Posted by Kimberly on January 31st, 2008 — Posted in Kipple
What genius thought that “Non Drowsy” cold medicine for children was a good idea?
Seriously.
Because, “Your kid will still be too sick to go to school, but will feel well enough to develop a raging case of cabin fever” is really not the selling point that the children’s pharmaceutical industry thinks it is. “Your kid will spend the day on the couch in a cartoon coma, occasionally troubling you for juice and to whisper quiet thanks as you wipe her brow.” Now that’s a selling point.
Especially when your kid happens to wake up around 3 am with the hacking cough and knives in the throat cold that you were really, really hoping to avoid even as you were stuffing your pockets with kleenex before heading out to go snowtubing in -22 degree weather after the zipper popped on her very expensive new winter jacket.
I don’t need “will perk your kid right up and leave her more hyper than usual” cold medicine. I need Nyquil!!! Why, why for the love of all that is sleepy, snotty, and scratchy, is there not Nyquil for children?
It’s not like they’re going to be operating heavy machinery. Or operating a motor vehicle. Or doing really any of those things that you’re not supposed to do when you’re in that sweet drugged embrace. And if it’s between being revved up enough to scatter every toy you own from one end of the apartment to the other, wreak havoc in the bathroom playing fashion model with Mommy’s make up, trashing the kitchen–including leaving out every. single. container. of juice after taking it out of the fridge and lying quietly on the couch, too weak to lift the remote, well…..
Here’s hoping she feels better tomorrow.
3 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on January 30th, 2008 — Posted in Kipple
Ow.
Motherhood hurts.
I mean, we all know about the labour pain. And the sending my baby out into the harsh, cruel world pain. And the “I hate you!” tween angst pain. But that’s not what I’m talking about today.
Tonight I’m blogging this us using the time honoured hunt and peck method, because I seem to have pulled a muscle in my left shoulder. How? Just by being Diva Girl’s mom.
She’s been looking forward to the Girl Guide tubing trip since Christmas. The fact that she had no idea what tubing is did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm for the experience, nor did the fact that it was about -22 tonight with the windchill. Exactly the kind of night you want to spend outside, careening down a mountain of snow while ensconced in an innertube, particularly when you seem to be coming down with a nasty cold.
Maybe I should have said no and cancelled the outing. Her increasingly deep chest cough and my aching shoulder would certainly point towards that having been the better course of action. But I just couldn’t bear to disappoint her that way.
So, because I love my daughter, we layered up (I even wore jeans even though I was wearing the snowpants and could have totally gotten away with the flannel jammie pants) and headed out into the cold, dark night. I really wasn’t hoping for much out of the evening beyond not freezing my toes off. I definitely didn’t expect to have a ball.
But we did. Yes, it was cold. And kind of scary for someone who is decidedly NOT fond of heights. And a wee bit embarrassing when I fell on my arse getting onto the little people mover thing that takes you up the mountain. In front of the very, very cute snowbunny guy. But, in spite of all that, we had a great time.
Diva Girl and I don’t spend a lot of one on one time together anymore. It’s just the nature of the family dynamic when you’ve got two kids and one parent–the one on one stuff is at a premium. I miss it though. Much though I love the Zen Baby, a part of me misses the family I had before, when it was just me and Diva Girl and everything was so much less complicated. So, just getting the chance to hang out with my girl with no distractions is a treat. Add in careening down the mountain at mach speed in a wildly spinning tube and you’ve pretty much got a perfect evening.
Until the kid lets go of the tube and your maternal instincts kick in even before you realize it.
Because she’s new to tubing, and really, just a little girl for all she seems closer to being obnoxiously 15 with every blink of the eye, Diva Girl and I were tubing together. Meaning we each had our own tube, but held on to each others as we spun down the mountain.
In theory, anyway.
Like I said, she’s just a little girl. And inevitably, she let go of my tube. Which left me with that eternal maternal connundrum: Do I let go and give my child her freedom, let her be independent and soar away from me? Or do I hold on like cold, grim death?
My screaming shoulder muscles, pulled far beyond the bounds of dignity by the extreme effort of fighting the combined power of gravity and centrifugal force, made a strong argument for letting go. But even as my brain was telling me to just go ahead and let go, she’d be fine, my fingers curled even tighter around that handle and I held on to Diva Girl for dear life. My mama brain had already internalized my daughter’s panic before I even consciously realized it, and had acted in kind, holding tight and screaming reassurances–mainly the old maternal standby of “It’s ok. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you go.” before I fully understood what was going on.
It’s no secret that I’ve been having a wee crisis of sorts lately. In the course of that mess, I’ve been questioning a lot of things about my life, including my parenting. Spending my days in my jammies, doing the bare minimum housework to keep us in underwear and clean spoons, well, it just doesn’t feel like I’m on track to win Mother of the Year this year. But that last trip down the hill was an epiphany of sorts. Even when I don’t feel like it, even when I don’t think I’m doing a particularly great job of it, even when I question everything about it, on my most basic level, I am Sabrina’s mother. And really, at the end of the day, that’s all I really need to know.
Well, that and where I left the Tylenol.
8 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on January 24th, 2008 — Posted in Kipple
I’m not ignoring you on purpose; there’s just not a lot to say when you can’t remember the last time you changed out of your jammies. Not that I’ve been a total shut in this past little while. I just haven’t quite managed to get out of the cosy, I’d rather be in my pjs mindset even when I do go out.
The weather is not helping in this regard. Were it warmer out, I might feel obligated to change out of the baggy flannel pants and tee shirts I’ve found myself living in into something slightly more structured when running errands or going out with The Ladies. As it is, snowpants and a jaunty touque will cover a multitude of sins.
Mostly, I’m ok with this state of affairs. I’m comfortable in my skin–especially when it’s snuggled in soft cotton rather than encased in denim–and if the layers of snow gear give me a somewhat “Stay Puffed” air, well, it’s not like I really care about who’s noticing me anyway.
Except, sometimes I do.
Like the woman at the grocery store the other night. I first noticed her in the bread aisle, standing there in her pea coat and boots, browsing the various freshly baked loaves. My children were loudly demanding Wonder Bread and nothing else.
Then she sauntered by in the pasta aisle, where the Zen Baby was having an Exorcist style tantrum on the floor and Diva Girl was whining about the injustice of being denied…something. I don’t know. I’d stopped paying attention at that point, mesmerized by the fantastic, squiggly silver broach pinned to the front of the woman’s coat.
At the dairy case, where she seemed to be debating the merits of various types of brie and I was debating the merits of brand name vs generic cheese strings, I was struck by the aura of calm that surrounded her. She wasn’t frazzled, just trying to get through this experience as quickly as possible; she was making shopping look downright leisurely. I don’t remember the last time grocery shopping was a leisurely experience that simply involved a basket and a vague idea of what I felt like making for dinner. Possibly never. Clearly, my life and this woman’s–who looked to be about my age–had taken widely divergent paths.
I found myself thinking about that as all hell broke loose in the checkline–The Ladies vehemently disputing each other’s right to push the button that moves the conveyor belt and “calling” the groceries they planned to put in the cart degenerating into open warfare–and I looked up to see her behind me, a look of combined horror and relief on her perfectly made up face. The thing was, I could completely understand where she was coming from. I mean, if I’d had the choice, I wouldn’t have been the harried looking woman in the touque and the snowpants, trying to corral two clearly out of control children and load my cart up with a bunch of cheese strings, minigos, and canned pasta either; I would have much rather been the stylishly put together woman who was totally pulling off that beret.
Then again, I did have the choice once upon a time. I may have sort of stumbled into motherhood, and I may sometimes wonder about the life I could have had, had I not been tethered by these responsibilities that sometimes weigh me down, but also buoy me up at unexpected moments, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t have many regrets that I’m the one with the cart full of kidfood and she’s the one with the small basket filled with strictly adult delicacies. Not even when I’m fantasizing about leaving my squabbling Ladies behind as I leave the store.
Besides, I bet my jammie pants are way more comfy than that skirt she was wearing. And I could totally pull off a beret if I wanted to. I just like my touque.
8 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on January 16th, 2008 — Posted in Kipple
Than being woken up at the buttcrack of dawn by the sound of your child, giggling through her dreams.
Thank you so much for sharing your stories and your support and your own fears and weaknesses with me. I never thought when I posted my last entry that it would help someone else (I’m far too self indulgent for thoughts like that), but I cannot tell you how much better it made me feel to see that coming clean about my own issues had helped someone have her own a ha moment. So, a special shout out to Charly, who is finally ready to embrace joy. Welcome back to your life.
7 Comments »
Posted by Kimberly on January 10th, 2008 — Posted in Kipple, Blah Blah Blog
I’m sorry everyone. I didn’t mean to leave the blog alone and abandonned like that. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, even. Somehow in the last week or so, I just never seemed to manage to open the wordpress window when I’ve been at the computer. Or my bloglines. Or email….
Well, that’s not quite true, I have occasionally checked my email. And I do know how it happened. I’ve just been in denial about facing it.
I wish I were back here with a rant about SPOC and how he once again let me down and left me frustrated and jonesing for my blog fix. But for once, SPOC is behaving in a perfectly logical manner–my near encyclopedic knowledge of the Britney Spears situation is testament to that. I wish I could tell you that my life has simply been too fabulous to allow me the opportunity to blog–but I think we all know I wouldn’t hold out on you like that. Heck, I wish I could tell you that I was abducted by aliens and that it’s hard to access wordpress from a zoo cage on Tralfamaldore.
I wish the answer weren’t so mundane as “Apparently, I’m depressed.” Not in a “something happened and I’m sad about” it kind of way. The “perhaps you should consider speaking to your physician about dealing with this general sense of ennui and lack of interest in your life” kind of way.
I’ve been depressed before. Deeply, clinically depressed. It wasn’t pretty, and it took me a long, long time to be able to seek help for it and to get my life back under control–a situation that was exacerbated by the fact that I’m a reasonably good actress and I can function and maintain some level of engagement for the sake of The Ladies. I spent a few years–probably more than I even realize–doing that when Sabrina was little. Just trying to keep it together for her, all the while feeling like I was barely hanging on by my fingernails.
When I finally got help–and it took about a year of thinking about it combined with the gentle but very firm encouragement of my best friend–it was like a whole new world had opened up to me. I had no idea there was so much happiness to be had in the world. So much energy, and possibility! It was amazing, and I was cured.
Except, apparently not.
I imagine that this has been coming for a while, but I confess, I never saw it coming. I thought I’d been doing very well with my life–growing a social life, keeping on top of the house, working, bogging, being a present parent to my children–but then suddenly, it seemed to all just…stop.
But, because that’s the way it goes with depression, there was no dramatic break. No robot wildly waving its arms screaming “Danger! Danger! Depression Alert! Depression Alert!” Depression isn’t like that. Depression, for me anyway, is death by a thousand papercuts, but without the sting. It’s just not feeling like there’s anything good on tv. It’s not being in the mood to watch one of the 20 or more DVDs sitting in the cabinet, waiting to be viewed. It’s the house constantly being in a mess, no matter how hard I think I’m trying to get on top of it. And worst of all, it’s not wanting to play with the kids. It’s a slow slide into futility, an erosion of joy rather than an avalanche of sadness, and that makes it all the more insidious.
My aha moment, if there can be said to be an aha moment in depression, was when I realized just how tired I’ve been lately. Bonecrushingly exhausted from the extreme effort of spending my days sitting at the computer surfing Spears gossip while remaining half engaged in games of tea party or groovy girls. I realized that I haven’t been this tired since….well, since the darkest days of my blackest depression. I’d like to say that that was my wake up. That I got on it right then and started working towards getting my self healthy. But depression isn’t like that.
First I spent a little while in denial, telling myself that I just had to be stronger. That I needed to stop being such a self indulgent wuss and get on with it. But when I immediately dismissed the fleeting thought that maybe I should see my doctor and get a new Celexa script, I fortunately recognized that the time for picking myself up by my bootstraps is long past.
I’m proud to say that I had the strength to make the call before I completely lost all ability to make the call. And I’m taking steps to get my life back. And this blog, and the people who read it–the ones who comment and the ones who lurk–are such a big part of that life. I’ve missed you almost as much as I’ve missed me, and I promise, I’m going to do what it takes to have all of us in my life again.
38 Comments »