Bug off
The day after Big I’s third birthday, we discovered something horrible. Apparently, Big I had taken home a souvenir from our little walk through nature on the previous day. She woke up in the morning looking sickly and pale. She was complaining that her shoulder hurt. I lifted up her pajama top and gasped. There was a tick embedded in her shoulder. I picked her up and ran her up the stairs to my husband, grabbing the phone on the way so I could call my Mom who happens to be a nurse.
After talking with my Mom and with the nurse from the pediatrician’s office, my husband had a go with the tweezers at her poor little shoulder. She screamed in pain and that tick held onto her so tightly. It made me sick. I wished it would be me instead. There was nothing I could do except hold her and tell her it would be over soon. If only I had known how long the ordeal was going to be.
My husband finally pulled the tick out of her, but its head remained behind. The pediatrician told me to cover it with neosporin and a band aid. They said the head would work its way out as Big I’s body rejected it and pushed it out.
They were wrong.
Three days later, the shoulder was not looking any better and I could still see the tick’s head, firmly embedded in her shoulder. I took her to the doctor. I saw a new pediatrician at the office who said it was no big deal. She said I should keep doing what I was doing. So I did, for another two days.
Two days later, Big I woke up with redness and swelling in her arm. I took her back to the pediatrician. This time, we saw a different doctor, who said that Big I had a staph infection in her arm and that he was going to try to get the head out. He had to lance and drain the wound. She screamed; I held her and felt like screaming myself. He didn’t get the head out. They gave me a prescription for some strong antibiotics. After all of that trauma, he handed me a sheet for blood work. Blood WORK on a 3 year old! I really wanted to scream.
We took her for the blood work and she was so brave. She was fine until the needle punctured the skin, and then she screamed. The blood work came back normal. About two weeks later, she was scratching her arm and the tick head came out. Nasty. She still has a scar.
Until this week, Big I has been terrified of every bug. Ants on the sidewalk? Let’s play inside instead. Bee buzzing around some flowers? Scream and head for cover! Fly got in the house? Must kill fly now or else child will have a nervous breakdown. It has gotten to the point that my husband and I have been worried about the possibility of a bug-related obsessive compulsive disorder. Or, maybe she’s suffering from PTTD (post-traumatic tick disorder)?
And then Aunt E came out of the blue with a bug catcher. Over the weekend, my sister decided that Big I must get over her fear of bugs. So, they spent the afternoon searching for bugs in the yard. Together, they caught two worms, a salamander, and a spider. She proudly carried around her little bug cage and showed everyone her latest catches. After about an hour or so, she’d tell everyone to "Say goodbye to the ‘lizard’" and we would. She would then release her new friends back to the wild.
So, you can understand my amazement with what happened yesterday. Big I declared that there was a scary black spider approaching her toys. I was busy feeding Lil C and told her it would have to wait a minute or two. Instead of waiting and whining, which would have been the norm pre-bug catcher, she grabbed a tissue, one tissue, (not 14 like I would have,) and approached the black spider with confidence. She knelt down, opened that tissue and squished it good. She then brought it to me to show me her conquest. I have to say, I was pretty impressed.
I think we’re over the bug fear.
I do remember
The other night I was at my parent’s house; and we got on the subject of when I was growing up. I told my dad how I remembered this one night when he and I were watching TV together. He said, "You want some popcorn?" I was shocked that he asked me and was offering to get us both a snack. I said, "Sure! Sounds good." At this point in my relaying the story, my Mom interrupted and said, "See, you remember all these good things about your dad; but you and your sister probably don’t remember anything good about me." I told her that she didn’t let me finish the story. My dad responded to my affirmative answer with a, "Then get off your butt and go make some for us." (My dad is sometimes annoying like that.)
I then started thinking of all the good things about my Mom and was telling her a few of my best memories of growing up. . .
- Every Valentine’s Day, whether my sister and I had a boyfriend or not (usually not), my Mom would prepare a candlelight dinner for the whole family. She’d also make a cake with pink icing and give us each a present. Even if I had to endure an entire school day filled with girls squealing with excitement at the flowers or chocolates their boyfriend gave them, I knew I had a special dinner and gift coming when I got home from school.
- I remember when my high school boyfriend and I had a major fight. She spent what must have been hours just listening to me cry and giving me hugs while my dad stood in the doorway, shaking his head and probably imagining a baseball bat meets boyfriend scenario. My Mom knew the perfect things to say to me; my dad was always better at the violent imagery.
- In the summers, she would get up early and spend the morning cleaning and doing laundry and getting done whatever she needed to get done so that she could take us to the pool for the afternoon, even when she didn’t feel like going.
- She took me to buy a new outfit for each and every school dance from 7th grade on, so that I would feel special, even if all the boys were dancing with other girls.
- One time, my dad insisted I eat ALL my food from dinner and said that I wasn’t allowed to leave the table until I was done. I ended up falling asleep at the table. My Mom woke me up and I went up to bed. She came up to my room a few minutes later with cookies and milk.
And I also thought of a couple of great memories of her from more recent months and years. . .
- When I gave birth to Big I, my Mom was there holding one leg and breathing along with me. She had a natural labor and I wanted the same; so her just being there served as such an inspiration.
- When Lil C was going through this projectile vomiting stage, my Mom jumped in the car and arrived at my house after one of the incidents so that she could help me clean up and calm down since my husband was traveling.
Though every Mother and daughter inevitably have at least one I-hate-your-boyfriend-so-get-rid-of-that-lousy-good-for-nothing. . . rough patch during the teenage years, I can now say that I consider my mom one of my very best friends. She always sends me these Mother’s Day cards about how proud she is of me, and what a joy it’s been to watch me become such a great Mom. I think it’s been pretty amazing watching her become an incredible grandmother. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom (if you can figure out how to get on the internet and find your way to my blog).
The Ultimate Work Out Recipe
Ingredients:
- One afternoon of shopping
- One 7-month old who hates her stroller with a passion
- One 5-year old who loves the stroller with a passion
- One baby wrap to hold non-conforming-to-stroller baby
Instructions:
Place 17 lb. baby in wrap. Allow persistent 5-year old to sit in the stroller that is now unoccupied. Proceed to push stroller containing 43 lb. 5-year old around the mall for about three hours. Only allow her out to try on clothing. When trying on clothing commences, do deep squats with baby still attached snugly in wrap. Hold out arms parallel to the ground as you hold up shorts that 5-year old is taking her good ole time getting in. Feel arms start to burn, similar to the feeling obtained when hanging a new shower curtain. Practice resistance training as 5-year old balances all of her weight with her hands on your shoulders while you’re still in the process of squatting and holding arms parallel to the ground. . . still waiting for the child to put her feet in the HOLES ALREADY MOMMY’S ARMS ARE KILLING HER. Pull shorts up as child squirms and complains. Repeat try on process three more times. Proceed to cashier; continue holding arms straight out in an attempt to keep 7-month old from obtaining money which would be prompty devoured. Deep squat to put new purchase in the cargo bag of stroller. Proceed to walk down the mall corridor, occasionally doing the deep squat to obtain baby sock that has been removed, sucked on, and thrown in an attempt to free her feet and also make sure that Mommy gets her exercise.
At completion of shopping excursion, load both children into car. Because your back wasn’t completely thrown out after carrying 17 lb. baby for three hours on your stomach/chest, fold the SUV of strollers and lift into trunk. While driving, reach for baby toys that are being flung onto the car floor at regular intervals and return them to baby in a futile effort to keep her entertained (this also serves as post work out stretching).
I’d write more. . . but I need to hit the showers.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times
I think I’m a bad person. The guy who has been doing my hair for the past four years told me that he is moving far, far away. They are moving there because his wife’s family is there and they’ve always wanted to live there. My first thought was, "MY GOD! What am I going to DO?" My second thought was, "How can I sabotage their plans to move?" He is a damn good stylist. I LOVE the way he does my hair. I started imagining myself picketing on his front lawn as prospective buyers drive by. "This house has rats," my sign could say, or "Termite infestation: Don’t be fooled!"
I seriously asked him if he’d come back up to visit and cut my hair. He said I could come down and visit and he’d cut my hair there. It is a LONG drive away. I don’t think I can justify a 10 hour drive to get my hair cut to my husband. $100 for a cut and highlights is already pushing it. I seriously think I am going to have a good cry over this when he actually goes. He said that as long as appointments are scheduled, he’ll honor those appointments. I think I’m going to ask if I can schedule through 2010.
The reason why I’m so upset is because I highly prefer going to male stylists, and there aren’t that many of them around. My reasoning is this: why would a woman want another attractive woman in the world? It’s competition for them. Men like to see beautiful women, whether they are married or not. Male stylists literally want to make the world a more beautiful place. There is a serious shortage of male stylists in this area; and I am afriad to subject my head of hair to someone I don’t know. I honestly feel like someone just dumped me. I know it’s silly, but I REALLY like the way he cuts and highlights my hair. Let me reiterate. . . I really, really like the way he does my hair. And don’t even get me started on how well he does my eyebrows. . .
I know most of you probably think this is stupid, but ladies, you’ll understand why. When this man cuts my hair, no curling irons are necessary. The cut dries so nicely and lays so nicely that it cuts my hair primping time by about 90%. It’s incredible and I know of not another person who can accomplish such a feat. He must have sold his soul to have such skills.
The other reason it’s a bad day? (I swore to myself I would NOT discuss American Idol on this blog, but with what happened this week, how can I NOT?) Who are the crazy lunatics out there who didn’t give Chris Daughtry enough votes to make it through? I am seriously in shock. I had picked him as the winner from the very beginning; and I am floored that he is done. Of course, I watched American Idol on Tivo and got occupied with other things and forgot to vote. It’s probably all my fault. I feel terrible about it. What’s the point of even watching the rest of the season? I’m done.
Another reason it’s a bad day? (Oh, you thought I was going to get to the good thing, didn’t you? Not yet. I like to get my complaining out of the way first.) If you’ve ever been to a funeral, you know how it emotionally drains you for days. It feels exhausting just to think or even deal with life after such an emotional ordeal. I honestly had that feeling after Kindergarten orientation. It is only now starting to diminish from the beginning of the week. It has been slowed in it’s regression by the fact that Big I asks me every single night if she has to go to school tomorrow. I told her tonight that I will give her some warning. I won’t just wake her up one day and make her go. I told her she’ll probably love it once she’s there. Tonight she said to me, "I’ll go to school Mommy, but maybe just one or two days a week, o.k.? o.k.? o.k.?" I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I think I’ll cry considering the week I’ve been having.
Talking about enough to make you want to cry. My lovely sister sent not one, but two, "I’m not a chain letter" chain letters: one to me and one to Big I. It’s this flip-flop one. The very same flip-flop one that when asked if I’d like to participate by a good friend, I told her I’d rather not. I always get screwed by these not-a-chain-letter chain letters. I sent out a book and was supposed to get like 30 back. I didn’t see one. I won’t even bring up the other crazy requests I got in the mail. I’ll only say that Victoria’s Secret is probably behind at least one of them. People have flip-flop fever apparently, but I don’t even like wearing them that much. My husband told me I should close the loop, so to speak, and send out the not-a-chain-letter chain letter back to my sister and the other girl listed on the letter, six letters for each. I mean seriously, what do people need 36 pairs of flip-flops for anyway? Actually, the whole letter is bogus because even if everyone fulfills their flip-flop obligation, you can only receive a maximum of 6 pairs. And, how are Big I and I supposed to come up with 12 people to send these letters out to? 12 people who won’t hate us for it? Talk about a Mission Impossible.
So, onto the good things before the flood gates open up and wash me away. At karate, I feel I’m making great progress on my kata. I feel like it’s really coming together and I’m getting the rhythm of it down. I am feeling like I have my karate flow back again and that is a good thing. After my summer vacation, I’m going to up the number of times I go each week, which should make a huge difference. I wanted to do this before, but with Lil C it’s been too hard. I’m looking forward to learning by leaps and bounds. And onto the last good thing. . .
I’ve been awarded a Mix-Pix award.
This lovely lady reviewed my site and wrote up a little something about me and my blog; and I am just thrilled. You’ll notice the little Eeyore on my side bar and I am quite proud of it. So, in honor of this award and my horrible week, I’d like to invite any lurkers to come forward, show yourselves, leave a comment and say "hello," or something. I know you’re out there. I see my visitor stats. I see my little map on the side bar so I know where you’re coming from, but who the heck are you? Won’t you come out and say hello? (And be nice, I’m feeling fragile this week.)
McNuggets equals Motivation?
Big I is much more interested in her acting class than her karate class lately. In fact, she’s so interested in her acting class, that her karate class is paling in comparison, as in "NOOOOO! I don’t want to go to karate today." My husband made a deal with her; one that I wasn’t particularly crazy about. In fact, I’m still kind of wondering what we should do about this whole anti-karate attitude she’s got going lately. His deal is simple: quit karate-no more McDonald’s. Continue with karate-go to McDonald’s. For the child that walks around this house singing "Ba, Ba, Ba, Ba Bah. . . I’m lovin’ it," this has been quite a conundrum.
Today she asked me about the details of this little arrangement, as in "What do I have to do so I can quit karate and still go to McDonald’s?" I told her the solution is simple: become a black belt, Sensei Big I, and then you can do whatever you want. If you want to quit, quit. You can still go to McDonald’s. Her eyes lit up. She said, "REALLY, MOMMY???? REALLY? You mean IT?" I said, "Yep, all you have to do is get a black belt. The fastest way to do that is to go to class and learn as much as you can, and practice." She was so excited about the idea of not going to karate and still being able to go to McDonald’s that she kissed me, hugged me and squealed "THANK YOU MOMMY!"
Does she think they just hand out black belts; or does she not realize the work involved? I think it’s definitely the latter. Once she does realize what she’s agreed to, I can just see her taking a black permanent marker to that milky white belt of hers. She is quite the little artist.
I know that Big I doesn’t get the big picture yet. I know that she doesn’t understand or appreciate the Martial Arts the way that I do. She started when she was 3.5 years old though and she’s only now 5. Right now, all I want is for her to go and let it sink in slowly. I’m hoping the appreciation part will follow.
For me, I’ve had a respect for it from the beginning. I like the challenge of a new kata and feel empowered when I learn new self defense techniques. Learning karate and kobudo has done wonders for my confidence. I’m in it for the long haul and see the black belt as the first of many promotions I hope to one day attain. I want that black belt, not for the color or for the bragging rights. I want that black belt because I want the knowledge and confidence that (I think) comes along with it. I enjoy going to class when there are students who outrank me. I feel that I really learn from them. Most students are more than happy to help you out regardless of age or rank.
The annoying part about the Martial Arts is that there are definitely people who are only at the dojo for the bragging rights. They are there, not for a personal journey and accomplishment, but for the belt itself. These are the students who memorize the moves but have no power behind their punches, no purpose in their learning. These are the students who get frustrated when going over the first kata for a new student who has joined the class, or for someone who needs or wants to review. They don’t see the value in review. They want to learn their kata, their material. Just like students who cram for tests and quickly forget the material afterwards, these martial arts students are the same. They don’t take each kata and make it their own. They don’t see the bunkai (application) in the kata or care to learn it. They only want to do the bare minimum that it takes to move on, get the next stripe, get the next belt.
Kindergarten orientation proved that karate has had some benefits for Big I. A child who lacked self-confidence would not have dealt so well with a little adversity. My husband and I agree that she should stick it out, at least for now. I sincerely hope that our little McDonald’s deal with Big I doesn’t backfire and make her into one of the types of students that annoy me. I am hoping that she’ll see the meaning in it, that eventually she’ll be intrinsically motivated to learn and want to continue to learn. But for right now, it’s all about the Happy Meals.
Copyright
© Copyright 2006-2019 blackbeltmama dot com ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Follow Me
Blog Designed By
My Creations
Things You Could Care Less About
