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The husband was “on call” today, which means that he goes to the hospital and is at the beck and call of the residents, which means that he’ll most likely come home after the kids’ bedtime, which means I can’t count on my second mommy wind to inflate my sails around six o’clock at night. So, we made plans: glorious plans, brave plans, shopping plans.

On our way back from our run when Atrain said, “What we are doing today, mom?” I replied with excitement, “We’re going to the mall!” To which he asked a very poignant, very telling question, “What’s the mall?” And now you know how much I don’t shop at the mall. My kid loves the D.I. He loves the grocery store. He loves the “big red ball store” (target), but he has no idea what the mall is. So I told him, “We’re going to a great and spacious building with lots of people inside.”—Ok, maybe I didn’t say exactly that, but the image came to mind when I tried to tell him about “the very large, very noisy building with lots of stores.”

So, we went. And to be honest, I would be satisfied if we never revisited that awful place. I hate feeling like: a) I have to spend money to buy things that look good on me, and b) I’m not really sure what actually does look good on me. It’s a lot easier to tell someone they look good in something. My sisters Bambie and Allerina came with me. Bambie hates the mall too, probably for the same reasons that I do. Allerina just hates being dragged around the mall by her two older sisters, who both feel like their days of enjoying the rush of paying $85 for a pair of shoes are long gone. Good riddance.

There was once a day when I loved saving up my precious pennies during long summers working the harvest at my dad’s mill. Of course, I put some on reserve for college and a mission and tithing, but I couldn’t wait to go “up north” and blow the rest on school clothes. I loved trying them on, bringing them home and doing a runway show for my parents, who humored me with all sorts of applause, hoots and hollering. I was so proud of myself.

Not any more. Buying clothing for myself is now laborious and rather painful—even on the rare occasion that I love what I see in the mirror, I still feel…guilty? Annoyed? Resentful of the fact that I’ve been trained to think that I need something new, because I really don’t. Fashion is fun, but I can’t eat it, it cuts into the diaper money, and in a few months it becomes unfashionable to wear whatever I bought with the money I should have used to pay rent. Besides, the husband thinks I look great in my mom’s recycled clothing. I do admit that I still find a certain, small amount of glee when I see myself in something new; it’s refreshing, like shedding layers of old skin must feel refreshing to a snake. But I’m still a snake.

Maybe I just need a better budget, or even just a budget that isn’t based on student loans. I guess I’m just too thrifty, or too careless to wear stylish things. I love admiring the style sense of others. And someday maybe I will have a style sense of my own, but today is not that day. Maybe it will never come. Because even when we do have a little more pocket change I know I will have a hard time ignoring other “needs” that are much more pressing: like sweet furniture, custom cabinets and decorative pillows. Yes, it will always be much easier to dress my home than to dress myself.

Snow Sanity

It's always unsettling to feel like your sanity is slipping away from you; like sand beneath your feet when the waves roll in--though its not nearly as fascinating or fun. I used to have such firm footing. I used to be able to turn myself upside down and inside out while completing an assortment of sweet 360s and still know which direction I'm heading. Now if it snows on a day that should be sunny I can't seem to keep my head on strait. I find myself falling into an aimless abyss, searching for something substantive to simultaneously steady my footing and enrich the lives of my little ones.

So, what did I do this April 29th afternoon when I felt myself collapsing beneath the weight of the advancing storm? Step aerobics. Yep, I loaded the boys into the Bob and set off in the snow toward the community building. As soon as we strolled into the mirrored room I felt a sense of relief. Jdog loved popping his head up from his rolling spot on the blankets to see his reflection in the mirror. Atrain went right for the closet that housed the steps and loved constructing all sorts of aerobic stair mazes. Meanwhile, I dusted off the "step it up" competition 80s VHS that was lying lonely in the closet and plugged it into the system.

These step athletes were amazing; jumping from a toe touch into one handed push-ups with legs crossed on the step, power-pony twists into back flips from the step, MC hammer chuggs into front walk overs on top of the step--all while wearing thongs over spandex shorts and scrunched socks. I was in love. Just the type of well-grounded people to pick me up and whip my mind back into shape with their crimped-hair side pony tails. Thank you 80s step routines: the perfect cure for my snow-storm induced insanity.

Shalom 4am

Stayed up until 4am writing a scholarship application for my three year old. The preschool he attends is an amazing little place. no way we could afford it if we werent on scholarship. Atrain is a lucky boy, and i am a lucky momma. It has been the perfect place to help him transition from the school for the deaf and blind programs into a hearing classroom.

Atrain has loved his Jewish Community Center preschool. So have I. Tonight after I took his cochlears off for bed he started composing his own little JCC lullaby. It went something like this, "da do da da, listen, listen king pharaoh-you let my people go! da da da da, No no no, i will not let them go!....da da da da, Miss Raqett, da da do da, Miss Sessame...wash your hands...zoomgalli gali gali, zoomgali gali... and on and on." It was endearing--especially because every sound that comes from Atrain's mouth when his cochlears are off bursts forth like a trumpet: loud and proud. And he knows that he can get away with it.

Mechanical Mommy

The husband and I only saw each other for a total of about 40 minutes today—most of which I spent stressing over our schedules. Stupid. Between meetings, church, school, work and play we haven’t had a decent conversation in at least three days. I feel robotic, like my heart is a cold, calculating clock, ticking its way through the day…counting down to May 7^th, the day the husband leaves for his away rotation in Houston.

But there were many moments today when the boys brought me out of my mechanical mindset. After trying again—unsuccessfully—to get Jdog down for a good afternoon nap I took them both outside to the playground. Atrain and I had our swords strung securely through the belt loops of our jeans. We slashed them through the warm, spring air until we met up with the swing set. I decided to see whether or not Jdog would enjoy a little turn on the baby swing, so I stuffed his soft blankets around his chubby body until he was secure and cozy in the baby seat. Then, I gave him a little push. A large, toothless smile grew across his face and was followed by a sweet squeaky giggle. Atrain gave him a little shove and Jdog giggled again. “He likes it!” Atrain said with giddy surprise in his voice. You see, swinging has never been Atrain’s strong suit. I’m not sure if it has something to do with his hearing loss and malformed vestibular system, but he has always been easily unsettled on the swing set—unless he’s pushing himself on his belly, “Peter-Pan” style. For some reason he enjoys that. But, if you swing him while he’s sitting upright, he’ll hold his breath and beg for you to stop him.

So, you can imagine my surprise when Atrain asked to be placed in the baby swing adjacent to Jdog’s. “Go slow,” he said bravely as I set him inside and gave him a little push. He held tightly to the seat, but soon began to smile as I swung him in synch with his brother and sang the “Swinging high and swinging low” and “Whenever I hear the song of a bird,” songs my grandma always sang to me on her big tree swing. They both listened intently, smiling at me and at each other. Then we played a few silly swing games like “tickle the tiny toes,” “see the silly mommy lie under our swings,” and “kick the mommy so we can laugh like Hyenas as she exaggerates a fall.” Too bad bodies need food. If it weren’t for dinner we could have stayed out there until the sun set.

I hope to spend a lot of time on the swing set this summer. I need more simple reminders that life shouldn’t be overshadowed by the stress of messy schedules. I need more time singing swinging songs to my boys. There is a sweet spirit that whispers peace to my heart and reminds me that, “for all His creations of which I’m a part, yes I know Heavenly Father loves me.” I hope that in spite of the stress that may make my mind a little mechanical every now and then, my boys know that too.

The Key to Success

Today was a rare mothering day when rain was pouring down my window panes, daunting 'to do' lists were stacked higher than the dishes in the sink, all that Atrain wanted to do was recreate lightsaber battle scenes while sweet Jdog hoped for a little more snuggle time, and (here is the rare part) I managed to do it all and (even more unlikely) I felt pretty darn good about what I had done. I even faked losing my hand to Darth Vader while doing the dishes. I somehow wrote a building newsletter, pretended to be the Easter bunny for our neighbors with Atrain, and caught up on a few blog posts. I even utilized the only hour of sunshine for an afternoon jog.

As I pat myself on the back at the end of the day wondering how this was all possible I I came to one very important conclusion: if I'm flexible enough to neglect my shower until 4:00 in the afternoon, it's bound to be amazing day.

On Duty

I have a little job that I love a lot. Scratch that. Atrain, Jdog and I have a little job that we love a lot. I say “little” only because it’s part time and pretty flexible, but we take it very seriously—especially when we’re “on duty.” Being on duty means that we hold a radio after the housing office closes so that we can help people around our apartment buildings. Whenever that little radio shouts out my number Atrain says, “Can I come help people, too?” And on many occasions, he can.

Atrain is great at helping me help people get back into their apartments when they lock themselves out. But until this weekend I never really noticed how much he actually understands our “lock out” procedures. Most of the time he just quietly observes my interactions with locked out residents. Occasionally the residents will talk to him and tell me how cute he is, but he’s somewhat stranger shy, and stays silent most of the time—sometimes even darting his eyes in the opposite direction, pretending there is no one talking to him at all.

But today something surprising happened: he spoke up. When we got called to help someone who had been locked out he began instructing me. “Get the key from the key room, mom, and don’t forget to come back and get our keys when we’re done…Ok, now does he need to be let in this door and the door inside?...Make sure you check his name on your papers (roster), mom.” He said. The resident got a kick out of it, and so did I. “Ok, Atrain, and now what?” I responded, egging him on. “How do I do that?” I questioned his responses, testing his language skills. And all that he had quietly soaked in during our many trips to “help people” kept surprising me, every time he opened his mouth.

Deaf children have a difficult time learning things vicariously—even if you have cochlear implants. It’s something that hearing kids do without even realizing it: soaking in second hand language lessons from their parents and peers. I do a lot of one on one explanation, questioning and coaching with Atrain, but this kid ceases to amaze me. I’m amazed that every day with my deaf child I can still wonder things that other parents wonder. Things like, “Where did you hear that?” and “Did I teach you that?”

It feels amazing to ask myself these questions, and to realize that Atrain’s listening skills are becoming more and more independent. I thank God every time I pause to wonder where he heard that. And, I’m grateful every time Atrain reminds me how to do my duty; because even when I’m not holding the radio and helping people for my little job, I’m always on duty with my little kiddos.

Pith

Last night I had a sleep over with my sister-in-laws. It’s something we do every time Bil comes into town. We brave whatever our cute little bedlamites might throw our way, hunker down, talk decorating, eat bread pudding and Italian ice at 1am and laugh our heads off at pith jokes, par exemple, “There sure is a lot of pith in this punch.” Thank you, Bonanza, for that one. The night always ends too soon, especially because Atrain is unable to sleep for longer than two hours away from home if he isn’t holding onto my hair and Jdog still enjoys three or so nighttime snacks. Oh how I love snuggling with my bedlamites, even if they keep me from laughing at pith jokes with the SILs...its probably for the better anyway.