Happily Ever After

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl. She lived with her father and her evil stepmother. One day, disappointed in his daughter, the father spoke to her with the harshest of words. He punished her, withheld his love, and forced her to wear a scarlet letter. The dear, sweet child didn't mean to do wrong. She was trying to find her way in a world that hadn't been explained to her.

Feeling immense sorrow and anger towards her father, the girl sought comfort from her best friend. She turned to him for validation, she needed to know she was not what her scarlet letter told the world she was. She turned to him for a shoulder to cry on. She turned to him for love. And, before she knew it, he turned to someone else.

Broken hearted, sad, and confused the girl went on. She held her head high, as though she was not scarred. She continued to seek love, the love her father withheld all those days ago, the love her best friend tossed aside. Try as she might, she couldn't find it. She found lust and excitement, but never love.

And then, one day, the girl trusted her heart to a man not worthy. He took every ounce of her soul and crushed it between his hands. He laughed at her pain...the pain he caused for his own satisfaction. He took everything the girl thought she knew about life and threw it up against the wall. The pieces crumbled to the ground much like the girl.

sigh

Cold and empty the girl trudged on. She was no longer looking for love. Love was gone. In its place was a wall. What the girl wanted now was to feel nothing at all. She sought out opportunities to numb the hurt as it crept in. The opportunities, though all different, were plentiful. They allowed the girl to go on, pretend her soul was still hers, pretend she was fine.

And eventually, the beautiful, broken girl was fine. Sort of. The foundation to her wall stays strong year after year. Occasionally someone manages to knock a brick or two down, never much more. The girl, so broken, finds love and comfort from her wall. She clings to it to keep her safe, to keep the pieces of her heart together. With a wall so high, trust in others isn't necessary. How scary it would be for the girl to bring her wall down, to expose her heart to the potential pain, to place her trust in others when some are not worthy. How can the girl determine who she can trust? She can't. Her father broke her heart. Her best friend broke her heart. And another broke her soul completely. So, the girl lives behind her wall. Every once in awhile she sticks her head out, looks around, begins to trust, grows scared and returns to the safety of her wall.

Not So Truthful Tuesday

I had all intentions today to tell the story of my one secret I carry around every where I go. It's with me when I wake in the morning and right by my side when my head hits the pillow every night. My one truth that only the closest to me know. The one thing I don't speak of, because it's just that painful. The truth that haunts me and my future.

But I can't.

I suppose I don't have the courage, yet, to put it out there for the world to read. To be that vulnerable. If I put it in print it will be too real. I hope to be brave enough soon, for I do think it will be helpful. There's something therapeutic about seeing it in letters.

Ball of Emotion

Passion: A strong and barely controllable emotion.

Alice hit me today. She was mad at her swim teacher, so she hit me. That's logical, right? Alice is definitely a ball of passion that bounces around her world. Sometimes the passion is positive, sometimes it's not. Today has been a not kind of day.

"Alice has needed to work on using her words rather than her hands when she wants to assert herself with her friends. Alice can get very wound up if the activity level is high," said her teacher during our spring conference today.

This is my Alice. This is my world, reminding her to talk with her mouth not her hands, trying to help her establish self-control. We battle frequently when her passion becomes more than I can bear, positive or negative. Sometimes it's just too much. She plays with the very same energy she fights with. There is very little middle ground with her. She's in, all or nothing. Watch Alice tell you a story, watch the emotion flow through her body. It's the most adorable thing, she bounces around barely able to contain herself. She can hardly be still.

When the passion flows negative, look out. Her go to move is kill first, ask questions later. She rarely has enough control over her passion to think. The emotion fills her and her go to release is to scream or hit or kick or throw. When I think of this list of her reactions, two years ago I would have had to add biting and a year ago I would have included spitting. So I am reassured that in this never ending parenting saga, I am making progress. However, I fear I will always be struggling with Alice. I can not fathom things are going to get easier. Better, in regards to hitting, yes. But not easier. She is my artistic, inquisitive beautiful ball of emotion. And I love every ounce of her.

Ellie Belly

I don't talk much about my pets. Which, in and of itself, is horrible. Before Alice, they were my children. Now they are the reason I vacuum. I have two cats and a dog. The cats I've had since I was 18 and the dog I acquired jointly with Hatta. I suppose it would be proper to say they are our pets, but in reality the dog goes where I go and the cats listen best when I call them.

Today I would like to talk about Ellie Belly. Some of you may remember a story I told back on the darkside of blogging. In said story, Ellie was stuck walking in circles, forced to walk to the left (or was it the right?) regardless of what was in her path, never able to rest. It turned out to be an ear infection, something that has plagued Ellie since as long as I can remember. If she was a toddler for sure the pediatrician would be mentioning tubes. But in Ellie's case it runs a little deeper.

Early on in Ellie's life, after many rounds of antibiotics and inacurate diagnoses, it was determined she had polyps deep in her ear. Two surgeries and thousands of dollars later, she was a happy cat. Finally for the first time in her life she wasn't on antibiotics. She was living the good life, until 2001 when she had her first seizure, followed by a few more in the weeks to come. We had her checked out by our vet and carried on. Not much thought was given to those seizures. They were merely another roadblock for Ellie to overcome, another bullet point in the list of reasons Ellie was my special needs cat.

Until last Sunday.

In one twenty four hour period Ellie had six seizures, four of them in two hours. The months leading up to Sunday Ellie had two serious ear infections and it seemed she never fully recovered from them. And, then the seizures started. One followed by four days seizure free, and then another with a few days without seizures, and then another. We knew it wasn't as simple as it was in 2001. Her appearance had changed and so had her demeanor. We knew it was finally time to visit the vet.

You may be thinking to yourself, "Seriously? Your cat had several seizures and you didn't take her to the vet?" Don't judge. We'd been there, done that...vet bills and seizure pamphlets to prove it. They discovered nothing in 2001. Speculated as likely to be a brain tumor. We've already invested hundreds and thousands of dollars attempting to give Ellie a good life. In all honesty, we knew we weren't going to pay this time to run the gauntlet of tests the vet would suggest to determine why Ellie was seizing. We just wanted Ellie to enjoy life or not have to suffer another moment. Putting a price tag on your pets well being is a difficult situation to be in, and frankly we weren't looking forward to it.

And then, there was Sunday.

I don't know if you've ever been unfortunate enough to witness an animal having a seizure, but it has to be the most helpless feeling. There is literally nothing you can do and it breaks your heart every agonizing second of it. You just want to pick up the flailing body and try to comfort the seizure away, knowing you can't you just watch...helpless and sad. And when the poor body is done twitching and shaking and spinning, it's still not over. There are after affects that last and linger for many minutes, where you sit trying to comfort an animal that's still not in this realm, still gone to this world. Try experiencing that four times in two hours. And during the last three seizures Ellie urinated, spinning and shaking her body throughout her urine. Poor Alice was there to witness a few of the seizures, her feelings of fear neglected in the moment when the safety of Ellie was more pressing. It has been a very difficult time.

Sweet Ellie was taken Sunday night to the animal ER where they allowed her to rest comfortably on Valium. She spent several nights at the vets, they ran extensive blood tests and determined she's blind (hopefully temporary) but healthy. Again, most likely a brain tumor. She's now permanently on daily anti seizure medication and hasn't had a seizure since. It seems, after a few rocky days at home adjusting to the narcotics, she's resembling her old happy self again. In fact, just today I found her on the dining table attempting to wreak havoc on my Valentine's flowers.

The Story I Don't Get to Tell...Yet

Driving on the beltway my brain was writing a post. Selecting choice words and metaphors to tell the story I just knew I was going to be able to write after I left the doctor's office. With great confidence my story went something like this...

Girl takes a test. Doctor calls. Girl retakes test. Doctor calls. Girl's worried. Girl has to have a more invasive test. Doctor tells girl everything looks fine. Doctor and girl smile in relief. Girl gets ice cream to celebrate results.

Unfortunately, I don't get to tell that story. I didn't celebrate with ice cream after yesterday's doctor visit. Instead, I get to wait and worry six more months. For six months I get to stew about the cells in my body, anxious abut what they are doing, wondering if the abnormal cells have been eliminated yet. For six more months I will tell myself the same as the past three, odds are in my favor and everything is going to be just fine. Except it isn't always.

Possession of a Deadly Weapon

Ever have one of those moments when you laugh out of fear of another even bigger emotion settling in? Yeah, that's been my day. Except I didn't laugh. But I am now, via letters on a screen. I will not write a sob story. I will tell the only semi funny part of it all.

Alice's school is a five minute drive from home and today after picking her up I had a four minute phone conversation with my doctor that left me worried and concerned and having to make another appointment. It's nothing too alarming yet, but needless to say, I'm not an individual that worries well.

I had one minute to try and process the phone call before I heard Alice's best friend in the back seat say, "Look! The door's open." In the middle of parrel parking, it took me a second to register what he was saying, what he had seen. I turned and saw the front door to my house wide the fuck open. My mind hit overdrive, thoughts racing trying to decide my next move. Why was the front door open? Was there someone inside? Had someone broken into my house? Oh my god, was someone with a gun in my house?! Was is just Hatta? Was he home sick from work? Had Hatta left the front door open?

Not knowing what was inside, to keep them safe, I left the kids in the car and locked the door. I ran up the front steps and was greeted by a scared Marley dog just on the other side of the threshold. Frozen in place, I looked around, tv still there, nothing disturbed. I saw one of two cats lying on the dog bed. There was still an entire house to be checked and with kids in the car I had to be fast. Heart pounding I looked for a weapon, anything I could club a guy over the head with. Shoes...no. Pillows, pictures frames...no and no. I had nothing. I could have run to the kitchen to get something deadly but in the interest of time, I took off empty handed. In a split second decision, I grabbed the guitar that resides on the first landing up the steps. I can now laugh, my weapon of choice to defend myself was a guitar. And the sad thing, as I was climbing the steps I was mentally preparing myself to use it. I even repositioned it in a way to get better leverage if I needed to start swinging. Thankfully, I didn't need to use it. The house was empty. No intruders. Nothing missing...except one cat.

In a total brainless move, Hatta didn't shut the front door before he left for work. He didn't shut or lock our front door. At all. I was already gone for the day, not to return until after picking Alice up at 11:45. In that time, Ellie cat had wandered out the door in search of adventure. For Hatta's sake, since I was ready to kill him with something more powerful than a guitar, maybe there is a God after all, because Ellie was found within a few hours of searching.

Stranded at the Airport

It was a cold night many, many years ago. Our flight had just landed. We claimed our bags and waited inside the airport for our ride to pick us up. She was a good friend. Hatta and I had been there for her when she needed it and along the way we grew closer. However, there was always an unreliable undercurrent with her. She had disappointed us before and we had managed to overlook it. Every time, every letdown was met with an excuse. Every time, every excuse allowed us to put it in the past and stay friends. Until that snowy night when Hatta and I were left stranded at the airport. With no word from her and far too late in the evening to call anyone else, we took a $75 cab ride home. From that moment on, I recognized the type of person she was and vowed to never allow myself to be disappointed by her again.

"The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." - Maya Angelou

It's important in life to recognize who a person is. You don't have to like it. You don't have to even be a part of it. But you need to believe it. For me, problems arise when a person shows who they are and I believe it's a rare instance, a one time occurrence, not examples of their true self. I want to see the good, and I convince myself anything less than is not real. I overlook the bad and allow myself to be hurt, disappointed, frustrated, all because I want to believe it will change.

As I grow and learn, it's become easier for me to acknowledge. Take my sisters for example. I love them dearly and they are both extremely unique and different from one another. In the past, I have struggled to maintain a consistent relationship with either. It's been hot and cold for the better part of my life. One minute we are best friends, the next not even speaking. Until I acknowledged who they are, I found myself a victim of disappointment again and again. Now, without surprise and minimal hurt I can say, "that's just her." And I'm quite sure they both say the same about me.

There is, however, a fine line between accepting what a person shows you and allowing yourself to be a doormat, to be taken advantage of, to be hurt with a promise of change. How do you know when to break ties and cut your loses like I did with my friend all those years ago? When is enough enough? When does a person's character become more damaging than, "Ha ha...that's John for ya!" When does the emotional cost of maintaining a friendship become too great? What does it ultimately take for you to believe what a person has been showing you all along?

These are the questions I find myself lying in bed at night thinking about. Wishing I had the ultimate answer.

Only Alice

Hand in hand, I lifted the latch and we entered the tot lot. All around were tricycles, plastic ride on cars, balls, plastic playhouses, and a small playground. I saw the tooth fairy, a bat, Snow White, Anakin Skywalker, a super hero, a baseball player, and numerous other children dressed in their favorite costume. They were all having fun, riding and running, laughing and shrieking. Orange, purple, and black balloons tied to the gazebo greeted us as we walked in. It looked and sounded like a fun birthday party.

Alice, dressed as the most adorable version of one of our favorite characters in Alice in Wonderland, clung to me for dear life. To her the party looked intimidating. Everyone already in play mode, after a long crying fit at home, we were walking in thirty minutes late. After several attempts to ease my daughter out of her shell, I stopped trying. I socialized with the other parents, periodically trying to pry itty bitty fingers from my own. Looking around, all the other children were behaving like "normal" children at a birthday party. Adults were standing around, children were playing together. Not Alice. She bounced from my leg to Hatta's leg, holding tight. Her friends from school called to her.

"Alice! Alice! Come play!"

I encouraged her to play. I reminded her we arrived late and the party would be over before she knew it. I walked with her to the playhouse where her friends were climbing and chatting together. She ignored them and hid further behind my leg. I talked to her friends, hoping she would see me having fun with them and join in. That plan was not successful. Finally as a last ditch effort, I took Alice aside.

"Alice. You know how I tell you that sometimes it's okay to be stubborn and sometimes it's not? How sometimes it gets in the way of you having fun? This is one of those times. You're being stubborn, refusing to play, just because. You know that if you just allow yourself to play you will have fun. These are your friends. You play with them everyday at school. So stop being stubborn and let's play or we are going to have to leave the party early."

I walked with her, holding her hand so she had no choice, to the playground. I made us walk up the steps to the top. And there I encouraged her to go down the slide, promising I would go down right behind her. And finally, just like that, she did it and all was right in the world again. She ran to the steps, climbed to the top, and happily slid down the slide again. She was playing. Upon her insistence, I took my turn down the slide and waited for her at the bottom.

I'm hoping this is what the rest of the party goers saw. My adorable child finally allowing herself to have a good time. You wanna know what I saw?! Naked four year old vagina.

OH! EM! EFFING! GEE! My daughter was dressed head to toe in sparkly tulle, sliding down the slide on her naked ass. I swear, only my child would be devasted because her black bow headband wasn't completely centered on her head but could care less that she was out on the town with her naked parts out there for the world to see. In her crying fit of rage at home, we had neglected underwear. You may remember how my daughter has a fondness for going commando. She wasn't wearing underwear when I helped her dress into her costume and I, just wanting to get out of the house, completely forgot.

Luckily I'm a prepared mom and I had a skort in my bag. I grabbed her hand and walked a bit out of the way of the party, all the while scolding Alice for going out in a dress without underwear. She's four. She has to be aware of these things. I can't possibly be in charge of everything! With the skort slipped discreetly under her costume, Alice was free to run and play.

I have to say, I am a teeny bit worried about Alice's naked vagina showing up in some unsuspecting mother's photo stream. There was this one mom that was blasting her iPhone like she was the paparazzi. Please say my daughter is not on the Lindsay Lohan track.

Strength in Numbers

In everyone's life there are usually a few moments when they feel they can not possibly make it, they can't go on, they just can't do it.

For me, the birth of my daughter comes to mind. By hour twenty I wanted to give up. I didn't think it was humanly possible for me to continue. I didn't know how I was going to endure any more pain, exert any more effort, push any longer. I wanted to quit. I was begging for help. I wanted the doctor to save me from my hell by insisting a caesarean was necessary. I didn't say it out loud, but I wanted to. I imagine many first time marathon runners experience a similar feeling at some point during the race. That point at which you don't think it's even possible to take one more step.

In every scenario it ultimately goes one way or another. Either you take one more step, push one more time or you don't. You either will you body, your mind to go on or you stop.

In my story, the birth of beautiful, stubborn baby Alice was made possible by a wonderful support system. Left to my own devises, I would have quit. I would have waved the white flag insisting someone else do the work I couldn't. Thankfully I had the most supportive and powerful coach in my OB doctor. I can still, four years later, hear her booming voice demanding "Hard as you can! Hard as you can!" She was not allowing me to quit. My doula was at my side just about every minute of the twenty one hours. She made me feel so brave and strong. She showed complete faith in my ability to birth my daughter. Hatta was there, scared and unsure, but in awe of my strength. Together they told me how wonderful I was doing and what an amazing woman I was. I didn't believe them, if I had been doing so wonderful wouldn't she be out by now? But it was still the encouragement I needed to keep pushing. The marathon runner, I imagine if he had to run the race entirely alone completion would be unlikely. Even those that aren't running with friends find strength in the comrades running around them. Together a lot more is possible.

You may remember a few posts ago when I stated I was swimming in heavy, heart crushing thoughts. I'm still there, barely staying afloat. I was informed last night that not everyone enjoys my analogies, and if this is true for you, I really am so sorry, but I'm afraid I'm sticking with the swimming one. For, I am anchored in this pool. All around me, as far as my eye can see is heartache. And I am stuck. I don't know where to go, or even which direction is shortest. I remain where I am, treading water. I know I must swim soon. But where to? I could always swim back to the shallow end, I'll still be stuck in the pool, but at least I know I won't drown. Or I could take a leap and swim toward the edge and hope I make it. Hope I have the strength to swim.

I wish someone else could save me. I want someone to dive in and pull me to safety. End the pain I feel. If only it worked that way. Even though I don't want to, I have to do this on my own as hard is it may be.

What I hope more than anything, is that I have a few people poolside cheering me on, shouting words of encouragement when I need it most. I'm afraid once I start swimming, I may find the journey too treacherous. I may find it easier to quit, allow my head to sink beneath the waterline or swim back to the shallows. I pray that if this happens I have a friend who recognizes the distress I'm in and throw's me a life ring, if even just to momentarily hang on to until I can swim again. I know I will not make it alone.

Addicted to a Certain Kind of Sadness

Bless me followers, for I have strayed. It has been seven days since my last post.

I haven't been able to write. Well, that's not entirely accurate...I haven't been able to write anything nice and as the saying goes, if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.

Over the weekend, I drove to Hershey, Pa to attend the sold out Farm Aid. The line up was stacked with well known artists, young and old. It was an amaaazing festival, a great cause and mostly great music. One act, Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds, stood out from the rest.

Dave Matthews is a brilliant musician, I don't think anyone can dispute it. I will go above and beyond and say he's far more. He's a captivating storyteller and one hell of a performer. I watched him bare his soul again and again, song after song. Don't misunderstand, I'm not claiming Dave Matthews is all feelings, he has silly songs of fluff just like every artist. But, I found myself mesmerized by his uninhibited emotion as he sang lyrics that clearly meant something to him. And at that moment I realized maybe the saying should be changed.

If you have nothing nice to say, make sure you say it brilliantly.

Life has been hard for me lately. Eh, maybe it's been a little longer than lately. I feel as if the dominating thoughts in my mind are not nice, pleasant, peaches and cream kinds of thoughts. I'm swimming in the heavy, heart crushing ones. I've shared a few with you fine readers, but frankly I'm very concious of drowning my sorrows in my blog. No one enjoys reading a sad, woeful mess day after day.

I have no crystal ball and I haven't met with a physic; I have no knowledge of when my life will flip. But it has to happen. Eventually something has to give. Right? There's a lyric in Gotye's now famous song that concerns me. "You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness." I think there is validity in that thought. I do not enjoy turmoil and drama in my life. I am, without a doubt, sure of this. It is fact. However, when you live something for too long it can become you. I experienced this with my mother's illness and as a new mom, it took a lot for me to pull myself out. As life tries to spin out of control, I do my best to mantain equilibrium staying focused on my sun and my moon. All my daily efforts working towards remaining grounded on her. When I embrace it, Alice can brighten the dreariest of days and I count my lucky stars she's in my life.

Fading Dreams

I've been struggling lately with the notion of dreams and failures and what should have been and what could have been but wasn't. Years ago, when I was younger and full of hope, I imagined my life would turn out a certain way. I dreamed the white picket fence dream.

"Our house is a very, very, very fine house. With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard. Everything is easy now 'cause of you."

I've been chasing my dream for over ten years. Every decision I've made since college has been working toward the goal, that white picket fence and everything it meant to me. Somewhere between then and now, I felt the dream slipping.

"Don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."

I continued on in the quest for my ideal life, ignoring the feeling that it was trickling through my grasp like grains of sand. I was so close to fulfilling my dream, if I just persevered I could make it happen. I couldn't admit defeat. This is my dream, after all. If I stop seeking it now...then what?

"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run."

Is now the time? Is today the day my dream changes? We're supposed to play the hand we're dealt. Maybe I haven't been dealt the white picket fence. Maybe the dream I've been working so hard for isn't intended for me. And if I walk away from my dream, what takes its place?

So...I struggle. It's hard. I see my hand, I know I should fold, but I'm still playing the game. I don't want to give up on my desires. I don't even know how. I've wanted it so long, I simply can't imagine saying "Oh we'll. C'lest la vie," and moving on. Maybe moving on, formulating a new dream is some of the fear. I can't possibly let go of one dream unless I have another waiting in the wing. I can't wander around through life dreamless, an empty hole in my heart where hope used to reside.

I have no idea what's next for me. I have no profound enlightenment. Instead, I have more lyrics...from Animal Liberation Orchestra (ALO) a band I've enjoyed listening to since my dream formulation days.

"And in this life we're free to dream whatever we want to
But that doesn't mean that your dreams are gonna come true
Instead as a way of getting us to move
Life dangles your dreams in front of you
And unable to resist the temptation, we continue

And it's clear to me that this life is gonna be
All about the dangling possibilities that keep turning in and turning out
Yes it's clear to me that this life is gonna be
All about the dangling possibilities

The road is long and windy
Full of twists and turns
But before you can rise from the ashes
You've got to burn baby burn

Welcome to your barbeque
Where we roast all the dreams
That never came true

Welcome to your barbeque

Pig out and dream a new"

So...maybe one day soon I will officially invite you, fine friends to a kick ass barbeque. A dream roasting hootenanny!

Not Torture, an Educated Parenting Decision

Monday night I wrote this post. And then I had this twitter conversation.

After that, I proceeded to spend hours lying in bed, not sleeping, second guessing my decision to take Alice to the butterfly conservatory. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was, in fact, torturing Alice.

Don't worry, even in my sleep deprived state I returned to my senses. I was making an educated parenting decision to follow through with my butterfly conservatory plan. I appreciated the opinions of well-meaning friends, but in this instance I had to go against them.

Let me be clear, when I tell my stories of life and parenting Alice, I do so with a humorous slant. The meat of the stories are true, but I find life easier to handle with a sense of humor. The humor, to some, may have been lost on my most recent post. Please know in everything I do, I absolultely have Alice's best interest at heart.

Case in point, the hours I spent lying awake contemplating why I was taking Alice into a situation I knew full well could have a bad outcome. It's very simple. Alice doesn't just fear butterflies, she fears all insects. This affects her daily life. It's debilitating. In case you hadn't noticed, bugs are everywhere. In the ballet room, in gymnastics, in her house, on the porch, in her playhouse, et cetera, et cetera. If I allowed Alice to succumb to the fear then I would be enabling her. Instead, Hatta and I (and the extended family) take the approach that insects are a part of our life and certainly nothing to be frightened about. And see, the thing is, Alice doesn't enjoy being afraid of bugs. It gets in her way of playing, she's wise enough to realize that. She wants to overcome her phobia. She wants to believe us when we tell her that the majority of the bugs are not looking to harm her. So, I provide Alice with opportunities to test out her insect threshold. In the garden, she's by my side, curious about the worms and the roly polies. Not interested in touching them, she keeps her distance to test the theory.

I saw the butterfly conservatory as merely another step towards Alice's freedom. It was a controlled environment with beautiful, fascinating insects that do not bite. My job was to support Alice and reassure her she would not be harmed. The only way for the experience to be a success was to go. To stay home would be giving into the fear. That was something I was not okay with. I do not think living your life around fear is healthy.

I asked Alice, the morning of the adventure, if she wanted to go.

"Yes. But I might be afraid if they want to land on my head," she replied.

"Well, that's okay. I won't let them land on you."

"Even if they don't, I still might be a little bit scared," she told me.

She wanted to face her fear. And, my friends, it paid off. We entered the greenhouse with her in my arms and we just stood there. I allowed her a few moments to take it all in before we moved. She was hesitant when I knelt down to observe a nearby butterfly and to place her on the ground. But, just like that, her curiosity took over. She didn't want to be unhappy. She trusted me to keep her safe and that allowed her the freedom to check her fear at the door...well, mostly. There was one instance when a butterfly attempted to land on her head and sent her into freak out mode. I quickly handled the situation and she didn't let it ruin her experience.

All in all, the butterfly effect was a success. She's still afraid of bugs...this morning she wouldn't sit still on our front steps for first day of preschool pictures because bugs were flying about. But, I believe each positive insect experience helps her to be one step closer to overcoming her phobia for good.

Man Eating Butterflies

Tomorrow, after preschool orientation, I'm taking Alice on a very special outing. "Where to?" you ask.

Wait for it........wait.......keep waiting.....

The Butterfly Conservatory! Ah hah haha!!

To the average fairy loving, little girl this would be a treat. As you've come to learn, my Alice is anything but average. She's petrified of butterflies. Terrified. Butterflies, spiders, houseflies, mosquitos, fruitflies, bees, ladybugs, wasps, moths, gnats, ants, cockroaches, beetles...the list is endless, my girl's scared of all of them. Bat-shit crazy scared. This is not an aversion, it's a full blown entomophobia!

I took her to the conservatory last year and it was beautiful. The butterflies were stunning and vibrant and everywhere. I had no idea she was going to freak out. I don't know why I didn't expect it, but I was caught off guard. I spent the entire time trying to convince her the butterflies were harmless, when clearly they were MAN EATING BUTTERFLIES! For the love of all things good why was I torturing her! I was persistent if nothing else. After she cried and sobbed, swatted and screamed for the first 30 minutes, the ENTIRE 30 FREAKING MINUTES, we took as break for lunch. Re-energized with a full tummy, I was convinced butterfly hell round 2 would go much smoother. I was wrong. It was every bit as horrendous. My only goal was to capture one moment where she was not visibly panic stricken. Camera shot after shot of Alice with a pained expression.

A well intentioned lady spoke up, "Are these really the pictures you want to have of your little darling? Is this how you really want to remember it?"

Right lady, as if I had some other choice. I was documenting the experience. If I had settled for only capturing smiles, I would have left with a blank memory card. Those fearful shots tell the best story ever!

So, tomorrow I embark on this butterfly adventure. I'm armed with no new tactics. No brilliant advice to help my baby overcome her fear. I am much wiser, though. I know what to expect. I'm not kidding myself into thinking she's going to love it. She's going to hate every freaking moment of it. In my head I will laugh. A lot. Carrying my dear girl, because walking in a butterfly paradise would be too treacherous, I will giggle inside at her rediculous unexplained fear. I can't say I will take pleasure in torturing my daughter, because that's not socially acceptable to say, but come on, it's butterflies! I'm not redecorating her room with clowns or forcing her to have pet snakes.

Preschool. Wednesday. Yay.

Preschool starts on Wednesday. I think maybe I've mentioned it before, but incase you didn't read it on twitter or sprinkled in and out of practically every post I've written since they accepted our application...I'll tell you again, Alice starts her first day of preschool next Wednesday. I'm excited. Alice is excited.

Up until last night that's as much thought as I've given it. "Thank the dear lord this little bitty, blonde hair ball of defiant energy is starting preschool soon! HALLELUJAH! There is a heaven after all and it opens at 8:45 five days a week! Sweet Jesus!"

Then last night it hit me, my baby is going to preschool...five days a week...sigh. Sob. Sob. Sob. For five enitre half days I will miss my baby. Well, maybe I won't miss her all five days. I'm sure that first morning when she's insisting she's not eating breakfast or getting dressed, screaming NO! at me, and throwing her toys...yeah, I imagine I won't miss her much that day. Or the morning I come downstairs to marker on the kitchen floor, it's likely I'll leave drop off skipping and whistling a tune. And the first morning I get to watch Regis and Kelly...wait, I hear since the last time I was able to watch the show Regis left, what is it now, just Live with Kelly? Anyway, I digress. The first morning I can sit peacefully with my coffee and drink it hot without having to microwave it three separate times, I think I'll still be rejoicing that day too. But mostly I'm going to miss my little sidekick.

Since the moment the OB stopped screaming "Hard as you can! Hard as you can! Hard as you can!" and placed the tiny 6lb 15oz baby on my chest we've been inseparable. We do everything together. We go everywhere together. We have a bond that only her and I share. She wants to be just like me, complete with lines on her forehead and the ability to roll her eyes effortlessly. And I want to be like her, to see life as one big playground where the goal is to have as much fun as you can. We've taken on every adventure that comes our way together. Every challenge, together. Together we provide each other with comfort. Together we are strong and can do anything.

And starting Wednesday, all that will be just a little bit different. See, my baby is growing up. She's ready and so am I. We need it. It's time for both of us to spread our wings just a touch. As excited as I am for this next chapter in our mother daughter relationship, I am equal parts sad and maybe even a fraction fearful for what's next. She is too. We will adjust to the newness and who knows, maybe our relationship will flourish with a few hour break from each other every day.

And to Alice, since I know one day you will read these words written about you, you have no idea how much I love you, how proud I am of you. You have become an amazing little girl. You're clever and resourceful, beautiful and sophisticated. You stop a room when you walk in. It's always been that way. When you were a baby, I couldn't go anywhere without complete strangers telling me how beautiful and porcelain doll like you were. The gerber baby people said. At Gymboree your early speech mesmerized the other parents. Your emotional sophistication has always astonished me. You understand complex thoughts and feelings that some adults struggle with. You make me so very proud to say I am your mama. Dear, sweet Alice...you are my sun and my moon and I thank the heavens every day you are in my life.

You Can Lead a Horse to Water

You know the old saying, "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink the got damn pink medicine." So that's not exactly how it goes, close enough. That's been my life since Friday. Words do not do justice to what my sick life with sick Alice and sick Hatta has been. Let me share the ailments as they pertain to the individual, starting with Hatta: strep, bronchitis, and conjunctivitis, myself: strep, mild swimmer's ear (wtf?) severe inner ear infection, and sinus infection, and lastly, Alice: strep, stubborn, strong willed, defiant, bullheaded, relentless, persistent...shall I continue?

The list of ailments required medication: eye drops, ear drops, antibiotics, and perscription strength cough syrup. I shudder at the thought of how much, as a family, we've dropped at CVS in the past week. Alice was prescribed one simple antibiotic, Cephalexin, the pink medicine. In her previous years, my daughter worried me with her strong love for drugs, pink medicine included. She always wanted more. She'd fake an illness just to take more purple medicine. I thought surely we had a drug addict in the making. Suffice it to say, I'm not longer concerned.

I've struggled to get Alice to take her antibiotic, wait...I think that's a bit of an understatement. It's vastly greater than an understatement. Over the course of the weekend, I learned even though she is small I can no longer control what she does or does not do. To my novice, childless readers who are questioning my words right now, who think surely you can be the parent and make her...to you I say, if only it was that simple. Yes, I can force her to lie still. Yes, I can force her mouth open. Yes, I can force the medicine into her mouth. That's the point in which I no longer have control. What happens once the pink gooeyness hits her tongue is up to her. No matter how much I attempt to close her mouth, she still has the power to spit it out. All over my hands, all down her hair, all over the floor.

Plan B, hide that shit! First attempt, smoothie. Success. But, I can't make her drink two smoothies every day for ten days. Maybe I can reason with her. That was where I went wrong. Hatta warned me; I chose not to listen. I ruined the secret. I told her she had taken the pink stuff when she drank her smoothie. Alice was ecstatic! She was overcome with joy and wanted her morning medicine in a smoothie for sure. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic. There was high-fiving all around. The next morning the warm and fuzzy feeling of the previous night was replaced with an air of gloominess as Alice began what would become a three day fast. No food. Little water. She was boycotting life. The mention of medicine would send her running to bed. From her mouth I heard, "No. I don't want to. I don't like it. I wanna go to bed." That's it, on repeat for three days. I offered her a chocolate milkshake. Wouldn't take a sip. Vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup and Reese's Pieces. Spoon didn't touch it. I found myself attempting to bribe her with the new Princess Tianna doll complete with carriage or a new Barbie is she just took the medicine. Nope. She was standing her ground, her coughy, achey, fevery, sick ground.

Plan C, finally the pediatrician has given the okay to switch antibiotic, since to date she has consumed merely one full dose and a couple partials. A new prescription has been called in, more money added to the shudder inducing total. The new drug is a capsule that when opened the tasteless powder can be sprinkled on anything. Thrilled to find out how tonight goes! Thrilled I tell ya!

My Relationship with the Jehovah's Witnesses

I have trouble saying no. I'm sure my husband, if he read my blog, would laugh heartily at that statement, but it's true in some respects. When people ask me for a favor, it's like this impossible force within me, I must say yes. Need me to watch your kid? Sure, no problem. Going away and forgot about your dog? No worries, bring him over. I already have a dog and two cats, what's one more? The list goes on. Ordinarily, I don't think it's a big deal, except at 2 o'clock when I hear a knock on the door and I'm not expecting guests. Then my ability to say no is a gargantuan big deal.

What some of you 9-5ers may not know, while you're away at work, people are standing outside your door knocking. It's constant. Every week someone for some reason or another knocks on my door.

That fateful day, four years ago, someone knocked on my door. Itty bitty baby Alice in my arms, I opened it to find a young (17?) male African American...with a book in his hand. Not just a book, The book. In his other hand was The Watchtower. At the bottom of my front porch steps stood his grandmother with her summer hat on. He was nice to me, so I listened to him spread his belief. He gave me the required pamphlets and went about his day. That's where I went wrong. I should have nipped it in the bud that first meeting, but I didn't. I couldn't. He was so kind, I couldn't say no. So he came back. Again and again and, oh my God, again. He knew my name. He knew Alice's name. Always the same, he talked while I nodded and answered his questions, his grandmother always within ear shot. I started to like the kid. I even found myself reading some of the articles in Awake!. I remember the day I realized it had gone too far, I was in the middle of nursing Alice when he knocked. I should have opened the door and said, "Enough's enough already! I'm not buying into your belief! I celebrate Christmas and my birthday!" Not having the required amount of balls to do so, I unlatched a very furious Alice, put my boob away, opened the door and greeted my new friend. I listened, all the while bouncing Alice to keep her whines to a minimum. I didn't want to interrupt his preaching. Then, at the end of this particular visit, he said it.

"Next time, why don't my grandmother and I come inside for some bible study?"

Holy, oh my eff, what had I gotten myself into?! I had no intentions of allowing this kid in my house for bible study, no matter how nice he was. If I had just said no from the get-go, I wouldn't be freaking out about how I was going to politely sever my new friendship.

I consulted my friends. They all said the same, "What? You're meeting with the Jehovah Witnesses on a regular basis? Seriously?" Thanks, guys. Then, my sister in-law told me her mother has regular Bible study with the Jehovah's, even lunch. I knew then and there, I didn't want to be making egg salad and lemonade for this kid and his family. I needed to end it. Maybe I could just leave a note on the door.

Like ripping off a band-aid, I did it on our next meeting. As soon as I opened the door, I told him thank you for the kindness but I liked my faith the way it was. Just like that my many month long problem was gone. I was removed from the list and the Jehovah Witnesses haven't stopped by since.

I learned a very big lesson that day. If you can't say no when you open the door, don't open the door.

I spend quite a bit of time hiding behind my door, glancing through the peep hole to see if the most recent solicitor has vacated my porch yet.

Which brings me to yesterday. There was a knock at the door, and since just last week I had succumb to the temptation to be normal and opened the door to a 15 minute presentation where I wishy-washily told the guy to come back later when the man of the house would be home, I decided it best to go back to what works...don't open the door. Alice came from the kitchen, where we had been painting pre-knock, to find me cowering behind the door. Quickly, I tried to mime to her to get back in the kitchen. It wasn't working. I tried again in that voice that wants to be a whisper but just isn't.

"What Mama? Who's at the door?"

"Shh, Alice. Be quite. See, it's a stranger at the door and we don't open the door for strangers."

"Are we hiding from them so they don't come in our house?"

"They're not gonna come in our house. We just don't want them to know we are here."

I don't know if I'm scarring Alice for life by teaching her that sometimes Mama hides behind the door when people knock. I hope I'm not encouraging her to be a hermit or anything. However, until I grow a backbone and learn to say no to college kids selling magazines to fund their trip to NYC, it's not worth the risk in opening the door. I do love me some Joe Corbi's though, so if you know of anyone selling, send them my way!

Row Away

I've got problems. I'm not talking about the simple life problems, like why can I not, no matter how many loads of laundry I wash, ever be caught up? Or, why is it as soon as I buy the super, über, family size box of Wheat Thins does Alice decide she doesn't like them anymore?

I'm talking about real problems. The kind of problems that are mind consuming and usually, life altering. We all have them. And if at this very moment, you're thinking to yourself, "Not me. Right now things are great. Problem free." Look out. I guarantee one's coming right around the corner. This is not me being pessimistic, this is me being a realist. Life is full of problems to process and handle appropriately.

Don't you ever wish you could actually run away from your problems? I do. I'd love to get on a plane to Fiji, say, "Sayonara problems, hasta la never! I'm outta here bitches!" Poof! Just like that problems gone. All kinds of awesome. Except, I'm almost a month shy of my thirty second birthday, and I've learned, that's not the way it happens. Evvver. Problems will be here at the gate when you get back holding up a sign with your name on it. You can not run from your problems. Even when you really, really want to.

You know what you can do? Row away from them. I discovered that my temporary escape from my problems is at the gym. Seated on the rowing machine, iPod playing, my mind is not focused on the tunes. Instead, my mind is focused, visualizing individuals, and the problems they've helped cause. And I row. Fast. In my mind, I see him standing on the bank and the distance between me and my problem increases. The distance makes me row harder, craving more space between me and my problem. In that moment it feels real, it feels phenomenal. It feels like I won, I escaped. Then, I open my eyes and I see the treadmills and the squash courts, reality comes rushing back. My problems are still here, right by my side. But for that moment, I gave myself the much needed escape.

I think that's the key I'm learning about problems. They are significantly more manageable if you can escape them every now and then. Not run away per se, just visualize an escape, put distance between you and them and gain perspective. It feels good.

"Pray to God, but row away from the rocks." - Hunter S. Thompson

I Hope You Dance

I witnessed something today that left me without words, silently staring with a million emotions swarming my brain.

It happened at the gym. Thirty minutes into my work out I found myself near the one-way glass windows of the daycare room. Like always, I paused to look inside. This morning they were engrossed in parachute time. I smiled, seeing the excitement on the faces of the children. I looked from kid to kid around the parachute circle, all the while the colorful chute went up and down. I didn't see Alice anywhere. I looked towards the corner she usually plays dolls in, she wasn't there either. Thinking she must have been underneath the parachute, I scanned all the little bodies again until finally I found her. She stood a foot behind the parachute, just watching. A smile on her face, not touching the chute, merely watching the fun taking place.

I was so torn with emotion. My heart broke for her. I knew the fun she would have if she allowed herself to participate. I knew if I was by her side as her security, she could have joined in. And at the same time I was proud of her for knowing her limits, knowing how much she could handle and still feel comfortable and safe. Proud that she was not holed up in a little corner playing alone. She had gotten as close to the action as she could handle, I'm sure. I watched her face as the other kids took turns, obviously having fun, running onto the middle of the parachute as the group continued to raise and lower it. I saw the longing in her smile, though unable to conjure enough bravery to take her turn. One time the parachute brushed her hand, I thought for sure she would take it as a sign and hold on. She didn't, she simply took two steps backwards to ensure it wouldn't happen again.

No mother hopes her child will be the one standing on the sidelines watching life, and the excitement it brings, pass her by. I quote a popular lyric by Lee Ann Womack*, "And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. I hope you dance."

I hope that for Alice. I watched her through the window having a good time, but not entirely. The rest of the children laughing and squealing with delight at the activity, I couldn't help but wish Alice could experience it the same as them. All chidren are different, though. And this was too far outside of Alice's comfort. I can only hope that I teach her to be brave and step outside her comfort zone every once in a while to experience something exhilarating. It's always worth it.

* Let it be known, this will likely be the only time I quote country music. Growing up on a farm, I was surrounded by country, but proudly my iPod is practically void of it today.

Going Commando

I have taught my daughter a lot of things. A LOT!

I taught her to walk by bribing her with a box of off limit small chokey items. I taught her to dress herself. I taught her Spanish. Wait, no. That was Dora. I did teach her the ABC's and her numbers and all that smarty-arty stuff. And let me tell you, she's smart. Too smart sometimes, you know, for being 4. Given all that, I have never been as proud of her as I was today.

A shining moment of motherhood.

Alice and I were preparing to go to the gym. I was sitting on the top step lacing my running shoes while she was going pee. When she finished, she came to join me on the stairs. She stood before me, lifted her sundress and said, "Look, Mama. I put on underwear. Ariel ones."

I smiled so big, a tear of joy almost formed in the corner of my eye. I was ecstatic. I had finally taught her quite possibly the most important life lesson a girl can learn...when you're wearing a skirt or a dress, put on undies before you leave the house.

See, Alice dislikes wearing underwear. She loves underwear! She has more pairs than I could ever dream of. Elmo, Zoe, Dora, Ariel, Cinderella, Aurora, and Rapunzel to name a few. She hates wearing them. It's nothing for her to walk around the house, lift up her dress and surprise! Vagina! Or she'll lay back on the couch and her skirt will fall up and, oops, naked vagina. It's so common place in my house, the surprise, that our close friends aren't even caught off guard anymore. It's a way of life around my house, toys on the floor and naked 4 year old vagina.

With all the nakedness, I've been concerned for future Alice. I think it's technically called the Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton crotch shot phobia. These girls were not taught the life skill I was determined to instill in Alice. To prove this, I contemplated posting pics to these girls exposed out in public crotch shots. But then, this isn't that type of blog. You can google if you don't remember or live under a rock. The last thing I want for my daughter is to be photographed because her vajay-jay is out for all to see. Now, I know the odds of Alice being famous enough for people to care if she's going commando under her mini skirt are low. It doesn't matter. Good girls wear underwear under skirts and dresses. Period.

Unless, of course, you're married and trying to spice things up a bit on a date. Then, maybe the out in public surprise is acceptable.

Until then, I'm glad she finally caught on to my begging and pleading and put on undies unprompted.

Digging Myself Out Of The Trench

After adjusting the laces on my shoes, I stepped on, set the treadmill, and started to run. With my iPod in hand, I scrolled through the artists and found what I was looking for, an oldy but goody recently added to my new iPod, Damian Jr Gong Marley, and pressed play. I ran for a few moments, my thoughts racing from my to-do lists to my worries, and then the chorus kicked in. Just like that, I was transported back six years ago. To a time when things were different. I was different. And in that moment, running, all thoughts disappeared but one.

I'm back.

You often hear new moms talk about the dream of getting back into their pre-baby clothes, and don't get me wrong, I wanted the same. After six months I was there...mostly. But, without even being aware, what I needed most, was to get back to the pre-baby me. That has been a horrendously long journey. Alice just turned four and I can finally say I'm there...mostly.

In that moment, running, I felt it and it felt terrifically familiar. The it being the old me. She was there and finally shining through.

At my baby shower, four plus years ago, seasoned veterans offered advice like sleep when the baby sleeps and take all the help that's offered. Everyone made it out like all you needed to be concerned with is the window of time when your new child is a baby. It came off to ignorant me like life would return when the baby started to sleep through the night. People neglected to inform me that not only would life never be the same again, I would lose myself in the process.

Lose myself I did.

I wasn't even aware. That may have been the worst part. I was no longer me and I didn't even know it. It has taken several years and unique circumstances for me to finally shine the light on myself and examine what I have allowed myself to become. I had given in to the role of mom and become nothing but. I had allowed myself to become unimportant. I was a mother, nothing else. I can see how it happened. I became so engrossed in the infant stage, survival mode in the trenches so to speak, and every stage of motherhood thereafter brought new and equally urgent requirements. I never stopped for a moment to look out of the trench, look around at life and see it all going by.

Until I did.

When I finally woke up and realized the old Nelly was gone, it was a relief...sort of. It sucked, but at least I was aware. It's like being sick for years, being told countless times we can't find anything wrong, and finally having a diagnosis. At least I could begin to work to dig me out from underneath the mom mountain I had created.

It's taken awhile and many changes, but seeing myself in the mirror, running, listening to Jr Gong, I saw me. I saw Nelly, not just Mama. And when I had finished working out, I retrieved Alice from daycare. As we walked out of the gym, her hand in mine, talking about the butterfly she had made and the bug that had been on the step the day before, she took my hand and wiped her nose with it.

And all was good.