Mom is Just a Nickname

Hard financial times lead us to thinking of what luxuries, pleasures, and possibly necessities would we give up if we had to.  It’s been on my mind lately.

I realize that I’ve been slowly letting go of a number of things which previously I would have thought of as necessity.  Yet there are other luxuries which I keep buying. I rationalize that they are things that would be useful to have, should the need arise, but the flat out fact of the matter is that at this point, they really are luxuries.

Here are some things I’ve let go of in the last few months and years:

• Cable/Satellite TV.  Toph and I have let this go a number of times since we got married.  For one reason or another, we sometimes decide it’s worth the cost, but at the moment we are without…and functioning just fine without it.  We have a digital converter, so when need be, we can watch the news and such.  Otherwise, we get movies from the library or from the Red Box, or *gasp* we do things which are not TV related.  (Oh, the horror! heh.)

• Shaving.  What? Shaving?  Well, I haven’t shaved in almost two months. Not my legs, anyhow.  This was less a matter of ‘letting go’ for the sake of our financial security and more a matter of me rebelling against the establishment, I think.  I kept asking myself, “Why am I shaving? Who am I making happy by doing it?”  I decided that I’d let my legs go furry and see what I actually thought of it.  So far, I like the freedom of not having to shave every other day or every day. I like not having little razor burn bumps on my legs. And I feel like my legs are finally getting a chance to heal all the old shaving wounds they have received in the past.  And in the meantime, I’m saving money by not going through razorheads.

• Shampoo and Conditioner.  Another case of doing it for something other than money matters, but it is saving us money.  I began to investigate going ‘No ‘Poo’ years ago, but never got up the nerve to do it.  Then my head began rebelling. No matter what brand, formula or frequency I used, my head was itchy and flaky. Yes, I even tried dandruff shampoos.  Almost six months ago, in my last fit of frustration, I began to reduce how often I shampoo until I was down to only once a week.  Then about a month ago, I began to use baking soda, apple cider vinegar and if I really need some deeper conditioning, olive oil.  I’ve heard that you can use lemon juice instead of apple cider vinegar, especially if you have or want more blonde highlights.  I’m happy with my head of reddish highlights at the moment, so I haven’t tried it.  The bottom line of the switch is that I’m not buying shampoo, conditioner or any of the other miscellaneous hair products that were previously so necessary to me to have a nice head of hair.  And, after an initial period of frizziness, my hair is settling down and looking fine.  Happy head, less money spent. It works for me.

• Meat. Could you go vegetarian?  We are working on reducing our meat consumption, for our health and wallets, as much as any environmental reason.  We have been discovering quite a number of delicious and filling meals with our experimenting…and they are cheaper!

• Paper Products such as paper towels, napkins, plates, tissues, feminine products.  We have reduced our paper towel usage by using (and reusing) cloth rags for most things.  We use cloth napkins most of the time, and, with rare exceptions, we use our regular dishes and cutlery instead of paper dishes and plastic flatware.  The tissues we haven’t given up.  I’m still wrestling with the sanitary issues of handkerchiefs.  I did give up most disposable feminine products almost 8 years ago, though. I use cloth pads most of the time now. (Sorry if that’s TMI, but it falls in with this category and it’s an important, money saving, switch that I made.) I also used cloth diapers on X when he was little, for the most part.  X hasn’t reached nighttime dryness yet, so sadly we do spend money on pull-ups, but part of that is my own reluctance to invest the time and energy into finding a good overnight cloth diaper that doesn’t seem like a diaper for him…only to have him give them up a week later.  I have hopes he’ll nighttime train soon.

• Newspapers.  Instead of getting a newspaper delivered, read it online.  The downside of this is that you don’t get the coupons without a Sunday paper.  Most of the sales flyers are available online or can be sent in email, though.

Anyhow, the point of all of this is just to point out how many things we use which have less expensive alternatives that have all but been forgotten about in this age of convenience and disposables and expectations.  We have options, if we but take the time to look around and commit the energy to changing our ways.

What have you or would you give up in order to live on less money?

When I was twelve, if anyone had told me that I’d be pregnant in 8 more years, I might have laughed at them. Although I did have great aspirations to be a mother some day (there’s a reason friends called me ‘Momma Beth’) I really did not think it would happen in 8 years. Although 8 years then seemed an eternity away, still it seemed like 20 years old was too young for me to consider becoming a parent.

12+8=20 and there I was pregnant with my first child. Luckily, also happily married to a great guy with lots of love and support from both of our families.

At the age of 20, if anyone had told me that in 8 more years, I would have had two more children but also have lost one, I would not have believed anything that person had told me. Well, maybe having two more children in 8 years was realistic, but not losing one. The thought of losing a child was inconceivable to me then. I lived in a happy world, with a good life spreading out before me. It was not a life tinged with sadness or tragedy. I had such a blessed life, that I could only think “That can’t happen to me.”

At the age of 23, I had my second child. And five weeks later, he stopped breathing. And still the thought that tragedy could strike my family was not one that I felt applied to me. I still had hope that my second child would recover fully from his brush with death and go on to lead a long and fulfilling life. The doctors tried their hardest to put his future into realistic terms for us. The walls of my safe castle were crumbling, my world was no longer full of the bright colors of optimism and joy. Instead, a strong hand had brushed every thing I saw with gray, black and brown. I quickly came to realize my easy, blessed life was changing in horrifying ways. Thinking 8 years ahead then was not an option. It was all I could do to survive, day by day, hour by hour. The future was not mine to dream about.

At the age of 25, the question of Sullivan’s future was answered. He died. He had no future in this life, beyond that of our memories. I became intimately aware that “IT” could happen to anyone, anywhere, without rhyme or reason. As the days and months passed after his death, I began to see a future ahead again. Each day that passed painted a new kaleidoscope of colors in front of me. The world still held grays, blacks and browns, but they became balanced by the endless shades of other possibilities. At the age of 25, I had no idea what my future held. But I wanted another child. Eight years ahead seemed far distant still.

I’m 31 now. I’m still looking forward into the murky future, trying to resolve the whirling mix of colors into some order that makes sense. I’m still trying to find my own path to the future, while realizing that every day lays a new stone on the path to that future. I don’t know what the next 8 years hold for me or for my family. I hope, I pray, that my two children will continue growing and maturing into the next 8 years. In 8 years, J will be 18 and moving out into the great world beyond, hopefully filled with all the hope and optimism an 18 year old should have. In 8 years, X will be 12 and my hope is that he will still have that boundless energy and curiousity that he was now.

But now, looking back 8 years, I see so many twists and turns in the path. It’s hard to believe that almost 8 years ago, I gave birth to my second child…thinking I was giving him into the world to love and nurture to adulthood. It’s hard to believe that six years ago, I said goodbye to that boy. Instead of raising him to adulthood, I watched him soar to the heavens.

Sometimes, when I see a picture of my family now, there’s a shadow figure standing there beside us. A boy with curly light brown hair and bright blue eyes lit with the mischief most 8 year old boys seem to share. He’s tall for his age, and strong. He’s there with us, always, even if only in my head. I wonder what he’d be like now, if he had never stopped breathing that cold December day. And then I wonder what he’d be like now, if he had stopped breathing…but then hadn’t died two years later.

8 years…it’s amazing what a difference 8 years can make.

If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you’ve read something of our son, Sullivan. The anniversary of his death is looming once more, and the anticipation of it is building. Somehow, the day itself will be anticlimatic, but perhaps that’s as it should be. His death was anticlimatic in many ways.

We went through nearly two years of drama during his lifetime. First his near miss SIDS incident, a month in the hospital with him, fighting insurance companies and government agencies trying to get the care he needed, that we needed in order to live.

(I’m still frustrated by all of the refusals I heard in that time. Did you know that a pair of people are supposed to be able to care for a medically fragile infant 24/7 while one holds a full time job and the other also has a 2 year old to nurture, without any help whatsoever? The insurance company was KIND ENOUGH to grant us weekly home visits from a nurse to be monitor Sullivan’s health. But no respite care was authorized until we turned to Hospice. Thank goodness for family and friends willing to give of themselves to make our lives bearable.)

I find I’m often sad, bitter, even angry about things that happened during Sullivan’s life. The sadness is sort of ever present, although it’s tinged with a gratefulness that I was given nearly two years to know and love Sullivan. But the bitterness, the anger, the rage, they are not balanced by much of anything. They are simply a whirlpool of nasty feelings about the companies and people who did not seem to hold a compassionate place in their hearts. A tiny family of four was struggling to maintain itself on a number of levels and all they saw was a child who was not expected to live and so did not deserve their help. How heartless.

Would his life have been different if his care had been different? Did the insurance company or the doctors limit his potential with their beliefs that he would not live? I’m sure I’ll never know.

But after all of that fighting for every thing we could provide for him, when it actually came time to say goodbye to him, it felt surprisingly undramatic. It was matter of fact, it was full of grief and mourning, definitely. But it was not wholly unexpected, it was not shocking, although it was surreal.

On the day of his death, I was confused. I had no desire to weep and wail as I have heard some people do. I felt more pressure to act the ‘right’ way for others, but yet I had no idea what the ‘right way’ actually was. As I did when the incident first happened, I settled stiffly into a pattern of getting done what needed getting done. And when there was nothing that needed to be done, I wandered aimlessly. I wandered a candle shop for at least an hour, searching for a candle or holder that would adequately honor my son’s memory. The one I found suited the day, with its stained glass autumn leaves and its strong metal trunk. It was a reminder that ever life has seasons and the seasons change. It reminded me that the tree of Sullivan’s life had passed on to the next phase, whatever that may be.

I’ve been told, and come to believe, that Sullivan was a very old soul. He had a way about him, a charm that glittered in his bright blue eyes. The charisma he carried could reach out to the hardest of hearts and grab their attention…and often their love. Something in him called out to others, sharing compassion, hope and wisdom.

But when I think of those blue eyes, so similar to his father’s and to the little brother he never met, I know I saw more than that. I saw a recognition, a soul-deep knowledge that he was surrounded by love and family. Despite being told that he was cortically blind, it became clear that he could see SOMETHING. And when those eyes stared at me, I knew that something in the vague shape he could likely see, spoke to him of love, comfort and care. Something in that fuzzy shape he might have seen, spoke of MOMMY for him. Despite not being able to hear very well, perhaps some unique tone in my voice conveyed that he meant the world to me. And perhaps, in the end, he did what he could to make sure that his mommy would find the strength to go on after he was gone. His fingers curling into my hair to hug me back, his lunging for me the last time I passed him onto his daddy, the way those eyes watched me the last day….it was so lacking in drama, we had every hope that we’d see him alive again the next day.

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At this time 6 years ago, we were fully expecting years with our son still. And when September 30th came, six years ago, although we worried that he was ready to let go, we assured him it was ok to die, still we never expected to be saying goodbye for the last time.

I keep getting subtle and not so subtle hints from far flung family and friends that they’d appreciate seeing pictures of the family, especially the kids.  So, here are a few we took this weekend.  These were taken out at one of our favorite parks, near the duck pond there.  The kids spent some time playing on the playground, we strolled a bit and then it was time to head home.

Notice that I’m the only one not wearing red! They do this to me all the time. It’s a conspiracy. They all decide to wear red on the same day and forget to send the memo to me! So then, I wear black and look all out of place when I’m walking with them! lol

So many of my friends and family are welcoming babies into the world this year or next.  My sister, two cousins, and friends!  I’m happy for all of them, but sad for myself.  My babies are getting older…My oldest turns 10 in October.  TEN! I said TEN!!!!!  I’ve been a mom for ten years, while some of my peers still don’t have any children.  I’m not sure which, if either, missed out.  I mean, I do kind of wish I had had more time as an adult before having children.  But, that would have meant passing up the time I have had with my kids…and that would be a sore loss for me.

I’m trying to balance the past, the present and the future.  The things I might have done if I’d misspent my youth might have led me down a far less pleasant path.  I now sit in my home, surrounded by the family I love, and know that I made a decision that was healthy for me…even if it seemed insane at the time, and even if it led to some great heartache.  All the things I wish I had had back before meeting Topher or having kids, I can still find today: good friends, a higher education, a satisfying career.

I’m slowly learning that it’s never too late to craft the life I wish I had had.  I’m stubborn though, so it takes me time to get there.  So, as I toast the newest additions to our family and I admire the pictures of my friends’ newborns, I remember with sweet nostalgia the days when my children were that tiny, and I look forward.  I look forward to all that is yet to come.  Like those little innocent babes, I’m just starting off in a new world.