Grow Up

You know you’re finally grown up when you can forgive your parents for all the mistakes they made raising you and start making your own mistakes with your children.

Our parents weren’t perfect.  Just like we’re not perfect parents now.

And you know what?  That’s OK.

Because we’re only human (your parents too… hard to believe, I know).


That’s My Name

As much as I detest trolls, sometimes I grudgingly have to admit their asinine comments make me pause and consider.

Such was the troll that left this comment on Maria’s (BOREDMommy) blog the other day:

Why is it that you call yourselves “mommies”? It’s infantile, like being called a girl instead of a woman. If giving birth (or adopting) and raising a child is so important, why don’t you insist on the dignity of the word “parent”? Or “mother” — if you insist on focusing on gender as well? I am a parent and I was “mommie” only to my children and then only when they were young. No wonder men and childfree women don’t take you seriously: You are endlessly self-absorbed, boring, juvenile, and have nothing to say for yourselves beyond your reproductive status and childrearing.

OK, I have to admit that my first thought was, ‘*snort* Wow…..bitter much?’

But then I stopped.  Do I mind being called a ‘Mommy’ or even lumped in with ‘Mommy bloggers’?

You know… I really don’t.

To me ‘mother’ or even ‘parent’ is a cold, impersonal, standoffish word.

And Vista never refers to me as ‘Mother’.  Ever.  That would just be weird.

To her I’m ‘Mama’ and ‘Mommy’.  So do I associate with that name?  You bet.  Because, as far as my 2 year old is concerned, that is my name.  I have no other identity other than Mommy.  She doesn’t know me as Jenn, same as she doesn’t know Daddy as Bil.  We are Mommy and Daddy.

And I love the simplicity of that.

To me it’s not infantile, it’s innocence at it’s very best.  It speaks to a time when your parents are not adults put on this earth for the express purpose of oppressing you.  It is that sweet time between self awareness and total independence when your child reaches for you to know they are safe, secure, loved.

In time, I’m sure my name will morph. It’ll go from Mommy, to Mom, to OMG! MoooooooooommmmmmGawdYou’reEmbarassingME!

But right now, I’m thrilled to be Mommy.  And I couldn’t possibly think of a sweeter sound than my daughter calling my name.

Are you proud to be a Mommy too?  Head over to BOREdMommy’s site and link up your own post.

I Need A Holiday From the Holidays

I have a few more posts coming in my relationship series, but I need to put them aside for a bit while I figure out how to proceed.  Like I said earlier, the posts aren’t writing themselves, like I’m used to, and with V being sick I simply can’t focus like I need to on such a touchy topic.  So you guys will just have to suck it up and wait.  Bloggers prerogative and all that.  Sorry.

So, Christmas.

Yeah… that was interesting.

We did end up successfully doing our 12 days of Christmas with Vista.  It worked well and allowed her time to process each toy.

We still had a few presents on Christmas morning and then her stocking.  That took 3 hours to open everything, but we let her go at her own speed.  Even that, though, was too overwhelming and she was pretty much in constant meltdown from noon on Christmas day on.  By the time she went to bed that night Bil and I were completely done in.  In a serious way.  I think next year we might just skip Christmas day, altogether.

The 26th we briefly considered hitting the Boxing Day sales, then came to our senses.

Bil’s assesment of the day ahead:

bilxmas I Need A Holiday From the Holidays

He was kidding…. I think…

After spending the morning dealing with cranky mccranky pants (aka our daughter) we figured the sooner we headed over to my parents the sooner we could make them look after her and we could sit and have a break.  Cause we’re awesome parental units like that.  So, we packed up the big pickup truck *cough* rednecks *cough* and hit the highway.

Vista had a bit of a cold and cough and we had another croup flare up in the days before Christmas.  We decided we would take her into our family doc in the new year as this is her 3rd go round with ‘croup’ in a month in a half.  Vista, however, had a different plan.

As we left our house to make the hour drive to my parents house when Vista started coughing…and coughing… and coughing… and oh fuck… she can’t catch her breath.  Do we pull over and call an ambulance or gun it to the nearest medical facility?  We veered off the highway and took the back roads the Urgent Care facility in the next town.

As we rushed from the truck into the medical center, Vista’s cough had slowed enough that she was at least not blue tinged anymore.  I had flashbacks to my own experiences with croup as a child.  These coughing attacks were eventually diagnosed as my signature asthma attack.  Yay genes.

And we walked into see a huge line of people.  Crap.  The debate.  Head back to the hospital ER in our town, stay here, or take her into the Children’s hospital in the city.  We decided to take our chances and wait it out here. I called my mom and told her we’d probably be a bit late for dinner.

However, when you walk in with a coughing child with dropping pulse-ox stats a funny thing happens.  You get bumped to the front of the line and get to see a doctor right away.  Two inhalers and instructions to follow up with our family doctor later and we were on our way again.  So much for making it through the holidays without a visit to emergency.  Vista is nothing if not consistent.

When we finally got to my parents house, my dad took Vista and my mom went and made me a stiff drink.  Because there are some days when it’s required and my mom, for all her quirks, gets that.

My youngest brother and his wife finally arrived with my nephew (how we can come from an hour away AND stop at emerg and still get to my parents house ahead of them when they live in the same neighborhood as my parents, I’ll never understand).  I had the sad realization that my nephew who’s now a year and half old isn’t a baby anymore.  *sniff*  He’s completely lost that cute, chubby, baby look and marched straight into toddlerhood.  I told my SIL that she needed to get with the program and have another baby for me to cuddle.   Because, really,  we all know it’s always all about me.

After required snuggles, we let the kids open their presents from Grandma and Grandpa (or Manna and Putta as Vista prefers to call them.  We’ve tried to correct that.  And she can say it properly.  But she’s adamant about those names.  *shrug*).  Can we say spoiled?  I think my parents went and won the lottery and forgot to tell us.  They even got Vista a gift certificate to the high end shoe store where we have to get her footwear, so her next pair of shoes are completely paid for.  Yeah, I may have teared up a bit over a gift certificate to a shoe store.  Just proves that I’m sensitive.

Heading back home in a semi-turkey induced-coma, we had to pull off on the highway again after V had another coughing / asthma attack.  Nothing wakes you up and gets your adrenaline pumping like your kid having trouble breathing.  Thank goodness for rescue inhalers.  But since then, she’s been good and we haven’t needed to use it at all. So, yay the inhalers are working.  Boo that they’re probably working because she has asthma.

All in all a good Christmas.  But really?  I am SO ready for a holiday now.

I’ll leave you with this daily dose of cuteness… Vista the ballerina (oh, and yes, she insists on wearing a toque in the house at all times.  And usually mittens too.  We got her to take off the mittens to open presents, but the toque?  Not a chance.  I promise you, we keep the heat on in the house.  Really.)

 I Need A Holiday From the Holidays

It Takes A Village

*Warning:  I started this post intending to write about our planned summer camping trip with my parents.  It instead turned into a parental rant.  Don’t bother reading if you’re not in the mood to deal with whiny, poor me, BS*


My parents drive me batty.  I mean in an up-the-wall completely insane sort of way.  I have a complete love-hate relationship with them.

On one hand they’re awesome parents.  When I was pregnant, my dad and his friend completely framed and drywalled our basement for us, so we could move Bil’s office downstairs and make room for the new baby.  Then when we were spending all day, every day at the hospital with Vista when she was first born, my parents came over to the house and painted the entire basement for us.  I know, pretty sweet deal.  They also take Vista for a few hours every month or so, so Bil and I can get a break and are starting to talk about maybe trying to taking her overnight this summer.

Then on the other hand, some days I could write them off completely.  When I was pregnant with V and going through complication after complication (more than once we thought I was miscarrying there was so much blood.  I know, TMI, sorry), rather than stepping in and offering support, my parents basically disappeared.  After having it out with my mom about 6 months ago, I found out why.  She told me they didn’t want to get attached to the baby if we were only going to lose it.  WTF?!?  I mean, the time when I need support the most, all you can think about it your feelings?

It took them a long time to bond with Vista for this reason.  And still, even though they only live an hour away, she only sees them once or twice a month.  And that’s usually only because we make the effort to drive in and bring her over to see them.  This… this makes me very sad.

My parents have also had a veil of denial over them about all of Vista’s issues.  Despite my mom watching V have a seizure right in front of her she said “Well maybe it wasn’t a seizure.  Maybe she just didn’t want to play anymore”.  *insert banging of the head here*

They were convinced for the longest time that V had no delays, that we were expecting too much from her.  And even though we told them repeatedly that we were at our wits end and needed help and support, we got none.  When we had a screaming, colicky baby who would cry non-stop around the clock for weeks on end, no one showed up to say ‘Go take a walk for an hour and rest your ears’.  We were left to do this alone.

When my brother had his perfectly healthy baby a year later, they were all over that one.  They’re always babysitting my nephew, they’ve taken him overnight several times, they make an effort to go over and visit.  Yeah, I’m bitter.  But that’s a long brewing bitterness that’s a whole other story having to do with sibling rivalry, adoption, and my need to get a life and get over the pettiness.

Then the magical MRI results appeared.  To say my parents were shocked was an understatement (even though we had told them we knew there was something wrong with her brain since she was 6months old.  Yeah, we’ve known that long).  Now all of the sudden they’re offering to take her more often and making this big show of support.

And while part of me really appreciates it, part of me really really resents that it took a friggin’ brain scan to make my parents step up to the bat.  And part of me wants to tell them to shove off, because it’s too little, too late.  Except that we really do need the help.  But then again, we’ve done it for two years on our own, what’s another two, or four, or ten?

Sorry, I had originally sat down to write about our summer camping trip and I’m not quite sure why the post detoured into this parental rant.  Maybe I just need to put this out there so I can get this out there and try to get over some of the anger and resentment I have.  I really want them to be part of V’s life because when they are there, they’re awesome and V absolutely loves them.  But there’s a wall that’s long and tall between us and I’m just not sure how to start taking it down.

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