evening out the sides for balance

the house is quiet right now. mostly anyway, i can hear cohen snoring down the hall, yet another thing he picked up from his dad. i am alone in the silence and it is beautiful. i haven't had much of this all week. it has been a tough one.

when cohen was ada's age it was common practice to lie down next to him in our bed for nap time. when he fell asleep i would wedge pillows on either side of him and then get up and attempt to be productive (except for days when i gave up on productivity and voted for napping instead). i would keep the house quiet and listen to hear him babbling upon waking. it was a system that worked. some people rock, or cradle, or stroke soft little foreheads, we always laid next to him. we still do most nights, so it wasn't a surprise that this is the same approach we would take with ada. this method became null and void near the end of last week though when she fell out of bed for the sixth time (five here, once at grandma's). i know, i know, six?!? there should have only been one i suppose but i kept tempting fate, believing i would get there fast enough when she woke, and probably a little of being lazy as well. it would work if she wasn't so quiet when she wakes up. silent. there is no other time in the day when she is quiet. she makes parrots and monkeys seem sedate, always singing and shouting, or crying. all the time, except when i want her to. she is that kind of a kid.

so last week when she fell again without warning i decided that enough was enough, never again. sleeping has been a disaster ever since. she doesn't want to be rocked and will pinch your cheeks hard and then harder until you stop with the rocking. cradling is a no go as well, fidgeting and rolling over in my arms is her solution for that one. i tried lying down with her on the living room floor on a blanket but she wasn't going to be fooled, the moment i thought she was asleep and attempted to get up she started to crawl away, smiling. so then what?

crying. that is the cold hard fact here. it is either crying, letting her stay awake all the time, or going for trips in the car every time i want her to sleep. the last one does seem tempting and might even be the solution if cohen wasn't so uppity about leaving the house. so we have been letting her cry to get to sleep. this has worked out ok so far at night, as she goes to bed before cohen, but for naps it just isn't working. she has stamina and conviction, she is, as they say, a tough cookie to crack. so i let her cry and then i go lie with cohen, but then her cries step up a notch and i feel i should go see her and cohen gets up to follow me. this goes on for half an hour or more some days. he can't relax if she is crying and i can't go in and calm her (somehow?) if he is awake and stepping on my coat tales. it is an impossible predicament. napping with two takes impeccable timing, rock solid instincts and significantly more patience than i currently possess. today the process took 2 hours. 2 hours! just when i threw my hands in the air and thought "to hell with both of you, if you don't want to sleep then fine don't sleep, see if i care!" i look in and he is fast asleep, exhausted from his attempts to foil me. today it was 1:45, a decent time. yesterday it wasn't until 3. i guess i should just be glad he naps at all. i know.

right now i am glad to have this moment of silence. i think i will go make myself a cup of tea. of course as soon as the water is boiled one of them will wake up, that is just how it works. until then i will let the fantasy be real.


this is the latest in an installation i like to call "cohen's head wounds". this one was achieved last night when he ran into the car door. ouch.

tooth!

my kids are good sleepers, surprisingly so most of the time. this is not to say that they always go to sleep easy, although with ada this would be accurate (if falling asleep and staying that way were an olympic sport, she would likely win gold), with cohen it would not. since he graduated from the cage to freedom the going to sleep has been a crapshoot. still, it usually doesn't take forever (ie no more than 30 minutes) of up and down before he is fast asleep until morning.

then there was last night.

i put him down for the first time at 7:45, he was up again every 2 minutes for an hour and a half. seriously. i wish i could say that those 45 times up and down wore him out enough that he fell asleep at 9:15, but alas i can not. at this point i buckled and crawled into bed with him where he continued to fidget/poke me in the eye/pull my hair and laugh for another 45 minutes. 10 o'clock and i am now mad. the unhappy voice comes out and the finger starts wagging. he breaks out in hysterical laughter. i feel defeated. marko shouts from the living room "if you don't want him to laugh, you need to say it like you mean it". what is this improv class? i do mean it! i had a list as long as my arm of things i wanted to get done and slowly it was becoming clear that none of it was happening. i tried again and it turned out that this time i could find my inner "mean it" voice. quickly his laughter became tears, became my enormous guilt, became a huge hug and a kiss, became the return of his laughter. damn it.

10:30 and the game is still on. this time we are sitting on the couch, him in my lap drinking warm milk with a grin on his face, me on the verge of tears, 7 loads of laundry piled at our feet. back into his room i open the patio door a crack and sit on the end of his bed. the breeze is nice, but it brings with it the sound of voices off in the distance, voices that are enjoying the company of friends, maybe even drinking a beer, laughing. as i sit there all i could think about doing was yelling out into the night sky "whatever you do, don't have kids!"

the next half hour was a blur, i think i cried on the front porch and threw my hands in the sky and whispered "why?" and then marko went in and yelled and then hugged and then there was silence and we thought we were good. we weren't. 11:08 marko hugs him one more time, places him in bed and says "no more!", and that was it, he finally fell asleep 3 hours and 23 minutes after it all began.

he woke up again at 4am.

i got to sleep through that portion of the program, but as it was explained to me it involved a great deal of crying and cajoling and very little sleep until sometime around 5. he woke for the day at 7:30

which brings us to this morning. i tried to get him to nap at 11. i thought it was going to be easy, i mean he only had a handful of hours sleep, but he wasn't having it. for an hour we struggled back and forth, me in the bed and then out, him calm and him crying. there was yelling and hugging. it was essentially a condensed version of last night, until just after noon when he came back into the living room, pulled out his soother and said "tooth!" while pointing into his mouth.

this is an enormous revelation because:

a. it has been determined that cohen likely has a speech delay. we have been waiting to get in for an assessment and have an appointment for the end of the month. he will repeat words back at us but he never uses them to express himself, there have been no shouts of "more" or "down" or "now". mostly he babbles in some african language and points. so "tooth!", although he has said the word many times before, in this context is worthy of celebration.

b. it's his tooth! it had never occurred to me that there might be a logical reason for all the ridiculous fussipotness, i just assumed he was being difficult, testing boundaries, reveling in making my life hell. who knew? sure enough when i looked inside i could see that two of his back molars are on their way out, the gums swollen and bloody. poor guy.

so i dug into the cupboard and found some motrin. he gulped it down like the candy it is and then sulked in my arms for the 25 minutes it took to kick in, and then he fell fast asleep. she is sleeping too, which is a bit of a miracle really, 2 hours to myself in the middle of the afternoon! the question is, do i tackle the list or take a nap...

i think we're down to three

if you had asked me four hours ago if i would be coming and writing this post, i would have said "no way". in my head the words were necessarily going to have to come out different. i am glad i was wrong.

it all started around 3:30 am when marko came in to wake me up (he is a night owl and is often still awake at this time), he wanted to know where galena was. this is a very strange thing for him to ask, the whereabouts of our cat being a neither here nor there issue for him, and so i sat up to listen. i wasn't sure where she was, and this is the part where i admit that i leave the cat door unlocked all the time giving her complete freedom to come and go as she pleases. last night, it turns out, she had made the decision to go, and was outside at large. normally i wouldn't think much of this, she has been known to go out in the evening and sit on the deck or under the front hedge and then she comes back in and nestles herself in some corner. the look on marko's face told me i should maybe be worried though.

only moments before he had heard some ominous snarly and gnashing of teeth out the front of the house, "i think it was in the yard, just in front of that hedge", he said. the it, i soon found out, was two coyotes, possibly three. he saw something run out of the front yard but he couldn't be sure if it was a third coyote, a cat, or a coyote with a cat in it's mouth, as he was too stunned by the fact that there were coyotes in our yard to compute. he did see two linger in the street though, and then they were gone. after relaying the story to me he went into the street with a flashlight to see if he could see anything, clues as to what might have happened, but there was nothing there.

i was worried, but still optimistic, and after shaking the box of treats and calling her name to no avail i decided to go back to bed and assess things in the morning. when i awoke i went out to look and there they were, right in front of the hedge where marko heard the gnarling, three large chunks of white and black hair. my heart sank. i decided to put on a sweater and make the trek around the neighbourhood. i went to the end of the block to scour the park, up the alleys, and through people's yards, but there was nothing to be found. i tried to listen to my instinct and all it was saying was that she was gone, that they got her. she isn't exactly skinny, there is no way she could outrun a coyote. i was resolved, and so i came home, plopped myself down on the couch, and cried. i wasn't certain what was making me more sad, the fact that she had died or that she had died in what i imagined to be a horrific way. marko eventually conceded that i was probably right (until this point he felt certain that she would show up since there was no blood in the yard) and we continued about our early morning in relative silence.

it was almost two hours later when i heard the scratch. i thought it was in my head at first, but then it was clear. i rushed to the door, and there she was looking up at me with the widest eyes i have ever seen, fur was missing on her side, but there was no blood, no liimping, and as i gently massaged her all over i encountered no protests. she seems fine, but how? i still don't understand it all, surely she didn't out smart the coyotes? she is a domesticated, somewhat fat and lazy (but loveable) cat after all, but it appears that maybe she did. i hope she continues to seem fine as the day rolls on. so the lock is going on the cat door tonight, and i am here wondering, maybe cats really do have nine lives?


***update***
i went and had another look at her and unfortunately i did find two puncture marks on her back that were obviously made by teeth. it looks like she was picked up and carried, but perhaps because of her weight she was dropped or managed to escape. the wounds look fairly superficial at this point, but of course it is hard to tell and truthfully seems unlikely. i cut some of the hair around the area and rinsed it with warm soapy water and then applied some alcohol to the wounds. i will wait and see for now. our old place was beside the vet, it wasn't such a concern, but now it is a 25 minute bus ride, a bus ride i just can't do with two kids and a cat in a cage. if she worsens i am going to have to find someone to come be with the kids tomorrow. for now though she seems in good spirits and is still eating and grooming. keep your fingers crossed for us.

the hardest part

i am having such a hard time with this tonight. i have been sitting at this desk for an hour and half, eating trail mix, and wishing i had just started the new david sedaris book instead of attempting to write this, the post which seems impossible to write.

i am feeling so inadequate these days and if i am to share that then i need to make sure that the words i tell it with are anything but, as though the words will make up for all the shortcomings. they won't, and i suppose i would argue that my shortcomings aren't really that at all, but simply misplaced expectations and a penchants for being the underdog anyway. i know this, just as i know that i shouldn't bite my nails and i should drink more water, yet still it is there. i can half joke about it tonight because today was a good day. more and more my days are falling into this category, which is maybe why i can come here and write about it at all, or try anyway. i have learned that for me there are some things that just can't be put into words, or at least not my own, opting instead to listen to others and nod with understanding.

life with two kids has been tough for me. i thought i would be better at it, the juggling, and reassuring, and nurturing. i don't have enough time for ada, and every time i blink she is bigger and stronger and one step closer to growing up. most day i feel like i am missing it. cohen, who is fiercely independent in his personality, is also a highly social being, and doesn't thrive on independent play, at least not for any length of time. it is hard to find enough undivided time for him during the day, he is alway needing more. i feel anxiety if the house is too messy, i make lists in my head of the things that need doing. the lists are quiet at first, but soon they are shouting at me. i have tried to keep the lists to the bare minimum, to not expect too much, but even just food on the table, clean clothes in the drawers and a watered garden can keep me busy until well past dark. i feel like i am losing a part of myself in this process, becoming someone new, unfamiliar.

this is the surface of the truth, the real truth is of course somewhere deeper. i think about maia, about how in the months after she died all i could think about was how much i needed something to hold. i would wrap galena up in a towel and rock her in my arms while i sang. i knew i was crazy, but it was too much, the yearning, i couldn't bear to face it. i think about all those other mothers out there who are mourning the loss of their babies, or the dreams of someday having one. i have no business being sad, or frustrated or overwhelmed. i owe it to those mothers, to my former self, to be something stronger. i am trying, everyday i am trying. i am not sure it is enough.

when maia died i read the words of others who were walking in my same shoes, they felt alone, as though no one understood. i never felt that way. somehow i managed to find a community of people who shared that grief, i felt surrounded. in this though, the weight of motherhood, i feel alone, as though it is not ok to say it is not ok. i have the photos with smiling faces, and charming summer anecdotes, all of the things that would make it seem like everything is fine, but they don't feel honest, not until i come right out and say that as a mother i am a work in progress, years from perfection, but miles away from giving up. if there are other mothers out there reading, especially those of two (or more), i would love to know how the transition from one to two went? did it get easier over time?

the good, the bad, the ugly

or in this case, the ugly, the bad, and the good.

the ugly (the story, not ada!)

have you ever had one of those moments where you didn't do what your instincts told you to do, even though you knew better, and then had the result come to no good? of course you have, it is a required part of being human. i have had many, too many to claim i didn't know better. it is the rule that should govern over all others, listen to your inner voice, it ain't a fool. as you have likely guessed, i had another one of these moments just the other day. i was coming home from the park with the stroller, and as i approached the front door to our building, i noticed a man i had never seen before lingering out front. he looked like trouble, but not in an obvious way. it was my instinct telling me he was trouble, my brain decided not to listen. the truth is that i didn't want a conflict. the truth is that i was being lazy and taking the easy way out. the truth is that i let him in, and rode the elevator with him (even engaging him in idle chit chat). the truth is that he kicked in a door on the fourth floor only moments later and stole two guitars from it's occupant, and it was completely my fault (i found out after the fact from the building manager and gave a statement to the police). i should have known better. i feel pretty shitty about the whole thing. i think there is a lesson in here somewhere.

the bad

well, i am not sure it is bad really, how about fortunate lined with unfortunate feelings? the last couple of days i have finally been exposed to what life is going to be like with two. picture me early in the morning with squinty eyes wearing a sour milk stained pajama top, holding ada and bouncing around the kitchen trying to sooth her cries as i attempt to slice open an english muffin, and cut up a banana for cohen's breakfast. all the while he is clinging to my leg and whining (or opening the spice cupboard and taking out all the spices and stacking the jars on the floor), desperately trying to get my attention. this scene gets played over and over throughout the day. i don't think i have enough hands for this job. what i am quickly learning is that i need to restructure my thinking, at least for now. it is impossible to think that i can do dishes/take a shower/do a load of laundry/nap, when i have two who are in almost constant need of me. i need to learn to breath and get used to living in a messy house. normally i would be better at letting it go, but with the move looming over my head and the nagging voice telling me that i need to be packing at least a few boxes a day, it is proving difficult. today marko took cohen out of the house for a few hours to allow me the space to get some things done, but ada had other plans for me and refused to be put down. i didn't get anything done (other than lots of cuddling), and felt defeated when the boys came back home, but tomorrow is a new day, and we still have two weeks before we move. perspective. i am trying.

the good

marko got the job! he starts back to work on the 12th. it would be nice if it was the 19th as we would be moved in by then and things would be settled, but the 12th is ok too. gulp, that means i only have him home with me for one more week and then i have to do it alone for real. i can do this....right?

back in black

so many joys these days, and so many challenges as well. cohen's personality is exploding and with it has come many exciting things. i have heard people mention the filling of their heart, the gushing of their pride and the previously unkown happiness that having a child brings, i have even said it myself, but only recently have i realized that for everytime i think it, or say it, i will turn around and it will get even better, even bigger and more full and i will think that before i didn't know joy, before was just a warm up for this, and i suppose it was. it is the only thing in my life so far that has lived up to the adage that it really does get better all the time.

i am loving this age so much that some days i think i am going to burst from the experience of it, and yet at the same time it is so trying that there are days when i spend the entire afternoon on the verge of tears.

i have a passionate child. he isn't the sort of kid who wobbles or stands on fences, he is sure and determined and so very strong willed. this makes him prones to outbursts of affection, large bear hugs and smiles as wide as a canyon, deep burrowing in cuddles and kisses over and over again on my cheek, but also fits of frustration, body limp, feet stamping and arms flailing. he shouts gibberish in the hallyway to hear himself echo and he dances around the room when i put on the stereo, his arms flailing around above his head, his feet marching up and down and up and down to the beat. he will bang on his drum and pound on his piano so fiercely that the walls vibrate, and then he will stop without warning, point his finger at me and say "mom" in the softest voice, a smile emerging across his face. he loves to explore and to get into trouble, throwing things in the toilet when my back is turned or running for the littler box hands out to grab. this afternoon he figured out how to screw the lid off of the fish food, pellets streaming across the floor, his hand tightly clutching only a few for a taste. yells of frustration when i cleaned his hands and vacuumed the mess, a waste of his effort.

so where is the bad? well, it is in there. the fits, the mischeviousness, the determination. in my heart i am glad he is who is, independent and strong, but in my body it is sometimes pretty tough. fighting to get dressed and then fighting to go in the stroller, fighting when he doesn't want to get out of the bath or leave the swing. it isn't because he doesn't want to do these things, it is because he wants to be the one to decide when we do it. he wants to be in control. it is easy to feel like a bad mom. a slip of patience, a moment of frustration and i feel crushed, incapable. i know that i need to maintain the control and yet language is still a barrier and so boundaries are hard to create. patterns are being set up now and i want to make sure they are the right ones, but some days it is tough not to just do the thing that seems easiest. bad nights these days mean bad days as well, there is no more afternoon nap or lazy morning lounging, it is up early sleep or no sleep and then home to dinner and laundry and playing and bath and story and then bed, then sometimes when there is a moment, there is this.

i guess what i am saying is that i am starting to understand how parenting can be the hardest job in the world, that is isn't always as easy as it looks. however, it is moments like this afternoon when i arrived to pick him up from the nanny share, the way his eyes lit up and his grin stretched from ear to ear when he saw me, the way he ran over to me with his arms outstretched for a hug, quickly followed by an adamant wave goodbye to his nanny as if to say "i have somewhere better to be now, home with mom", that it is all worth while.