Crooked Pigtails

Three things in search of connection

I've changed the paint color for our dining room remodel three times.  For those keeping score, that is no fewer than eight (factoring in primer etc...) coats of paint on the new walls.  My husband has been very patient with me, but I sense he is thisclose to bringing home wallpaper sample books, so I am determined this latest color will be a winner. 

I went with the first color based on how I thought it would blend with the planned new color for the living room.  The paint was on the wall for a bit over a month, and I liked it well enough, it grew on me, but I didn't love it, and I worried that it didn't truly work with our furniture.  Then, while visiting my sister, I realized that her dining room is painted the exact color I had originally envisioned, and still loved, so I brought her paint chip home and showed it to my husband.  He preferred the color already on our walls (probably because it was already on our walls), but agreed to repaint if I was sure.  I was.

Long, long (trust me, it's long, involving several trips to big-home-improvement-store to tweak the color that even they admitted did NOT match the paint chip) story shortened: that perfect paint color? my dream paint? is beyond horrid on our walls.  Beyond.  It must be the lighting which is not great in the room.  At any rate, now we are going with a new, very similar, much more dramatic (in an attempt to compensate) shade.  Pray for me.

I know there are much more important, pressing, issues in the world, but please, I really hate wallpaper.

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Can I just say, for the record, that my sister is, bar none, the most adorable pregnant woman on the planet.  I can not keep my hands off her perfect belly.  Here at Chez Pigtails we've taken to calling the baby BC (baby cousin) and it is so sweet to hear the girls talk about their long awaited new cousin that I am hoping my sister and brother-in-law name their little bundle something that will allow BC to continue.  My suggestions: Bridget Claire or Benjamin Charles.  Naturally, those are just jumping off points, the proud parents should feel free to name their own child anything they choose---so long as they choose a name with BC as initials.  It would be helpful is all I'm saying.

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Speaking of children's names, I'm changing mine. 

I've struggled with the real names/pseudonym controversy since the beginning of this blog and have always, without fail, landed on the pseudonym side of the fence.  I'm not clever enough to come up with cute, meaningful nick names for the girls.  I tend to read way too much into those, and end up complicating the matter even further than it already feels, so I have settled for the Miss First Initial option, but I have never felt truly happy with the Miss First Initial option, and frankly, the whole topic is crazy in the making for me.  I can't take it any longer, I need a change.  Therefore, after many stressful hours of consideration, a couple of guilt dripping therapy sessions, and a few margaritas, I am changing my children's names (my children's beautiful, lovingly chosen, names *sob*) and I am okay with it; we will all recover.

I mean, hey, Maggie did it!  And, if the truly fab.u.lous. Maggie (seriously, how cool is Maggie?) can do it, so can I, dammit!

I thought of several great new names for my girls.  Because I am such an obsessive freak, I took it nearly as seriously as I did the first time we named them---my husband? not so much.  The first time we named our kids he was involved, he had opinions, he liked names and vetoed others.  This time? he was all, just call them what you want to call them, what's the big deal?  Yeah, thanks for the help, hon.--- but then I realized something important about myself: I am far too lazy to go back through all the achieves and change their names.  I don't like it, but I'll own it.  Far.  Too.  Lazy.  For convenience sake, and to minimize confusion, their initials must remain consistent.

And so:

Hear ye, hear ye!  By the powers vested in me by the state of my mind, and by virtue of my 73 days and 22 hours of labor with these two precious beings, I now pronounce them to be Harper and Addison.  Or Addie.  Probably more Addie.  You may kiss your monitors.

Premature

So, I may have spoken a little too soon. 

Miss H was, indeed, fever free yesterday morning.  She wasn't exactly a bundle of energy, or, of joy, for that matter, in fact, she was downright miserable, miserable, MIS-ER-A-BLE, but she did play quietly most of the day.  By dinner her temperature was slightly elevated, back to 99, and by evening it was 102.4.  S called the pediatric answering service, reported the stats, and was told we should bring her back in today.

Today, her temperature has been hovering around 101.  Not horrible, nothing like earlier in the week, but not good either.  Today is officially day five of Fever watch 2007.  After the second very thorough examination of the week, our pediatrician presented me with two options: take her for the blood work now, or wait one more night and see if the fever breaks.  Though the prolonged fever is troubling, Miss H is not exhibiting any of the tell-tale-red-light symptoms of Meningitis, no stiff neck, no sensitivity to light...therefore, after considering all the options and details of her symptoms --which seem to be all over the place, and not specific enough to indicate anything on their own--we decided to wait one more night before subjecting her to the blood work.

I don't want to put my child through testing that is both scary for her and possibly unnecessary.  I also don't want to be a fool, if the fever is still hanging around in the morning, heaven help us all because I will be dragging (no, I am not exaggerating--you should have seen her reaction just to the discussion) Miss H into the lab.  If anyone will be in the area, feel free to stop by and help me hold her down.

Then, maybe you could explain to her that this isn't my fault.

Because that's what she thinks.  She told me she thinks I'm not making her fever go away because I want her to have blood work (actually, she called it blood pressure, which is sweet and funny and pathetic because how can you not smile at that?  Only, how can you smile when she is telling you that you suck as a parent?)  I know that she didn't mean it.  I know that she is sick and miserable and scared and seven.  But, jeeezuuus, did that sting!

My kid is being gripped by something terrible, and I can't control it, I can't make it better, but I am her mother, and, for her, everything she believes, everything she knows, is that I am supposed to make it better, because I always do, I always have.

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I don't know where to go from that last sentence, so I'm just going to stop whining and go cuddle my kids.  Perhaps I can squeeze the fever out of her?

Winding down

Sorry for the blog silence. 

We are home, finally, from our mini-vacation and from my sister's bridal shower, and we are desperately attempting to squeeze every bit of summer out of these last few days before the start of the new school year.

I have several posts swirling around in my head; a few of them will actually make their way here eventually, soon, I hope.  But, these last few days, I just want to spend cuddling and playing and singing and dancing and swimming and swinging with my girls. 

Then I'll be back to tell you all about it.  I promise.

Happy Mother's Day!

We were supposed to go away for the weekend; it has become somewhat of a tradition for us to spend Mother's Day in Maine.  People think we are nuts, but this off-season is the perfect time to go: the rates are lower, the restaurants are not crowded, and the dog is allowed to join us for long, chilly walks on the beach.  It is heaven.  There are very few places I would rather be, but the weather has been lousy, and I just was not feeling up for wet-dog-chasing-kids-around-a-crowded-motel-room.  So, we decided to stay home and lay low.  This has been one of my favorite Mother's Days.

S took the girls to the mall yesterday while I stayed home and did a few things around the house: a couple loads of laundry, a little vacuuming and a lot of reading--quiet reading with zero interruptions, which, right there, is the perfect gift for any mother.

I was on the phone when they returned, bursting in the door with presents for me.  H was carrying a gift bag and A was carrying a rose, the stem of which she snapped in two when she ran up and excitedly crumpled the cellophane into my chest.

"Mommy!" she yelled as she jumped up and down.

"Mommy!  We got you a rose and a phone and a purse and chocolate!" 

She was smiling and jumping and shaking her head up and down; she was not blinking, her eyes were so wide it seemed as though they didn't have lids.  She didn't see it coming when she was hit, in the back of the head, with the gift bag.

"A!!  It's supposed. To be. a surprise!"  H whined.

Now they were both in tears.  I handed the phone to S who made my goodbyes and apologies to an understanding friend, and cuddled a couple of upset little girls.  Then I opened my gifts a day early.

You will never guess what I got!  A rose, white (H has a thing about white roses) still a bud.  A new cell phone, the pink razor.  A new summer purse, my first Vera Bradley, which I would never have picked out, but I love.  And some chocolate, Godiva, good old fashioned milk chocolate truffles.

This morning I was in the bathroom when I heard H telling A to wait a minute, and to not wake me up yet cause they weren't ready.  I ran and dove back under the covers approximately four seconds ahead of my husband and girls rounding the corner to bring me breakfast in bed.  H scrambled the eggs herself and A buttered the toast.  There was also orange juice, coffee, and bacon; everyone climbed into bed and helped me eat.  I think that was my favorite part of the day.  Of the week, actually.  That's what Sunday mornings, any Sunday morning should be.  I don't need much to make me happy.

So, now we are just hanging out.  The weather is still raw.  We have played several board games, read a few books, and now A is napping (which we will pay for later) and H and S are in the basement organizing.  I am a very lucky mommy.

But, enough about me.

This Mother's Day there is a big old love-fest inching its way across the blogosphere, my understanding is that it began here and has slowly branched out.  I want to take my place in the circle, holding hands, belting out every last note of We Are the World.  I mean that sincerely.  Today I stand and honor:

• Erika over at Snazzykat.  She's an old college friend of mine celebrating her first Mother's Day with this sweet little guy.  She is a writer and a teacher and an activist and she is a mama.  The poise and grace with which she attacks each challenge in her life is an inspiration; I am glad we have reconnected.
• I have never met Sarah, yet she is one of the most honest, courageous, smart, funny, humble, beautiful mothers I know.
• I told MacBoudica recently that her blog is what my blog hopes to be when it grows up.  She's a feminist SAHM writing about her joys and struggles with her family, as well as important world issues about which I almost always agree whole heartedly with her. Run.  Don't walk.  To check her out.

I would proudly make fire with these women; I would share my Smores with each and every one of them.  I have cried with them, I have laughed with them, I have drawn both strength and inspiration from them, and I wish them, each one of them, the happiest of Mother's Days.

Use the potty, please!

Here's the thing:

Princess A turned three years old a couple of weeks ago; she is not quite potty trained.  Let me re-phrase that---she does not yet consistently use the potty.  Honestly, I think she is completely trained, physically, she is more than capable of using the potty and demonstrates this when she is in the mood.   We can go days without an accident.  But, then we go days when she doesn't use the potty at all.  She clearly has no desire to be potty trained.   It is not important to her.  She has not yet met a big girl pantie that she likes enough to ditch her pull ups.  I get that, I really do, but...

Today, I am frustrated with the non-progress.  I know, at least in part, that I am to blame.  I know that it should frustrate me more consistently than it does, I know that I should be doing something more to move this process along, but, honestly I don't know what that would be.   It is not like we haven't tried everything we have ever heard of, it's not like I enjoy changing poopy pull ups, it's not like I don't have other places to spend that $17.00/per week currently going to pampers.   She will not go to college wearing a diaper, we all know that, so what is the big deal?  The big deal is I am sick of it, that's what, I am at the end of my rope.  This potty training thing is my parental nemesis and, right now, it is kicking my ass.  I can't take it any more.

These are the things we have attempted:

• let her go at her own pace, encourage her successes and ignore her set backs
• good, old-fashioned bribes in the form of candy (skittles...one the first time she uses the potty each day, two the second time, etc...), money (we gave her a coin to put into a jar every time she used the potty and promised that, when she filled the jar, she could use the money for any special treat she chose...she wanted to go to the zoo, but we never even covered the bottom of the jar),and toys (for those who know me well, this is big---I told her she could have a Barbie if she stayed dry for one week!  A Barbie, people, I offered my kid a Barbie!)
• putting her in big girl panties (which she picked out herself at the store) and just letting her go; she does get upset if she wets in them, but not enough to get her to stop, and honestly the excessive laundry usually wins out and we give in
• telling her that she can't participate in programs until she is using the potty (she sees the other children in pull ups or diapers and she knows that this one is a pure lie)
• refusing to change her immediately, hoping that she will become frustrated with the feeling.  (this accomplished nothing but a nice rash)

What am I missing here?  How do I get this kid ready to use the potty every time, every day?

Today she is wearing her big girl panties; so far we have not had any accidents.  I am trying to be patient enough to keep her in them no matter what, this is the time I will not give in, how long could it really take?  Not that long, right?  Please tell me, not that long.