Monday, August 29, 2011

My Best Friend-RemembeRED

I enter the house, excited.  My happiness dampens a little when I am handed the mask.  I put it on and am immediately stifled.  The air becomes hot and stale.  I feel like I'm suffocating.  I try to ignore the feeling.

Once I'm ready to play, she comes out of her room.  Erin is my best friend.  She has leukemia.  But today is a good day for her.

We run to the basement, giggling and squealing.  I want to play Nintendo-Erin has Zelda.  All I have at home is Duck Hunt and Mario Brothers.  Erin wants to play dress up.  We pull the bin of clothes and accessories from its storage spot.

I choose the green floral dress like I usually do.  It is pale and long and covered with flowers.  My mom once wore it as a bridesmaid.  Erin picks her clothes and goes to the bathroom like she always does to put them on. 

I rip off the mask and gulp as much sweet, fresh, cool air as I can.  I cannot even tell you how much I hate this mask, but I know I can make Erin sick if  I don't wear it, and she's sick enough already.

Erin comes back into the room in a dress, hat, and boa.  We giggle and play.  We end up rolling on the floor, wrestling.  I try to roll Erin off me, then it happens.

Oh my God, I panic.  I made her hair fall out.  Erin's hair lay on the floor.  I burst into tears.  I didn't know how I did it, but I knew I made her hair fall off her head.  I was terrified. Erin ran upstairs, distressed.  I thought her mom was going to yell at me.

After calming myself down a little, I slowly trudged up the stairs, still in tears.  Erin was at the kitchen table.  Her hair was back on her head.  I learned that day that your hair falls out when you get treated for cancer.  Once I was assured I did not make her hair off by wrestling with her, everything was back to normal.

We ran downstairs to play Barbies. 

This post was written in response to this week's Write on Edge RemembeRED prompt.
Your assignment for this week is to write about a memory of yourself WITH someone else.

Note: Erin meant lot to me, and I will be writing another post about her soon.  I wrote some of it for this, but there were too many memories and more than 600 words.

Taking a Sick Day

This post will be a shorter one, since I feel crappy and would really rather be sleeping than writing.  Not that I'm really going to get much sleep.  When you're a stay at home mommy, you can't call out of work and take a sick day.

I've tried to do this and failed.  Even with the boyfriend at home, someone still always needs me.  I yearn to have a sick day where I can just lay in bed and throw myself a pity party with no interruptions.  I would even settle for more than 4 hours of uniniterrupted sleep. 

It's not at all like when the boyfriend gets sick. He gets to hole up in a room on a bed or a couch, alone.  He gets all the sleep and quiet he needs.  I make the kids walk on tiptoes and speak in whispers.  When this becomes impossible, we go to the zoo.  Or my parent's house down the street.  He gets to be miserable without the kids around.

When I am sick, however, I find myself schlepping around the house in a medication induced haze.  I also tend to have a child in my arms.  It's not so bad when the baby needs carrying, but trying to keep myself upright while sick with a 45 pound toddler in my arms is not an easy task.
So now I am not only sick, but exhausted.  And my brain is foggy I can't even see straight.  2 of my kids are screaming because they can't grasp the concept of sharing and I need to mediate.

I want to either get better asap or get a lot worse.  Because if I'm worse, I can go to the hospital.  That's practically a vacation when you have 3 kids under 4.  And even though it would suck to be that sick, at least I would get some peace and quiet. 

Saturday, August 27, 2011

How the Hurricane Ruined my Day

Here on the east coast, we are preparing for Hurricane Irene.  She is supposed to cause lots of flooding and maybe a loss of power where I live.  This hurricane ruined my day, and quite possibly, my relationship.

Quite frankly, today really sucked.  I found out on Facebook that the boyfriend's sister was staying out the hurricane at our house.  With her 2 little, yappy, disgusting, fleabag dogs.  I can't stand small dogs.  I have never had a good experience with them.  I am a cat person, and I tolerate large dogs-the bigger, the better.  Princess is also terrified of dogs, which I found out when I brought her to my therapist's house last week.  She screamed the whole session.

I also can't stand my future sister-in-law.  She is fake, a drunk, and everything she says has a nasty undertone to it.  Whenever she is in my house, I stay in my room.  I keep the kids shut in my room with me.  This is so I can avoid drama.  I do not want to snap on people in front of my kids.

I told the boyfriend to tell his mom she and her dogs could not stay at our house.  She has other friends, or she could have stayed in a hotel or hurricane shelter if she was worried her place would flood.  He refused to talk to his mom, so I confronted her.  I pay rent, and I should have at least been consulted.

I got my period last night, 8 days early.  I am moody, bitchy, and probably could have been nicer, but I wasn't.  I went off on her.  She told me her daughter is her blood, which apparently makes her more important than me.  I threatened to leave with the kids for good. 

She countered by telling me that come Sept. 1, our lease is not being renewed.  We will have a month-to-month lease so the landlord's son can move in.  I think I should have been informed about this as soon as she found out.  I am on the lease, and I pay rent.  It was disrespectful of her not to tell me something this important.

At this point, I was so furious, I couldn't breathe.  I screamed at her to F-off, went upstairs, and got sick.  Then I started packing enough clothes for me and the kids for a few days.  I can't even remember the last time I was this angry.

The boyfriend took his mom's side and accused me of attacking her.  Last time I checked, you can't attack someone just by yelling at them.  I don't like being treated like a 10 year-old and kept in the dark about things that affect me and my kids.

I brought some bags downstairs.  The dogs had been dropped off while I was packing. T was playing with them.  The boyfriend's mom was trying to get Princess to pet them; she was crying.  This set me off again.  I hate yelling in front of my kids, but I did.  I threatened the dogs.  I demanded an apology for being disrespected, but instead got a lecture on not yelling at my kids.

I called my mom.  She took T in her car.  I took Princess, Goober, and my cat Misty.  The boyfriend was mad I took the kids.  I told him I refused to keep our daughter near those flea-bitten, giant rats they were calling dogs.  Oh, and his sister, and mom until she apologized.  He was welcome to come to my parents' house (It is literally only 3 blocks away).

Once we were settled in at my parents', I realized I forgot my cat's food and litter.  I had to go home for it.  One of the dogs tried to bite my leg on the stairs.  I kicked it.  The boyfriend was really upset with me for yelling at his mom.  He also doesn't understand why I don't like his sister, even though he doesn't like her either. 

We argued.  A lot.  He threatened to leave me because I'm mean to him and his family.  I have never yelled at his mom before, but she deserved it.  And, as a rule, I try to avoid his sister so I don't yell at her.  I do yell at him all the time, but 9 times out of 10 it is to pick his garbage up off the floor or take out the stinky garbage.  I don't think that is even really yelling.  It's more like nagging. 

I left again, and it was all worse than before.  I hope he is less pissed off in the morning.  Because today wasn't about him.  It was about me being disrespected and not consulted about important things.   He couldn't see past me yelling at his mom.  I think he should have been on my side.  So that is where things stand.  I just hope Hurricane Irene didn't kill my relationship.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Mom Fail- Having a Tantrum

My kids were all having a really bad day.  Goober was teething and wouldn't stop crying because he was in pain. 

It also didn't help that Princess gave him a piece of her raisin bread, which caused his eczema to
flare up.  This meant that every time he rubbed his cheeks, they started bleeding (Goober has reactions like this to all types of fruit, among other things, and his poor cheeks get raw).  It is impossible to stop an 11 month-old from touching his face.  I know; I tried.

Princess needed a nap but refused to go to her room until Daddy came home.  The littlest things were setting her off.  Goober was close to her (even though he wasn't even touching her or poking her or anything).  She wanted another episode of Spongebob, but it was T's turn to pick a show and he wanted Wow Wow Wubbzy.  Every few minutes, she threw herself on the floor, kicking and screaming and bashing her head. 

T wouldn't respect anyone's personal space.  He was poking Princess, pushing Goober, and sticking his feet in my face.  I have a thing with feet.  I hate them.  They gross me out.  No one is allowed to touch my feet (goodbye, pedicures), and I don't like feet in my face.  Even if they're clean.  I have a lot of anxiety with feet.

I cajoled and bribed and threatened, but they wouldn't stop.  I don't blame Goober for any of this.  He legitimately had a right to be crying, but it was just adding to everything else in a bad way.  I couldn't take it anymore.

I snapped.  I was screaming at the top of my lungs.  I don't even think real words were coming out of my mouth.  I grabbed a pillow and repeatedly his the wall with it.  I stomped my feet.  I threw a temper tantrum.

The kids were shocked.  Goober looked horrified as he chewed the comforter.  Princess stopped and stared at me.  T came over and put his finger to his lips and tried to shush me.  My 3 1/2 year-old was being more of an adult than I was.

I calmed down.  I sat on the bed.  I apologized to my kids.  T and Princess calmly went into their room, shut the door, and took naps.  I gave Goober some Tylenol and a bottle, and he went to sleep.  Finally I had peace and quiet.

This post was inspired by a prompt from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  I chose a mom fail moment.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Red Writing Hood- An Awful Morning

I walk through the snow in only boots and a jacket.
I see my friend.
Collapsing into him, I sob.

This was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood Prompt.   
Let’s lighten it up around here. And when I say lighten, I mean REALLY lighten.
This week’s assignment will require the fewest number of words ever: we want you to write a story – your choice of topic – as a tweet.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Go Go Power Rangers!

My kids love Power Rangers.  I don't get the appeal.  The new Power Rangers (Samurai) is just as cheesy as the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers that was on TV when I was in elementary school.  In fact, I think Megazord may actually be the same.

I know you're all going to think I'm nuts when I tell you that I actually watch all the episodes.  I think they're ridiculous, but I can't look away.  This is the reason I can tell you that Pink Ranger Mia is a bad cook, Green Ranger Mike has some issues with immaturity, and Decker is hot.  Really, really hot.

Decker, played by Rick Medina

 However, the drawback of watching Power Rangers all day, every day, is that T thinks he is one.  He is convinced he is a ninja Power Ranger.  He is the blue one, or as he would say, "Go Go Ah Ah Boo!" (this is how it sounds when he says 'go go power rangers blue!').  And he does this while pumping his fist in the air.  I, of course, am the Pink Ranger.

T has a bad habit of sneaking up and doing ninja moves on everyone, even poor Goober.  I walked into my room the other day after leaving for 30 seconds to feed my dumber-than-a-brick cat Misty.  I saw T on his back with Goober in a headlock on top of him.  The baby's eyes were as big as saucers.  He was terrified.  I saved him from T's grasp.

"Yah!" yelled T, karate chopping me in the neck.  I was still holding Goober, who started to cry.  So I attempted to get T to calm down.  He proceeded to scream and kick me for real.  I had to run away.

This is the Power Ranger fist pump

The other big problem with Power Rangers is the swords.  Apparently, the boyfriend's mom never got the memo that toddlers and swords, even plastic ones, do not go together.  They were an Easter gift, and a big  hit (literally).

The kids, mid-fight

Princess and T play with the swords all the time, making appropriate Power Ranger/ninja/karate noises to go along with it.  They are not gentle either.  One sword is know held together with packing tape, and on more than one occasion, Princess has gotten hurt.

I don't remember if this was a scream of joy or pain.

There have been other casualties too.  Like a full mug of coffee that ended up all over the carpet.  And the broken plate.  And a chink out of the wood dresser (how does a plastic sword even do that?).

The worst was when T decided I was a Nyloc (the bad guys in Power Rangers Samurai) when I was sitting in bed on my laptop one day.  Usually I will play along and pretend to fall over while screaming "noooooooooo" in slow motion.  But he hit me hard in my side.  I screamed for real and doubled over. He kicked me in the back.  I know he was playing, but he kicked me hard.

My lower back is my Achilles heel.  I am thorougly convinced it is from the anesthesiologist messed up my epidural twice when I was in labor with T (which is why I decided to birth Princess and Goober with no drugs).  Now I have chronic pain that nothing can fix.  I've tried physical therapy, trigger point injections, cortisone injections, painkillers, etc.  Over the past 3 1/2 years, unbearable back pain has landed me in the ER over 20 times.

After the kick, I couldn't move.  I felt like I couldn't breathe.  I'm not sure how much time passed before my sobbing woke up the boyfriend in the other room and he came to help me.  I couldn't get myself out of the fetal position without his help.  I spent the next week in bed.  I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I was pretty annoyed with T for a few days.

So now I'm seriously considering karate lessons for T.  I swear he already knows how to do some actual punches (from what I can remember of my short karate career in college).  He will definitely love it.  And I think it will be good for him.  Then he can be a Power Ranger for real.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Monday, August 22, 2011

The Day my World Turned Upside Down

They're laughing at me.  All my friends.  It is lunchtime.  My backpack is gone.  The table is full.  They sit, smirking and laughing.

I hold my lunch tray in my hands.  My eyes are already burning, vision blurry.  Don't cry, it will only make it worse.  Whatever you do, don't cry. I try to say something, but I can't.  I am too choked up.

Even Erin is grinning at my expense.  She is supposed to be my best friend.  I've known her since we were 3.  I was the only one who came to visit her when she was sick.  I wore a mask and felt like I couldn't breathe just so I could play with her.  I was the only one who saw her without her wig.  I went with her to the hospital for blood tests, and to the orthopedist when she needed casts because her leg muscles atrophied from being in bed.  And now she is betraying me too.

I don't know how much time has passed.  I am still standing next to the table.  "I need a chair." I finally stammer.

"We don't want you here." Ellen says.  She is the Queen.  Everyone else will go along with her for fear of being treated like me.  But I was your only friend when you moved! I want to scream.  No one at this table would be talking to you if it weren't for me!  The words don't come out.

I hang my head in shame and sit alone, picking my bag out of the garbage.  I want to curl into a ball and disappear.

The bell rings.  I trudge outside.  I don't want to play.  I don't even have anyone to play with.  I sit alone, against the cool brick of the school.  I try to avoid everyone's eyes.

"Alison!" Hearing my name snaps me out of a daze.  I look up and see Michelle.  She waves me over.  I hesitate before slowly walking towards her.

She is surrounded now by Ellen and the gang.  I am surrounded.  I don't know whether to be happy or afraid.  Dare I hope they'll take me back?  Is my punishment over?  Or will they just try to humiliate me some more?

"Play tag with us," Ellen says, smiling.  I relax, and nod my head.  Maybe it's all over.  Maybe they are still my friends.  I miss the malicious smile behind my back.

"You're it," says Michelle.  They start to run, on the grass, the driveway, the sidewalk.  I give chase, but everyone is faster than me.  They know I'm the slowest because I'm chubbier than everyone else.  I am mercilessly teased for this every day.

I'm on the grass, near the curb.  Ellen is in my sights.  I can catch her, I think.

I feel a hand on my back, a sharp nudge.  CRACK!  I'm on the ground.  Standing up, I see Michelle behind me.  Ellen is with her now.  They're both laughing.  My foot hurts.  I'm limping.  I can't put weight on it.  They call me a baby, tell me I'm faking it, laugh at me.

I can take the pain, but not the laughter.  The humiliation makes me want to die.  The tears flow freely now, running hotly down my face.  I can't stop it.  The more I cry, the more they laugh.  I now know for sure that I have lost all my friends, and I am not getting them back.

A note about this blog: I snapped 3 bones in my foot that day after Michelle shoved me off the curb.  Not wanting to give them satisfaction, I walked around on a broken, blue foot for 3 days before I saw a doctor and got a cast.  I still hung out with these girls for another month, being their punching bag, before I had the courage to walk away from them.  The last straw for me was Halloween that year.  I was still in my cast, and they made me try to run from house to house.  When I couldn't keep up, they left me alone.  I managed to hobble over a mile home, and when my mom called Ellen and Michelle's moms to complain, they both blamed me.  How can someone's mother be so awful to a 12 year old?  I still can't wrap my head around it, and I just pray that my daughter is never tortured by her friends like I was.

This post is from a Remembered prompt: We all have them. Memories that we wish we could forget…things that we wish we could banish from our minds. Imagine that writing down your worst memory will free you of it. What is it? Why does it haunt you? What could you have done differently?

Don't Judge Me!

I despise how people are so judgmental, especially women.  That's not to say that I haven't come across men who inaccurately judge, but more on them later.  Women are crazy and fickle and mean, and I don't understand them, even though I am one.  Sometimes, I don't even understand me.  This may be why I can count my friends on just one hand, and my children never have play dates with other people's kids.  I hate to admit it, but I judge people too.  But I absolutely hate it when people judge me, especially because it's usually over something really trivial and stupid.

I get really upset and annoyed when people judge me as a person and a mother by my tattoos.  This happens very often.  I have 14, and I got them all before I had any kids.  And I do not regret a single one. My mother hates my tattoos and always wants me to cover them up or get them removed.  I don't mind her nagging because she's my mom.  The boyfriend wants me to cover up when we go out to a nice restaurant.  This doesn't bother me either.  I get the fact that it may be inappropriate to have my mostly nude pinup tattoo showing when we are going somewhere fancy.  However, I'm not going to cover it up all the time, and as far as I'm concerned, it's too damn bad if I don't know you and you don't like it.  That's your problem, not mine.

Yeah, I also have the boob tattoo-but it's mine and the boyfriend's initials, people
Don't assume I'm a bad parent because I have tattoos.  You can look totally conventional, wear a business suit, and abuse your kids and be a horrible person.  My tattoos have absolutely no bearing on my ability to parent my children.  I'm a good mom, and if you know me, this is obvious.  And the tattoos are mine, not my kids', so why do you not want your child to play with mine?  Are they lesser beings because of me?  The way some people think is ridiculous.  I don't judge you for wearing ugly/too tight/inappropriate clothes or jewelry, so don't judge me just because I have tattoos.  However, if you are going to judge me because of this, I really don't want to know you anyway.

I also hate that people judge me for not breastfeeding my children.  Even in the hospital right after birth, the nurses were chastising me.  Really?  I didn't know it was the end of the world.  I was surprised when even strangers came up to me in public while bottle-feeding my children and pretty much equated bottle-feeding with bad parenting.  Seriously people, you don't know my story so don't jump to conclusions.  I would have loved to have breastfed, but I couldn't.  It's not that I didn't try hard enough or have enough desire to either.  I have breast hypoplasia, also known as tubular breasts.  I had them surgically corrected when I was 20, so they look normal now, but I couldn't breastfeed.  It was mortifying in school to have my breasts look like they did.  And it was sad I couldn't breastfeed, no matter how hard I tried.  No amount of pumping would get more than one to two ounces out of each breast.  And you know how it feels when you are breastfeeding and you need to pump, and your breasts get really hard an painful?  The bottom half of one breast felt like that all the time.  It sucked on so many levels.  My oldest son, T, lost over 1 1/2 pounds before his first doctor's visit at one week old when I tried to breastfeed him.  It wasn't okay, and I tried for 4 months to up my milk supply, and I never happened.  So I don't appreciate the negative feedback about something I am physically incapable of doing, thank you very much.

Stop judging me on my clothes.  I'm tall, and I like to wear cute shoes, even if it's just to the grocery store.  Don't gawk at me and nudge your friends because when I'm in my heels, I'm 6'2".  It makes me happy, and I do it for me, not you.  Same with my makeup.  I love makeup, especially bright makeup.  It is not unusual for me to wear 3 different eyeshadows and fuschia lipstick.  I do it because I feel glamorous and sexy with it on.  I'll admit that some days it is a little over the top, but I didn't ask for your opinion, so don't give it to me.  I hate unsolicited advice.

This is pretty typical-bright, bright, bright!

I also hate it when random people judge my kids.  I went to the Bronx Zoo one day when T was about 2 1/2.  When he didn't want to be in the stroller anymore, I put him in his backpack/baby leash.  And people were nasty to me about it.  Sorry I don't want him to run away or get lost.  He has behavioral and emotional issues and throws awful tantrums.  He can also get violent when he's angry, and he has no concept of personal space.  I've found that the personal space thing really bothers most other children, and I don't want him running up to you and poking your kids.  Just because your children are 'normal' and have no delays doesn't mean all kids are.  That said, I'm not going to keep him home all the time because of this.  There was a grandmother at the zoo that same day with 4 of her grandkids.  One wasn't behaving and started to scream and cry.  She grabbed the kid's face by his chin and threatened to whup him if he didn't stop.  When she let go, the kid had red marks on his face.  No one who saw this batted an eye.  So you can be borderline abusive in public to your kids and it's okay, but I put a baby leash on mine and I'm a bad mother.  What the hell is wrong with people?

Now I'll get back to men.  They judge too, and it's pretty much the opposite of how women judge me.  Having a pinup tattoo on my arm does not mean I'm a stripper, or easy.  No, I do not want to go out with you or go home with you.  Do you treat all women like that?  Same with my heels and makeup.  Just because I'm out somewhere and put together doesn't mean I'm looking for a guy.  I'm here with my kids, thank you.  Leave me alone when I tell you to.  I'm not playing hard to get, I just want to get away from you.  And even if I didn't have an awesome boyfriend and did want a date, it wouldn't be with you.  I don't go for old, grungy, hairy biker guys or young, obnoxious wannabe-rappers.

So just stop judging people over every little thing.  Frankly, it's none of your business, and you should focus on your own shortcomings instead of the ones you perceive in others.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Baby Love!

My kids are growing up too fast.  T is starting preschool in a few weeks.  We fought and finally won at getting him in a therapeutic preschool to address his speech, behavioral, and social issues.  I can't believe my baby is leaving me for school so soon.  Princess is smack in the middle of the terrible 2's, and she doesn't let me forget it for a minute.  And Goober, well, he will turn 1 in less than a month.  Where did my little babies go?

T as a baby-January 2008

 I love everything about babies.  I loved being pregnant, and I love how newborns fit into the crook of your arm and will peacefully stay there all day.  I love how babies smell, even when they poop (yeah, I know that's kind of gross, but it's true).  I love watching them drift off to sleep as I feed them a bottle.

I also know I'm looking back on my kids being babies with rose-colored glasses.  I suffered from postpartum depression with T and Princess.  Thankfully, I was okay after I had Goober.  If you've never had PPD, let me just tell you that it is awful.  I felt like a terrible mother.  I had horrifying thoughts constantly running through my head. For weeks, I didn't have a bond with my children-they were like aliens I was forced to take care of.  I was mean to the boyfriend when he tried to point out that I wasn't acting right.  Even though deep down I needed help, I did not want to accept that anything was wrong with me because I wanted to be the perfect mother.  Now I realize that no one is perfect, and once I finally sought help and bonded with my babies, everything was incredible.

Princess as a baby-January 2009
Goober was kind of my make up baby.  I bonded with him immediately when he was born.  It was pure bliss.  I adore all 3 of my kids, but the bond I felt towards Goober when he was born was absolutely incredible.  I have doted on him every minute since his birth.  He is with me 24/7.  I hog him from everyone, including his dad.  He has slept in the bed next to me every night since he was born, even though this got me in trouble at the hospital (the nurses are so anti co-sleeping, it is nuts).  I am terrified of him growing up.  I cried when he started walking because it meant my baby wasn't really a baby anymore.

Goober and me-September 2010

I've actually thought about having another baby since I love them so much, even though I know this is totally irrational.  I can barely handle my kids now, and can't imagine how difficult it would be with another baby in the house.  Plus, I can't afford it-all 3 of my kids are still in diapers, and between that and the cost of formula, let's just say it's expensive.  Not to mention that the boyfriend would kill me if I got pregnant again.  I'm pretty sure he is done for good with having babies.

That won't stop me from dreaming about another baby, though.  But until that time comes, I will squeeze every last drop of baby enjoyment from Goober before he really grows up into a toddler.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

I hate teeth...

Yeah, I really do.  Teeth in general are becoming the bane of my existence.  I have awful teeth and always have.  After neglecting the dentist for over 5 years, I finally went in February.  The insurance dentist was a mean Russian lady who barely spoke English.  She yelled at me, was incredibly condescending,  and I left in tears.  My other insurance choice was a dentist in Brooklyn.  Um, I live a good hour and a half away from Brooklyn.  It just doesn't work for me.

So I found a wonderful dentist nearby.  But I have to pay out of pocket.  And it has become extremely expensive.  I'll spare you the gory details, but I have already had $10,000 of dental work done, and need another $2,000-$3,000 before I'm finished.  Ouch.  I had to borrow money from my parents, since, as I've said, I'm poor, and none of my credit cards have limits this high.

My boyfriend has awful teeth also.  He needs to go to a dentist, but keeps putting it off.  That brings me to my children.  Unfortunately, they seem to have inherited bad teeth also.  My oldest, T, still uses a binky even though he will be 4 soon.  If I refuse to give him one when he really wants it, he will not hesitate to rip a binky out of poor Goober's mouth.  This is not good for anyone, so I let him have his binky when he sleeps or throws a tantrum.  This spring, I noticed his teeth were gray near the gum line.  He had binky mouth (aka bottle mouth, but he stopped using a bottle long ago).  The first visit to the dentist was a bust-he wouldn't open his mouth at all.  Then he had an accident that involved him being kicked in the face.  One tooth broke off.  We went to another dentist, who said they would give him caps or pull his teeth.  This would be accomplished by putting him in restraints (that they call a papoose).  Over my dead body.  No one is going to restrain my baby like that!  So off we went to a 3rd dentist, who came in on a Sunday to see T.  His 4 top teeth were not salvageable.  The x-ray was completely black where the teeth were.  T needed an oral surgeon and a lot of sedation, but I think it was more painful for me than for him.  He took it like a champ.
T with no teeth
All was good until T started complaining of pain in his mouth a month ago.  I quickly called my wonderful dentist to switch my appointment with one for T.  He had 2 cavities, one on each canine, that were filled that day.  He sat still and was awesome about it, a huge change from his first visit there.

Last week, my boyfriend told me Princess was getting spots on her teeth. I was kind of shocked, since my children do brush their teeth every day, with help from Daddy.  And Princess has never touched a binky in her life; she prefers to suck on a fleece blankie.  Princess has white coat syndrome, so I made the boyfriend take her to the dentist.  He didn't listen and brought her to the family dentist, where they couldn't even get an x-ray.  Off to the pediatric dentist she went. (And by the way, if any of you live in Rockland County NY or Bergen County NJ and need a pediatric dentist, Dr. Fisher is awesome).  It turns out she needs 3 caps or the teeth pulled.  I guess we will find a way to get the caps, since the teeth can be saved. 

I want an explanation for all this.  Why did my kids end up inheriting our bad teeth genes?  Shouldn't brushing their teeth have been enough to prevent this?  How come no one ever told me before that baby teeth get destroyed so fast by processed sugar (if anyone had cared to tell me this, I would have stopped using Double Stuff Oreos as bribes a long time ago)?  Will Goober have problems with his teeth too?

That is why I hate teeth.  I don't want my kids to end up with the oral issues I have.  I don't want them to be afraid to go to the dentist in case they need a filling.  I don't want them to get made fun of for having weird teeth (or no teeth, in T's case).  I want them to be happy, well-adjusted kids who everyone likes.  And I don't want any tooth issues to interfere with their well being.

I've lost my mind and want it back.

This is my first time blogging, so please be nice to me.  I just discovered Twitter and some wonderful mommies who blog, and it inspired me to take some time for myself to write.  I haven't written much of anything since I had kids, which is funny, because I majored in writing in college-screenwriting to be exact, although looking back, this seems to have been a ridiculous choice.

I am now a stay at home mommy, and before that, I worked in a medical/dental office.  I got fired after 4 years for calling out of work one day because my boss was going crazy (seriously, he had awful medical problems and his medication made him like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde) and I needed time to think about whether or not to quit.

Anyway, that is the past, and I've been home with my babies for 9 months and it's awesome.  But it's also really hard for me to have gone from working so much to being around my crazy kids all day.  My oldest son, T, is 3 1/2, has a severe speech delay, and will be starting preschool in September.  My daughter, Princess, is 2 1/2, has Daddy wrapped around her little finger, and throws tantrums whenever she doesn't get her way.  Goober is the best baby in the world.  He is 11 months old, and the love of my life.

My boyfriend and baby daddy is a computer programmer who loves making mods for Counterstrike and is obsessed with World of Warcraft.  This drives me nuts.  I like WoW also, thanks to him, but I play for an hour or two a couple times a week when the kids are asleep and I need to unwind.  He plays for hours, all night, every day.  And then he sleeps all day. Unfortunately, Princess has adapted to his schedule, being such a Daddy's girl and all.  Fortunately, the boyfriend will soon be starting a new job, which is actually his old job, working as a painter and powerwasher, 9 hours a day, 6 days a week.  I am looking forward to this and it can't start soon enough.

Oh, and did I mention we share a house with his mother?  Rent is expensive, and we are poor, so we split the rent and the house.  She has the downstairs and we have the upstairs.  We share a kitchen downstairs.  She works from home selling antiques, but I really don't see her much.  It stinks we can't afford to live alone, but sharing a house with her is better than cramming the 5 of us into a studio or one bedroom apartment (which is really all that would be in our price range unless we moved).

All of these things together make me feel like I'm losing my mind.  I love my kids, but they are a handful and a half.  I'm still not used to being home every day and only leaving the house to go to the store or the park or the zoo.  I don't even change out of my pajamas some days.  I no longer interact with people my age-my days are spent watching cartoons and playing with a million toys with my kids.  But it's great, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.