On the Run

Anna started walking when she was 13 months old. Really, she started just after her first birthday, but she didn't start walking on a regular basis until a couple days ago, when walking became her ideal mode of transportation. She quickly learned the value of walking upright and how it eclipses crawling both in speed and convenience.

My little girl. She's walking. She toddles along, straight legged and clumsy, falling often, but able to get up now without having to pull up on something.

When Shiloh was a baby, Angelina Jolie got a lot of flak for calling her a blob compared to the sparkling personalities of her other children who she didn't meet until they were older. She called her infant a blob? How terrible. Well... not really.

I loved Anna desperately even while she was still in utero. After she was born and began growing, I was delighted and enamored with every new squeak, every new gesture, every spark of the special personality developing. But honestly? It's not until these last couple months that she's less "my baby" and more "my Anna." She has distinct likes and dislikes. She calls me "Mama." She plays hide and go seek with her toys. She claps and giggles and loves petting the dog. And now she's walking everywhere, suddenly with much more access to mischief.

She's becoming fully formed now. It's so difficult for me to remember Ben when he was still a baby. He's come into his own now, and he's my buddy, my entertainer, my shadow. This is who he is, more himself now than when he was a wailing infant.

So I'm feeling like I'm getting to know a new friend now, as Anna throws her first tantrum when I won't let her play with my cell phone, as Anna runs to greet me at the door when I get home from work, as she yells, "Mama!", when she wants my help.

My brain is fuzzy in the mornings, my eyes bleary, after yet another night of frequent wakings. Her sleep apnea keeps us all up at night (or at least the two of us) as she's stirring awake every hour or two in a hacking cough. I barely wake up now when I'm summoned into the dining room to feed and cuddle her again. Every night, I consider sleep training again, night weaning, so I can share the burden and lighten my load. But nearly every time, my heart goes into protective mother mode, and I go hug her as she yells and cries for me. So I resolve that when she has a clean bill of health, when the doctor tells me that she's fine and there's no reason for her to not sleep through the night, that is when I will start sleep training again.

In other news, Molly survived her spay surgery on Thursday. She slept most of Friday and yesterday. She's very cuddly and sensitive, and I hope she's not in much pain. That first day and night that she was home, she had diarrhea, and there was much ... um ... "leakage" where she was lying down and sitting. It was horrendously stinky, but luckily that resolved quickly.

An Imagination Tempered With Toddler-ness

This morning, Ben had a temper tantrum for no less than 30 minutes in our bedroom while Anna and I peacefully ate breakfast in the kitchen. From what I can make out from his shrieks and rants, he was angry that I had changed his diaper on the right side of the bed. Apparently, he wished that it had occurred on the left side, but he hadn't known that until after the change was done. Eventually, he pulled off his pants and his diaper and wouldn't budge from the room until I started the process over again on the left side of the bed.

That crisis conquered, we proceeded on with our day.

While those temper flare-ups (for the stupidest, most asinine reasons ever) happen at least once a day, I'm still bemused by his burst of imagination activity.

Picture this: We're at the breakfast table. He has a PB&J on bread, cut into the shape of a dinosaur (his "roar bread"). I have PB&J on an English Muffin, cut in half. He asks from half of my muffin, announces that it's a lion, and starts the Great War of Dinosaur and Lion at our dining room table. The war raged on in his head as the two parties tackled and fought, shouting toddler-ese obscenities at each other.

Another time, he's narrating the actions of Scoop (of Bob the Builder fame) as he terrorizes a small city of matchbox cars. "Uh-oh! Crash!" as Scoop finally is plunged off of the blanket chest into the abyss below. The trains regularly make runs around the living room of Sodor as they bicker back and forth about Bulgy's errant behavior and Toby's slowness.

When my BFF Mary came over last weekend to take Anna's 1-year pictures, Ben wanted to be the star. Contrary to his behavior from his own photo shoot months ago when he refused to acknowledge the camera, he jumped in front of the lens and started hamming it up with various Vogue-ish poses and grins. My boy. Delightful. I love him dearly.

A Trick of the Eye

If you look at my fishbowl from a certain angle, nothing has changed. I wake up in the morning and hold a crying Anna. Ben sleeps in for an hour longer. I kick my husband's butt out of bed after he hits the snooze button too many times. I make coffee. I drink it. I stay at home and care for the house and children.

It's a trick of the eye and refraction, because something has shifted again.

A couple weeks ago, Chris and I looked at our financial outlook, and it was mightily bleak, especially with the increased utility costs. Either he needed to get a second job or (gasp) I would have to get a part-time job. It would be months until Chris could get a raise, and we can't wait that long. The hole we're digging just gets deeper.

I offered to email the HR department at EB, my former employer, and ask if I could work in the call center on Saturdays and one evening a week. I had started out in the call center many years ago, and I didn't mind the job. Without saying anything to me (but I found it out from my secret sources in the company), someone in HR started digging around to find me a position in the corporate side.

The connect-the-dot picture started coming together. The imaging department always needs help. Before I resigned, the head of that department had written me a letter of reference recommending me for any job in his area based on my impressive eye for detail. Voila.

My dear friend Mary came over that weekend to show me how to do the work (she used to head the department). When I took the Photoshop next a couple days later, I was very slow, but accurate. I was offered the position. It pays more than I was expecting, and I was able to make my own schedule.

When I was a proofreader at the company, I always knew that if I ever had to leave the position, the only other place I'd really want to work is in the imaging department. I knew it would be a good fit for me. I had my first full shift this last Saturday. It was bliss. I was by myself in the cubicle farm, steadily growing more proficient with the work. I was also able to listen to audiobooks while I worked. That's like crack for Cheryl.

I like the job. The kids don't have to go to daycare. I'll be bringing in enough money to start digging ourselves out of this hole.

So really, nothing much has changed. I still use crayons to color at least two pages daily. I make at least one PB and J sandwich a day. I still fold laundry and wash dishes. I still bring the dog outside every two hours. I still nap with Ben every day. Life is good. And I get a small break every week to leave the house and play on the computer, utilizing a skill set that is very satisfying.

Anna and the Horrifying Tonsils

Anna had her 1-year well child visit this morning. She's back on track as far as weight goes, and her exam was perfect ... except for one part. Her tonsils.

"For her size, they are enormous. I was horrified when I saw them," Dr. Sarah explained.

Outwardly, she is showing almost no signs of infection. She's drooling a lot, but she is also cutting a tooth. Her ears aren't infected, and her nose isn't running. Our only concern today was a hacking cough she gets when she lays down in her crib.

The tonsils are causing sleep apnea and obstructing her airway when she sleeps, which is why she snores and wakes up frequently. It's also why she coughs only when she's lying down and why she drools like a Saint Bernard puppy.

The first course of action is two weeks of antibiotics on the slim chance that there's a deep infection in her tonsils that didn't clear on its own. We go back to Dr. Sarah for a re-check in 4 weeks. If her tonsils are a normal size, we're fine. If they aren't, we'll be referred to an ENT. The doctor said that surgeons are VERY hesitant to remove tonsils on a child her age. They prefer to wait until 2 or 3 years old.

Honestly? I'm very worried about her. Chris has sleep apnea and has to wear a CPAP at night, so I know a little about the condition. It's risky territory. But I'm also relieved that I'm not going insane. Whenever I tell someone that Anna is still waking up every 2 hours or so at night even now that she's 12 months old, I feel a bit like a failure, like maybe we didn't stick with sleep training long enough or maybe I'm drinking too much caffeine and it's affecting the breastmilk. Knowing that there's a reason why she's waking up all the time ... well ... it offers some comfort for me.

To Anna, on her first birthday

Did you know that my precious baby girl is one year old today? Hard to believe how quickly this year has gone by. I still remember distinctly what her birthday was like and the crazy week leading up to it. Sigh. She's a year old now.

I wish I had good pictures to throw up here, but I don't. She's having another photo-shoot this weekend, so you'll have to wait for those.

But let me paint a word picture for you.

She's gnawing on the edge of the entertainment center right now. I'm not surprised. Everything gets tasted at least three times. Her first tooth is *this close* to the surface, and the front of her outfits have been soaked for the last two days as the drool flood settles in to saturate our lives and our furniture.

She pulls herself up to standing and pushes whatever she can to get herself across the room on her feet. Such great strides, but she's not feeling confident enough to let go and stand on her own, let alone take more than one or two tentative steps. Soon. The tops of her feet are always dirty as a testament to my terrible house cleaning. She crawls everywhere, and that's where her feet come in contact with the floor.

When she sees Ben, her eyes always light up. It's automatic, and it's such a relief, considering how poorly he treats her sometimes. Watching them play together is one of my greatest joys. She loves to play with his choo-choos, unfortunately only while he's playing with them or right before he wants to play with them. We had to tear down the choo-choo tracks because she thought they looked better in a mad jumble. She drinks his sippy cups of juice, and God help him if he leaves a half of a PB and J sandwich on his table.

Her smile is easy and sweet, and when she finally lets loose a giggle, it's infectious. Her blue eyes sparkle and dance with private amusement long before she actually chuckles. My favorite moment in the last month with her was a private little minute we had while nursing. I was watching her suckle away, and I started tickling her under the arms, behind her knees. She tried so hard to keep concentrating on her task at hand, but she couldn't help it. She began to grin widely, breaking the latch for a moment, then the giggling started. I could feel it rumbling through her body before it escaped her throat. Before long, we were both laughing hysterically.

She's my delight. On Criminal Minds the other day, the hot guy called Garcia his "God-given solace." That's my Anna. She heals the fractures and soothes the friction burns from an abrasive day. I love watching her explore and grow every day, and I'm so glad she's in my life.

Random Thoughts on a Dog Walk

Tomorrow morning we bring Molly Dog to the vet to get spayed. A couple weeks too late. Not that she's pregnant... but she's been in heat for the last two weeks. Let me tell you. That's a nasty, gross situation.

With the weather being rainy and my ears being infected, we haven't gone for many dog walks in the last few days. I needed a break from the mayhem tonight, so I took her for a walk by myself.

The quiet was nice. The fallen leaves still crunched and swirled a bit when I walked through them. Shadows from the trees and shrubs cast long fingers across our path. Cars drove past, and I heard Molly's ID tag tinkling against the collar and the leash.

Did you know that I can see the Dudley Tower from my backyard? It's only 11 stories, I think, but it's tall and it's beautifully lit, and I can see it from the backyard between the odd, mystery structures of the factories along the river. I didn't go in the backyard tonight, but I thought of the Tower being there. Of living within sight of downtown. Of living here in the town where I was born.

It just feels good to me. I'm getting more active in community activities through Citizen Wausau. I'm extending myself and participating. I'm digging down deep in the dirt and sowing my seeds and growing some roots. Because this is what the non-nomads do.

There's a house in the middle of the next block that is always beautifully decorated on the outside. They have a collection of miniature pumpkins out on the porch right now. Very cute. What struck me tonight as I shamelessly gazed through the open, lit window, was that their dining room is painted what appears to be the exact same color as our dining room is painted. And that made me smile.

Separation Anxiety

In two weeks, Anna will be one year old. She took her first step on Sunday. Just one step, but it was enough to make me weepy. She's awesome.

But this post is about Ben. My dear Benji Boy. Oh, how I love him. In the last week, however, he has presented us with new challenges in patience and compassion. He's dealing with some very strong separation anxiety issues. If we're getting ready to leave the house to go to the store or go for a walk, he starts to panic that we'll leave without him, and he screams and wails, running for his shoes and his jacket. We try to convince him that we won't leave without him, but every time he turns around and doesn't see one of us in his field of vision, he panics again.

At night, we'll go through our nighttime routine, ending in storytime with Daddy upstairs. Even if he manages to relax and fall asleep, he wakes up or gets out of bed within 30 minutes, realizes that no one is up there with him, and he has a panic attack. One night we brought him back upstairs 10 times before he finally passed out from exhaustion.

This is a typical developmental phase that kids usually go through before second year. Lots of babies have separation anxiety from their parents. It's a matter of learning object permanence. Ben's issue has such a strong emotional component, it breaks our hearts while it frustrates us. When life is happy and peaceful for him, he's affectionate and funny, playful and charming. I'm always wary for something to set him off.

Last night, we let him sleep in bed with us. Normally, this is forbidden. We were desperate, I guess. Neither of us wanted to sleep upstairs with him, and we weren't looking forward to the now commonplace back-to-bed dance that leaves Ben in gulping sobs. We may be pushovers, but we gave in.

The strong-line-parent in me didn't want to. I wanted to be strong and insist that Ben sleep in his own bed at a time that we set. I told myself he was being manipulative, and that this was a test. But the gooey-intuitive mommy in me felt that this just wasn't so. Something is going on in his spirit, something topsy-turvy, and he is just letting us know. Maybe if I hug him closer and give him as much security as I can, we can help him through this phase, and he'll become the independent and easy sleeper that he once was.

Tonight, we're blowing up our air mattress and putting it next to our bed. It's a compromise. He'll be separate, but he'll still be able to see us and hear us if he needs to. Next phase would possibly be to reverse the baby monitor. Can you imagine it? Setting up the video monitor so that he can see our bed and us in it. That might be a silly/crazy idea, but it might work.

In other news, our dear new doggy Molly is in heat. That's kind of messy and gross. She has her spay appointment at the end of next week, so at least this will be the only time she has to go through this. Behavior-wise, she's not awful. She's better with Chris than she is with me. I'm trying to be the alpha dog, and it's not like I feel nervous or passive around her, but it must be evidencing itself somehow, because she doesn't walk well on a leash for me. I'm trying.

Molly Dog

So we got a dog Tuesday night. I've already been experiencing buyer's remorse, but I hear that's normal, especially if you are not normally a dog person. Dang, dogs are a lot of work! We're house training her, so I have to remain hyper-vigilant about her "needs." I suppose this is practice for pottytraining Ben, whenever he decides he's ready.

She's actually a very nice dog. She doesn't bark or whine. She loves the kids. She likes her kennel. She loves me. She can already play fetch, and she's catching on very quickly to Sit. We went for a long walk to the park yesterday, and she got very worn out. I'd pause to let her go potty in a shady spot, and she'd lay down instead, panting.

I named her Molly. It seems to suit her. Unfortunately, Ben can't pronounce it. He calls her "Wah-ee." Ben loves her desperately, and he can even open her kennel to let her out to play (grrr).

I was very burnt out last night from the kids and the dog, and I was ready to give her back, but I've promised myself that I will wait two weeks before making a decision like that.

In other news, Anna is now 11 months old. Isn't that amazing? It seems like just a month ago, I was hugely pregnant with her. And now, she's cruising along furniture, pushing laundry baskets and trucks across the floor while walking behind, and climbing to the top of our Little Tykes slide and scaring the crap out of me. She's sleeping very well at night, though she still wakes up once for a snack and once for a hug and to be tucked back in. I'm sleeping much better.

It's a combination of the better sleep, physical therapy and more frequent T-Tapp exercises, but I graduated from physical therapy yesterday. I don't have to go back! It's been almost two weeks since I had a headache, and my neck feels fine. It's nothing like it was. It feels wonderful to be pain-free again. That was a rough time.

I'm going to try to get back into blogging again. I turned inward for a while, and I didn't want to push anything out onto the page. I didn't want to share; I just wanted to live in the moment. I'm hoping that I'm phasing out of that. We'll see. I'm not going to force it.

Evolution of a Dog Person

I think I woke up one day many months ago and decided that I'd become a dog person. My infatuation with all things feline has been a theme in my life, but the slinky, sexy fur beasts have lost their appeal with countless pee incidents and my current cat's insistence on biting my children. Maisie Cat will not be the cozy companion for my children I hoped she would be.

Enter a dog. Every boy should have a dog. Every family should have a dog. Right? I mentioned my desire to get a dog to my husband, and he almost fell off of his chair.

"You.... want a .... DOG?!?"

We waited for the right time. Little Anna was too little and too exhausting, so we put off the dog search. Now she's almost sleeping through the night, she's oh-so-close to walking, and Dino sent me a picture of a puppy at the Marathon County Humane Society.

Dang it, Dino.

We knew it was finally Dog Time for the Mathis Family. The search began here at the Humane Society. We met a dog we liked, but he bit Ben right away, so we had to say no. We went home and scoured the internet to look at pictures of dogs at shelters in the neighboring counties. The next day, we mapped out a trek across Central Wisconsin, and we headed out on a four-hour drive to meet some more doggies.

I was waiting for a spark between me and the dog. Something that showed me that the dog connected with me, was interested in me and my family, that extra something special... And we found it in Medford in the lean body of a Boston Terrier. She ran right to us, licking our hands, dancing around our son, running back and forth between us. When I pulled her onto my lap, she licked me and instantly settled down and put her head on my knee.

We'll be bringing her home tonight. I'm a little frightened at the unknown, but I'm reading as much as I can about taking care of a dog, and I know my heart is open and ready to love a new animal. Wish me luck!

Viva la Sobriety!

After the show was over last night, Dino said he couldn't wait to read what I write about my first rock concert. I hope he's not disappointed, and I hope he treats this with kindness.

I went to my first rock concert last night at The Fillmor in Downtown Wausau. The venue is beautiful and large and sparkling. Everyone I met was warm and enthusiastic, and I made new friends and had some fantastic conversations between sets. I even *gulp* drank some alcoholic beverages. My experiences are filtered through that boozy haze, and my head feels like it's filled with angry cotton balls this morning, yet I still have something I need to say.

Years ago, I made the conscious decision to retreat from the social butterfly life of my college years. The drama turned scary, and I needed to figure out a new path for adulthood. I grew introspective and began to live very much in my own body. I spent months invariably alone, listening to countless audio books, working on needle crafts, finding some quiet in my head. The peace I found was pervasive, and it's been very difficult to leave those years behind and move on to the next phase of my life.

I think I expected college-years-Cheryl to stretch out of her self-imposed cocoon and flutter about and party hard last night. It didn't happen that way. My ear drums quickly grew numb, so the music's lyrics blended into the background of loud excellent sound. I felt mute, my voice not reaching more than three inches in front of my face, and I became more quiet inside than ever before.

The music was great. Even I could tell that. Cool Hand and then SUNSPOT rocked that stage until it closed the place down, slamming the crowd with rough-edged rock anthems and what can only be described as superb musicianship. I was fascinated by the display of skill: they made it look so easy and fun! (I had to play piano for more than seven years before performing became easy and fun... I can only imagine what they've done to prepare). The "show" was good, and it was interesting to see the dynamic between musicians and between musicians and the fans.

It felt like pure escapism at one minute, but the next, simply elemental, a connection made between strangers with only a piercing glance and shared sound thumping through our bones. Discarded glasses and bottles littered the stage as that of candles in a cult ritual, the blue, red and yellow lights reflecting off the glass, glimmering like soft moonlight on water, standing sentinel.

I stayed until the end, watching and writing, talking and listening – observing, because that's what I do now, this Cheryl who is not 23 anymore. Me, the mom of two small children, the writerly person who is seeped in sarcasm and spontaneous joy. I tried to find within me the desire to get up and dance like the rest, but it just wasn't there anymore. The alcohol dulled my senses, and I think that was disturbing enough to keep me in my seat, maintaining tentative control over a foreign situation.

The effects of alcohol is an interesting study. To me, it felt like a slow snake venom through my veins. After the first drink, my cheeks went numb and showing expression took extra effort. My brain felt like it was sloshing about in my skull, and I seemed transparent to the crowd of rockers. They were a display of high-octane energy and enthusiasm, shared goodwill and willingness to scream along with the music. Most of the lyrics were seeped in the booze and drug-infused life of the rock and roll star and "living straight sucks" mentality, and near the end of the night, I craved sobriety more than I've craved anything before. I yearned for it, my drunken head ached for it.

I'll go again for the people, for dialogues with people who aren't in my everyday, diaper-changing, crayon-slinging life, people like Billie and Lacy who accepted so quickly for who I am. Friends made in a minute, all these people who came together for a night of communal fun and debauchery. That's what I'll go back for, time and time again, I'm sure.

I'll be going again to see Freedown, Aaron Williams and the Hoodoo, and the amazing Scott Holt on October 10. This time, I'll be bringing the husband, and I won't be drinking. Honestly? I act more like the uninhibited rock and roll lover more when I'm sober, when I'm feeling a serendipitous burst of joy and energy at a funny quirk one of my kids exhibits, more like dancing when I'm in the kitchen in my socks with my hands soaking in soapy dishwater. I'm more likely to start headbanging when a particularly awesome song comes on the radio, and I turn my living room into a mosh pit with the kids.

Waiting for the next one

I don't know how mothers with chronic illnesses get through life. This sucks. When I'm not feeling ill, I'm waiting for the first twinge of an oncoming migraine in hopes that I'll have time to take my new medicine and head off the evil brain cramp at the pass. My "cue" that one is soon arriving is numbness, and last night I laid awake in bed for fifteen minutes waiting for the brief numbness in my jaw to start traveling to other areas of the body.

My doctor prescribed me Midrin yesterday, for which I am grateful. Luckily, she's the kind of doctor who feels that migraine sufferers have decreased quality of life if they have frequent migraines, and she's very anxious to find the right combination to keep me pain free. Love her for that.

In the meantime, until I start forgetting the hellish pain, I'm still more likely wake up an hour early so I can start drinking coffee and taking tylenol to avoid a migraine. In time, I should relax and stop sitting on the edge of my seat waiting.

I had a headache last night when Ben made another run for the highway (not really, we're not near a highway). I thought he was just standing at the side door looking outside until I heard Anna screaming. She was outside on the porch, stuck between the door and the jamb. When Ben opened the door and ran, she tried following him. He ran down the graveled alley (how did that not hurt his delicate feet?) and I followed in my slow, tenuous way.

I'm not usually a spanker, but last night he needed an extra reminder.

In happy news, ecstatic news, thrilling news, my sister is giving birth to her daughter Mya tomorrow morning in a planned c-section. Such a happy occasion. Good luck, Jolene! The first six weeks are the hardest.

What It Was

Well, that was a roller coaster ride of hell.

First, the result: Tension.

Before that, it was maybe my thyroid, migraines, lyme disease, anemia, stroke... etc.

I'm not going to give you a play-by-play of this week, just the highlights. A CT scan on Wednesday because during the night I lost all sensation on my left side periodically. A wonderful physical therapy visit yesterday (I'll be going for months). Wednesday also included frequent vomiting and cold sweats.

So it's tension caused by anxiety and stress. Almost a let down, because it could be easily interpreted to be "all in my head." Sure it is, but it's real. All that seratonin, not doing anything worthwhile up there.

All the neck pain and headaches are caused by the shoulder tension.

Physical therapy will be fun and interesting. The manual therapy worked immediately, and she'll be alternating between that and strengthening exercises, even basic pilates. I'm also on nausea medication and lots and lots of tylenol and motrin.

But knowing what is going on takes a lot of the anxiety away, ironically. I don't think I'm dying. I'm not second guessing everything my body is feeling. I'm just taking it easy on myself until I have at least one pain-free day.

Brief History of Why I'm Not Blogging

I can hardly believe that it's been so long since blogging. Kind of crazy. But it is what it is.

Truth be told, I haven't been feeling well. It started around Aug. 2 or so. Nausea in the evenings, neck pain when I bend over, pick things up or look far left or right. Over the next few days, the bouts of nausea and pain became for frequent, lasting for longer than before, until it finally lasted all day long.

Then the anxiety attacks, vertigo and dizziness started. I'd be sitting down, thinking about stupid trivial stuff, and all of a sudden, I'd get hot flashes and end up in a dither about silly things. Left in a puddle of tears and sweat, I knew something was wrong. I figured maybe my Zoloft was no longer effective, so I made an appointment with my primary physician for a med check.

The vertigo and dizziness would happen when I stood up or sat down or walked for too long. It starts with the neck pain, and then everything would start throbbing, my hearing, my vision, my aching head. Got to the point where I couldn't push a cart around Walmart anymore.

My whole spine aches, from my neck to my tailbone, when touched.

It's very disturbing. Last week, I spent several nights at my mom's house with the kids. I'm not a very good caregiver feeling like this. I can't carry Anna for more than a couple minutes without needing to sit down. I received a couple chiropractic adjustments, and more importantly, I was able to take two uninterrupted naps a day.

This is all rather depressing. I feel very isolated and lonely. My house is a stinky disaster area because of my limitations. Poor Chris is saddled with so much.

Anyway. My appointment is tomorrow. I hope that it's just a medicine issue. I can get a new prescription for another anti-anxiety medication, and I'll be fine. I'm hoping that all of these symptoms can be explained away by the physical manifestation of anxiety. I'm also hoping that my doctor takes me seriously, because I can't live like this for much more. I miss "life." I miss moving and bike riding. Chris isn't letting me drive anymore because of the random dizziness and vision clouding.

So I'm not blogging. I missed the 10-month Anna post (she's awesome and beautiful, in between a baby and a toddler), but I plurk a few times a day. (You can see my plurk updates in the right hand column of this blog). You can email me to leave a comment about a plurk (cheryl at ccmathis DOT com). Or you can get a plurk account (like twitter, but more personal) and join my group. I miss you all.

Ben Screams Ice Cream

What an exciting night for my family.

After a nice bike ride to the park, we drove to Dairy Queen to buy some blizzards for the Children's Miracle Network. Ben eschewed the hot dog we bought him (probably because I put relish on it), so he was stuck watching me spoon a peanut butter cup blizzard into Anna's hungry mouth.

We stopped at Walgreens on the way home so Chris could buy a pregnancy test (it was negative - long story), and I sat in the back seat with the kids. Ben asked for the spoon I was holding.

"Mama. Poon. Ben."

So I gave him the spoon with a little ice cream on it.

"Mama. I-keem. Ben. Peeeez."

I handed him the cup.

He played with it a little, sticking the spoon in and out of the semi-frozen delight. Eventually, he had the nerve to daub a spot of ice cream on his lower lip. He licked it off tentatively. Next, a miniscule dot on his outstretched tongue.

He looked at me and said, "Um. Mama. Um!"

And so the demolishing of my blizzard began. I was happy to hand it over to him.

Our son has been an anomaly in the world of children. Since he started solid food, we've offered him ice cream when we've indulged. Though we snuck in a few bites when he was very young, when he became old enough to recognize it, he refused. Absolutely refused. He'd start crying at the mention of it.

It's been two years of cajoling him. We've offered every time as a joke, rolling our eyes at his emphatic, "NO!" And now he loves it. Now our boy is normal.

Side story. Chris was lactose intolerant until he was five. When his parents got the go-ahead to give him dairy, they naturally offered him a taste of ice cream. He was an *extremely* picky eater, and he refused. Eventually, his parents pinned him to the ground and forced the ice cream into his mouth. He ate it easily after the first taste.

We tried that with Ben, but he became so freaked out, we relented. He has had a couple of tastes that way, and that might be why he's held out so long – he's associated it with the claustrophobia and the forcing.

We are so relieved that the boycott is over. Now we get to introduce him to the wonderful world of icy treats. Yay!

Boyhood Bliss By Blizzard

A Litter Box That Finally Works For Us

I don't often do product reviews. I'm not a popular-enough blogger to warrant PR emails that offer me free products to try out and blog about. My popularity doesn't concern me. I've withdrawn (on purpose) from the race for more readers. If people find me, great. If they don't, that's fine. I blog for my friends and my family, but more importantly, for myself.

Once in a while, I'll find a product I just have to write about.

Today, it's the Tidy Cats® Breeze Litter System. About two months ago, we saw this product on the shelves in Walmart. We were going to replace our old litterbox since we found that it was leaking, even with plastic liners. Ick. The basement grew very smelly, and since it was Chris' chore to clean the litter box, it was rarely done, and the old clay litter reeked. Maisie became very sensitive, and she started to pee outside the box and poo in remote corners of the basement. It's a concrete basement floor. Ick.

Even after changing the litter every week, the smell remained. So when we saw the Breeze® on the shelves, we did the math. The start-up supplies are certainly more expensive than a standard litter pan and clay litter, but we had open minds about price. We'd pay money to not have a smelly house. Even the fancy and oh-so-expensive LitterMaid® systems with the motorized rake failed my tests in the past (the poo would still be wet because neither cat would bury her treasures, and it would cake on the rake). But we were willing to try something new again. Within a month, the Breeze® system would pay for itself, essentially.

We followed the instructions for the transition, setting up the Breeze® next to our old litter box. She used it right away, but we forgot to remove the old box in the time period, so she reverted, and eventually, a slick stream of god-knows-what flowed from under the box. In one hour-long session of rubber gloves and sweat and swear words, I threw out the old litter box, wiped up the icky stuff, then scrubbed the floor with hot water and soap, followed by a vinegar rinse and then a water rinse. No more smelly floor.

The Breeze® system works like this. What seem like not enough pellets are sprinkled over a plastic crate at the bottom of the top tray. A pull-out tray is seated below this. In the tray goes what is basically a gigantic maxi pad. When Maisie pees on the pellets, it slips through the pellets onto the pad below where it is instantly absorbed. When she poops, the feces rest on top of the pellets, where you scoop them out with a standard plastic scooper. We purchased a some plastic garbage can with a swinging lid, and I taped some charcoal smell-no-more pads to the lid and lined the can with double garbage bags. When we scoop out the poop, it goes right into the can. Weekly, we change out the pad, and it goes in there as well. The pellets need to be replaced every month.

It works great. No more smell. No more "accidents" when the clay litter doesn't smell right to Maisie. Just perfect wonderfulness. And now Maisie gets to keep living with us.

Note: The pad is very full after a week. It must be changed. We didn't do this for the first three weeks of owning the system, and the tray was filled to the brim with cat urine. Disgusting. But if you remember to change it every week, there isn't a problem.

Playground Workout

We're slowly climbing back on the horse. No more excuses. We are starting with working out again. At least we aren't starting back near our beginning weight. I don't know. I'm too scared to climb on the scale. I'm going to wait until I can feel a change again, til my pants feel looser.

We went to the Y to workout Friday and Saturday mornings. Yesterday, I biked the kids to the park. Instead of sitting in the grass with Anna, I made up playground workout routine I thought you'd find amusing.

It's a simple playground. A slide/jungle gym with monkey bars. A detached steel swing set.

First, while Anna was sitting in the swing, I worked my arms and back by putting my feet near the base of one of the swing set's legs, feeling my arms take up the weight as my center of gravity shifted. I then pulled my body towards the pole, keeping my pecs tight and feeling my back flex, my biceps bulge. As many reps as it took to make my arms ache. Then, just to prove to my body that I was in charge, I did another set, this time just one arm at a time.

Next, I walked lunges back and forth along the length of the playground as Anna sat and ate grass. After that, I did deep squats in front of the park bench, concentrating on my breathing, feeling my heart rate skyrocket and the sweat start to build on the small of my back.

For triceps, I used the low ladder bars under the end of the monkey bars, just perfect for holding onto while I pressed my lower body towards the ground then raised up again, feeling the strain in my triceps and back, the tightening in my abs.

For calves, I used the first step of the jungle gym. Countless sets of calf raises, alternating legs near the end for maximum effort, the other foot curled around the pulsing calf muscle of the active leg.

Abs were next, on the grass. I twisted and contracted up and to the side, standard crunches, feeling the bulk of leftover baby flap being pushed back and forth on top of the straining ab muscles. Ben came over and joined me, and I transitioned to some stretches and lengthening exercises, some that Ben demonstrated first, exercises he had learned from Baby Gym at the Y.

For fun, I raced him back and forth next to the playground, doing jumping jacks and toe-touches at each end. This was difficult for me, because I have yet to find a nursing sports bra that can control my bountiful glory. Luckily, we were alone at the playground, and my audience was only my children.

After I was done, I felt invigorated and motivated, not only because I had given my body a decent workout, but also because I had shown my impressionable children that we should always take advantage of opportunities to exercise and be in the moment and feel our bodies move.

I was going to go back to the park with Chris and the kids, but luckily, it started storming, so you will all miss out on my beet-red, sweating face and thick, trunk-like limbs, showing nothing of the rippling muscles underneath.

A Plate of BenAnna Cake

Oh Anna Kathryn of my heart. I know I write odes to you at each passing month milestone, but I'm so full of moments lately that I want to capture in snapshots of the heart, I just had to put some down on the page.

I looked at you last week and was startled by how long you've gotten. At your six-month checkup, I figured it was a fluke, a temporary state. A tall Mathis baby? Both your dad and I are 5'4". Ben has been small since his birth. He still seems at least six inches shorter than the other kids his age. But you are stretching out, all arms and legs. A gymnast and a ballerina, maybe a track star.

You are easing out of babyhood, and through the misty tears and smiles, I see shades of a little girl peeking through the veil. The special smiles for your brother, the look of incredulity when we don't give you what you want. The pure joy and exhilaration when you see us after an absence. The concentration across your whole body as you examine the mardi gras beads every day, and the graham crackers, and the sippy cup. Like you are going to work every day, studying your world, turning it around and over, learning what it's all about. I'm honored by the hugs and kisses you bestow on me, my magical, flailing girl of light.

And, dear Ben, my little gentleman. I've often contemplated your transformation during your two-year-old days. When before you would trundle around the world, mute and smiling, grunting and pointing to get your point across, now you startle us by clasping your hands together and saying "Peeeez! Mama. Peeez! Getti!", a plaintive look on your face as you let us know exactly what you want for dinner. With language, you've come alive. Now you narrate what you are doing with your choo-choos, you call out points of interest that you can see from the backseat of the car, and you tell us that you are drinking yellow juice out of Ben's sippy cup. You let us know when Anna is crying, when your diaper is uncomfortable, when a toe hurts.

Today at the park while I was doing my playground workout, you joined me, showing me the stretches you learned at the baby gymnastics program at the YMCA, reaching to the sky, hiding the turtle, actually talking me through the movements. It's hard to describe how this change makes me feel. I've always been your mommy, and I've always loved every part of you. We are still your parents, and you are still our tagalong, but now that we see and hear you notice everything around you, it feels like you are a real person, less a baby to cart around and talk excitedly to. Now you do the talking.

My children. My heart. My bits of wonder and effervescent joy. My silver lining.

Reunions and Memories Made

Last weekend we had the pleasure of traveling to a relatively remote area of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan called Twin Lakes. For the American history of my Finnish relatives and ancestors (okay, maybe just the last two generations), we've gathered on the shores of the Twin Lakes campground to eat and play.

We did it again on Saturday. My dad's side of the family, but just his sisters and their families and our family. Pasties in the enclosure. Too many delicious desserts.

Ben played by the water with his cousin Brice, but often just by himself because when you get a 2-year-old boy together with a bunch of rocks and some water, he's self-sufficient.

Chris threw a ball back and forth with some people, then just with himself. Later, he attempted to teach me how to throw a football properly. It didn't work, but the next day, I realized it was quite the biceps workout.

Anna sat in her stroller, then in the grass and dirt, eating said dirt with gusto.

My boys played in the playground area, and Chris showed Ben what the digger is all about. I relaxed on the swing with Anna Dumpling. My nephews threw footballs at each other, and Ben was the monkey in the middle.

Ben throwing the rocks. He did this for an hour.

I seem to have a lot of pictures of Anna in the stroller. Here's another one.

Daddy the Digger dumps sand on Ben's feet.

The monkey in the middle of two bigger monkeys.

I loved collecting skipping stones for my nephew Chaz. Simple pleasures.

Once Upon Ben's Potty

This is the kind of post I won't be cross-posting to my community-based blog Red Pens in Wausau, which is hosted at Citizen Wausau. My audience there is not composed of mommy bloggers or my family, so they probably don't want to hear a blow-by-blow of my haphazard potty training adventures with Benji Boy.

But you do. :)

It all started last week Wednesday evening while Chris was at class. I was home alone with the kids, and Ben was tearing around the house (as usual), finding mischief where he could. At one point, he asked me if he could sit on the potty.

I said, "Sure! I'll blow bubbles in your face while you sit!"

He sat there for what felt like an hour, but was probably only 20 minutes. He produced nothing, but while he sat, I talked to him about how Anna has to wear a diaper because she's a baby, but Ben is a big boy, and he has a choice. He can go pee pee on the potty instead of wearing a diaper, and then he'll get to wear big boy underpants just like Daddy. It's the time-honored method of gentle pressure.

After he got off of the potty, we went into the bedroom to get a diaper on, but at the last moment, he squirmed and got down and said, "No boop-boop [diaper]!" And he ran around the house without the protective covering of a diaper.

Over the next two hours, we went into the bathroom periodically to sit on the potty and blow bubbles. I brought out a wooden dining room chair to put in the living room so he could watch TV without making me almost have a heart attack in fear that he would go pee-pee on my couches. No pee-pee was made anywhere. Not on the floor, not in the potty. He waited until he had a diaper on and was in his jammies. That's okay.

The next day, I made a big production of buying a Bob the Builder foam toilet insert so he would have a more comfortable perch on the seat. He was so excited about that; we spent at least three total hours on Thursday in the bathroom. When I tired of blowing bubbles, I squirted foam shaving cream into his hands, on his bare legs, etc. (followed immediately by bathtime). Still, no pee-pee was made. That's okay.

Friday evening, the no-diaper tradition was carried out at Ben's request. Sunday as well, though I was smart today. In addition to the foam toilet seat in the bathroom, I brought his little potty into the living room and sat him in front of videos he hasn't seen in a while. I even served him lunch on the potty. Still, no pee-pee was made.

I'll be patient. It's not like I'm actively trying to potty train the kid. I was waiting until he was more verbal, more aware. I know some children are potty trained sooner, but Ben never seemed interested, and every time I would cajole him or ask him about the potty, he would freak out and run away in terror, sometimes running into the bathroom to slam the lid down to make his position on the matter quite clear.

Now that I'm no longer working, maybe the extra home time will induce a potty-training-perfect boredom, and the potty play will be the most fun thing EVER.

We watch "Once Upon a Potty" at least once a day, and we sing and dance along to the accompanying song. Thank you, youtube.

I recently made the new rule that I will not blow bubbles again until *after* he has put his pee-pee in the potty. I don't know if that will help, but I know I am very sick of blowing so many bubbles. Besides, it covers the bathroom in a fine film of soap, and that's just icky.

What's your potty training story? Are you scared of it (like I am)?

Nana Update: After her consultation with the surgeon in Madison last Wednesday, she has good news to report. The surgeon doesn't think that she'll necessarily need another surgery. He says that the muscle isn't completely severed. If it was, her eyeball would have flipped all the way back, with nothing to hold it steady while she looks forward. He suspects that with healing, her eye will recuperate and either heal itself back together or it will accommodate the weakness. She'll be reevaluated in six weeks with an MRI in Madison. Until then, she has no restrictions, and she reports that her vision is getting better every day. We think we got our miracle!

Quiet Now Please

It's a quiet night here at the Mathis house. Chris is at class. Anna is eating something she found in the corner. Ben is tearing around the house with his huge Tonka truck, pausing to come get a kiss for his owwies after he crashes too hard into something. Yes. Quiet.

This is my last week of employment. Bittersweet, but not as bitter as it was leaving the first time. I know what I'm getting into (and out of), and I have a full life without work. I have projects on the back burner (Val's quilt, painting the living room) that I haven't had a moment to work on much this summer. And time away from the kids is rarely happy.

My mother is okay. Thanks for asking. She meets with a couple more doctors in Madison on Wednesday, and we're all expecting a miracle. The surgeon up here was unable to reattach the muscle to her eye, but we have a positive outlook on it. Once this is fixed, we'll have so much to celebrate, because the blessing will be even sweeter because it will be a miracle in our lives.

Anna continues to struggle with daycare. I wish it were like it usually is, where babies scream and cry when the parent leaves, but minutes later is fine. She really did cry the whole afternoon... wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. Totally breaks my heart. She'll be there all Wednesday. Positive spin #2. Without my mother having an injury, we wouldn't have this opportunity to get Anna over her stranger anxiety. After Wednesday morning, I have no doubt that she will be cured, and will love playing with other kids even when Mama isn't there. The last time, she was marginally better than before. Though she wouldn't eat, she did sit in the exersaucer and watch the other kids.

This coming weekend, we'll be traveling to the UP of Michigan to visit with my dad's side of the family at a reunion at Twin Lakes Campground, the site of so many of my childhood memories. The rocky beach, the playground, the trees, the boat rides. I'm not looking forward to the hours in the car, but the rest will make it worth it.

Thursday morning, Chris and I are participating in a one-mile fun run at work. I will do it mainly for the possibility of prizes, but the exercise will be nice, and just to prove to myself (and others) that I can do stuff like this now.

I told Ben the other day that life wouldn't be such a struggle if he went potty on the toilet instead of in a diaper. Last night, he asked, in his way, to sit on the potty. So we sat there, and I blew bubbles in his face. This morning, I bought a smaller foam potty insert for him (Bob the Builder), and he's sat on it frequently today. Lord, give me patience to blow so many bubbles. He hasn't produced anything yet, but I'm glad he's interested in it finally. Maybe once I'm done working, we'll do a potty boot camp. I have no idea.

Anna's black eye has followed the usual course of black eyes. What had first presented as a bruise above her eye on her temple has traveled down her brow and now rests on her eyelid with some shadowing underneath her eye as well. I'm so impatient for it to go away. It's rather embarrassing, and it detracts from her sparkle and charm, though she's still the cutest baby I've ever seen.

Did I tell you the tree in the backyard is finally gone? During ChalkFest, Chris and a bunch of guys from work were here with a couple of chainsaws. They didn't hurt anybody, and the tree came down. Unfortunately, now we have a backyard full of brush and logs since they didn't have time to haul anything away to the local yard waste site. I'm hoping that will get taken care of this week. I saved some of the big chunks of trunk for Ben to use as an obstacle course and generally as things to climb on. I've seen shows on TV where they've put huge boulders in the backyard for that purpose, and it seemed like the natural thing to do.

Our little family went for a bike ride together last week. Chris mapped out a 5.5-mile route on the north side of town, and off we went. It was lovely and fine until we found some hills, some gradual (those are killer), some steep and kind of scary. At least now we know that we should drive the new routes first just in case. We had to walk up a couple of the hills, and we were drenched in sweat when we got home, but we were pleased with our accomplishment. We are a family of vim, vigor and vitality, and we are not couch potatoes. We do stuff like ride bikes in the evenings and walk to parks.

How is your week starting out?