact that these 35 hours are in addition to my two other jobs.  So, technically speaking, this actually is the last of 75 hours I will have worked in the last 6 days.  To say that I am exhausted wouldn't even touch how I truly feel.  Because besides the sheer physical exhaustion, I am overwhelmed by everything else that is affected by this schedule. 

My heart aches each time I have to tell Builder Boy that I have to go to work and he breaks down-sometimes in tears, but more often in anger, his emotion of choice, followed by his taking his anger out of me. 

My body aches from standing on legs that are too out of shape to stand for five hours straight and from the lack of sleep I've had for the past, oh, six years. 

My house aches as it waits for some long overdue attention...organization projects halted midway through, toys that need purging, clothes that need laundering, floors that need scrubbing, walls that need washing, wood that needs polishing. 

My soul aches for all of the above and the toll it takes on me.  I have aged quite a bit of the past couple of years.  My face is showing the feelings of weariness and exhaustion.  I am soft in the middle.  The wrinkles on my face are more pronounced.  A "natural makeup" look just doesn't cut it anymore.  I long for some time to myself without the worries of bills, or a dirty house, or food the needs to be cooked, or family that needs tending to.  I ache for time to scrapbook, to tell Builder Boy's story, without feeling guilty for not working or cleaning or cooking. 

Worst of all?  I ache for the time away from my growing son, who at five cannot understand that I have to do this.  I ache for all the baby years I spent too stressed and occupied.  I ache for the preschool time when we should have played instead of watching television because I was too tired to do anything else.  I ache for all the fast food he has consumed (and his addiction to the toys) because I didn't have time to cook the way I like.  I ache for all the missed moments as I headed off to job one, two, or three.  And yes, I know he knows he's loved and provided for.  I do the best I can for him.  He's lucky to have such a great daddy and wonderful grandparents (on both sides), cousins who adore him, and aunts and uncles who would move mountains for him.  But I want to be there more and in better form.

So, today, I am just tired.  I will be glad when my shift is done tonight.  While I still have to get up at five tomorrow morning to go to the first job, at least it will be knowing that I have the evening to spend with Builder Boy.  This is what will get me through. 

Nothing Textbook About It

Early on as a new mother, I felt that my kid was harder to parent than other kids.  I would share my woes with other new moms, and while they seemed to appreciate my struggles, they never shared simliar experiences.  Or the experiences they did share just didn't seem as bad.  And while sometimes, I can be pretty self-consumed and can't see things as they truly are, my child did seem more difficult than other kids.

As Builder Boy got older, the struggles got harder.  Being able to converse, even early on with just one or two syllables, brought new complexities to managing his behaviors.  I would talk to friends and practically beg them for answers, ways that would transform our home into a peaceful and joyful place.  Friends would give suggestions, ways that worked with their kids, that their doctors had told them, things they read in books and magazines...I would listen to them all and murmur thanks, but deep inside, I knew they wouldn't work.  Sometimes, I would try their ideas and they would fail miserably.  If I would tell them that things hadn't worked, I would instantly hear the message, "You have to be consistent!"  If I told them I didn't want to try because I knew it wouldn't work, friends would act like I didn't want to put the effort in.  All along, I kept saying, "But he's not textbook.  He never fits into that textbook mold."  And he didn't.  And he doesn't. Textbook answers didn't fit this unique and challenging little boy.

About a year ago, we took Builder Boy to see a pyschologist.  He just wasn't a happy child.  He tended towards moody and crabby instead of giggly and joyful.  We were worried that something was wrong and we wanted to be pro-active if it was something.  After three visits, the diagnosis was shyness and anxiety caused by the shyness.  The treatment?  A rewards chart. 

Like every other time that we have tried a rewards chart, it failed.  Builder Boy had little interest in it.  After a couple of weeks, we all forgot about it.  So there we were, back to square one.  Around this time, my father had his two massive strokes and the following months became about him and helping my mom out. 

We thought all was well with Builder Boy and we could manage his behavior, but we were living in denial.  He just wasn't "normal."  His moods, his reactions, his general disposition were all so extreme.  So after a long summer, we had him tested for autism.  I expected the diagnosis to come to me something like this, "Blah blah blah (insert psycho babble here)...He is autistic..." OR "blah blah blah (insert psycho babble here) He is NOT autistic."  We all kind of felt that he wasn't, or if he was, it was very high functioning autism and therefore would be easier to manage.  Instead, we received a report from the psychologist stating that he might have autism, he might not (they still needed to rule it out), but he did have a disorder known as Oppositional Defiant Disorder, or ODD. 

HUH?

So we embarked on a new journey of researching, and reading, and talking with friends and family, to try and figure out if A.  We understood this disorder, B. we bought into this as a disorder (because truly, we're ALL oppositionally defiant on any given day!), and C. we thought Builder Boy actually had this disorder.  This journey is still in its early stages.  I do understand the disorder for the most part, I believe that Builder Boy does exhibit signs of it, and I guess it is an actual disorder. 

I am angry.  I am ticked.  The more I read, the more angry and pissed I become.  Heck, the more oppositional I become, I guess.  Our insurance does not cover the treatment/therapy, so I have to go through our county services, which is its own angry post. 

I have been writing this post for months now and just can't seem to make it want I want.  So, I'm posting it now with the understanding that I will write much more on this.  I have so  much to say and I can't keep it in anymore.  I know this is not life-threatening, I know that we can make it through this, and I know we are so blessed to have this be our problem when so many people deal with so much more, but I am still angry.  We have suffered through our infertility and now this?  We struggle on so many levels, and now we're going to add this?  Can I catch a freaking break already?

So, thank you for your kind words and supportive thoughts on this post and the posts to come.  I thank you for understanding that I need to write about all of it to work through it even if I sometimes sound like a horrible mother.  I'm not going for popularity with these posts-I'm going for catharsis. It might not be pretty, but it will be out there and I will be dealing with it. 

So there it is...the next part of this giant black cloud that follows me around.

Winters of the Past

Being a kid during winter in Pittsburgh was always a special treat.  No cares of how you would get to work, or how you forgot to buy salt for the steep driveway.  Snow meant sledding, snowball fights, snow forts, hot cocoa, and warm brownies.  I remember distinctly shoveling snow in the evening as giant, fluffy flakes fell onto my eyelashes.  My dad would often take us for a walk on those nights around our street.  The silence was intense with a beauty all its own. 

It seems, though, that for the past decade or so, we haven't had winters like this.  We'll get a dusting now and then, but those blizzards that blanketed the area have been a thing of the past.  This winter, though, has been a winter like those of my childhood and I'm so excited that Builder Boy gets to experience the type of winter that builds the greatest of childhood memories!

(and to all those to whom I swore we would only get an inch or two, I'm sorry...)

The Friday evening snow was perfect for building snowmen and having snowball fights! We built the snowman so big that Builder Boy had to build a snow step-stool. 

Guess who got hit with this snowball?  Yep, he always picks me too hit, even though I gave him this awesome snowball!

Father and son walking ahead on our evening walk.

 

Our weeping cherry weeping a little more than usual.
 

 

We tortured the cat and took him outside this morning.

 

Deconstructor Cat was not pleased...

 

Of course, there is always damage from storms like these...this giant limb is from our 250 year old tree.

To give you an idea of how much snow fell, check out our patio table. It's around 20 inches and was still falling when we took this picture.  Crazy!

 

Builder Boy loves to shovel!  We're so glad!!

Now we're hunkering down enjoying the weather from the inside.  I think a big pot of soup and homemade bread is in store for us tonight...maybe followed by a giant pan of warm brownies! Life is good!
 
 

Did I Forget to Mention....

I forgot to tell you that I had my final blood draw three weeks ago for the molar pregnancy and I am happy to report that all is well and we were given the "all clear" to begin trying again.  I am so glad to be done with the worry of the monthly tests and so glad that my awesome doctor got all of the bad cells out of there during the D&C.  I'm not exactly sure if we will be trying again...our break put a lot into perspective.  Our son is 5 1/2.  Even if we got pregnant this first month, he would be six when we'd deliver.  That's a big age difference.  Besides, he's growing more and more independent each day.  We question whether we want to go back and do those newborn days again when things are just starting to get easier.

Don't get me wrong, I still desperately want a sibling for my son, but we're just not sure that doing something about it is the best thing for any of us. So, we'll mull over things, enjoy the holidays, have a few drinks, and then think about this in the New Year.

For now, though, no cancer cells in me as far as we know, and this is a great Christmas present.

Say Something Funny, My Laughter's Running Out

Builder Boy loves when we laugh at something he does or says.  He is a funny kid and this often happens.  But, like I'm sure many kids, he doesn't know when it's just not funny anymore.  He'll say or do whatever makes us laugh over and over and over again.  He used to get very angry when we weren't laughing anymore, too.  He's starting to understand that what was funny at first, after 100 or so times, it's just not that funny to others. 

He has never been a child to whom laughing came easily.  He did the whole belly laugh when he was a baby, but as he grew up, it took a lot to make him really laugh.  So, when he gets started, he likes to keep going. The other night in the car, the three of us we were goofing around and laughing about something and, as laughter does, our knee-slapping laughter turned to chuckles to giggles to merely smiles on our faces.  It got peacefully and companionably quiet in the car when we heard Builder Boy from the back say, "Say something funny, my laugher's running out."  That started the laughter all over again.

But later, after we had put him to bed, his simple and uncomplicated comment hit me.  For over a year now, my laugher's has run out.  It's been tough and a constant barrage of complications.  My heart has ached and my shoulder have been weighed heavy with burden.  And I have, in my own way, begged out of desperation for someone to "say something funny" to help bring that laughter back. But I've learned in the past year that no one but yourself can bring that laughter back.  And while I'm still not laughing, I'm finding a chuckle now and then.  I feel as if the clouds have parted a bit and the sun is sneaking through here and there.  And while life is still throwing complications our way (my father-in-law is currently in the hospital with some crazy infection), I feel as if I  might be moving forward now. It's a good feeling and one that I have needed for quite some time. 

So, if you have something funny to say, I know for a fact that someone somewhere has their laughter running out...

One Month To Go!

In one month's time, lots of things will be happening for us.  We will have just celebrated Thanksgiving with our families and will be in full holiday preparation mode.  We look forward to this particular holiday since my husband's entire family usually makes it into town-and this is no small feat.  It is a day of eating and talking and laughing and eating some more and talking some more and laughing some more.  It's always a party with my in-laws, even when it's not a party and I like this stress-free day of family.

Around this time, too, will be a change in our lives.  Assuming all goes well, my final monthly blood work check will be over and we will be done with the "not trying" phase of our infertility.  Not sure where that leaves us.  In talking about recently, both Remodel Man and I admitted that while another baby would be wonderful, we would be okay with moving on.  Don't get me wrong, I ache when I see those bright-eyed babies smiling at me at they suck their fingers, but Builder Boy is five now.  He's largely independent. He's easier in some ways than ever and we are able to do more with him.  I think we are both in the "if it happens it happens" camp.  I'm still sad that we are a family of three, but more for Builder Boy than anyone.  So, when the times come and we're given the go ahead to try again, I think we'll just not hinder anything from happening, but we also won't actively "try."

In a month's time, I may also be experiencing a change in career.  I am toying with the decision now, but I'm not convinced which way is the best way for me and for my family.

The most exciting part of the end of November is that we're going to the happiest place on earth-Disney World.  I could not be more excited, especially because we are staying in a pirate room at the Caribbean Resort.  Builder Boy is a big fan of pirates so he will love this.  I'm excited to experience the magic of this trip with Builder Boy and Remodel Man. 

So, this month is a big one for us.  How about for you?

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yep, today's my birthday.  37.  Um, I mean 29...again...Actually, age doesn't bother me.  I hate people who complain about how old they are.  I watched my grandmother live to be 92 years old and never once complained about growing old.  Why?  Because she lost her husband after just 12 years of marriage, with four children ranging in age from 13 to 2.  He was the love of her life and they spent the majority of their short married life together dealing with colon cancer.  She never would complain about living...her husband never had that chance.  And she had to live without him, struggling alone.

My mother is very similar.  Having lost her father at age 7, after seeing her mother suffer alone, after living in near poverty, she doesn't ever complain about growing old.  My mother has many ailments, many pains, but she is delighted that she has lived to spend over 40 years with her husband, to see her children and grandchild grow. She doesn't complain every year on her birthday. 

I am friends with many people who struggle with birthdays.  Other friends always complain about their age, or how tough it is to be their age.  Their age is always the worst age to be.  It's maddening...because what's the alternative?  You can't change growing and aging, but you can change how you handle it. 

Gracefully.  That's how I want to age.  To joke about the popping hip (no idea what that's all about!), to faithfully take my blood pressure medication, to cover the grey hair.  That's what I'll do.  And I'll try really hard to bite my tongue as others complain.

Yep, I'm 37 today and happy to be alive! 

When It's Time

It's funny that BBM posted this today.  At work last night, something came up that led me to thinking about this exact thing-closing the door on a dream.  It's actually been on my mind a lot recently as I attempt (yet again...) to continue organizing and purging our home.  I had set a date for myself-the day after my 40th birthday.  That was the day I would get rid of all things baby in our home.  It just seemed like a fitting date. 

But last night at work, a young woman who had been pregnant a few months ago, came in not so pregnant anymore.  My heart sank since she had been having extremely high blood pressure and the last I saw her, she looked horrible.  I asked no questions since I wasn't sure what had happened or how she was emotionally.  After she left, I asked another work friend what had happened.  Turns out, they delivered the baby when she was 5-6 months along (this person wasn't sure-clearly not an infertile.  An infertile would have been able to tell you the exact day of the pregnancy that baby had come out).  The baby weighed 2.2 lbs and although extremely premature, was okay.  Yesterday, he weighed 4.4 lbs, doubling his weight and there was already talk of him coming home in a month or so. 

This young woman is a mere 21 years old, not married, and involved with a man who is no good.  She has nothing, including a job right now, as her time consists of driving the hour to the hospital to see her baby, being with the baby, then driving the hour home.  From what I know, there is no family here, and very little support amongst her friends.  She has nothing for this baby-there was no time for a shower with such prematurity. 

And it occurred to me-is this a sign?  Is this God's way of telling me to let go?  Here is this girl in need, with a baby boy, and I have an entire third floor of boy clothes, blankets, toys, books, accessories.  It takes up space and let's face it, the chances of me expanding my family arepretty low.  I did some thinking last night...I think there are some things at this point that I can let go of...things that don't hold much sentimental value.  A bouncy seat that Builder Boy hated and therefore was only used by the cat (I kid you not, it played bird noises and Deconstructor Cat #1 loved this thing!).  Some baby classical music Cd's.  Some baby shoes and clothes that may work for a little guy his size. 

There are more things I think I can part with.  I haven't gone up there to look.  I might just go up there and back out of most things, but I know there are some things I won't use even if there is a miracle addition to our family. And so I will do it.  At least part of it.  And the rest can wait three more years to that monumental birthday. 

It's not easy.  Not after the past year of my life.  But perhaps in letting go some of the material things, the emotional part may ease up.  Or not. 

The Sweetheart Beneath It All

Builder Boy is an excessively crabby child.  He tends more towards crabby than happy.  It's frustrating as a parent because you want your child in these early years to experience joy, and often we feel he doesn't.  We're not sure what to do about it, but we have these moments with him where he displays a sweetness and empathetic nature that stuns us.

Yesterday, on the way to school, he was talking about his friends.  His best friend is now in another school and this has been difficult for Builder Boy.  I asked if he was making new friends in his new class.  He said that yes, he was making friends, but that his old friend was still his best friend. 

He pondered this for a few moments, then said, "Actually, Mama, he is my oldest best friend, but New Friend is my best friend in the whole world.  And you know that when kids ask me if I am their best friend, I say, 'Yes' because I don't want anyone to feel bad. " How sweet is that?  (Okay, yes, it's not honest, but what an endearing thing to do!)

I asked, "So, does this happen a lot? Kids asking you to be best friends?" 

His reply, "Nope!"  So glad he's thought this through for when it does happen!

Out of (and into) the Blue

After an exhaustively long day parenting and then working over the weekend, I planned on cleaning both bathrooms.  Remodel Man went out with some friends, Builder Boy was in bed, so what's a girl to do?  Clean.  Of course, being tired from a long day with a challenging kid and a long night of being treated like I'm an idiot at my retail job, I was barely functioning.  So, instead, I sat my butt on the couch and watch silly teenage romance movies and ate my weight in corn chips and Hershey's kisses.  (Gross, I know...)

Seeing the silly movie and all the emotions that come with adolescence suddenly had me thinking of an old friend of the boy persuasion.  I can't really remember when I first met him (middle school?  high school?), but he always seemed to be around in my adolescent memories.  We were good friends and he dated friends of mine, but there was never a spark between us. 

Years later, while managing a shoe store in a local upscale mall, I saw a man walking past my store.  The gait was familiar as was the tousle of his hair.  Sure enough, there he was, all these years later.  In an attempt to find himself, he had just taken a new job at a local restaurant exactly four doors from my store. 

From here, things get blurry. I remember being delighted to see him again, and having loved the feeling of his hug.  I remember an excitement of reconnecting and forming a new, more mature connection with someone familiar.  We met up for drinks after work which became a habit, sometimes going with scores of other people we worked with, sometimes going alone.  He had changed from high school.  He had an weariness to him, a somewhat defeated air.  At times I felt that at any moment, he would disappear, be gone again, back into my memories.  Sometimes, it felt like he wasn't there at all.

We were both single, both trying to find our ways, and somehow, like something out of a coming-of-age novel, we looked to one another to figure it out.  Friendship melted into something more...something undefined, yet comfortable, relaxing, and uncommitted. 

For the first time, I wasn't obsessed.  I knew this was going nowhere, that there was no future in this relationship.  I knew that life was drawing us apart as soon as it pushed us together.  Yet, there was comfort.  I learned a lot from this new adult version of my old friend.  He taught me things I didn't know, and begging to learn more, he refused for my own good. He made me see life in a slightly different, less restricted way and he made me confront and question aspects about myself that felt uncomfortable. 

Being a free spirit, he moved on and away.  I got a few intimate postcards from him from different parts of California, and the last one, from Lake Tahoe, had him a slightly different man...a new, "real" job, a girlfriend, and a strong work ethic.  Life seemed good for him, he seemed stable and content, and then I never heard from him again.

These memories have been haunting me for days.  Why?  Why do thoughts of him blanket me with a great sadness?  Is there a message in this?  Is he thinking of me and through some cosmic energy, we are connecting?  I can't recall ever feeling like this and its a bit strange and overwhelming.