Abuser

It rained on my way home tonight. Without an umbrella in the car, I was forced to race to my front door barefoot (my dressy shoes would've caused an injury) with my huge diaper bag over one shoulder and a sleeping Rain over the other. I quickly said hello to Tim on my way in (by that I mean I hissed, "It's cold in here!"), and put Rain gently into the crib. I took off her shoes, and she fell back to sleep.

I walked out of the room, and finally go to say a proper hello to Tim, who I hadn't seen all day. A few minutes later, I went to the bathroom. While I was there, I could hear Rain crying. She must've woken up in the dark room and wondered where she was. I heard Tim go into the bedroom to get her. She continued to cry for a bit then stopped. When I stepped out of the bathroom again, Rain was crying.

Tim said, "You want to hear about what kind of abuser she is?"

Sure, I'm always up for that.

"Well," he said, "she started crying, so I went to get her. I tried to walk her around, but she kept crying. So, I took her out to the living room, and when she saw you weren't here, she stopped crying. She started to fall asleep, and then she heard you flush the toilet. Her head shot up, and her face looked like, 'Ha! She's here!'"

So, by the time I opened the door, the waterworks were on. Bad baby! Bad!

100 & Rightiest

Today is my 100th post since Rain was born. That's just madness.

Carry on.

So, a moment of reflection is in order, I'm sure. After an incident today, I thought about what the hardest thing about parenting is. I'm sure it's different for everybody, but for me it's "rightiest." Look, I'm a Type B+ personality (not quite as psycho as an A, but definitely prone to overdoing stuff), and that means I'm always torn between doing what's right and rightiest.

Oh, I know my fellow grammarians (halla if you love semicolons) are shouting, "There is no such word!" But, my syntax-loving brethren, let me explain. Sometimes I find myself debating what I think is right versus what I feel is right. I can't say one is "more right," because then it feels like I'm saying one choice is wrong. Neither choice seems wrong, but one seems rightier. For example, let's say I'm working on a business project at home. After a few minutes, I really get into it, and here comes Rain. She toddles in with her two very cute teeth, a smile, and a look like, "So ... are we going outside now? I've been playing quietly for a while now." She got these big cheeks, right? And she's all giggling like, "How fun am I? Who wouldn't want to play with me?" There I am thinking about all the work I have to do. Don't I want to show her a good work ethic by example? Don't I want her to be independent? Isn't some of the money we make going into her piggy bank (and by "piggy bank" I mean high-interest-yielding online savings fund) after all?
It's not that working is bad. Playing with Rain definitely isn't wrong. But what's rightiest?? Let's say someone always picks up extra hours at work to save for her kid's education or just to buy fun stuff for her. Nothing wrong with that. But, if she starts missing all her kid's ball games and whatnot because she works, well, now she's skipping out on good things. Then I'm thinking, "That is SO me. I could work every weekend to pay for Rain's college, and then when I turn 40, someone will hit me with a car. I'll miss all her Saturday games, and still not see her graduate!"

That kind of thinking is downright dangerous. I mean physically dangerous. Several times in Rain's short life I have made bad choices because I get distracted doing something that I think is best. The choice wasn't bad, but it definitely wasn't the rightiest.

Today Rain & I went out for our daily walk. I did the whole mommy thing & put Rain in shorts, bathed her in SPF 50, & brought a sufficient water supply (plus snacks). I put her in her stroller for 15 minutes, then let her walk beside me. She toddled down the sidewalk and walked all over the grass in her spiffy new leather shoes (softies for newbie walkers). After forty minutes, I decided it was time to come in. The heat was too much, & Rain looked sleepy. We were playing in the grassy field in front of our apartment, so thankfully, the walk home would be short.

I was about to slip Rain into her stroller when I noticed a large spider sitting on the fabric hood. I put Rain down next to me and told her, "Mommy has to get this guy out of your seat, then we'll go home." I shook the fabric for a second, but the spider didn't move. I frowned, shook the fabric again, and the spider jumped to the grass.

"Yay!" I said to Rain.

Who was no longer there.

I looked up, and there Rain was, toddling 12-15 feet from me. In the few seconds I was messing with the spider, Rain had run towards our apartment door. The front of our first-floor apartment is much lower than the surrounding landscape, so it looks as if you're going underground when you walk up to our door. The problem was that to get to our apartment Rain would have go down a stairwell. On either side of this stairwell is a 3-4 ft drop-off. Below that is nothing but cement and stone landscaping.

As I saw Rain toddle towards the edge of the drop-off, 3 things happened:

One, even though I took off running, I knew I would never make it. She was too far ahead of me.

Two, I felt instant guilt. This is the day, I thought, where I screw up our lives. She'll break her neck, and I'll kill myself.

Three, I screamed, "RAINNNNN!"

Now, when I say, "Rain!" from time to time--let's say, when she runs off with my car keys--Rain always runs faster. Even when I'm annoyed because she's spilling something across the carpet, she runs because she thinks it's a game. To her, calling after her is a sign you want to play chase.

But, when I shouted, "RAINNNNN!" I tell you my soul was in it. I screamed that scream that people do when horror is inevitable. Anyone outside probably turned to look.

Rain stopped, looked back at me, and I tackled her. I was thrilled, mad, happy, & scared. "Thank you, God!" I said. I told Rain, "Your Father was watching out for you, because your mommy is an idiot." I know I'm not an idiot, but I felt like one. I was mad for making the right decision to rid Rain's stroller of the spider, but not the rightiest one: watching her. I should've held her hand while I was distracted or kept her in front of me. Every few weeks something like that happens, and I feel lousy. I try to do the right thing but plenty of times it's not the rightiest thing.

... Wowzers, I could never be an inspirational speaker. I'm getting a weight off my chest by tossing it on my back! Yikes. Ok, on the upside, welp, Rain's a pretty happy & healthy kid. During the 99 posts before this, I can say Rain & me have had a great, although unpredictable, time. The only one who could say anything different would be Rain.

And she can't type.

War of the Wills

Rain, honey, put those pants down. We don't touch things that aren't ours. Put those pants down now, please, before--are you trying to match it??


Come on, sweetie, smile for the picture. Your great grandma and auntie were nice enough to send you a gift, so how 'bout a smile? Keep your hat on, please. Smile. Keep your hat on. Smile. Keep your hat on ...


Rain! No more clothes. Didn't I say no more already?


Wait for mommy, please. Wait for mommy. WAIT for mommy. WAIT FOR MOMMY!!

Bowling

A few weeks ago, I bought a toddler-sized wooden bowling set. It was sorta too cute to pass up (c'mon, wooden toy in useful/coordinated tote? Sold!), and I thought I could try to teach Rain how to play something different. Our first lesson went something like this:

Step 1: Wowee! Bowling is too fun!
I decided I'd have to show her how fun bowling could be, so I wildly cheered and hollered as I rolled the ball across the floor. My exaggerated expressions proved to her that, clearly, she was missing out.

Step 2: Create suspense
"1 ... 2 ... 3!" I exclaimed, and rolled the ball towards the pins. "Look at the ball hit the pins!" Anyone who has done this with a baby or puppy knows the frustration of pointing to something and saying, "Don't look at my finger, look at what I'm pointing at. No, not my finger, that, that!"

Step 3: Demonstrate prowess
I hit one pin, and Rain's brow lowered in puzzlement. Was this a good thing? Was it an accident? I hit two pins at once, and her mouth made a big O. That's right, kiddo: Mama is a pro. Be glad we're not taking bets.

Step 4: Train apprentice
I put the ball in Rain's hand. "1 ... 2 ... 3!" Ball drops to the floor but fails to roll more than a few inches. Surprisingly, Rain understands this was not the goal. Frustration mounts.

Step 5: The student becomes the master
I gave her the ball again. Rain stared at it. After a moment, she dropped the ball. She toddled over to the pins and kicked them all down. Problem solved.

Every Time I Turn Around!

Where is the reason, the logic?? Two weeks ago, at her own birthday party, Rain had NO teeth. Now she has TWO with a possible third peeking through. Every time I turn around, that kid's got a tooth coming in. 'Bout time!

Lump

A few posts ago, I mentioned a special project I'm working on. The project will be ready to view in about another week, but here is a little something related to it ...

So, I was running errands for the house last week (something I do every day now), and decided it was time to finally get the tires balanced on my car. I had to, because any time I went past 65 miles an hour (and that's the bare minimum in Texas), my steering wheel started to rattle. Anyway, there I was at the tire shop trying to keep Rain entertained without bothering the other customers.

Rain wanted to walk everywhere and see everyone. Most people are cool with a toddler standing 2 feet away and just staring (they may smile and whatnot), but others decidedly don't want children even looking at them. So, I had to trail her the whole time making apologies. Even when I let her play with her toy puppy (a singing dog that I loathe & love, depending on my patience for repetition that day), she sat for a minute before tossing the thing aside. Out of desperation, I let her sit on my lap & empty out her diaper bag, something she thoroughly enjoys.

Her hairbrush was there, so I decided to give her hair a once-over. Her back was towards me, and I hoped the soft brushing would distract her.

It was me who would needed the distracting. Behind Rain's ear, on her skull, was a lump. A hard lump the size of a dime. I was surprised, and worse, could tell the thing wasn't a bruise or temporary injury of any sort. I checked the rest of her head for similar lumps, but there was only the one. I waited, oh, about 2 seconds before calling Rain's doctor while mumbling, "What is it? What is it?"

I think every newbie parent has had the moment where part of your inner voice says, "Hey, calm down. Be a mom and settle yourself down before you freak your kid out, too." The other part of your inner voice, the completely panic-stricken side, wants to scream and call your mommy. The fear sets in quickly, because it was already there. We've all had lifetime experiences with this: a child-like trust that a thing, a person, or a relationship is forever, and bam! It's forcefully taken away, and we never want to be that foolish again. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all was a sucker, right?

Forget Darwin. This isn't about wanting a species to continue. If that was the case, I'd have 10 kids (wow, I can hear Tim choking on his coffee from here). Every kid, every single one, is irreplaceable, and from the moment a baby comes home from the hospital, we have a whispered terror that he or she, too, will be something taken away. Oh, sure, the rational side tells us our children will be fine and outlive us by many years, but what if? What if??

OK, I'm going to stop now. I'm working myself up all over again. I called the doctor's office, and a nurse told me, "If it gets bigger, call us." What? Lady, I'm not talking about my iguana, I'm talking about my kid!

Ugh.

I'm going to continue to follow her advice for 1 more week, then I'm succumbing to the inner voice whose advice begins with, "Contact the American Academy of Pediatrics ..."

Monday: Get Your Own Rib!

Monday

A quick note on Rain's Memorial Day party, which we had a day before her actual birthday. We had a family-friendly BBQ--complete with kite-flying and bubbles--at a small park. My favorite thing about the whole party was that Rain had a great time. She never cried, though she took an obligatory nap. She walked around and visited with family & friends. By visited, I mean checked their plates for cake and ribs. A great day, really. Next year's party? Anywhere ... but Chuck E. Cheese.

Tuesday: Birthday Girl

Tuesday

One year ago, Rain Annalise came into our world.
She seemed just as unsure about the change as we were.

She was beautiful.

And unique.

Here's to the one blessing that has changed who we thought we were & what was possible in this lifetime. Happy Birthday, Rainbow.

Wednesday: The Cell

Wednesday

Continuing my week in review, on Wednesday of last week, I had to obtain a new phone. I truly have no idea how to explain what happened. I don't want to blame Rain unjustly, but the evidence provides no other culprit.

Several months ago, my cell phone became worthless. The battery kept dying no matter how long I recharged it. Two weeks ago, I decided enough was enough. I bought a snazzy red phone that could play MP3s. Toss in the earpiece and leather case, and I totally looked like a busy ... mom. But a busy, chic mom.

Since then, I spent every day packing up our apartment. I tossed stuff in boxes and bags, all while little Rain played among the wreckage.

Last week, I went to my sister's house to babysit her kids. Tim called to check up on me, and a few hours later, he came to pick me & Rain up. He put Rain in the car, and just then I remembered I had forgotten my phone. I went back in to look for it, but couldn't find it. I had my sister dial my number from her phone, but I couldn't hear my phone ring. I thought it was odd, but decided I would return later to hunt for it.

I will save you the pitiful tale of how I returned later, and though I looked EVERYWHERE (yes, I searched in between seat cushions), I couldn't find my phone. My sister & brother-in-law searched as well, and it is almost ridiculous to say this, but the phone disappeared. I turned that place upside down & shook it, and still found nothing. I, very seriously, couldn't believe it. By the time I had searched the place twice, I was almost laughing. I eventually gave in, and I reconnected another old phone we happened to still have.

It's now a joke. When I see my sister, I ask, "So ... did you find my phone yet?" We both know it's gone forever, though we may never know how. There is one clue, however.

If you watch Rain play for a while, periodically you will see her do something she's seen Mommy do many, many times in the last few weeks. She will pick up an object, and carefully deposit it in an open box or bag.

My brother-in-law had thrown the trash out the day I lost my phone.

Somewhere, an employee at the city dump is holding a red, very chic phone and shaking his head at the perfectly fine things crazy people throw away. If you know the guy, tell him I have the matching earpiece, if he's interested.

Thursday: Home

Thursday

After turning in our Young Person cards long ago, Tim & I decided it was time to buy a house. Mainly, we decided before Rain was born that we wanted to buy a house when she was a year old. At one point we thought we might buy a home when I was pregnant, but that ridiculous idea was quickly tabled. I'm glad we didn't, now that I know all the work that's involved.

The home-buying process is filled with procedures, forms, and protocol--none of which was covered in school (but, hey, as long as we memorized the Pythagorean Theorem, it's all good). If you have loads of money, the process is simple, because no doubt you hardly care if you're ripped off. We, however, researched and researched as much as we could about homes, and we still feel like we are at the mercy of those that play the game every day (realtors, inspectors, contractors, and the like).

Thankfully, we've met our share of good guys. Alas, we've also encountered slick salesmen at every turn.

Home security system salesman (clearly reading from script): "You know, 16 million Americans dealt with a home break-in last year."

Me: "Actually, I was asking if you guys offer a guarantee of some sort. I mean, if we use your system & our house gets broken into & you don't send out police or follow-up, what kind of compensation will there be? Do you guarantee your work?"

Salesman: "Well, the study I have here that was released just last week shows that 16 million Americans ..."

Anyway, so we researched every company/person we hired before we contacted them. Honestly, as psycho as it sounds, we were able to tell some people more about the service they were offering than they were. We were on top of stuff. Our realtor (good guy, very professional ... www.daviddevries.com), I think, was surprised by our stay-on-it attitude.

We made sure the home inspector was ASHI certified, that our realtor came highly recommended, and loan provider had a great rate with no fees. Yep, all that research, planning, and punctuality ... and yet ...

Out of all the things we could possibly have let slip through the cracks, well, there was one thing. One LARGE thing. Like thousands of dollars thing. For whatever reason, we had forgotten to transfer money from our savings account (not in a local bank) to our checking account. This transaction takes several days, and on Tuesday night we realized, "Hey, we're closing at noon on Thursday, and we have no money."

Thus began a mad dash for cash. This wasn't like, "Hey, Ma, can I borrow fifty bucks?" it was like, "So ... anybody have 7 grand they're not using today?" After exasperating all our resources, we realized we simply had to bite the bullet and borrow from family members. To the credit (no pun intended) of my family, they came through. Thanks, guys, for covering us in our serious oversight.

It happened that on Thursday morning the money we needed had transferred to our account in time (in record time, in fact) after all, so we didn't have to trouble others further. We beat ourselves up over the whole thing, until we talked to our realtor (25+ years of experience). After explaining to him the disaster we had avoided, he shrugged & said, "You guys wouldn't have been the first."

Friday: Tooth Fairy

Oh, where do I begin? Let's start with:

Friday

So. I decided a while back that Rain would be a toothless 20-year-old. I mean, there she was at her birthday party chomping on cake with only her gums--only her gums! Come on, kid! You're a year old--show some enamel! Most kids get teeth around 7 months old, and some are born with them, for crying out loud.

Sigh. It's not that I want Rain to hit a milestone so I can brag to other parents. The main thing is that she cries, cries, and cries about her teeth. Some nights she wakes up every 3 hours (like a newborn!) crying about her teeth. The Orajel doesn't work anymore. Frozen peas or ice chips are the only things that will calm her down.

Since there wasn't anything I could do to make her teeth grow faster, I focused my dispair on Friday, May 30. Yep, May 3-0. Friday. The day that I would finally get to vent all my frustrations to Rain's pediatrician. Rain had her 12-month check-up on Friday (they call them "wellness visits" now), and I was waiting to tell the doctor of my teething woes. I didn't expect that he would give me a magic solution (besides, if Orajel doesn't work, most doctors are going to say, "Wow, sounds like you're about to bake another batch of TOUGH COOKIES."), I just wanted a pinch of sympathy. I wanted to get it all out, you know? A tiny pity party, just for me. Something that might sweeten the bitter taste of sleepless nights. I told Rain, "Wait until the doctor sees you don't have any teeth! He's going to feel so sorry for mommy."

At Rain's appointment, the doctor & I went over the usual items (weigh-in, head measurement, height check, blah, blah, blah). Finally, it was time for the good stuff.

"Well," the doctor said, "it's time to check on how those teeth are coming along. I'm sure this will be like a WWWF match getting in there, so why don't you hold her hands, and I'll hold her head?" He pulled out a tongue depressor, and I took hold of Rain's hands and shoulders as best I could.

As soon as the doctor got Rain's mouth open, she tussled and tossed as expected. I shook my head knowingly ("See? See how she is with me??") as the doctor worked Rain's mouth open wider and wider.

"Ah, there we go!" he said. "Look, Mom, right there. It looks like Miss Rain has a tooth that's come through." The night before Rain grew a tooth.

That is so messed up.