Posts tagged as:

family

Saving the day in a kitchen near you

by Myg on October 12, 2011

IMG_2465

Someone please explain to me exactly how I’m supposed to function with this kind of awesome under foot every day?

So much is new it’s hard to keep track of it all. They are now 2 years and closing in on 9 months old. They started preschool half days in September and have had runny noses pretty much constantly ever since they started, but it doesn’t seem to slow them down much.

They now say things like, “This is my family!” and “See you next later everybody!” and “It’s okay, Mom,” (usually when I am flailing because we are late for school or I am out of coffee or someone has dumped their milk and Cheerios all over the kitchen floor for the third time this morning). They go to school and if one of them is feeling shy, you can be fairly confident his brother will take him by the hand and say, “Come on, let’s play.”  And it’s hard not to get all teary eyed when you see it because that’s what you want with twins, that they have each other’s backs.

All that said, they are not even remotely interested in using a toilet for its intended purpose. I’m back and forth over whether to encourage them more or to let them take it at their own pace. It’d be real nice to be done with diapers, not gonna lie, but there’s also part of me that thinks they grow up fast enough. Why pressure them to move even faster? So for now we’re just letting them be, and waving big boy under pants around every so often saying, aren’t these cool? To mild interest, at best.

This child development stuff happens so subtly, feels like it’s hidden in the context of all this working and going to school and running around and not sleeping enough so that you hardly seem to notice most of the time. Then one day you look over and two superheroes are clamoring for the prime spot in the photo op. And that’s when you see it, right? That’s that epic expanse of life experience crammed into the few years we call childhood, right there, blinking its big ole’ candied eyes at you, all those memories you keep with you your whole life and pull out when you need to feel safe and loved and hopeful about the world being a magical, good place after all. It’s right here, in the kitchen in its new superhero costume waving and smiling and saying, Hey! Isn’t this awesome?

Yes. Yes it is.

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Worth it

by Myg on April 24, 2011


Raindrop

I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say today, other than something along the lines of, “Jesus Befuckity, that was the shittiest put-down for bed that I can recall in ages.” And the reason for that is Easter, but in being fair to Easter, it’s not really Easter’s fault. It’s the fault of me wanting to be accommodating and sacrificing the boys’ 2-hour nap so we could go to Easter dinner at 1pm (which is when their nap normally starts). They fell asleep in the car, of course, on the way there and on the way home at 6pm. And then they screamed, and screamed, and screamed when it was time for bed at 8pm.

Felt just like it was April 2009 all over again, except not really because back then the screaming was on and off around the clock. Now it’s just on occasion but it still sucks, sometimes worse because you know that they are getting to the point where maybe they will remember that you just had to walk out of the room while they were screaming and close the door behind you. As much as it killed me to do that and listen to them from down the hall with my hands half over your ears, sure enough within five minutes they were sound asleep. But I still feel terrible.

Of course, that final move of leaving them to their shrieking happened after going back into the nursery to console them six different times, six different ways, over the course of an hour and 45 minutes, and every damned time I went in it got worse. Let that be a lesson to me.

I would say that the shrieking and the guilt weren’t worth it, except I kind of think they were, because it was Easter and our family got together and we had some good moments.

And I’m all about the good moments.

Hope all your holidays were less shriek-ful than ours, but every bit as happy.

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Happy Holidays!

by Myg on December 22, 2010

I have a confession: I used to hate Christmas.

That’s right, and I won’t go into all the reasons why, but let’s just say that when I was a kid, Christmas was the time of year that reminded me most of all the things in the world I wanted that weren’t mine, and I’m not talking barbies and ponies and bikes, because I had those things in spades. I’m talking about those things you feel like you’ve lost when you’re a kid and your family falls apart in several different ways at once and you have no idea of what the future holds.

But now I think I know what the future holds.

No, wait. I meant this.

And a little of this:

What I mean to say is, I think the future holds hope for us all.

Love,
Myg

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On Transformation

by Myg on October 11, 2010

I’m done, mostly, writing Osa Bella.

(If you don’t know what Osa Bella is, it’s an epic Twilight fan fiction–all 162k words of it–that I spent, oh sheesh, EIGHT MONTHS writing and posting online for all the world to read.)

This is my remorse post. My omgwtfbbq have I done? post.

Because I have the distinct feeling that nothing will ever be the same now.

I’m not afraid to tell you, I think Osa Bella kicks ass. It’s by no means perfect, but with another rewrite (or ten), would probably be something quite good, able to hold its own on any bookshelf. But as it is, flaws and all (and there are plenty) I still really believe this story is solid, even if there are places the writing is meh. There aren’t many spots where the writing makes me cringe, anyway. If you want to read Osa Bella, you can do that at Fanfiction.net (good for reading on your phone or iPod) or download the .pdfs from Osabella.mygdala.com, but be warned now, there are some fairly graphic sex scenes in it. It is most certainly not intended for readers under the age of 18, or anyone who might blush if they see me in person.

In any case, now that I’ve written it, I think I might have broken some part of my brain because all I want to do now is write. I’ve never done anything in my life that felt so very me.

I know that’s not exactly a problem requiring such a strong feeling as remorse, but I have to make a living. If I’d written a story that was not so immersed in the Twilight universe as Osa Bella is, I would be able to send this out to agents and publishers and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone, somewhere, showed an interest. But as it is there’s no hope of that. So I’ve got to write something else now.

That’s not a problem either, actually. The problem is this: when I become completely absorbed in crafting a story, my mind becomes largely unavailable to do the things that put bread and milk and diet cokes and turkey burgers on the table. And that is my first job–to provide for my family.

So I’ve been transformed into something that feels really good, and out of something I need to be. Which is a breadwinner.

And there it is.

I’m trying very hard not to consider myself fucked.

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Risen

by Myg on April 4, 2010

The real reason I’m posting this today is because she, my late step-sister and the “you” of “hey you” in my last blog post, would fucking hate that last post, would hate that it’s been at the top of my blog for over two weeks. She wasn’t dark and dreary like me. She was sunlight and hope and perseverance and a whole host of other sparkly and wonderful things that I miss like hell and will forever miss like hell. So I’m writing something, maybe a little less inspired since there was a painful dearth of sugar consumption today, given the day. Not nearly enough black jelly beans or peanut butter chocolate eggs.

I think the big news here is that my boys wore ties! They looked like little prep school applicants or mini bankers, but holy risen son of of a Christian God were they cute.

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They still don’t walk. They are 14 and a half months old, and I’m just beginning to think, huh, does it matter yet? When will it start to matter? It’s not like I want to rip my hair out chasing two toddling boys in different directions, but it’s got to happen at some point. And the whole not walking business does make Easter egg hunting a bit more of a chore, though they scored pretty well anyway.

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Sometimes I’m amazed at the tenacity of time. Humbled by it, even.

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Not enough, too late

by Myg on March 18, 2010

Hey you.

The last time I saw you was two days ago. March 16th. Two days after my birthday. By the way, you didn’t send me a card this year. First time in like, ever. Unlike me, who never remembers to send you or anyone a fucking birthday card. You had an excuse. I never do. In the future, I’m going to send out god damned birthday cards, anniversary cards, Easter cards, Secretary’s day cards. I am going to try to be more thoughtful, like you. But I’m telling you now, I will never come close. But I will try.

You died this morning. If I’d known you were going to slip out like that, I would have been there last night with you. I’m sorry for that. I was planning to come this morning and then Dad called. I was too late. You went so, so fast once they told you how sick you really were. You weren’t ready, I know. I am so incredibly sorry for that. I wasn’t ready either, not that that fucking matters one bit.

I want you to know I’m writing this to you because part of me believes you can still see it. I am trying to nurture that part of me, but I admit it isn’t easy. The older I get, the harder it is. If you can give me any kind of sign, that’d be great. I will try to be open for it. But I’m sure if you still exist in some form where you can actually read this, you’ve got better things to do. Like not be sick for the first time in six and a half years. Like watch out for that little girl of yours here.

I know leaving her was the worst part for you. I know it was. I want to puke every time I imagine that hell for you. So badly I wanted to tell you, she’s going to be all right. She will never forget you, I promise. She is going to make it through this. Kids have a way. They are fucking magic. They can endure and they go on, even when we can’t. I will do whatever I can to ensure that she does. This I promise. But I couldn’t tell you, because we didn’t ever talk about you dying. Not even two days ago when we knew it was coming. This is probably my biggest regret right now, believe it or not, that you were dying and we didn’t talk about it. I thought it was because that’s what you wanted. I will never know.

The last time I saw you, you were propped up on pillows in bed. I told you I had a cold and I didn’t want to breathe on you. How fucking stupid that seems now. I should have bear hugged you. I didn’t know I wouldn’t get another chance. I didn’t want to make you sicker. I didn’t want to hurt you. The last thing I did for you was swab a little vaseline in your nose where that fucking oxygen tubing was irritating you. My last big sisterly act. Pretty fucking lame, if you ask me. But I’m going to hold onto that moment forever. The last thing I ever did for you, however lame it was. It wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.

I asked you, “Do you want to talk about anything?”

You looked at me with the blankest of expressions. For a minute I didn’t know if you understood the question. Then you quietly said,

“No.”

“Do you want anything?” I asked.

“No.”

“Do you want company?” Pause.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to see anyone in particular?”

Blank stare.

This was the sum total of our last conversation. Downstairs, out of your earshot, the hospice nurse told us, “She’s slipping fast. By this time next week she’ll probably be in a coma. Now’s the time for people to come say their goodbyes.”

But how could I say goodbye? I couldn’t do it. I thought I’d have another chance. I thought by next week it would be too late, not by this morning. I was fucking wrong, wasn’t I?

I remember when we used to talk about the cancer. Back when you were scared but there were still options. Things that could be done. Back when you had a fighting chance. Oh my God, did you fight. So hard you fought. With everything you had. They gave you so much chemotherapy they wiped out your kidneys for good. “Sorry, we can’t give you any more, ever again, or it will kill you.” Fucking hell. Then you got leukemia. Jesus. But you beat it! I remember how we talked then, how you fought the big, tough, scary questions. I remember holding your hand, crying with you. But then a corner was turned. The terminal corner. And you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. And I tried to respect that. I tried to understand that you just didn’t want to think about something you could do nothing about. So I didn’t say anything about it, about the inevitable, about this shit right here, ever again.

I don’t know if that was the right thing to do or not, but I want you to know, I would have cried with you, I would have been afraid but I would have stayed by your side and faced it down with you if I thought that’s what you wanted. But that’s not what happened. And I am sorry if you wanted that but couldn’t ask. I’m sorry if I should have known to just bring it up and didn’t. I will never know.

Look, I have a lot more to tell you. This isn’t even the most important thing, but it’s the thing that’s consuming me ever since this morning. This deal of not saying, not doing enough for you to help you have a better death. You had a terrible death, I know. You will not ever know how incredibly sorry I am for that. How much I wish I could have done something, anything besides slip a little petroleum jelly up your nose, to make the end of your life less agonizing than it was. I am sure now that your suffering in the end is going to haunt me much longer than your death.

Kid, someday I will tell you how much I am going to miss you, how much you mean to me, how much I appreciate all that you were, all that you’ve done to make my world a better place, but at that point I will have to be ready to say goodbye, and I’m sorry but I’m still not there. I know. I’m late, as usual.

I’m sorry.

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One.

by Myg on January 22, 2010

Doot and Bing, my darlings,

Today you’ve officially ended your first turn around the sun. Good for you! That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Every time I think of you two being “one” and your time on this rock measured in the length of years, I just choke up.  I know deep down that the next twelve years will sneak by me as fast as the last twelve months did and all I’ll be able to say is, well, heck. That was fast, wasn’t it?

I wonder sometimes how it all looks from your perspective, this being born thing, this growing up business. For months you were tucked safely away inside me, then one day, BLAM! You were thrust into the blaring light of day amidst screaming and crying and adoration and elation. And then swept up in this constant rhythm of doing, first breathing, eating, pooing, sleeping, crying then cooing, smiling, laughing, rolling over, holding your bottle, sitting up, and then babbling, crawling, eating finger foods, standing, using a cup, climbing, talking. It’s all happened so fast, it seems to me. But probably not to you. Nor will the next 12 years. They’ll feel like a lifetime to you and you will do so much in those years. And it will be a breath, a blink, to me.

Guys, I really don’t even know what I’m trying to say here. All I know is that last night, nearly all day yesterday, I cried at the thought of this day. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering what’s wrong with your mother, and I don’t have a simple answer for that. Everyone tells me it’s normal for mothers to cry when their babies have a birthday. I guess it’s just part of being a mom.

I want you to know that the tears don’t mean anything bad, though. Nothing is wrong. Everything, in fact, is just as it ought to be. You’re here. We all survived the first year of your twindom, and I’m sorry but there were days during those first months of your life when I just didn’t know how we were going to make it. But we did, and here you are – growing, doing,  becoming the people you were born to be, right in front of my very eyes. At least, when I can get the tears out of them I can see that. And that is as it should be. I wouldn’t, couldn’t ask for anything else.

Except maybe this.

As you continue to grow and explore this crazy rock on which we dwell, never forget that no matter what you do or who you become, I love you. You won’t always be my babies. In fact, you’re almost not that now. But you will always be the center of my everything, my hope for humanity projected forward into time.

So go on then, grow up.

One. from Myg on Vimeo.

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Because everyone can use a good laugh

by Myg on July 17, 2009

Bing’s giggle chat with Nana from Myg on Vimeo.

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Babies of 2009 Born to a Baby of 1969

by Myg on July 1, 2009

2009babies

This is a blog with a mission, being, to take some of the GAHfuckdamnohnoisthisokay? out of becoming a mom when you’re over 35, or in my case now, over 40.  I had infertility issues that kept me from getting pregnant when I was younger, and I was one of those hand wringers who would Google “pregnant over 35″ and just be dejected with the search results. Hardly anyone has anything good to say on the matter, or encouraging, or even maybe celebrating women who start their families later. It was all risk and warnings and that shit is just depressing.

But that’s not to say it isn’t real. Indeed, pregnancy for me was nearly every bit as hard and scary as they say it can be for women my age, especially bearing twins. I had pre-term contractions, pre-eclampsia, borderline anemia, a very tough delivery (which had nothing to do with my age, ahem). What they don’t tell you is, so fucking what?

See, I’m trying to cultivate a new and improved attitude about risk.  Now that I’ve taken certain risks and have gotten a certain unbelievably awesome payoff, I’m here to say that if your heart truly longs for a baby and you’re over 35, go on and get pregnant. DO IT. I could have had a worse result, yes. But you know what? I didn’t, and most women my age having babies don’t either. And look what I got to show for it:

Five months

Two beautiful kids, born totally healthy.

So here’s the whole truth about my over 39 year old twin-pregnancy experience. First, the bad.

  • My pregnancy was great until the third trimester, when my back started to hurt so bad I could hardly walk from my car to the house without pain, and when pre-term contractions and then pre-eclampsia kicked in. That period of time involved total bedrest, three hospitalizations and a lot of unfortunate Google searches. 
  • Being pregnant with twins caused more of that than my age. That said, women over 35 have a greater chance of multiple pregnancy. That’s not a bad thing, but it is harder.
  • I delivered five weeks early, due to pre-eclampsia. My delivery was tough, tough, tough. I delivered Doot vaginally and had to have an emergency C-Section for Bing. That had nothing to do with my age, or the pre-eclampsia. He had cord pro-lapse, which can be catastrophic. We were thankfully in good hands. If you’re a high-risk pregnancy, make sure you are too.
  • Speaking of high-risk pregnancy, if you get labeled this know it’s a blessing. You get much better prenatal care.
  • My recovery from delivery took awhile, and to be honest I thought I’d never feel right again. I was wrong, and knew it within about four weeks. Two weeks after giving birth I was much, much better. By a month, I was back to normal except for my weight and my tendonitis.
  • Oh, by the way, did you know you can get mindbendingly painful tendonitis in both wrists while pregnant, just from your hormones? I didn’t, and believe me, this was the most painful and inconvenient part of being pregnant and a new mother – worse than the sleep deprivation. No, there’s not much you can do for it but wait it out. It’s much better now at the five month mark, but it’s not gone.
  • Not a day goes by where I don’t do the math. When they’re 18 I’ll be 58. When they’re 25 I’ll be 65. When they’re 30 I’ll be 70. And so on. Every day I worry about being too old. Not now, of course. I feel young now. I daresay I look young, even younger than I am. But I don’t take terribly great care of myself and that has to change so I can age well and enjoy my kids well into their adult years. I don’t want them to have the worries of caring for older parents, well, ever. But then, I don’t want to die on them when they’re too young. And then, what’s too young? I’ll never, ever, ever be ready to let my parents go.  In any case, I don’t get to decide any of these things, and so they are not worth the worry. But I must tell you, I worry anyway.

Now for the good stuff that waiting got me, and may get you too.

  • Some things that would have really rattled my 30 year old self really don’t rattle me now. I have been called a very calm, confident parent, and I have to admit that I am.
  • I don’t ever wish I was out doing something else that I can’t do now because I have small kids. At my age, I’ve really spent a lot of time doing exactly what I wanted. I’m not worried about my career because it’s so well established I can pretty much write my ticket now.
  • Even though the economy is bad and money is tough, I know I can always make money if need be (see above).
  • My kids live in a nice home, in a great neighborhood with an excellent school district.
  • In my neighborhood, many, if not most of my friends are mothers and fathers who started their families after the age of 35 or at least continue to have kids over the age of 35.
  • I savor every moment I have with them, even at 3am, because at 40 I really know how fast it’s all going to go. I just didn’t have that perspective yet when I was 30.

In every other way except trying to lose weight, being 40 pretty much kicks ass. My head is clear. I feel powerful. I don’t take shit from anyone. I know what’s important. I thoroughly enjoy everything I have. So really, in that sense, it’s the perfect time in my life to bring my kids into the world.

Not because of the economy or the war or the environment or any external thing. It’s a good time because it’s the time it was possible, and really, it’s as good as any and better than some.

Little Miss Sunshine

 The author, born in 1969, but shown here somewhere around late 1970.

{ 13 comments }

This and that.

by Myg on June 1, 2009

Among the items that were significant enough in my consciousness to warrant a blog mention today are:

1. Is Doot beginning to teethe? Oh, please God please God no – not yet, not like this. Why am I concerned he may be? Intermittent screechiness accompanied by voracious gnawing on fingers and copious amounts of drool for about two days. Wait, let me answer before you ask. No, he’s not just hungry. No, he’s not running a fever. And no, I can’t feel any little tooth buds nor are his gums red or swollen or perceptibly sore to the touch. He’s got no symptoms of an ear infection, cold, or any other physical malady that I can tell. I guess that leaves infant schizophreniform as the only logical possibility aside from mo’fo TEETHING.

2. Wednesday morning we’re leaving to go visit my mom and my beloved-but-not-seen-enough-family-from-out-west! And some family from close by who I never see too, still beloved, but just on the same side of lazy as we are. Said reunion is taking place at my mom’s farm in Virginia. I’m truly edge of my seat excited to have everyone meet the brothers. But man, if that teething thing is really starting, it could turn the baby drama up to a whole new level. Imagine 15 members of an Italian-American family and their dogs all under one roof for six days. If you can’t imagine it, imagine the Sopranos in the country without semi-automatics or peach everything interior design. I’m bracing myself for lots of unsolicited parenting tips. My plan? I’m going to smile politely and pretend I’m interested. My problem? Things never go the way I plan them. (And if you’re related to me and reading this now, of course, of course I don’t mean you. I mean those other relatives who always give unsolicited advice. You know the ones.)

3. This list isn’t in order of any kind of importantness (which, for the record, isn’t really a word. I know that.)

4. [REDACTED]

5. My job, the one I was leaving? It got funded for another year when nobody was looking. In a state where the economic downturn has struck so hard that full time state employees are forced to take unpaid furloughs in lieu of layoffs, how does one accidentally get a state funded grant for $50k?

6. Sometimes I think Flash™ wants to make me its bitch.

7. I will never, ever lose the additional 30 lbs I want need to lose as long as Obama allows peanut butter cookies to roam free. And that goes for ice cream and snack chips too. All kinds of snack chips. Snack chips FTW™!

8. Four days as a new mom with very short hair and my internal Stacy and Clinton™ say, “FAIL.” They don’t like how it looks. Of course, they also convinced me to buy that hot pink sweater with the short poofy sleeves that makes me look like a middle aged cheerleader on a date with the gout. So, I’m not saying in the abstract my hair actually looks bad. But I am saying that somehow that lack of hair really points out the excess of flesh in my midsection. Okay, in my ass, arms and thighs too. Don’t know how. Haircuts are magic I guess.

9. [REDACTED]

10. And the cutest thing in the world is this:

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and various variations of this:

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