My Version of NaNoWriMo

So, November is National Novel Writing Month. My intention this year, as it has been for roughly four of the last 10 Novembers, was to write a novel. I was going to have an idea, be more organized and write so many words per day to actually accomplish my goal.
I found the Snowflake Method of organizing an idea for a novel and expanding it to the point where a first draft could - theoretically - be written in the 30 days of November. I was excited. I was determined. I was ... destined to fail.

Not really. I mean, it isn't failure to get an opportunity to make more money to help the family financially. It is even less of a failure when you get two opportunities, and then find another great-sounding job that would mean good money. So, I was not destined for failure. However, life has a way of throwing logs into the path of my determined little Harley Davidson Sportster on the path of life [hey, laugh all you want. At least I am cool in my own analogy on life].

So, I had a couple opportunities. One didn't work out because of minion-related factors and Numero Uno's own job opportunities. One didn't work because, yet again, my writing style "did not fit their needs at this time." This is a mystery I need to unravel to get more freelance work. But I digress.

I have other projects that I'm working on to make money this month. However, with all of these potentials and realities and a teething Bitty Bear and a bout with a cold that gave me nausea and vertigo for two days - all sorts of fun and games - I am adjusting my hope and dream for this particular NaNoWriMo. Instead of a novel whose idea didn't get fleshed out, despite my high hopes for the Snowflake Method, I'm going to make a post a day on this blog about the family. Obviously, we are on November 11th

(Happy Veterans Day! POW-MIA Never Forgotten)

My goal is to write two posts a day until I can catch up. Then, I am going to keep writing one until November is over. Then, I'll see how I do with posting every other day or 3 times a week.

Oh, and a big part of this is posting the links to my FB at least once a week. I have a lot of blogs started that I didn't share, therefore mostly losing the point of writing in the first place. 

Wish me luck. 

Signs of Thing 2's recovery

You know when Thing 2 is sick. He talks less and sleeps more. He is very confused when he does wake up.
All of these behaviors have disappeared today. Consider the following evidence:

Scribble Mama comes downstairs.
Thing 2: "Mom, you've lost weight."
Scribble Mama pauses in surprise, considers the options for a moment and buries the questions that she has.
"Thank you, Thing 2."
Scribble Mama walks into the kitchen.
Thing 2 follows.
"Well, yesterday you had a belly out to hear (demonstrates with hand gestures) and today your belly is shorter."
Scribble Mama says, "Well, Thing 2, it is smaller, not shorter. If something is big, it gets smaller. If something is tall, it gets shorter. And thank you." [Not up for explaining that weight loss does not occur overnight, as nice as that would be.]

Five minutes later:
Scribble Mama is typing on computer at kitchen table.
Thing 2 climbs into a chair nearby.
"Mama, Jacob gets to go to a hotel with Remi."
Scribble Mama says, "And who is Remi?"
Thing 2 says, "This girl at school that is always really nice to me."
Scribble Mama says, "And why are they going to a hotel?"
Thing 2 says, "I don't know. Jacob says his mom told him they just get to go to a hotel together."
Scribble Mama patiently says, "Are they going on vacation together?"
Thing 2 says, "Yeah, they are going on bay-cation and won't be able to get back to school from the hotel."
Scribble Mama nods.
End of conversation.

And it wasn't even 11 o'clock yet, people.
Thing 2 is most definitely going to school tomorrow. He is sad that he missed out on being line leader today, which is a significant disappointment in Kindergarten. Hopefully, he can recover fully.

Bitty Bear @ 4 a.m.

So, we all know infants go through stages and develop habits and leave them behind just as quickly. Bitty Bear has a new activity for 4 a.m., and while it is adorable, I hope it ends soon.
He wakes up calmly and begins to growl. This can go on for several minutes, no yelling or crying in distress. There is just a continual growling sound from the bassinet in the pack and play. If you happen to be curious about this phenomenon, as parents and dedicated researchers tend to be, and you go look over the side of the pack and play, you will see a tiny fist, which promptly flexes and the fingers stretch to their absolute limits. The hand turns, first one way and then the other. Then, the fingers tighten into a fist again, which waves wildly through the air. This process repeats roughly for the same duration that the growling continues.

Now, it can be disconcerting. This became apparent this a.m., as Thing 2 woke up and in a panic asked, "What is that sound?!"
Scribble Mama, "What Sound?"
Thing 2 says, "The one coming from the bassinet."
Scribble Mama says, "Well Thing 2, if it is coming from the bassinet, what do you think it is?"
Thing 2 mutters "Bitty Bear," rolls over and goes back to sleep.
We are all crashing in the living room, since Thing 2 had a day and night of throwing up and was still waking up regularly last night to blow his nose and ask random questions. Hopefully tonight we can migrate back to our regular sleeping stations.

... and so it begins

Dear Diary,

Forget sending the search party. I have been eaten by wolves. 

Just kidding. No wolves, although sometimes they fit the description of a hungry pack, stalking their unwary prey. Well, that's how I feel while I'm trying to make dinner anyway. 

Today is Day 1 of once again being a trucker's family. The life has its ups and downs. It is a lot of sacrifice for Numero Uno, since he is the one doing all the work and away from our smiling faces for such long stretches. [Shhh, no need to tell them they aren't nearly as smiley when he isn't around.] Still, we make it work. The kids find reasons to be excited, even the thrown together chicken and biscuits wannabe dinner that Scribble Mama makes, or watching their favorite show on TV [current is Teen Titans; I've dealt with worse].

That's right, I'm Scribble Mama. The rest of the clan rolls out as follows:

Numero Uno - Truck drivin' hubby that loves to scare Scribble Mama

Scribble Mama - Writer, cook, dishwasher, laundress and semi-failure at housekeeper. Oh and caretaker for four minions that test every nerve on a daily basis. 

Resident Minors:*

Thing 1 - 7, soon to be 8. Thinks she is a teenager and knows soo much more than any adult

Thing 2 - 5. Brainiac that is either the biggest surprise (when he does not stop talking and doesn't seem to breathe) or the smallest burning supernova of fury you have ever met. No middle ground here. 

Milly Meltdown - 3. Sweet and endearing one moment and mad at you about ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING the next. Hey, she is three. 

Bitty Bear - almost 7 months. Breastfed bulldozer of a baby, this munchkin has an opinion and lets you know it. Mind you, he has very little interest in moving unless he can jump and bounce like a pogo stick. 

In the spirit of 'Kids say the darndest things' meets 'Convoy', my hope is to give Numero Uno a place to read what he misses and to entertain any family and friends that are interested in following this chronicle of humorous chaos. 

Happy Reading. 

 *Names are a work in progress (all names, who knows what I'll come up with as a theme)

What Being a Parent Means

Becoming a parent changes you. It shows you exactly how much patience you have (or don't have), it shows you that you never could have imagined the amount of love you have for tiny human beings as they become your heart walking around outside your body. I know, because I have four of them.

My situation is unique, because I got my first child, ready made and one year old. She is beautiful, smart and exactly like her mama, even though we don't share a single strand of DNA. So I missed out on the baby stage with Lilly. However, she was loved, protected and cared for by her daddy, her aunts and her grandparents. She had a special place in everyone's hearts because of her personality and also because she had the misfortune to end up with a womb donor who didn't realize the amazing little person that she supported for nine months and gave birth to.

I know how lucky I am to have my "bonus daughter", who never gave me morning sickness 24/7 and didn't stretch my skin. She gave me all the fun of teaching her to talk and feed herself, all the joy of watching her learn new things, enjoy new experiences and yes, every time she tries my patience.

Lilly is now 7. Over those years, her dad and I have been doing our best to give her the things she needs, some of the things she wants and to teach her how to behave and be respectful of those around her. She is an amazing child who shares with her siblings, sometimes DESPITE being told not to. She brings home candy or stickers from school and passes them out, even though she would be perfectly in her right to hoard them because she is the one who earned them or received them as part of a class party. She is giving and helpful and amazing in more ways than I can count.

Also over the years, Lilly has had things promised to her - outings that would be special for just her, overnights once x and y and z were accomplished. Thgese promises were made by people she should be able to trust and count on to follow through. Yet, time and time again, these promises are not fulfilled. She does not get to do x, even though she is now potty trained (for over 4 years). She does not get to do y because of various excuses.

Lilly has not thrown a fit or cried over these situations. In fact, she is far too understanding at the age of 7 that even if someone says she will get to do something, it may not happen today. Or Tomorrow. Or next Month. When she does get to do something, her eyes sparkle with excitement yet she nods and shows she understands the importance of behaving well and showing she deserves these rare chances to do special things. We see that a lot more often then the other people who make promises.

Today, yet again, Lilly lost an opportunity. There are people that will say that is our fault - Terry's and mine. I can not agree. There are people that have lost the privilege of being part of Lilly's life - and the lives of her siblings - because they make poor choices and do not understand that Terry and I have the responsibility to protect our children from bad influences. We want to protect them from the pain we both experienced growing up, having promises made and broken over and over, being used as pawns when an adult didn't like the way things were going or were called out on reprehensible behavior and being disappointed over and over. Life is full of disappointments when you are an adult. We know the kids will deal with things we would rather they didn't have to, but our goal is to cut down on those experiences when we can.

Once we make that decision and cut those people out of our children's lives, others need to respect that and not try to go behind our backs to take our child around that person or group of people.

People have the choice of respecting us and treating us and our children properly, or they can stay out of our lives. For the people who are still in our lives, that means we trust YOU to be around our children, to treat them properly and to be the role models our children need to grow up to be adults that people respect. That means respecting us as parents and not going against things we request and having our children around people we do not choose to have them around.

I am not sad to say that my mother, who does not live close to us, has not had any contact with my children in over 3 years and WILL NOT have contact with them. That is an entirely different issue. [However, for those who talk to her, that was not about money. It was about the fact she treats me like I should be a parrot of her opinions and misguided views. When I am my own person and voice something that hurts her feelings at the age of 30, I get insulted, called names, treated badly and then my children suffer. That is not acceptable.]

Having Lilly receive promises that never get fulfilled is also not acceptable. People that make these promises, then announce to us that they will be taking our child somewhere that
1-the rest of her family isn't welcome and
2- that we do not want our child to go
will not be taking our child anywhere. The fact that you then make it sound as if we changed our minds for NO REASON and can't respect that we are the parents in this situation, whether you agree with our choices or not, just reinforces that we are protecting our child the best way we can by keeping her home with us.

The worst part of this to me is that our child is so used to having stuff like this happen that she just brushed it off and went back to being the awesome big sister (sometimes pain in the butt) that she usually is. She didn't cry or whine.

Then again, I guess that means we are doing something right in the way we are raising our kids. We will continue to do so, without anyone else in their lives if that is what it takes.

I am sad that at this point, Jeffrey won't be getting some of the experiences that the older kids got, and Dylan and Harper won't remember much. However, I would rather they not know people than have the memories and sadness Terry and I both have from the issues we dealt with growing up with.

I blinked... and Dylan isn't class troublemaker anymore

Two short months ago, drop-offs were a nightmare. I had no idea what to try and little hope my little man would be one of the quiet, well-behaved munchkins getting folders and their name card to put in the basket and then calmly walking to the carpet.
Now I grant you, he's far from flawless in his execution. Dropping Dylan off at Headstart today, he was telling me his belly hurt. But as we pulled up, we were stuck behind the ATA bus for his classmates and an employee who works in the same building waiting for access to the parking lot. Someone behind him didn't understand they could go around, so we ended up in a five-car traffic jam on a narrow street. As we are waiting, one of Dylan's classmates begins holding up the already tenuous process of getting the line of kids into the building. He is moved from the middle of the line to the end with the teacher. Still struggling, they try to use logic, pointing to the cars and explaining they need to get into the spot where the gaggle of kids is currently located. Failing with logic, the teacher employs the next logical method - pick him up and away the line goes into school.
I told Dylan one of his classmates was having a rough day, and suddenly the repeated "My belly hurts. My belly REALLY hurts." ceases in the back seat. Suddenly he wants to see who is having a bad day. We park the truck and go into the building, following another classmate and adult. We go into the room and I accidentally almost knock over this classmate, who thirty seconds in has had enough school for the day and is fighting to get back out. The teacher is once again employing logic. Again, fail. This little boy's mom opts to take him home. The other little boy is already on the carpet with the other kids.
Dylan demands I take his jacket off, takes care of his folder and then the hesitation starts. But this morning, distraction works and there is no screaming, minimal disagreement and Harper and I are out the door.
Compared to his classmates, Dylan is the quiet and well-behaved one.
My gratitude for this realization knows no bounds.

Another day for Gratitude

First day back to school after Thanksgiving break for Dylan and Lilly. Minimal issues getting everyone up and off to their respective learning environments.
Meanwhile, we are low on staples, like bread and butter (and Ironman fruit snacks!), so it's a trip to Walmart for Harper and myself. She is excited to pick out the cart and go speed walking through the store. As we go, I realize I am grateful today for many reasons.
1. Shopping is much easier with only one munchkin in the cart. She can't reach much and we move at my pace rather than the pace of dragging feet and arguments.
2. In deference to all those ads and commercials, I keep up a running commentary as we zoom through the store. As we hit the juice aisle, Harper disagrees with something I said.
"No, no no" she tells me in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.
"But yes, yes, yes" I say back as we head for mid-aisle. the conversation repeats... and repeats.
 A heavy-set man perusing juice selections at the end begins chuckling, and somehow I do not imagine it is at the crazy cartoon character on the Hawaiian Punch. I could be wrong.
3. We finally get everything on the list (+10 or so), and we enter the checkout lane behind a thin man with a baseball cap and long, semi-scraggly beard. Harper begins her cheerful babble, noting the "cookie!" as well as sharing her opinions on who knows what else in her own unique dialect. The man in front of us turns and smiles in appreciation.

These are the people I am thankful are in the store at the same time as myself. They are the ones who know how to enjoy life, can appreciate the entertaining moments and even discover them amidst potentially annoying situations. I realize some people don't enjoy children. I am extremely grateful not to be one of those people and enjoy running into others that are not of that mindset as well.
Yes, my kids have their screaming terror-wish-I-could-disappear-in-a-hole-and-die-of-embarrassment- moments, but they are still gifts. On Monday, we had tons of fun sled riding and playing on the swingset in the snow. Today, Harper and I got through a shopping trip sans meltdowns AND had two people smile and enjoy our presence.
I cherish these moments.