Singin' the Time Change Blues

This stupid time change messed up the Kims something fierce.

Maddie and Riley made virtually no adjustment to their wakeup time on Sunday morning, so they were ready to go at 6:15 a.m. The new 6:15 a.m., or the old 5:15 a.m. Gar. I was not so ready, but I pretended I was ready and all was well until around 1:00 p.m. when everyone fell apart. We were all tired and cranky, we smelled like smoke from a failed attempt at a fire in the fireplace, no one felt like eating meals at the right time so everyone was hungry (but I didn't figure that out until much later), and while it had some real high spots, it was generally just a blah of an early afternoon.

Needless to say, we jumped on the chance for an imprompu invite from a friend to go hang out for a while, and that helped to boost everyone's spirits. Until, that is, both Maddie and Riley fell asleep in the car on the way home—at 5:30 p.m.—and could barely be roused to eat a bit of dinner and read some stories and collapse into bed, falling immediately asleep, at 7:00 p.m. They slept through, more or less, until 6:30 a.m., although both seem to have colds, which probably played into their bad moods yesterday.

All of this is a long boring way of saying that I wish we would just skip all of this time changing and keep the clocks in the same position all year round. Perhaps I will start a Facebook page dedicated to this cause. Or tweet about it. That'll get things done, right? That's taking things to the top! Ha.

But the weekend was far from all bad. There was park time, a great church service, good times with friends and family, and cookie baking. Oh, and a call from Mr. Brady. We'll be going out again on Saturday, details TBD. It's nice to have something to look forward to outside the usual day-to-day.

Monday: A Stereotype (EDITED)

Yelled at Riley for no real reason (unless you consider not wanting to eat breakfast a reason).

Left the house late.

Forgot to take the kids to the doctor for their scheduled 9:00 a.m. flu shot.

Found out that my daycare is closed for the holidays during the week of Christmas, not the week of New Year's. Guess when I planned our trip to Oregon? Guess who has no vacation time to spare? Why did I not ask about this? Have I learned nothing about assumptions?

Can I go back to bed?

EDITED: I did not get to go back to bed, but my day got better and I've had lots of comments and e-mails that have given me some great ideas about Christmas. In any case, my day was put in perspective when I found out that a close friend's father died this morning of a heart attack. Am going into "take care of the grieving" mode, stat.

Olé!

Mariachi night was such a blast. I was so proud of myself for doing some good work on leaving my shell of perfectionism in my office. Check it out:

1. Got the twins at daycare, and was putting them in the car. Riley got a hold of my keys. He did not want to give them back. "Hold Mama keys? Hold mama keys?" he plaintively queried. Perfectionist me would have said, "No, it's time to go, Mama needs her keys," and taken them away, causing a Ri-Meltdown. Me sans shell said, "Mama needs her keys. Would you like to hold a penny?" This idea was rejected. Hmmm. Then I thought to myself, "We don't need to be at the restaurant for 30 minutes. Why not just let the kid hold the keys for a while?" So I said, "Let me know when you're ready to go, Ri-Man," and we just hung out in the parking lot at daycare, chatting and singing while Riley did a thorough inspection of the keys. Lo and behold, after ten minutes, he said, "Mama, all done keys," and handed them back. And off we went. So much better for everyone!

2. I totally set aside my cares about what the kids ate at dinner. And guess what? They ate great. Chips, salsa, avocado slices, cheese quesadilla, and some fruit leather from my purse. An anonymous commenter remarked on my last post that many of my issues around what I do v. what I'd like to do center on food with the kids. It's true. I truly believe that it's my choice to offer the kids food and their job to determine what/how much of it to eat. (Hello, Ellyn Satter!) But it's hard for me to really implement that. I am convinced that it's genetic for mothers to want their kids to eat a variety of foods and to eat well. Knowing I need to let it go and actually doing it are two very different things, but I'm making progress. 

3. I did not become uptight and nervous when 7:00 p.m. rolled around and we were just leaving the restaurant. I can be, um, a little rigid about schedules, especially the kids' bedtime schedule, and 7:00 usually when we're reading stories and getting ready to turn out the light. But hey, we were having fun and I decided to roll with it. Me! I rolled with it! Amazing. The kids ended up not getting into bed until nearly 8:00 p.m., and guess what? We all survived and they even "slept in," meaning that Ri-Man didn't wake up until almost 7:00 a.m.

My margarita was fantastic, and the kids loved, loved, loved the music. After every song, they would clap and clap and request, "More, please? More, please?" They were so entertained that my friends and I were even able to enjoy a decent amount of real grown-up conversation. All-in-all, it was a super evening and I'm looking forward to doing it again sometime.

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Here's the pisser: I get to bed, the kids are sleeping, I'm sleeping and all of a sudden I wake up to the sound of a car horn honking repeatedly. Someone's car alarm was going off, and it was someone nearby. I'm not sure how long it went on, but it seemed like forever. Luckily, it did not wake the kids. But then I was wide awake. I finally drop back off, and it goes off again, about an hour after the first time. Ugh. This happened, oh, four or five times at hourly intervals. After the third time, I was about ready to put on my shoes, go find the offender, and bang on his or her door. But I was too lazy. So instead I will just complain about it here. Needless to say, I'm a little tired today. 

What? When? (or: A "Comedy" of Errors)

When did the USPS get so expensive?

I went to mail a first birthday gift to my nephew today. The gift is somewhat bulky, but not heavy. It's hardly gold bars. How much does the USPS want for it? $14.95. 

Yow.

The helpful woman behind the counter advises that perhaps a flat-rate box for $8.95 would have been a better choice. So I trundle back to the office with a flat-rate box and my original package and get set to make the swap.

Only the gift does not fit in the flat-rate box. Not even close. I checked the dimensions of the larger flat-rate box ($12.95), and it ain't gonna go in there, either.

So now I shall go back to the drawing board and find a box at home that does not have Priority Mail markings on it and send it parcel post. Hey, at least I'm getting some exercise.

EDITED: Every once in a while, I have a good idea. I took my original Priority Mail box and turned it inside-out by cutting it along one side, refolding, and retaping it. Voilà! A brown box that can be sent parcel post. Now I just have to go back to the P.O. and see how much that will set me back.

Coming Down off the High

We had a great weekend. Nothing particularly blog-worthy, just time with friends, down time at home, and general good cheer from the twins overall.

That made this morning all the more irritating. I knew it was supposed to snow last night, and in fact it had already started by the time we headed home from having a playdate and dinner with a friend. I dutifully set my alarm for 6:00 a.m. so that I could shovel the stairs at our house before the babies got up. And then I dutifully got up at 6:00 and did the shoveling. By that time, the snow had turned to a chilly rain. Yuck, yuck, and yuck, but good to get the snow up before the rain made it into a hard, icy crust.

None of that was all that bad, but then when I took the kids to daycare, there was an accident at the end of the daycare's street that forced me to park a few blocks away and schlep the twins over the unshoveled walks, fearful of falling the whole time. Not pretty.

It's such a cliché to hate winter, but I hate winter. I really do. And there are months of this grossness left. Months! At least we leave for Oregon three weeks from today. That's something to be excited about. And our weekend was so nice that I'm itching to get out of work and go get the babes. I really miss them today. It's nice to be looking forward to that.

Today, Not so Much

Thanksgiving and the day after were great. Friends abounded, the babies were on their best behavior, and it was great to have help all day and get some time to relax.

Today, not so much. We're back to our normal routine. We had a fun morning, but then we took a walk to Trader Joe's and there was trauma, trauma, trauma! about balloons. The trauma, trauma, trauma! continued at home, until I took the balloons away. All day has been food trauma. I think Riley has eaten half a pear today, if that. I offered them breakfast and lunch of items that they normally enjoy, but not today. Maybe they are cleansing after two days of eating random crap.

On my end, I came unglued at Trader Joe's when three, yes, three different cashiers flagged me down and said, "I can help you over here!" Each time, I would think, "Oh, great, no waiting with the impatient balloon monsters." Then I would get over there and the cashier would have started ringing someone else up. WTF? The third time, the cashier said, "Sorry, I didn't know this woman was here waiting." The woman in question had two GIANT boxes of chocolates, sitting right on on the scanner. I happen to hate that particular cashier, and this didn't help her standing with me. Then she ripped my bag of flour, white whole-wheat went everywhere, and I was the one who had to go get a new bag. I couldn't stand to wait for someone else to go get it. When we exited the store, some asshat had left his or her cart blocking the sidewalk. So considerate. Happy holidays to you, too.

All of this is minor, trivial stuff, I know. The underlying issue is that being a single parent sucks. Certainly there are things that suck more. Way more. But after two days of warmth and fun with good friends, our house feel empty. I feel bitter. Everything seems like a chore. The fun is gone.

Not Helping

Why is it that nothing makes one look quite as bad as the lighting in department store dressing rooms? And what do they do to those mirrors? My ass can't actually be that big, can it? Wow.

Yesterday, when I didn't have time to make the reservation, round-trip flights from Boston to Portland and back for the holidays were a full $100 cheaper than they are today, when I do have time.

Running the 10K was so great that now the idea of running alone on the bike path while pushing a jog stroller filled with 50lbs. of impatient toddler truly pales in comparison. My motivation is low, although I have my running stuff here at work and it's a gorgeous day.

The Red Sox. The Red Sox! Need I say more? Although I suppose that if the situation weren't a nailbiter, it wouldn't be the Sox.

Funk

I am in a funk. Funkity funk funk funk.

The six-month anniversary of John's death hit me really hard. Work has been incredibly annoying. My best friend is moving away. I feel like a lot of my friends just so happen to be in those places in life where the stars align and things go their way. I want to be happy for them, and I say the right things, but mostly I'm sad, jealous, and bitter.

When John was dying, my sadness often turned to anger and it often got directed at John. So unfair, right? I was so scared of what my life would be like without him, so tired from dealing with the constant presence of Imminent Death, and so overwhelmed as a new mother that sometimes things would just spew out of me at the nearest target: John. It made me feel horrible. John and I talked about it and he was a prince for dealing with it, but it sucked. I look back on those days with much regret, mad at myself for spending our last times together in such a state of fear and anger instead of making the most of what we had left, whatever that even means.

Right after John died, there was a part of me that felt this strange sense of lightness and relief: No more cancer. Frankly, that relieved feeling was stronger than the sadness at first. John being gone was somehow too much for me to grasp, but I was more than happy to accept that cancer was no longer a part of my daily life.

The endorphins of that no-more-cancer euphoria are wearing off. Now I just feel marrow-sucking sadness. I miss John. I miss our life, even the part with cancer. I hate wondering what things would be like if he were here, because I know things would be better. I was at a party over the weekend and the whole thing was so tedious for me, a minefield of chasing my kids around someone else's house, never having time to visit with anyone, consoling Riley, who kept hitting his head or being scared of strangers. I have no wingman, and I was in a place where everyone else had a wingman. It sucked.

I can't direct all of this foulness at John anymore because, alas, he is gone. So guess who's getting it now? That's right. The twins. I am short-tempered and crabby. I am no fun. I take away toys that cause disputes. I have no energy or creativity. Emmie sang a song into her son's pants the other day to help him through a stressful time—such an awesome idea! I have no such ideas. Upset about having to wear those pants you don't like? Sorry, life is hard, you'll be fine. That's the best I can do. I just can't help but feel that they would be happier if I were happier.

There are moments of joy (the kisses!) but there is a lot of drudgery in my life right now, and a partner would make life finding the joy so much easier. I'm an optimist by nature, and what keeps me going is the thought that there must be some payoff for this, something big waiting for me, and if I keep going and keep doing the best I can, I'm going reap some amazing benefit. For now, I'm doing the right things: I eat, I sleep, I get lots of help, I talk to a therapist. It's only been six months (or is that it's already been six months?), but I'm ready for my reward to come my way.

Annoying Tidbit, Funny Tidbit

ANNOYING
Took car (2004 model) in for 30K service yesterday. That alone set me back $500. Got a late-afternoon call letting me know that I also needed new front and rear brakes. Another $500. I'm getting my quarterly bonus on Friday. I've always dreamed of spending my bonus getting work done on my car! All my prayers have been answered.

FUNNY
When I put Riley in the car this morning, he reached for a couple of linking letters that were on the floor of the backseat. I reached down to get them for him and said, "Oh, you want those letters? There are two letters for you. What letters are they? Let's see . . . we have V, and, well, would you look at that, the other letter is D! We have VD! Fantastic!" I was more amused than Riley, that's for sure.

Broken Record, Redux

Picked up the kids from daycare. They were cranky. Nothing new.
Got home, played a bit, went in the kitchen for dinner.
I sat them in their high chairs, and the whining began. The food flinging began. It was all exacerbated by the arrival of two friends who came to babysit so that I could go to the movies with other friends. Tired, cranky Maddie and Riley gave my friends nervous, shifty looks between tosses of food onto the floor.
I sent my friends to the living room and managed to coax both kids into eating some fruit. I went to get a rag to wipe hands and let the kids out of their high chairs when bllargh, Riley barfed up his whole dinner.
This scared him. Who can blame him? So he started to scream.
Which scared Maddie. So she started to scream.
My friends came in to help. I'd set Riley down so that I could pull Maddie out of her chair. I got her out. Riley was clinging to my leg. Bllarrgh, Maddie barfed what seems like days worth of food all over me. It dripped onto Riley's head.
I got us all into the bathroom. Clothes off, into the tub with the babies. Barf all over the bathroom. Babies still screaming.
My friends cleaned up the kitchen. Thank goodness for friends.
I got the babies "clean." Cleaner, at least, and diapered, and into their pajamas.
They ate some Cheerios. And drank some milk. And went right to bed.
Poor babies, poor us. It was really quite awful.

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I was supposed to go see Bourne Ultimatum tonight. That did not work out. I did meet my friends out for dinner instead, which was nice, although I had to do a lot of crying before I could go into the restaurant.

I hope the babies sleep OK tonight. I'm now physically as well as mentally tired. I don't think the babies are actually sick; maybe Riley is teething? And Maddie just cried so hard she threw up. Poor thing.

Things are hard right now. I keep trying to figure out what I'm learning from this. So far, I just don't know. If my lesson is that sometimes life deals you a bad hand, I get it. If the lesson is that I am strong, I get it. If it's that no matter what, I'll get through this, check, got it. If it's that babies will be babies and it's just a phase, I get that, too. But I hope this phase is over soon.

Coming Apart at the Seams

My dad is doing better. Thank goodness for that.

The eating thing with the kids is better, too, so thank goodness for that. Mealtimes have been pretty peaceful.

What's not better re: kids is their evening time. There is so much crying and so much discontent in the hour between 6:00 and 7:00 lately. Sobbing, bereft small folk carrying on and on and on! They seem so tired, but if I put them to bed earlier than 7:00, they get up even earlier than they already do (currently awake between 6:00 and 7:00; out of bed at 7:00, once I'm done with my shower). I just can't deal with them getting up earlier since I have to get up 30 minutes before they do to get my morning routine out of the way. Maybe it's not fair to expect them to adapt to my schedule and cranky evenings are the price I'm paying.

What's also not better: me. I think planning John's memorial is bringing up a lot of stuff for me. Makes sense, but of course it's happening at a time when I am behind/overwhelmed at work, behind on personal projects, and dealing with cranky babies.

The memorial is going to be fairly simple. (Have I written about this before?) It's on August 18, in the late afternoon, with time for people to watch a slideshow of pictures from John's life, make a page for a scrapbook for Maddie and Riley, and play softball. Then there will be a buffet dinner, then a candle-lighting. That's all. No one gets to speechify at the candle-lighting, except maybe me. John's parents want to know what they can contribute; I don' t know how to tactfully tell them "nothing." They have a way of turning events that aren't theirs into theirs, and I won't have that at John's memorial.

There are going to be a million people in town that weekend; I'm not looking forward to crowd control. My parents, John's parents, my sis-in-law, and brother-in-law are all going to want lots of time with the kids. That's nice, but that means lots of people in my very small house during a time when I'm going to need some personal space. Plus there are friends I'm going to want to see, but I'm not sure when I'll have time. I probably won't. That's OK in the sense that they will understand, but I'll miss the comfort of time with them.

Lots of people can't come. It's summer, people have other plans. It's too far for some people to travel. I admit that I'm disappointed that some people aren't making more of an effort.

I need to do laundry. I need to find myself some dinner. I have a training for work tomorrow, which is going to leave me even further behind than I already am. Today started off great for the most part was a wonderful day. The kids were in such good moods for the morning. We went for a run with my neighbor, Maddie and Riley took a great morning nap, I got to talk to my dad, we took a walk to Trader Joe's had a friend and her baby over for lunch.

Then things got hairy. Riley cried and cried and CRIED for his afternoon nap, finally going to sleep after two interventions from me. His mood was not great for the rest of the day. We had some other friends over in the afternoon, and that was fun until the 6:00 crankfest began and there was much sobbing and horribleness. The twins did go to bed without a peep, so that's something. But when the afternoon/evening are hard, it's very difficult for me to motivate myself to do anything (except bitch on my blog) once the twins are sleeping.

Last night, after a lovely afternoon/evening with friends, I went to bed early. 9:15. I did a little (very little) pen and paper journaling and some drawing. I lit John's candle. I slept really well and the day started with so much promise. I hate feeling beaten down already, less than 24 hours later.

In comments, people have asked me about looking into anti-depressants. It's a worthwhile consideration. I'm a very medicine-leery person by nature. Also, and maybe this is strange, I worry that if I were to take ADs, and they helped me feel better, I wouldn't work through the grief that I need to work through. If I felt good enough to set that grief aside for now, would it come back ten times worse later on for never having been processed? That's probably an ass-backwards way of looking at it. I also feel like if I'm on medication, I need to be seeing someone regularly for therapy and support. I see a social worker every two weeks right now. Time is a lame excuse, but it's my only one. I have no idea how I could find time to regularly meet with a professional who could help me with the medication and with keeping the processing I'm doing now moving forward. I'm leery. It's just me.

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I talked to my sister-in-law yesterday morning. She's at home for the weekend. She and my brother-in-law got tattoos to commemorate John. We had all talked about getting tattoos when John got cancer; instead, we got bracelets because getting tattoos is not really advisable for cancer patients and we wanted something that could be a family symbol. So bracelets it was.

The tattoos that my sibs-in-law got are three interlocking circles, one for each of them plus John. If I'd gotten a tattoo when John got diagnosed, I would have gotten the symbol that we used on our wedding invitations, which was designed by my best friend's brother. It's a yin-yang symbol, but made of two geese. I can't describe it, and I don't have it in a format that can be posted here, drat.

In any case, I'm thinking that I might get the tattoo now. What I can't decide is where to do it. My first thought it to do it on my back, low and center, by the waistband of my pants. But then I can't see it without doing some major contortions. But do I need to be able to see it? I'm not sure. I want someplace where it will mostly be hidden by clothing, at least not visible in the workplace. Ideas?

Home

We're back in Boston. We made it through Chicago on Saturday just in time to avoid the snowstorm, thank goodness. Travel delays are no fun at any time, and I can only imagine the special circle of hell that is a long travel delay with two infants and a terminally ill husband.

Our trip was great. I loved having the time with my family, seeing friends, getting away for a night with GH.

The only bad part about the trip is how hard it was to leave. I know, I know, I need to adjust my attitude. I live here, there are a bunch of reasons that moving right now would be a bad idea, and I have a good life: great friends, nice house, etc.

But this is not home. Oregon is home to me. Mentally, I'm done with living here and every trip to Oregon makes is harder for me to focus on the good stuff that I have here. I know moving to Oregon would not be all wine and roses, but I just want to be close to my family. I feel so mentally fragile right now, and my family keeps me stable in a way that my friends in Boston don't, can't.

As soon as we got home on Saturday, all of my anger and resentment and hard bitterness just came right back. I felt irritated at GH for needing to take a nap, irritated at myself for being irritated, immobilized by the thought of needing to go to the grocery store, tired and cranky in general. I just felt overwhelmed, like I always feel. That feeling was gone when we were visiting my family. Granted, we were on vacation, staying with my parents, with helping hands all around and no need to do anything except relax and enjoy ourselves. I know that's an artificial reality. But I still keep coming back to how much I miss my family and the Oregon lifestyle. I hate winter out here. I hate the airport. I hate paying tolls to drive on the roads (even if I know it's a good way to create revenue to maintain them). I hate feeling like a single mom a lot of the time. I hate my job.

Some of the things I'm dissatisfied with here are not Boston-specific, to be sure. Some of them I have the power to change. But I feel tired, overwhelmed, and more inclined to just complain. Great! I am a laugh a minute.

I could also make a gratitude list of all the things I love about living here. But again, I feel tired, overwhelmed, and more inclined to just complain. At least for now.

It doesn't help that Maddie is sick (double ear infection + conjunctivitis), I'm sick (massive head cold + conjunctivitis), and Riley is kind of sick (minor cold + maybe conjunctivitis). Ugh.

Maybe I just need winter to be over? Although I can hardly complain as we've barely had a winter to speak of.

In sum, we're back. We're here. We'll muddle through. Work is exceedingly busy (although evidently not too busy for me to post!), but I'm working on catching up with my regular blogs. I've missed you.

O Blogging, How I Miss Thee

GH has the twins out on a late afternoon drive, so I'm finally stealing some time to blog. It's been so long that I don't even know where to start!

As mentioned in the previous post, I've been rather overwhelmed at work. Tasks keep getting handed to me, and none of them are things that I find particularly interesting. This is frustrating. While some of the tasks actually offer some fairly significant opportunities for growth, they all also come with the privilege (or so she'd have you believe) of working with a colleague who is the ultimate in condescending. She's an awful combination of know-it-all, bad listener, terrible communicator, and narcissist. She's smart and experienced, but her way of sharing her wisdom is just horrible. Combine that with my extreme sensitivity to people talking down to me and it's a really bad combination. Argh.

So work is taking its toll on me lately. That's kept me away from blogging just because I've been too busy during the day to sneak in postings. The other thing that's kept me away is that I've just needed a mental break. Not from the blogging, per se, as I've actually really missed it. But since I haven't been able to blog at work, that leaves me the evenings to get a post up. And lately, I've needed the evenings to myself. This week, once the twins have gone to bed, I've taken care of the essentials around the house and then it's been about the big glass of wine and a DVD. I'm getting hooked on Grey's Anatomy.

The mental break is partially from the stress of work. An even larger part of it is from the aftermath of my mother-in-law's visit. She was here for two weeks. She left last Saturday. Overall, her visit went like most of her visits do. We were polite to each other, but there was an undercurrent of tension that you could cut with a knife. On the day before she left, I just couldn't take it anymore and we ended up in a screaming match.

It was awful on one hand, but cathartic on another. While nothing was really resolved, the air did feel more clear after it was all over.

What set the screaming match off is of no consequence--it was minor thing on the surface, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. The undercurrents at work are mostly cultural. Coming from a Korean perspective, where she has the wisdom of age on her side:

1. She honestly can't comprehend why GH and I would not do what she says. We are the children. She is the mother. It is not our place to question, it is our place to do.
2. The idea that she is a guest in our house is quite literally foreign to her. She is family. In her mind, it's her house, too, and when she's here, I start to feel like a guest in my own home.

There is another, noncultural element at work too, a problem that I think most mothers- and daughters-in-law struggle with. It's one that's embarrassing for me to admit, but it's true. I want to be number one in GH's life. I want him to love me best. I want him to love me more than he loves his mother. Rationally, I know this is crazy--it's not a matter of loving her more or me more. I'm his wife, she's is mother. It's different. But there's still a part of me that wants to know that he loves me more. I know she feels the same way. That creates it's own tension, which, because of our situation with GH's cancer, is even more acute than it is for most couples.

Regarding the cultural stuff, I really don't know what to do. I like to think that I'm very respectful and aware of cultural differences. At the same time, I am a born-and-bred American and we're living in the United States. The idea that my home is my space is very, very important to me, as is the understanding that I'm an adult who makes her own decisions. My own parents are very respectful of both of those boundaries. While I may ask them for advice, they know that I--or GH and I together for couple-type things--ultimately make decisions on my own. When they don't agree with those decisions, they accept them even if it's hard for them to do so. When they visit, they make themselves at home and do things to help us, but in the context of asking us what it is that we would find helpful and only getting so comfortable as to not invade our privacy.

We have a small house. It's a two-bedroom, one bath, 1,100 square foot condo. We have two kids. I work full-time. GH and I don't get a lot of couple time and I get virtually no alone time. Having someone living in our living room (oh, the irony of the room's name!) meant that I really didn't get any alone time at all while my mother-in-law was here. Couple that with the stress I was under at work and I was wound pretty damn tight while she was here.

So we screamed at each other. As I said, it cleared the air in its own way. But it didn't resolve anything. I can't change her culture. She can't change mine. I feel like I'm willing to meet in the middle, but she's said that compromise is not a part of her game.

How can it be so difficult for us to get along when we both want the same thing? We just want the best for GH. Us not being able to work on that together is causing him stress that makes me feel awful. I feel like it's my mother-in-law who is being unreasonable. I'm having so much trouble seeing my part in this. The only "solution" I see is to let her be in charge, even in my own home. That's a bitter, bitter pill to swallow. Is that my only option?

What I wish could happen is that we could play by her rules at her house and GH and my's rules at our house. Another aspect of this problem is that when GH and I make decisions that she doesn't agree with (about medical treatment, kids, whatever), she thinks that I'm the sole decision maker, that I push GH do do things he wouldn't do if I weren't around. This is patently not true, but I make a very convenient scapegoat. (You can extrapolate that to the idea that if GH dies, his parents will blame me, but that's a post all of it's own.) If GH asks that she not send us so many care packages because we can't possibly eat all that food, for example, she hears me talking, not him. This, of course, only serves to make GH feel all the more trapped in the middle, which is stressful to him and counterproductive to the whole situation since we are all working for the same outcome.

Madeleine's physical therapy is a part of Early Intervention services. As part of EI, we can talk to a counselor about family stress. I met with the counselor for the first time today. Maybe she can help me with some of these issues. I'm probably going to be seeing her weekly. GH can join me if he wants. Hopefully she can help me work through some of these issues.

I want to end by saying that I don't mean to sound ungrateful to my mother-in-law for all the things she does for us. She is an amazing cook. She is very intuitive with the babies. She loves GH and I know that she also loves me. And I know that everything she does for us she does because of that love and because she truly believes that she is helping us. Ultimately, what I don't know how to resolve is that she's never asked GH or me what kind of help we want. She makes that decision on her own. When we've tried to guide her, she just does her own thing anyway, and then she gets mad if we ignore her advice, throw away what she sends us, etc. That kind of "help" creates stress for both me and GH. How can we balance her needs with ours? How can we all work together? I asked these questions during our screaming match, but that was hardly the circumstance under which to have a productive discussion. I go around and around and around in my head about this and ultimately come back to what I said earlier: If she's said flat-out that she's not going to change, all I can change is my attitude and my reactions. I'm just getting so worn out and stretched so thin that I don't know if I have the strength to do that. I'm so tired of managing other people's needs. So very tired.

Why?

Why didn't I post yesterday?

I was in a foul mood after a long, busy day at work followed by a hectic errand* on my way home followed by solo twin duty** when I finally got home.

* Had to drive to Cambridge to pick up a free crib from a woman who is a member of my moms of twins group. Yay for getting a free crib! The twins share a crib now, but will soon be too big and too mobile for that to continue, and in our inexperience/short-sightedness, we only bought one crib when we outfitted the nursery. But boo for having to drive deep into Cambridge at the start of rush hour, then navigate home.

**GH had picked the twins up from day care and fed them their dinner. But he was exhausted by the time I got home and had to retire to our bedroom to put his feet up and get some rest. His mouth sores are pretty much healed, but he's weak from not having been able to eat solid food during the mouth sore ordeal. Plus he has a lot of swelling in his legs and abdomen. The abdominal swelling creates pressure on his stomach which makes it physically hard for him to eat and also makes him prone to barfing. "Great."

Why do I lash out at my husband when I'm frustrated/sad/overwhelmed?

He's handy. I can't very well lash out at the babies. They are just babies. There's no one else close at hand.

When GH isn't doing well and when I have to pick up so much slack, I'm prone to get mad at GH. Of course, I'm not really mad at him. I'm mad at the situation and scared of what's to come. But poor GH bears the brunt of my fear and anger. I hate that. I wish I could control it better. I'm sure it would help me to go to some kind of counseling, but when? It seems nigh impossible to find a time that I could make that work.

I could go on with the whys forever. Instead, I'm going to go to bed. GH and I tried to have a date night at home tonight; we got the babies to bed just past 7:00, ordered Indian food (GH's request!), and settled in with a movie. It was great for about an hour. Then the smell of the food really started to bother GH. (He only ate naan and drank a mango lassi.) Then he ended up barfing and he's just really tired so we're calling it a night.

I'm happy to get in bed an read. That's one of life's great pleasures for me. I'm going to start The Omnivore's Dilemma. Anyone read it? Thoughts?

My parting thought for the evening: I'm really, really scared.

Maybe I Should Have Set the Bar Higher

2007 is not off to an auspicious start.

I have been sick since New Year's Eve. I have what I call "Peace Corps Illness," a disease I have not had since, well, I was in the Peace Corps from 94-97.* I have a fever, chills, body aches, night sweats, general fatigue, lack of appetite. I have been home from work for the past two days. Thank goodness for day care; I have dropped the babies off each morning and then scurried home to go back to bed. All I do is pump and sleep. And eat, if drinking juice counts as eating.

I could feel better anytime and that would be fine.

Meanwhile, GH still has a mouth full of sores and ankles that are more swollen than mine ever were during pregnancy. We're a fine pair taking care of the twins while we try to take care of each other and ourselves. The poor twins--every minute they are awake I'm counting the minutes until they go to bed. Last night I had a chill so bad that my whole body was shaking and my teeth were chattering the entire time I was getting Riley ready for bed. I literally tucked him in and crossed the hall to my own bed where I passed out for hours.

Thank goodness the babies are sleeping so well, though.

Maybe I'll go back to work tomorrow. Maybe. We'll see how my fever does overnight. As luck would have it, my dad gets to town for a visit tomorrow night; an extra set of hands could not come at a better time than this weekend.

I would say that things can only get better, but that would be sheer folly.

* I should write a post sometime about the similarities between Peace Corps and the military. The parallels are endless, one of them being that whenever volunteers meet each other, we say our country and years of service, just like military members do. Or I think they do. So I say, "Gabon, 94-97."

Christmas Eve

I have been an emotional roller-coaster today.

GH's nose is still bleeding, off and on. That scares the holy living shit out of me. Plus he has awful acid reflux that has given him a sore throat that has driven him to take Oxycodone along with the usual lozenges and tea with honey.

I'm tired of complaining.

I'm tired of being scared.

I'm tired of not getting what I want.

I'm tired of being tired.

I'm tired of cancer.

I'm tired of feeling like I get the short end of the stick.

I'm tired of feeling sorry for myself.

I'm tired of always being in charge.

I'm tired of making decisions.

I'm tired of posting complaints and sob stories.

Speaking of sobbing, I just listened to Riley SOB himself to sleep, and I mean full body shaking, red, angry sobbing, for 20 minutes. My back is so tense I feel like I might break in two. Riley is overtired.

Maddie went right down for her nap. She was just sleepy. Just right.

GH is napping, too. Not sure if he's sleeping, but at least he's resting.

I don't expect perfection, but this isn't the Christmas Eve I wanted. GH and I can't talk because his throat hurts too much. I'm frustrated that he doesn't feel well, so I lash out at him because there's no one else around. We squabble, and we're not squabblers. The babies have been cranky. I'm convinced that Riley has it out for me because of the CIO.

GH tells me to wake him from his nap when I need him. I find this difficult. On one hand, I need him all the time. On the other hand, I need to learn how to be without him. I know what he means, but it's still hard for me to judge.

Riley keeps making short outbursts every few minutes. I think he's actually sleeping, just not soundly.

As for me, I may be tired, but I'm wide awake.

One More Thing

Just went to pump and realized that I left the power supply cord for my pump at home. Curses!

Thankfully I have a coworker who pumps, so I borrowed hers. It's just one of those days.

Monday

Hello, Monday that fits all Monday-related stereotypes. Kids wanted to get up at 5:00, and no attempts to convince them that was a bad idea would work. Had argument with husband at 6:15am. First snow (not enough to be a problem on the commute, and it's actually rather pretty, but still!) Forgot my lunch. Have waaaaay too much to do at work and waaaaay too little motivation. Have to spend afternoon at company sales meeting. First phone call of the day was to Early Intervention to make an appointment for Maddie to get evaluated (more on that soon; nothing serious, but still).

On the plus side, I'm wearing pre-pregnancy dress pants (have to look nice for aforementioned sales meeting) that I pulled out on a whim thinking they would never fit, but what the hell, why not try. And lo, they fit just fine. Shocker, in a good way.

Sunday Night Blues

The only thing not to like about weekends is that all too soon, Sunday night rolls around. When I was in school, Sunday night meant homework. Now that I'm a worker bee, it means trying to remember what I was doing at work last week, pulling the twins' stuff together for day care, planning ahead for what's to come during the week. It used to mean dreading getting up early on Monday morning, but now that happens every day, ho ho.

This weekend has been busy, but nice. Lots of friends around. GH hasn't felt so good, though, so that was a downer. I'm worried about him, more so than usual. He's all itchy, a sign of high liver function. He's really, really tired, more tired than a guy with cancer and twins usually is. He just seems a little hollow.

I've been racing around all day trying to get the bulk of the Sunday chores done so that once the twins are in bed, GH and I can enjoy some time together to talk and just be. Of all the great things about weekends, that time is the best of all.

It's Thursday, Not Monday

I wanted to be whimsical and funny and breezy today, full of good cheer and smiles. Instead, I present to you My Day and my sincere hope that I can be sunnier tomorrow.

1:00 Maddie up for no good reason, crying. GH gets her back to sleep.
3:00 Everyone who is a baby eats.
5:00 Everyone who is a baby decides it’s time to get up. GH gets up with Riley. Maddie stays in bed with me. She intermittently fusses, punches me in the face, and dozes.
5:30 I hear a big CRASH in the bathroom. I ignore it.
6:00 Maddie is doing more punching and fussing than dozing, so I get up. I find Riley asleep in his carseat and GH on the couch under a blanket, watching TV with no sound. GH explains that the crash I heard was him falling over in the bathroom and hitting his back (?!) on the tub.
6:00-7:00 I race around and do all the morning prep work (packing my bag, packing lunches, mixing formula and packing the baby bag, etc.) because GH is sacked out on the couch.
7:00 I feed babies, GH takes shower.
7:15 I go to take shower, but drop one of my contact lenses on the floor and have to spend 10 minutes looking for it.
7:40 GH and I argue about whether or not his back can handle carrying the babies and going to work. We decide it can. I race out the door because I’m seriously behind at work and need to come in early.
8:10 I arrive at work. Traffic was a serious bitch.
8:15 I cook myself some oatmeal because I didn’t have time for breakfast at home. I decide to multitask and make my coffee while my oatmeal cooks. The oatmeal boils over in the microwave, creating a sticky mess.
8:30 I work for an hour.
9:30 I go to a company meeting led by Ken Doll from the home office. He assures us that our company is a "vital part of the corporate portfolio" and that our company president, who recently quit, will be replaced ASAP. He admonishes us all to keep our noses to the grindstone. He uses a lot of Successories in his speech. I feel ill.
10:00 I pump.
10:30 I work for 30 min.
11:00 I go get my haircut.
12:30 I work for 30 min.
1:00 I pump.
1:30 I work for 30 min.
2:00 Cake and a surprise party for a pregnant coworker!
3:00 Department meeting! I am handed a deadly boring proofreading project. "Yay."
3:30 Meeting for which I am totally, 100% unprepared. But the woman I'm meeting with fails to notice! Score!
4:00 I pump.
NOW I'm gearing up to go home.

The day has actually gotten steadily better as it goes on. I'm hoping this means that I will get home to find a husband whose back magically feels better and two happy babies.