Even my kids appreciate uniqueness.  Really, who DOESN’T love a sick looking baby doll? 

Aurora specializes in babydoll and real baby makeovers by appointment only.  Please leave a message if you’d like to obtain her specialized services and one of her assistants will return your call.

Welcome back!

* Rora was eating her chicken strip and promptly fell asleep.  We really did try to remove it, but the camera kept getting in the way we couldn’t reach it.

The shrill scream ripped through my dream, slicing it in half as my eyes fought the fog of sleep, trying to pry themselves open.  “Mommy!”  Came a little whisper by my ear as two little hands reached up to shake me, fear in her little voice.  “Mommy, there’s a man in my room!”

My breath caught in my throat as I pulled her into the imaginary protective shield of my arms.  My brain began to settle back into sleep as alarming thoughts crept through…was it a real man…or just a dream…probably just a dream…..

“Mom!” She whispered urgently, shaking my shoulders and patting my face.  “There’s a MAN!”  “What?” I moaned.  I had heard her but was looking for clarification, because I was incredibly too tired to chase dreams, and I really didn’t know if I could even run in this state of exhaustion had it been a real man.  After all, had it been a real man, wouldn’t he have stopped her from running to me?  Wouldn’t he be making out with the total of ten dollars he MIGHT’VE scrounged from our couch cushions (except our couch doesn’t even have cushions, out of luck there!)?

“Lorelei, baby…it was just a dream.”  I said, listening carefully for the tiniest movement, hoping I could placate her as well as myself with my reasoning.

“No, mommy.  He had a gun!  He said he wanted to shoot me.  Kill me.”

I stared at her in disbelief, trying to process it all in my still half-asleep brain.  Kill her?  Guns?  Where in the world did that come from?  She watches movies about barbie princesses and strawberry shortcake and french and abcs.  Guns?  We don’t even have real cable!!!  A rush of thoughts flooded my brain…what IF there really was a man in her room?  What if he was waiting to kill us all?  CRAP!  The baby!

I jumped out of bed.  “Show me, Lorelei.”

“Right there.  He was standing right there.”  She said, pointing her finger out to show me a space in front of her bed that now stood empty.  I did a quick check of all rooms, under beds, and closets and came up clean (the way I like it).  No strange men with guns in the closets makes a happy me.

…..

That’s how it all began.  And, after some time, we were able to coax Lorelei back into bed for the night, but from then on, she needed a nightlight.  We told her Un-Lady was just a dream, not really real, but the screaming in the middle of the night kept coming and if she woke up to a dead nightlight that had run out of battery juice, there would be many many tears.  Un-Lady wasn’t just a dream anymore.  She said Un-Lady was a man, a mean man, and he had a gun.  The story pretty much never changed, which isn’t very consistent with dreams.  He didn’t chase her, there were no other dream “places”…it was just real to her.  And then, the “baby” started screaming out in the middle of the night.  Waking up, cowering in the corner of her crib, screaming that scream that you KNOW something is wrong.  It was always the really hurt/terrified cry…the one that makes your heart stop in the middle of your chest when you hear it in the middle of the night.  Sometimes, the baby would be standing in the corner of her crib, hands held tightly to the bars, as she kept anxiously looking over her shoulder, using her feet to try to fling herself out of her crib.  She wasn’t hurt.  She was terrified.

But it was weird.  I would pick her up and she’d still be frantic.  Step one step out of her room, and she was fine.  Step back inside, cue screaming.  Step right outside the door, and calm.  At first, I figured it was a bad dream, but then it got weirder.  She wasn’t wanting out of bed to play, or to simply snuggle…she’d sleep in my bed with me once she had an “episode,” but it wasn’t snuggling…she would cling to me  as if she was tired someone would rip her away.  She would hide her face and body in any little crook my body provided.  She was exhausted, she was terrified.

A few months passed as we bought numerous nightlights to flood their room with light, erasing shadows.  But, the girls would still wake up, terrified – often independently of the other (one would be asleep and wake up later with terrified screams).

And then, a friend came over… a little girl that was given a gift at birth that she neither wanted or liked.  She could see things that I couldn’t see.  So, I asked her to go through my house and just let me know what she found.  I didn’t tell her where to look or which rooms to go through.  She went through them all.

After going through the girls’ room, she came out, her face white as she gripped a nearby chair for support.  “Something,” she said, pointing to their room, “has been in there.”

“Tell me more,” I said.  I wanted more information but didn’t want to lead and wasn’t really sure how far her gift reached.

“It’s an older man.  He’s angry.  There’s a space in front of Lorelei’s bed and when I touched the crib, I thought I was going to pass out.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to string thoughts together.  “Angry…as in…it wants to kill us or angry at someone else kind of angry?”

“Angry, but he doesn’t want to kill you, but he’s not necessarily pleasant to be around either.  Also, he was in your room.”

“Do you SEE him?  Like, now?”

“No, he’s not here.  He just was here.  I can’t feel him as strong in your room so it’s been a while, but in their room (she points), it’s very recent.”

“Like, how recent?”

“A couple of hours ago.”

She didn’t know that a couple of hours ago, I had sent Lorelei to take a nap and she’d jumped out of her bed moments later, unable to sleep.  She didn’t know that a couple of hours ago, my three year old had screamed to nobody in particular “I SAID LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!  MOMMY SAID YOU CAN’T BE HERE IF I DON’T WANT YOU!”

She didn’t know, but yet she knew.

———————————————————–

UPDATE: After a lot of thought and a few people not taking us and our concerns very seriously, we invited fellow God-believers over and crammed our living room full with 14 people (including children), and on our knees, we prayed and blessed our home.  Even the smallest children were on their knees…and then there was Lorelei, her head bent fervently as she struggled to repeat the entire prayer (nobody else was repeating it.  Just her and the leader.)  It’s been 3 weeks since we’ve had any UN LADY incidents.  This makes us very happy.

“You’re a genius!”  — I’ve heard it more than occasionally, and really, who am I to argue?  If enough people say it, it must be true, right?  Sure, sure.  We’re just gonna run with it.

Anyhow, do you ever get those AH-HA moments?  -Not the kind where you’re about to sneeze but then end up coughing or laughing.  No, I mean the AH-HA, a light bulb just went off in my head and ohmygosh it didn’t even short out!! kind of moments.

Yeh, well I don’t get those very often.  Probably because I’m a genius.  It’s hard being a genius, you know?  Sometimes you forget you know stuff and then you remember and suddenly it’s gone again because really, your head is just not big enough to hold all of this massive knowledge.   (Which might have to do with my constant headaches.  Note to self:  Google “genius headaches” because real geniuses don’t go to the doctor,  they’re supposed to make their medicine.  In their lab.  In their basement.  I don’t have a basement.  Crap.)

Anyways, stop distracting me.  I’m trying to tell you something.

Oh yes, it’s dangerous to be a genius.  Everybody wants your help.  And, sometimes, they just want you dead.  Like, for instance, the wasps under my porch steps.  I’m pretty sure they could be recruited by the military and earn some major ribbons for their ferociousness.  Seriously, these are some really pissed off wasps.  I bet they are part of the uncool group of wasps and probably weren’t allowed to hang out with the cool wasps, so now they hate the world.  And, they decided to hang out under my porch steps to see if they could assassinate us.  Because my whole family is made up of geniuses…it runs in the family or something.

Anyhow, I know all of this because Lorelei came up the steps and a huge SWARM of wasps pummeled her.  I saw 4, but it was probably because I was distracted with solving algorithms in my head, so I missed seeing the rest of the swarm.  I pulled her and the baby to safety but it was too late.  They had gotten Lorelei.  And, these things must be freaks.  Freak wasps because their stingers are HUGE and left a gaping hole in her leg.  That might be why they’re so mad.  I’d be mad if I was a freak wasp, too.

I pulled her up onto the couch and she was all “I’m DYYYINNNGGG, they’re trying to KIIILLLL MEEEEEEE!” in her little toddler wail as she held on to her leg.  I didn’t really know what to say, because she’s probably right.  Not about the dying part, but it probably was an assassination attempt.  I called my mom because DUDE, doesn’t everyone call their mother after someone tries to kill them and their family?  I mean, I would’ve called my body guard, but nobody seems to want that job.  Probably because my life is so dangerous, you know…being a GENIUS stay at home mom and all.

Mom said I should put a baking soda paste on it and I was all like “PBBTTT  They’re expecting that!  And…I have a black couch!!”  So, I looked in my arsenal of things and brought out the activated charcoal.  Everybody has activated charcoal in their medicine cabinets, right?  I mean, you never know when someone might try to gas or poison you.  Come on people, be smart!  Gosh, there I go again, forgetting I’m a GENIUS and not everybody is as smart as me.  Sorry bout that.

Then, in an effort to make Lorelei feel better, mom came over and brought an assortment of goodies.  I tried convincing her that a parfait from McDonalds would make us ALL feel better, but she clearly disagreed (that, and apparently the cars in line at McD’s didn’t understand that it was an emergency, so they wouldn’t just move the heck out of the way.)  At the bottom of the bag, there were 2 cans of spray.   YEH!  Protection!  Retaliation!  LET’S KILL THEM and AVENGE MY BABY’S LEG!  YEAH! Wait, why does this say ant spray on it?  I looked at her through squinty eyes, trying to figure out if she thought this was funny or if perhaps, she’d lost it.  “All I had was ant spray and it worked for me!”  She said.  So, most likely, I have ant wasps…no wonder they’re ticked off.

Anyhow, I made a black charcoal paste and it took the swelling down.  But it was only temporary.  A day later and half her leg was swollen and icky.  Tricky poison!!  So, I put more paste on it and today…it looked like this:

The swelling and redness had gone down, but what’s that?  TWO sting entrances?  Awesome.  (Poor kid.)

In other news, Aurora is cutting her two top first molars.  TWO.  One on each side.  I was going to share a picture for her, but I really didn’t think you all would appreciate seeing the diarrhea diapers this produces.

You know you’re in trouble when your toddler runs into the bathroom while you’re trying to take a shower in peace and yells “MOMMY!  Aurora is getting poop all over her blankets!!!” – and then the flashbacks of a baby smeared in poop pop through your brain.

*Sigh*  Being a genius sucks.  I quit.

You know how when your plate is full and hard enough to carry as it is and then little things keep getting added and you feel like abandoning the entire plate (which is your entire life) all-together?  But, you can’t actually because …it’s your life.  And, you know how it makes you just sob nonstop and you start feeling all stabby (mostly in your thoughts) when you have to deal with fake people and their syrupy smiles and rude obnoxious people…so you stop going out in public?  You’re angry with yourself because really, it’s time to get over this…even YOU are getting tired of hearing and seeing yourself all blue and sad and pathetic.  And you know how you start avoiding people because you know they’ll ask how you’ve been (without really wanting the full answer) and you know that as soon as you do, it’s very likely that you’ll just break down into a heap on the floor?  And, although you normally wouldn’t tell them, you will because you feel so darn broken and…they asked?  And then there’s the friends you thought were your friends, thought knew you, but they don’t even notice?  And you feel dumb for expecting people to have ESP but then again, you’re trapped in your own head?  You hate the idea of antidepressants but you also know if someone put them in front of you, you’d eat em like candy, just hoping it would chase away some of the darkness?  And, you’re all angry at God but you love HIm too?  You feel lost and you see all of these “happy” people and you wonder what the hell you did so wrong to keep getting the short end of the straw?  –And then you start wondering if maybe this was all His plan?  And that makes you … well…I don’t know.

I feel like a 15 year old EMO kid – except I’m on my own and my happily ever after turned out to be one of my worst nightmares.  So, I’m locking myself in my proverbial “room” and functioning on autopilot.

I’m trying to find “happy” but keep finding the dead-end detours, instead.

*Yes, I am aware that my child looks a little homeless.  I assure you her hair was brushed right AFTER this picture.

What?  You don’t put up photos of your children with wet, un-brushed hair and bubba teeth?

I used to be one of those moms who was all “Oh yeh, I’ll never lie to my kids.  I’ll just only tell them what they specifically ask when things get sticky.”

*snort*  Yeh, that didn’t last long.

You know, we thought we were just SO friggin’ smart when we took away her pacifier and let her “find her thumb” – as if it was lost.  We figured, “Oh hey, now she can’t lose it!”  -And, well, at least that part was true, but after she turned 3, it wasn’t something we were so excited about.

Like any good parents, we did the bribery thing.  “Lorelei, let’s not suck your thumb and then we can get you a baby mermaid, okay?”  Being the master negotiator that she is (she IS my daughter, after all), she eyed me suspiciously.  “You’re going to get me the whale?”

“No, honey.  Mommy will get you the Ariel princess baby mermaid.  Won’t that be FUN?!”  (said a little too excitedly that even the baby knew I was exaggerating)

“Yeh.  The Princess whale.”

(I tried not to grin.  Oh, she is my daughter! – And, I could completely see her point.  Ariel IS almost a whale.)  “Yeh, her.  But, only if you stop sucking your thumb!  Okay?”

“Okay!” She declared, “Look!  I no suck my thumb!  Where’s my whale?”

I quickly clarified that she had to stop sucking her thumb PERIOD.  Then, it became a no-deal.  Not even princess whales were worth that.

Then, like any good parent, I upped my tactics and went with the bittertastingthumb.  She just frowned and sucked more vigorously.  FAIL.

We tried making it a rule, where thumb sucking was no longer allowed.

We tried to reason with the kid, telling her that if she kept sucking her thumb, her teeth would look funny and her finger would be all yucky.  She wasn’t too concerned.  Oh, she talked about it nonstop with questions, but she did it between sucking.

Our pediatrician even told us that if we were worried enough, we could do the hand cover that she’d wear for several months CONTINUOUSLY that would keep her from physically putting her thumb into her mouth.  That seemed a little barbaric to me, so we decided to wait.

I’d finally given up, figuring I’d have a 17 year old thumb-sucker when she asked,

“What’s this?”  Pointing to the nasty callous on her thumb.  I think my head may have dropped into my hands at that point, not ready for ANOTHER thumb-sucking conversation that would end with… thumb sucking.  My husband, without missing a beat, picked up the conversation.

“It’s where you’re sucking your thumb off.”

“I am not!”  She said, horrified at the accusation she’d just been charged with.

“Yep, if you suck your thumb too much, it’ll just fall off!”

Eying him suspiciously, she turned to me, “Mommy, is my thumb going to fall off?”

“Um, just listen to your father!”  I said too brightly, hightailing it out of the room to fill up my already full glass of water.

She placed her thumb in her mouth, eyes on us, then took it back out.  “Can I suck my thumb?  Is it going to fall off?”

“That’s up to you!  You can suck it if you want to, but it might fall off if you do!”

The seed was planted.

And so it was:  If you suck your thumb, it might fall off.

A few days later, in the van:

“Mommy?  What’s that?”  She said, pointing to a series of ambulances zooming past with their sirens blaring.

Without missing a beat, I replied, “Probably someone’s finger fell off….  Lorelei!  Check your thumbs!  Are they still there?”

She pulled out her thumbs (which were attached).

“Phew.  That was close.”  I said, as my mother gave me a sideways glance from the driver’s seat and mouthed “Whattheheck?”

Yep.  Parenting at it’s finest.

In related news:  Lorelei no longer sucks her thumb!

2 minutes. 

That’s the amount of time I let the baby and toddler out of my sight so I could start a new load of laundry.

2 minutes.

That’s the amount of time it took for Lorelei to use the big girl potty and for Aurora to follow her into the bathroom.

2 minutes.

That’s all it took.

And, that’s about when I walked in to find my 3 year old looking on, horrified, as her one year old sister fished her hand into the potty, apparently trying to catch her sister’s…

poop.

Yeh, I said it.

That’s definitely NOT what I expected to find.

(The good news is, I walked in just as it happened…so, she didn’t have time to take her paci out of her mouth.  And no, she didn’t catch anything.)

Dear Rora,

Happy First Birthday!

You are one!  And, like typical you, yesterday was a very dramatic one.  We celebrated your birthday (actual day) with a trip to the doctor and then promptly canceling all of our plans for the day (that involved people):  You have Roseola.

It’s a virus that reminds me a bit of chicken pox in how it acts – most kids get it between 3 months and 4 years old (although some are mis diagnosed because it can kind of resemble hives or a couple of other things), it’s contagious, and once you have had it, you’re immune.  But, unlike chicken pox, you get a fever for a few days and then it goes away, leaving you a nasty looking rash that doesn’t itch and an irritable mood.

I’m so glad we were able to celebrate this past weekend!

Anyways, you are one of the tiniest one year olds I know, despite your willingness to eat anything in sight.  You are standing and walking when you have things to hold onto, but don’t seem too concerned to walk on your own just yet (like your sister was).  You love to dance, play with water, and still have the prettiest blue eyes.

And, you’re the best cuddler!

This note, however, is going to be short – because you need me and I’d rather tell you over and over in person how much you mean to me.

Love

Mommy