Monthly Archive for May, 2007

A fine line between her and me…

It’s a horrible story to read - A mother hangs her four daughters and herself. My heart aches. My heart breaks. My mind can’t comprehend… or can it?

Being a mother of young children is hard. Hard. Hard. The mother who did this had a 5 year old, 3 year old, 2 year old, and an 8 month old. No supportive partner, threat of abuse, and sounds like the financial burden of being sure these daughters were fed and had a roof. These are not excuses - heavens no. However, I think these reasons help one to consider the filter through which this young mother (only 25) was viewing life. My word.

I have a 7, 5 and 2 year old. My youngest is two, and she has been really difficult to deal with lately. My 5 year old is just emerging from a near-total dependence on her dad and me. I have struggled with wanting to run away at times. I have struggled with controlling my words… controlling my actions. I have a committed husband who desires to be with our kids, and misses them when he’s away at work. He likes them! I don’t have the benefit of having family around, but I do have good friends who would drop a hot casserole on the floor if I called with a dire need. I am not responsible for whether I can afford to feed my children.

If I have such great blessing, why have I struggled at times? Why have I gone through the dark valleys that this season of motherhood brings? I don’t know why. I do know I have. If I have struggled (and it appears I mother under near-utopia conditions, comparatively), then her actions aren’t as unimaginable. It’s horrendous. It’s utterly awful. It’s the worst thing possible. The absolute worst. I can’t imagine doing what she did, but “unimaginable” isn’t really the best word here. I don’t think there is a word for something like this.

As hard this is to admit, I think there is only a fine line between her and me. One mother said in the article,

“I'm a mother, so I can't understand what passed through her mind in this moment…”

Not even the tiniest bit? Can you remember even a tiny bit of utter desperation and helplessness? I’ve had this conversation with friends… and we have said, “There is a fine line. But what is that little thing that keeps us from crossing over?” My husband said our faith. Yes. A chemical difference perhaps? That mom hadn’t even cleared one year after her latest pregnancy. Was she sleeping through the night? Sleep deprivation never helps one make rational decisions.

Mothers need to have an honest discussion… with each other. With yourself. Many try to paint this season of mothering as this glowing period of perfection, patience and sweetness. It’s not. It just isn’t. If you insist it is, then you are lying, or someone else is their mother.

I am sad for the children… for what they went through. I am sad for the 8 month old who survived and has this as part of her legacy. I am sad for the family and friends who are blaming themselves. I am sad for this mother who went “there”… who crossed that line. Lord, what terrible things must she have convinced herself of to make this happen? Why must a woman in our country, in this period of “progressive politics”, bring herself and her children to this end?

Some may be convinced this woman was evil. I can’t say for sure - it’s impossible not to consider it. I have an intense hatred for people who harm children. I am a mom too. I am aware of the pressure and demands these kids bring to our lives. I have a feeling, this woman was in a place of such darkness and despair - she may have passed a point of being able to rationally consider what she was doing to her children. Could she have actually truly thought they’d be better off? She very well might have.

Mothers, this is why it’s important to be honest. To consider all possibilities. To not consider oneself immune to sinking to the bottom of the valley. It’s important to share your deepest struggles… it’s important to have a safe place to share those with. If you share, you’ll find you are not alone, or better yet - help another realize SHE is not alone. Early in my journey, I plugged into a MOPS group… a group specifically created for mothers of preschoolers. I am fortunate I had one available… and 7 years later, I am still going. Each year I hear mother after mother:

I am so tired. Yours does that too?! You mean, that’s normal? I don’t know what to do! I only slept 3 hours last night. We’ve been sick for 2 weeks straight. I am so tired. She cries all the time. He’s biting other kids. She won’t eat anything but yogurt. My husband doesn’t understand how hard it is. I need help. I don’t have any family around. I just want to be able to go to the bathroom by myself. It is so tight every month. He’s living with “her”. It’s so hard doing this without my husband. He’ll be back in 6 months…

I’m pretty sure these conversations aren’t limited to the groups I’ve been a part of. Motherhood crosses all boundaries.

I am so deeply sad… on so many levels. My prayer is global. Heavenly Father, I ask for all moms to be protected from loneliness, fear, helplessness, anger, rage, powerlesness. My prayer is first for these moms, because they are the creators and gatekeepers of what enters (or what does not enter) the lives of their children. Bless these women with strength, encouragement, support, compassion, grace, love, understanding… a simple a break - they most assuredly will be equipped to ooz those wonderful things onto and into their most precious blessings, their children.

Gluconeogenesis

Huh? Yeah, that’s what I said when Katie spoke that litany of consonants and vowels… She was onto somethin’. She’s a smart one. That’s why I keep her around… and she’s funny.

So, that “G” word… is when amino acids are broken down by the liver, or kidney, or both. Is there a doctor in the blogoshpere? Wikipedia has their explanation, but I might as well be solving a crossword puzzle in Chinese.

Why on earth would one’s liver… What are amino acids anyway? Protein… that’s part of it. Anywho. Apparently when one is exerting oneself in an exceptional manner, one’s body needs fuel. The first source of fuel are carbs. Is carbs. Are carbs. Carbs - plural or singular?… I get so distracted these days.

When the carbs are gone the body begins to metabolize fat, then protein (which is broken down into amino acids)… and apparently muscle tissue is protein. Ew. EW. Amino acids are the building blocks of protein. Whatever that means. Apparently, something happens with molecule stripping and nitrogen. Somewhere in there is where the ammonia smell is conceived. Does this make any sense? Does anyone care?

I’ll boil it down… you know, strip the nitrogen atom off the molecule, if you will… I need to eat more carbs so my body doesn’t metabolize my muscle. Ew. EW. This site is where I started my inquiry… Let me clarify 1 thing - no one else can smell ammonia on me. ew. Just me. In my nose. ick. The first time this happened I was in the shower at a local pool. If my friends were not there to tell me there really was NOT an ammonia smell in the building, I might have alerted the lifeguards and called 911. Imagine me having to tell the HAZMAT crew, “I’m sorry, I shoulda eaten more oatmeal. Do you have a protein bar in that bright orange bag of yours? I need to replace some muscle tissue. Pronto.”

Quotable Quote…

If you read this blog, you know I consider myself a pessimist… or more optimistically - a realist. I had to spend a good hour at the dentist recently while the oldest children’s molars and such were being checked by the professionals.

I seldom read magazines (if you see me with one, rest assured, I am looking at the pictures). I got a little racy, and picked up a Reader’s Digest. As the title of the periodical might imply, it contains far more reading material that pretty pictures of tablescapes and tantalizing desserts.

During my perusal, I came across the following quote by George Will. I don’t know who this fella is (maybe I should be embarrassed I don’t know). And NO, I didn’t tear out the page, I wrote it down on a post-it. Yes, I try to keep post-its in my purse for times such as these. However, I think Olivia confiscated them and they are peppering the walls of the car and house and such… and furthermore… Yes. I. Am. Writing as if someone is actually interrogating me. Sorry, I got distracted…

It is a perfect quote for me and those like me… a source of encouragement even…

The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being proven right or pleasantly surprised.”

Yeah, like he said…

e l e v e n . . .

Today, we ran 11.1 miles. I am finding I start tanking around mile 9. It could mean I need to take some water on these longer runs, or some Gu, or pop a few electrolyte capsules at mile 8. I can’t do sports drinks, they upset my stomach…

Post run feelings: My knees hurt. My stomach seems to be quite a bit calmer than last time. I smelled ammonia again. It was really stong today. Have I mentioned the kind of hills we have here? There is nowhere to run without hills. No. Stinkin’. Where. It’s good on the whole “get your heart-rate up” philosophy, but stinks when one wants to maintain a better pace… or take it easy on the knees. I ate a piece of toast with PB&J and a half a glass of milk before the run… after the run I shared a plate of biscuits and gravy from Central Market with Olivia, and chased it down with a nonfat latte - grande :) I should have probably eaten a broccoli tree dipped in raw egg or somethin’…

In related news, I got this really great heart-rate monitor (the pink one). It tracks one’s heart rate, calories burned, amount of time in one’s zone, percentage of fat calories burned… It’s cool.

According to my handy-dandy new pink watch, it tells me we ran for 2:05:48 (we walked several minutes in there and stopped for a potty break). I burned 1,258 calories, 25% were fat calories (the rest were glycogen cals, many of which probably came from my brain glycogen stores - seriously - maybe that’s where the ammonia smell comes from…). My max heart rate topped at 179 (96%). If I hit 185 I should be dead - at least that’s my understanding. I actually think my max could be a bit higher… I need to do a little test… My average rate was 164 (88%). I spent 1:06:42 “in zone” (see chart at end of post)…

However, the nearly 1 hour I did NOT spend “in zone” was actually spent ABOVE zone. I need to talk to a professional about this - am I killing my heart or is my max number inaccurate? I went to a zone training class on Thursday night, and Jan (the gal who taught us) said that Lance Armstrong maintains his heart rate at 95% during his races and trains to be able to push like that! Dude. I guess I’m kinda like Lance… I hit 96%.

heartzon.gif (GIF Image, 500×322 pixels)

And there was laughter…

So, in all my complaining and fretting over surviving my third round of two, three, and four-ness, I am blessed with laughter.

People, I have funny kids. They favor their father in that way. He's a funny guy with a wicked-great sense of humor, and he is rubbing off on our children.

Mother's Day - Joel makes me another “Happy Mother's Day” drawing, but he made sure he didn't leave his dad out of the picture. His card said, “Happy Not You Day.”

The Downer - I wish I could remember the story Olivia was telling, but she had told about a situation that had an unfortunate outcome. For example, a kid not getting ice cream after eating all his dinner, She dramatically ended the story with a, “Bum, bum, bummmm,” You know, each “bum” going down a half-octave, ending on a flat - think murder mystery conclusion-type music. Where'd she come up with that?

Dancing/Jumping - Lucy finally took a few moments to let the TV baby-sit her. There was show on with singing and a jumping dance. Ah, jumping, her specialty. She jumped and hopped and jumped and hopped through the whole song, unaware of anything but her and her fellow hoppers on TV. Her arms were out as she struggled to balance each two-legged launch from the ground. She wasn't trying to be funny, but she was. Joel, who was supposed to be working on his math lesson, couldn't help but watch his little sister get lost in her favorite pastime. He said as he giggled with delight, “Mom, she is the cutest ever.” I think the “cutest ever” was watching her get lost in something she loved, while watching him get lost in something he loved, his littlest sister.

Third Time’s a Charm?

As I witnessed/endured/bore the brunt of another tirade of my darling 2-year-old Lucy, I told God, “How am I going to make it through another 2 year old’s search for her own voice… her independence? Lord, help me, help me, help me…”

As that thought passed through my mind, I began flashing back to moments of 3-ness and 4-ness. I shuddered. 2 is only the warm-up. Age 5 seems to offer a bit of relief from the continual need and struggle with the developing mastery of words and concepts and communication. BUT we just started biting into the age of two, so we are just beginning. Not to mention potty training. Ugh.

Ya ever hear the quote, “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine.” She’s mastered that school of thought as well. Ugh.

I can’t express the love I have for that little girl, but neither can I express the exasperation. I am trying to focus positively in order to overlook the difficulty in this age of development, but…

Some people insist that one cannot label the age… “terrible two’s”… “fearsome fours”… I am not seeking a label, just perspective. Call a duck a duck… call and angry duck an angry duck… At least I know what I am dealing with. I have another very strong-willed, dynamic, verbal, boisterous, and creative child. These are all good things, but channeled through a person with only 2 years of livin’ behind her - heaven help her mother… and anyone at the grocery store who hears her warrior cry as she expresses her displeasure when her free cookie hits the floor and breaks in two. For some reason, in the mind of a two-year-old, one cookie in two parts might as well be the same as poison… or green veggies.

Ugh.

Lost in a Blizzard?

That’s not really what I am try to communicate here. Read on…

The Lost Season Finale is tonight. I am half-ashamed for writing this. I am not a person who gets to/chooses to enjoy/absorb/obsess over television. Some of it has to do with guilt (how can I sit when there are so many other things to do?!) and some has to do with… ummm… what was my second point? Oh, some of it has to do with the fact that it feels kinda shallow to become so deeply invested in entertainment broadcast from a glowing rectangular object. Alas, I have caved. While the confession booth is still open, I watched the finale of Dancing with the Stars last night, and the finale of The Bachelor on Monday night. Shame, shame!

So, the Lost finale is tonight. Two sweet hours of getting lost in Lost. Michele, though we didn’t enjoy this series together… we did enjoy Blizzards on many wonderful, who-cares-about-the-calories occasions… Tonight, I will have a medium, not a small (it’s a 2 hour finale people!), and I will raise a spoon to you, my friend, in reflective celebration of our treasured Blizzard moments… may the future soon hold a time when we can tap our cups of blended ice cream indulgence together…

3 down, 7 to go…

Damaged I am not counting days, nor hours, nor even minutes… I am counting toenails.

In November, after running a half-marathon, I sacrificed two perfectly good toenails. Thankfully, by last week, I could tell my toes would be fine in time for flip-flop season.

That was last week… pre-Friday, last week… or as I’ll call it - 10 Mile Friday. Let me go back a bit….

Katie, Ellie and I like to set goals. It keeps us runnin’… or swimmin’… or bikin’. Our summer markers are a half-marathon in June and an all-women’s sprint triathlon, the Danskin, in August. Since the half-marathon is only a few weeks away, we must get in our long runs each week. Must. Do. It. We increase the length by 1 mile each week. This week we needed to do 10 - straight. We usually do these on Saturday mornings.

Welp, we signed up to do a 5 mile race for this particular Saturday morning (Yay for “Little Norway” and the highly anticipated Viking Fest). I suggested running 5 before the race and doing the last 5 as part of the race…. but that seemed silly. So, we decided to get to 10 miler in on Friday night, and enjoy a short 5 mile run Saturday mornin’. Oh my heck. Can you hear my 3 toes cursing and screaming and gnashing their callouses?

Anywho. Katie and I finished the race in 46:30. We finished our first mile in 8:40, but leveled out to around a 9:20/mile average. That’s cool. Ellie finished a few minutes earlier… she’s fast like that.
So, in addition to 3 toenails that will soon depart their appointed assignment (my toes)… I had a stomach ache all of Friday night and all Saturday… and I think running makes me jaundiced. My face turns yellow… have I ever mentioned I often smell ammonia after a really good run?…

Why do I do this to myself?

(About the picture - this was taken in December 2006, about a month after the Seattle Marathon, and a day or two after a few hours of dancing to The Retros in bad shoes. I know, it’s gross… but it helps make the point, doesn’t it?)

What do you get…

when you combine a bathing suit, pom-poms and and apron?

My 5 year-old daughter, Olivia, performing impromptu cheers, monologues and dance routines… no audience… except the one in her head :)

Hi. I’m 2.

Me: Lucy, do you want me to take your shoes off?

Lucy: NnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnO!

The expression that accompanied her firm answer was similar to a look one might give to a person who was asking for one’s social security number in order to use the sidewalk… confused, annoyed, offended, angry…

Me: You say “No thank you”, Lucy.

Immediately, she began to shake her foot wildly, screeching and howling. I know that shake. It’s the “I want my shoe off” shake. Hmmm, she said “No” before, but dare I ask again?

Me: Do you want your shoes off?

As quickly as they emerged, the horns retracted.

Lucy: Shoe offfff. Gock (sock) offfff.

I give.