Merry Christmas to All

Not much to say here, other than the last few months have not been as kind as I would have hoped. There were doctors, injections, long stays away from home, and a large dose of disappointment. Maybe someday I'll be up for writing about it, but needless to say it still causes tears to burn in my eyes and my throat to constrict painfully. But I have to be thankful for what I do have, and it's this little amazing creature here, who had herself one helluva Christmas:



Wishing us all a kinder, gentler, more prosperous 2011.

An important first

Boo has begun preschool. It seems like a small step after her experiences with Mother's Day Out, but at the same time there's something quite different about this "first." She's officially started school--a foray into an education system that (hopefully) won't spit her out again until she has a college degree or two. Here she is on her first day:



Although I suppose I wouldn't be a true yuppy parent if I didn't also have her in a small Spanish class once a week. I so hope she can effortlessly master the language that her mother pitifully destroys during infrequent use.

But we're also doing some "school time" on our own as well. Becca has asked to learn to read. So, in a move that will no doubt make her preschool teachers hiss with disapproval, I've started giving her daily lessons from the book Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons. The book came highly recommended by some homeschooling moms I know and teaches reading based on phonics, which is the way I learned to read too many years ago. But only four years later when Sister #1 entered school, the curriculum had changed and she learned to read based on sight recognition alone. The difference between our love and ease of reading is immense. I only hope my efforts will make Boo a voracious reader rather than someone who takes years to finish a single novel. (Still love you anyway, Sis!!)

So this fall is one of many firsts, where my toddler towers above her classmates, forcing her mom to recognize she's not so little anymore.

A home for tumbleweeds

It's been a veritable desert on this blog, eh? I can almost see the pixelated tumbleweeds, hear the deafening roar of silence.

I suppose I put the blog on hold because, in many ways, I've been in a holding pattern. Life, not so much. She is charging ahead, riding the slippery rails of time. In the past several months, Becca turned 3. The Banker got a new job. We escaped to Colorado to celebrate our 8th anniversary. Becca finally got in to a great (and previously booked) preschool down the street. So many wonderful things clicking into place after so long. That is, except for the one thing that I struggle to keep from overwhelming me altogether. I kept thinking, "With this month's treatment, surely there will be success. And then I can post something triumphant." Then nothing. And it's a heat-rending, soul-sucking, obliterating nothing to endure. Repeatedly. For 2 years.

So we're changing things up. We've "fired" our local doctor and been accepted at a clinic in Denver nationally renowned for fighting infertility. Tired of putting life on hold, we were stupid and got a new puppy. We're shopping for antiques, making improvements to the house. I attended a writer's conference, and while I still don't have the time or wherewithal to write a novel, I have a much firmer grasp on the process...not to mention a load of books to help "walk" me through the steps. And we have contacts at two different adoption agencies. Because we will grow our family one way or another. Despite the chaos, we still have more love to give. And who wouldn't want to have these two for sisters?

For the Kindness of a Stranger

The Banker and I are preparing to leave for a long weekend to visit his sister and her husband. It will be our first get-away without Boo in over a year--and trust me, it's overdue. Between the horrendous turn in the banking world, my mother's broken foot and the subsequent care she's needed, our ongoing frustrations with fertility, and the difficulty in remaining honestly thrilled for the 25-plus friends who have recently delivered or are expecting, a weekend away from it all seemed a good idea.

Today I threw myself into the world-wind of required preparations: a trip to the grocery store, cleaning the house, packing for Becca's stay at my parents' house and The Banker's parents' house, getting the pets set up for their respective stays, and our own packing. Thankfully, it was Becca's day at Mother's Day Out, which simplified my to-do list...that is until they called at noon saying Becca was screaming and crying that her ear hurt. Damn. What perfectly awful timing. She was right as rain this morning. So I rush to school, and Becca's inconsolable. She's not a crier, so I know it's bad. And of course the pediatrician's office is closed for lunch hour. Despite my inability to procure an appointment, I drive there anyway; Becca in the backseat sobbing.

Becca's screaming has all the parents in the waiting room shooting us sympathetic looks. The nurses, to their credit, manage to get us a room, even though they don't have an open slot for another hour-and-a-half. Another pediatrician in the practice has me hold a writhing, sweating, screaming Becca as she removes enough earwax to determine that yes, we do have an ear infection. She quickly writes me a prescription and tells me that the medicine is flavored, but not a big hit from what she's heard. "Immediately give Becca some in the pharmacy. If she doesn't like the flavor, pay to have one added right then and there."

It seems to take hours for the pharmacy to fill the scrip, the entire time Becca is crying and I'm trying to cradle her in my lap. Finally, the medicine is ready. But when I turn to try to give Becca some, she runs to the corner, curls up in a ball and wails. And wails. And screams until she's gagging, threatening to vomit up what little lunch her teacher said she ate. There is nothing I can do to entice her to take the medication she so desperately needs.

I remove her from the pharmacy and we sit in the hallway, Becca sobbing and struggling to breathe while I try to calm her down, cajole her, and threaten her in turn to please, please, for all that is holy, take the medicine. A woman waiting for the elevator walks over to us and asks Becca if she held her in her lap if Boo would take the medication. Amazingly, Becca--who shies away from being held by strangers--nods her head. And this dear, sweet woman held Becca in her lap, cooed and sang to her while I gave her the medicine. Sure enough, she hated the flavor. We needed to have another added if the grandparents had any hope of administering it themselves. I was so taken aback by this woman's gesture and by how successful it was. I couldn't thank her enough. She had the most calming influence on one tired, sick toddler and one exhausted, panicked mom.

So whoever you are, thank you. I told you that you were a Godsend, and boy did I mean that.

Ouch.

So this child informed me last night that I was a bad mommy:



(She'd gone without a nap and come bedtime was a MESS, wailing and trying to wriggle out of bed. So being a "bad mommy," I forced her back into bed.) My God, did it feel like she'd ripped the heart from my chest and trampled it underfoot. I admit it, tears sprung to my eyes. The Banker keeps telling me that "she's only 2, she was tired, get over it." But man, oh, man. I don't know if I'll survive the eventual teen-I-hate-you phase.