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The Possibility of Everything by Hope Edelman chronicles the author’s unique journey of helping her daughter, as well as an examination of her own beliefs and life.

Edelman’s daughter, Maya, gains a new friend–an imaginary one–by the name of Dodo.  We are well-versed in imaginary friends in this house, as Cupcake currently has twenty-two “imagination friends.”  These friends are all nameless girls who are about the size of her thumb. Sometimes they ride with us in the minivan.  Or they might be on vacation at the beach.  They could be waiting for her at preschool, sleeping on the sofa, or at home with their mothers.  Other times, Cupcake doesn’t know where they are, but it’s okay since she knows they’ll be back.

Maya’s friend Dodo, however, is a different sort of imaginary friend.  His disturbing hold on Maya alarms Edelman and her husband.  Maya develops negative behaviors (hitting, tantrums, refusal to do things) that she blames on Dodo.  All the usual parenting tactics do not resolve these problems.  Edelman and her husband eventually resort to seeking out Mayan healers while they are traveling in Belize. The healers attempt to rid Maya of Dodo using ancient rituals.

I admit when I started reading this book, I rolled my eyes more than a few times.  I just couldn’t see how an imaginary friend who incited some bad behaviors in a little girl would lead otherwise stable, normal parents to take their beloved child to strange shamans in a different country.  Especially to shamans who had rituals that weren’t even understood by those parents.  It was a little too outside the box for me–as it was at first for Edelman.  But then the journey caused Edelman to open up to a whole different world of beliefs.

Me, however…well.  I put this book down several times and could not get into it.  Until last week, when my son Bito (age 6) fell ill.  He awoke one night drenched in sweat and with chills that left him shivering.  The Husband and I treated the symptoms, keeping Bito comfortable, hydrated and on an ibuprofen and Tylenol regimen.  Bito refused to eat anything, and just wanted to rest a lot (so unlike him), mostly with me snuggled up close to him.

It was during this time, immobilized on the sofa next to pitiful Bito, that I picked up The Possibility of Everything and finally dove in.  And this time it clicked.  As I looked at my feverish first-born, I realized if it were my child–my Bito or Cupcake or BabyMuffin–who was ill (spiritually or physically), I would go to great lengths to have him or her healed.  No matter if it were a far-fetched plan, was weird, sounded crazy, and caused other people to look down at me.  Of course I would.

This was reinforced the other night  when The Husband and I were watching Lost (yes, we’re Losties).  In one scene, Dogen tells Sayid about his previous life in Japan, and his son.  Dogen endangered his son’s life when they got into a car accident because he (Dogen) was drunk.  In order to save his son’s life, Dogen strikes a deal with Jacob to go to the Island and never see his boy again.

Spontaneously, I turned to The Husband and asked, “Would you do it?”  His response was immediate: “Yeah, I would.  Would you?”

What wouldn’t I do?

This post is written in response to The Possibility of Everything, the SVMoms Blog Book Club selection for March.  Members were given the book to read and discuss on our blogs.  Read more responses to the book at Silicon Valley Moms Blog.

Momz Share

I’m being introduced over at Momz Share today.  Go take a lookie…and leave some comment love, willya?

Strangely proud

I decided to go have lunch with Bito at his school today.

(Just in case you were wondering, school cafeterias haven’t changed one bit since you were a student.)

While there, one of the lunch ladies came up to me to ask if I’m Bito’s mom.  When I acknowledged that I am, she laughed a little.  Then she relayed a conversation she’d recently had with my son.  She said by looking at him, she could tell he was part Asian, so she’d asked if either his Mommy or Daddy was Asian.

Apparently, Bito thought about it for a moment, and then answered her: “Well, my mommy is American…and my daddy is American too.”

:)

That’s my boy.

Monkey, rat, sheep, rooster and boar.

What do these five animals have in common?

Why, they are the Chinese lunar animals for the years of birth for The Husband, me, Bito, Cupcake, and BabyMuffin (in that order)!

Now I must confess that I do not truly believe in the Chinese zodiac any more than the regular old zodiacs, but I always got a kick out the placemats at Chinese restaurants.  When I was a kid and with my family, I would study the characteristics of each animal and family member who fell into that year.  It never ceased to amuse me that being born under the year of the Rat meant I was supposedly compatible with my father and my sister (based on their animals), and that I do not get along with my mother…because it was pretty much true!

I have not taken the time to study my children’s years and who they are supposedly compatible with, and who they do not get along with…I haven’t been to a Chinese restaurant recently to swipe a placemat!  But really, it isn’t a priority since managing them day-to-day won’t change if I were to find out This One is not compatible with That One.

In any case, the Lunar New Year reminded me of my fascination.  Happy Lunar New Year to you!

Kung Hei Fat Cho!


This whole Snowpocalypse Snowmaggedon SnOMG Snowlapalooza Snowtorious B.I.G. has caused snowbound Me to go a little stir crazy.  Fortunately, The Husband is here and keeping The Crew occupied more or less, which leaves me with lots a little time to do what I want to do.

A bit of that time has been spent reading, knitting, and sleeping. I’ve also been straightening up, playing with the kids, cooking meals…the usual same old, same old.

This morning, though, I got a bee in my bonnet and decided to do some work.  Not the kind of work that will be immediately undone–like the dishes, or bathing the children–but something that will last.

I attacked the half-bathroom on the main level.  It has two layers of old wallpaper–a nauseating floral, and a yellowed stripey pattern– that I am stripping off with hot water, a putty knife, and lots of elbow grease. After stripping, the walls will need to be washed, primed and painted.

Maybe it won’t all get done during this Snowmaggedon, but I’m glad to have the time to at least get a good start on this project.  Once this bathroom is done, every room on our main level will have been re-done by us me.

Work that won’t get undone…anytime soon, I hope.  Wish me well!

Last night, I Tweeted:

I don’t want to blog, Twitter, or Facebook about snow. Will.not.do.it.

Of course, I then proceeded to anyway.

So I may as well go all out and show you* a couple of my favorite pictures from today.

It's kind of pretty. I appreciated it best while standing inside!

Cupcake slogging through the snow with dogged determination.

Stay warm, stay safe, and drink all that milk that you just had to get yesterday.

* you being the three people who occasionally glance at this blog but don’t actually live in the DC area!

One of my favorite bloggers, Asianmommy, clued me into this her:

This is Kira, Barbie’s Asian friend.

Did you know she existed?  I sure didn’t!  Thanks, Asianmommy, for introducing her to me.  Apparently she’s been around since 1990–way past my Barbie-playing days.

Now I wonder if I should hide her existence from Cupcake?

My special talent

Often I feel as though I have no special talent.  Nothing that is unique or that Wows others.  I don’t create  masterpieces of art.  I struggle to show even a speck of originality in anything I do in my everyday, ho-hum, mundane life.

So it was with great interest that I read Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh for Silicon Valley Moms Blog book club.  Both artists design beautiful masterpieces–Stravinsky composes music such as Rite of Spring, while Chanel creates designer couture and perfume.  The book is also a fictionalized account of the short love affair between Chanel and Stravinsky.  I had no clue that they were even alive in the same era, much less involved with one another!

The book left me wondering what causes a person to realize their talents and become a great creator of art, fashion, or music?  And further, how is that greatness revealed to the world?  The Husband and I have discussed how a variable in any one person’s success is often Other People:  Other People who mentor and encourage the talents they see in others.  Other People who go out on a limb for someone.  Other People who put out time, energy and money for a starving artist.  Other People who manage PR of an artist who would otherwise go unnoticed.   The variable of Other People is not easily controlled nor predicted.  So for every one discovered artist, there may be 20 others who didn’t meet the right Other People to become famous.

Anyway, back to me and my lack of talent since it’s all about me, right?  About the only thing in which I’ve had success is gestating and birthing children (whether or not I’m raising them successfully remains to be seen!).  Many friends who have struggled with infertility tell me I am lucky it’s been so easy for me, and watching their heartbreaking attempts confirms this for me.  So recently, I’ve recruited some Other People who can guide me to helping others have children.  That is, I am looking into becoming a gestational carrier for another couple who is unable to carry their own baby.  I don’t know yet where this journey will take me, if anywhere.  It’s not a moving score of music, or a design of clothing that could change the trends of fashion…but it is something that I can potentially do to help create beauty for one other couple.

This post is written in response to Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh, the SVMom’s Blog Book Club selection for January.  Members were given the book to read and discuss on our blogs.  Read more responses to the book at Silicon Valley Moms Blog (this month’s book club host)..

I admit it:  by the time The Husband gets home from work, I am Done with being Mommy. Done with questions that mostly involve the word Why.  Done with requests for 337 snacks.  Done with distracting, re-directing, diverting, etc.  Done with Dora, Barbie, Tinker Toys, Legos, Curious George and every other single toy game book we have in the house. Done with tantrums, sibling altercations and end-of-the-day whining.   Done.  Done.  Done.

So it seems fair to me that I should be allowed to exit at the moment The Husband enters the house.  I’m not being completely unreasonable, right?  I need the break and want desperately to leave my Mommy-hat behind…maybe until the next morning.  Or the next week.  Or the next month.  Whatever.

Okay, so my desire to quit being Mommy for a long while isn’t completely fair to The Husband.  He is an excellent Husband and Dad, and he understands that the Introvert in me is zapped by the constant people-time that is my day as a Mommy.  He tries to give me as much of a break as possible.  I hole myself up in the farthest point in the house away from the kids and attempt to let my mind reset.  I read.  I knit.  I catch up on the internet.  Anything, as long as it is done in solitude.

Soon, way too soon, however, I hear The Husband calling for me.  Or the kids come find me.  It’s Family Time.  Dinner.  More conversation.  I try not to snap at The Husband, who just wants to talk to me and the kids, catch up on our day.  I feel attacked from all sides as the four people I love most in the world will.not.shut.up.

The bedtime routine is the final straw.  Doing jammies, teeth, books, songs, prayers, tuck-ins–and heaven forbid it be a bath night!–absolutely does me in.  I collapse at the end of it, unable to form coherent sentences and my eyes glazed over.

The next day, it begins all over again.

I haven’t been able to post here recently as my heart has been so heavy.  Posting something about my everyday, mundane life seems so inconsequential when a great tragedy has struck.

Motherhood has changed me.  I find it difficult to watch the news since having kids…especially news stories that involve children in pain or treated unfairly.  Jodifur can attest to how quickly I burst into tears when she was telling me a little bit about her work.

So it’s been difficult to watch the news stories of Haiti’s earthquake the past week or so.  The scenes of destruction cause me to cry out.  I am hopeful as I read stories of amazing recoveries of people trapped for several days…but I know that there are many more who don’t make it.

I want to do something, but feel so helpless as I see the pictures and hear the stories.  I gave money to the relief effort, but is that enough?

DelurkerDay2010Are you a lurker?

If I were a betting woman, I’d say yes!

Celebrate National Delurker Day and leave a comment here, wouldja?  It’s not fair to say that bloggers live for comments…but we sure do like knowing people are reading.  So if you’re out there (and I know you are), say hello…or tell me something about yourself…or something you like/dislike about my blog…or something you’d like to read here…or some random fact….or something anything!

And then go visit another blog you enjoy and leave a comment there, too.  If you need some ideas of blogs to read, there’s a great list of ones I read in a tab at the top of this page.

Have a good day!

questionmarkThe Husband speaks Spanish fluently…and he looks nothing like a native speaker.  Well, I suppose he could pass for a northern Spaniard, but he doesn’t speak that dialect.  In any case, the DC area has many native speakers of Spanish, mostly from South and Central America.  I get a kick when The Husband surprises them by busting out his excellent Spanish to them.  They don’t normally suspect that a big blond blue-eyed guy understands and can converse with them easily.  Now mind you:  The Husband does not randomly speak Spanish to any native speaker.  Normally he’ll only use it if there is some confusion , like at a restaurant, and it is clear the person needs some clarification.  He’s trying to be helpful by speaking in Spanish.

Here’s what I don’t get:  most of the time, he will not get responses in Spanish.  Native speakers mostly look surprised and will speak English back to him.  The Husband might continue to speak in Spanish, but will only get responses in English.  I can’t figure this one out.  Why won’t they converse in Spanish with him?  Has he somehow offended them by speaking in Spanish?

Wish I knew.  I do know that when I lived overseas and would venture out into the city to shop, I was grateful when people attempted to speak English with me, even if it was extremely broken.

Santa Claus Redux

santa I just had a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach.

What am I going to do once The Crew discovers there is no man in a red suit who delivers presents on Christmas?

I mean, I’m all about advancing the Santa myth.  Heck, I believe in Santa Claus (though not necessarily in the traditional sense).  I wrote about him last year (and that post continues to get the most hits of any on my blog!).

In any case, I had a sudden attack of guilt when I was threatening Bito with calling Santa Claus because his behavior has been so atrocious this morning.  And then I thought:  OMG.  One day I will have to look Bito in the eye and admit there is no Santa Claus.  He’s going to give me the most reproachful face and wonder why I lied to him all this time.  Because, you see, Bito buys it hook-line-and-sinker.  He loves Santa Claus and I think he’ll be extremely disappointed to discover it’s Mommy and Daddy who have been doing all the Santa-Clausing all this time.

I dropped my calling-Santa-threat and retreated to my computer to pour out my guilt-ridden heart here.  I don’t know what to do, but I guess I don’t have to do anything about it right now.  I still have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to get through…then maybe I’ll be able to move past my guilt.  I’m all for tabling it until next year.

Merry Christmas!

The gift of time

The beautiful Snow-pocalypse the East Coast endured gave me a something I didn’t anticipate:  the gift of time.

time

You see, all that snow made the roads messy.  The main artery in our neighborhood still hadn’t been plowed as of yesterday morning.  Even the big-main roads, although passable, weren’t looking too pretty.  Say what you will about the DC area’s snow removal process (or lack thereof), but if the roads aren’t safe, why compel the children to go to school?

Our county went ahead and closed for the entire short week (Monday through Wednesday) before Winter Break was to begin.  They announced this on Sunday evening, so we knew there would be no school until 2010.

This meant The Husband was home as well…and it gave me a bit of relief!  I was allowed to sleep in a couple of mornings.  I went shopping without children in tow.  I spend a little one-on-one time with each child baking cookies, finishing crafts, and shoveling the front walkway..  The Husband was relaxed and not worrying about work, so our time in the evenings after The Crew was asleep wasn’t stressed.  I didn’t have to surreptitiously find ways to wrap presents while the kids were watching TV.  The Husband and I were able to tag-team and keep everyone distracted!

So thank you, Snow-pocalypse.  You have given me an unexpected gift right before Christmas, one that I hadn’t even thought to ask for:  time to finish the stuff that needs to get done.  This might be the very best gift I’ve gotten this year!

Merry Christmas to you and your families.  May your holiday be filled with delight that will make beautiful memories for years to come.

Snow-pocalypse

I’m over at DC Metro Moms, talking about our snow-pocalypse day.

Check it out!

My beloved dog passed away last weekend.  black lab

J-dog was more than just a dog–she was my loyal, constant companion.  Her purpose in life was to be as close to me as possible…but she could temporarily appeased by bright patches of sunshine to sleep in, long walks, car rides with her head out the window, belly rubs, and squirrels to chase.

Sadly, it was the chasing squirrels that hastened her death.  As J-dog took off at full tilt in her last attempt to catch the evil little vermin who taunted her, she fell, rolled over, and was unable to stand.  An x-ray showed a fracture in her left front leg…but it also revealed canine osteosarcoma in her distal radius.  In other words, there was a bone tumor in her wrist joint.

The vet was compassionate but did not mince words with me:  based on the size of the tumor, the severity of the fracture, J-dog’s advanced age, and the obvious pain she was in despite mega-big painkillers, he thought the most humane thing to do would be to put her to sleep.

And so we did.  I’m not going to go into details because I’ll start bawling again…but let me just tell you it was fast and peaceful.  J-dog is not in pain any more.

Needless to say, I’ve been dealing with sudden bursts of uncontrollable grief, as well as longer periods of gloom as this week has progressed.  Grieving through the holiday season is new for me and I don’t like it one bit.  All the festivities, joyous celebrations, and warm yummy baked goods are in direct contrast to the mourning I am going through for my pet.  It’s a lonesome, isolating feeling, even though I have The Husband who is going through the same sad feelings.  We do our best to prop each other up.

Rest in peace, dear J-dog.

Sick leave

sickI was feeling under the weather a few days ago.  Fortunately for me, it was a weekend.  The Husband kindly told me to stay in bed–for the entire day!

I took medicine.  I channel surfed a bit.  I dug into a new book.  If I was feeling particularly energetic, I knitted.

Mostly, though, I slept.  And I forced myself to feel no guilt whatsoever.

The Husband explained to The Crew that Mommy wasn’t feeling well, and that they were going to let me rest.  Occasionally, a little worried face would peek at me from the doorway.  This would then lead to sweet kisses “to help Mommy feel better!”

It was a glorious day.

Perhaps I should be “sick” more often.  I could use up all the copious amounts of sick leave that I’ve accrued during my stay-at-home-mothering days!

I have a confession to make:  I pretty much dread the Christmas season.

The mad rush, the searches to find the perfect gift, the craziness, the commercialism, the traffic, the crowds, the cost…

christmas tree

Don’t get me wrong.  Once upon a time, I loved Christmas and all that came with it.  Those were the days when others were making Christmas special for my sake!  Now, however, I am one of the grown-ups who is tasked with making Christmas a delight for others.  I become frantic as I realize all that needs to be done.  It’s not the most enjoyable time of year for me.

Still, I muddle through and do the best I can.  And then, little moments get me:  I am gratified when I see the awe in Cupcake’s eyes.  Hearing BabyMuffin break into chants of, “Kiss-mas kiss-mas kiss-mas,” each time we go into any store that has holiday decorations (and let’s face it:  they all do) makes me realize that it is new and extraordinary to him.  And Bito’s thoughtful calculation of what to say to Santa when he goes to visit him at the mall amazes me with how this holiday is HUGE in his life.

And nevermind the sheer glee of Christmas morning!  That alone may make it worth it.

So that’s The Reason for the Season*.  It’s not about me.  Making the holiday sparkly and wondrous for The Crew is my goal, and of course I’ll work hard to make it exciting for them.  I’ll try to keep that in the front of my mind as I rush around this year.

*I am not ignoring Jesus’ birth as The Reason for the Season.  Honest.

We Build Things

Hey DC Metro area readers–have you been to the National Building Museum?  No?  Then what are you waiting for?  Go!

This morning, The Husband and I yanked ourselves out of our turkey-induced stupor.  It took supreme effort, but we managed to motivate ourselves and The Crew into getting out of the house.

Once we were in the minivan, we had no specific plan other than to go someplace we don’t normally go.  The leading contenders were to go to a Caps practice, or to the National Building Museum.

Now, as a native Washingtonian (more or less), I’ve seen all the major DC museums on school field trips, Girl Scout trips, and Tourmobile outings with the family and out-of-town guests a bazillion times.  The National Building Museum, however, is one that I hadn’t seen.  That, and thinking The Crew would want to skate if we went to the Caps practice, we opted for the NBM.

NBMFirst of all, have you seen this gorgeous building?  The NBM is housed in the old Pension Bureau’s space.  I am not trained in architecture or anything, but I was blown away by the beauty of the structure.  Wow!

We didn’t get much farther than the first floor of the museum.  One corner of the large expanse had materials with which the kids could play and build.  Bito and I constructed roads, towers, bridges, and ramps.  And then we destroyed our structures with glee.  The Husband took Cupcake and BabyMuffin upstairs to The Green Community exhibit, but I think they had more fun looking over the balcony at Mommy and Bito.  And finally, we waited in line to get into The Building Zone, a space designed for kids ages 2-6.  The Crew all enjoyed the exploratory area and being able to inspect building materials.

I’m glad we were able to go and play.  We’ll definitely make an effort to get back there and build some more.

Thankfulness

Today, I lost Cupcake in a department store.

It was only for a few minutes–maybe four at the very most–but it was my first time losing a child.  Ever.

I admit, I didn’t have her in sight, but I knew where she was.  She, however, did not know my location.  And then, a cleaning person nearby turned on a vacuum cleaner.  I looked up and started calling her name, knowing she might be a bit startled.  Over the roar of the machine, she could not hear me.  She took off and by the time I made it out to the main aisle, she was no where to be seen.

I wasn’t concerned as she has never been a wanderer and normally sticks close.  I had BabyMuffin in a stroller, so I simply went one direction, calling out her name.

No response.

I turned in the opposite direction and started calling her name louder.  A few shoppers looked at me as I began to hurry, looking over the racks and displays.

Still no response.

A faint feeling of alarm was growing in my chest.  My calling grew even louder and others began looking around for my little girl.

My calls turned to bellows, and I had to quash the urge to race madly about with the stroller.  Other people were openly craning their necks in an effort to spot her as well.  One lady asked how old she is.  Another woman stopped me and said, “Leave the stroller and baby with me.  We will admire these Christmas trees together.  Go.  Find your daughter.”

I stared at this woman and wondered whether to trust her or not.  My frantic brain was soothed by her calm demeanor, so I left BabyMuffin and dashed away.  An elderly woman said she thought she’d seen Cupcake heading towards the housewares department.

lnf

Then I saw her coming toward me, holding a store associate’s hand.  I ran to her, dropped to my knees, hugged her tightly, and said casually, “Hey.  I was looking for you.”  Cupcake was not distraught and I didn’t want to frighten her, but I squeezed her tight.  All the tension left my eyeballs and I began crying.  She simply said, “The vacuum scared me and I couldn’t see you.”  I resisted the urge to lecture her on what to do if we get separated…that would come later.  Just for that moment, I held her close and whispered a prayer of thanksgiving.

I am amazed by the strong emotions that quickly bubbled up in me over those few minutes.  I am so glad the last emotion was one of relief and happiness.

We went back and found the lady who had BabyMuffin.  I thanked her profusely.  She said it was not a problem, that she’d been there herself.  As we made our way out of the store, others expressed their relief as well.  It was all I could do to not break out in tears and sob each time.

I am so thankful to those weekday shoppers–so many rushing to look, to help.  Thank you.  Thank you.  I can’t say it enough:  Thank you.

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