To see if this post gets forced to the end of my blogroll. Why does that happen and how do you fix it?

Mikro sometimes talks in his sleep. Some of the things I've heard in the middle of the night while he was asleep next to me are: a recitation of car names, a request to watch NASCAR IMAX, Calliou or Teletubbies, a list of the Teletubbies and what color they are and their favorite things, "Teletubbies [love each other] veddy much!", Mama Daddy Baby, "want yogurt, abeddy [blueberry] apple!" "outside, walk!" "big hug" and "gennamin [gentlemen], start your engines!"

This morning, he sat up with his eyes closed, not yet really awake and proclaimed:

"Mmmmmmmmmm, Mike. Dat me!"

He's more verbal every day. He has his Teletubbie videos memorized. He's singing the "Won't you be my Neighbor" and "Good Feeling" songs from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. He knows all the character names on Caillou.

He counts to twenty and knows all the primary, secondary and tertiary colors. He knows lots of animals and the sounds they make. He reads simple words. His favorite books are "My Race Car", "Llama Llama Red Pajama" and "The Big Red Barn" and he can point out words on the page and identify them, as well as recite some parts of the stories from memory.

He loves it when we are out in public and he gets a bit fussy and I quote the Llama book: "Silly Llama, What a tizzy, Sometimes Mama's very busy. Please stop all this Llama Drama, and be patient for your Mama. Little Llama, don't you know, Mama Llama loves you so!" Llama Drama is a favorite phrase.

He doesn't quite say "I love you" yet- it comes out "I you!".

He gives the best hugs and kisses in the universe.

He still drives me nuts about his eating habits, though-- he only wants the same thing, over and over again. Yogurt, mama milk, stuffed shells, baked ziti, macaroni and cheese and Gerber pureed bananas. Those are his staples. He'll also eat a bit of lentil, pea or vegetable soup, and sometimes pizza. He thinks if he eats out, he MUST have vanilla ice cream.

He uses plastic forks, knives (to stir and get stuff out of the corners, not really to cut anything) and spoons and is very adamant about feeding himself, which he does very neatly. He cries and yells for a wipe if he spills anything.

He will only drink water, and only from sports bottles. No straws, juice boxes, sippy cups, regular cups, etc. I think that's a carry over from when he had the flu and was dehydrated and we had to do the forced fluids thing. He won't let us near him with any of the things he remembers traumatically from that episode...

I bought him a NASCAR pedal car, which he likes to drag around, but seems afraid to ride in. He doesn't understand the pedals yet. I think he's scared of them because they move...

He takes long walks with us, and is really good about holding Daddy's hand.

He has his two year molars coming in, poor guy, but for the most part, he's full of smiles and giggles. Every night I tell him he's sweet, funny, smart and good, and that I am so lucky to be his mama. Then he curls up next to me and nurses to sleep.

Kevin and I met because I wore my Darth Vader costume to high school on random days for the fun of it. He is a detail freak and couldn't resist picking on the accuracy of my costume. We had a light saber duel on our first date. So it just figures that eventually Mikro would join in the fun...



For the curious, this is me & Kevin at the NYC premiere of Return of the Jedi:



Kevin gets to see Revenge of the Sith tomorrow, on premiere day in NYC. I'm not sure when the realities of baby wrangling will permit me to see it, but I can't wait!

Mikro is sacked out on the couch, snoring. Given half a chance, I could be, too. We had a late night. Kevin had to run to his mother's to help her out with something and did not get home till after 11pm. (He's heading there again tonight, sigh.) Boy was still up and got his second wind from seeing Daddy. I think he finally let us sleep around 1 a.m.

Then he got up an hour early this morning. Argh. I tried to go back to sleep, but he climbed up on me and stuck his face in mine and kept saying "Hi!" till I gave up and opened my eyes.

We spent the afternoon in the backyard. Today's new discoveries were:

• Drawing in the dirt with sticks (he's definitely a lefty, and unlike my Dad and Kevin's parents, we are not going to make him switch!);
  
• Collecting stones in a pile, then moving them one by one to another pile;
  
• Sending a car down the slide, complete with countdown. He yells "Twee, Q, Dun, Go!" and releases the car, then "Yay!" as it flies through the air.
  
• It doesn't work well when you put the car in the swing. It just falls out;
  
• Pushing the swing is fun, but getting hit by it is not.
  

My son is completely and utterly obsessed with cars and car company insignia. He now refuses to go to bed without one of his many vehicular objects. Last night it was a large Dale Earnhardt Sr. NASCAR shaped pillow, which at least didn't stab me painfully in the back when I rolled over on it in the night. Usually it is a hard plastic wonder, or a metal pencil case tin of the same Earnhardt car...

New words:

• Chevrolet ("shookoo")(when pointing at the Chevy insignia of the beloved Earnhardt car)
  
• Dodge
  
• Ford ("faw")
  
• Box
  
• Ice Tea
  
• Diaper ("dydah"). It's great- he tells me when he needs changed! Especially when he's pooped!
  
• flashlight ("fishfish")
  
• what it is = what is this?
  
• i do i do
  
• mikey do
  
• mikey bye bye (Mikro is done, or wants to go)
  
• my my (short for his name)
  
• cheese
  
• shoes ("doos")
  
• 1, 2, 3, 8, 9! (Apparently, the intervening numbers are irrelevant.)
  
• seenay (No idea, but oft repeated, generally when pointing out the window.)
  
• dubdub (An old standby, still no parental clue as to what it means.)
  

Poor guy has a major case of road rash on his face. He was running around outside with Daddy at my Doctor's office the other night, and fell on his face and slid down her driveway. Poor baby. I was NOT happy when I came out into the waiting room and saw the carnage...

If I wasn't so tired, I could actually get some painting in. But I just don't have the energy. NOw I need to decide whether I should try to nap (which means he'll undoubtedly wake up) or just go make myself some caffeinated tea.... Tea it is.

The spite fence is going up. I call it that because on the other 3 sides, it will be at most three feet high. On my side, it will be effectively nine feet high, because they are erecting a 6 foot fence on top of a three foot difference in property height reigned in by an existing retaining wall. The beautiful retaining wall my husband spent a ton of money and sweat on. It could have been ugly cinderblock, but we chose expensive materials at least in part to try to be good neighbors and not inflict something ugly on them.

Our payback is a solid nine foot high monstrosity that destroys my view and makes me think of Sing Sing.

I am claustrophobic. I have just been put in a box. I am actually surprised about how upset I am by this. I feel angry and hurt and shat upon and I really wonder how I am supposed to now keep up a pretense of civility when I feel betrayed and extremely pissed off.

They have the corner property, so by law two sides of fencing can be no higher than 30 inches high so as not to impede a driver's view of oncoming traffic. The third side has bushes they like, so they are not going to fence it at all. The fourth side is the monstrousity, the prison exercise yard fence. Rather than a view across their property to public land which consists of an old stone walled hillside covered in trees (which is completely spectacular in autumn), I now have the Great Wall of Fuck You to look at.

When you ride through Ossining on the train, the prison walls tower over you on both sides, with only narrow barred slits for air and light, sort of akin to arrow slits in a medieval fortress. It is a forbidding, threatening presence. And now its little (not even arrow slitted, solid, ugly) brother has been installed next to my house.

It makes me feel trapped. It makes me itchy to run. At the moment, I have absolutely no desire to spend time in the backyard that we just spent so much money and effort renovating to create a fun place for Mikro. Going back there instantly raises my blood pressure, offends my aesthetic sense, and generally makes me want to cry. And there is not a damn thing I can do about it, except resign myself to it.

My first instinct is to paint the abomination. I don't know if I have the right to do that, but I was thinking either loud and colorful abstract or a representation of my lost view. Then I thought, maybe I should graffiti tag it in six foot high letters and formally christen it the Great Wall of Fuck You. But I suppose wisteria or maybe a grape arbor make a bit more sense. My gut is to create something equally ugly for them to look at. Their bedroom window looks down on my garage roof. I was thinking of painting "die yuppie scum" or "live outside the box" on it.... Or buying a trampoline, painting my fat self purple and treating them to bouncing higher than the fence nude purple fat girl performance art... Eventually the insane rage will wear off, LOL.

Dear universe, please hit the damned thing with lightning and burn it the hell down...

My amazing little guy is two years old! It seems like yesterday that I held him for the first time. He's still more baby than boy, but I can see how quickly he's growing and changing.

Happy Birthday, Mikro. I love you with all my heart and soul. Your smile is my favorite sight, your laughter my favorite sound. Your mama is very proud of you, baby!

A few days ago, someone told me that they think that my diabilities may be holding Mikro back... Essentially, that I am an antisocial anxiety ridden freak, and may be turning him into one. No, it wasn't that tactless, but that is the gist of it.

My kid is not in daycare. I just don't see why I need to pay for someone else to deal with him when I am a stay at home (disabled, nonworking, somewhat useless by some people's standards) mom. Yet I constantly catch hell from well meaning friends who think I'm being a martyr or stunting his socialization by choosing to have my child at home full time. Do I sometimes wish I had a break? Yeah. Of course I do. Enough to warrant the expense? No. Enough to resent my kid or wish it was otherwise? No. Do I sometimes have a bad day physically or emotionally and feel a bit overwhelmed? Yeah. But for the most part, I enjoy my son's company and since he's likely to be my only child, I do not want to miss any of his milestones. I like watching him learn and grow, and seeing his sense of wonder and delight at the world around him. I want to be with him.

But there's another reason for keeping him close. The anxiety disorders.

I have never left my kid alone with anyone other than his father for more time than it takes to pee.

Because of my fears.

Because I am utterly terrified of my tiny nonverbal child getting lost somewhere and being unable to tell anyone who he is or where he belongs. In my adrenaline and cortisol soaked head, it makes sense never to be separated from my son until he is old enough to know his name and address and be able to tell someone who his mama and daddy are. Leaving him off somewhere before that point would just send me into a panic.

There are other things the PTSD impacts. Like, I am not comfortable letting him run around in the street with the neighborhood kids unless my husband is also watching him. The PTSD makes me easily distracted. Sometimes I am pretty spacey. I am terrified that I would noodle off and not get to him in time to pull him out of the way of an oncoming car. It is a risk I do not wish to take, because I know my own limitations. This is why I spent two thousand dollars on fencing materials- so I could let him run in the back or front yard in safety. The fence still isn't up, but hopefully will be in early April after the ground thaws...

I have agoraphobia. I don't really leave the house alone (even with the boy). I'll go out with a friend (rare now that I have the boy) or with my husband, but I don't really go out alone. I am afraid I will flash or have a panic attack and be unable to keep track of Mikro while I'm out of it. So the farthest I'll go is walking distance of my house. I'll take him out in the stroller to the local stores, maybe stop at the park, but I'm not gallivanting to malls or museums or taking the train to the city or anything like that. Often as far as we go is around the block a few times. Even that makes me nervous, and I always have my cell phone, just in case.

I am not really comfortable socializing either. I've always been shy. But now I have the additional anxiety about whether or not I am coming off as a freak because of the PTSD. So I tend to avoid people. If Kevin is there, or one of my few remaining offline close friends, who know the whole story, then I'll deal, because I figure they can alert me if I'm getting too weird. But I am always one step away from a panic attack when I'm around other people without a support person.

Despite my oddity, Mikro is friendly and outgoing. He will let anyone hold him. He goes to other people willingly. He runs up to other babies and kids and tries to hug and kiss them. He is a little social butterfly.

The only concern I have about him developmentally is that he is a little slow to start talking. He babbles constantly, and he has some words, and he certainly understands more than he can articulate, but he's not one of these kids who adds words at lightning speed and constantly mimics. I am really worried? No. Would I be relieved if he talked more, yeah. But I sincerely doubt that his verbal ability has anything to do with my disabilities, mental or physical. It's just the way he is. He's learning at his own pace.

Friends and family push me to drill him with flashcards and cram the alphabet down his throat, but I'm not pushing him because I think he's entitled to be a baby, not a little parrot who feeds parental egos by doing tricks like a trained seal. He's not even two yet! But those are conscious parenting decisions, not some icky unintended side effect of having a mother who had PTSD and a ruined back.

My screwed up spine is a whole nother issue. I can't carry him for long. Just lifting him may be enough to cause me a serious problem. But I can sit down and hold him in my lap, or cuddle with him lying down. I can bounce him on my knee, and let him climb on me (which hurts, but I let him do it anyway). I can't lug a heavy diaper bag, or walk huge distances. But I can take a walk with him in the stroller. I can even make it once around the block stooped over and holding his hand, but I'll have to lie down on the floor for an hour or so afterwards, waiting for the spasms to stop.

I'm far from a perfect mother. But I'm always striving to be the best that I can be. And there is nothing in this world that means more to me than the safety, health and happiness of my Mikro.

Kevin sent me a link to Chocolate Deities. They offer chocolate goddesses, buddhas, totem animals, a celtic cross, and a very cool nursing mama with babe! I want the nursing mama, but I probably would like it too much to eat it!

Commercials he cannot resist:

The HP photo printer Picturebook song
The Happiness Runs in a Circular Motion song
The car commercial with the Kill Bill theme
The car commercial with Should I Stay or Should I Go.

His technique is improving. He now moves his arms instead of merely rocking back and forth from one leg to the other like a demented gingerbread man.

Long time no blog. We were all down with the flu, Mikro worst of all, and I can honestly say my personal vision of hell has now been amended to include attempting to force liquids into a dehydrated toddler.

Survived another anniversary of The Accident. Zoned out doing the compulsive online shopping thing, even though I know that Numb Does Not Equal At Peace. But sometimes it's the best you can do...

There's new art up on the LJ, if anyone is interested...

Mikro went out to play in the snow for the first time ever. It was a bit too windy to stay out long, but he took 4 or 5 rides down the hill, courtesy of his daddy draging the sled along (there is video...).



He enjoyed walking in the snow up until he fell flat on his poor little face and got cold and started crying, after which the adventure ended and we brought him inside to warm up and dry off.



He has gotten so big that his snowsuit just barely fits him! His cheeks are rosy (and possibly slightly wind burned, poor babe) and he's busily watching an animal program on TV, fully recovered from his ordeal...

At 21 months, Mikro still doesn't understand Christmas, but he does understand new toys...



He was spoiled rotten by mama & daddy, and the grandparents.



I gave him a wooden workbench set (which I'm making him wait another couple of months to open), a wooden kitchen stuff set (tea pot, frying pan, spatula, eggs sunny side up), a cool town with track for cars and monorail and stuff (which seems to have an electrical problem), several sets of those fisher price see thru blocks with stuff in them, a train set (also not opened yet, because he's too overwhelmed with all the rest), the "pit stop" patterned rug that he's sitting on in the photo, and probably other stuff I've forgotten.



Grandma Maria got him an electronic toy, several outfits, and cash... The insane contingent (my parents, Gramma Betty and Grampa Bob) got him all sorts of cars, trucks, trains, construction vehicles, Little People, an outfit and a savings bond.



My brother the lawyer/electric guitarist got him a very cool electronic upright piano with stool and microphone, which the Boy somehow instinctively understands.



Most surprisingly, he had the attention span to really play with his toys, and only got distracted by the packing material later.



He had a fun, but exhausting, afternoon. By evening, we had crazy overstimulated toddler to contend with...



Luckily, he settled down and played quietly, then took a nap.



It was a quiet day (except for toy noise). We watched Christmas movies and I wore my pajamas all day long. Kev made pasta with pesto sauce for dinner and we had way too many Hershey's lisses for dessert... Called all the relatives after dinner. Watched the boy dismantle the living room...

Posted by: Chele / 5:54 PM

Merry Christmas, Blessed Yule, Happy Holidays to all!



May 2005 bring you joy!

This is Rated R for language, but it almost made me pee my pants laughing. A bit of rude cartoon social commentary on the secularization of Christmas...

Neurotically Yours Cartoon: No Christmas For You!"

My tree is still not up. It's sitting in a box in the attic, waiting for Kev to go get it. I am deathly afraid of falling, and the pull down ladder is on the rickety side, so I am waiting...

Mikro is not exceptionally verbal. He has some words, but he babbles constantly in what seems like a language Kevin and I do not understand. He points, he grabs, he pulls up my shirt, and he growls. We try to get him to repeat words, but he's not real interested. The words he does have, he uses correctly, in context, and sometimes in new and surprising but proper ways. He says: mama, dada, baby, dog, car, this ("siss"), back (as in throw the ball back), dizzy ("deezee")(when he spins around), yum yum (yogurt), nay nay (boobie), numi numi (boobie) and mina mina me (boobie NOW!), and, of course, NO!

Today as he was boobie-ing on the couch, the cat jumped up and tried to get my attention. I figured, maybe this is an opportunity to teach Mikro to say "kitty" (which we have tried before, without any success.) So I pet Titan and say enthusiastically "Kitty! Look, Mikro, this is the kitty!" Mikro watches the cat, gets an evil gleam in his eye, pops off, and lunges for the kitty, who is quicker. So Titan high tails it, and Mikro smiles at me and says, clear as a bell, "Meow, meow!"

Of course, he still won't say "kitty"...

But I'm not particularly jolly. I've done about two thirds of theholiday shopping, but I have yet to write out a single card.

First, the happy. Here's my (if I ever actually get them done) Christmas card photo of MIkro at 20 months old:



Life seems horribly complicated at the moment, with changes being made to all possible forms of insurance, hub being hugely stressed out at the job (and at home)and his pressure relief valve of the moment being yelling at me, a battle royale with two doctors' office over their bookkeeping snafus, a sick cat, a badly behaved dog, a sometimes cranky boy who has gained eight teeth in the past two months and has discovered the word "no", a messy house I daren't decorate, and a partridge in a pear tree...

All in all, not a particularly happy or inspiring time here.

And opening a box of stuff I ordered online for gifts and finding it to be nothing like what was pictured on the web site from which I ordered (considerably cheaper and shabbier construction than depicted) just iced my grouchy cake.

Just something I am pondering. I tend to follow my father's advice that the best way to avoid an argument is to keep your mouth shut about politics, religion and money. But being that everyone else has posted an opinion, here comes mine.

It seems that you can sum up an awful lot of the curent "political discourse" as follows:

If you don't agree with me, then...

According to the Far Right: You're a traitor / coward/ unpatriotic/ terrorist sympathizer/ going to hell for sure.

According to the Far Left: You're a war monger / bigot/ stupid/ duped/ a sheep.

How about, none of the above!

I believe that americans generally are people of good will. I believe that extremism, whichever end of the spectrum it falls on, is divisive, counterproductive, and horrifically uncivil and disrespectful. The extreme wings denigrate anyone who doesn't fall into their little clubs by labelling them dismissively. Geez, people, these are your neighbors. They may disagree with you. Why does that make them worthy of vilification? When we discount everyone who doesn't belong to our little club, we risk alienating the vast majority of more moderate thinkers. We wind up preaching to the choir of the like minded and patting ourselves on the backs for our moral or intellectual superiority, and what it gets us is a country fractured down the middle. And a recipe for stagnation and governmental gridlock.

Both parties need to reach out to the moderates in order to get anywhere, and I really hope that is what they do in the future. Comments about people being unfriended on LJ or de-blogrolled because of their political opinions really bother me. How can you ever hope to understand or change the mind of someone who disagrees with you if you cut the lines of communication? How can this hostility ever get us anywhere? Both sides are equally guilty of it. I just don't understand it.

Just because someone doesn’t agree with you doesn’t make them unpatriotic, morally depraved, cowardly, stupid, duped or evil - just different. And no less American.

Life would be so much more pleasant if people could just agree to disagree and respect those holding different ideas and beliefs. I’m hoping that the future holds far more civility, tolerance and peace for us all.

(Also posted on Live Journal.)

Time seems to be flying. Mikro will be 18 months old in just a few days. It's already getting chilly, and the leaves are changing. Mikro loves the bright yellow ones.

We are not ready for winter here. The fence is still not up, and the ground will soon be too frozen to dig postholes. The electrician never came back to finish the garage portion of the job (which involves trenching), and now it will probably have to wait for spring, like so many other things we had hoped to have finished by now. The Great Flea War (which we seem to have won by literally emptying the house and bombing multiple times) stole a month of prime work time from us, and it looks like we are stuck at this point.

I'm thinking about digging around for Mikro's halloween costume, which I bought last November and packed away, and which got further misplaced in the emptying out of the house process...) If I find it, he will be a purple and green dragon.

I'm sleep deprived, and feeling stupid tired, so this will be an exceedingly short entry...

There is a new entry up in Mikro's Baby Book with lots of photos...

A family member is in critical condition, and not expected to pull through... What makes this even sadder is that the person in question has led a very limited life, you might even say, hasn't ever really lived at all. She's a year older than me, and there is nothing that can be done for her. I feel powerless, and very sad at how much she will have missed out on.

That is something I really hope is never my epitaph. And with the PTSD thing, and how much time I have already lost to it, it might apply, though to a lesser degree.

There's a poem by Dawna Markova that seems particularly significant to me today:


I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
Of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
To allow my living to open me,
To make me less afraid,
More accessible,
To loosen my heart
Until it becomes a wing,
A torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
To live so that which came to me as seed
Goes to the next as blossom,
Goes on as fruit.

--Dawna Markova

I will not die an unlived life. Maybe that's my new mantra.