William Sonoma...

Aaahh...William Sonoma. I think most people would associate a woman with William Sonoma. Ha! Usually maybe, but NOT always. Dreaded Middle Child is a sous chef at Flame, Cooking With Fire, and what does a chef use most often??? Knives! Oh my goodness gracious does this boy like knives. Apparently he was cutting up a hunk of meat (forgive me, but I forgot what kind) and he decided he needed a different knife, so he went around the corner of the building and into William Sonoma and bought a new very sharp, very pretty knife. His co-worker sous (executive?) chef just had to have one too. Since then, he's bought two more, both of which he ordered from Japan. The first ones shank was kind of rough for my hand, so while it was pretty, I wouldn't have been able to stand using it. The second one though...oh my! I'm jealous, I'm thinking of hiding it somewhere in the house for myself. Think he would notice?! ha! ha! It is such a nice knife though, light and extremely sharp, nicely balanced. I was thinking it would be a great knife for someone with arthritis, because it is so user friendly. I was trying it out last night (while he was watching) and I was holding an orange pepper with my fingertips while slicing. He got this panicked look on his face and said,"Mom, you never, never cut while holding with your fingertips, that's a good way to cut them off. Always hold with your knuckles out, so the blade hits your knuckles and misses your fingers." I do actually know this, but I've never had really sharp knives, until the last year, and it's hard to change habits. Good knives though, are so sharp, that if it slips off what you are cutting and hits your finger, your finger could be gone before you realized you made a mistake. And what a bloody mess you have, then the stinging, and the flap of skin left on your finger, and...well you get the picture. Anyway, he is soooo excited with these knives, it's fun to see. Just like a little kid with a birthday present he's really wanted. I love to see him excited about things.

A place of her own?????

First born might have a new place to call home. Her oldest friend from waayyy back (kindergarten) has a room in her grandmother's house (who is not living there at this time) that she can rent. Woo hoo! It sounds so very exciting, I'm a little jealous. They took a look at it last night and she came home very hyped. They've got the house painted, furnished, decorated with art work and the table is set with new white dishes and a scrumtious meal (in their minds). I hope this works out for her, because this is something she really wants and more importantly, needs. After living at college for four years, it's hard to move back home into a little bedroom that is stuffed to the brim. Even though she can do what ever she wants and doesn't have a curfew, "Mom and Dad" are still here keeping an eye on her. It's hard to let your children grow and become adults, because the very thing that they need to do to accomplish this, is to move out and become their own person. I don't want her to go, because we won't get to do as much together, but I also can't wait for her to go, because I feel she really, really needs to. I can feel her regressing, questioning herself, becoming dependent again. Once she's on her own, these will change and she will blossom. We have a wonderful relationship and while it will change, it will be good for both of us, and I'm certain and confident we will always be close. I love her very much and wish only the very best for her.

Crazy...

Ack!! Help me please, I'm going crazy. There are too many people around here, big people, like in "young adult kids". This feeling is nothing new for me, it's a cycle I go through every now and then. It always goes away and then I'm very happy with life, but for now... everything ticks me off. The kids and my husband are the biggest things, (probably because they are human). They make messes, and while they sort of clean up, it's not how I would like it done. They have comments and opinions, which they should and it's good, but they aren't comments or opionions that I want. They make noise, OMG, but it's iritating. I almost feel like I have "Spring Fever", except that it's already spring, and it's nice out. Sometimes I just wish I could be all by myself, in a little house out in the middle of nowhere with just a cat and a dog. Someplace I could do what- ever I wanted, whenever I wanted and no one would be there to ask anything of me or interupt me or make a mess for me to clean up, etc. etc. etc. Geez, what a complainer, huh?? I'm sure that everyone feels this way from time to time, I'm just taking the time to voice it.

Petty...

Having children does not mean that you automatically have someone to unconditionally love you. You always love them, you might not like them very much at times, but you always love them. You do things for them, bail them out, lend them money, make excuses, over and over and over. But...turn the tables around, and the scales are not even. I just happen to be talking, pettily, about gifts, birthday gifts in particular. It seems like kids, well young adults, always have money to buy stuff for themselves or their friends. When it comes time to pay bills, get license tabs, pay car insurance, buy deoderant or hair gel, then it's 'Mom, I don't have any money. I had to get gas. It was our anniversary, we went out to eat.' So, doormat that I am, what do I do? I bail them out! When it happens to be MY birthday, what happens??? I'm broke, I didn't have any time to go shopping, I don't know what you want, etc., etc., etc. Gosh darn it all, I'd like for once for one of my grown kids to think of Mom for once, without having to be reminded. I realize this is incredibly petty and immature of me, but that is how I feel. It hurts to be walked on all the time, even if I do it to myself.

no wish for me...

Kira got up for work and wished me a "Happy Birthday". Ethan came home from dropping off a car to the shop and wished me a "Happy Birthday", and he got me a musical card and candy last night. My sister Barb and my mom called my cell (I didn't answer because I was shopping and didn't hear it) and left me a "Happy Birthday"song msg. My other sister Karen called my cell (again I didn't hear it) and left me a "Happy Birthday" song msg. My husband wished me a "Happy Birthday" and got a cute card. [We got a new camera for his birthday, my birthday, and our anniversary.] The only one who didn't wish me a happy birthday is my dreaded middle son. I even sent him a text telling him about our Easter/birthday get together tomorrow at Karen's and all he text back was...I work 6 to 10. NOTHING about my birthday. How sad...I'm feeling kinda forgotten, and worthless. I guess I don't count.

Last name to choose...

Third born was much easier to decide on. I'm not positive what we had chosen for a girls name, it may have been Eyelia again, but I know what the only boys name we had chosen was. There was a TV show on back in the late 80's called 'Thirty Something' and one of the couples had a son by the name of Ethan. I remember hearing the mom call out for her son...Ethan...what a great name. The meaning of it is Ethan (Hebrew for strong) and John (Hebrew for God is gracious), and both of those fit him well. He has a strong personality. Very outgoing, but very kind and helpful with loads of empathy.

Boy's name?!

Picking out a name for my firstborn was very difficult and I thought maybe it would be easier the second time, but I was wrong. We had already used the only girl name we liked, so the next choice I could think of was Eyelia, (pronounced like it's spelled). This is not the actual spelling, but I didn't want people messing it up, so this was how I would have spelled it. Good thing I only had one girl. ha ha
I had a few more choices for a boy though. Johnathan (too many Johns in the family already), Adam (my ex used it for his son) and Andrew (after my grandfather) David (after my husband). Andrew (Greek for man warrior) David (Hebrew for beloved) is what we went with. He is a warrior of sorts, fighting for what he wants, and of course he is beloved...

What's in a name?

When I was growing up, my friends and I always pretended we were someone else, and names were very important. I always wanted to be Priscilla (name of my best friend's mom). I thought that name was pretty and exotic. I just knew that I would name my firstborn girl Priscilla. A few years later, I just knew that I would name my firstborn girl Regina. Then I got pregnant. What a very difficult job it is to think of a name for your child, hopefully one they won't hate. My husband (then my boyfriend) and I got a book of 10,000 Baby names. One would think that it would make life easier having a few choices...HA! The ONLY name we both liked and thought we could live with was Kira (Persian for sun) Leigh (Old English for meadow). Thank God she wasn't twins, because Kira Leigh was the ONLY girl name we had picked out. Now that she is older, we've come upon a fair number of Kira's. Every now and then when we're out together, we'll hear a mom call Kira...we just look at each other and smile.
So, while I was writing this, I thought I better look up the meanings just to make sure I was right...I found out that Kira in Gaelic means dark lady. Well now, this shines a whole new light on the subject of Kira. She really seems to be a combination of the two, sometimes she is sunny and sweet and helpful and loving...and then there are other times. Dark, brooding, stay away from me times. Like first thing in the morning, or when she's tired, or has a headache, or shoulder pain, or has to work when she'd rather be reading, etc. etc. etc. BUT, she's usually just like a sunny meadow (to me at least).

The baby!

With my first two children, my water broke one and two weeks before my due date, so with my third pregnancy, my Doctor wasn't taking any chances with me getting to the hospital in time. He scheduled me to be induced. I was not happy with this. While I had Pitocin with my second child, I was already having some little contractions. With my third, I wasn't having contractions, and it felt wrong to check in to the hospital, get an IV, and have a drug pumped into me just to make things more convenient. Reluctantly I agreed to schedule the induction. I remember going for an uncomfortable walk the night before I was scheduled. I had been having a lot of Braxton Hicks contractions with this last pregnancy and I thought that was what I was having during the walk. I was fully effaced, the head was down, and I had dropped. (I carried all my kids real low, and they were head down through most of the pregnancy. ) The actual length of "hard" labor I had with each of them was about three hours. So In other words, I was all ready to go. In the morning we took off for the hospital, me in denial all the way, and got all settled in my room. As before, I had my music and my focus thought, (swinging with my kids in the blue canvas swing, sunlight peeking through the leaves of the tree we were swinging from). The Doctor came in and checked me out, asking if I had been having contractions. I told him just Braxton Hicks, and he said well they were more than that, because you're already dilated to 4 cm. Whoa! So, without warning, he takes something that looks like a long crochet hook, and breaks my water. Had I known he was going to do this, I would have taken OFF my only pair of socks so they wouldn't get ALL WET. Geez, how disgusting...now I was sitting in a huge wet spot. So they started an IV, hooked up the Pitocin and we waited, and waited, until finally the contractions started. Once more,my focus thought along with my husband telling me when the contractions peaked worked like a charm. Once my contractions actually start, my labors are a breeze. With every contraction, especially at the very end, it seemed like the baby was pushing his feet into my zyphoid process. That hurt worse than the contractions. I didn't hyperventilate this time (at least I don't think I did, I'll have to ask my hubby...though I doubt that he would remember), and when I said I had to push, they did a quick check, pushed the cervix open a titch and then I had to try and relax (NOT push) while they got everything situated. It was like "Come on already!!!" After an agonizing few minutes of panting, I was told to go ahead an push. I added a couple more with this one (probably cuz he was bigger), maybe five total and out he came 8 lbs, 20 in., strawberry blond hair and RED. He looked huge compared to the other two. He's stayed big too. He looked so sweet and soft and perfect.

(Dreaded) Middle Child

We started remodeling our house soon after I found out I was pregnant with our second child. We did quite a bit of the work ourselves, and tiling the kitchen counters was one of them. I was about 8 1/2 months pregnant while I was tiling the kitchen. I remember I was making cooked pudding (chocolate, of course) on the stove while my husband was glueing a thick piece of plywood on top of another piece for the counter. My stove is in a corner of the kitchen and I was cooking the pudding, with a gas flame, right next to the part of the counter my husband was glueing (with adhesive that CLEARLY said, HIGHLY FLAMEABLE...DO NOT USE NEAR FLAME). Well, I don't know if being pregnant zaps out all of ones brain cells, or if my husband and I are just plain stupid...but you should have seen the flame catch hold of the adhesive fumes. It was just like in the movies. We watched the flames go from under the pan, across the counter and up the wall. There just happened to be some carpet hunks on the floor (thank GOD) that my husband tossed on the counter. Geez, that was a close call, it could have been soooooo bad. After we did the usual stress laugh, we ate the pudding!!
So in the following days, he finished the counter top so I could start tiling. I was just finishing up the last bit when my water broke. Because this happened to me with my firstborn, I knew I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, so I put on put on some protection and finished working.
This was 4 p.m. and a week early. I called my mom and told her we would be bringing her grand daughter over later because we were hoping to have a baby. Well, at 7 a.m. the next morning, we were still at home. I was having some contractions, but nothing really productive. Once I got to the hospital and into my room and all situated, they started a Pitocin drip. I had heard horror stories about Pitocin, so I wasn't too thrilled with that, but it turned out to be Wonderful!.
We had taken the childbirth classes this time also, and I was prepared with music, and a focus, and I had my husband tell me when the contraction peaked. My focus was my daughter and I sitting in the kiddy pool, with the sun sparkling on the water. That along with my knowing when the contraction peaked was all I needed. I sailed through the whole wopping three hours of labor like a bush woman. Again, same as the first time, I hyperventilated and got the shakes and needed the trusty paper bag, but unlike last time, when they checked for dilation, they waited until the contraction was over. I told my husband I had to push and to call for the nurse. She sauntered in and told me I couldn't possibly be ready yet, but after she checked, she got moving real fast. I was sort of in a sitting position, and I had my feet on the foot pads, the bottom of the bed was taken off, and the nurse and doctor were leaning against the counter. I said, "Are you gonna come catch him?" They didn't seem worried at all. Well, I kind of took them by surprise, because I only had to push 2 times and my second child was born. A darling little 6 lb. 11 oz. 19 in. wrinkly little Dr. Spock. He had a little turned up nose, with a crease across it, a little pointed chin, blond hair. Soooo sweet.

Baby girl

On September 1, 1985 I was dreaming of being back at my childhood home, running through the backyard. It was a nice peaceful dream, a light breeze blowing, dappled sun shining through the leaves on the tree, warming my skin...when I felt like I really had to pee. I startled awake and thought, "did I really do that?! I feel wet!" Actually, my water broke, two weeks early. I called the office, and they calmly told me to wait until I was having contractions. Well, I kept waiting...all day for something to happen. I packed, cleaned, made phone calls, went for a walk, anything to get labor started. I didn't get my first contraction until 12 hours later, around 7 pm. Little bitty contractions, my braxton hicks were worse than these. A few hours later they got a little worse, so I let my husband get some sleep, (on the couch), because I knew I would need him later on when things really got going and I spent the night in the rocker/recliner we bought (because a rocker is a necessity with a baby). By about 5 a.m., the contractions were getting kind of ugly. I woke up sleeping beauty and we trudged to the car. (it's really difficult to walk when your belly is as hard as a rock)
We had done the birthing classes, and I knew
I did not want medication,
I did not want an episiotomy,
I certainly, without a doubt, did not want a C-section,
I did not want a certain Doctor,
and because I work in a hospital, and knew the personality of a certain female intern, I DID NOT want her!
Well, me and Murphy are real close friends, and wouldn't you know it...
I got medication (it was horrible, I felt really woozy and out of control)
I got an episiotomy (what a strange sound it makes when they cut you)
I got the Doctor (it was a holiday weekend and he was "on call")
I got the icky, snotty, cold fingered female intern,
AND I had several other interns in there watching!!!
I found it amazing how hard my belly got during those disgusting contractions. (the things I think about)
I tried to think of pleasant thoughts or places, and to listen to my soothing music, but it really didn't work too well. Everytime they needed to check my progress, they waited until I was having a contraction to check dilation and the icky intern had cold fingers with long nails. So, when they asked me if I wanted something for the pain, I said YES! Unfortunately it turned out to be a bad experience. I didn't like the feeling of that drug at all. I felt like I had no control over myself, and all I wanted to do was sleep. It turns out I react to narcotics like that. I did the deep breathing so well that I hyperventilated. I had to breath into a paper bag, then I got the shakes. My mom was in there at the time, and I guess I scared her half to death. Then all of a sudden I said, "I have to push! Call the nurse." They came, checked me out, paged the Doctor and got me all set up. He got there just in the nick of time. My mom didn't have a chance to leave the room, she just looked at me and asked what she should do. I told her she could stay if she wanted.
The Doctor cut the episiotomy, I pushed 2 or 3 times (yes, that's correct) and out she came. A little pink baby girl, 5 lb. 13.5 oz., 19 in. long with strawberry blond hair.
[I was glad that my mom had the chance to see her firstborn come into the world and oddly enough, I didn't even feel strange for her to be there.]
My husband went with his new daughter to the nursery and gave her a bath, got her feet printed and came back with her all wrapped up and a little hat on her head. She looked exactly like a Smurf.
I had held exactly 1 baby before her. I had never changed a diaper, never given a bath, never gotten one dressed, and it all came so naturally. I guess my maternal instincts took over.
My firstborn, baby girl was born on Labor Day, two weeks early, and absolutely perfect!