Dr. Feelgood

On the way home from my sister’s house, Nori’s complaining increased with the passing of mile markers.  Finally, around Long Branch, the retching came.  Earlier, at dinner, Nori had requested her pasta sauce-less so that she could match her cousin.  My only saving grace in the situation, so thank you Tyler. 
She was crying for her boo boo belly, her yucky ducky, and messy jamas. Not until she was home and clean did she calm down and pass out on the couch.  Charlie took advantage of the situation, requesting “one more show,” before bed, more than one time.  However, the next day he made up for it.
Nori, sad with fever, silently sat on the couch almost all day.  Her silence, so rare, motivated and inspired Charlie to put on a show.  First, he attempted to pull a rabbit out of his magic hat.  He has somehow procured a black top-hat (possibly from Nonna’s crazy closet?) and he has often touted its magical qualities.  On this particular day, he stuffed it with a stuffed bunny and repeatedly pulled it out for our amazement. He was determined to make his sister feel better and seemed puzzled by her continued lack of play.  “Charlie, Nori has a fever.  She is too sick to play, but thanks for trying to make her laugh.  Charlie, undeterred by my explanation, made a seamless transition from magician to comedian.  “A beaver?  Whataya mean she has a beaver?”   Finally, she smiled.  His funniness finally acknowledged he followed his act with a series of funny faces and some dancing. 

While Nori is generous and obvious with her love and affection, Charlie can be a bit staid.  His love and devotion to her, however, cannot be questioned, especially when she needs him most.

Rapunzel and Firetruck Birthday Cakes

Voices Carry

I try to think about what it is like to have a vision, something I want done and the frustration in trying to convey that vision for someone else to execute.  It is almost impossible to get all the details right with all the pitfalls of connotation that verbal communication contains. I think of T.S. Eliot and Prufrock's love song, "That's not what I meant.  That's not what I meant at all."   I try to keep this in mind as Nori screams. 

She wants the paper folded, the food arranged, the line drawn, dolls arranged, in a proper way-the way she envisions.  I am not getting it right and she lacks the dexterity to do it herself.  So the freak out begins.  "Is is really that big a deal?" I plead.  Apparently it is.  Why else would she be drowning in her own tears, shrieking spit everywhere.

This will not change.  Sure her motor skills will improve and she will be able to cut her own food. Her verbal skills will improve and she will be able to communicate in a way that might be clearer.  I doubt it will always be clear to me.

Lay it Down

It came on slow at first, and then with more intensity, as I tried to get comfortable.  My room was pre-dawn dark as I narrowed my eyes into their habitual squint to see the clock.  3:00 a.m.? My stomach churned.  Was I drunk?  No, I didn’t think so, though two beers are enough to get me tipsy lately.  Food of questionable origin?  Before I could recount what I had eaten that night I made a quick shuffle to the bathroom and retched. By dawn I made that same shuffle more than a few times, and my state did not improve as the morning went on.  Only the wave of sickness in my stomach could propel me from bed, where I promptly returned after I could calm the storm in my stomach.  Sometime that morning I decided I would not leave my room, my bed, that entire day.

I am a just keep going kind of girl.  Pain, if not visible in the form of blood or vomit, can be ignored.  If I am not obviously ill, then I can function.  The thing is, there have been times when it was obvious to anyone but me that I was sick, and not always the physical flu kind of “sick.”  It has become easier to ignore what hurts then to let the pain take over and knock me down. What if I can’t get back up?

As the sunlight came through the curtains muffled morning sounds drifted and swirled in the room.  I could hear Bryan and my mom shushing the kids as they played and on my way back from the bathroom for the umpteenth time I almost turned at the stairs.  How could I let a whole day go by without participating?  Before I could decide, my body shoved me back to my bed, where I drifted in and out of consciousness for the entire day. Strangely, sickly, I was grateful.

People who are legitimately, seriously, bed ridden should/would find my gratitude repulsive.  To be grateful to be confined, miss out on a day of life, is/should be, awful.  But one day, a day that I knew would be one, was long overdue.  I needed to make up for the days when I should have just stayed down.  Sadness is a funny thing.  We think we are so strong when we can push through it and carry on.  But like mold it festers and grows if left unchecked.

Luckily, gratefully, I was fine the next day.  Better than fine.  If I was grateful to be sick I am even more grateful to be well.  In a dark room, cloaked in a duvet and silence, I got well in way that was unexpected and long overdue.

Say Say Say

“You are my nest,” he said, as he rubbed his little head into the fleece fold of my bathrobe. Charlie has always been a big fan of the robe, often requesting that I don it at bedtime so we can snuggle for stories.

Most of the writing lately has landed on the Jersey Mom’s Blog, but Charlie’s use of the word “nest” seemed so symbolic that I had to visit my much neglected blog. My thoughts this morning felt more personal than publishable so The Nest felt like the perfect place to put them.

When a random post of a cute kid quote appears on Facebook, I always read it. Sometimes I think, awe, cute. Sometimes I think who cares about your cute kid. Sometimes I think that there is no way your kid said or did that and that a lot gets lost in parental translation. Nevertheless, here I am waxing pathetic poetry about Charlie and his nest nuzzle.

The thing is, these cute things will probably get forgotten lest we write them down somewhere. Some, the really good ones, we will remember, but most of the day to day mispronunciations and hilarious one-liners will fall to the side once we hit the throws of adolescence. Perhaps one day when we may be lucky enough to be grandparents, our children’s offspring will trigger a bum rush of memories of our own babies and we will be able to clearly recall the nuances of our once newborns and toddlers. However, I do not trust my memory, so, annoying or not, here goes my kid quotes. I make them public just in case the damage done between my 20’s and 30’s make my ability to recall impossible and my chances of living to be a grandparent slim.

“I’ll have the grinilla cereal,” Nori’s response to “Do you want Gorilla Munch or O’s for breakfast.” If I say the “gorilla” clearly and slowly she will repeat it back, but most of the time that big hairy monkey is called a “grinilla.” Bryan wonders if one day she will go for “big grinilla juice heads.” Oh to think for a moment that our daughter could be like Snoookie. Terrifying to say the least.

Also in Nori’s vocabulary, “mazageen,” as in, “I will put Gre-Gre’s (my mother) mazageen (People) over here so she can read it to me later. Not sure what I worry about more-Nori’s mispronunciations or that special reading time with my mother includes Hollywood gossip.

Nori also has an accent, or speech impediment, depending on the way you look at it, that seems like it might be regional, yet I cannot pin it to any region we have visited. Words like Candy-corn, unicorn, more and even her own name, come out as “Candy-Kurn,” “unikurn,” “mur,” and “Nuri.” I blame the prodigious amount of Australian and Canadian children’s programming that streams through our television.

“Top Sir Hat,” stands in for Sir Topham Hat. Charlie says that he is scared of him because he is always, “so cross.” I am scared of him too, but mostly for his promotion of communism on the Isle of Sodor. Charlie also speaks in imperatives. “Mommy, you snuggle with me.” “Mommy, you get me more milk.” “Mommy, you play rescue helicopter with me.” This sentence structure, coupled with his sing song tone, make it impossible for me to say no. The combination of this early speech pattern and Thomas the Tank Engine politics could make him a fierce politician one day. Best to teach him about deleting text messages and email as soon as you read them right away.

There are more of course, but my already addled brain cannot come up with any right now. Nori’s coughing woke me up around 4:30 am giving me a chance to write between 5:30 and 7:00am. I am caught between grateful and goofy after my first cup of coffee. So I am off to get the second cup in the hopes that the creativity will continue for the next Jersey Mom’s post.

My Pulse on the First Morning

Good Morning Nest.  I  know, I have neglected you for so long.  Surely, no one will read this, for any readers I had have given up on my updates.  Perhaps I have been followed on Jersey Moms Blog, but there are other people there and who would want to weed through a bunch of writers you do not know.  Maybe someone will come back, some old fan of the Burgeoning Belly.  If they do, I hope they do, they will know that today is a big day.

The first day of pre-school.  It's only two days a week, four hours, but still huge.  It is only 6:45 am right now.  I do not drop them off until 1:00.  Luckily, I started sweating about this on Sunday, so I have had plenty of time to work my way up to an anxiety attack.  I can hear Nori begin to sing her morning song upstairs.  Let's let the day begin.

The Dog Days Are Over

I ran a five mile race on Saturday under a cloudless sky while looking out over a perfect seascape. I barely felt the impact of the Long Branch boardwalk beneath my feet. Probably because I was being lifted up by so much support, and I do not just mean from my new sports bra! Bryan and Amanda cheered as I made my first pass while Nori and Charlie waved robotically and then enthusiastically once they recognized that it was me. I spent the next 50 feet trying to run, breathe and cry all at the same time. I just could not get over how much love and gratitude I could feel right down to my bones. Once the tears were gone, I thought about the things that a long run helps to contemplate. Poems, songs, memories-good and bad. I started with Nori’s wave.

I love to look at Nori’s hands. They flutter around with such natural grace that it makes my heart ache. I just think, God that is such a miracle, the way her hands move that way, holding a crayon, feeding her baby dolls, making “hot moly,” a special brew of flower petals, grass and fallen fall leaves. Yesterday I tried to teach her how to use scissors, not expecting success, but just to get in some experience. She stubbornly would not give it up until she had (with my assistance) cut out a square of paper. In her first borrowed library book, Countdown the Cinderella’s Ball, there is a line, “Ten Fingers Touch,” and when Bryan read it to her they touched fingers, which set a precedent for the readings that followed. Every time we read that page, she extends out her elegantly tiny fingers and brushes them with mine.
I love to watch Charlie’s mind work. He sees shapes in places I don’t think to look, creating the lessons I feel like I should be providing. Then I think, “Maybe I taught him that,” and then I realize that I didn’t, but yet somehow he can identify an octagon even when it is not a stop sign. His sense of direction already surpasses mine (which I know is not that hard) but his unprompted narration of familiar routes cracks me up. Our drive from our house to the Gym is landmarked with his backseat commentary: “Haircut, ouchie. Chuck E Cheese. Get Gas. Need Money. The Gym!” I also love the feel of his weight in my lap. If he finds me, or anyone really, seated on the floor with crossed legs, he grabs a book and settles down right in the nook. Much like Bryan, he loves to tease Nori and me, far past the point of funny and right into nudgie. Yet I marvel at his already determined sense of humor.
“I do not doubt God is good, well meaning and kind.” Countee Cullen asks about the things that do not seem to make sense in this world in “Yet Do I Marvel.” So much does not make any sense, but yet there is so much to marvel.