My 10 year old daughter was recently giving her little brother a hard time when I said, “You had better leave him alone. When he’s a teenager, he’ll be big enough to beat you up.”
She replied, “Nuh-uh! I’ll be shooting up then!”
I think she was trying to tell me she’ll be growing taller. I think.
I do not sleep. Chronic insomnia has plagued me since I was pregnant with my daughter some 11 years ago.
I have tried everything short of an acupuncturist and I even have one of those lined up. St. John’s Wort, Melatonin, anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds have been ingested, relaxation techniques have been used and I have one of the most comfortable beds and pillows I have ever rested upon.
For the most part my problem exists because I worry a lot. Sometimes it’s not even the worrying, but rather the constant chatter in my brain. Keeping my cell phone next to my bed helps a little because I can jot notes into it in the middle of the night (using paper and pencil was pretty tough in the dark), but even that doesn’t keep the stress of everyday life at bay.
This weekend, we took a trip to my in-laws’ house. They live in a small, southern Ohio town in a big, old house with gorgeous woodwork and a great front porch. One of those roomy porches, with a swing and everything. Sigh.
They live across the street from an enormous park where my husband and I walked the dogs and let the kids play until they were so filthy I barely recognized them. We drank some beer, ate homemade food, played cards with the kids and watched football.
At one point on Saturday, my body sunk into their comfortable couch and before I knew it, I woke myself up with my own snoring. Classy, right? Whatever. I don’t even care. My in-laws had 11 kids, so they’ve learned to tune things out. I allowed myself to doze off and on the entire afternoon.
That night, as I was checking e-mail, I fell asleep at the computer desk. I stayed that way, slumped over with my head on my arm, until my husband came to check on me for fear I had died. That’s how much I don’t sleep. My spouse saw me with my eyes closed and thought I had passed away.
And, yesterday after church I told everyone I was going to lie down. I climbed the steps and tucked myself into bed…and I went to sleep. I napped, people! That simply doesn’t happen.
At my in-laws’ there is no agenda, no laundry, no meetings and no work. My kids can play freely without me looking at my watch so we can hurry off to the next thing on our schedule.
I have always said I would dislike living outside the city, because I would be too bored. There just wouldn’t be enough to do.
Apparently I’ve been wrong all this time, because not having enough to do was exactly what I needed.
If you haven’t read between the lines you may not be aware that the name of this blog is a bizarre take on “Mom of Ali”. Years ago when I created an online account and gave myself the user name of “momofali“, my best friend sent me an e-mail asking, “Who’s Momo Fali?”
Since then, or at least since the creation of this blog, I often go by the nickname, “Momo“. As far as nicknames go, this is significantly better than when my elementary school classmates called me “Dog-Star Diane”.
But, even though I am Momo Fali, I am Mom of Ali as well. And, that Ali? Is one heck of a kid.
I talk a lot about my son’s struggles, but his older sister was even smaller than him when she was born. Ali arrived 10 weeks early, weighing just 2 pounds, 9 ounces. That was almost 11 years ago. Considering where she started, she has faced a fair amount of obstacles herself.
Her biggest challenge is being the sister of a kid with medical problems. It is not easy. At all.
There have been times when she was promised a day of fun and she’s ended up sitting in the emergency room because her brother was sick. There have been mornings when we had to drop her off at a neighbor’s house at the crack of dawn so we could get him to the outpatient center for an early surgery. And, there have been countless meals when she’s watched her brother choke and vomit at the dining room table.
Needles, meds, doctors, surgeries, therapy, x-rays…these things are a part of her life just as much as they are part of ours. Knowing what she does about life at the ripe old age of ten, just doesn’t seem right.
Don’t get me wrong. She’s still a pretty typical kid. She bosses her little brother around, she talks back a lot and I’ve actually seen her spit her dinner into her napkin and then feed it to the dogs. Though, truth be told, I’ve wanted to do that myself a few times.
Despite the things she has seen, or possibly because of them, she is amazingly well-adjusted. She is smart, responsible, kind and compassionate. I am lucky to have her.
It is time that I told her so. Just like the letter I wrote to my favorite teacher last week, I am hoping she reads this so she can know how great I think she is.
Maybe, just maybe, it will actually get her to clean her room.
My seven year old son was playing around at bedtime recently, when I heard my husband yell up to him, “Quit goofing off and go night-night!”
I stopped what I was doing and took note of the moment, because I was certain that my husband hadn’t said, “night-night” in years and that it would likely be the last time he uttered those words with one of our kids.
I suddenly wondered; when did we stop saying that? Words like night-night, binky and blankie are now but distant memories.
When did my son stop calling me, “Mama” and start calling me “Mommy”? When did my daughter stop calling me “Mommy” and start calling me “Mom”? And, when did she stop calling me “Mom” and start calling me “Hmmph” with an accompanying eye-roll?
These moments fly by, as much of life does, without us even taking notice. I, for one, am too busy cleaning the kitchen or picking up dirty socks to document anything but the big stuff.
I have photos of pre-school graduations and videos of talent shows. I have programs from Christmas plays and boxes full of artwork but, how are you supposed to note the last time your child referred to the dog as a “doggie”?
Hearing my husband call up to our son made me aware that those moments had passed us by. One minute my daughter was eating jars of food she called “num-num” and the next she’s bringing home division-of-decimals-by-whole-numbers homework.
And if there’s anything that makes you wish your kids were still saying things like “night-night”, it’s that.
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