Babying Lyssie

Alyssa was home yesterday with an ear ache. I was able to get her an appointment with our doctor and Tom brought her to town where I met them at the office.

She and I waited to see the doctor and she lounged on me, all 90 pounds of her, feverish and in pain from the almost certain ear infection brewing.

The doctor barely had to glance in her ear before asking me which antibiotic I wanted her to be on.

Since I am not the one with the medical degree or the income a doctor brings in, I asked what he’d give her if she were his child.

He wrote the prescription, warned us about the side effects if she takes it on an empty stomach and off we went to Walmart to fill the prescription.

Once I dropped it off at the pharmacy, I asked her if she wanted something to drink. She leaned into me and nodded, clearly not feeling well but also enjoying the one on one attention she was getting.

Since it was going to take the pharmacy an hour to fill the prescription, we headed to the local Great Wall to buy my hot and sour soup to celebrate my reaching 40 pounds lost.

It the four blocks it took us to go from Walmart to the restaurant Alyssa finished the Gatorade I’d bought her.

When we got back to Walmart to wander and wait for the medicine, I asked her if she wanted another Gatorade or an Icee from Subway. Her eyes brightened for a minute and she said, “You’re nice when I’m sick.”

Ha! Poor kid. I hope I’m ‘nice’ more often than when she’s sick but I realize that moms have to say no more often than we like just because that’s life.

I am so glad she still wants me to baby her when she’s sick. I hate that she’s sick but grateful that she’s still my baby enough to want me to snuggle her when she doesn’t feel well. Whether she likes it or not, she’ll always be my baby. For now, she still likes it. I am one lucky mom.

Weight Update

Four months into this “I don’t want to be the fat picture at the wedding” weight-loss program, I’m doing well. I feel so much better than I did four months ago. I can say that without even grimacing.

I’m coming to a point where I realize that if I want to maintain my current (and hopefully continuing) loss I’m going to have to eat salads for pretty much the rest of my life.

See…I hate working out. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I detest every aspect of exercise. I don’t like the feeling of my muscles getting fatigued. I don’t like to sweat and I hate hearing myself breathe hard.

I would rather adjust my eating habits forever than have to take up jogging.

I have worked out twice in the past week to a ballet workout dvd and it was awful. But I also know it’s beneficial so…we’ll see.

So as the fourth month of this low carb/low calorie eating comes to a close I’ve finally broken the 40 pound barrier. I sat at 39.5 pounds lost for a week before that last half pound went away.

But I feel like it’s a huge accomplishment to be here, forty pounds lighter than I was four months ago. I can say now that I won’t be the groom’s fat sister at his wedding. If I’m honest, I will say that I still have at least twenty pounds to go before I’ll feel like I’ve really succeeded but I’m over halfway there and to me that’s an accomplishment.

And, get this…I wore jeans last weekend that are three whole sizes smaller than the ones I wore four months ago. Wheee!! I know, right?

I’m getting there. And the important thing is that I feel so much better. I don’t get winded when I carry laundry up to the bedrooms from the basement. I don’t feel gross each time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

For me, losing weight has helped me lose a lot of my own negative feelings. I know that often the weight is just a symptom but for me, the weight was the problem and I’m still working toward solving it. But at least I’m on the journey. And right now it feels so good to be here, in this space, in this skin. That’s saying a whole hell of a lot.

P.A.R.K.

Times are changing.

I realized yesterday that my days of spelling things to Tom in order to keep them from Olivia are on the verge of being over. Of course they've been over for us with Alyssa around for years but honestly, I thought I had a little more time where O was concerned. This is not because I don't expect her to be able to spell, but she's just to the point of pre-reading so...

Anyway!! We were outside yesterday enjoying a lovely spring day in Northwestern Ohio. It was as if winter had finally bid us a final farewell. (Alas, by Friday it's supposed to be back down to the 40s so, ugh!!)

While we were outside, I said to Tom, "If tomorrow is as nice as today has been I'll probably take the girls to the P.A.R.K."

Olivia stopped swinging, looked at me and said, "What did you say?"

I laughed and said, "Never mind!"

She said, "Did you mention the park?"

OMG!! This was a wonderful, lovely surprise from her to us. Tom and I laughed, we told her she was amazing, we celebrated her spelling coup. We also told her not to mention the P.A.R.K. to her sister because if it wasn't nice, we weren't going.

The little fink couldn't stop herself from telling her sister all about it when she got home from a recital with the grandparents.

Sadly (for the girls) it's rainy and chilly today. No park for us.

But when it is finally warm enough, you can be neither of those girls will forget my comment.

The Call

In conclusion, I made the call. You know, the call about the party from the post titled An Invitation.

I called the mom of the birthday child, explained my concerns about leaving Olivia at the party and asked if she's be okay if I stay during the party.

And obviously, she said it was fine.

Which is very cool because in the packet we received from the school in preparation for the IEP meeting on Wednesday, it was written that Olivia needs to be exposed to as many situations that allow her to interact with her peers as possible.

Good thing I can take her to a birthday party for one of her classmates, huh? And quite honestly, if the other mom had told me she'd rather parents drop and leave, Olivia wouldn't have been going.

Can you even imagine that conversation? I mean, maybe I put her in an awkward situation by asking if I could stay but I can't even imagine being told that parents are not invited to stay.

Alas, no fears there, she was very kind about my need to hover over my child. It's nice that my neuroses are so well supported even by perfect strangers.

Worn Out

By the end of most days, I’m done. I’m tired, I’m cranky, I’m ready for the day to be over and the sleepy time to begin.

Thursdays can be the roughest because A and O and I don’t even walk in the door until 8pm. I leave each morning at 7:26am and so that makes for one long damned day.

Last night after both girls were asleep, I wandered into the living room and Tom said offhandedly, “Olivia wears you out, doesn’t she?”

And that comment right there? It made me feel like shit. For a minute.

Then I got over it because yes, by the end of the night, when I’ve scratched every single part of her except her butt, which I refuse to scratch no matter how many times she offers me the opportunity, I’m worn out.

Do you know how annoying it can be to be sitting there, scratching a back that’s been scratched for twenty minutes and then have the owner of that back look at you with a raised eyebrow and say, “What about legs?”

Then she yanks up the legs of her pajamas to offer her legs for a twenty minute scratching. After that’s done, and you’re about to fall over from sheer exhaustion she offered her arm and her hand, the fingers splayed, so you can scratch each and every digit. Her eyes are getting heavy, though, so you scratch, thinking it can’t be much longer.

Except it is. It is much longer. She rolls over and offers you the other hand. Then she wiggles into a new position so you can scratch her shoulder.

At this point, you’ve been scratching for almost an hour. It’s time for her to be asleep.

And when you tell her so, in a slightly less than gentle tone, that is the moment your husband happened to enter the room.

So yeah, she wears me out. Of course, to be fair to the girl, it’s not just her. I was worn out before I sat down to scratch but the scratching is the icing on the worn out cake.

Her Story

As Olivia gets older I realize that I’m not sharing nearly as much of her story with people the way I did when she was younger.

For example, when someone comments on her hair and how pretty it is, I encourage her to say thank you and we go about our day.

A year ago (or maybe less) I’d gush over how amazing it is that she stopped pulling it out and tell them all about the horror I felt when she was doing it for over two years.

These days, she’s very much cognizant of what I’m saying and I don’t want to embarrass her. I feel like she’s at a point where this is HER story. It’s always been her story but she has a voice now, a voice she chooses to use when she feels like it and it’s no longer up to me to share her story nearly as loudly as I once did.

I will still obviously advocate for her at school, be her voice to get her the therapies, the tools she needs to succeed but the other moms at gymnastics don’t necessarily need to hear about how far she’s come. Some of them know, they’ve known her for years, they’ve watched her hair grow out and witnessed her gait become smooth and unaffected. They’ve listened to her whisper to me and know that the fact that she’ll speak, out loud, in front of others is a big accomplishment for her.

But the others? They don’t know and that’s okay.

Of course I want everyone to be proud of her, to know how amazing she is, how much she’s overcome in these six short years but why? So I can blow my own horn? Not really. I want them to see HER, to know how strong, how smart she is.

And yet…it doesn’t matter if others don’t see this. I see it. I know it. And getting to see her continue to do amazing things is definitely enough. I no longer need to shout it from the rooftops. I can sit quietly and cheer her on, letting her tell her own story as she goes, letting her build her own fan base, letting her shine for anyone who cares to look long enough and deep enough see.

Pretty Eyes

I am a pretty snarky person by nature. I’m not proud of this, it’s just a fact.

As my girls get older and listen to every single word I say, often regurgitating it at the most inopportune moments, I realize that my snark needs to be curbed.

Alyssa and I watched the last season of The Biggest Loser together and we had fun. But I also found that I had to stop myself from saying snarky things about the contestants. I’m not talking about their weight, I mean, come on, they obviously want to change that or they wouldn’t be on this show, but sometimes, they were whiny or bossy or just plain obnoxious and I’d start to say something obnoxious about them right there in front of Alyssa.

But I’d stop and think about what I was doing. What was I teaching my ten year old daughter? Nothing good, that’s for sure. And see, I heard her say some of the snark before I even had the chance to do so and where do we think she learned that way of thinking? We don’t have to think, we KNOW she learned it from her lovely, charming, delightful mother.

So I started finding positive things to say about the contestants that annoyed me the most. I’d mention that one guy had really pretty eyes, or a couple of the girls had great hair. Or, I’d get really deep and go beyond the physical and mention how supportive one person was to a teammate. That was a good one if I do say so myself.

I’m trying here, is what I’m saying.

I can’t always help the snark but I’m trying so hard to mix in some positivity too, teach my girls that even when you’re feeling snarky, you can find something positive to say. I want them to figure out how to stop the snark once in a while and see (and say) something nice.

When Alyssa complains about the annoying boys in her class and on her bus I always ask her to name one thing about these people that is nice, that is complimentary. Sometimes she scowls at me, very much just wanting to vent. But most of the time, she grins and finds something kind to say.

If we fake it until we make it, at some point we’ll be a family of kind, positive people instead of a bunch of snarky asses. That’s what I tell myself anyway.