Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Dirty Music

We aren't what you would consider a musical family.  I dabbled as a kid with the piano, guitar, flute (keep your one liners to yourself please), but nothing ever stuck.  I wasn't interested in spending hours and hours practicing and attending lessons.  As an adult, I am envious of the person at a get together who can pull out their guitar and start entertaining the masses.  It's on my bucket list, but so is learning how to stop my 3 year old from throwing tantrums, so I'm not holding my breath.

My kids, on the other hand, love playing music.  They received an electric keyboard from my brother and his wife, who conveniently live out of town and do not have kids of their own for me to payback return the gesture.  Their Poppa jokes about getting them a drum set for Christmas.  I say joke because the last time he mentioned it I may have informed him that since my kids get up between 5 and 6am, I would be driving them over at that time on Sunday mornings to show their Poppa just how they can rock it out.

Bug recently got her hands on a plastic saxaphone, which she plays with the heart of Louis Armstrong.  She also enjoys telling people in the grocery store that she's learning to play the 'sexaphone'.  That, of course, garners some appreciative stares from the elderly shoppers.  Monkey was not lucky enough to score himself an instrument but did get himself a new Buzz Lightyear action figure.  So, one lovely morning at 6:30am, I was lucky enough to be the audience for a little musical medley put on by my kids.

They are truly musical geniuses.  Truly.  You aren't seeing things.  Bug is playing her sexaphone and Monkey is, as Bug puts it, is 'blowing Buzz'.

Cheers dirties.

Monday, August 15, 2011

My Kid Picasso

My kids are amazing.  Just ask me.  I'll tell you.  They are smart and funny and talented and beautiful and brave and artistic and and and.  (I always get mushy when I drink - you say potato, I say vodka).  I keep their drawings and sketches and paintings around the house.  They make me smile.  And they make my kids smile because they are so proud of what they have created.  I'm so proud that I've decided to share some of them with you.

Do you feel what he's trying to convey here?

Can you sense her keen sense of color?
Really?  Good.  Me either, and I'm their Mother.

Nonetheless, their art warms my heart and like any proud Mom, I think they are budding Picasso's.  And then I saw this.

I'm not going to tell you who painted this picture, but it's famous and worth a lot of cake.  Now, if my kid painted this as an adult, sold it for a ton of cash, I would be proud.  Hence the reason I'm not going to name names.  But, I still can't help but look at this and think "my kid could do this".  Ever read Olivia?  Same deal with her thought on the Pollock painting at the museum.

So, as I'm on mat leave and not earning an income, I am going to try to profit from my kids obvious talents.  Bidding will begin at $5000.  Bidders are invited to preview the paintings in the gallery (aka my fridge door) prior to auction.

Cheers Dirties!

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Extra, Extra, Read All About It

Monday, August 1, 2011

Pee Emm What?

My last period was January 9, 2007.  For those who wonder if not having a period for four and half years is all it's cracked up to be, let me assure you, it is.  And for the granola crunchers who think I'm messin' with nature, let me assure you this all au naturale.

Want to know how I've managed such a spectacular feat?  I've been pregnant or nursing for the past four and a half years.  A pregnancy a year keeps the monthlies away.

When I was first pregnant with Bug, I didn't even know I was pregnant until I was 10 weeks.  Dirty Daddy and I were 'safe' using the pill, but apparently changing stuff up to avoid your period while on vacation in the Dominican for your brothers wedding is a sure way not to be safe.  While I saw the excessive eating and sleeping for the first two months of 2007 as the beginning of something I was sure required some blue pills, turns out I was knocked up.  We were surprised at the news, but since we had decided to start trying that summer for a baby, we were overjoyed a few months ahead of schedule.

I spent my childhood growing up with my brother, who incidentally is still one of my best friends.  We are a couple of years apart and were inseparable.  I wanted my child to grow up with kind of bond and kinship only found in siblings.  So we decided to plan for our second child when Bug was 8 months old.  Being incredibly fertile (shhh, even the word 'pregnant' can trigger a fertilization), I was pregnant in a New York minute.  Having had a healthy and event free pregnancy with Bug, we announced our new found status to the world.

Turns out having a period is not only natures preference, its also the OB's too. Without a period, coming up with a due date was difficult for my OB.  But I knew the date we conceived and I knew the date my baby was due.  I also know the date it all started to go wrong.

My levels weren't as high as they should be, and thus my doctor had my blood monitored daily and my baby weekly with ultrasounds.  I decided right then and there that I would not accept that my pregnancy may not be viable (OB's words, not mine) and figured this was a bump in the road to expanding my family.  Turns out I was wrong.

The blood started one morning and never stopped.  I lost my baby.  My baby. Gone.  I'm welling up just writing that and it's been over three years and two other kids since then.  But I can't forget that feeling.  I won't forget that feeling.  Nor the loss. Having already announced to the world that we were expecting again, we then had the dreaded duty of informing everyone that that was no longer the case.

My family and friends were amazing.  Support poured in for myself and my husband.  I knew I had a hundred phone numbers at my disposal to talk about what I was feeling at any hour of any day.  But I couldn't.  I still can't.  The experience is locked up deep inside me.  I am surprised at myself that I'm even sharing this now. I get the science behind it, but I can't 'get' the baby I lost.

Miscarriage, I found, is an experience you never truly get over.  I know how old that child would have been today and when their birthday was.  I learned of so many women I knew who had miscarried, some several times, but I never knew it until I went through it.  Like a band of soldiers protecting one of their wounded own, these were the women I could relate to.

I had heard my husband on the phone with some relatives a couple of weeks after I miscarried.  They must have been asking how I was, because I heard Dirty Daddy say that I was doing 'alright'.  I left the room immediately to go to the bathroom, close the door and cry.  Later that night I told him I was doing anything but 'alright'.  I cried everyday, although without witness, and struggled to face anyone we knew because I couldn't take the sorrow.

Miscarriage, for me, has been like the single girl amoung her married and mothered girlfriends.  You have no idea what the big whoop is unless you're in that group. Your kid rolled over?  Wow (code, get a life).  Your kid speaks three word sentences?  Fantastic (code, I'm bored).  But once you're part of that group, you totally get it. Your kid rolled over?  Amazing feat at two months.  Three word sentences?  So advanced.  You must be proud.  You had a miscarriage?  No words necessary because you know.  The feeling, the agony, the loss of the future.

I know that I'm lucky.  I had Bug to hold tighter while going through it all.  I've had no more difficulties and have had two more children.  We were pregnant with Monkey within a month of the miscarriage.  The doctors said wait three months, but I said eff you, I want another baby.  But the space is still there.  That little empty space that would have been filled by the baby I will never know.  Ah, but I do know.  And I remember.  And that helps fill that space up just a little bit.

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