Love/Hate:Goodwill

Why I Love Goodwill: $1 Thursdays.

Yesterday I was able to replace most of my shrinking wardrobe for less than twenty bucks. I've been clearing out the clothes that no longer fit. Since giving birth a year ago, I've lost almost 50 pounds (and considering I only put 14 pounds on during the pregnancy, I don't have pre-pregnancy clothes that fit--the last time I was this size was in college and I don't have any of those clothes left, not that I would wear the 15-year old styles anyways). I'm finding it hard to be restrained and blase' about the weight-loss. I am so happy and excited about it I want to shout it from the rooftops, but that would be self-absorbed and rude. So I will mention it here and tell you all that if you comment on it to me, you will make my day and I will walk around for hours feeling the glow of the compliment. It makes the breastfed-allergic-baby deprivation diet worthwhile.

Why I Hate Goodwill: Rude employees.

Yesterday my joy at fitting easily into a size 10 was dashed by a cashier who ignored me when I asked for help at the jewelry counter, then when the baby was done patiently waiting started screaming, the cashier looked at us, stuck his fingers in his ears, shook his head and clucked his tongue. I LOST IT and went off on him. I don't think I have ever before let out that long a string of angry admonishments on a retail employee in my life. But NOBODY deserves that treatment, and we had been waiting very patiently. They won't see me in that location again.

Firsts

Kisses wake-up.
Sisters hug.
Grandparents call.
Play, nap, eat.
Friends wish happy things.
Homemade chicken soup.
Cupcake and frosting.
Singing.
Candle flickers, "Blow it out!"
A present!
A pirate ship dismantled.
Bath.
Milk.
Bedtime.

The best first birthday ever. I love you my baby boy!

This New Year I Resolve...

to declutter my home.

Oh, lordy. How did this much stuff end up in this house? Nevermind, don't answer that. I already know.

We have accumulated more stuff here than in any of our previous residences. Why? Because we always moved every three years, and that always forced a big clean-out. Now we've been here four years straight. It makes me want to move again just to clean stuff out. NOT! HA! I am so glad to not have to move, but now I have to clean-out without the assistance of seeing everything as it goes into moving boxes. Moving is great for decluttering because you don't want to have to pack and unpack that unnecessary junk. Taking it to the donation center is more satisfying when the alternative is saving your back from one more box to lift.

In order to accomplish the declutter project, not get burned out or give up, and cheer ourselves on, I've created a plan. One room a month, breaks from the project in June and December (usually our busiest vacation and holiday months), simple guidelines to follow and step-by-step approach to problem areas. I'll post our progress on our fridge and on this blog. If I get behind, feel free to give me a nudge. In the meantime, here's the plan of attack:

Month Room Areas of Focus

• January: Kitchen & Laundry -- Cabinets; drawers; counters; tops of cabinets; baker's rack; refrigerator.
• February: Girls' room -- Closets; dressers; desk; toy bins; beds.
• March: Boy's room -- Closets; dresser; bookshelves; toy chest; boxes; bed.
• April: Computer room -- Desks; closets; bookshelves; sewing cabinet; boxes.
• May: Computer room continued -- Put in new desks & wall shelves.
• June: Off -- Summer break!
• July: Master bedroom -- Closets; mule chest; nightstands; boxes; bathroom; underbed storage.
• August: Family room -- Bookshelves; entertainment center; china cabinets; linen closet.
• September: Living room -- Bookshelves; entertainment center; baskets; bench seat; coat closet.
• October: Patio -- Boxes; toy; deep freeze; deck box; side yard.
• November: Garage -- Closet; boxes; tools; toys.
• December: Off -- Holiday break!

Strategies for Decluttering

• If it's broken, expired or used up, throw it out.
• What stays, must have a place to live.
• What goes, sort into "Sell," "Donate," or "Storage."
• Shred or recycle unnecessary paper.

Wish us luck!

Dairy is still not my friend

So now I suspect that my precious, perfect baby boy is allergic to dairy.

Even though I can't tolerate dairy, I still cheat once in a while. Not often, and I don't fret much over hidden dairy in processed foods like bread. Big doses make me notice the discomfort, but everything takes the "worth it" test -- "Is pizza worth the discomfort?" No; "Is that chocolate brownie worth the discomfort?" Yes. Cheese always loses, chocolate always wins. My friends have probably noticed my hypocrisy, because they try to protect me from dairy and once in a while it's a wasted effort (but I do appreciate the thoughtfulness!).

Now, after a Thanksgiving weekend binge on cinnamon rolls with lots of gooey icing and three regular Sbux mochas, the baby has a red rash on his face that won't go away. It's almost a circle around his mouth and doesn't seem to itch him. But it is bright and angry and scaly, and it keeps flaring up after I have eaten something with dairy -- including pastry, fruit and cereal bars, my own chicken pot pie in which I used 50/50 Butter Blend Smart Balance, and Chocolate-dipped Peppermint Joe-Joes (damn!). Just cutting back hasn't helped much. Since my last known exposure, I have been very careful and this morning the rash is much better. It pains me to see my baby boy reacting to something, to think that we may be dealing with a long-term problem. I hope not.

Oh, and the rash is not the only symptom. Around the same time he transformed from a sweet, happy baby boy to a SHRIEKING banshee. He doesn't normally fuss much, but he tells us with whining when he is wet or tired or hungry. But after the rash started, those discomforts became HUGE ORDEALS that would set him off, reaching decibels that surely could not be measured, rattling my brain and piercing my eardrums. I'm not exaggerating. Really, the shrieking was that bad for about a week. It's better now. Actually, the shrieking is almost gone too. Strange coincidence, eh. I doubt it.

My gut tells me that dairy is the problem. The family, the pediatrician, some friends are not convinced. I guess time will tell.

In the meantime, I will be reading labels more carefully and declining what previously might have tempted me. I apologize in advance for becoming picky!

Busy baby

In just the last couple of days he learned to:

Roll over
Blow raspberries
Uncurl his hands
Grasp toys
Try to grab his feet
Squeal
Scoot his body across the bed by pushing off his feet
Do push-ups
Suck his thumb

In three days, he'll be four months old! No longer a newborn... wow.

When mama get a freelance job...

...Baby won't nap...

...Three children's stomachs get mysteriously empty every hour...

...Two young girls empty half a jar of Av0n Cinnamon Chapped Heel Relief cream onto their feet in a little over thirty minutes...

...Baby decides that this is the day to discover the toes on the ends of those kicking legs, learn how to bat at toys, practice almost rolling over, and crack up at hiccuping sister (thus, the lack of napping)...

...Eight-year-old develops taste for "tween" reality shows and gets surly with five-year-old sister who wants to watch Dora and Diego...

...Weary mama stays up 'til midnight with M.E.G.O. setting in...

...Work breaks mostly revolved around food and eating (wait, this was the same when I was in an office)...

...Husband gets orders for a business trip...

...All utensils and most dishes are crusting over in the sink...

...Compassionate friends come by to help out and leave saying, "I wish I could help more." (I wish they knew how a little goes a long way!)...

...Getting dressed in the morning involves picking clean clothes out of the pile in the living room...

...Desperate self-employed mama looks up and asks "Why now?" then calls Grandma...

...GRANDMA ARRIVES! BABY SLEEPS! KIDS STOP ARGUING! DISHES GET WASHED! LAUNDRY IS PUT AWAY! MAMA GETS WORK TURNED IN!

Ahhhhhhh, whew!

Only ten more days to go on this project...

Yeah, I'm a grammar geek

Your Language Arts Grade: 100%

Way to go! You know not to trust the MS Grammar Check and you know "no" from "know." Now, go forth and spread the good word (or at least, the proper use of apostrophes).

Are You Gooder at Grammar?
Make a Quiz

Moments

On the way to a summer camp class, right in the middle of the city, we pass a man wearing a cowboy hat. The younger girl starts hopping up and down, pointing and screeching, "MAMA-MAMA-MAMA! LOOK! It's a real COWBOY!" He cocks a grin, and tips his hat at her.

--

The trio returns from grocery shopping. I'm parked under a nursing baby. The oldest enters with a hopeful look on her face.

"Mom, we asked Daddy to take us to Raskin Bobbins [sic] but he said we had to ask you."

"Okay, I'll talk to him about it."

One hour later...

"Mom, did you talk to Dad about going to Askin Robbens?"

"No, but I will."

One hour later...

"Mom, did you and Dad decide-"

"NO NOT YET DON'T ASK ME AGAIN I WILL TELL YOU WHEN WE FIGURE IT OUT."

"Okay."

(I lied. We had already discussed it and planned it for an after-dinner treat.)

One hour later... rain is coming down in buckets.

"Honey, Dad and I thought we would go to get ice cream after dinner but now it's raining too hard. I'm sorry."

"Mom, this rain is freaking me out. I would rather stay home. It's okay."

"We'll go another day, okay?"

"Yeah, mom." Hugs.

Elders

A popular magazine recently ran a feature on "What We Learned From Our Mothers." Readers were invited to submit items of wisdom, vignettes on the lasting lessons that their mothers gave to them. I pondered the question for days, hoping to make a submission of my own words that were inspired by a positive thing that she taught me through saying or doing.

Grief fills me, for I could not think of even one.

----

"Obsessive compulsive personality disorder (OCPD), or anankastic personality disorder, is a personality disorder that is characterized by a general psychological inflexibility, rigid conformity to rules and procedures, perfectionism, moral code, and/or excessive orderliness."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obsessive-compulsive_personality_disorder

My mother has always been kind of odd. She has been the butt of jokes among family for many years, as well as the focal point of much of my teenage anger and angst. I used to make lists of all the ways I would never be like her. I even pretended for a long time that I was adopted or born from aliens or somehow came from outside the family (never mind the strong resemblances) just to not be related to her.

I know some girls grow up idolizing their mothers--those special women who may have been a master of the kitchen or garden, a muse with clever asides or wise proverbs to pass along, goddesses full of grace or kindness or generosity or wit--but I could never see any of those qualities in her. I inwardly cringe every time she opens her mouth to speak... what kind of ridiculous, infuriating, critical thing will come out this time?

Yet, I have always tried to forgive her. To ignore foolishness. To wish her to be different. To hope that she would acknowledge her pettiness and selfishness, to want to change. To think that maybe I was being too harsh, too critical and not forgiving enough.

A person can be mentally ill and yet fool acquaintances with outward appearances of health and charm. My mother is great at this. She is a master manipulator of people's emotions. Or was. Everyone who knows her well can see through this. The facade is breaking. I wonder what the strangers that she tries to charm see? Do they believe her act? Or do they just see an old woman that is trying too hard?

We just spent the better part of a week with my parents. My poor father, who hides from her most of the day, puttering around outside, taking long naps, ignoring her beckonings on the excuse of his increasingly-profound deafness. My mother, self-described as "particular" about how things are done but is utterly compulsive and demanding, self-aware enough to admit to being "forgetful" but really has large blank spots in her recall of all kinds of facts, dates, events and people.

----

"The DSM-IV-TR, a widely-used manual for diagnosing mental disorders, defines that for a patient to be diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, they must exhibit at least four of the following traits:[1]

-Preoccupation with details, rules, lists, order, organization, or schedules to the extent that the major point of the activity is lost
-Showing perfectionism that interferes with task completion (e.g., is unable to complete a project because his or her own overly strict standards are not met)
-Excessive devotion to work and productivity to the exclusion of leisure activities and friendships (not accounted for by obvious economic necessity)
-Being overconscientious, scrupulous, and inflexible about matters of morality, ethics, or values (not accounted for by cultural or religious identification)
-Inability to discard worn-out or worthless objects even when they have no sentimental value
-Reluctance to delegate tasks or to work with others unless they submit to exactly his or her way of doing things
-Adopting a miserly spending style toward both self and others; money is viewed as something to be hoarded for future catastrophes
-Shows rigidity and stubbornness
It is important to note that while a person may exhibit any or all of the characteristics of a personality disorder, it is not diagnosed as a disorder unless the person has trouble leading a normal life due to these issues."

Of the six italicized items above, the last applies to all things about my mother. Most of all denial that there is even a problem. She won't admit to being obsessive-compulsive--spending thirty minutes to wash two haircombs in hot running water is just making sure they are clean. Two hours loading the dishwasher by scrubbing each dish before putting it in the machine is just being thorough. Applying more ink two or three times over the same words she just wrote on the page (to the point where the paper is embossed with her writing for several sheets underneath) is just making sure the pen was working.

----

"Dementia (from Latin de- "apart, away" + mens (genitive mentis) "mind") is the progressive decline in cognitive function due to damage or disease in the brain beyond what might be expected from normal aging. "
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dementia

The cruelest part is that there is no getting better from this. Years of high blood pressure, a cocktail of competing medications, a lack of hobbies (besides harrassing various medical professionals) to stimulate the brain and previous unaddressed mental issues all add up to the children discussing not if, but how and when and where to move the elderly parents. My dad at 78 is vibrant and healthy, but tired and slow. How long can he continue to care for her, as she gets more and more out of control?

Just a few days ago, her compulsive behavior caused an insult to my in-laws and shame upon me. She has already lost all her friends and is no longer invited to social activities. I am struggling with what to do next. I don't think I can stand to just watch and wait any longer. I feel too young to have to deal with this. My older siblings are reluctant to force any changes yet. Ever since I was a kid, I was acutely aware of how much older my parents were than the parents of my peers. In my twenties, it was less of a big deal, we were finally getting along. Until the decline started (I cannot pinpoint a date, but sometime after my first child was born.) Now it is a huge deal, worse than ever. She totally lacks the will or desire to overcome her compulsive behavior. There is no getting better. Only worse. It can only end badly now.

I wish I knew what to do.

My response to #1 in the babywearing contest

Just thought I'd share...

Keep trying. Even if the baby fusses the first (or second or third) time in the carrier, don't give up. I introduced my oldest child to a ring sling at five months old. She was bewildered and objected at first, but after persisting and making sure she was fed, tired and calm each time we tried, she soon got used to it and began to get excited whenever I brought it out. Both of my other children were carried from birth, so they too got used to the various carriers quite quickly. When I share my babywearing advice with friends frustrated by a baby who cries when put in the new wrap, sling or tie, I always tell them, "Don't give up. You both will get used to it, and soon learn to love it!"