Peanut Butter Reboot

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re·boot

 [v. ree-boot; n. ree-boot, ree-boot] Computers.

verb (used with object)

1.

to restart (a computer) by loading the operating system; boot again.

verb (used without object)

2.

(of a computer) to be restarted.

noun

3.

an act or instance of restarting a computer.

While the act of rebooting is clearly an IT term, in this little blog, it means a fresh start. I started off last year with big plans, but somewhere between January and December, I found that keeping up with a blog is so very difficult and time consuming. See, I tried to start out as some sort of thousand reader blog, when in reality, My mom and my husband read my blog. And only when I remember to tell them I have written something. 

I have taken the last year to really read up on how to run an effective blog and how to write and how to network and what to do and defiantly the thousands of others posts on what NOT to do, and so on. It has always been my intention, however, to be authentic. I really don't want to be yet another homeschool/crafting/mommy blog. Those are needed and great and have created their niche market without my adding to it. I want to blog about our daily happenings and possibly our silliness and occasionally our messiness. I want a running, year long, single view of our little family, and if no one ever reads these words but my mother and husband and myself, well that's just fine. One day, when my children are grown, I'd love to pull up this little nothing blog and show my them my words when I had things on my heart that needed to be said but I couldn't get passed my lips. I want them to read the words and hear my voice, see my struggles, read about times when I was unsure. I want them to read about what I thought when events happened in our small little lives.

It really boils down to the fact, that I am there for these two kiddos. I am present for homeschool lessons and park days. I encourage, instruct, direct and discipline. But my children don't get to hear my inner dialog of self doubt when letting them fly. They don't get to share in the personal journey of being their mother, just the security of their mother loving them. I want them to one day read these words and think "I remember that but to hear my mom's thoughts puts a perspective on it I didn't understand until now." 

When I was a child, I was playing in mother's makeup and putting on her clothes and I found her diary from when she was a teenager. I remember reading the words she had written before I was even thought of and feeling the same things as her. I was 14 at the time and trying desperately to fit in and find my voice. I read her words and there was a comfort to them. A sort of written confirmation that the amazing women who was raising me, was once unsure of herself, just like me. I read about a girl who had crushes and who lacked self esteem, just like me.  I read about a girl who wanted to be something before she had become something. 

It was awe-inspiring. 

It was chilling.

It was amazing.

To read her words, felt to me, that I had stepped into a world so like my own yet still different. It helped me realize that my mother was once a little struggling girl. It was the moment it sank in that she was ever my age, since before that, I had convinced myself she was born a women in a business suit who worked hard. It was the best book I had ever read. It was her words, her thoughts, her struggles that made mine seem similar. 

And I want that for my children.

I want them to read this blog and hear me, hear my words. 

I am not a big "New Year's Resolution" person. I am kinda lazy in that regard, as I think about making a list but never actually get around to putting the list to paper. This year is different. This year, I have had some time to really look at what I want to reboot in 2014. Through prayer and meditation, I come to realize that 4 areas of my life can be improved upon. These areas aren't broken or downtrodden, but as in all things, we can't be stagnant when it comes to ourselves. Continuously moving forward, ever evolving, changing, bettering ourselves is what keeps us fresh and alive. A New Year is full with so many opportunities to be a little bit better. For us to change things and reboot others. This year the 4 areas of rebooting are, in no particular order:

Family (being more present, more active, more involved with both my children and my husband)

Spiritual (drawing closer to God as a women, married couple, and family)

Health (Not only eating right and exercising but taking time to be still and meditate)

Education (learning, discovering, reading and building on my own knowledge base)

I'm praying that this blog helps to keep me accountable when it comes to these four areas. In the coming days and after the first of the year, I will be putting up links with these to help those who want to read (mom and Big B, this means you) to get to the blog posts faster. 

I also am praying that my voice in the blogsphere is authentic and uniquely my own. 

Happy New Year and welcome to the Reboot

Mama Jelly  

Just a little Sign, Please



 

When he signs "Love you" it's always to his sister, but this morning, it was to me, mom. My heart melted even if he did sign "Love you" while I'm changing a diaper.

 

 

When that perfect little bundle is handed to you and you stare down at those little eyes, that little nose, it doesn't matter who you are because suddenly that child in your arms is the most beautiful creature you have ever seen. To a mom, it doesn't matter if your little one is a boy, a girl, has Down Syndrome, is born with extra toes, born with sight problems, or is missing a limb. That child, resting in your arms is the most beautiful baby that has ever been born at that moment. Period. And you will protect, fight and love that baby with every thing inside you.

 

To most moms, especially NICU moms, that moment you lock them in the car seat to go home is the most joyous. You are now on your own after weeks or months in the NICU, to love and live with this tiny bundle entrusted to you. My Facebook post on the day we brought Bryce home after spending time in the NICU was:

 

"Ready......Set......GOOOOOOO!!! Here we go, all 4 of us are finally all together. Car seat locked in and off we go. Home."

 

From the time I was 17 weeks until Little B came at 34.2weeks, I fought to keep him in. I was on bed rest because of my high blood pressure and because Little B had tried to come as early as 21 weeks. I would lay around all day with a 4 year old active Miss A and try just to keep from having contractions. I remember one night, rushing the 25 minutes to the hospital, tears streaming down my face, praying to God "Please please not now!" I was having such strong contractions that I couldn't stand up, I couldn't breathe and they were coming every 2minutes. I was wheeled up to Labor and Delivery and when I saw the tiny NICU incubator and the 2 NICU nurses, I lost it. I was only 29 weeks, no this couldn't be happening. Thank goodness the doctor's controlled my labor and, after a 3 day stay on the L&D floor with meds pumping in my system, my contractions finally stopped. It would be 4 times total that I would be admitted and kept in L&D until finally, at 36 weeks, I was too far dilated to stop the labor safely. Little B was born with a hole in his lung called a Pneumothorax which caused his lungs to not inflate and my little man to struggle to breathe. After a CODE BLUE (where B stopped breathing altogether) and several very scary set backs, we were released from the NICU. We brought him into the doctor's office at 6weeks and had his hearing checked again, since he had failed both hearing tests in the NICU. He failed the one in the office as well. We were told he was very little and many times a NICU baby will fail a hearing test until they reach their gestational age. He would fail his hearing tests once more.

 

At 11months, thinking he had an ear infection, I took him into the office for a check up. He didn't have an ear infection, but the doctor noticed his ear canal was misshaped. He sent us home with instructions to see a specialist. The specialist would tell us that Little B was born with an "Organic Malformation" of his Ear drum and Ear canal. This means that when B was in utero, his ears didn't form right. We were told that he was deaf, that he would never talk. Big B and I were devastated. This was May of 2012.

 

How could we have a child who was deaf? How could that be? This wasn't in the plans. We had gotten pregnant with B without fertility drugs, without a doctor's help. that was a miracle since we were told we would not conceive without help and up until Little B, we hadn't. Then we dedicated Little B one year after we were told we would not conceive with IVF, to the month. Surely that was a sign, right? B was born is such a dramatic fashion, but he has never had breathing issues since, didn't need surgery and the hole closed so completely that the X-Ray Tech and the NICU doctor both had to make sure it was there to begin with. Surely that was God saying "I've got this Sticky Family". That HAD to be a sign, right? Deaf? Our baby boy was deaf? D-E-A-F! No, no NO...... clearly that had to be a mistake.

 

It wasn't. We spent the entire summer of 2012 talking to audiologists and speech therapists. We started getting services from Easter Seals and went to group play therapy. Our little man couldn't hear. As much as I would have liked to say " we took it all in stride" we didn't. Big B denied it because this was his little boy. I told only a handful of people because, right or wrong, I felt guilty for not being able to keep him in until the full 40 weeks. This was my fault, I just knew it. It wasn't my fault, it wasn't anyones fault.

 

By the time August came around I had absorbed myself in self pity long enough. I made one post on my Facebook page, telling all of our friends and family the news:

 

"After feeling sorry for myself for 3 months, I am finally done. Little B is deaf in his left ear and HOH in his right. We may have a child who can not hear, but his smile can light up a room."

 

The out poring of love from our family and friends was amazing. We had people getting us in contact with mother's here in our little part of Texas who were deaf or had hearing impaired kids. We had people who I knew had hearing problems calling and talking to us. I became closer to a women I know, who I now consider my "sounding board and helpful hints" in the deaf community. (Thank you Kimberly!!!) We had this amazing support system and we finally felt it okay to say the words "Special needs" without crying or feeling a choking since of anxiety.

 

It is now January 2013 and we have had so many amazing signs that our Little B is a true miracle. First is, we were told he was missing a a bone is his left ear. We had two scans confirming the missing bone, but after he was prayed for, the next scan showed a very underdeveloped hammer (the bone he was missing). The next came in speech. For months, Little B had made no oral sounds to try and speak, but more recently, he has made great strides. He now waves and says "I". He understands some simple commands and can sign up to 20 different signs. He is truly amazing, and we are no longer afraid to tell the world about our little boy.

 

Still, with all this wonderful strides he is making, I still worry. You see, this week is the week he gets his hearing aids. This week is the week we go and get those outward signs that says "something is wrong" to the world. As a logical person, I know that is really is needed and helpful and important, but as a mom.......... As a mom I am scared. Will people stare? Will they say something rude? Will they judge him? or worse feel sorry for him? Will kids make fun of him when he is a little older? Will he fit in? I'm scared. I'm nervous.

 

I know that once the aids go in, his speech will improve. I long to hear him say "Mom" just once. I will cry the day he does because I have waited so very long for him to say anything, but that word "mom"...... that is my dearest word. I can't wait to watch his face when has hears his sister's voice or when he hears music. I understand these aids are important, I get it. I'm just nervous. No parent wants their kid to be "different" even though each child brings with them a difference that is profound and all their own. Once he puts on the hearing aids, the world will know that he can not hear correctly without them. It's normal to feel apprehensive. It's okay to have these feelings. It's okay to feel unsure about the future. It's normal. Every mom or deaf person I have talked to has had these feelings or something similar, so I understand it's okay. I know that our little community of family and friends who love us will accept Little B no matter what he looks like, But the world can be cruel sometimes and I worry. 

 

He is my Little B, my little miracle, my little man. He is my child and I will fight and protect and love him. I will change him and tear up when he signs "Love You" and rejoice when he dances with his special headphones on made for HOH people. I love him because he is my baby. I thank God everyday for giving me him.

 

But I worry.

 

Mama Jelly 

 

 

 

Mothering My Valentines

Valentine's Day sparks so many lovely (and many not so lovely) acts of love. People all over the world and all over Facebook and Twitter and even yes (gasp) Pinterest are showing the love today. I've seen blog post after blog post, legions of men and women voicing their own opinions of this particular day in February. I suppose this means I get to add my voice to the sea of people shouting "hey look at me!" on this day.

 I've always wondered "why" on Valentine's Day. Call me a hopeless unromantic but I don't want Big B to show his love towards me with a gift on Valentine's Day. I guess this puts me in a small number of those who really just don't "get it". I guess I'm just selfish and self centered, I want Big B to show his love everyday, in little and big ways, not just buy me a card that someone else wrote to express his love for me.  Some of the best expressions of his love for me have been on random days, and "just because" moments. Like after we brought home Miss A and she was so small. Big B went to the store and brought home two white lilies, one was for the memory of the loss of our son Gabriel and one for the joy of the birth of Miss A. They were attached together from the same stalk. Even 5 years later, that moment makes me cry. Or the time he came home from work after I had been dealing with a very colicky Little B, and he brought home milk and coffee filters and took the baby so I could take a nap. Talk about romance, I still smile when I think of that moment in our marriage. I looked like a hot mess, dirty and worn down with I'm sure spit up and other kid fluids on me, Miss A was still in her PJ's and he just came home, took Little B and took over. Sigh....I have hearts in my eyes.

Valentine's Day just makes me feel like a big fat failure as a mom. I get a little jealous of pictures of the awesome ideas my mom friends show on Facebook, I must admit. I don't do heart shaped food or make red cloth forts in the living room. I don't hang paper hearts or sew up felted chair covers with everyones name embroidered on the back. I don't decorate or even have any red sprinkles in the house........ I know shocking, but I looked to make sure and nope, no red. There is pink sprinkles from I don't know when in the back of the spice rack. I don't sit down and do a Valentine's craft with the kids either. This part kinda makes me sad that I don't. I should, I should make Miss A and Little B make something for Daddy. I do crafts all the time with them, so I don't know why I've never done a Valentine's craft, ever. Miss A makes pictures and Big B takes them to work or we hang them here at the house. My point is, shouldn't the kids know that love is shown everyday? I feel that putting this pressure on everyone to show your love on a particular day, makes you feel awful if you don't live up to the other persons expectations.

Even though we don't do anything organized for each other on the 14th of February, doesn't mean nothing gets exchanged. I woke up this morning to Miss A who gave me a piece of computer paper with stick figures drawn on it and a ton of little beads glued to the paper. She crawled up into bed with me in her Little Mermaid PJ's and said "Mom, I made this for you. It's because you love my fancy self." My heart melted. I currently have the masterpiece hung up on the fridge, the place of "high honor" in our house. What she was saying to me this morning, early I might add, is that she feels loved everyday just for being her. Miss A dances and laughs and pretends to be a dog (thank you Disney Movie Club for Lady and the Tramp) and I still love her. Even in her rain boots and tutu and glittery purse. Even when she is acting crazy and wild and making me laugh. I love her simply because she is herself, exactly the way God made her.

It wasn't that long ago, when celebrating any holiday would send me into a state of depression. Being told that you have PCOS and being told that you had unexplained infertility, doesn't really lend yourself to the warm and fuzzy ,lovey feelings. It wasn't that long ago where I was in a doctor's office, being told what the next step in our infertility journey would be, one Valentine's Day. At those low and heartbreaking moments in our marriage, I didn't want a card from Big B, I wanted a partner. A wanted someone to be strong for me and love me and say "I know this will work out alright. I prayed to God for this." I wanted to be told that even if we never had another, that he was okay with the special Valentine God had given us. There are everyday moments burned in my mind of Miss A and her daddy, of watching them love each other and support each other, in the only mystifying way a little girl and her daddy can do.

Then last year, when we were told there was nothing more to be done, last Valentine's Day, I was carrying our little cupid. A tiny baby that fluttered for the first time on February 14, 2011 and I felt it. Then Little B was born and I felt so much love for him and some much fear. He was born 6 weeks early and was in the NICU. Once we brought him home, I felt such a feeling of love and responsibility to him.  My children and my husband have become my Valentine gifts. They bring me joy and sorrow, laughter and frustration. Sometimes I wonder if I am actually cut out to be their mother, friend, teacher, cheerleader and disciplinarian.  I wonder sometimes how I come across to my husband and try and work on a better way to show my appreciation and love for him.

 You see to this women, Valentine's Day holds no weight, no value. We show our love for each other all year long, everyday, in little ways. We grow as a family and live as a unit. We make mistakes, we hurt each others feelings but we also apologize and build each other up. Big B and I try as parents to instill in our kids the feelings of self worth and self esteem. We pray for our children, pray over our children and pray over our marriage. We are not perfect, far from it. Instead we love the fact that neither one expects the moon and stars, so it is such a blessing when we see them. 

As I sit and listen to Miss A making Little B laugh, I am reminded how to spend a lovely Valentine's Day. We will cook dinner tonight, there will be no heart shaped anything, and we will laugh and talk and be a family. Later, I'm sure we will watch a movie (Finding Nemo for the millionth time) and I will nurse Little B. We will celebrate the fact Little B is learning to roll to where he wants and grasps objects with ease.

 This will be the best Valentines Day ever, simply because we are together.

Mama Jelly

I have Ruined Her

While most of these posts will be about my adventures in my craft room, the adventure of motherhood is one that I like to hit head on. While I consider Big B a very level headed person, this mama tends to error on the side of " Oh No I'VE COMPLETELY RUINED THEM!!" Isn't mommy guilt a glorious thing? I am a stay at home mommy now and feel the guilt just like I did when I worked. Only it's over different things. When I worked, the guilt was about time and how I could maximize the quality in my limited time with my oldest. Since she was our one and only for so long, I got the unique privilege of feeling mommy guilt plus only child mommy guilt. It was awesome! (insert sarcasm here) There were days where I would get off late from work, pick her up, make dinner, go to an after hours meeting, and get home long after she had gone to bed. Total hours spent with Miss A? maybe 1.... maybe. But this post isn't going to be a debate on staying home versus working mothers. I say, if it works for your family, if your happy doing whichever, than I celebrate you! I support all mommies, no matter how they choose to bring up their kids. We are all in the trenches with our kids, fighting the daily fight, dirty, tired and worn. Sometimes they win, sometimes we win, but most of the time we meet somewhere in the middle. NO this isn't about that awful unnecessary debate over working versus staying at home. Comments can hurt, cut you deep. "Sticks and stone could brake my bones, but words will never hurt me".... we've all heard that little rhyme but it is so wrong. At any age, words have the power to cut through you and the power to lift you up. The problem, when most people start arguing isn't the argument, it's the words you can't unsay. Each and every Wednesday, we get in the car and make our way across town to our church for mid week service. Between the bustle of getting the kids dressed, ready and cleaned, while getting dinner on the table, daddy comes home. We eat fast, load Miss A and Little B into the car and away we go. Personally, I think it's a great personal triumph if we are there at 7:10pm.... church starts at 7pm. We are perpetually late, it's a gift really, to still be late when we start getting everyone ready at 4pm. "And the award goes to the best at being late for no good reason is......" Ta-Da! This is usually the first time Big B has a moment to ask his in depth question "How was today?" On this particular day, we are running really behind, and are barely piled into the car, car seats fastened, seat belts on, when Big B says "How was today?' "Miss A got in trouble at co-op today" (here I should probably mention, we are labeled those "crazy homeschoolers") "Oh? What for" As I proceed to tell him how she really wasn't "in" trouble so much as not listening to the teacher due to waiting to keep the whole class together. Another little boy wasn't wanting to line up, and Miss A was afraid he would be left behind and so she stood still, wouldn't move until he came with the class, therefore getting herself in trouble for not listening. I'm telling Big B this when her little voice from the back seat pipes up "Jordan is my only friend mom. My only one, I couldn't leave him behind." I tell her that she could have played with the three girls in class, that he isn't her "ONLY" friend. She proceeds to sigh and says "Yes he is, I'm not allowed to play with the other girls. They don't like me." I ask her to clarify. "Mom, (she names the ring leaders name) she told them that I can't be their friend. I'm not allowed to play with them. She hates me, so they have to hate me too." Now to me hate is a very strong word. To hate is such a harsh and total emotion, it is not light or something to say but rather a strong word..... at least to me. "What do you mean she hates you?" " Mom, I can't be their friends. When I try to play in the girls center, I'm not allowed to. I just want to play restaurant, but they don't want to play with me. Once Jordan came, I had a friend, but before he came, I only played by myself. No one likes me at school mom." The words are hanging in the air, thick and heavy like a soured cream "No one likes me". My inner mom voice starts to scream: How could they? She is so sweet!! Amazing!! What is wrong with these girls? Yes, she is a bit of a drama queen, but they have to like her....... right? THEY ARE ONLY 4 and 5!!!!!!!!!! I hadn't realized at this point that tears were streaming down my cheeks. My breath was ragged as I fought the urge to bawl or just have Big B stop the car, get out on the freeway and hug my little girl, while telling her how amazing and beautiful she is. I'm gripping the seat as she describes where they pulled down her skirt in front of the class and opened the door on her while she went to the bathroom. I'm fighting the urge to march up to the closed school and camp out on the walkway leading to the directors office. "What does the teacher say?" I asked, trying desperately to control my voice so she won't know how upset I am. "She only says to stop it. But they don't mom. They sing a song about my coloring. I don't like to color with them." Knowing I'm going to hate the answer, I ask "What is the song?" She sings it, and I truly hear my heartbreak into a million pieces. We chose to homeschool because it was easier for us, because she is so smart that public school won't take her, because it was cheaper than paying the fancy prices. We choose to homeschool to give her a one on one education and personalized attention. We only chose to send her to the PK 2 days a week for socialization. We liked that they used ABEKA and we use it, right along side. We didn't choose to send her to a place to be bullied buy brat 4 year olds. Her hair isn't the right color, she never wears pants, she is weird. I listen as she tells me these things, not crying, not upset, just like they were math facts. A complete black or white thing, you either fit in or you don't. "Mom, I can't make it to church, I have to potty." As we pull off to the HEB, Big B turns to me "can you take her in?" he whispers. I just shake my head no. As soon as they are gone, I call my mom, she answers on the first ring "Hell.." she doesn't even get the word out before I am bawling, sobbing. "I HAVE RUINED MISS A!!!" I shriek between sobs. "What?!" She asks "I have ruined her. It's all my fault. We homeschooled her and now she is too sheltered and my biggest fear has come true. It's all my fault!" I'm sobbing at my mom. Calmly, like only she can do, she says " Tell me what happened." And I do, the whole thing. The whole ugly, horrible thing. By this time Miss A and daddy are coming out of the store and I say I'll call her back after church. At service, my heart is heavy. I can't pay attention. I can't focus. Little B is making google eyes at Pastor's wife, who comes and takes him, slobbering and all, all over her nice suit jacket. His little round blue eyes stare at me while he chews on his chubby fist. "They hate me mom" I hear her sweet little voice. Like it's a fact, Like it's the truth.  She's in bed and I go to my only place I feel completely alone, my craft room. I kneel down and start praying, talking to God like I always do, like he is my best friend. "Where did I go wrong?  What can I do? This is me all over again. This is going to happen to her always." It's just like Junior High and High School where I was teased and made fun of, laughed at for being different. It was a whole ton of moments where I was the target of cruelty, of hatred. I'm crying out to God now "Please help me be better. Please help me be a better mom. I have failed her." The guilt in all mothers is deep, no matter the side of the fence your on. We all feel like we have failed at one point or another. As I'm crying out, I'm listening to my IPod, I'm a modern day Christian. I'm Listening to Gateway College of Evangelism Choir and crying for my hurt little girl. But something moves in me and the anger comes. I'm mad! Mad about these little girls, mad about what they are saying and doing. I'm mad enough to possibly harm the mother of the "ring leader" in the parking lot at school the next day. But I am reminded that violence won't solve this problem, so I make a plan. I make a date to talk with the director one on one. I tell her what Miss A said and how I feel about it. I'm calm, collected, smart. I truly believe God helped me with that, since on the way in I saw the mom coming from the classroom and it took all I had not harm her. It was my mother's instinct to protect my child, but I must rise above. We talk, the director and I, and we come up with a plan. I feel better and once we talk it over with her teacher, I feel even better about it. Miss A and I go eat Jamba Juice to celebrate. That night in the bath, after her brother is out and cleaned, she hugs me. She is soaking wet and I protest. She looks at my face and says "I love you mom. You stick up for me. You care about me" I am reminded how hard it is to be a Proverbs 31 women, how this world can be so cruel to others for their own gain. "I heard you praying. You said my name and I heard you. I like it when you pray for me." She is saying this as she is yawning. I tuck her in, kiss her forehead. As I walk out I ask "How old are you?" She giggles "I'm 5." I know that. Just 5. Mama Jelly