66 Months

Exhibit A

Wyatt,

This summer has been so brutally hot.  We moved into this fabulous home with all of these lovely cross breeze wide open windows.  So lovely but only really effective if there is a breeze.  Which, of course, there hasn't been.  I had made a big statement at the beginning of the summer, "No AC for us!!  Its easier just to not be in it at all."  I totally believe that.  However, when you get no relief for days and then decide to do cardio Pilates.  It's like inhaling sweaty hotness.  We really did put in a good effort though.  I finally had to cave when we woke up sweating, found you naked on the couch one too many times, and realized that surprise guests don't really like us playing Legos in our underwear.  I found a AC unit in the basement for your bedroom and one of your friends' mother took pity on us and gave us one for the den.  Even with both of them running it didn't make much of a dent.  I guess now I have time to prepare for next summer.

You took swim lessons at the beach again.  I was definitely being more diligent about it this year, simply because you are doing better with it.  You CAN swim.  You are just not a very confident swimmer.  Which I'm still not a confident swimmer, so I can relate, but I would like you to do better and the only way that is going to happen is if you spend more time in the water.  I've made a habit of having everything in the back of my car so we can just show up.  Then we would go to Gammy and Pa's after and shower there while Gammy cooked dinner.  They have better AC too.  Win and Win.  Total winning all around.

So, Pa decided one afternoon that he was going to come down and watch you at swim lessons.  You have been spending lots of time together having light saber battles, as if your bond wasn't strong enough already.  I think you just got excited and wanted to show off a little.  After lesson, you were paddling around with one of the kick-boards while Pa and I stood on the shore.  You got out a little farther then I would have liked and when I called you back in you lost your balance a little. You started struggling, bobbing up and down a little. I yelled at Pa.  I thought you were going down.  I guess I rattled Pa a little and he froze.  I jumped in.  Clothes and all.  You would have been fine.  I know that.  But in that split second decision, I wasn't really prepared to just sit around and watch what happened.  We all laughed about it afterwards.  Even you.  Who almost drowns AT swimming lessons?!?!  With like 12 lifeguards standing around!

We spent a considerable amount of time this month car shopping.  Both of us were surprisingly nostalgic to see Geraldine Ford Escape go.  I am not sure I was really ready actually but her mileage was getting up there and I wanted to trade her while I could still get a good price.  We had some great times with her and she had been a REALLY great car for us.  A far cry from the buyers remorse I had when I first bought her.  It took us both a long time to decide on what we wanted to trade her in for.  Believe me, you had QUITE an opinion.  And when we finally did decide, it was quite a surprise on all of us.  We ended up taking home an Audi Q5. (Which I named Heidi Das Audi and you call Hans) The Extravagance!!  The Luxury!! The heated leather seats!! The panoramic sunroof!!  The little light above your seat that you can turn on to read!! Honestly, I never ever would have imagined myself in a car this nice.  But she drives like a dream and after the test drive I was hooked.  Then after much haggling, we took her home. (You know I have to get a good deal).  The really pathetic part is, I almost started crying when I turned over the keys of Geraldine.  And you kept asking when could we go back and get her.  "Can't we just have both" you whined.

I have a point to telling all this, I promise.  I know that buying a car, is, well, just buying any other material possession.  But I learned quite a deal in this whole experience.  Ever since I had you, most of my energies have been focused on you.  Your needs, your wants, saving money for what you will eventually need, college funds, etc.  Of course, that is extremely important and I am grateful I have been able to provide all that you have needed.  However, I think I forgot that it was OK for me to want something.  I am a good mom, and I could afford to treat myself to something I wanted.  So, instead of taking a possibly more frugal, more conservative option, I decided that I was worth it.  That we were worth wanting something better.  Even if it was material.  Wyatt, I want you to remember, that YOU are worth it.  After you are done saving, and providing, and meeting your responsibilities; my darling Wyatt, treat yourself but only when all those other things are done first.  Thats a life lesson right there.  Write it down.

I love you every single day,
Momma

Sandy, That Bitch.

Here are some pictures during and after Hurricane Sandy.  This is part of our local playground.  This was before the hurricane even hit.  High tide around noon when she was making landfall later in the evening.

At around 11pm, Dad and I walked down the end of our block.  It was supposed to be the worst part of the storm.  The sound the trees made were unreal.  You expect for trees to come uprooted by storms.  But there were huge trees that just snapped. Our flashlights caught a glare where the road should have been and I couldn't understand what I was seeing. "Dad, I think thats a boat?" It took him a while to believe me because we couldn't get very close.  The next morning we walked down. Yes, it was a boat.  A boat appropriately called Tip-Sea.

I can't complain about our lack of power.  We had a lot of candles.  We made due with Candyland, lanterns and candles.  I drank lots of wine and cooked all the food in the freezer on our gas stove that was remarkably still working.  It was actually kind of nice.

This is one of the main road into our town that got partially washed away. They are trying to open it back up in July.  Until then its the long way out of town.

One of the most shocking pictures I've seen.  (Taken by a friend).  This is Long Beach.  Wyatt and I have walked down this street hundreds of times.  It is going to take a while but it will be back and stronger then ever.

Time-Out

Wyatt and I have been having some problems.  I have mentioned this before.  About his refusal to listen.  His sometimes dreadful sharing skills.  His willingness to push my last button.  His talking back.  And of course his repeated use of that God Awful word: no.  In response, I have added the time-out chair.  Which worked for about 2 minutes.  He simply doesn't care.  It's not incentive enough for him to quit his bad behaviour.  He will give himself time-outs when he is being extra crabby.  On my next attempt, I decided to take away toys.  I would give him 2 warnings and on the 3 he gets something taken away and put on the top of the fridge.  He can get them back if he has an extra good day.  I still do that sometimes but it is only really effective when I can take something away immediately.  It doesn't work if we are out.  By the time we make it home, he is usually better behaved and has forgotten all about the incident.

Then we hit an impasse.  Drew, Wyatt and I were out to dinner.  For whatever reason, Wyatt was not having it.  He is always amazing so I guess he is allowed a bad day occasionally.  He asked to go to the bathroom about 3 times simply because he was bored.  Then he was running up and down the handicap ramp.  He refused to listen when our food came out.  Didn't eat one bite.  I tried all my tricks.  Nothing worked.  Finally, I asked him to sit down or we were going to leave.  He smirked at me and started walking backwards.  I looked at Drew, told him I was sorry but I had to grab Wyatt and run.  That Wyatt was testing me and I needed to act.  Could he please grab the check and meet us in the car?  As soon as I reached Wyatt he started screaming.  He was upset, I was upset.  As I was struggling to put him in his car seat and my face was inches from his, he reared back and slapped me.  Right. Across. My. Face.  I lost it.  It was the last straw.  Hitting is absolutely unacceptable.  Where did he even learn something like that?  I was screaming.  Wyatt was hysterical.  By the time Drew got into the car, no one was talking.  I couldn't even breathe, I was so upset.

After calling Jen, Kari, and chatting with Mom, I came up with another plan.  Obviously the time-out chair did not work, neither was taking away toys.  What about trying something I haven't done?  Why not reward positive behaviour instead of punishing bad?  (Totally Jen's idea. Give credit where credit's due.  She doesn't even have kids yet...brilliant)  Of course, Wyatt will always respond better to the things he is doing right.  So, I came up with this system. If he has a good day (see: sharing well, listening to his momma, cleaning up, etc) he gets a gold star for the day.  When he reaches 10 gold stars he gets a gift or an adventure, pretty much whatever he chooses.  Its his day.  Gammy bought this school bus chart and I put it by his bed.  Every night we go over why it was a gold star day or why it wasn't.  If he starts acting up all I have to say is "I'm not sure its going to be a gold star day, or, that's not really gold star behavior." And he usually stops.

This has been for about 3 months now.  I am not terribly consistant, which is a problem.  There are nights when we get home late or he's really tired that we don't put stars on.  But for the first month, it was religion.  And his behaviour changed.  He has been amazing.  There was one day that he was really upset and he turned to me with hand raised ready to hit me.  I grabed his wrist, got down on my knees, and said "Think about what you are doing right now.  Are you sure you want to do that?"  And he stopped.  That was the last time he tried to hit me.

For his first 10 stars, he asked to go to Toys R Us.  He tried riding every training wheeled bike in the store.  I was convinced that he was going to ask for another bike.  I said he had $50.  He ended up picking out this tow truck for $20.  That's what he wanted.  His second 10 stars, we went to Chuck E Cheese.  Mom told him that when he gets to 100 stars, we'll go to LegoLand.  At the rate he is going we will be there by Christmas.

The Happy Couple

Michael and Joanna got married last week.  It was a small ceremony, and by small I mean parents and witnesses.  After dinner they invited some family and a few friends to celebrate at a bar in NYC.  Since Michael is a Priest they plan to doing a blessing ceremony with the Bishop sometime in the spring.  I was really proud of them for making their wedding about them.  I feel like weddings and sweet 16's and parties in general are becoming more about the pressure to have a big party rather then the gut feeling of who is throwing it.  It was really nice to see Michael and Jo do exact what they wanted without making excuses or apologies.

Of course, at the bar, I was watching them.  They were so happy, like radiating happy, (and forsaking all things sappy) radiating love.  Joanna wore this black strapless dress with trophies and blue ribbons all over it because she was a "Trophy Wife".  I have no idea where she got it but it was quite hysterical.  And Michael had a pocket square to match his suit and her shoes.  It was like they were magnetically attached.   Even if they were back to back, Jo's hand would reach out to find Michael's.  Michael was staring at her all night.  When they weren't attached Michael would sit and watch Jo move.  It is rare to see Michael so engrossed in thought, so contemplative, and so utterly at peace.  It made the gesture all the more astounding.  It makes me well up thinking of someone loving you so much they just want to watch the way you move.

I hate to make this all egotistical.  I am so happy for them but I am just a little sad and mopey for me.  Not that their married, no.  It was seeing a couple so happy just made this hollow pit in my stomach ache as I realized I might never have that.  (It is so obnoxious that I am making this about me.  I have never mentioned these feeling to anyone and now I am touting them on my blog.  Eh) I can feel myself becoming that bitter, lonely, desperate, love-less person and I hate it.  It is getting harder and harder for me to believe in a happy ending.  Maybe I will never find a person that I want to marry.  Sometimes I am ok with that and other times it just makes me sad and lonely thinking I might never find someone to share my life with.  I told someone the other day that I was saving up for a down payment on a house because I can't wait for a mythical fairy prince to sweep me off my feet and make a home with me.  How hopelessly realistic and bitter is that?  It makes me cringe but that is the honest to God place I am at right now.

I am not fishing for compliments or searching for a date.  I just needed to vent a little.  My situation seems a little bleak at the moment.  I don't really have time or motivation to invest in dating.  And it is super unrealistic to think that the man of my dreams is going to knock on my door or drive by on a tractor.  And it would take a pretty selfless man to willingly accept position number 2 on my priority list when Wyatt is so clearly NUMBER ONE (in caps because this is where he will remain and reign).  I keep on reminding myself to be patient and positive but it is just so damn hard sometimes.  Someone recommended that I read Meeting Your Half-Orange.  But the thought of reading a dating/self-help book is making me more depressed instead of optimistic.  Maybe I will give it a try.  If anything it might help to learn how to keep the jaded bitterness out of voice.

It all Comes Rushing Back

I have been having a challenging time with Wyatt lately.  He seems to be exercising his right to say No more or he's testing his limits.  Something.  But it doesn't make me happy.  Its harder to get out of the door. Its harder to get him in the bath. Its harder in general.  I have to play my A-game all the time or else he out smarts me.  And the whining, my God, the whining.  I can handle crying but the whining for HOURS.  It drives me nuts.  He's just so cute about it too.  I'll ask him to put his shoes on and he'll go "Just one more minute.  One minute," holding up his little index finger.  But after 10 more minutes, he still won't budge and I have run out of creative excuses.  What do I do?  I was under the impression that the hardest part was over.  Not so.

Anyway, I was cleaning out my night stand bookcase.  Removing my belongings from the ONE area left in my room that hasn't been invading to make space for Wyatt's books.  It was a border-line bad day.  It seemed that everything we did there was a fight.  It was hot.  Both of us were crabby and so I cleaned while Wyatt played on the train table in the AC.  A cool down moment in many ways.  I stumbled upon a journal entry that I wrote before I started the blog.  It made me smile. It made me remember why, even on hard days, I need to reach down deep and pull out all my patience.  Remember that I need to give Wyatt the very best of me, everyday, no matter how cranky we are, or how hot it is, or how tired and worn out I am.  Its dated June 10th 2007.

I took my first pregnancy test last night.  Positive.  I'm 24 years old, not married, currently not employed, and with no health insurance.  Clearly not the most perfect circumstances.  But I don't ever plan anything.  It's the Kate way.  I have always wanted to be a mother.  I never imagined that I would be the first in the family, the first of my friends.  I guess sometimes you can't plan and can't question.  I was meant to have a child now.  It was definately a surprise but a blessing. 


I took the test at Rebecca's appartment and had plans to go out with some friends.  Rebecca and I were getting ready, the pregancy test burning a hole into my bag, and I just had to know.   Right then.  Rebecca was stressing about her roomates, her social life, her career, her love life. I casually mentioned I was freaking out about something too.  She looked straight in my eyes and said, "You're pregnant, right?"  She was very surprised and tried to play it off like no big deal but her excitement shone though her every word.  It was always a joke in the family that I would have children and Rebecca would raise them.  Despite our rough relationship during childhood she has become my best friend.  I couldn't imagine my life without her in it.


I took my teacher certification exams and was planning on going out to celebrate with Rebecca and then RJ and some Fordham friends at the Barrow St Pub.  I stopped drinking on the spot.  I still went out and quietly drank sprite, thinking I was fooling peolple with my lime garnish, while everyone else was doing shots.  Rebecca was proud of me that I was already caring for you, changing my life to make the best one for you.  You became my number one priority from the minute that test turned positive.


I don't know what I am going to do or how everything is going to work out.  But I know that you will always be loved.  You are going to be the first of a new generation.  I know you'll be spoiled and will never have to go without.  I am not going to let anyone know until I'm 3 months.  I want to make sure you're all right.  My tasks are cut out before me.  Job hunt starts now.  Health insurance is a huge priority.  That was the very beginning of you.

The What If's and Maybe's

Wyatt has been having a lot of bloody noses lately.  To qualify a lot, I would estimate once a month.  They almost always happen at night.  He wakes up with blood on the pillow and sheets and crusted on his face.  It makes me so upset to see him like that.  And typical Wyatt fashion he doesn't let me wipe his face off until he has fully woken up which is sometimes at 10.  He'll walk around the house, playing with his trucks, with blood smeared on his cheeks.  Then over Memorial Day weekend he had one Saturday night, then another for about an hour on Sunday, then another on Sunday night.  Freaked. Me. Out. What the hell is up with that?!  Then he had a small night one a week later.

Of course, I called Dr. Greg.  If they were happening sporadically I would shrug and go about my life but it seems to be getting worse.  Dr. G wants him to go to an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist to get his nose cauterized.  He said that it shouldn't be happening that frequently, get it cauterized and they will stop.  I was really hoping he was going to tell me not to worry about it.  That its a phase.  It will pass.  Cauterizing seems invasive. (For those that don't know: they would burn the inside of his nose to create scar tissue to block and prevent bleeding.) An unnecessary procedure for a 2 year old and a terrifying procedure for me.   Really, is that our only option?  Doesn't that seem risky?  What about infections?  What happens when he grows?  It just seems like cauterizing should be our absolute last option.

I haven't called the specialist yet.  I'm procrastinating because I'm nervous.  I'm afraid that if I take him they will cauterize on the spot which I am not sure is the right option.  Or that they will look and freak him out then if it gets worse and I have to take him again its going to be traumatic.  Like burned into his memory for eternity traumatic.  Like etched as the first Mommy hurt me moment.  Maybe I'm over thinking.  I want to do the right thing by Wyatt.  Of course, stopping his bloody noses is better for me but is taking the invasive option right for Wyatt?  Maybe its allergies.  Maybe its a stage.  Maybe he's picking his nose behind my back.  He is my son after all and everyone knows how much I love to pick my nose.

He had another one on Monday.  It was worse then it looked.  We were down by the beach.  He was sneaking up on me then splashing.  I would spin around, grab him and dunk his butt in the water while swishing him around.  I was pretending not to notice him so he could sneak up on me. After a few moments, I turned to find him wiping his face with blood everywhere.  On his forehead to his chin, running down his lips, from his fingertips to his elbows.  I know the water diluted it but blood was everywhere.  I washed him up as best I could and leaned him forward watching droplets fall in the water.    I put Pup's leash on and by the time I got him home and cleaned up, it had stopped.  Should I call?  I'm not sure what to do.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I have been reading a lot of my older posts lately. Surveying my life (and Wyatt's) over the two years. A lot of the stuff I simply had forgotten it happened. Then I read a post and am brought right back. Its like when I'm in bed and I swear I will remember whatever I am thinking that very moment. Then the sun hits my eyes and I have no idea what it was regarding. I just remember that I have forgotten something. This blog gives it all back. But my point (yes, I swear I have one) is that I am shocked at how my anxiety level has dropped the older Wyatt gets. When he was just born, every other post is about some kind of anxiety. It really does get easier (until he is thirteen and then one of us will definitely not survive puberty).

I have have not bothered to buy books. I swore by "What to Expect: the First Year" until he was about 8 months at which point I decided they were toxic. They have an entire section at the back that is focused on first aid. Relatively handy but terrifying. If I mistakenly opened to the page "What to do if your child looses an appendage?" it was guaranteed nightmares for a week. Chances are he is not going to cut off his finger but now the graphics are burned into my memory and everything is a potential severing device. I refuse to use google to diagnose anything. Cause sure enough if your child still sleeps with you, he has cancer of the belly button that is keeping the cord still attached. Seriously, everything on google leads to cancer. Try it. Reminds me of that 10 degrees of separation game that always ends with Kevin Bacon. Lately, I have been relying more on instinct parenting. If he seems like he is thriving chances are he is. It seems to be working and I sleep much better.

Although, I am slightly lost about the little things. Like when should I ditch the bottles and transfer to milk in sippy cups? He will not drink cold milk. Refuses. So, I think bottles will stay for a little while longer. Or when can I throw out the binky? He didn't use it a lot for a while; strictly for naps only. But now that he can ask for it, it seems to be in his mouth more often. I really don't want him to be that 5 year old with a binky. I am relying on our pediatrician to give me most of this information but our next appointment is at two. The big things are accounted for, like walking, talking, eating, starting potty training, reading books every night. I guess the little things will fall into place. Hell, he's an extraordinarily happy kid. What else matters really?

On the organic front, I'm not all organic so I can't really expect Wyatt to be. Yes, I buy organic whole milk, apple juice, juice boxes, snacks, and as much produce as my limited grocery store offers. In all honesty, organic is more expensive and I can't afford to make meals for the entire family organically. And I am not going to make Wyatt a completely separate meal. Especially if we are out to dinner, he wants to eat what I am eating and if thats pizza, well, he gets pizza. (Did I break some huge Mom rule? Pizza and ice cream before two!! Blasphemy!!) I really do try my best but I am not going to stress out over it either. He is a really healthy kid and in my mind (which is totally not based on fact) its due to breast feeding for 8 months, organic food, and possibly genetics. In that order. Did you know I got my PhD online last night?

The Dreaded 2-7

My birthday is coming up. On Sunday. For as long as I can remember 27 has been this scary age for me. Forget 30, it is 27 that freaks me out. I always thought that by 27 I should be settled, in career, in life, in home. In many ways, I am. And in many ways I still feel like the tethered end of a fraying rope. At first I was all, who cares about 27?!? You have a child!! One of your life goals have been completed!! But as the 19th looms closer, I have begun to panic.

I think a lot of my anxiety comes from everywhere I look, all my friends are pairing off, growing up, buying houses, getting married. And I'm still just me, single, living at my parents, with everyone always asking if I'm dating. Its like I skipped the entire first section of my SAT's and the proctor is screaming at me to go back before times up and the section is closed forever. No matter how many times I remind my proctor that I'll finish the test in MY OWN DAMN TIME, I can't help but see how she's a little bit right. Is that a totally weird analogy? I did skip a few steps in my life and now I am trying to go back and fill in the blanks. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in the baby carriage. First comes baby, then comes what exactly?

I have had opportunities to go out and date. I try to go out, just for me, once a week. But how do you fit friends, down time, dating, etc, etc into one day a week? I'll end up meeting someone that I kinda like only to see them about once a month wherein they (or I) inevitably lose interest. I never feel like I can give 100% of myself to the dating scene when 90% of my brain is with Wyatt. And who wants to date 10% of a person. Then as Wyatt and I both age, our collective package gets more and more unattractive. Right now, I'm (cough, cough) 27, attractive, with NO stretch marks, long legged and cellulite free. Wyatt, at 17 months, is cute as can be, cuddly, warm, and loving. We are a cute combo. But as I get more gray hair and Wyatt gets more unmanageable our collective stock will plummet. Dare I say, it will be hard(er) for me to find a guy willing to take on such a package.

Stay with me on this one, its a little out there. I love to be in love. I was often quick to jump, feet first, into the 'I love you' phase of a relationship just because I like living in that world. Until now, I have always believed full heartedly that I was in love. But having Wyatt has given me a definite picture of what love is. It makes me suspect that I have never really fallen in love at all but have been doing something much more ordinary all these years. But maybe its a different type of love, the love for a child and the love for a man. The question is: how do I start a relationship with someone knowing that I will never love them as much as I love Wyatt? It doesn't seem fair.

Then there is my self-made pressures. I have always wanted children close in age. The 2 year age ideal seems perfect to me. Your in school together, can have the same friends, reach similar milestones around the same time. Lizzy and I have a 9 year difference. I left for college when she was 8. I missed out on most of her life. It wasn't until I moved back home that we began to reconnect. Going by that logic, I would need to be pregnant again pretty soon to make my 2 year age mark. That is just not realistic. I try to tell myself that it doesn't matter but sometimes I can almost hear my self-made ticking clock.

Sometimes I am content with not getting married, not having any more children, and living with Wyatt for the rest of my days but other times I think I want a partner to sit on a rocking chair with. Someone who can love me, someone who will sit and cheer at Wyatt's baseball game with me, someone who I can fart in front of. I have realized that there are some stories that don't have a beginning, middle, and end. I know I tend to live in my head and think way beyond what I should be focusing on. I am working on living in the moment without knowing what's going to happen next.

Trading Babies

Terry has been home for about three months now.  He comes in and out, traveling every few weeks but is never gone for long.  Wyatt and Terry's relationship has blossomed due to the consistency.  Wyatt trusts Terry, looks to him for comfort and safety, runs to him with his outstretched arms to be picked up.  Wyatt has made the connection between Terry and Dad.  Its adorable really.  Sometimes when they're playing together I just want to sit back and watch.  Watch how differently Wyatt plays with Terry compared with me.  No matter how tom-boyish I am, I will never be able to play like a boy.

As Wyatt's comfort level has grown so has my own.  As long as Wyatt is happy and content so am I.  Its nice having an extra set of hands to help.  So, when I was left with Wyatt one day, car-less, and needed to run up to the church my first natural call was Terry.  We made a plan for Terry to come over to watch the baby for a few hours while I took Terry's car to zip around town.  Seems like a  pretty normal happening, right?!  Wrong.  This was a monumental leap of faith and trust on both of our sides.

The first issue was Terry loaning me his car.  Terry's car is fairly new, only purchased a few months ago and a 6-speed to boot.  Since he moves around a lot, his Jeep has become this makeshift home that he is Very attached to.  That might be an understatement.  If Terry had to choose between food and his Jeep, he would without a doubt choose his Jeep.  The next issue was that I haven't driven a 6-speed in about 5 years.  Besides, Terry thinks I am a horrific driver even though I am the one with the squeaky clean driving record.  The last issue was I that I still getting kinda twitchy about leaving Wyatt.  I'm not nervous.  Thats not it.  Its more that I get worried that Wyatt's going to hurt himself and I'm not going to be there to give him a big hug.  Or what happens if Wy is looking for me and can't find me?  Will he think I abandoned him?  And I just miss him.  Plain and simple.

So, the three of us are in the driveway.  Wyatt in Terry's arms as I am settling into the Jeep's front seat.  Terry is explaining about how I shouldn't need the 6th speed and if I do, I am going too fast.  That the registration is in the glove compartment.  That I better not burn out the clutch.  I am trying to pay attention but we are talking over each other as I tell Terry that he better take good care of Wyatt.  Take him for a walk down the beach.  Remember his hat and sunscreen.  Sit with him and watch the Backyardigans if he gets antsy.  There are goldfish crackers in the cabinet and apple juice in the fridge.  And whatever you do don't forget the lovey blanket.  As I pulled away, all I could think is how comical the situation was.  How Terry and I were both nervous about the next few hours.

When I got home about 2 hours later, Wyatt was playing happily with Terry in the kitchen completely indifferent to my presence.  Actually, I think Wyatt was kinda mad that I was home.  He gave me this look of "Ohh, its you."  I, thankfully, didn't stall out and remembered how to drive stick in a flash.  But when Terry got back in his car that afternoon, he noticed two check engine lights that hadn't been on before I took her out for a spin.  Somehow I managed I disrupt the balance and deflate the tires going all of 15 miles.  Clearly, Terry had more to worry about than I did.  A lesson I am sure he will remind me of the next time he babysits.

Scratch that Itch, Scratch it.

Traditionally after about living in a place for about a year, I start looking for greener pastures. I don't know why but it has been like clockwork for me starting around 2000. First it was from LI to NJ, then to NYC, then to England, then back to NYC, then to Astoria, then to SC, and now my latest move back to LI. I have been home now for over two years. Longer then I have lastest in most places. I think that with so much change in my life I didn't need another change. Pregnancy and Wyatt have kept me stationary. But more recently, I have been thinking alot about moving. Nothing drastic. Just moving out. 

I love living at home. I really do. I love coming home to a full house of people. I don't think I could ever live by myself.  I just wasn't built like that. I love having help with Wyatt.  I love that Wyatt has a team of people that he trusts and loves. In a lot of ways, I feel like I have my cake and am eating it too.  I can be a single mom and have live-in babysitters that allow for spontaneity.  Have adult responsibility in child raising but not house owning.  Have one-on-one bonding time with Wyatt and be able to take little moments of me time when the house is full of people.  It works for me.

And there are things that are not working for me.  Like the insane lack of privacy.  Or the overflowing fountain of questions every single day.  Or that no matter how amazing my relationship with my parents I am still living in their house, with their rules, and their decor.  (Mom and I have a very similar sense in style so decor usually is not a problem.  But lately the living room wallpaper is my sole reason to move out.  It hurts me.  It hurts my soul.)  I am a very independent person, almost to a fault, but living with my parents makes me feel like a child.  My parents motivation enables me to be lazy.  If I was living on my own I would have to mop the floors, pick up toys, take out the trash, mow the lawn, etc, etc, etc.  At home, I know that if I wait long enough someone else will do it.  I'm not proud of it, just a fact.  While I live at home, I remain a child in a lot of respects.

I know there will come a time when I am motivated enough to move on and start my own family.  I know that Wyatt and I are a family but we are members of a larger household at the moment.  To live in a home of my own with a distinct separation from my parents but a life that still includes them would be entirely different.  I really don't know how to phrase it right.  Maybe if I never lived on my own before I wouldn't know the difference or care.  But I have lived on my own.  I know what independence and responsibility feel like and I do not shy away from that.  Besides I like nesting and building a home for myself from the ground up.  

Now that this seed of moving has been planted I can't stop thinking about it and the questions that are rising to the surface.  Like how would moving affect Wyatt?  He is used to having 5 people doting on him at any given moment what happens when that is reduced to one.  Will he constantly be wondering when the rest of his family will come home?  Will he be bored with just me?  Will I go crazy from my only interaction being with a toddler?  Will I ever get a minute of peace?  Will I be terrified?  I can just envision Wyatt running into my room after having a nightmare and me screaming to lock the door.  And the more positive questions like: will I finally get my bed back?  Its endless really.  I could go on for hours.

I adore my parents and am not eager to leave them just eager to gain some of my former independence.  They mean the world to me and no matter how far I have traveled or will travel I will always talk to my mom at least once a day.  Even if its just to talk about the weather.  I couldn't imagine moving far from them.  Maybe just down the road, 15 minutes tops.  I think I need to give myself a goal.  I would like to say in the next 10-15 months.  That seems reasonable for me to get my anxiety under control.  In the meantime, I might paint the living room and be done with the God awful wallpaper. That should hold me over.

12 Steps

The first step is admitting you have a problem.  Wyatt sleeps in my bed for a few hours every night, sometimes all night.  It is the only way that I can get a decent nights sleep.  When I started the habit, I knew I was in trouble.  But now that I have admitted its a problem and am resigned to it.  So he sleeps in my bed.  Big deal.  For a few months?  Who cares?  I am getting a decent 6 hours a night.  I'll take the trade off.  My next issue is how do I keep him from falling out of my bed.  Obviously, I am on one side but there is a vast expanse on the other.  Usually, I will feel him moving around and wake up in time to slide him back from the edge.  The other night, I must have been really out of it and woke up to find his head practically hanging off the bed.  This resulted in more sleepless nights worrying every 5 minutes if he was about to throw himself off the bed in a sleeping fit.

I weighted the options.  I could rearrange my room so my bed would be against a wall.  This seemed like the least expensive option.  But every time I tried to figure it in my head the room seemed all wrong.  With the crib in there as well, the room just didn't flow.  Wyatt still uses his crib for naps and evenings from about 8:30-1 so I can't ditch it yet.  There just isn't enough wall space.  My next thought was buying a bed rail, like for a toddler bed.  Although entirely humiliating it would seem to be the easy answer.  I found one that was long enough to fit on my queen mattress and also slides underneath when I don't want it in use.  All for $30.  The set up was a little tricky but it does the job.  My bed felt enormous the first night I used it, having regained bed space normally reserved for the barrier of pillows.

Whenever I walk in my room I feel like the bed rail is my scarlet letter of shame.  It solidifies my inability to make a change in Wyatt's sleeping habits.  I am officially letting him sleep in my bed.  Before at least there was the thought, the possibility, that I might Ferberize him.  Now, it would seem that I have given up hope and the existence of the rail makes me complacent.  Why listen to a baby cry for 2 hours when he will be asleep in 2 minutes?  "Oh, your being fussy.  Let's lay in bed and cuddle."  That's all it takes.  He's out and I have some more time on my hands.  I think it all stems from that I am trying to be the best mom that I can be.  I know that I am making mistakes but I might not outwardly know those mistakes now.  It will be down the road that I will discover all the wrongs I am committing.  But this bed rail is a huge no-no that I am saying yes to.  Is this my downfall as a mother?  Am I putting my sleep needs ahead of Wyatt's ability to sleep on his own in his crib?  When he gets fussy in the middle of the night, he rolls over, tucks his head under my arm and falls back asleep.  Will he ever be able to sleep on his own? 

In addition to all these concerns, it also signifies the last nail in my sex life coffin.  I live with my parents with my son sleeping a stone's throw away and now I have a bed rail that make me look like someone who frequently falls out of the bed.  What 26 year old do you know that needs a bed rail?  Yes, I can hide it but hidden it makes my bed incredibly squeaky and uneven.  Hidden works aesthetically but then makes the bed inoperative.  All my friends say I just need to get creative.  Creative is an understatement.  I need a hotel.  

Get the Smelling Salts, STAT

The continuation of Wyatt's bounding stair story ends happy but is pretty stressful.  Hayley, eager to leave our house, went to work with me on Sunday so she could get on an early train.  Wyatt was doing fine when I left in the morning.  He was a little out of it but that is normal for him.  He wakes up like a bear.  I am already dreading when he is going to school and I have to wake him up in the morning.  I am probably going to have to wake him 12 times before he gets up.  Anyway, I left with my only worry being Hayley.

When I got home, Mom told me that he was clearly not himself. He barely woke up, never even began playing, was unbalanced and totally out of it.  Normally an extremely steady walker, he seemed to regress to his earlier days, walking into walls and stumbling.  It was concerning enough to send me into a tailspin of horrid fantasies of brain hemorrhaging, seizures, his growth staling, tumors, clots, etc.  I called Dr. Greg, who wanted us to go right to the hospital.  He said that it was a precautionary visit which quelled some of my fears but only minimally.

Rebecca was so out of her mind crazy with worry she jump on a train and met Mom, Wyatt, and I.  All the doctors confirmed that he was probably fine but they wanted to run a CAT scan to be on the safe side.  My options where to have Wy sedated, try to get him to sleep, or wrap him up and strap him down.  Sedation seemed over the top and try as I may getting him to sleep was impossible.  He was obsessed with all the tools, hoses, and various shiny objects the littered his hospital room.  Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.  With only one option remaining, I was overwrought knowing that this experience was going to be exhaustingly awful for both of us.  There were about 8 doctors, technicians, and nurses that wrapped him up like a mummy, taped him together then strapped him to the CAT scan table.  I tried to help, tried to calm him as he began screaming when he didn't understand but nothing helped.  He just kept on looking at me with eyes that begged to know what was going on.  It was heart breaking.

We all had to run out of the room while the machine was working.  I told them to hurry about 12 times.  You could hear his strangled, hysterical sobs through the microphone.  I glanced at the computer screen as the scan of his brain appeared.  I had no idea what I was looking for.  Then I saw a black spot at the very front of his perfect brain.  The room immediately fell icy silent and I forgot to breathe.  I started praying, begging really.  I went perfectly numb, time stopped and it felt like hours.  The technician sighed and said she was going to take another.  Wyatt continued his intermittent wailing as the machine glided him back into place.  I watch as his brain appeared again completely perfect, a web of interlocking pieces.  The technician said, 'He's good.  He moved.  He's fine.'  Someone hit the play button and I ran into the room to untie him.  I took him out of the room, both of us shaking, tears brimming in my eyes, with his legs still bound in sheets.

Relief doesn't even begin to describe what I felt in that scan room.  I have solace in the fact that he will never remember any of this.  I am glad that we got the scan done so I could have peace of mind that he was completely unharmed by his fall but it was still traumatizing.  I have come to the horrifying realization that Wy and I might be in the hospital every 6 months.  Despite my overall clumsiness, I have only been to the ER a handful of times including some stitches and some broken toes.  Already in Wyatt's 13 months we have been to the ER twice.  I know that boys are traditionally more rough and tumble but if this every 6 months pattern continues one of us is not going to make it to puberty.  I'm betting on me.

The Flood

You know that place in between dreaming and waking where your mind just wanders.  The other night it was raining very hard and it gets a little loud on our high ceiling.  Usually this lulls me to sleep but in my almost sleeping state my mind started rambling.  I don't really know how to write about it so I am just going to give you a play by play:

It is really raining.  Its been raining for almost 29 hours, thats a really long time.  The tide was so high the dock was underwater.  Wyatt loves walking on that dock.  I hope its not structurally unsound after all this rain.  Are we in a flood zone?  Maybe it is going to rain for 40 days and 40 nights.  God is purging the Earth.   That is definitely what is happening.  So, what is the family boat situation?  We've got the canoe which is not ideal for rainy weather.  You can't really sleep on that.  I wonder if we could fit a tent in Grandpa's clam boat.  Does James still have his Boston Whaler?  I bet that Eric would take my family on his sailboat because his family has two boats.  There is a cabin on that and we could use the dingy for storage.  Confining Wyatt on a boat would be like a bull in a china shop.  We would have to stock up on a lot of canned goods.  But I wouldn't want to litter the cans.  We could crush them and keep them with us until we could recycle.  Wait, would there be recycling when everything dried?  Etc, Etc, ad nauseam.

When I woke up in the morning I told my mom and Lizzy my Noah's ark quandary.  They both thought this was a bizarre, morbid, thought process.  Meanwhile I thought everyone had mental ramblings like this.  These are daily occurrences for me.  I am always contemplating "what if" scenarios in microscopic detail.  Like what if I died tomorrow?  What if there was an earthquake?  What if that noise was a murderer coming to kill me?  Or more positive things like what if I won 12 million dollars?  What if I kissed the next person to walk in my house?  What if I moved to Africa with Wyatt strapped on my back to help AIDS orphans?  I guess not all people think like that but if they don't what do they think of? Or do their minds go blank and fuzzy like snow on the TV?

I have had several dreams about floods lately.  Three that I can remember in the past week.  I looked it up in my dream dictionary.  Yes, I have one of those.  Got it at the St. John's fair for $1 and it was totally worth it.  It says a flood represents a powerful emotional cleansing experience or that I am experiencing emotions that may be overwhelming.  Funny part is I can't think of anything that is really overwhelming me at the moment.  Emotionally, I am feeling very happy and contented lately.  I have a great job with a lot of potential.  Lizzy's health is on the upswing.  Wyatt is joyously happy and thriving. I have the best babysitters in the world.  I am trying to have a social life and am enjoying every moment with Eric.  I am feeling very hopeful for a good year.  Yes, there are some icky things but none that are grossly overwhelming.  I guess I have to think on it some more because these flood dreams just keep on coming.

Insert Therapy Joke Here

In an effort to better myself for 2009, I have decided to go back to my therapist.  After working so hard to call it off last time it was a big decision for me.  But I distinctly feel that there are some things that I should work on with a professional.  Things that I just can't seem to wrap my head around and things that I would like to bounce off someone that is detached from the situation.  I would like to believe this is the mature thing to do rather then feeling like I am running back to her with my tail between my legs.

I hesitate to mention this but deep breath and leap, right?  Drum roll please....I am kind of dating someone.  He is an ex-boyfriend that I dated for about a year.  Eric knew about my pregnancy, keeping in touch throughout, and came to see Wyatt for the first time when he was about 4 months.  We have been getting slightly more serious but I really, really, really have no idea how to do this.  Successfully managing dating and motherhood is my first topic to cover in therapy.  Talk about a big agenda.  I have been having a hard time committing and can't understand why.  Eric is great and Wyatt adores him.  What is my issue?! 

Next on my list is how to better communicate with Terry and his parents.  I feel very lost in how to define our relationship.  I am also extremely hesitant to speak up because I am afraid that hurt feelings might tarnish our life long partnership.  It is something I really need to get over.  It is a really strange relationship for all of us and seems to be getting more and more complicated.  And I can foresee it getting more complicated in the future.  Now, I know that therapy will not "solve" all these nagging questions but at least I will feel more confident to cope with them.

This blog is very cathartic for me and does help a great deal in enabling me to flush out my thoughts.  However, despite my extrovert nature, there are somethings that I would rather not discuss in a public forum hence where the therapist comes in.  Sorry, Internet.  All the gory, messy details will come out in a tell-all book that I am thinking about writing.  I am sure there will be interesting posts to come as the issues come to fruition.  Here's to a step in the right direction to start off 2009.

Bed Hopping

I am in trouble.  I am, for sure, starting very bad habits that I seem to be unable to stop.  Wyatt always starts the night off in his crib.  Usually, around 3 or 4am he wakes up having peed through everything.  There is no diaper that could possibly contain all of his night time peeing.  I have tried different brands, different absorbencies, everything and I have given up.  I get him changed and sit to rock him back to sleep.  Sometimes this works and he will be back to sleep in a half hour.  Most of the time it doesn't and that is when my weakness prevails.

After rocking for a good half hour, I start getting very tired.  My eyelid start to droop and I slide lower and lower in the rocking chair.  I try to stay focus frightened that I will fall asleep with Wy in my arms and drop him.  I watch the clock and give myself time lines.  When the clock hits 3:30 or in another 10 minutes.  Then I move him to his crib.  I will just get back in bed, cozy and comfortable, to hear him rustling then grabbing the bars to struggle to stand.  Sometimes I try to rock him some more if I am wide wake and have nothing to do the next day.  But most often I carry him to Mommy's Big Bed and tuck him close next to me where he sleeps like a baby, which we all know doesn't happen often.

I try.  I really really do. I sleep better with him in his crib.  When he is next to me I worry constantly about rolling over on him so I rarely get to a deep sleep.  He is a huge bed hog for a little boy.  He kicks me continuously.  I will rock him for hours then give him 5 minutes next to me in bed and he's out.  I know it is a very bad habit but sometimes I am just so very tired that I can't help it.  In the middle of the night all I can think about is the multitude of things I have the accomplish the next day and how 4 hours of sleep will not allow me to function.  I honestly do not know how to break this vicious cycle.

I have been reading a Dr. Ferber book for about two months.  I have thought about letting him cry it out but I don't think I have it in me.  Even if I did, I am sure that he would wake the house up and someone else would come running to his rescue.  I have thought about moving to the couch when he gets loud so I can ignore him through the monitor but then I remember how cold the couch is.  Yes, I admit, I do enjoy waking up next to him.  I leisurely get us out of bed after telling him a story or playing a game of high five.  But that is never the reason why I put him in my bed in the first place.  I am having a lot of trouble with this.  I am afraid that I am creating a lasting habit and it will be even harder to get him out of my bed later.  But seriously what am I suppose to do?  I just can't rock him for 2 hours every night.   

Ralph, Ice Pops, and "That Smells GOD Awful"

First, I have to apologize on the lame posting lately.  The reason is on the eve of Wyatt's big debut I ended up coming down with some kind of stomach bug.  I seem to get these once a year around the holidays.  Last year, I was hugely pregnant and it was Christmas Eve so this time around didn't seem nearly as bad.  In hindsight it was pretty amusing.  My mattress at Michaels was on the floor so it was difficult getting up and down as is.  Then add vomiting in the mix it became quite hilarious.   This time I was much more concerned about Wyatt.  

On Saturday, I was fortunate enough to have Rebecca watch him.  I spent most of the day in bed as far away as possible to try to prevent breathing on him.  However, by the end of the day I felt guilty for not helping and then I missed him so much I just wanted to be around him.  And in all actuality there is only so long I try to stay away from him before we needed to have some interaction.  On Sunday, Wyatt and I took a nap for about 4 hours.  That was my first indication that he was going to be sick.

Sure enough by Sunday night he was in the same shape I was.  Let me tell you, he is a much better patient then I was.  Kid is amazing.  He would be puking one second and smiling the next.  This first time it happened (exorcist style all over my bed) he just looked up at me saying "What the F*** just happened?!"  And then didn't cry at all.  We cuddled all day on the couch, lazing around.  Only taking breaks to check out the fat squirrels or to drift off to snooze-land.  On Wednesday, he seemed to be doing better but started on a bottle hunger strike.  He was eating solids but refused to drink bottles and will only take an ounce or two of water or juice in a sippy cup.  As of today, he is still on this bottle strike but seems to be happy despite a slight fever.

I guess we are surviving his first sickness.  He is 9 months.  It is amazing this is his first sickness but I am still very nervous.  I don't know if I should feed him and then I'm paranoid about dehydration.  I have called Dr. Greg almost every day.  He has been really patient with me and only freaked me out once when he said we might have to hospitalize Wy if he gets worse.  I have been doing everything to keep him hydrated without bottles including mixing formula in his food, trying to trick him, and today 2 Pedialyte ice pops (which he LOVED).  It has me all on edge.  He is all clingy and needy but I have no idea what hurts him or how to help.  Dr. Greg says I just have to wait it out.  I am I feel like I am living in a Dr. Seuss book.  He does not want balls, blocks, or books.  He does not want to sit, stand, or stride.  He does not like milk, food, or juice.  Maybe I should try green eggs and ham. 

Run Away, Run Away and Say Goodbye

I decided after almost 9 months of thrilling captivity it was time to venture out into the real world.  My brain has been feeling rather mushy lately motivating me to do something or risk letting my social skills atrophy from lack of adult contact.  The last few times I have gone out I noticed that I was experiencing slight social anxiety, something that has never happened to me before.  I took this as a red flag that I need to make an effort to get out more often.  I know I am a good mom but I probably could be an even better mom if I took some more time to myself every now and again.

It has taken me this long to spend a night away for several reasons.  First, while I was breast feeding it was pointless because I would have to get up to pump anyway.  Second, while I was working I would feel guilty leaving him for more than I had to since I was working 30 hours a week already.  Third, my babysitters are mainly my mom and sister.  They work all day and my mom on Saturdays.  They deserve to have their weekends free to do what they please.  Why should they give up their free time so I can have some?  I am so grateful for the help that they provide during the week that I am very hesitant to exploit their kindness over the weekend.

I synced schedules with all of my babysitters and was off around 9:30 Saturday morning trekking to CT meeting up with Kelly then to MA to Mia and returning at 10:30 Sunday night.  We carved pumpkins, drank a ton, caught up, laughed our heads off, and played drinking games that I forgot existed.  I adore these girls and was so excited to get to spend quality time with them.  It was liberating to stay up late and not worrying about waking up to fetch binkies all night.  I actually felt like I was 24 again for a few hours.  Good for the sanity and the soul.

Once I made my way to bed, highly anticipating an uninterrupted night of sleep, I found myself  staring at the ceiling.  I could not sleep at all.  On Sunday, I was surprisingly antsy to get back to him.  I know that missing him after spending 12 hours away is silly but it happens.  I'd envision his chubby cheeks and want to kiss them immediately.  Proof that I can cease worrying about him for a few hours but he is never fully removed from my conscience.  

Wyatt spent the weekend with all of his grandparents and his Auntie B.  Mom and Rebecca took Wy to the aquarium which he loved and was fascinated by.  When I got home Wyatt grew about an inch and seemed to gain about 5 lbs.  More accurately he now has two top teeth but instead of his front teeth he has gotten the two eye teeth.  Perfect in time for Halloween.  Our little vampire.  I was absolutely rejuvenated on Monday and had an amazing stay at home day playing, dancing, and laughing.  It was really lovely getting a night out but it was also really nice coming home.

Where Happy Goes to Die

Now that I am a stay at home mom (kinda) I signed up Wyatt and I for "Mommy and Me" story time at 10am on Friday mornings. I thought that it would be good for me to meet some other Mommy's in my neighborhood. I don't know much about babies and like to hear about life experiences to gage my own by. Generally, I find it comforting to talk to people who have young children; knowing that I am in this boat with other people who have similar concerns. They are living this life like I am. Simply having kids is not enough. Time allows you to forget the details. It all gets glossed over into this blurry land of cuddling, sweet smells, and Johnson ads. That, although nice, is not reality.

I have been a really happy person lately. A type of person that I would usually loathe. Someone that seems to be constantly happy and optimistic. I wave to people when I am taking a walk with Wyatt. I even walked a little with an elderly couple just so we could chat about the weather. I let people cut ahead of me in line if they seem in a rush. My South Carolina driving has returned. I drive the speed limit, let people in front of me, never cut people off and don't tailgate. I smile at pedestrians if they catch my eye. I chat with people on line at the deli. It is absurd and a far cry from the silent, unsmiling, iPod infused Kate of my NYC days.

However, even at my happiest, nothing could have prepared me for story time. It wasn't so much the other moms as it was the leader. She definitely was on some kind of drugs. Drugs that I would be too frightened to take. She would lead us in singing a song and we would have to clap our hands, bounce our legs, and try to teach our babies these things or at lease keep them involved. But then she moved onto hugging, kissing and cuddling our babies. I am all for hugging and kissing. I adore Wyatt. It was the organized, cult, crazy hugging that got to me. I was smiling on the outside pretending that I was a super mom loving every minute but on the inside I was terrified.

The thing that scared me the most was all the other moms seemed to be enjoying themselves while I was in hell. Wyatt clearly picked up on my distress and refused to participate at all. He was more interested in was the fish tank than any of the kissing I was attempting to smother him with. At one point, he turned and looked me straight in the eye. A look that clearly said "Mom, please lets get the hell out of here." The only reason I really wanted to go was to chat with other moms. As soon as organized play was over, they all bundled up their kids and bolted. Were they as terrified as me? Did their babies diapers explode? Do moms not converse anymore? Is everyone too damn competitive? I am debating if I am going to go back next month. I am curious if it is always like that or was this a special start up class.  I guess we'll see.  (Those pictures are not of story time but of Wyatt's little friend, Baby Jack.  Aren't they so cute?!)

The Homecoming

Terry made his way back home on the 6th. We didn't know for sure when he was coming home and were on standby. I spoke with him on Saturday and he was still in Afghanistan then on Thursday received an email that he was in Chicago. I think that is pretty quick for flying out of a war torn country. Terry's family had a big welcome home celebration for him. When he walked through the door the first thing I thought was "Oh right. That is what that voice looks like." It is weird after talking on the phone for so long how the voice and the image can become detached.

In the last month of Terry's tour, we began fighting a lot. I think that most of this was due to the distance. Even the most stable of relationships will begin to falter when communication is limited to phone calls twice a month. We would fight and then I would have ample time either let the argument fester or forget about it. I would always try to forget about it and start fresh each conversation but sometimes that just wasn't realistic. Obviously, all of this put a strain on our relationship.

Saying that I was nervous about his homecoming is an understatement. Our relationship has morphed so much that it is barely recognizable to me. Sometimes Terry is barely recognizable to me. We used to have a friendship that I could tell him anything but now I second guess myself. Am I being to whiny? Will he take that the wrong way? How much information does he need to know? How involved do I want him in my personal life? Does that sound like I am lecturing? Every sentence seems analyzed and I find myself over thinking every little nuance.

For the most part, it seems to be going well. I am trying to hold no expectations for Terry while he is home. Obviously, I would like him to get to know Wyatt but I also understand that this time needs to be a stress free detox for him. I have to admit it is weird having him home. I have been self sufficient for the last seven months and trying to incorporate Terry into my routine is difficult. The hardest part for me is learning to trust Terry like I trust myself. We have until mid-October to figure things about before Terry leaves again (this time to Alabama) and then we will have to start adjusting all over again.

Drill, Drill, Drill

When I first started this blog, I vowed to myself that I wouldn't discuss politics on it. However, the more I read about this coming election, the more frustrated, horrified, and the more motivated I become to make a change. I am going to start calling people who are not registered to vote. Seriously. This election is terrifying me. A friend of mine found this article written by Eve Ensler, a woman made famous by "The Vagina Monologues". She put into words what I have been feeling more concisely than I ever could.

I don’t like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.

But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story — connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.

I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country chose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.

Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God’s plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin’s view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, “It was a task from God.”

Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist’s baby or not.

She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes.

Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking. From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States. She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.

Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air. Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when war is declared in God’s name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.

I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S., but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move towards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.

If the Polar Bears don’t move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, “Drill Drill Drill.” I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.

Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?

Eve Ensler September 5, 2008