Its a zoo here

I often think about what it would be like to live in a different era. I would love to visit the South during the antebellum time when fair skin and a full figure were fashionable. I love those gorgeous gowns but I would hate not having air conditioning. I think I would have been a good 1955 wife and mom. It seems like families were stronger in the 50’s and perhaps our marriage and family life would be the norm instead of the exception. But I am a millennium mom. I had my first baby in early 2000. I always tried to stay busy even as I “stayed home” with my girls. I was involved in volunteer programs, lots of hobbies and projects always going on. Now that my girls are in school I have started working. It’s a family business so my hours our flexible but basically I work any time I can. I thought our life was crazy when the girls were toddlers but now that the kids are busy with homework, dance, gymnastics etc., its really chaotic. I’m trying desperately to keep the traditions that we started when they were little. For example, this week was Halloween. Typically for the Halloween season we would visit a pumpkin patch. We’d take the hayride, pick a pumpkin, feed the goats. This year we went to the pile of pumpkins in a field next to a church. In years past I would make their costumes. This year, I bought them online. I’m doing the best I can. I’ve realized that what they really value is time with us so that is what I’m trying to keep consistent. When brainstorming about costumes this year, we decided to go with zoo animals. Once we were all in costume, I realized that it was a great reflection on our home. Its busy, its loud, its messy, its always full of kids. Yes it’s a zoo, but it’s the Dumas Zoo!

My Gut

Some people believe it is mother’s intuition, others believe it is a gut feeling. Some people don’t believe it at all. Its that feeling you get in the deepest part of your heart when you know something that others don’t know about your child. I don’t know for certain where it comes from but I do believe. Brooke is my oldest child, my first baby. I didn’t believe I had “it” when she was a baby. I listened to the doctor’s advice and did what she told me to do. I asked my husband, my mother, my friends, everyone but myself how to care for that baby. It was great to get their feedback, and they were usually right. But occasionally, my “gut” would tell me different. I didn’t trust it at first. What did I know? I was a new mom. But now I know different. A doctor can say she’s well but I know when she’s sick. A teacher can tell me she’s doing fine, but I know when she’s struggling. Even Brooke can tell me, “I’m ok,” but I know when she is not. I’ve been wrong before, it’s not an exact science. But my odds are pretty good thus far. Poor Brooke had her tonsils out today. It took about 2 years for someone to finally agree with me that she needed the surgery. I had just about given up until the nice man who had to do her 20th throat culture in just 4 years said to me, “Are her tonsils always huge?” He was a Nigerian man with a wonderful accent who made even the word “tonsils” sound lovely. I replied, “I think they are always huge but her doctor seems to think they are just big, not sick.” “No ma’am, they are sick. They are so swollen, they are touching each other. You need to see an ENT this week.” And that was it. I made the appointment, the expert on tonsils and adenoids and all things throat related agreed. So why didn’t I trust my gut years before when the chronic sore throat began? I should have done this 2 years ago. She’s miserable tonight. Her throat hurts and her ears ache. She doesn’t like not getting to eat her favorite foods and the medicine makes her loopy but it will all be worth it when she gets through a school year missing less than 14 days. I trust my gut when it tells me she’s upset, mad, lying or embarrassed. Why didn’t I trust it this time? I knew her tonsils were making her sick over and over again. I knew that her tummy aches and headaches were not normal. I didn’t listen to “it.” Well, I’m listening now. I know way down deep in the deepest part of my heart that we did the right thing today. My gut is telling me she’s going to be just fine and I believe it!

DO WE HAVE TO KEEP OUR PROMISE?

Of course when a child is going through something as horrible as resetting a broken bone, a parent promises to make it better. The doctor assured us that Brooke would not remember a thing from the "procedure." As they were putting an IV in her arm, she was upset and crying. She looked at us and said, "I want a puppy." John said, "Done. We'll get a puppy." The doctor looked at me and said, "Its ok, she won't remember." She did though. From the moment her eyes opened after they were done she reminded us that she was getting a puppy! John kept saying, "No, that was the medicine making you THINK we said that!" She just said, "Nope, you said it. I remember." So on Sunday we fulfilled our promise. Anything to make her feel better and lift her spirits. Her name is Sally. She's a hybrid (fancy name for mutt). She's half Pug, half Bassett Hound, a Pugett. She's adorable and she makes Brooke happy. She's very high maintenance so I hope it was worth it!

NOT SO HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Birthdays are a big deal in our house. I love to buy and wrap gifts. I always try to wrap them early and set them out so that everyone has a reminder of the big day coming. This week it was Brooke’s birthday. Her birthday fell on spring break this year so we had to plan her party a few weeks after her actual birthday so I was determined to make her “real” birthday a big day! The only thing she asked for was a pair of shoes called “Healies.” They are really cool shoes with wheels in the bottom so you can “skate” around. So like a “good” mom, I got them for her. So she woke up on her birthday and went straight to the gifts. She opened the “Healies” first! We put them on and she tried to learn but it was hard and she got tired very quickly. At that point, I noticed that her cheeks were flushed. So, I took her temp and she had fever. Bummer. Fever on her birthday. As the hours went on, her fever went up and up. She barely got off the sofa so I knew something was wrong. I took her to the doctor and sure enough, she had strep throat. The doctor said, “She must have a high pain tolerance, she has raging strep throat.” Poor thing. So we headed home, on her birthday, with strep throat. By the next morning she was feeling much better so she put on her new “Healies” and practiced until she got it. She was so excited when John came home that they went outside so that she could show him. She did great. She could take a few steps and roll just like the kids she had seen do it. I was inside cooking dinner when all of the sudden John came barreling through the door carrying Brooke. “She broke her arm Ali!” I have to admit, I thought he might be over reacting until I saw her wrist. My stomach turned. It was obviously broken, bad. So the Dumas family sprang into action and we rushed to the Emergency Room. It seemed like we were waiting forever so John just walked up to the nurse’s station, still cradling Brooke in his arms, and just stood there until they took a look at her. She wasn’t even crying, she just had her head buried in John’s chest with an occasional tear rolling down. Again, my girl has a high pain tolerance. I’m sure they thought she was not injured too badly because she wasn’t screaming in pain but as soon as they looked at it, they sent us back to a room. Sure enough, it was broken. The ER doc called in an orthopedist to talk with us about the “procedure.” It sounded awful but they assured us she would be sedated and not remember (or feel) anything. So after a few hours, they sedated her and reset the bone. They wrapped it up in a cast and bandage and sent us home with plenty of pain killers. We try to make their birthdays so great they will remember them when they grow up. This birthday was not great, but she will definitely remember it for many years to come!

Lobsters

I’m fairly certain that I have seen every single episode of “Friends.” It started in college when my roommates would all get together on Thursday nights to watch the show together. I still enjoy the reruns shown in syndication several times a day if I happen to catch them. Like many from my generation, quotes from the show enter my vocabulary when least expected. My very favorite was spoken by the prophetic Phoebe. When Ross and Rachel finally got back together (for the 2nd time, or maybe the 3rd) she just smiled and said, “He’s her lobster!” You see, supposedly, lobsters mate for life. I don’t care if it’s true or not. I love the thought of two little lobsters holding claws and staying together forever. I believe nothing can get between these two lobsters because they are always holding claws. I didn’t see it on the Discovery Channel but I’m just sure they don’t let anything get between them. If a predator comes, I bet they scamper away together. If and when they have baby lobsters, I bet they just run around their parent lobsters, but never come between them. That’s how my husband and I see our marriage. We’ve got our claws clamped firmly to each other. We even affectionately call each other “lobster.” Just like the lobsters, we will be together for life.

Taco Miracle

I started dinner at the usual time by browning a package of hamburger meat in the skillet for tacos. I added the spices and stirred the meat on the stove. Then it happened, the first of several mini miracles. Emma came into the kitchen and asked if she and daddy could grate cheese for me. Moments later, miracle number 2 occurred. Brooke came in and said, “Mommy, I want to help cook dinner.” I decided she was old enough to stir the meat in the skillet so I handed her the spatula, turned off the heat and let her stir and stir. I looked at my husband and said, “We are all eating tacos tonight.” He just looked at me in disbelief. We usually cook 2 meals. One for us and one for the girls. They won’t eat most of the meals we like to eat. Its either too spicy, too saucy, too “something.” So I usually make a meal for us and then heat up some nuggets or make sandwiches for them. I know I shouldn’t. I’ve read in all the Parenting magazines and books that they will eat when they are hungry and I should just expect them to try new things, blah blah blah. Easier said than done. At 6:00, when the family is hungry and tired, I just want them to eat dinner so they will go to bed with full tummies. But lately, I’ve been feeling brave. I decided I was ready to take on my picky eaters. So it was taco night and we were all eating tacos. Well, I couldn’t make them eat the tacos but we were all getting tacos on our plates. As we sat down to dinner, the final miracle of the evening occurred. They made up little tacos, then they ate the tacos. No crying, no complaining. It was beautiful. My husband and I just sat there in total disbelief. They ate and ate, then asked for 2nds! They ate tacos. They even put a little salsa on their tacos. It’s true!!! It was amazing.

MY BABY

My baby is sick tonight. She has a fever and she is miserable. She’s crying a lot and I had to pat her on the back until she could fall asleep. Actually, she’s not a baby anymore. She’s 4. There are days that I am so glad she’s not so tiny any more (like when she sleeps for 9 hours at night) but some days I just wish she was my baby again. When she’s sick, she is very clingy and wants to be held. She asked me to lay next to her in bed while she took a nap in case she needed me. Its nice to be needed. There are days that I’m not really needed. She goes to school 3 days a week now. She likes to color alone and she no longer appreciates my recommendations for play dough color combinations. If her daddy is home, she prefers to be with him instead of me, even if all he is doing is watching football on TV. But when she’s sick, it’s like she’s 3 months old again and only mommy can make it better. Only I knew how to hold her to calm her down. Only I could sing “Love Me Tender” to make her fall asleep. Only I could juggle the bottle and the silky blankie in the correct position to get her to settle down and eat. She needed me. Now when I look at her, I think I need her more than she needs me. I hate it when she’s sick but it does remind me that I am still her mommy, and she is still my baby, and she needs me. I hope she feels better tomorrow but if she still has a fever, I’ll be there for her. I’ll scratch her back, I’ll bring endless sippy cups of Sprite, and I’ll get whatever she needs. I hope it’s me she needs, because I need her.

PULLING UP PANSIES

I love to plant flowers. I’m not very good at it, they rarely survive more than a few months, but I enjoy the planting part. There is just something about digging into the earth. I love the feel of the soil. I love the smell of the grass. I love squeezing the base of the plant as I move it from the plastic container to the hole I’ve dug like they taught me in Girl Scouts many years ago. One year, my pansies actually survived the winter. I planted them in early fall and they were happy in our yard. Their flowers were beginning to bloom and their roots were growing deep. They looked pretty good, even into February. But one day in Feb., I’d had enough of those pansies. It was a sunny day, but it was an awful day. My friend had given birth to a daughter almost a year ago. KaryolAnn NyKole Locke had heart problems from the moment her little heart grew inside her mother’s womb. She had surgery just hours after her birth and again when she was a baby. She was a tough little princess though. Her parents took her to countless doctors appointments. They fed her through a tube and monitored her constantly. They gave her medicines to keep her healthy and her heart working. Just shy of her first birthday, KaryolAnn went in for yet another open heart surgery. Sadly, she did not survive the surgery. She hung on for days but eventually, her family had to let her go. I was so lost in grief. She wasn’t even my child but just the thought of loosing such a young life was more than I could bare. I sat down in the grass and yanked the pansies right out of my yard. One by one, I grabbed them and threw them into a trash bag. KaryolAnn died. How was that possible? She was just a baby. I cried out to God, “Why?” I did not hear an answer. So I kept pulling. I could barely see the ground through my tears. I was sobbing in my front yard, for all of my nosey neighbors to see but I didn’t care. I bagged up the perfectly good pansies and tossed them in the trash can. When my husband came home, he asked me, “What happened to the flowers?” “I threw them away.” I said. “Why?” he asked. “For KaryolAnn.” He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have to. It was between me and God. He had taken this flower from the earth and I was on a mission to take a little back. I wish I had not pulled the flowers out. It didn’t do much good. Of course, it did not bring back KaryolAnn. It did not ease the pain my friend felt, and still feels. She and I have only spoken a few times face to face since the funeral. Something about seeing a tiny little casket and hearing her mother wail in grief was just too much for our friendship to bare. I still plant pansies though. Every fall. And every year when they bloom, I think of KaryolAnn. She was a sweet little flower that was yanked from this earth before she had time to bloom.