Julie Tullos

We never know which tiny piece of snow holds back the avalanche. We don’t know until that one piece finally shifts, or lets go, and then everything rushes down. I’ve been searching for my own Atlas, and I haven’t found it yet. Today was just one more tiny piece of what I hope is the crumbling pie.

Atlas holds the weight of the world on his shoulders and this is how I feel everyday. But more than just feeling responsible for everyone and everything around me, is the shame and disgust I feel about my own self. That may sound harsh but it’s true – so true. Five years ago I was about 40 pounds lighter and a half a world away from F*A*T. Ten years ago I was 50 pounds lighter and strong – and happy. Stressed out of course – because if horses are your life you are ALWAYS stressed – but happy nonetheless.

When you are five foot two fifty/forty pounds is a LOT. So what happened? I couldn’t even tell you. Getting older? Sure. Hormones changing? Sure? Depression? Probably. But I honestly think that not being able to live life MY WAY all the time was the kicker. It’s easy to blame having a child for your body to change – but having a child also changed the entire way I view my world. As it should, right? The kid becomes your universe. But somewhere in the last five years I lost myself.

It started with less riding, and then pain set in. The pain got worse until it became unbearable to ride. The fear factor was there as well – if I ride I may fall and then I won’t be able to take care of my kid because I will be hurt and it’s also hard to take care of her if I’m in pain. I became less confident. Less confident equals less riding. I remember just a few months after Baby Girl was born I was riding a large pony and for some unknown reason that pony decided I was trying to ask for a lead change (I was not) and he did not agree that a lead change was in the plan. So he bucked me off. And I was surprised as I landed on my back in the dirt, surprised that he got me. And it shook me. The pain was intense. My baby was only two months old.

Along with less riding and more pain comes more responsibility. Who is going to watch Baby Girl if I’m not? Especially in the beginning when my husband was in Haiti. My parents didn’t live close and most of my friends didn’t live close either. It was hard. I used to strap her car seat onto the four wheeler in order to go feed the horses. But she’s always been a demanding child and doing anything while watching her was damn near impossible. So I stopped cleaning the barn, fixing jumps, and taking care of the paddocks, except for what was absolutely necessary.

I was tired. I took a lot of naps. Depression set in and all I wanted to do was sleep. I still take a lot of naps – it’s an escape. The only time I do not have to be responsible for anything. And then came my aging parents – who are not to blame of course, but as their daughter I am one-half of all they have and they are my responsiblity as well. We’ve always been a close-knit family and I’m certainly not going to let them down.

I’ve been trying for years to lose weight – even as I watch it creep higher and higher still. I worry about sugar, and diabetes, and depression (sugar blocks seratonin after all) and I worry about heart disease and most of all, about Dementia. I think that the healthier I get the more likely I am to avoid Alzheimer’s. I have read book after book about healthy eating. I have made a lot of small changes. I joined CrossFit. I push myself. But I’m still tired. Still overweight. Still hate the way I look in the mirror. When push comes to shove and I get stressed I turn to sugar and carbs every time. It’s easy.

I hate to cook. I prefer things that are ready made. I don’t want to peel vegetables and figure out what to do with them to make them edible. I did cut out most fried food awhile back – acid reflux made that decision easy. Dr. Pepper and Diet Coke are way more satisfying than water. I’m only counting down the hours til it’s time to drink wine anyway. I do drink water – just not enough. I eat all the right things – just not enough. I go to work out – just not enough. I’ve cut back on the sugar – just not enough.

What will it take? Where is my Atlas? I need that avalanche to fall – I need to lose weight and not hate the way I look, I want to look sexier and younger and I want to FEEL LIKE A BAD ASS. I want to wear the clothes I already own and not fill them out so well and so much. I want to fit in jeans I haven’t worn in years. And I want to be a bad ass Mama. These kids that look at their mama’s in the gym while they’re lifting 200 plus in a clean – I want to be one of those mom’s.

I know I can do it. Maybe the wine is my Atlas….

My brother and I just spent our very first family Christmas together, alone, without our parents. It’s something I wasn’t prepared for. With mom in memory care and Dad in the hospital it was just us and our four children. I made the kids wait until my husband woke up on Sunday morning before we could open presents. It just felt too weird not to have another adult there. Like some sort of bizarre plot twist in a time travel movie.

Overall we had a good time. We did go visit my parents and the kids opened gifts from them that Grandpa paid for but never saw. Dave ordered them and I wrapped them and the kids gleefully tore into them, unaware and unconcerned of what emotional price I was paying. We went to Babe’s chicken one night and ordered pizza the next. No traditional Christmas dinner was planned nor cooked. No cookies were baked and no pies were devoured. My nephew watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas four times. I’ve had “wa hoo wa hoo wa hoo wa hoo something something Christmas day” stuck in my head ever since.

The two girl cousins had a great time until there was a misunderstanding over a stuffed unicorn and both girls were in tears and tired of each other. I was done drinking and ready for bed before my brother was, which we were probably both disappointed by but there’s only so much I can handle before I need to escape. I’m still recovering.

Today is Christmas Eve. Tony and Baby Girl and I went to see my mom and took her gifts for Christmas. Her room at the memory care center is always fairly destroyed when I arrive. She spends her time moving her possessions around, packing them up and stuffing them in bags and cabinets. She is clearly confused by her surroundings at the best of times. I tried to decorate her apartment with all the things she loves best: pictures of her and Dad, pictures of me and David and all her grandchildren, things my dad made for her and things that belonged to her mother. My grandmother loved yellow roses, yellow roses were all over her house, especially on these fancy plates. There are big plates and small plates, gold rimmed plates and plates that should be hung up and plates that sit on fancy holders. There are cups and saucers, too. They’re all beautiful and they’re all extremely old. And precious to my mom.  Oddly, I feel absolutely no nostalgia for these things except for the fact that I know my mom loves them.

Today I found a broken saucer. Did she drop it? It’s split clean in half. She had shoved it back in a cabinet and I found it there and sadly pulled it out. Oh no! I cried to Tony, look! I was devastated. Mom couldn’t tell me how it happened. She told me not to worry about it, she seemed very unconcerned. And as she was sitting there WITH BABY GIRL NEXT TO HER, she asked where is Baby Girl? I looked at Tony and he looked at me and neither of us said anything at all. She opened one of her gifts, a shirt, from me and told me she loved it. Later, when we were getting ready to go she said “oh I don’t need that thing.” Referring to the same shirt.

We took her to Whataburger for lunch. She was overjoyed and kept repeating “this is just incredible” and “you are so sweet to do this for me.” But at the same time she was very worried about being in the truck and absolutely unsure what was going on at any time. When I took her into the restroom I noticed that once again there was a wet spot on the back of her pants. She also told me that the place smelled but I am pretty sure it’s just that she gets STUFF under her fingernails. STUFF that I don’t want to spell out. Because she can’t remember to use toilet paper and gets confused in the bathroom. THIS is why she’s in memory care, this more than anything else. It just guts me to realize that it will still happen, even with the best of care. You can’t tell her, either. She’d be extremely embarrassed and she wouldn’t let you help her wash her hands. So there’s no point but to just endure the outing and get her back to her apartment as soon as possible and hope that someone there notices and does something about it.

Like the saucer, I am broken. I can’t enjoy this season. I am sad and angry and not yet ready to relax about it all. I wish my Dad was at home, I am not sure if that would have made any difference but it would have been nice to have him with us at our Christmas celebration. The thing that tears me up most, about the broken saucer, is that Mom wasn’t concerned about it. What was once precious to her has been forgotten.

Sometime, in the not so distant future, my brother and I and our children will all be just like that broken saucer.

We’ve been looking at memory care facilities this week. Dad and I checked out two on Monday here in Denton and Wednesday I went and looked at two more in Frisco. Two of the four places have been chucked out of the running already. I have two more that I haven’t seen yet.

People say “oh you’ll know when the time is right to move your mom.” I call Bullshit. It’s never going to be the right time. She loves my Dad and she is comfortable at home. She knows us all by name still. How do you broach the subject of moving into a whole other place? Sure, she can bring her cat (a pet friendly place is non-negotiable) and we will furnish the room with stuff from her own life, her own things. But still, she will not be with Dad every day. How will she handle the transition? Will she feel like we are being terribly mean and shunting her away? Will she even know the difference? Will she get used to a new place? Will she enjoy being cared for so completely? Having new people around her, and new things to occupy her time? Will she blossom with the attention? Or will she go downhill again? It’s impossible to know. Her brain is dying but the rest of her is doing fine. How long until she loses what is left? There are too many questions and not enough answers.

I bet you can’t imagine how much a memory care facility costs per month. How do people cope that do not have any savings? I can’t even fathom putting her in a place that is “less” than these private care and private pay places we are considering. One of them was $6600 a month! And that wasn’t even the nicest place. They also were offering a “special” of $4500 a month – lock that rate in for two years! Well hell let me run home and say “HURRY UP MA we gotta take advantage of the move-in special! Grab your things and let’s go!”  What total crap. This is the same place where the Director took me into a room that was locked in order to show me yet another gathering place that looked like all the others. The reason the room was locked was because this lovely young lady was doing music therapy with a very old resident. The Director proceeded to tell me very loudly – over the music – what the room was used for. The guitar playing music therapist kept stealing glances at the Director. I’m sure they appreciated the intrusion.

I wonder what my mom went through when she was having to move my Granny from her house in Austin to an assisted living place in Tyler. She started out in a little house in an assisted living community, then had to move to an actual assisted living building before finally being moved to a nursing home. There may have been another move in there. I wish I had paid more attention. I especially wish I had paid attention to how my mom handled telling Granny about each move. Granny did not have Alzheimer’s – she had a type of dementia called Lewey-Body syndrome. Different, more entertaining certainly because Lewey-Body makes you hallucinate. Granny also did not have my grandfather. He passed away long before I was born. Did that make it easier? Granny was used to living alone, the only person she had to depend on in the end was my mom. My mom did not have the best relationship with her mom growing up. Was there a disconnect there at all? I do know how hard it hit her when she missed being with Granny by ten minutes when she died. I can still hear her voice on the phone when she called me shortly after. I know how my mom suffered over her death.

I pray every day about this situation. I pray for my mom of course, but I also pray that I will not get Alzheimer’s. The odds are stacked against me but I’ll fight it. God knows I won’t ignore the signs and symptoms if and when they come. I pray that Baby Girl will not agonize for one minute over what to do with me. I will do everything I can to make advanced directives regarding my care. If nothing else this process has taught me to be prepared, to think ahead and to definitely not ignore my health. I pray for peace for my mom and for my dad. In the end I hope that Baby Girl does not have to deal with this same situation but if she does, I hope that she knows that I want her to live her best life. Surround me with my stuff, my books and my pictures and my bottles of wine and I’ll be just fine.

I should’ve seen it coming. Anytime there’s a horseshow coming up, or a weekend that is going to be very busy – it rains. Baby Girl gets sick. Something happens that requires emergency attention. My whole weekend shot to hell.

I am bleary eyed. At 5:45 am I was informed that someone was too sick to go to school today. “You want to hear my bad cough Mommy?” Kid, I’ve heard it. I’ve heard it all night. And for pete’s sake go back to sleep – it’s Saturday. “Noooo” she whines “I want to get uuuuupppp!” And because I know it won’t stop until I do, I get up. Get her settled watching a movie. Can’t go back in my bedroom because Tony is asleep from working the night shift and it’s not like Baby Girl is going to let me sleep anyway. The dog is whining. Have to call Dad to tell him to get his medicine out at 6 am. Have to call him again at 7 to be sure he’s doing it. Was supposed to sleep there last night but didn’t want to expose him to Baby Girl’s germs.

It’s 7:55 and I’ve already fed the horses, given the cat endless treats, ripped at least five things out of the dog’s mouth that she’s not supposed to be chewing on, started the laundry, gotten the Princess Tylenol that she won’t take – she has a 101.6 fever – and taken stock of my wreck of a house. I’ve already had one Diet Coke and am working on a Dr. Pepper. The horses have been in for three days and I’m going to have to turn them all out in the mud later. I need to do invoices and the lesson schedule for November. HOW is it already November?!

My brother is coming from Austin today to discuss with me and Dad what our future options are for my Mom. Super fun conversation. Can’t wait. Tony will get to escape at 3:30 and go back to work while I *possibly* help the kids get ready for the horseshow tomorrow – I haven’t heard that it’s been canceled and it probably won’t be canceled until the horses are all back in the stalls bathed and prepped and the tack is all clean. I won’t be able to teach in my arena for at least three consecutive sunny days and it’s going to rain again on Tuesday.

Annnnnddddd Dad just called and informed me he needs to go back to the ER. Something not right with the wound from his surgery. A hard ball that is getting bigger and is very painful, which the doctor dismissed yesterday at the appointment. I have not been impressed with this doctor. He JUST got the wound vac off yesterday.

Is there a plus side? I can’t think of one at the moment. I want to wring my hands in despair and lay my head in the cradle of my arms and start drinking RIGHT NOW. I want to FIX everything and it’s all out of my hands.

Is God trying to tell me something here? Don’t sweat the small stuff? Enjoy the teeny tiny positives in life? Don’t strangle the dog for chewing up your boots or the cats when they won’t stop walking back and forth over your keyboard? They are still God’s creatures after all. God, if there was ever a time I needed you, my family needed you, to not only walk beside us, but CARRY us – it’s now. Please let the footprints in the sand be yours. Please give us inspiration and strength and wisdom and faith.

Also, please bring me a house cleaning fairy and a wine membership.

 

When shit hits the fan, when stress has you wallowing in self pity, when it’s all you can do to keep breathing – what do you turn to to help you cope?

September 16th my Dad went in for a vascular surgery. He was nervous, I was nervous. He’s the provider for my mom, who has dementia, and organizing everything so that he could get this surgery done was no mean feat. Mom cannot be left alone anymore so between myself, my brother, my husband, Mom’s caregiver and my good friend Kathy we managed to be in all places at all times for everyone, Baby Girl and the horses included, while Dad was in the hospital and then for the first few days he was home. All was well.

Fast forward two weeks. Dad tells me he’s not feeling great. He has a fever, and chills and is throwing up. I think Flu. The next morning I come over to see him and I am shocked at how he looks. Gray. Like death has set up camp a few streets over. I see in his eyes, this is not something minor. I take him to the ER right away. Once we get in the back, the people start swarming around him. I sit back and think to myself “Shit. This is not how it was when Mom came in. This is a bit concerning. Why are there so many people?” They are putting two IV’s in – one in each arm. They are using an ultrasound machine to do it. They are taking blood and administering fluids and nobody is talking to me. Finally one of the nurses (I think) tells me they are treating him as if he is septic. He is nonchalant about this so I don’t really think much of it. We start getting results in – no pneumonia. Lungs are clear. For a man who has smoked a pack a day for 65 years this in itself is pretty amazing. Next – no flu. Well I guess it’s an infection from the surgery then? It doesn’t look too bad they tell me. Dad tries to tell them it hasn’t been right since the surgery. Never stopped weeping, doesn’t want to heal. They nod sagely. We need him to give a urine sample they say.

We wait. Five hours later they admit him. I can’t stay – Dad is alone in the hospital because I have to leave to be with my mom when her caregiver leaves for the day. At this point I don’t really realize how close he was – how dangerous his symptoms were. Nobody tells me anything. I get one phone call from a case worker who tells me what room they are moving him to. I get no further results – no information about what is wrong with him. Dad is in no condition to text or call. Everything is eerily silent.

The next day after the caregiver arrives for Mom, and getting Baby Girl to school, horses fed, I finally make it to the hospital. He is bitching non-stop about how bad his neck hurts so I know he is feeling better. Over the next few days his discharge date keeps getting moved back and nobody ever bothers to fill me in on a diagnosis. I beg my brother to come – I need him to be with Dad. When he arrives he makes heads roll until he gets some answers. Finally a diagnosis. A staph infection and septicemia. What? I google it. BLOOD POISONING. From the staph infection. From the original surgery, though no one will admit that.

My Dad waited a very long time to have this surgery. Which was supposed to help with blood circulation in his left leg. This is what he got for his trouble. A near-death experience with a bacteria called Staph. Even now, weeks later, he is home and still very sick. He is on antibiotics which must be administered by IV through a PIC line every eight hours. Guess who gets to administer the late at night one? Yours truly. Baby Girl and I are having a never ending sleepover at my parents house. (Which I am SO OVER by the way).

Like I said, Dad has been smoking for 65 years. He is 73 years old. That’s a lot of cigarettes. A lot of nicotine. A lot of reason for his veins to shut down. A lot of time to try and quit, and never succeeding.

Since he got home from the hospital he has noticed that every evening around 6:30 he starts feeling really, really bad and is short of breath. Tonight he said “I think I figured it out. The wine, I think it is the wine.” Dad likes a glass of wine every night – he enjoys it immensely. I say well Dad why don’t you try not having it tomorrow and see if you don’t feel this way? And he answers – I love that wine. I look forward to it every day. And I point out that he’s on a lot of medication and that if it IS the wine, then hopefully after he’s done with all this medicine that he could go right back to drinking it every night. He shakes his head sorrowfully.

I understand. When life hands you lemons you drink lemonade right? It’s why I can’t give up the sugar I love. Why Dad wants that wine and those cigarettes. Why we do things we KNOW are detrimental to our health. It’s not because we aren’t strong enough to quit. We are very strong people. We are stubborn and persistant and we can do ANYTHING we want to do. We have proved that over and over. But. When everything else is beyond our control and all we have left is the urge to self-sabotage, well. We do. Because it feels good in the moment. Because it’s the one thing that lets us escape for even just half a minute. And mostly, because we are so exhausted from caring for everyone else, how can we deny ourselves the one thing that feels so good?

I get it Dad. And as much as I want you to quit smoking entirely, I totally feel where you are coming from. If only eating raw green beans would have the same effect….

It’s 10 pm. Baby Girl is fast asleep in her own bed, in her own room. I turn out my own light and start to drift – ok that’s a lie, my brain is going a mile a minute as always. Anyway. Somewhere around 10:30 I hear a sound. Wassat? O Shit please don’t be awake. A snuffle. A head next to my head whimpers “mommy?” I sigh. What do you need? “I need to go to the bathroom.” Ok let’s do it, I get up and escort her highness to the royal throne, turning the light on as we go so she won’t have to pee in the dark.

She’s still sniffling like she’s going to cry. She starts in with the “wahhhhh, wahhhhh, wahhhhh.” WHY are you crying? “Can I sleep with yoooouuuuu? Please Mommy!” And just like that everything is shot to hell. I know what’s coming, she knows what’s coming. But it doesn’t stop her. I brace for it and say NO.

And the screaming starts. Now I don’t mean screaming like a wild boar is chasing you, or a man with a bloody knife. What I am talking about is a crying-screaming, more like “WAHHH” less like “AIIIEEE.” Either way it’s hard to stomach at close to 11 pm. She immediately lays into her unique way of just driving me insane with her refusal to listen to anything I say. Her refusal to stop screaming long enough to hear me. I try to be calm and speak in low tones. God knows I try. I am the epitome of patient and loving. Not really, I almost immediately resort to pretty much screaming right back.

Because I’m tired of this shit. It happens all the time. I implore her to stop screaming. I tell her it’s unnecessary and ridiculous. Any time I open my mouth to speak she cries “I just need to tell you something! You won’t let me tell you something!” She knows I’m going to say no to sleeping in my bed so WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY Oh my GOD WHY does she do this to me?

She won’t stop scream-crying. She’s still on the toilet. Truly, I’m not making this shit up. I finally smack her bare leg because she won’t listen and won’t stop. Of course this just intensifies the hysterics. I’ve already offered her to sleep in my room on the floor but she will not consider it. After I smack her leg she screams “FINE I’LL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR.” She’s still on the toilet. I walk away. She calls out “Don’t I get a hug and a kiss?!”

I mean, really. Y’all. She’s five. She’s beyond exhausted and crying like there’s no tomorrow. And I do TRY to figure out what to do for her. I try to follow the advice of the various books I’ve read. One book says you must “spank the willfully disobedient child.” Another book says you must try to figure out the underlying cause of the disobedience and try to solve the problem not the symptom. My instinct says she is tired and doesn’t like to sleep alone. I’ve forced a situation on her she’s not comfortable with or happy about. And this is my payment.

But the sheer manipulation here undoes me. OF COURSE I want to hug and kiss her. But should I? In this moment? She does this all the time. It isn’t a new manipulation. Anytime I get upset with her this is what she resorts to. What is she telling me? What am I supposed to do?

As she lays down on the floor she implores me to lay down there with her – which I won’t. I’m right there! I say pointing to my bed. But she cries “I don’t want to be alone down here!” I’m like, Baby Girl, you sleep alone in your bed all night, every night until 5:30 when like a damn rooster you wake me up with your crowing that you need to go potty. What makes tonight different? Why, exactly, did you start this whole thing? One of the books says that you have to “be aware of when you are entering the Red Zone and try to keep from doing that.” Well Shit, Sherlock, her Red Zone starts at ground zero and I don’t have a hope in hell of “re-directing” her. My own Red Zone starts the instant she starts screaming. So you see we don’t really have a “yellow” or neutral zone. It’s zero to ninety in less than one scream.

Today her voice has been scratchy from all the scream-crying. I did finally get her to settle down and go to sleep. In my room on the floor. She slept til 5:50. I got twenty extra minutes.

We’re a mess y’all.

Send wine and positive thoughts.

Baby Girl is growing up. Faster than I’d like? Maybe not. Growing up in ways that make me proud, and secretly thrilled and maybe just a little bit nostalgic. It’s all the tiny little things that I notice every day. One day she stopped asking (demanding) me to wipe her cute little butt. The past week she’s been getting herself out of the bathtub and drying herself off. I no longer have to wrap her up and rub her down and carry her out of the bathroom (a blessing really!). She can brush her own teeth – thank the Lord. She can make her own lunch. Now there might be a few more kit-kat’s and a few less fruits in that lunch than would be otherwise acceptable… but she can do it. She understands the difference between healthy food and junk. School shoes and shoes that can get dirty. She may not like it, but she understands it.

And yet… today there was red marker stuff all over the playroom floor. She tried to eat her dinner with her hands instead of her spoon. I am still required to turn on the light in the bathroom before she’ll go in it. She had a full-blown meltdown when it was time for bed because she didn’t want to stop playing (and because she didn’t want Daddy in her room telling her to cut it out). And I think – THERE she is. That baby that still needs me. That tiny little girl with the huge emotions.

Kindergarten IS AWESOME she cries as she gets out of school. But just this morning the thunder and lightening woke her up and she comes streaking into my room and straight into my arms. I’m not going to school if it’s raining she says. Get her outside and she wants to jump in all the muddy puddles.

I have work to do she tells me as I pick her up from school. I have to do the laundry, and the soccer ball, and play with Tess and take her for a walk and do my schoolwork and …. I listen to her ramble but she is totally serious. It’s adorable and I love her enthusiasm. And then… “WAAAHHHHH, MOMMMMMMYYYYYY TESS WON’T LISTEN TO ME! BAD DOG! But I still love you my little puppy-wuppy but MOMMMMYYY SHE’S A BAD DOG!” I roll my eyes and come to the rescue. She probably just can’t get the snap on the lead because Tess is overexcited and jumping up and down. Passion and drama are not in short supply around here.

She carefully lays out her clothes for school the next morning, lining them up just right so that it looks like a person. I am not allowed to help. But when she gets really upset and is crying about something I scoop her up and rock her like I used to even though she doesn’t really fit in the rocker anymore. She lays her head on my chest and snuffles and cries and I absorb the moment. I smell her head. I sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Mommy? she asks. What Baby? I say. Can you smell I tooted? And I sigh and laugh and push her out of the chair as she giggles.

She makes me crazy all the time. We are so much alike and yet she is way more intense than I am. If I tell her she CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES have another snack she will yell FINE I’LL GET IT MYSELF. And I ask myself – how did I phrase that wrong? It sounds pretty clear-cut to me. Apparently all she hears is that I won’t get her one, not that she can’t have one. So we battle. A LOT. And she cries A LOT. And I cry (more than I’d admit to). And then I’ll notice one more thing that she’s doing without me. One more tiny little thing that I am no longer required for. She’s absolutely welcome to wipe her own tush – that one I don’t miss. It’s just that it kind of sneaks up on you. It’s only later that you realize “Hey, I haven’t done that for her in a while.” She’s getting out of the tub on her own and drying off and putting pj’s on and next thing you know she’s in college.

So I’ll notice. I’ll notice all the little things. And I’ll smile to myself and be proud of her. But I’ll still hold her and smell her head whenever she needs me to.

TEN MORE DAYS. Ten more days til FREEDOM!!! I’m the mom celebrating and cheering and roaring out of the school driveway. Y’all I have been waiting for this day for five years. Five long years.

Kindergarten! What a beautiful word. It’s the word of the month! We will have to leave the house at 7:30 AM to get to school drop off. And then I get to leave her there until 3:30! It’s like my birthday and Christmas and the Easter Bunny all at once! F R E E D O M.

I’m a little excited. Baby girl – not so much. She is not feeling it. Not wanting to leave her pre-school, not wanting to make new friends, not wanting to go learn new things. She’s been battling a wicked ear infection for the last three weeks due to granulomas in her ears, a complication of ear tubes. I just found that out today. It’s been seriously fun with the pus and blood and continuous drainage and pain and crying and motrin and antibiotics that never end. On the plus side she has now slept in her own bed the past five nights. Two of those five nights were blissful. Three of them were not. Still, I am determined to get her in her own bed before school officially starts. Why do I start something new in the middle of an ear infection? Because I’m a hard-headed, stubborn and ridiculously over optimistic person. Not really, but in this case yes. We’re trudging through, making progress and doing things the hard way as always.

But. Pretty soon the MOMMY! every five minutes will be a thing of the past (well at least during school hours). I’ll be able to concentrate on something for more than 3 minutes at a time. I have made myself a list of all the things I want to do while she’s in school. Maybe the overly optimistic part is a little more true than I care to admit. My list includes things like “cooking and recipes,” “ride more,” “clean the house.” Seriously have to put clean the house on the list! It’s pretty tragic. Baby Girl has ruled my entire waking (and mostly sleeping) life for the past five years. It’s time for me to get back to being me. I’ll get to go do things outside by myself! Instead of forlornly watching Tony mow the grass through the window with a screaming / crying / whining child in the background assaulting my ears and my psyche.

If baby girl is crying or whining at school I will be blissfully unaware. If she is not listening, or refusing to do what is asked of her, or moving slower than a fly stuck in molasses or arguing with someone that the sky is NOT BLUE, it’ll be someone else’s problem. Not mine! Of course, I am sure she will be a total angel while at school and will save up all her drama for me in the evenings.

I will not have to stop what I am doing to wipe her butt, or get her a snack, or a drink. I will not have to cover her highness with a blanket while she is watching TV, or listen to her whine at me to please please please let her play games on my phone. I won’t have to hear her scream at the dog, I won’t have to tell her nine times to put her play doh away or to quit torturing the dog or that she doesn’t need another FREAKING snack.

It’s gonna be a dream come true. I might even get to meet one of you for lunch. Alone. I might get to take a bath alone in the middle of the day with the door shut and no one banging on it or demanding to get in with me. Or just go to the bathroom without someone barging in. I might get to go enjoy my horses and take my time with them instead of trying to get all the shit done so I can move on to the next thing that Baby Girl needs from me. I could weedeat or mow the paddocks. I could eat lunch peacefully without having to get up every five seconds to fulfill some new request. I could finish this blog in peace without someone yelling that they want me to turn the movie on.

But mostly, silence. Just silence for awhile will fill me back up with everything I need to be a good mom. Silence during the days will make me appreciate Baby Girl’s over the top attitude and dramatic reaction to everything she’s going to throw at me at the end of the day. I swear, for five years, I have not had time to just BE. To be who I was before her. To be anyone but Mommy. There are plenty of moms who are going to be crying on the first day of kindergarten saying “my baby’s growing up too fast” with tears running down their faces. I will not be one of them. I will be rejoicing in my newfound freedom. I will be getting the space I need in order to be a better, more patient, more loving Mommy. I am not scared of her growing up. I embrace it. Because one day she will be an adult daughter, and if the relationship I have with my mom is anything to go by, those are the best kinds of daughters to have.

Lord have mercy on me as Kindergarten starts. Let me be patient when I drop her off and not push her out of the car door and speed away. I’m just kidding y’all. I wouldn’t do that. Well not on the first day, anyway.

Happy School Days here we come!!

My not-so-baby anymore Baby Girl is going to be five on Saturday. Five! Blows my mind that we’ve both survived this long. Just this morning (and afternoon and probably yet this evening) I wanted to A) wring my hands in despair, B) throw her out the window, C) cry in defeat D) scream right back at her tiny little face with the BIG MOUTH.

Five? Or fifteen? It’s hard to tell. I cringe to think what 10 will bring. And maybe by 15 she will NOT slam her door and/or scream at me that she IS doing whatever it was I told her to do. But if so, it’s only because by then Daddy will have removed her bedroom door permanently or sent her to a nunnery.

We went on a road trip today. To Tyler to see a pony for a client. I warned Baby Girl it would be a long drive. I gave her anti-nausea medicine. I supplied her with her own water bottle. I forgot snacks. I forgot/ignored any type of electronic entertainment. She had a stuffed puppy and two play horses to entertain herself with. Oh, and her 7 year old friend (my client’s daughter who is searching for pony). So was it too much to ask for an enjoyable, quiet, happy car ride?

You betcha.

When we picked up my client I asked Baby Girl if she needed to potty. She was insistent that no, she did not. So onwards we go, twenty minutes in we realize that client has forgotten child’s helmet. As we are turning around Baby Girl says….. I have to potty. Bad! Now! Nowwwwwwww!!!!!! I CAN’T WAIT MOMMY!” Insert major eye roll here. All the way back to client’s house she is whining that she “cannnnnn’ttttt wait Mommmmmmyyyyy!” With major drama and whining every single inch of the way. I finally pull in at a 7-Eleven and as we (now joyfully) enter the convenience store the inevitable “can I have a snack?” comes out of her happy little mouth. Nope I say. We are pottying and that’s it.

Back on the road after retrieving helment Baby Girl asks me for my phone, to play games on. She really means she wants to watch YouTube Kids. Other kids playing with toys. And some adults which I just think is weird. I say No and thus begins the every five second whine of “pleeeaaaasssee mommy? pleeeeaaaassssseee?” No I continue to say. If I ignore her she just increases her volume and intensity. By this time I am just super irritated and I would say no if she wanted a carrot or to read the dictionary out loud. But I have to stand my ground right? Isn’t that what I am supposed to do? She keeps asking and I keep saying no (or attempting to ignore her). Tears ensue. She’ll give in for a little while and then start up again. “Mommy?” she says sweetly after five minutes of silence. What Baby Girl? “Can I play games on your phone? Plllleeeeaaaassssseeee?” I want to scream or wring her neck. Or both. Why doesn’t McDonalds serve vodka at 10 am? THIS IS WHY. I am telling you, THIS IS WHY.

The whining and asking and crying and pleading continues in intermittent spurts all the way to Tyler. While we are looking at the pony I finally give in just to get her to SHUT UP. How many of you have ever done this? After four hours of saying no? I guess it depends on how persistent your kid is, how strong you are as a parent. I get weak, I admit. I get tired. I get pissed off and just SO DONE. And I need to concentrate on the pony and the kid that is trying it out. So I give in. I tell her she can play on the phone until we stop for lunch.

As we are leaving McDonalds, full and happy but sans any alcoholic beverages (yes I know I’m driving, and No, I would not really drink while driving or with my kid in tow – just go with the humor ok?) Baby Girl IMMEDIATELY starts asking for me to put the window down and when I say no she starts in on getting my phone again or having some music on. We haven’t even left the parking lot yet. I say no absolutely to getting my phone and no to the music for the moment and here it comes…. full on meltdown. Oh shit I think. What am I supposed to do now? I’ve got my client and her kid in here and my own kid is behaving like a freaking demon child. I tell her I’m going to pull back over and get her out of the car and give her a spanking if she doesn’t stop. NO! She screams at me. NO you’re NOT going to do that! Shit. Seriously?

What would you do? I pulled back into the parking lot. I get out while she is screaming at the top of her lungs. I go around to her side and she is screaming at me that I am NOT going to get her out of the seat and I am NOT going to give her a spanking. I’m telling you this kid does not know when to back down. Or is it just that she can’t? Her sense of fighting back is extremely strong. Her sense of survival seems to be questionable. I do manage to extract her from the car seat and get her out onto the pavement outside the car. Now what? I can’t/won’t beat her. I hate situations like this. I try holding her arms and talking sternly and she wrenches free and screams at me to let go – that I’m hurting her. Great, now someone is going to call the cops thinking that I’m abusing/kidnapping this kid. I ask her if she’s done. I tell her she doesn’t want to embarass herself in front of her friend does she? She simply can’t stop with the tears and the anger. So after five minutes or so I put her back in the car and I turn on the music and we finally go on. She’s quiet. I talk to my client, who thankfully completely understands.

At what point do you draw a hard line with this type of personality? Is it even possible? She is an emotional, spirited, sensitive and over the top type of kid. I never know what to do with her. As my client and I discussed, we are always just winging it. She says there are a few people out there who were just born to be moms and probably know exactly how to handle this situation/this type of child but they are very few and far between. I agree wholeheartedly. I appreciate 100% the support she gave me today, in an extremely difficult and embarrassing situation.

MOMS. Be there for each other. When a mom has to draw a hard line hold your hand up under that line with support. I’m telling you it means EVERYTHING to the mom that is just thisclose to giving up, giving in, hanging her head and just losing it. If McDonalds doesn’t serve alcohol on a road trip (and Thank God they don’t) then we need some other type of soother – another mom’s nonjudgemental and absolute support makes all the difference in the world.

 

 

 

Oftentimes I find myself thinking of all the things I’d like to write about. But they go out of my head sooner than I get to sit down and write – which frustrates me. I’ve been frustrated a LOT lately. The weather, the finances, the back pain, the foot pain, the headaches, the whining, the puppy leaping and biting, etc etc the list goes on and on as I’m sure it does for everyone.

This morning as I was trudging through our back forty lake to put some hay into a drenched and muddy lean-to for two ponies I asked God why he ignored my prayers last night for no more rain. I was annoyed.

And though it sounds trite and sanctimonious I took note of my surroundings and the frown on my face and decided to turn it upside down.

I am grateful, I thought. I AM GRATEFUL. That the land and thus the rain goes downhill. I am grateful for the one muddy lean-to we have managed to build in the last four years. I am grateful for my raincoat even though I can feel the rain coming through the back and getting my shirt wet. What the heck? It’s a raincoat! It’s old but seriously, WHY is the damn thing leaking?!

Wait. Oh yeah. I’m grateful. Um. For my barn which has lights and nice big stalls and 5 of 7 horses are comfy and dry. I’m grateful for my new, non puppy chewed, rain boots and the fact that I can wear pajamas outside to feed, and that I can take off my soaking wet and muddy pajama pants on my front door step and nobody will see. I’m grateful that I wouldn’t care if they DID see. I am grateful for my new blue washing machine that I was forced to buy after the old one tried to catch fire multiple times. I am grateful the dryer still works and that I have a mismatched set because honestly who needs matchy-matchy anyway?

I am grateful that Baby Girl finally went back to sleep this morning after trying to get me to get up 1500 times from 5:30 am until 6. I am grateful that I did actually go back to sleep and that I did not have to go to a horseshow in the rain at 5 am. I am grateful that I do actually still get to go. Later. Because who doesn’t love a horseshow in the mud? Builds character.

I am grateful that the oversized puppy chewing on my foot no longer seems to have leathal pointy baby teeth. I am grateful for big sisters who will take little sisters to birthday parties when Mom has to be at a horseshow, knowing that the big sister has plenty of other things she could be doing. I am grateful for tolerant, supportive and loyal clients who deal daily with the fact that I don’t have a covered arena and still seem to like me even though I’m cranky a lot.

I’m grateful that the rain means plenty of grass since we are running out of hay and at this point the hay people won’t get into their fields to cut until the middle of August. I’m grateful for Grandpas that love their little fu-fu’s to the point of agreeing to help finance a bounce house for her 5th birthday party in June. Grandpa who goes to Walmart when you’re sick to get your antibiotics and crackers you requested and instead of one Diet Coke buys a whole six-pack. Where we would be without Grandpa?

I am grateful for the peace and quiet I get at night to sit and read and relax after the sometimes 2 hour long battle it takes to get Baby Girl to go the EF to sleep. I am grateful she sleeps through the night 90% of the time now on the crib mattress I borrowed from my cousin five years ago and still have which is on the floor in my bedroom even though I returned the actual crib three years ago. I am grateful she does not sleep in my own bed although I will be even more grateful the day she decides to stay in her OWN bed the entire night. She’ll probably be 12 but I’ll still be grateful.

But most of all I am grateful for the time to sit down and write this blog.