I have recently had a feeling of doom and if I am not around in five, ten, twenty years I want my children to know who their mother was and how much she loved them.  Like her mother twenty years ago, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer which not only was as stark reminder that she will not always be here, but also that one day I will not be here for my children.

I've never felt that writing was my strength: language often fails me.  This blog may have saved my life when I was a young mother struggling with the difficulty of my new job, raising a child, the hardest yet most rewarding work I have ever done.  Now with two children and a job that threatens to crush my spirit even even though I know I am making my corner of the world a better place, I simply do not have the time for this blog.

I'm having this blog printed as a book and then I am deleting it.  It is my intention to keep writing to my children, but not here or even online.  I now have an old fashioned paper journal and hope to steal moments with it.  

Jakita is sick.  Ryan may be sick or he may be teething with a runny nose.  They are both being pretty much impossible cranks.  And I'm trying to not be selfish, but my cold black heart has had enough.  I want them to suck it up.

I'm tired, physically exhausted.  I went to work early (0300) which means I've been up since 0145ish, but right now I'm too pissed off to go to sleep.  So I'm sulking and typing in the study while Andrew washes dishes in the kitchen.

Sometime in the last hour I decided that if Jakita was going to doze in my lap, then she could sleep in her bed.  She whined as I carried her up the stairs and then I became the unreasonable mother who demanded that she use the bathroom before bed.  Since she could not win the war, she steeled herself to win this battle.  I had to threaten to throw her outside without a coat before she relented.

My child is sick, but she is being such an ass that I am incapable of summoning an iota of sympathy for her.

So I was perusing the Black Friday ads yesterday in the hopes of finding a gift idea for my son.  What does one buy a one year old boy who does not need anything?  We still have most of the toys that Jakita had at his age.  I did purchase him a set of alphabet blocks from Pottery Barn Kids, but they are on back order until February.  I bought him a ton of clothes when the weather turned cold.  I'm at a loss.

I have a few items bouncing about my head for Jakita gifts, but I want to aim low.  She threw a fit in the grocery store because I refused to let her get Oreos when I was actually planning on getting her the very delicious, but expensive cookies from the bakery.  Once we got back to the car, I launched into the 'we have so much and other people have so little speech'.  I'm sure that it went over her head, but I'm thinking that she can do with less Christmas presents so I can donate to organizations that will take care of those people who have less.

I am conceding defeat.  The two white hairs that sprouted right on my front hairline with one on either side of my part can stay.  I have been plucking them for the past six months, but they seem to grow back faster than every other strand of hair on my head.

Perhaps I shall tell myself that I have earned the damn things, that they are badges of honor rather than a bad pick in the genetic lottery.

As some of you may recall, I was slightly ambivalent about having a second child.  I had what I thought were very good reasons to keep the family at three people at that point.

Admittedly there have been nights in the past ten months when I have cried myself to sleep (mostly toward the ten month end of the spectrum rather than recently), but the past year has been one with great upheaval.  Ryan has actually been proven to be a consistent bright spot in otherwise trying times.  Without him I may have gotten more sleep, but I would have been more miserable.

I always worried that I could never love a second child as much as I loved my first.  To be honest, I bonded with Jakita relatively easily and quickly when she was born: the first two weeks with Ryan were a sleepless hell.  They both have moments when I am certain that they are trying to kill me; in fact, I suspect sometimes that they are in collusion with one another.  But it is obvious to me that I was quite stupid to think that my love for my daughter would keep me from being completely smitten with my son.

Honestly, I blame myself.  What on earth was I thinking taking five minutes to peruse the internet while the children seemingly entertained themselves.

It all started with Jakita's request to use the bathroom.  She may be potty trained, but she has not quite yet grasped that she can JUST GO and not ask for permission.  Of course, I had to help her wipe her butt because that is what I have done for the past four years.  Parenting: it is a thankless job which will crush your spirit if you dwell on little things like I HAVE BEEN WIPING SOMEONE ELSE'S ASS FOR FOUR YEARS.

Anyhow.  Ryan is uncontrollably drawn to following his sister to the bathroom so even when I left her to wash her hands, he crawled back to her.  Then there was blessed peaceful relative silence which should have tipped me off that all was not right in my world and then suddenly the silence was broken when he started crying when she shut him in her room.

So off I went to do my daily do-not-close-doors speech and to free him.  When I opened the door, I realized that his head was wet.  When I picked him up, I realized that his head was soapy.

In addition to washing her hands, Jakita had decided to wash his head.  Fortunately, none of the soap had made its way into his eyes and once freed he gave me a shit eating grin like the two of them had conspired against me.

At her 4 year old (!) check up, Jakita was 39.5 inches tall and weighed 36 pounds making her average.  Hooray!

This appointment required a urine sample and when I contemplated all the ways this could end poorly for me, I declared "This is going to be a disaster."  Jakita misunderstood me and shouted back "Don't call me a bastard!"  Andrew and I burst into laughter: it could not be helped.  We're pretty sure that all the other parents are going to HATE us when she goes to school.

We finally installed the baby gate at the bottom of the basement steps (the door at the top is a pretty good barrier now, but I am slightly terrified of what will happen when Ryan gets tall enough to open the door or someone forgets to close it completely).

Anyhow, by "we" I mean that Andrew took care of the gate while I cooked upstairs.

It took him one hour.  Possibly less, but I was not paying as close attention as I could have.  There was no self doubt or general spazing: he was cool as a cucumber.

Sometimes, I hate him.

Ryan had his nine month check up on Monday.  The Fattenstein is 29 inches tall and weighs in at 22 lbs. 4 oz (both 75th percentile).  We had the nightly bedtime routine conversation with Dr. R in he which stressed the importance of establishing a consistent routine so that Ryan can learn to sleep on his own in his own bed.  I bit my tongue. 

Andrew's cousin had her first child two weeks after Ryan was born.  If Overlord* does not get his sleep at the appropriate times regardless of events going on around him then all hell breaks loose.  On some level, I envy that they have the type of life that allows them to structure their life as such. 

In our house, the babies had to learn to be flexible.  Last week on Saturday around 2100 hrs, I was watching  TV while the babies played thinking I could squeeze one more episode off the DVD before calling it a night.  Instead Andy called and stated that he was going to be held over.  We agreed when we moved to our current schedules that it would be preferable that I work the 16 hour shift rather than Andy for multiple reasons.  So instead of getting ready for bed, I got ready for work.  The kids were relatively unfazed by the switch, did not react to being dragged back to campus, and when they returned home went to sleep without my being there like that is the usual routine.

So it looks like we'll have to ignore the pediatrician again.

* Jakita can not pronounce Oliver without it sounding like Overlord.  It's perfect.

Jakita fell down the stairs this afternoon.

I saw her start to lose her balance about halfway down.  My options were limited: watch slacked jawed as she fell forward or throw myself forward in the hopes of breaking her fall before she hit the bottom.  The second choice seems like poor option given that I would probably have landed on her.  As it was, I was carrying Ryan in my arms so I had to settle for watching and praying.

She had the sense to let go of the Panera lemonade she was carrying and ended up splayed on her belly with all four appendages safely out from under her.  Perhaps due to her low mass and the fluffiness of the carpet, she came to a stop after only about five steps.  Relatively unfazed, she then apologized for spilling the lemonade.

Later when she struck her head retrieving a book from under the couch, there were tears and sobbing which my kisses could not stop.  But when Ryan crawled into my lap to hug her, the tears dried instantly.  I hope they will love each other this much forever.

It is my job to send my co-workers and sometimes my friends into harm's way yet despite the stress I manage to rise to the occasion keeping myself relatively calm and collected.  But hanging a dry erase calender board on the wall will bring on an anxiety attack.

To review: potentially sending people to their deaths, no big; possibly putting the holes in the wrong place in the drywall, end of the world.

I woke up this morning to the sounds of my daughter vomiting on the other end of the house*.  Once my brain actually started working at a level higher than 'my child needs me now', I realized that this would be the second year in a row that Jakita had carrot vomit on her birthday.  Last year the vomiting started at midnight and did not let up for four hours when Andrew made the command decision to take her to the emergency room.  Luckily, this year the vomiting started later in the morning so we had more options.  After a dose of anti-nausea chewables, 7-Up, and several hours of sleep, Jakita has returned to her usual three year old self for the last day.  Tomorrow's party will not have to be canceled and she will be able to eat the cake she has been asking for since she saw it at the bakery when I picked up Andy's birthday cake.  Disaster has been averted.

The carrot vomit was my fault.  Last night, she and I had The Food Fight which usually ends with Andy and/or I screaming and her in tears.  Instead of sending her to bed, I demanded that she actually eat the carrots that she had chewed up and spat back into her bowl.  I literally shoved carrots into her mouth and demanded she swallow them.  I have felt terrific about myself all day.

*  This spider sense completely failed me later when Ryan woke up and crawled off the bed a scant two feet from where I had dozed off.  I was all around an awful parent today.

I still find it amazing that Ryan can hold a bottle and feed himself as he just did.  This was a skill that Jakita never mastered.  She even struggled with sippy cups, but had success with straws.  We once got a babysitter so that Andrew and I could go see the final Star Wars movie only to return home to a hysterically hungry baby because the babysitter had handed Jakita the bottle expecting her to know what to do.  I was pissed at the sitter, but I guess it turns out I simply had an incompetent child.  To be fair, Ryan probably had more experience with a bottle in his first few months than Jakita had her entire life.

The boy is not only crawling like a pro, but he has also begun to pull or push himself into a standing position.  Jakita can be quite the saboteur  pulling him down and knocking him over (usually gently) so I throughly enjoy when he starts crawling after her while growling (something he learned from her) as she screams 'he going to get me'.  I am very much looking forward to the day when he can beat her up*.

*By beat up, I mostly mean that he will be able to successfully defend himself when she tries getting all UFC on him.  I do not want a repeat of the time Andrew separated his brother's shoulder by dragging Brandon by the arm into his room because Brandon was apparently being loud and annoying.  ::Sigh::  I married that guy.

I planted a tree in the backyard.  I dug the hole in the ground (probably not quite wide enough, but deep enough) and had committed to planting the tree RIGHT NOW by removing it from the plastic bucket when the sound of crying started coming through the baby monitor.  It's like my son sensed in his sleep that I was being productive and he must wake up RIGHT NOW.

I opted to listen to his crying for the five or so minutes it took to put the tree in the ground rather than risk ruining the tree because I knew it was unlikely I would get those five minutes later in the day.  Next time I'm paying a professional to do the planting.  I suppose I will be really pleased in a few years when the tree provides actual shade, but for the time being I will have to settle for finally checking off one item on the home improvement list.  I should feel guilty about our lack of progress with the list since most of the items are little things like installing a shelf in the master bedroom, but I prefer to leave the work for when both adults are home.  Since such time is limited* I hate 'wasting' it on home improvement rather than family time.

* A co-worker once asked me when Andy and I ever see each other.  My answer was Tuesday.

I wonder if Andrew slightly curses me under his breath when he is updating his iPhone and sees that I have reorganized the music into alphabetical order by artist since an involuntarily growl escapes my lips each time I see that he's ordered things by play count.

It is silence and it is beautiful.

There has been a rough patch lately with a sick father, clingy one month old who will not sleep unless being held, and a three year old who is so desperate for attention that everything must be a pitched battle of wills.

I now have four loads of laundry that require my attention.

The 360 has died.  When Andy informed me of this last night at the end of a long day at the end of a long week, I did not react well.

What do you mean that a several hundred dollar piece of equipment had up and died after we've owned it for less than a year?  What do you mean that if I want to go home and hit virtual things I have to do it while attached to the console by a cord?

Perhaps now I'll finally get some housework done.

*The red ring is covered by warranty because Microsoft has pretty much had to admit they really screwed something up in the design or production of these machines.  It'll be repaired at no cost to us other than the fact that we will be without console for a few weeks.  This, in a nutshell, is why I am typing this post on a Mac.  Long live Apple.

Jakita just saw a picture of herself posted here on the LJ and when I attempted to scroll on past, she protested "Back!" and began hitting the up arrow until she could stare at herself and say 'aw.'

Perhaps I have told she is beautiful one too many times.

I found the remote on Ebay, won the auction, and am paying a measly $12.12 for it. Take that Sony. Although life would have been so much easier if someone had not broken it in the first place.

P.S. Got the promotion. Official start date is tomorrow, but it is likely that I will not actually start training for the new job until my replacement is at least hired and probably trained.

P.S. for Andrew. Do not even THINK about deleting those smart playlists.