taking a big deep breath and a plunge into shameless self-promotion

Desperate times call for desperate measures, blog friends.

I am now writing a Careers and Family blog for Examiner.com, a news, information and entertainment site. I am pretty excited about it, and my first article was published today.

I'm also nervous about linking to the article, because I am going to link my mother to it as well, and I am scared one of you rabble rousers will post a comment saying, "Hey Mrs. Fern! Your daughter has a skeezy blog here and swears and talks about hating thank you notes!"

So, uh, please don't. But do check out my article, and then check out Examiner.com in general, and think about setting it as your home page!

Busted Flat in Baton Rouge

Thank you!!

WIC and food banks and how i don't know what the heck i'm doing.

Today I did the poor person's tour of Cleveland's west side. I hit the food bank and the WIC office, but by then I was fearing a repeat of yesterday's uterine disaster, so I didn't go downtown to apply for Medicaid.

I'm writing a lot of this so that another person in my situation might find information easier, because I've had some trouble. Since I can read, make a living by finding information online, and have high-speed internet, I expected to have little trouble digging up the details on where and how to get help. However, maybe the expectation is that most people who are really struggling don't have internet access, so updating websites hasn't been a top priority.

I was up until 1 last night collecting paperwork and getting directions to the offices I found listed. I left a voicemail on the Job & Family Services general line last night, and was surprised when they called back this morning before I even got up. They gave me a little advice on what I might need to apply for insurance through the state, and told me where to go -- I'd found a handful of downtown offices listed for my county, but wasn't sure which one to use.

The food bank is in a nice area of town, tucked behind a high school. It isn't well marked at all, and I drove past it a couple times. It was closed today, but there was a lot of information posted in the foyer, and that was helpful. We don't need food yet, but I wanted to know what my options are for when things get leaner.

Posted at the food bank was the address for a WIC office I hadn't seen listed online. It's much closer to our house, and also in a very nice office park. The woman working the desk there was friendly and soft-spoken and patient with the many bored kids in the waiting area. She got me started in the system, set up an appointment for Friday morning, and told me everything I need to bring.

I hadn't realized that WIC is only for children 5 and under, or under 5 (not sure which), but at 6 Athena is too old.

But I have to bring the twins and Helena with me on Friday morning when I come in to apply. And she asked for their immunization records as well, which I don't have, but she said that was okay. I don't know why I have to bring them in, and I dread going through a lot of paperwork with those three in tow. The office has a little play table like a pediatrician's waiting room, but I think my three will be more interested in jumping off the chairs.

She gave me an application for the state health plan, and said that Jason and I could qualify for it too, which is a huge relief. I am hoping she can accept it when I come in on Friday and maybe I won't have to actually go all the way downtown. I am intimidated by this whole process. I don't know how it works or how everyone else knows what to do or where to go.

Oh boo-hoo, my middle-class angst is heartbreaking, I know! But I'll continue to update here in case someone else trying to figure this out might stumble upon it one day.

to my two male readers: you may want to click away now.

I am serious, two boys who read this. This is gross and you don't want to know. It will not unlock the mysteries (or legs) of the ladies in your lives. It will only sear your mind's eye.

***

Okay. If you read any further you have been warned.

As I've mentioned before in other posts conveying way too much information, sometimes I experience heavy lady-flow during my moontime. (Heh. I can't even type that without laughing out loud.)

Today was the special day when my feminine mystique is channeled out into the world via my baby tunnel like a powerful subterranean river. But Jason had his phone interview (they were looking for someone with different qualifications so they liked him but yeah but no.) so I could not cancel our playdate. My Super Plus and I prepared as best we could before playdate time, but alas, it was not enough.

Shortly after we arrived at my friend's house (yes, I think I have a friend!) I was struck with the panic one experiences when one has inadvertently soiled oneself in public. I rushed to the bathroom hurried downstairs, grabbed my purse, excused myself, realized Helena was going to follow me, picked her up, was intercepted by Griffin asking where I was going, told him which caused him to want to come too, then he insisted he had to go first, kept Helena out of their bathtub while Griffin peed and sloooowly pulled up his pants, then helped him wash his hands. Then I got to use the bathroom.

So yeah, it was too late. Like, the too lateiest it has ever, ever been. Meaning, the amount of TP needed to blot the OUTSIDE of my jeans made me feel like I should buy my friend a replacement roll. Meaning, I had to clean her toilet TWICE before I was done. Meaning, I had blood all the way down to my calves.

I told you this was gross.

So anyway, I think that tells you mostly all you need to know about my day, except to add that there is a perfect coffee table on the curb down the street and I want it and Jason refuses to come get it with me, saying he isn't going to trash pick. Um, huh? At the very least I could sell that table on craigslist for $20, and that would buy us a feast at Aldi! Don't get too big for your britches until we can afford new ones, buddy. You'd think my darling husband would want to come help me pick up a nice coffee table upon which I could rest my feet -- and coffee -- and money-making laptop, which is actually his because he broke MY laptop -- just because it would make me happy. Sigh. It hurts; it does.

cooking, cleaning, and synchronized swimming: my husband is a triple threat

I will admit, I have it good.

When moms gather together to complain about their husbands, I don't generally have a lot to say. Jason seems to like spending time with the kids, maybe because of their common love of video games. He does household work without being asked to. Marrying someone who is less of a slob than you are is one of my patented 10 Steps to Marital Success.

My husband also cooks, but this I can help you with. Ladiez, do you wish your man would happily (more or less) prepare dinner every night? Do you long to sit down to a dinner of delicious homemade fajitas without having lifted a finger? Then continue reading!

Millions have wondered at my secret, but I am going to reveal it to you below for the mere price of three monthly payments of $29.95.

It is not that I never work in the kitchen. No, beginning to prepare meals is a key part of my Avoidance of Meal Preparation strategy. Why, just two weeks ago I was chopping vegetables and sliced the tip off my left thumb along with a perfect strip of green pepper. It was tragic, and Jason had no choice but to step in and complete all kitchen prep work until my thumb healed.

Last night, as I was finally able to help with dinner again, I made certain to hack open a vein that runs along the inside of my ring finger, on a jagged edge left by our crappy can opener. It was painful, but it should keep me out of the kitchen for another week or so.

A good marriage takes a lot of self-sacrifice, girls. Remember that.

dear universe, i am a cheap date

Very quiet tonight.

No tvs on, just Jason typing in the next room, and crickets.

I am an expert, now, at crying silently. I can sob without making a sound. As I was putting Helena to bed, she saw my contorted face and thought I was laughing, at first. Then she got very still and started asking, "Mama? Mama?"

I hate tearjerker movies. Hate them. What's the point? No, I don't want to watch effing Braveheart or Titanic. I don't need to be made to cry by my entertainment. That's why my favorite shows are Spongebob and Reno 911. But I have hope that the tears we shed on another's behalf maybe come off their lifetime tearshed quota, or something. Maybe it's like U-Promise and each tear can be divided any number of ways, in case you can't decide exactly who you're crying for.

Anyway, onto topics that don't generally make me cry but could now that I've gotten started (although, really, a plate of cookies would probably get me bawling --silently -- right now so it doesn't take much once the bawl gets rolling), while the kids and I were on a picnic at the park today, Jason got a call from a company in Chicago. They had a little phone interview and scheduled a more in-depth interview for tomorrow with the person to whom he'd be reporting. It sounds like they'd be able to pay what we'd need to make the move worthwhile. We do have some family in Chicago, and it had been our next planned move when we thought we were planning things. Heh. Anyway, at the very least it is a little dollop of encouragement, and I take my dollops where I can get them.

Also, I've been meaning to post about this for a while. Remember when I kind of lost my shit because the boys are such hellions? And Amy from Franklin5 commented that tomorrow would be better and bright and shiny like a new penny.

Well, it was sort of funny. After that time of sucktasm we went on vacation, and immediately after vacation my parents took Athena for a week, so it was about two weeks later that I found myself at Home Depot with the boys and Helena, picking up hardware for our new swingset viking rocking glider of terror.

Because the boys understood the importance of this mission and were emotionally invested in its success, I felt confident as we embarked upon our journey. And it went well. I asked appropriate questions. I visited several Home Depot departments and asked for help. The children were... okay.

As we approached my fly minivan in the parking lot, a glint of something shiny caught my eye. I stuffed the kids in the car and slid the door shut so they couldn't escape, then bent down to investigate. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a shiny penny!

And I'll be damned if it wasn't a 2008 penny. Brand new. I haven't seen another 2008 penny yet (I have OCD. So yeah, I check the dates on my change before handing it over.) and there was that one, laying in the Home Depot parking lot after a successful avec-kids shopping trip, smiling up at me like a very cheap sign from... God? Franklin5? The blogosphere? The U.S. Department of the Treasury? I don't know, but I liked it and it made me happy.

And here's where there should be something about me framing the penny and looking at it every day for patience or something, but instead I don't know what happened to it because, you know, I have all these kids. Probably Helena ate it. But it's a true story.

noah lauer

Noah moved onto bigger and better things yesterday.

I find that the theory of Christianity in such a situation is very easy and comforting. In death, we are all reunited. There is no suffering. We will have eternity together, and in the face of eternity a handful of decades of separation is nothing. This perspective is lightweight and gauzy.

I am lucky/blessed/otherwise spared thus far, so I have only the faintest idea about the practice of Christianity after having lost a child or other close loved one for whose death you cannot mentally prepare. But I imagine that perspective to be like pulling my great uncle's World War II wool army blanket out of the washer without having run a spin cycle, and putting it over my head. So heavy you can hardly move, so thick you can't see, so dense you can barely breathe. You know that lightweight, gauzy perspective is out there, but how to shrug off this sopping olive drab blanket?

And that's not taking into account the expectations of others, as to whether you grieve too long, or too loudly, or too quietly, or in a way that makes others uncomfortable, or maybe you seem like you don't care enough. All these expectations, maybe, are like people stepping on the corners of the blanket that's covering you, without noticing. It's heavy enough, without all these people holding it down.

Like I said, I have no idea about this. Deb, if you ever read this, may your light and gauzy days outnumber your olive drab days. May we all step quickly off your blanket if we accidentally tread on it. May you have the strength to shout from under there, or the freedom to walk fast and far under the burden you carry. May you feel comfortable to just be, wherever you are and in whatever state of mind you find yourself. I am so, so sorry, and words are terribly inadequate. But thank you so much for sharing Noah with us. He is a beautiful little boy; a shining example of why I believe in God despite all this.

deep like a reflecting pool

Random points related to the previous post:

I think healing for Noah, for example, when it has been deemed medically impossible, would bring more people to God. So I can't believe that this is the way God would choose to bring people to him. I believe God could use anything for good, but I don't believe he would choose to have his children suffer.

Throughout the Bible God's relationship with man is likened to a parent's relationship with a child. I do not choose to make my children suffer (usually, unless they are extra annoying).

I conceived and gave birth to my children, but especially as they age, it is right that I step back and let situations with their siblings, friends, teachers, employers, partners, etc. resolve themselves. I can advise and sympathize, but the times when it is prudent to intervene become fewer and fewer. I could intervene -- call a friend's parent, speak to their spouse, ask a friend to give my kid a job as a favor to me -- but each situation requires careful consideration to make sure I'm not depriving my child of the chance to work something out for him- or herself.

While I can't imagine what would make God decide not to intervene in the case of a sick baby, I guess that's the whole Christ story. A child who is born with the sole purpose of living his short life, and dying. I can't pretend to understand the algebra of sacrifice and redemption. A sick baby (for example) as a lesson seems to go back to the old idea that when bad things happen, it's because people did something to deserve it. They took their good life for granted, or they were sinful, or too proud. I do not think that is how God works.

I think it must be that God conceived us, he set the world in motion, but now he mostly chooses not to intervene. He can advise and sympathize, but with extremely rare exceptions, he does not step in to change the course of events. It's up to us to seek his advice, to use prayer as a way to talk things out, express our concerns, and maybe to think on how we can help or be better people.

That's freeing, in a way. I don't have to worry that I'm not speaking the prayer the right way, or that it isn't answered because I'm not righteous enough. I don't pray for things for myself -- other than patience. I haven't asked for a job for Jason. I haven't asked that we not lose our house. In the grand scheme of things, this is really not a life-altering problem yet. I want no more babies to die. That's it.

But I think God knows that, even without me speaking it during the day or as I lay awake at night. I wonder if it is enough, or just as well, to worry about how someone is doing, to want strength and courage for them, and to hope for an unexpected outcome. And I am less angry that way.

ah hell

This hasn't really been a good week. We are trying to stay upbeat, but we misstepped this week by failing to keep busy with job searching every second, and we both got a bit discouraged. We had company through the weekend until Tuesday, then I was on deadline Wednesday, and yesterday we left to visit our grandparents. We arrived back tonight.

Did Terminix come while we were gone, as promised? I can't tell. I am sick of being bitten. No word on any jobs. Am facing the fact that I need to go apply for state health insurance and WIC and any other help we can get. Haven't received our health insurance cards for August yet so we have to make double copays when the kids are seen, and they ALL have appointments this month.

I am sad for Deb and Noah and Josh and I am angry, because it does not make a freaking bit of sense, and when we simplify certain bite-sized chunks of faith into "promises," (like, "the fervent prayers of a righteous man availeth much" or "don't worry about what you will eat...seek first his kingdom and all these things will be added unto you") it doesn't seem to wrap up nearly as neatly as the word "promise" implies. Fine. God chooses not to heal an innocent baby? Fine. That's fine. But don't package it as being for some greater purpose.

I am sure God *can* do anything. I have no doubt of that. And I don't expect a God that I of all people can figure out. But I don't appreciate the formulaic approach to faith I feel in many of the churches I've spent time in, or from many of the people who've spoken to me about faith.

1. Insert fervent prayer here.
2. Boldly enter request.
3. Believe your answered prayer will thunk to the bottom of the machine, where you can push open the trap door and grab it.*
   *Certain restrictions apply. Offer may not be valid in all 50 states.

I wish it were so simple. And every freaking time I hope that maybe this time it WILL be that simple. Noah would be home right now. And there is still time! Maybe this time it will happen, still! I choose to keep pushing buttons, sliding my dollar in and out, just *in case* it might magically work and deliver my coveted sugary snack of answered prayer goodness (I'm imagining a Snickers bar as the equivalent of an answered prayer). Why? I don't know. Because I don't know any different. Because I was raised to. Because it's too awful to imagine that the metal spiral doesn't spin, ever. Because the random times the candy falls out are almost enough for me.

God isn't a vending machine, or s/he's a really crappy one.

I keep on pushing the buttons, trying a different dollar. Maybe a newer one. Maybe that one is too wrinkly. Maybe this one will work, if I gently pull back on it as the machine pulls it in. Maybe if I rock the machine. Maybe if I swear at it, or something. But if I'm trying to buy a Snickers bar, and the machine won't deliver anything but Bugles and Beechnut, that machine is still out of order.

Anyway, obviously, I'm tired.

time machine

2004: (I think this was 35 or 36 weeks with the twins. I kept tripping over Athena because I couldn't see her at all if she was anywhere near me. She was eclipsed by my belly.)

2005:
2006: (I know I look lovely. I had just given birth about two hours earlier, though. The bad hair wasn't necessarily her fault though.) (The boys were terrified of the hospital and spent most of their visit bawling very loudly, hence their unenthusiastic facial expressions.)
2007: (They climbed in Phoenix's little toddler bed together.)
2008: The boys' birthday is two weeks from today. I still can't believe I have twins.

bright spots

Vermin: Our Terminix service covers fleas, so I am waiting for them to call back and let us know when they will be over to rid our home of these foul vermin. Supposedly flea dipping is unsafe, according to the veterinarians I called. Ugh. They recommended Frontline and a flea comb. I'll let you know how that goes.

LOSING MY SHIT!
*****

Friends: My dear friend Sarah sent me a hilarious package last week. It included:

• lollipops to shut up my children and keep Jason and I from resuming smoking.
• a package of brownie mix
• a (clean) laundry-scented Oust candle to save us from having to bathe or wash clothes, and to give us light once our power is shut off.
• "Calming and Relaxing" body wash, in case I do ever decide to shower.
• my favorite kind of roller-ball pens, which I promptly deemed "lucky pens" and sent on Jason's interview
• Firefly toothbrushes for the kids, so I can feed them lollipops without guilt
• 71% cacao chocolate bar... mmm...
• a Blockbuster gift card for Jason
• some "Gold Nugget" gum so we can pretend we are rich!

We laughed so hard going through all this stuff and reading her note. I don't know how a crappy inconsiderate person like me ended up with all these great friends, but I lucked out.

Sarah, thank you!!!