course correction.

i don’t set resolutions based on new year’s. i feel like i’m a person in a constant state of flux—the best time to begin something new or make a change is immediately after thinking it over and making the decision in your head. DO IT. right now.
i guess on it’s face that can translate out as slightly ADD tendencies: i think of something, i mull it over, i start. sometimes that process takes minutes, sometimes days.
but i’m easily bored and—these days—extremely forgetful, so if i don’t get going immediately chances are it won’t happen.

what was i talking about?

oh. so i had a big thought, and i’m acting on it. thing is, i haven’t been feeling like the greatest momma lately. life, tired, stressed, sicknesses, sewing, cooking, cleaning, blogging, working…blah blah blah. bottom line it: too much, and my babies were getting the short end of the stick.

they were getting meals, and baths, and clean laundry. they weren’t getting tickles, and songs, and silly faces. they didn’t have mommy just sitting on the couch sans phone/project taking up the place in my lap where they should be. there was a lack of tower building, game playing, picture drawing. too much time in front of the tv. too much.

every evening i crawled into my bed—i need “me” time, even if that trite phrase isn’t how i put it in my head. i didn’t want to be mommy anymore—no more questions, no more Solomon like decision making, no more barking out orders. my kids were left to their own devices so i could clear my head with some crocheting and telephonernetting.

there’s nothing wrong with that—every mommy needs her time and space. it makes for a better mommy. but i was becoming a selfish mommy. i did the things i HAD to do. the things that keep our family alive and relatively functional, meanwhile retreating further and further away from being a Momma who’s there and present and engaged. i realized i was not even LOOKING at my children. conversations were happening while my eyes and 50% of my attention was focused elsewhere. that is huge, because looking someone in the eye is a mark of respect as far as i’m concerned. and as much as they need to respect me as a parent, i need to respect them as people. i was failing miserably.

i was mothering just enough to begin to hate mothering. i’m doing all the grunt work, without taking the time to enjoy all the rewarding stuff. it was twisted up in my brain—do the hard stuff and my reward was alone time, instead of my reward being pleasant times with my children.

and it shows in them, too. picking at each other, fighting…a general feeling of annoyance in our home. it was me thinking about all that—how we got to this place where there was shouting and fighting so much when they used to get along and cooperate so well—that brought me to my senses. the fact is they’re confused. with so much time spent parenting themselves and each other the lines between sibling relationships were become blurred and lost. everyone has their place in the home, and i was neglecting mine, leaving a large hole that my children kept tripping in.

i’m not perfect. obviously. but i’ve been thinking—hard—about what is happening in my life and my home and my family right now. i feel like there is a giant clock ticking over my shoulder. i suppose it’s along the lines of a woman’s biological clock—once the children have come it starts counting down the hours and days you have to perfect this parenting gig.

tick tick tick you have a 13 year old daughter. have you taught her the important things about womanhood that she needs to know? are you giving her  a good self-image? is she learning the life skills she’ll need to thrive? does she have a relationship with her father that’s strong enough to keep her from seeking out the creepy boys and men that prey on girls with daddy issues?

tick tock tick tock you have an 11 year old son. have you built up your relationship with him to a good enough place that you’re ready to face the coming trials of tween/teen-agehood? is he learning the skills and lessons to become a good man, husband, father someday? is he learning from you the right way to treat women, to eat dinner (not like a cow), to hold the door open for people?

tick tick tick you have a 9 year old daughter. she is the middle child and feels her divided place strongly. sometimes she’s grouped with the older siblings, sometimes with the younger. she needs more attention, more understanding, more patience. are you doing that? or are you pushing her away because she’s clingy and you’re crushing candy? how much will you regret that decision when she’s 15 and doesn’t want to talk to you anymore?

tick tock tick tock you have a five year old daughter. she’s spunky and friendly and if there’s anyone who will run off with a stranger to help them find their puppy it’s HER. have you taught her enough? she’s going to kindergarten in 8 months and wants to learn so badly. you promised to do “home preschool” with her and the supplies have sat unused for months. why?

tick tick tick you have a 2 year old daughter. this morning you sang twinkle twinkle with her in bed and couldn’t remember the last time you did that. or read a book together. she sang her ABC’s to you and you knew you weren’t the one responsible for teaching her that. she’s asking where “ava-mommy” is. did you color together today?

my clock is ticking—loudly and harshly. fortunately it’s also an alarm clock. i’ve pushed snooze one too many times and it’s time for me to wake up. i get one shot at this parenting thing, and i’m not going to do it perfectly, but i can certainly do better than i am now.

so i’ve been absent from here. no blogging, no blog reading, no less hours spent wasted on googling such vital things as “subway tile with gray grout images”. i’ve put down my phone and done less instagraming, less texting, less stupid stupid game playing. i’m trying to find a new balance—one that let’s me do the grunt work, enjoy the rewarding children time, and still have the husband and wife time and the just shannon time. dude. that’s not an easy task.

so please excuse the dust while my life is under renovation.

I'm proud of my mom, but I still miss the churros.

A few weeks ago I had to take my baby brother for a checkup. The fool had broken his nose playing football, and since mom and dad were working it fell to big sister to accompany him to the ENT.

I call him my baby brother because, well, he is. There is just a touch less than 16 years between us, and I spent most of my teenage years getting some subtle and not-so-subtle judgments from people who assumed I was a teenage mother. Whatever. The truth is that—for all intents and purposes—I am his 2nd momma.

Kind of.

I yell at him for driving too fast, counsel his choice of girls, tell him he’s being an idiot for continuing to play football after he broke his nose (twice). But we’re still brother and sister. Which means when we go to the ENT and the doctor comes in wearing one of those cartoon doctor head things that are like a headband with a big mirror and light on them, we look at each other and giggle. And when he examines Casey and says that he has “a significant deformity,” well then we flat out crack up. Loudly and inappropriately.

For what it’s worth—like many families—we’re too loud. We talk too loud, laugh too loud, make jokes and poke fun. Loudly. What can I say? We’re a rather odd mix of German, Italian and Jewish. Like I said, loud. Oy.

our attempt at a “then me/now me” photo.

Two brothers, one sister-in-law and my parents—who have been together for over 40 years, married for 38. ::coughcough no nieces or nephews coughcough::

So no matter how we may annoy each other or fight, the truth is we love each other. I’m proud of my brothers—who they are, the men they are. I’m not ashamed to be associated with them…errr, most of the time. Of course, I’ve always been “daddy’s girl”. I’m the oldest and only girl.
But, I’m the only girl. I’m my mom’s only daughter. And, uh, she’s my only mom. ;) The mother/daughter relationship…literally thousands of books have been written on that subject. And you’ll never cover it all. It’s complex and tricky, and OH MAN I HAVE FOUR DAUGHTERS WHAT HAVE I DONE???
I’ve become a woman, a wife, a mother myself—and I know she’s proud of me. But becoming a woman, a wife, a mother has given me a new perspective. And guess what? I’m just as proud of her.

My mom started working when she was 16. She was a waitress—and a good one. As kids we would go eat dinner at Chi-Chi’s on Wednesday nights when she waited tables. Jesse and I fought over who would get to use the push vac to clean up the crumbs under her empty tables (he usually won. humph).

It’s hard and very unglamorous work. My mom worked as a waitress for decades, because her family needed it. After she had my youngest brother she decided to branch out. She trained as a Bradley teacher—it’s a natural childbirth method for the unfamiliar. Think Lamaze minus the “hee-hee-hoo”. She had a love for the medical field and, for a while, teaching groups of expectant parents in our living room was enough for her.


                                                                                                       mom-mom and Ava
For a while.
I remember exactly what year it was. She signed up for school and it started just after I gave birth to Ava in 2004. I was married and out of the house, my brothers were older and not so dependent. And she decided to become a nurse.

My mom enrolled in college at the age of…..no. I won’t go there. Let’s just say “the age of Old Enough To Be A Grandmother.” She studied and did homework. She attended class after class and did clinical and followed and learned and after a while…she graduated. I don’t want to minimize how hard it was. Because it certainly wasn’t easy. She wanted to give up. She cried. She got angry.


But she did it.

My mom became a nurse. No-- My Mom became a Nurse at a time when many woman are taking up quilting. My Mom became a Nurse at a time when many woman are eyeing up the bedrooms of soon-to-be-gone children as potential craft rooms. My Mom became a Nurse and didn’t care that she wasn’t the age of your typical college student.

My Mom had bigger fish to fry. She did something she had wanted to do for years, and when she graduated I was there with flowers and my kiddos, cheering on My Mom who became a Nurse. She worked as a waitress for almost 30 years. But now she’s doing something she loves, and she does it well.

And it’s cool, because guess who still remembers how to make fried ice cream for family dinners? #winning

 

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more words i don’t know how to say.

well. it’s been quite a couple of weeks. it’s been quiet here on the blog, and for good reason. i talked about the stomach bug that went through—3 of the 5 succumbed in the end. that was tag-teamed with the googiedaddy coming down with a massive flu and possible infection on top of it. dude, he was so sick. dude, i just said dude.

it was not a pleasant week. i lost track of how many times i changed sheets, how many loads of laundry i did, how many cups of tea and ginger ale i poured.

and then you think I AM SO OVER THIS and your dad texts you and says mom is really sick not sure if should go to hospital. so i drove over to find my poor momma curled in a ball on the bathroom floor with waves of pain. dad and i got her in bed, and after conferencing for a few minutes decided it was off to the hospital.

eventually i instagrammed a pic of my #DAREcember challenge from the room we were in…when we thought it was just a nasty stomach bug and she’d be home after some fluids. HA.

that was last sunday, she just got out of the hospital yesterday. it wasn’t a nasty stomach bug. actually they’re not really definitive on what it was, all the tests came back negative and ruled out e-coli and other bacterial nasties. but she was—and is—really sick.

so then you’re basically like I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE AND SO HELP ME I WILL CRY IF YOU LOOK AT ME CROSS-EYED. you know, your basic threat level orange or whatever.
and you know, in the best foreshadowing fashion, that this is where it really gets fun.

wednesday morning i jumped into the shower and called for gigi to come in with me. she’d been congested and i wanted her to try and clear out in a steamy shower. as soon as she took off her clothes and jumped in with me i noticed three dark bruises—two on her arms, one on her right hipbone.

here’s the thing: i can’t tell you why i knew they weren’t right. i have five children. i’ve probably seen 6.4 billion bruises in my mothering career so far. these were…off. they weren’t very large, but they were dark purple and in very odd places.

she doesn’t attend preschool and is rarely not with me, but i still looked in her eyes and asked if anyone hit her. she said no.

so we got out of the shower and i lotioned her up, taking that time to give her a good lookover. i noticed that she had little red dots on her neck, as if she had scratched it and broken tiny blood vessels. she also had a severely chapped lip—her bottom lip looked like she had chewed the snot out of it and was scabby and bloody. she had woken up with that a few days prior.

fortunately i have that honorary doctorate from google, which comes in super handy at times like this. i was simultaneously googling “dark bruises + chapped lips” while texting jeremy “please tell me i’m crazy right now, mmkay?”
he’s a good guy, so he complied.
”you’re crazy, calm down, she’s fine. she’s klutzy.”
but he wasn’t quite fast enough because i’d already found my answer: ITP. Immune or Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpura.
winner winner chicken dinner.

ITP is basically your immune system going haywire. it begins attacking your platelets—the cells in your blood that are “sticky”—the ones responsible for clotting. when your immune system attacks your platelets they die off faster than new ones can be made in your bone marrow and your numbers plummet. normal platelet count is 150,000-350,000.
symptoms: bruises, bleeding of the mucosal membranes (i.e. lips), petechiae (the little red dots all over her skin).

it was too close. the symptoms fit too well. i was most definitely edging toward threat level red.

jeremy texted me back. i read about that thing. i think you should call the doctor.
so i did.
we were there by 11:40. the PA we saw (who i will never, ever see again) initially downplayed.
well kids get bruises.
eyeroll from me. okay thanks i guess i’m an idiot. listen to me: these are different.
then i showed her the neck dots. that got a response.
we headed off for bloodwork—which means wrapping my legs and arms around my baby while she screams and begs for this NOT to happen. ever done it? it’s not pleasant.

you know that feeling when you just KNOW? every fiber of your being just knows? i spent thursday alternately eating all my fingernails off and trying not to cry or puke and calling the doctor’s office to pressure them a little more. they finally called back at 11:30.
everything came back normal. RBC, WBC, all perfectly normal. oh—but her platelets clumped so we didn’t get a count on them. so we’ll put in an order for more labs.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? the one number we needed was the one number we didn’t have. and now i have to go through the holding my baby down process again.

by thursday night she had a lot more bruises.

friday morning. i said to jeremy “do you think they check all the labs that come in and see if anything is really bad and they call them right away?”
our phone rang at 8:50.

gigi’s platelet levels were 23,000.

the PA was completely nonchalant about it. i’m going to have you make an appointment with a hematologist for followup.

i was like uhhh…wait. what? because i don’t know about you but i’ve googled this and i’m thinking 23,000 is a little more serious than “call a hemotologist for an appointment”. so she said if i wanted she could call too.
then i punched her in the neck.
okay no i didn’t but i said thanks but no thanks i’ll make my own phone calls.

we called a few different resources and hospitals. the PA called back.
uhhh…i spoke with the hematology department at CHOP and they’re working on an appointment for gisele but if they can’t get you in today you’ll probably have to take her to the ER.

NO KIDDING.

we packed for an overnight stay. we dressed. we were waiting for a last call back from a hospital in NJ. a nurse from the ped’s office called again: umm, **** (the PA) heard back from CHOP and they said you need to take Gisele to the ER right now. are you going?

saying that i was angry is a little bit of an understatement.

we got in the car and drove to the ER. we’re fortunate to be a 1/2 hour drive from some of the best hospitals in the U.S., but that doesn’t help at all when you’re taking one of your babies there.

gigi was cool with the hospital idea. we told her that her blood was sick, and she needed to go to the big hospital so they could help her. yes, she’s going to have to have more bloodwork. we explained an IV as best we could. she was less cool with that.

and from that point it basically went as expected: our nurse was awesome. like really, really awesome. she placed an IV, then took more blood for labs. we waited.
her platelets were up to 43,000.
the hematologist came down and talked with us. at that point it was basically confirmed for us: gisele has ITP.
her platelets had gone up and that was a good sign, but it didn’t change things too much. her risk of bleeding remained basically the same. what’s the treatment? well there’s a few different things they can try. but the bottom line is her body has to do this on it’s own. the treatments are just temporary stopgap measures, and with a level of 43,000 we can wait and watch and see if her body can figure it out on it’s own. there are children walking around with much lower numbers.
meanwhile: no wrestling, no jumping off things. if she bangs her head, immediately back to the ER. if she has a nosebleed or bleeding from anywhere that’s excessive or we can’t control after 1/2 hr, back to the ER. car accident or any major trauma, back to the ER.

ITP in children has a very good chance of spontaneous remission—it will go away and that’s it. it can take up to 9 months, it can happen in a couple of weeks. there is a chance it could become chronic. but we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. 

gigi goes in monday morning to the hematology clinic. she’ll have bloodwork again to check her levels. driving 95 with her…ugh. i asked jeremy if it was insane to make her wear a helmet in the car? honestly, it’s not—the hematologist offered to send us home with one if it made us more comfortable.

so this is our new normal. i’m going to be 34 this month, and i didn’t really have any grey hairs. but everyone knows—these little rugrats will give ‘em to ya. a 5 year old with a platelet count of 43,000 who is trying to ride her new scooter through the house? i could feel them sprouting in my head.

in truth though, this, right now—knowing what we’re dealing with--is 1000x better than the not knowing of wednesday and thursday. it’s another thing to roll in to our life and keep on going.

as soon as we can remember how to say it.