Last week, my husband came up with what he thought was a novel idea to help us save some money:
Since I work from home, he suggested that perhaps we should switch baby girl to part-time attendance at her preschool; a notion that struck fear in my heart.
Now, baby girl and big sister attend the same preschool, one in the pre-K program, the other in the older 2 room. Big sister has been there since she was 2, baby girl has been there since she was 1. They both have made friends and both are comfortable there. They have established routines. They like their teachers--I like their teachers, and the owner, and just about everyone affiliated with the place. It has a good reputation in our community with both parents and the local elementary school.
I didn't sign up for a stay-at-home-mother gig. I know my own limitations (except for when it comes to alcohol, and that is usually when I'm in Key West where my good judgment departs me as soon as we cross MM0) and being 100% responsible for socializing and entertaining my children is not something I'll be good at. Hell, I'm barely social unless the husband forces me to be and my idea of entertaining myself is reading a book or spending money shopping.
The notion of staying home with my kid(s) scares the daylights out of me. Sure, I gladly do it on Saturday and Sunday but this would be different as A) big sister and husband are also home on Saturdays and Sundays and B) all entertainment and socialization would fall to me alone on weekdays. Eek!
Turns out, the husband's idea was for naught though as it would only be a $30 weekly savings to go from full- to part-time attendance. Not worth it, he decides and I breathe a sign of relief. End of story....or so I thought.
Until today when he brings it up again, "So are we going to switch her to part-time?"
I remind him it's only a $30 savings.
"Well, yeah, but add it up, that's $120 a month, which is how much a year?"
Silence from me ($1440 in case you're wondering).
Now, theoretically, I am supposed to be working from home, but if baby girl were to be here with me on those days that she previously used to be in preschool, I don't know exactly how much working will be going on on my part. Not to mention, we'd probably end up going places like the zoo, the movies, etc., which involves spending money both on admission and gas--which, come to think of it, would likely be more than the $30 a week we'd be saving in the first place!
I think if I throw that argument at him, I could "win" my case.
I'm not sure what I'm so scared of but the notion of keeping her here with me terrifies me but I'm not entirely sure why--any ideas?
September 30, 2009
September 22, 2009
Rescued
It was the eyes that I first spotted when I walked through the door.
Big. Brown. So sad.
We took her outside to meet our dog. They got along which is a miracle if you know our big fella--dominant to an extreme. She was docile, shy, and paid him no mind.
So it began....
Fast forward two weeks and she is here with us now, slowly realizing that she is safe now, never will she be hurt again. She sticks to my side like glue, moving with me from room to room. Sleeping on her bed next to my side of the bed.
Today we took her to our vet for a meet & greet to introduce him to our newest family member. She was just as sweet and cooperative as ever. Took everything in stride, made new friends of everyone she came across.
And, yet, despite how gorgeous and sweet she is, we learned that someone or something had once broken her foot and left it untreated. Someone once shot her with a BB gun, and left a BB that remains under her skin to this day. All four of her top front teeth are broken down to the gumline. Still, she survived on her own, until she was picked up as a stray on the mean streets of LA (Lower Alabama) and transported to a rescue group in central Florida. She was initially heartworm positive, and survived the treatment. This dog is a survivor.
Regardless of the pain and suffering she has obviously seen at the hands of man, she remains loyal, loving, one of the sweetest dogs I've had the pleasure of meeting, and now she is part of our family.
I don't know if I've rescued her, or if she's rescued me.
Welcome to the family sweet girl.
Big. Brown. So sad.
We took her outside to meet our dog. They got along which is a miracle if you know our big fella--dominant to an extreme. She was docile, shy, and paid him no mind.
So it began....
Fast forward two weeks and she is here with us now, slowly realizing that she is safe now, never will she be hurt again. She sticks to my side like glue, moving with me from room to room. Sleeping on her bed next to my side of the bed.
Today we took her to our vet for a meet & greet to introduce him to our newest family member. She was just as sweet and cooperative as ever. Took everything in stride, made new friends of everyone she came across.
And, yet, despite how gorgeous and sweet she is, we learned that someone or something had once broken her foot and left it untreated. Someone once shot her with a BB gun, and left a BB that remains under her skin to this day. All four of her top front teeth are broken down to the gumline. Still, she survived on her own, until she was picked up as a stray on the mean streets of LA (Lower Alabama) and transported to a rescue group in central Florida. She was initially heartworm positive, and survived the treatment. This dog is a survivor.
Regardless of the pain and suffering she has obviously seen at the hands of man, she remains loyal, loving, one of the sweetest dogs I've had the pleasure of meeting, and now she is part of our family.
I don't know if I've rescued her, or if she's rescued me.
Welcome to the family sweet girl.
September 16, 2009
It tickles
SCENE: BABY GIRL'S ROOM - EARLY EVENING
BABY GIRL IS TAKING HER CLOTHES OFF "HER OWN SELF," SHIRT OFF FIRST
BIG SISTER IS SHIRTLESS, STANDING NEARBY WATCHING BABY GIRL
BIG SISTER TO BABY GIRL: "Hey, you wanna feel something good?"
BABY GIRL: "Okay."
BIG SISTER: "Hee hee (tickling both of her own nipples as she walks up to BABY GIRL), it tickles."
BIG SISTER REACHES OVER TO BABY GIRL AND INSTEAD TICKLES HER NIPPLES, ONE WITH EACH HAND SIMULTANEOUSLY (!!!!!)
BABY GIRL: (Giggling) "It tickles."
BIG SISTER AND BABY GIRL: Insane laughter ensues as does much self-applied nipple tickling
MAMA: Has just about passed out on the floor
BABY GIRL IS TAKING HER CLOTHES OFF "HER OWN SELF," SHIRT OFF FIRST
BIG SISTER IS SHIRTLESS, STANDING NEARBY WATCHING BABY GIRL
BIG SISTER TO BABY GIRL: "Hey, you wanna feel something good?"
BABY GIRL: "Okay."
BIG SISTER: "Hee hee (tickling both of her own nipples as she walks up to BABY GIRL), it tickles."
BIG SISTER REACHES OVER TO BABY GIRL AND INSTEAD TICKLES HER NIPPLES, ONE WITH EACH HAND SIMULTANEOUSLY (!!!!!)
BABY GIRL: (Giggling) "It tickles."
BIG SISTER AND BABY GIRL: Insane laughter ensues as does much self-applied nipple tickling
MAMA: Has just about passed out on the floor
September 10, 2009
Light the fires
Let's start with me having the crazies, shall we?
Okay, maybe "crazies" is a little harsh...more like the 'sads.' Let's start with those.
Several years back, I desperately wanted to be a mother, to the exclusion of just about everything else in my life. When I finally became a mom, it was everything I had hoped for and then some. Perhaps it is that 'then some' that put me over the edge. Perhaps it was the birth of my second daughter, the neonatal stroke she suffered, the hospital transfer, the 11-day NICU stint. Wah, wah, wah, I know. Others have had it so much worse--sicker babies, longer NICU stays. Who knows what did it to me. But something put me over the edge, had me barely holding on emotionally and physically. So I brought it up to my OB at my six-week postpartum visit, and she brought out the rx pad and wrote a 'script for a low dose of pr0zac. Why that one? I had been on it back in 2001 during the first-ever bout of clinical depression I'd had, diagnosed by my then-primary care doc and a psychiatrist.
So, in the past two years since stroke baby (I think I need a more clever moniker for her, don't you?) was born, I've tried--on my own accord--to wean off of it on two different occasions, to disastrous effects. The most recent one a month ago. It--I--was worse than ever before. Anger, rage, irritability, lethargy, and so on. And the worst part? They're all still hanging around.
It frightened me so that I found myself in my doctor's office this morning, crying (which I swore I wasn't going to do) at the very fact that someone was listening to me, and taking me and my concerns seriously. Off I went with a 'script for a different AD, pr1st1q, indicated for adults with major depressive disorder. I guess that's me.
Women all over the world can mother children with their hands tied behind their back and without the assistance of medication. Me, not so much.
The doc warned me, it might get worse before it gets better and the med kicks in. I'm already holding on with white knuckles; how much worse can it get?
Wait, don't answer that.
Okay, maybe "crazies" is a little harsh...more like the 'sads.' Let's start with those.
Several years back, I desperately wanted to be a mother, to the exclusion of just about everything else in my life. When I finally became a mom, it was everything I had hoped for and then some. Perhaps it is that 'then some' that put me over the edge. Perhaps it was the birth of my second daughter, the neonatal stroke she suffered, the hospital transfer, the 11-day NICU stint. Wah, wah, wah, I know. Others have had it so much worse--sicker babies, longer NICU stays. Who knows what did it to me. But something put me over the edge, had me barely holding on emotionally and physically. So I brought it up to my OB at my six-week postpartum visit, and she brought out the rx pad and wrote a 'script for a low dose of pr0zac. Why that one? I had been on it back in 2001 during the first-ever bout of clinical depression I'd had, diagnosed by my then-primary care doc and a psychiatrist.
So, in the past two years since stroke baby (I think I need a more clever moniker for her, don't you?) was born, I've tried--on my own accord--to wean off of it on two different occasions, to disastrous effects. The most recent one a month ago. It--I--was worse than ever before. Anger, rage, irritability, lethargy, and so on. And the worst part? They're all still hanging around.
It frightened me so that I found myself in my doctor's office this morning, crying (which I swore I wasn't going to do) at the very fact that someone was listening to me, and taking me and my concerns seriously. Off I went with a 'script for a different AD, pr1st1q, indicated for adults with major depressive disorder. I guess that's me.
Women all over the world can mother children with their hands tied behind their back and without the assistance of medication. Me, not so much.
The doc warned me, it might get worse before it gets better and the med kicks in. I'm already holding on with white knuckles; how much worse can it get?
Wait, don't answer that.
September 9, 2009
Kick the tires
In a former life, I was "the RE's muse," a 30s gal trying for a baby or two, with two dogs, a great husband, a house, a cute figure, and my sanity (that last one is open for some debate).
I suppose I am now what you would call 'middle-aged.' Meaning, I am a former career gal raising two small children (girls, 2 and 4 years old--enough to try the patience of even Mother Theresa herself) after years of wanting what I now have. I've "arrived," "made it to the other side," "conquered that infertility bitch and her friend hope"--call it what you will. So why am I so miserable? Beats me.
Can we be honest here? And I think we can...this motherhood gig is hard work. Yet, so much of it is 'lather, rinse, repeat,' and this is slowly but surely killing off my brain cells. I'm still me, but I'm a dumber version of me. I used to be on top of my game--first in college, then in the career field I chose. Where once I remembered contacts, names, phone numbers and important dates off the top of my head, it now takes just about everything I've got to remember what day it is. Days blend into one another, weeks fly by, months even. How is it September already? Point is, I'm lost.
I've got some nerve complaining, huh? But if I don't complain somewhere (and really, if I complain any more to my husband and IRL friends, they may all just up and leave my ass), I am going to lose myself completely. Poof, gone.
So here I am, back for another round of finding me in the midst of the chaos that is daily life. Join me, won't you? There will be talk of kids, boobs and 'ginas (usually not mine), sex (or the lack thereof), fat, family, anti-depressants (go ahead and flame me now), and whatever else is plaguing me at any given moment.
Should be interesting, don'tcha think?
Bueller? .... Bueller?
I suppose I am now what you would call 'middle-aged.' Meaning, I am a former career gal raising two small children (girls, 2 and 4 years old--enough to try the patience of even Mother Theresa herself) after years of wanting what I now have. I've "arrived," "made it to the other side," "conquered that infertility bitch and her friend hope"--call it what you will. So why am I so miserable? Beats me.
Can we be honest here? And I think we can...this motherhood gig is hard work. Yet, so much of it is 'lather, rinse, repeat,' and this is slowly but surely killing off my brain cells. I'm still me, but I'm a dumber version of me. I used to be on top of my game--first in college, then in the career field I chose. Where once I remembered contacts, names, phone numbers and important dates off the top of my head, it now takes just about everything I've got to remember what day it is. Days blend into one another, weeks fly by, months even. How is it September already? Point is, I'm lost.
I've got some nerve complaining, huh? But if I don't complain somewhere (and really, if I complain any more to my husband and IRL friends, they may all just up and leave my ass), I am going to lose myself completely. Poof, gone.
So here I am, back for another round of finding me in the midst of the chaos that is daily life. Join me, won't you? There will be talk of kids, boobs and 'ginas (usually not mine), sex (or the lack thereof), fat, family, anti-depressants (go ahead and flame me now), and whatever else is plaguing me at any given moment.
Should be interesting, don'tcha think?
Bueller? .... Bueller?
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