Melissa Anne Cohen

I went out yesterday with my mother and my daughter and my favorite cousin – and had a LOVELY day. Really – got my hair cut, got a couple of new shirts, bought Jess a webkinz, got Jessie’s hair cut (she looks gorgeous), then Marc met me down at my mother’s house, she made a big dinner for everyone, it was delightful – right up until I came home. To find… just this huge, disgusting mess. And I’m mad and upset and all those negative things, thinking hostile thoughts towards husbands and step children, and angered that I must pay for any fun time out of the house by having to spend the entire next day cleaning up after people too lazy and apathetic to make any effort to do it themselves.

Just depressing.

Anyway – so I’m cleaning, and cleaning, and cleaning today. Picking up Barbie shoes and clothes, throwing away crayons (I have adopted the “toss it out if it’s on the floor” theory in regards to art supplies) and folding things. I crawled into Sam’s bed last night with Jess in the middle of the night (Sam having spent the night in my bed) and it was filled with dirt and crumbs and CRAP that I had to clean off the bed before I could even put my poor tired girl in there (she wet the bed – my fault, I was too cold to get up and take her to the potty in the middle of the night). I’m filled with hostility and resentment and not feeling particularly warm and fuzzy.

But my hair looks FABULOUS.

Not too much going on these days… it’s February vacation here, so I’ve been drowning in children. Today I’ve got Lilli, Sarah, Jessie and Sam and for the moment, they are all playing together quietly in Jessica’s bedroom. I don’t expect this to last. But actually, when it’s just the four of them, it’s relatively easy – they break up into two groups (usually Lilli/Jess and Sarah/Sam).

We’re still working on the diabetes thing. I know that it’s so much better than it could be – it could have been something awful, diabetes is chronic, but controllable. But still, I was thinking last night of just how crappy it really is. Marc has been dealing with it for a solid week now, and it struck me of how sad and unfair it is that for the rest of his life, he’ll have to make himself bleed every morning and eat no more at a single meal than what I would consider a good meal for my six year old daughter. He’s fighting off a cold as well, which just makes it all seem that much more crappy.

But all in all, things really are going well. Other than the diabetes and the head colds that Sam and Marc have, everyone is healthy and happy. Well, Jess seems to be spending a lot of her time miserable and mad, but I think she’s just in touch with her inner drama queen. Intellectually, I know that she’s not crying all the time, but sometimes it feels that way. I’m chipper as can be. Really. Although if Sarah keeps yelling I might lose my mind today.

http://cohenfamily-melissa.blogspot.com/2008/02/happy-valentines-day.html

Here’s a link to last year’s anniversary post. It’s all still true – he’s still my best friend and I still can’t quite believe I got as lucky as I did.

When I was younger, the qualities that I always said I wanted to find in a guy was that he be smart and nice. Good looking, sure, tall, yep, absolutely – but what really turned me on was intelligence and kindness. Marc is literally the smartest and nicest man I’ve ever met.

Happy Anniversary, honey – I still love you the best!

And Jessica’s “friend” party and my first girl day in a long time… VERY busy couple of days here…

Thursday night, Marc went to the doctor’s. He came home early and I, of course, assumed he’d been laid off. His company has been in the process of shaking things up, and when I heard the car pull up and watched him get out and trudge upstairs, I assumed the worst. Which is a really bad habit of mine in many ways, but on the other hand, I’m frequently so relieved when whatever I’m assuming is happening, isn’t, that’s it’s not too bad. Anyway… so he came home sick, and actually made a doctor’s appointment for that night in Urgent Care. Four hours later, I get a phone call from him, and he told me that he’s been diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. Marc’s adopted – so we have no idea about his medical history. He’s really young for this – and while he’s definitely carrying more weight than he should be, he’s in fantastic shape, working out all the time and he eats healthier than anyone I know. So it was a huge thing – and I think we both freaked out at first. We went to the doctor’s together Friday morning and have been diligently working on getting the sugar number down (well, he’s been working – the man is eating a ridiculous amount of celery). He’s not on insulin, and so far, the sugar has decreased from over four hundred to about 230 something – so he’s making lots of progress there.

The more research I’ve done, the less panicked I am about it. It’s going to mean a pretty major change in the way he looks at food, and the way I cook and the way we feed the kids – but Marc’s always been really disciplined and focused when it comes to doing things he knows he has to – so I know he’ll put the work and the effort into it. And mostly, what I feel is just relief. Thank God, if he had to get something – if one of us had to get something – it was this. Because you can live a LONG healthy life with this. It’s entirely in his control, he just has to do the work with diet and exercise, and I know that he can, and more importantly, he will do it. But I worry about him – this diagnosis has thrown him for a loop in a lot of ways, and I hate to see him struggling with it. I know he’ll be fine, I know that he’ll handle it better than anyone – but I still hate the thought of him feeling vulnerable and scared.

Saturday was Valentines Day – and at some point, when I’m struggling for a post topic – I’ll write the story of the first couple of months that Marc and I were together. We met on Valentine’s Day – and meeting him changed it from my least favorite day of the year (really, a whole day to make me feel like crap for being single is excessive) to my all time favorite. Our wedding anniversary is in October, but we never really do anything for that – it’s Valentine’s Day that’s our day – seven years. I’m very proud – and happy to report that I like him just as much today as I did when we met. I love him, of course, but he’s legitimately my buddy – he’s my go-to guy, the person I most want to be with. And I’m very happy that he’s still my best friend.

We had Jessie’s friend party on Saturday as well – and that went exceedingly well, I think. It was at a magic shop – and the magician did a forty five minute show (that I missed entirely because Sam planted his little heels and insisted “My not going in dere!” and ended up nursing to sleep. But I had a lovely little mommy type conversation with a friend of mine (who was also out nursing her boy – granted he’s about eighteen months younger than Sam) so all in all, it was a good day for me.

I went out today. By myself. For several hours. And it was delightful. I listened to the radio with the music up exceedingly high, bought several lovely little things, including a toy for Jess, one for Sam, some beef jerky for Marc, slippers and a new bag for me. And met Becky and my mother for lunch and a movie. I feel like an actual person instead of just Mommy. It was again, delightful. I have to do that more often 🙂

Or if they did, they returned it pretty quickly.

I lost Jessie’s lunchbox this morning. Looked everywhere, it was gone. This happens a lot to me. I lose all kinds of stuff, shoes, hair brushes, cups of coffee, keys, wallets, etc. You name it, I’ve probably put it somewhere safe and subsequently, can’t locate it at all. This drives my poor husband insane, since he never loses anything. Ever.

I’ve made my peace with it. The losing stuff, I mean. I just blithely assume that tiny fairies have snuck in and taken whatever I’ve lost. They almost always return it (except for a can of baked beans that I swear to God I had in the cabinet, but it was gone when I went to use it – that’s never come back). I can tear the house apart looking for something (and have, on numerous occasions because I never seem to lose something unless I really really need it) and it’s just simply… gone. Then a couple of hours (or days, sometimes weeks) later, there it is.

The lunchbox was next to the computer.

Sam is walking around my living room, with goggles on, blue jeans, dinosaur t-shirt, and Jessie’s purple belt on, wearing a pair of blue flowered socks as his ‘gahbage glubs’ (garbage gloves), carrying a little toy frying pan, and picking up various toys, muttering to himself “come here gahbage, gahbage, I wooking for you.” Every now and again, he yells for me to say “Dis going well, Mama.”

Just can’t get motivated? No matter how much coffee you drink, no matter how many favorite shirts you put on, how high you pull up the ponytail? I’m exhausted – and there’s no real reason. Other than the fact that I’ve decided against going to bed at a normal hour – it used to be that Marc stayed up later to bring Jess to the potty, and I’d go to bed around nine thirty or ten. But he’s been bailing out lately, so I’m sitting up to take her to the bathroom (which totally isn’t working, as I’m washing her bedding for the second morning in a row). The weather is still crappy – all icy and overcast, so that’s not helping… and Sam is so grubby that I HAVE to toss him in the tub. And you know that’s not going to go well… Why does the child hate baths so much? What’s up with that?

Jess danced off to school happily enough – she’s so cute. I feel guilty, she got so many new toys for her birthday, I didn’t realize how much she did NOT play with her old toys. She must have somehow outgrown figurines and dollhouses when I wasn’t paying attention – because now that she’s got a thousand Barbies, she’s back to playing in her room by herself for hours. She’s reading too – she still needs me to sit beside her and help her sound out the words, but she’s doing 90% of it herself.

What a boring post… I’m in a boring mood… but I’m on the third cup of coffee, and who knows? It could suddenly get much better.

Sam’s favorite song just came on the Disney Channel. That’s what I mean – it was so cute – he screamed “MY SONG!” and is now in there warbling “We break it, We Fix It.” Now I’m having a good day 🙂

I’m a bit late in my birthday post for my girl – but it was a busy weekend. Six years (and two days) ago, my little girl was born. I have two cherubs, and love them both (and in about six months – you’ll have to read thru Sam’s love letter). But six years (and two days) ago, I became a mom, and met the person who’d change my life forever.

From the first second I saw her, there was such an instant bond and almost desperate need in me for her. I knew that my happiness, my survival, in a real sense, was suddenly dependent on this other person. I had a bit of a snag with my blood pressure after the C-section when Jess was born. I had gone into labor, and things were clicking along perfectly well, until I hit nine centimeters. Then everything stopped, and after a couple of hours, they decided to do a c-section. The surgery went great, and all was well… Marc brought her over to see me afterwards, and she was so amazingly beautiful. Her face was perfect, her eyes were huge and wise, and it was the most incredible feeling. Disbelief, awe – all of that, but mostly, I think I was still a bit surprised that it had actually happened – you know how you reach that point where you just think you’re going to stay pregnant forever?

It was after the surgery when I realized how motherhood was going to change me. I had been brought back into my room, and was shaking from the medication. Shaking so much that I couldn’t hold her. And I couldn’t stop the shaking… and was so upset that I couldn’t have my baby that I closed my eyes… and from what I’ve been told, I blacked out, my blood pressure bottomed out and it became a crisis situation. From my perspective… everything went black and hopeless and fuzzy… until Marc brought me my baby. He held her close to me for the first time, and I looked – really looked – at her – and then, only then, was I okay. I looked into her eyes and saw her, really saw her, and she saw me for the first time – and it was okay. It was more than okay – it was the most incredible feeling I’d ever had. Without her, I had a hard time remembering why I was here. Without her, when I couldn’t hold her, when I couldn’t stop shaking, it was easier to just give up and sink into oblivion.

She’s amazing to me. Constantly. Six years later, I still lose time, just watching her sleep or eat, or read or play. Everything about her is a miracle to me – this much loved, so wanted child. She’s the epitome of what Marc and I could achieve together – a living representation of our relationship – and so much more. She’s her own person, with likes and dislikes and quirks and habits and thought processes that I still struggle to understand. She’s brilliant and funny and so sweet. And while there are many things in my life that have changed from six years (and two days ago) – one of the constants is that I don’t know what I’d do without her. I can’t imagine being happy, or being at all, really, without her in my life.

I have so much to do right now – and have a hormone induced migraine – and feel as though my best option is to curl up under a quilt, snuggle and nurse Sam to sleep and doze for a couple of hours. I’m having Marc’s whole family over tomorrow for Jessie’s “family” birthday party. Granted, various family members on my side are coming as well, but I’m not as concerned about the house being pretty for them. They love me and think I’m fabulous already – and toys all over the place isn’t likely to change that. Not that Marc’s family isn’t lovely – because most of them really are – but still, there’s a lot more pressure when they are coming.

So tomorrow – I’m going to get up, sing happy birthday, give my girl cupcakes for breakfast with a candle in it, shower her, dress her in a gorgeous dress and ship her off for Hebrew School. Then I’ll do the dishes, and the laundry, sweep the floors, mop the floors, reorganize the toys, bake two cakes, frost them, set up decorations, feed everyone lunch and then put on my hostess hat and be cheerful and merry. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I hate migraines.

I don’t know what I’m doing with Jess half the time. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but really, I am never completely certain on what the best way to deal with her tantrums would be. I’ve done just about everything at one time or another. I’ve tried indulging her, holding her and sympathizing. I’ve tried punishing her, putting her in time out every time she has a temper tantrum. I’ve tried ignoring it, just letting her cry and paying no attention whatsoever. I’ve tried reward charts, a sticker earned for every time she stopped herself mid-fit and pulled it together.

For the past couple of months, I’ve been using the “Go in your room until you are done.” It’s not a punishment, it’s not ignoring it, it’s just drawing a line in the sand that if she needs to cry and rage and scream, that’s okay, but it’s not okay to make everyone else deal with it. She can come out whenever she’s ready, and at least some of the time, she’ll calm down enough to forget about it and start playing with her dollhouse. Sometimes she comes out and we can talk about whatever’s bothering her calmly without tears, and more often than not, she comes out crying just a little bit less intensely and gets sent back in there.

She’s an intense kid – everything is real and huge and worthy of utter intense focus for her. I think sometimes my job, with Jess, is to teach her to deal with her emotions, to be able to control them, not to just let herself go in the flood of drama that’s always right there for her to tap into. You know what I mean? She lets herself be so influenced by circumstances, and I’ve thought, from the time that she was an infant, that she makes life so difficult for herself sometimes, just by letting herself get so upset by things. I wish I could teach her to shrug it off, to have a smile on her face, because if she could do that, she would have an easier time making the circumstances of her life suit her better. Just smile, ask for help instead of collapsing into tears and whining.

But even though I wish she could make things easier for herself sometimes, she’s so magical about the way she thinks. She’s brilliant and kind and so amazingly herself – mostly, I’m just grateful to have the opportunity to be her mother. She’s so much more than I ever hoped for in a daughter.