Merciful

I just granted asylum to a small spider making a pilgrimage across my kitchen floor. I was hoping he was going to the corner where all the mini-ants come out and who piss me off. I certainly do not like spiders, but he was very small and pleasant-looking and I much prefer him to ants. Ants can eat the pieces of food off the floor and crawl on my feet. Spiders just want to eat ants and not broken cheerios that grow here abundantly. I hope he tells his friends of my mercy.

What gives?

Today, when trying to squeeze some hair product from the tube, it exploded out the top instead of the end. This is a new tube. I'm not pleased.

The 15 push-ups and 50 sit-ups I did yesterday did not cause me to wake up instantly skinny this morning.

I'm losing the battle against Eli's pacifier. It is essential to his sweet dreams.

I wish I got to eat out today.

I have learned that buying the clearance books at Barnes and Noble doesn't guarantee a good read.

I should read the book about how to discipline a little boy, but I would rather read the ridiculous book that makes me laugh.

I dusted this morning and I am doing laundry right now. I feel so domestic! Better get back to the beautification of my home...

Mental illness

I've often wondered what stay-at-home moms do when they fall ill. Who takes care of the kids, who does the housework? Today, I found out. I have been desperately fighting a battle against a cold virus for weeks. I have been taking vitamins and mentally willing it away. Yesterday, I succumbed to the sickness. It is my belief that it is punishment from my body for eating so much chocolate cake over the weekend. Now, my nose is useless. I have two nostrils fully stuffed, and not with snot that I can blow out. They are closed off from within.

My house is once again in disarray and I have very little energy to combat it. I thought very seriously about summoning my cleaning lady to fix it, but then I realized that I am the cleaning lady. So that plan was poop.

This morning, I sat on the couch and Eli sat next to me reading a book and occasionally leaning his head on me. Then he got a burst of energy and began beating the cat with his book and laughing. Poor cat.

The problem with having very short hair is that you can't go out in public without taking a shower first. There are no ponytails to disguise your filthy hair. My hair sticks straight out to the side when I first wake up.

I better go fold laundry and blow my nose on dirty socks. Maybe I will feel better if I immerse myself in activity.

Injuries of Motherhood

There are certain injuries that come with motherhood. I was a really crappy pregnant woman. I complain all of the time about my symptoms and trials. I do, however, admit that the ends definitely justified the means. Here are some of the unpleasant things I went through to get Eli on the other end. I was sick everyday for 3 months. I mean vomiting daily at all times of day. I had unfortunate gas - need I say more. I had a very peculiar snot situation. I had a ton of snot in my nose that made one side clog at night. Then I would get up and blow my nose in the shower and for at least 10 blows, a full load would come out. I got bloody noses all the time. Nothing like a woman with blood stains down her maternity shirt. My legs and feet would cramp in the night, making me feel that my muscles were tearing. I got acne on my chest and back. The worst of all was my appendages swelled. I couldn't wear my watch or rings for 4 months and my feet look like they were from the Flintstones. I wore flip-flops in the winter. Then after 12 hours of labor, there was a child in my arms looking up at me. My first thought was - oh my gosh, why is his head in a point!?

As with any moment of overwhelming emotion, I shut down for the first few days of Eli's life. I went through the motions. It was all new and I didn't know what to do. Everyone was around and I had to lie in a hospital bed while they visited. Slowly, Eli started to seep in through the cracks of my armor.

When I title this injuries of motherhood, I mean some of the physical ones and non-physical. A few days ago, Eli through a board book at me and hit me in the mouth with it. He busted my lip and made me bleed. I was injured. This is classic Eli behavior. He sometimes whacks me with his head so hard, I think my teeth have broken out of my head. So far, they haven't.

I have always had an out-of-proportion soft spot in my heart for animals. I cry when I see dead animals on the side of the road. I can't watch movies with dying animals. I go crazy. I can't handle it. People think I'm crazy. Lately, I've noticed I have added a new entity to that list. Kids. I never liked them before. I always wanted them to leave me alone. Suddenly, when I see starving kids on TV or hear stories about kidnapped kids, I think my heart is going to tear. I was crying when I watch one of those Spike shows there other day that show disasters caught on tape. Some woman was trapped in a flood in a car with her 18-month-old baby. I was almost sobbing at the idea of it. What has happened to me!?

Here is a revealing confession. At one point, I turned to Mark and said, "If ever there is an accident, and we're drowning and we have a kid too, save me. We can always make more kids, but we can't make more Lilys." Isn't that the worst thing you have ever heard? Before I had a child, it was impossible to think I could love one more than myself. The other day, I told Mark, he better save Eli because I will throw myself back in before I let him drown.

Eli has conquered me. I have become soft with him, rocking him to sleep when he wakes up crying, kissing away Owwies, and loving crazy couch time. That little, bratty kid, is my favorite one in all the world and much better than any other child.

I have become as fierce as the mother moose. I know I would run into a burning house to get him. I would beat an intruder bloody if it meant saving him. I know Mark feels the same about this little person. I've lost my logic and my mind, but I've found my heart. And it's held by little, sticky fingers and a snotty nose.

How much this puts in perspective the sacrifice of Jesus... how could the Father watch his only son tortured and crucified...

Emergency Room Trauma

On Monday, I received a call saying that the woman I care-take for has fallen down and will need me to take her to the emergency room that evening at 7 pm, when I would have gone into work. She hadn't lost consciousness, but needed to be checked out as a precaution - as would any 91-year-old. I got to the nursing home to pick her up 4 minutes late. She was sitting in the seat of her walker, looking miserable in the hallway. I walked her down to my Honda Civic and deposited her in the front seat. I had to fold her walker and fit it in the backseat, around the baby seat and miscellaneous junk that lives there. The task caused me to work up a sweat, trying not to hit her in the head with a wayward wheel. Finally we were on the way.

It took another 10 minutes to get her out of the seat and back on her feet. I signed her into the emergency room and we sat and waited to be called. This was an excellent opportunity to people-watch. The waiting room was particularly full that evening. At one point my lady leaned over to me and mumbled something. I had to ask her to repeat herself. She said, much louder this time, "There are an awful lot of fat people in this room." While she was right, I don't think many of them appreciated her comment.

While still waiting an hour later, I noticed a small bug on top of her white hair. Immediately I thought of lice. I edged away. She could have caught it at the nursing home! I couldn't stop staring at it. Then I thought it looked like a tiny little spider that was running around the strands of hair and making a web. I thought I should definitely take it out for her. But the nagging thought that it could be a louse kept me from doing that. I never took it out. I think it must have jumped out while she was getting a CT scan.

We finally got called in and they did tests on her. She was fine. Just after midnight, we walked out of the emergency room. She suggested we stop for a milkshake. The only option was to drive through a McDonald's and wait for 15 minutes for two kiddie size vanilla milkshakes.

When we got back to the nursing home, the task of getting out of my small, low car, was a much greater feat. As much as she tried and I pulled, she couldn't get out. I thought for a minute that I had dislocated her shoulder. I thought I better get some help. A nurse came out to help and we were finally inside. I dropped her off in her room and finally got to go home.

The next day, after riding around in the passenger side of my car, I got up and noticed that my right, back pocket was wet. What!? I couldn't figure out what it could be. I smelled the seat. ??? My sister and I concluded that it must have been some pee that came out during the effort to extract herself. Dang. I sat in it and it is in my car seat.

Last night, I gave her a French manicure. She said she felt like a rich person. (: