Archive for the ‘Cutie Lucy’ Category

I Heart Home

Ok, so where were we?


Most importantly, I  have new boots.  They are cute, and only vaguely in an LARP-y sort of way 😛

I would write about Lucy’s recovery but honestly, it’s just like having the pre-surgery Lucy home only with some chest scars and serious residual tape goo.  She is up and out of bed (although she has discovered the glory of pajamas all day), eating regularly, reading like a fiend, making stuff, and generally giving her father and me a hard time.  I don’t know what I expected post-surgery, but I didn’t realize she would be so quick to seem…normal.  Still not allowed to go where there are large numbers of people (which is pretty much everywhere ’round these parts) but she’s otherwise the Same Old Lucy.  Which is awesome, even when she’s copping an attitude (but don’t tell her that.)

We are also doing lots of spider-watching as Ruby is just about the coolest thing ever.  She has been digging up her molted skin and reburying it, changing her burrow around, and generally being completely fascinating.  If you’re looking for any one of us, there’s a good chance we’re nose-to-glass at the vivarium.  Still no news on whether Ruby is indeed a She, but as I’m reading up on tarantula-sexing this morning I’m not sure that we’ll conclusively know any time soon.  Which really doesn’t matter in the long run, but I’m a detail-oriented sort of gal so you know…

Midterms.  Ugh.

Words.  Ugh.

That is all.

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3 Days

I am not so much of a wreck today as I was last night.  Last night was really bad, following a really bad day.  Anxiety by light, depression by night.  I tell myself it’s all normal, I tell myself there is no normal, but still my brain finds these ways to make me feel like everything is falling apart.

I started a paper journal.  The only words in it are:  Words Fail.  Because as much as I love words, there aren’t any that I know that can cover the combination of ‘it’s no big deal’ and ‘nothing will ever be the same’ that I feel. I have so much I want to write about but it doesn’t convert nicely to words right now.  I might try poetry.

Speaking of poetry…I have embraced my inner hormonal teenager and bleached my hair, then added plum to try to tone it.  It is now this blotchy blond-and-faded purple which looks terrible down but I absolutely love it pulled up.  I may just keep it.

I got my period for the first time since before I got pregnant and after a shaky first day, I give Lunapads a big thumbs up.  Especially the leopard print ones because it’s nice to feel a little rock star when you’re wearing your period panties.

I have informed all of Lucy’s teachers that she will be missing {insert name of class here} and all of my professors that I reserve the right to flake a little this week and next.  I’m not likely to flake, but if I do this way they know I have a legitimate reason.

I have passed the point of dreading the telling people because I can’t handle having to assure them that everything is fine.  I have hit the point where I want to have everybody admire me for being the proud, stoic matriarch.  I also want a proud, stoic matriarch hat, and maybe some white gloves, and definitely a parasol.  And when I’m not descending into Faulknerian insanity…

I spend some time here in the real world but it’s been really hard for the past week or so.  I keep trying to find things to distract me but I think this has been the wrong approach.  For the next few days, I’m going to pack and plan and prepare and hope for the best.  I may even wallow a little, but I’m mostly just going to put my head down and push through all of this crap.

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There was a whole big long entry here that must’ve been eaten.  That really sucks.

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One of my biggest weapons against fretting is preparation.  List-making, planning, shifting things from one place to another.  I am doing a lot of this.

On Tuesday, Lucy is having her procedure*.  I say the word ‘procedure’ an average of ten times a day, and every time I say it, I think of Eddie Izzard’s “I’ve invented a maneuver”.  It is a clunky phrase at best.  At worst it sounds like something you’d say in place of a scary technical term.  But a procedure it is and so procedure I repeat.  And really, it’s not that scary of a procedure in and of itself.  On paper.  When it isn’t your kid.  I think the procedure will go smoothly and Lucy will be home resting on Tuesday night.

I am really trying not to be afraid of what the results will be.  I remind myself hourly that my worry does not have any impact on the outcome.  I remind myself that the result is happening no matter what.  It’s working for the most part, thanks to my meds and therapy.

I have been almost obsessive about making sure Lucy is occupied, both now and for when her procedure is over.  The nurse told us recovery isn’t equipped to feed kids so I’ve stashed a bag of Pirate Booty for a surprise treat.  I took her Friday to pick out a new pink iPod with matching pink headphones and we’ve been loading music onto it.  I spent much of today creating a playlist for her, like a recovery mix tape.  I have a doll that she’s been asking for for the past 2 years for her hidden in C’s closet, to give her before leaving for the hospital.  Tomorrow we’ll pack books and take a run to the grocery for more snacks.  But tonight?  I just can’t prepare anything else right now.

And so I’m listening to the Cure and drinking a beer and musing, for lack of a better word.  And it’s been an eternity since I wrote anything and I just sort of need to.  Because, really, I can’t do anything for Tuesday besides buy things or fall apart and I’m just not into either of those choices.  When it comes right down to it, the bitch about all of this is that I could pat my back for being such a thoughtful Mom or I could beat myself up for the defect but in the end, it’s entirely out of my control.  There is no ritual I can perform to ensure that the docs will tell us that the hole can be left alone, no ritual to keep Lucy from being scared or hurt.  It’s all out of my hands but the packing.

*the procedure is a cardiac catheterization.  Because of the size of the hole in Lucy’s heart (VSD), her cardiologist wants to do the cath to conclusively determine if the hole needs repaired surgically.  Her heart function states that the hole can remain as is, the size of the hole indicates that it should be closed.

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  • My God, kids *need* all the time.  I think my head would explode if I got to change a diaper without the baby demanding to nurse while his sister calls me from the other room.
  • I currently have enough lettuce in my fridge to choke a rabbit and neither kid eats the stuff.  I’m going to overdose on salad.
  • Today I walked 2.3 miles and am more tired than I should be.  I need to start doing this more often before it gets stupid hot.
  • Strawberries!  One pint is already gone.  I’m going to have some more with the homemade flan once C gets home.
  • I think my new favorite thing is when people agree with me.  How sad is that?

That’s all I got, folks.  Pleas for attention, a fridge full of lettuce, sore calves and an inflated ego.  And flan.  Can’t forget the flan.

Oh also?  I have bok choy I need to prepare ASAP and no clue what to do with it.  Any ideas?

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Yeah, the catharsis of telling my business on the internet has been surpassed by the catharsis of a good sleep.  I can’t lie.

The past few weeks have been a journey of getting to know myself, trying to look honestly at my strengths and weaknesses, and all sorts of other psychobabble-esque crap.  Also, I’ve discovered that sometimes talking to myself in my head is more helpful than talking to myself here.  Just sayin’.  It was interesting to realize that I do so much writing for my classes that I don’t so much need the blawg to get stuff out of my head.

So yes, the past few weeks…trying to get outside, walking with the baby, breathing in what passes for fresh air in the flight path of La Guardia.  Spent an excellent day with mizz Luce at the botanical garden learning an eentsy bit of foraging, how to make seed bombs and compost cookies and cleaning up at the flea market.  I discovered I not only love Jerusalem artichokes but they grow in containers so there’s that for an upcoming project.  Once I finish finals and fun-reading, that is.

The boy is tearing up the vocabulary these days, keeping us on our toes trying to figure out if he is saying ‘no’ (nose), ‘no’ (nurse) or ‘no’ (stop it).  He rolls his r’s when he says ‘draw’, says ‘coo’ instead of school, andwhen he gets into batting stance, he says ‘guy’ (looks like he’s a lefty).  If you’re watching tv, he asks to put on baseball (tee?  bayball?’) and not only does he have a batting stance complete with follow-through, he has a leg kick he uses when he (‘whoa’ a la Joey Lawrence) throws the ball.

The girl has taken to writing books and is better than her mom at use of adjectives.  She has created a Crusader’s Club (for the Earth) and a spy club.  The latter is a bit of a disappointment for her as I put the ixnay on hosting her entire class for a spy club meeting.  I think mostly she likes the idea of wearing a disguise.

For the end of the semester, I have 3 papers, 2 finals and 15 questions of varying complexity to answer in three different classes.  Oh, and 100 pages of a book to read before I can answer 6 of the questions and do one of the papers.  I am not a happy bee right about now but it will feel damn good when I am finished next week.  Wish me luck.  Or sanity.  Or both.

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Today is my first day of classes and so I am dutifully printing out and sorting through syllabi and grading matrices and other big, Latin-derived words and I am SO FREAKING EXCITED!


This is going to be a lot of work, y’all.  A lot of damn work, and a lot of making sure I stick to a schedule and keep on top of shit.  But you know what?  I can totally do this.  I think I can even do it well.


Six years ago right now I was in St. Vincent’s hospital sitting in the john wondering when my daughter would be born and why it felt so much like I had to take a crap.  One hour and change later, my beautiful Lucinda was whisked away from me to be suctioned and then carted off to the NICU.  When I watch her dancing through the apartment or wrestling with a friend, I can hardly believe she is the same girl as that fragile little-to-me baby hooked up to monitors that I was afraid to hold and put down at the same time.  I can’t believe I was ever afraid of her heart not working properly.  She has more than enough heart to make up for that little hole.

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