And I loath the days I feel like this.

——

I stay away from blogging on days I feel emotionally charged, which is the real reason I haven’t been blogging lately. Although I want to write something because writing makes me feel better, all that comes to mind and threatens to escape through my finger tips is the irritability, anger, guilt, and negativity that brews in my chest.

But maybe to not write about it isn’t making it right. And these two (w)rights are making a wrong.

So here it is..

The years of solo-parenting have been coming back with an ugly vengeance recently. When Saad was away for months at a time, things were undoubtedly difficult. With him back, things aren’t as better as I thought/hoped they would be.

My kids are not a problem.

But being with kids 24/7 for days that extend into weeks that extend into months at a time is a problem.

Not getting the break I need is a problem.

Not having an outlet when I can’t get a break is a problem.

Sleepless night after sleepless night followed by demanding days is a problem.

Being trapped in a cycle of frustration, outbursts, and guilt is a problem.

School (or lack there of), parental, and several other personal nuances add tons of shit to the problems.

And make me feel broken.

——–

Sometime last month I experienced one of the most intense breakdowns I’ve ever had. During one horrible week, I broke. Not broke down, but broke. Whatever was holding me together stopped working and the whole system came crashing down. The things I remember most vividly are this overbearing feeling of inadequacy on so many levels and going from dangerously enraged to heavily sobbing in a span of five minutes over triggers.

A few days after that breakdown, I had the first break I’ve had in months. What was this “glorious” break? Two solid hours to myself, which felt like nothing. What can I do in two hours that will alleviate the last few months? Nothing, that’s what. So I moseyed through a bookstore, bought two new books, and read the first two chapters of one of them. Then it was time for everyone to go to work, go study, go, go, go somewhere, anywhere from home and time for me to go back to hold down the home front.

I wasn’t ready to go back. I didn’t want to go back. In fact, running away sounded awesome.

I really missed my therapist that week.

———-

When I start feeling like the only purpose to my existence is to mother, it depresses me.

When a shower is the only “me time” I get, it’s pretty damn pathetic.

When even that shower is interrupted because I’m the only person the baby will calm down/got to sleep for, it’s so irritating.

When I think about how many times I’ve had to postpone my school/career plans, I feel hopeless about ever getting there.

When I’m too moody and stuck in ugly ruts, my relationship with my kids suffers.

When I know things are getting out of hand, but don’t have the resources to take care of them, it’s overwhelming.

———

I never expected or planned on being a stay at home mom. At some point, it just happened. Within months, I knew it wasn’t for me. When six months extended to a year, I really craved having other things to do. Then a year and now almost two years, it feels like I’ll never get out of this…experience, we’ll call it.

This morning I realized that what bothers me most about this experience is that you do so much –so damn much– yet it feels generally unproductive in the bigger picture. Maybe because the fruits of your labor don’t blossom until years, decades from now, or maybe because society doesn’t give the same value to child rearing as much as other “real” jobs, or maybe because child rearing in my personal case has been heavily laid on my shoulders and I’m starting to crumble under its pressure.

Or maybe nature is one seriously fucked up mechanism that makes me want to rip out my own ovaries, yet keep them in place because even under all of this headache, I still want more offspring.

———

Daily headaches. Occasional migraines. Random nausea. Cramping. Full-body aches. Those are the fun things happening to my body on a daily basis for the last two weeks. There is nothing inhabiting my uterus, so don’t tell me I’m pregnant.

I’ve also lost most of my appetite. That’s hardly worth a mention because it’s not so much a “bad thing” as it is a good one. Although my double-chin probably doesn’t think so. Mentioned it because I know it’s related to my nausea.

Passing out by 10pm is also a recent happening. I suddenly can’t stay awake past 10pm for anything, which is the complete opposite problem I’ve had all of my life. 10pm used to feel like noon; now it feels like too-late-pm.

———-

I’m tired of being moody. Tired of being tired. Tired of lashing out; feeling horrible; apologizing again; being riddled with guilt; fuming with resent and anger at/about things I can’t control or people.

A bad night, like last night, exaggerates crappy days. Every.single.time I finally fell asleep, I was woken up. This kind of constant interruption to my sleep gives me a migraine; I started the day with a headache and had a migraine by the time we dropped Saad off this morning.

I remind myself to change my attitude since I can’t change much of my situation. That works sometimes. Other times, I just tell that part of me to shut up and leave me the hell alone.

———

It’s not solely motherhood that’s bringing me down, but it’s the one thing that I can’t put aside like the other things I’m having trouble with. Until things are fixed –until I’m fixed– I just want to my kids to be happy and laugh more times in a day than cry.

I want that for myself too.

Howdy guys.

I had a proper beginning to this post in my head when I first thought about composing it, but it has completely escaped me so this is what I present you with. A nice Texan Howdy.

I believe a blog is sort of like a plant in that if you want it to grow and blossom, you need to water it with words and nurture it with content. Or at least water it from time to time with a check-in post or something.

This is that check-in post. Please, blog, don’t die on me.

Lately, I’ve had my youngest brother-in-law, whose only a few months older than Aiman, over and it’s been a very different ballpark to play in with three kids, three and under. Yesterday, I was brave/crazy enough to go out and run errands with all three and let’s just say that I’ve never slept as deeply as I did last night. I PASSED THE HELL OUT.

It’s heart warming to see Aiman and his playmate hang out and fight dragon-pirates together as firefighter/ninjas. The arguments aren’t as fun and I’m sure I’ve never repeated the same things over and over and over and infinity-over again in my entire life, but it’s nice seeing them together.

Today, currently, I’m at home with all three of them while I make all of the food for our week. Oh! Yes, “all of the food for our week” because I’m trying out “once a week cooking” in which –get this– I cook only once a week. Direct and genius, I know.

Today, because I like to complicate my life and grow out my grey hairs extra early, I’ve decided to cook a week’s worth of food while I have the maximum number of kids (kids shorter than me and not in school, at least) in my care. So this means right this second, I’m intermittently asking someone to stop it and please don’t; quelling fights; stopping the baby from climbing the stairs or eating god-knows-what; running all four stove tops; cleaning this disastrous kitchen; and running the laundry, all while perspiring to an extremely comfortable and gross degree.

For a second or two I stop and wonder who the hell I think I am cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing. How did I get to this point? Never saw this in my immediate future, at least not to this degree, but it’s here and it’s certainly AN EXPERIENCE, we’ll call it.

Rereading this post has made me realize that it’s probably really easy to tell when I ran off and had to come back to it.

Now! For two very unrelated things:

1) Starbucks and I have a strong love/hate relationship, but for tonight, I’m going to love it like nothing else when Saad brings me my Venti decaf Iced Caramel Macchiato.

via http://tikcufko.blogspot.com/

2) This kitty-litter-looking brownie display/dessert has been on my mind all week.

via pinterest.com

It’s brownie smooshed and molded to look like poop in a bed of crushed nuts. This is undoubtedly vile on many levels, but it does something very lovely to my soul to imagine the look on the kids’ faces when I present it to them. I’m debating whether I should tell anyone else besides Saad, but I think the adults will have funny reactions too.

I can not explain how eager I am to make this. Can not wait, can not wait.

And in conclusion…

I just want to enjoy my iced macchiato and read my book in a quiet house.

Send me help and a tranquilizing gun. I kid, I kid –which is a very real verb right now as there are kids I’m kidding (like a verb…do you get it? Am I making sense anymore? Sometime my word plays are a stretch and sometimes I’m just rambling and need to end a post but I end up doing this and erasing it, but I think you deserve to see this unseen side of me. Oh, you’ve seen it before? Okay, then, well, here’s more of it).

And now, in actual conclusion…

I’m going to go sit for a second and daydream about brownie kitty litter pranks bedtime.

And then after the person slowly backs away from me, I’ll yell at them to know what they’re talking about before making such comments because by saying they “slept like a baby” to imply they slept really well they’re a) lying, as babies don’t sleep well at all. In fact they’re probably the worst sleepers of the human species. B) they’re perpetuating the lie, which is just even more lying; and c) making parents, perhaps namely mothers, all over the planet laugh-cry in resentment because SHUT-UP, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT SLEEPING LIKE A BABY.

2) My loathing for cooking is well documented here, and then in my total flip-flop fashion, my ill perceived confidence in the kitchen, here. When I’m not thinking they’re crazy, I admire people who love to cook and are good at it. After all, the world would be one boring peanut butter-and-jelly-all-the-time place if chefs/cooks didn’t exist. Somehow, I’ve totally missed this particular gene in the evolution of man (notice there, I didn’t say woman) and find a part of my soul erupting in annoyance whenever this necessity of life is, well, necessary.

However, please don’t confuse my disdain for cooking with disdain for eating of the cooked food. I don’t have an iota of disdain anywhere in my jiggly body for that.

I’ll admit though, that watching shows like America’s Worst Cooks does wonders for my ego and that using intagram to take pictures of my culinary happenings have made cooking slightly less annoying.

Behold!:

Homemade stir fry noodles

Meatball army, forward march to the oven!

3) Last night Aiman said “Hey mom, come here; I need your help with something.” Because I often find the most inane things amusing, I was amused by this statement. It wasn’t long ago (a little over a year ago to be exact) that he was only saying “come” as a toddler. I distinctly remember the time I was standing next to the stairs as he sat on the steps, calling my sister to “come here.” Just like that, he added “here” to “come”. Just like that, he added direction and magnitude (a vector! physics!) to his plain, vague, scalar (physics again!) command.

BOOM. Language development just happened in front of me.

And now, he’s added more elements to his language than I know how to translate into physics terms.

4) Something indescribable happens to my spirit whenever I see the amount of laundry haunting our room. And by haunting I mean unmercifully taking over. I’ve given up folding long ago. Home clothes, PJs, the kid’s stuff, and most of Saad and my clothes are usually (always) tossed in drawers or lightly folded to be put onto the closet shelves; the rest is hung.

Just thought you should know the extent of my domestic apathy/rebellion. Thank goodness I have a husband who’s neater, but also tolerant of my shenanigans. Also, it helps that our clothes don’t end up wrinkled much; it’s like the universe is encouraging me to never fold again!

5) After staring at these curtains for a long, long time, wondering what else the flowers looked like aside from bunnies in a fancy collar from afar, I find that I’m taken by them. Granted, this is my parent’s home and my mother’s taste to have these particular curtains hanging on her backyard glass door, I still say “nice curtains, Mom.”

And in a particular light (thanks instagram; I’m obsessed!), they have a timeless look to them. I imagine I could find these hanging in someone’s backyard glass door early last century and now, in the new millennium  (because, duh, they already are –PAY ATTENTION).

* I lied, there are six.

6) Thank you for stopping by to read my ramblings. You guys are like the sisters (and brothers?) who I pretend to not know read my diary — just like I always imagined this experience to be.

And I love it/you all!

How’s it going? (Really, tell me how you’re doing because I’ve missed this corner of the internet and those that visit it)

Things have taken a turn for the unexpected in the last few weeks. Let me proceed to tell you all about it in the following paragraphs, sectioned off by asterisks rather than proper transitions because that’s how I roll (through related thoughts).

Aaaaaand start:

About a month ago Saad came back for semi-good. There are a lot of boring reasons why it was better for all of us for him to study here rather than in that cold, lonely apartment, but I’m not going to bore you with those details. So, he’s been back and quite honestly, aside from the one day a week we designate “family day” where we all hang out together, we don’t really see much of him because he’s buried off in an obscure corner of some library for most of his days. So in a lot of ways, things haven’t changed in that regard –I’m still solo-parenting for the most part, but we do enjoy that family day.

And having dinner in person instead of via skype.

*********

From the last post, that last, exciting I’m-off-to-take-the-MCAT-and-shall-live-to-tell-the-tale!-post, it seemed like I was off to take the MCAT and eventually live to tell the tale.

Well, something about that sort of crumbled.

A few weeks ago it become more than painfully apparent that I simply needed way more study time in my days than I was getting. And you know, real study time during real daylight hours when my body is more or less awake rather than the after hours of being with the kids all day and then being stuck in that vague too awake to sleep, but too tired to do anything productive, much less study rut at night. Oh, and there’s also that detail about sleeping for more than 3-4 hours a night which ends up affecting me and the kids in less than stellar ways.

So. I’m saying that I need realistic study hours during the day and realistic sleep hours during the night. Unfortunately there is no amount of caffeine that will help either without hindering the other.

*********

You may wonder why Saad can’t help with this parenting thing as much and it should be known that although the brunt of parenting has fallen on me for the entirety of our parenthood, that a) he definitely does his part every time he can, b) he’s pretty amazing at it when he does and c) again, too many boring details that factor into why things are the way they are, but it boils down to both of us pursuing demanding careers and doing our best to make sure at least one of us, if not both, is with the kids. We both want the cake and to eat it too; juggling kids and careers and passing the balls back and forth to each other, hoping neither of us drop any them.

Right now I’m juggling a different load than he is, but his load isn’t any easier.

*********

My entire application sans the MCAT is ready for submission. My recommendation letter writers have submitted their letters; ; I have a personal statement –my sixth!!– that I’m proud of and excited about; I have copies of my transcript ready for entering grades into my application. I’m just waiting for the actual application to open up. And to take the MCAT.

Back to my study-time/babysitting issues: it doesn’t look like I’ll find a part-time nanny/extended babysitter in time to take my MCAT and apply as early as I want to. Scores aren’t released until the month after you take your exam, which means that the application agency you use (AMCAS or TMDSAS or both) would take about six (or more) weeks before they send it out to schools. Medical schools, as far as I know, have rolling admissions, so they invite students for interviews and accept student for matriculation as they receive applications –which is to say that the earlier you apply, the better your chances. The medical school application opens up in May, school accept applications in June (in May for Texas applicants), but your application isn’t complete without your score.

I wanted to take the MCAT in January, but that was wishful thinking. I originally signed up for March. Then pushed it back to April or May. I refuse to take it any later than June, but realistically, I’m looking at August, which means my score wouldn’t be back until September. Although my application will have been submitted in May/June, it won’t be “complete” until September or October.

Most applicants are going through rounds of interviews by then. Personally, it’s too late in the cycle to risk not getting in for me –even with a stellar MCAT score.

So I decided to take it whenever I’ll take it this year, but to apply next year.

*********

The thought of applying next year really bums me out, in which I mean it gives me a lump in my throat every time I think about having to wait one more year.

I think it would make more sense if you knew that I really dislike being a stay-at-home-mom (and there’s nothing wrong with admitting that). That I miss and crave being in a classroom and having more things going for me than there are now. That although becoming a doctor has always been where my passion and heart have been, it took years to build the confidence to finally apply. That I’m petrified of not getting in and this additional year is just stretching out that fear for another year. That my family is waiting for me to do something about my future. That my community is wondering if I’ll ever “go back to school” since having kids, although they still don’t think/believe I’ve completed my undergrad, which I have while having kids (maybe that doesn’t bother most people, but these are community members that have known me since I was my own kids’ ages, so even if I could help it, I’d still care. Plus, I know they’re comparing me with others my age who are “doing something with their future”). That it feels like everyone is applying or getting in or almost completing their first year or, or, or, …just moving forward with their lives. That I was so excited and beyond ready to get this particular party started, but I can’t bring myself to RSVP so I’m no longer invited. That all of my prep work was like loading a cannon and lighting the rope, only for the fire to extinguish before the cannon shot —like I failed before I even started. That I’m terrified of being that mom that never accomplishes her career goals.

That I feel stuck in, suffocated by, and frustrated with where I am in life.

*********

Considering all of the prep work I’ve done to charge into this application year, friends have encouraged me to apply this year. To just bear it and take my exam and just apply. If I keep waiting for the right time to take it, it’ll never happen.

I believe there’s merit in what they’re saying. Their encouragement and personal stories briefly made me consider doing so, but it’s too big of a risk for me. It could be that I’m a scaredy-pants too (Hint: I’m definitely  a scaredy-pants).

I believe it’s wiser –excruciating–but wiser take my MCAT when I’m ready for it rather than rushed just to make it in for this cycle, and to apply next year as a first time applicant.

*********

It took weeks to blog about this because I needed to let my emotions (these feelers of feeeeelings that I hate talking about) and realization of everything simmer down.

Last month this would’ve been an incoherent vent/rant post stained by my pms-induced tears –not that this is much better, I’m sure.

Two weeks ago this would’ve been a slightly more coherent, less pms stained, exhilarated I-AM-going-apply-and-live-to-tell-the-tale! post.

Last week, this would’ve been an emotionally numb Never-mind-I’m-NOT-going-to-apply post that would’ve fogged your screen thanks to all of my heavy sighing.

This week, tonight, right now, this is just a post. A hopefully more mature and level-headed post. Admittedly it included sighs and momentary tearing-up because I’m what you would call an excellent feeler of emotions (read: damn emotional), but mostly written with calm acceptance.

**********

Maybe this year will be good for me.

Maybe this year will be good for my kids and husband too.

Maybe this year will make a difference in the kind of medical student and doctor I become.

Maybe one day I’ll look back and be thankful for this year.

Maybe, just maybe, this year won’t be so bad.

Breakfast

Me: What would you like for breakfast?

Aiman: Jellybeans!

Me: Uh, no. How about (insert decent breakfast food here)?

Aiman: Oh, no thank you.

Me: Okay, what do you want then?

Aiman: I’ll take cereal.

Me: Fine.

Lunch

Me: Buddy, lunch is ready.

Aiman: No, I don’t like (insert something he does like and has always eaten before)

Me: But!

Aiman: I DON’T LIKE IT.

Me: So what do you want to eat?

Aiman: Uh…BOSS! (which is what he used to and still occasionally calls pasta. Don’t ask.)

Me: Ugh, okay. *makes “boss” and hands him plate*

Aiman: AHHH!!

Me: What is it??

Aiman: I don’t want macaroni, I like penne rigate, please.

Me: *twitch, twitch, twitch* Aiman, I don’t have penne rigate, but you can have either macaroni or the lunch everyone else is having.

Aiman: *breakdown*

Me: *ignore breakdown*

Aiman: Mama, please I will eat cereal.

Me: *figures better cereal than nothing at all*

Dinner

Me: Okay, Aiman, child of mine, my dear first-born, what in God’s name will you eat for dinner?

Aiman: Uh, cookies?

Me: *ignore suggestion and repeat question”

Aiman: Cereal!

Me: No way! You had cereal for breakfast and lunch; you need real food! Eat some real food! If I make (insert real food here), will you eat some of it?

Aiman: No thank you.

Me: So what do you want to eat?

Aiman: Cereal!

Me: Forget it. We’re having (insert his favorite dish) and I just know you’ll love it, won’t you dear child?

Aiman: …..Cereal!

Me:*hands him dish he always ate before or something he’d most likely try based on previous foods he used to eat*

Aiman: Oh. Oh, no thank you mom. I’m full.

Me: ….

Aiman: Mama, can I have some juice?

Me: You know you can only have juice after you have your meal.

Aiman: Okay, can I have cereal then?

Me: That’s not a meal baby boy, eat (real food).

Aiman: *breakdown*

Me: *ignore breakdown*

Aiman: Mama, I’m want some juice and yogurt.

Me: Aiman, it’s time for dinner. Eating yogurt will make you hungry in the middle of the night. Come with me to the kitchen and show me what you’ll eat”

Aiman: *straight to cereal nook*

Me: *scream EXCEPT THE DAMN CEREAL in my head*

Me: No, Aiman, pick something else.

Aiman: *breakdown*

Me: *bargain, bet, play with, beg, force, bribe child to EAT SOMETHING*

Aiman: *refuses to let up*

Me: Whatever. I’d rather you eat cereal before bed then go to sleep hungry.

3AM

Aiman: Mama, my tummy hurts.

Me: *mid sleep gurgle*

Aiman: Mama, my tummy is hurting.

Me: Do you feel sick or hungry?

Aiman: I’m hungry.

Me: *midnight lecture on importance of eating real food, nutrition, balanced diet, good for us! blah blah blah*

Aiman: Mommy, can I have cereal?

Me: *head explodes*

______________

My once champion eater has become the Pickiest Child in the Cosmos and it pretty much sucks donkey butt (or ass squared, bwhahaaha).

I know it’s a phase and one that my mom informs me I went through as well, so that’s partially reassuring. I mean, eating cereal 24/7 won’t hurt anyone, right? He fills up on fruits, certain veggies, yogurt (so much yogurt), etc. in between meals, but it’s getting him to eat non-cereal for a meal that’s challenging.

Even as I wrap up this post, he just slurped up his last drop of milk from his cereal– that he had for lunch.

A few nights ago, he flipped out at the sight of parsley specks in his lasagna –the same lasagna he’s always had and with the same parsley specks, mind you. Do you know how impossible it is to try to scrap off specks of parsley? Do you know how impossible it is to predict what will offset flipping out? It’s like I need permission for every single ingredient!

But that’s all.

I just want everyone to know that I live with a tyrant.

Do you find that you’re too graceful? That you can walk and chew your gum at the same time and look fabulous while doing it?

Being perfect is such a bore, isn’t it?

Well, have I got good news for you!  Below is instructional wisdom on how to be fabulously uncouth.

This guide, studied and tested by the clumsiest and most awkward scientist in the world, is here to help you disgrace yourself and fall into imprefection. Who wants poised and functional when you can have blundering and hazardous?

Involved parties:

• Mother, awaiting post bedtime freedom
• Two young children, 3 years old and 7 months old

Supplies:

• Sharp, loud child’s toy
• Dark, floor-boards-need-oiling children’s room

Instructions:

1. Begin bedtime routine with children, not forgetting to repeatedly wrangle 3 year old up the stairs and into the tub while 7 month old helplessly dangles along.
2. Complete bath and story.
3. Now, the hardest part: getting children to doze off and sleep.
   • 3 year old, accustomed to routine, settles in and goes to sleep
   • 7 month old, not as accustomed and in a distracted phase, finds smallest, most random thing in room (ie. small speck in the middle of the wall) extraordinarily exciting and fixates upon it. Seven month old fights sleep, delaying mother’s freedom other chores.
4. After much nursing, swaying, willing child to focus on sleeping, child finally (FINALLY) sleeps.
5. Mother, assess your environment and calculate every movement between your position in the room and the infant’s bed.
6. Mother, use your ninja skills (acquired via older child’s sleep sensitivities when he was an infant) to move stealthly through room.
7. Mother, gently settle infant into bed and calculate plan to exit room.
8. Mother, before leaving, look at both children and smile warmly. The think about all that sweet precious independence that awaits you downstairs and smile even harder.
9. Mother, gently turn while smiling, to get out of room.
10. Mother, begin creeping towards door –RAAAAWWWR! You just stepped on 3 year old’s very pointy and stupidly loud, flashy dinosaur toy he snuck into room.
    • Duck and clasp dinosaur toy, trying to muffle the noise.
    • Lick the wound of your injured foot (not really, but you know).
    • Stand to check on children.
    • Lean forward to check if infant’s eye’s are open (for whatever reason).
    • While leaning forward, press on injured foot, underestimate the pain AND FALL.
    • Try to salvage fall by grabbing rail, only to miss it completely.
    • Instead of grabbing rail, tangle yourself in random lamp cord and take the lamp down with you
    • Crash of lamp and few knick knacks falling off stand
    • Involuntarily make ugly noise while falling.
    • Land on stupid dinosaur again —RAAAAWWWR!
    • Try to muffle stupid dinosaur again.
    • Sit in silence…3,2,1
    • Infant crying
    • 3 year old awake, asking “Mom? Mom? What happened? YOU’RE PLAYING WITH MY DINOSAUR??”
11. Mother, momentarily sit there and hate yourself.
12. Mother, calm children down.
13. Re-sway, re-bounce, re-hum to get infant to sleep again as extra punishment.
14. When children are back to sleep, Mother, do not smile and sure as hell do not think about anything but army crawling out of room because you can’t step on a stupid flashy, loud dinosaur when you’re army crawling, now can you?

And there you have it –it really IS that simple.

*Sound effects not included unless personally projected.

**Dignity not a part of this package.

Happy Self-Disgracing!

CAN YOU HEAR ME  ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

As I clean off the cobwebs and dust all over this blog, I notice it reeks of abandonment and neglect.

But fear not, for I am here to tidy up this mess!

Where should I start? Should this be one long (long, long, long) update post in which I tell you more than you care to know? Or should I only highlight the important aspects of the last ten or so days? Should I , oxymoronically, shut-up and talk the talk already?

I’LL DO ALL THREE without knocking you over, hopefully.

The important part(s)

Since the last post:

• We are still fighting THRUSH! Oh my sweet God of mercy and sanity, WE ARE STILL FIGHTING THRUSH. We completed the entire treatment course and were good to go for about a day or two until I noticed the white spots in the back of her throat again, after which I may or may not have sat there cursing the overgrown yeast partying it up in my baby’s throat. I so want to call the cops and complain of disturbance of population control on their ass and squash their party. Just as I figured, it’s probably because of one thing that I forgot to boil or sanitize that reinfected her/us. So anyway, we’re halfway through round two of treatment for this forsaken THRUSH!
  

  Baby girl is clearly SUFFERING. Good thing I bribe her with sweet potatoes -- that she inevitably gets all over her face.

• Saad was here for two whole months and like all good things, it came to an end last Thursday. That’s also partly the reason this blog has withered away. You see, his departure date sneaks up on us –here we are just minding our own business and soaking up his presence when BAM! There’s only a week left until he goes back. We try to do all sorts of family fun stuff/ lounging around in each others’ company during that time, which also means little to no distractions, ie news reading (for him) and self-delcared important internet browsing (for me), including blogging. So essentially, YOU CAN BLAME SAAD and his cruel, cruel departure date attacking us like that.
  • It’s always the worst part of the year whenever he has to go back, but hopefully we’ll be smelling each other’s morning breath in two (if we’re lucky) to 10 week’s time. (You can thank Aiman for this morning breath reference since we’ve watched the Shrek trilogy umpteen +1 times in the last few weeks. He LOVES the movies and we are all completely Team Ogre, so morning breath is the Ogre way to express that sentiment. Just FYI, is all.)
  • It’s been hard playing catch up since he left. In the previous post I mentioned he would come home for dinner and bedtime every night, so going through the bedtime routine along for both kids literally left me out of breath the first night after he left, although it could have something to do with those demonic cookies (scroll down).
• Another excuse legitimate reason this blog was thrown to the curb is that there was a bigger bully on the block who goes by the name, Medical School Personal Statement. He was fierce and totally kicked my butt. I had him under control at first, back in November, and had him all written beaten up. Then! Then that jerk came back with a vengeance and a low blow — my pride. Yeah! He took my pride and spat on it as he said “THIS ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH” and then ran away to the desktop trash can. So I worked out (my only “workout”) and battled him in the last few days, ending this feud once and for all last night. So you see, I had to invest what little writing fighting power I have and get this little “problem” taken care of.

The Extraneous Part(s):

• We rung in the new year with a late night barbecue and our good family friend, Bukky, over. We’ve known Bukky and her family since our Sunday School years and she’s essentially my sister, Sieda’s, “Summer.” We love that girl and we love her in-law-school-brain, which came in handy because (next point):

• Someone drove into our backyard on new year’s day. Sieda, Bukky, and I were on our way to go paintballing (OMG! NEXT POINT!) with a group of girls, and right as we were leaving, we heard a crash in the backyard. My mom looked out the back door and screamed my name — a scream that still makes my blood stop and my heart pound right through my chest. That’s when I knew something serious just happened. When we got to the site, we were all like, “Well, look at that. There’s a freakin’ car in the backyard” and the driver was unnaturally calm about it. My guess is that she was exhausted from work and simply dozed off because no one ran into her and it’s unlikely to just lose control of your vehicle unless it’s possessed, but then who keeps/drives a possessed car, you know?

• Paintballing. I love it. Wait, no I LOVE IT. That’s more like it. Now, you have to understand that I take it very seriously. The group I went with were all newbies, including myself, but it was obvious none of them had ever prepared for a Zombie Apocalypse and were far too forgiving to the other team. Also, you have to respect the fact that once you’re out of ammo, you’re vulnerable, and effectively OUTof the apocalypse. Would you forgive a zombie? I DIDN’T THINK SO. STAY LOW AND RESERVE YOUR AMMO.
  • Paint ball shots hurt so much, I just can’t describe it. My sister and I were on opposite teams, so you know we had to get each other first. It was mutually a personal objective and just plain personal. Well, she got me in my right arm while someone else shot at my left. She doesn’t know it, but in the midst of fire, I played mean, but behind the barrels? After she and someone paintballed me in the arms? I nearly cried in pain, hugging myself as I waited for the adrenaline to numb the pain. Paint balls hurt so much, people. So much.
  • The next day, I was not only branded in six solid bruises, but sore beyond my mind. Because I play hardcore? Perhaps. Because it was the only thing close to a workout I had in a very long time? Perhaps-Perhaps.
  • We went to Ci-Ci’s for a quick and easy dinner afterwards and I was leaking breast milk through my shirt, visible for all the restaurant to see. Did I care? Covered in dirt, paint, and god knows what that giant smudge of green-ish brown gunk on my thigh is? NO, BECAUSE I JUST SURVIVED A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. I sure will have an entire pizza and all of my dessert because I earned it, thankyouverymuch.

That concludes the update blabber, but wait THERE’S MORE.

More of my cynical conspiracy-theory wrapped rambling, that is. What did you expect, now?

So in an explanation worthy of another post, I’ve laid of coffee for a few weeks. I’ll go ahead and admit there are personal benefits so far, one of which is the ability to Just Say No. Like the way they teach you in school to Just Say No to drugs, only I’m not addicted, but I won’t refuse a good cup done right and fancy –perfect blend of creamer, sugar, and whipped cream with a sprinkle of cinnamon or chocolate. Who says no to that?

Luckily, only Starbucks does it as fancy as I’d like or care to do myself, so it’s been easy to refuse the “plain” variety, without any of the above.

But I cheat. I’ll drive up to Starbucks and ask for a DECAF something or another and feel so clever. I just enjoy the taste! It’s only for the taste! And maybe the placebo effect, even if I know it’s decaf.

credit via jasonlove.com

So anyway, I always have a secret fear that they forget to make it decaf and I chug back a fully-caffeinated beverage, which will make me stay up to odd hours of the night and between the kids’ sleeping patterns and my accidental caffeination, I’ll never experience sleep EVER AGAIN.

Today I got a venti iced coffee with the works –whipped cream and all that jazz — in decaf, of course. But it’s 3am and I am WIDE AWAKE (when I drafted this post, at least). Totally wired, even. I mean, I could even work out or something right now, but I’m not fooling anyone; I definitely won’t workout.

No, I’m not obsessing over the possible caffeine coursing my veins, fueling my insomnia. It wouldn’t be that venti iced coffee with the works. No. NO. The barista wouldn’t do that to me.

It could be PMS-induced insomnia, which I will gladly take because at least my PMS comes in a grande or less*.

*That’s a lie; my PMS totally comes in a trenta (Starbucks largest, ginormously gross-sized 31-oz size). That was the part you’d probably not care to know, but welcome to the risk of reading my blog.

*****

Saad has been back home for nearly two whole months, something unprecedented and unexpected in a semester, so that has been a seriously thanked for and savored treat. It’s been surprisingly impossible to coordinate our schedules mainly due to having only one car. I either have to drop him off as soon as the kids wake up and the library opens or he takes the car while we’re sleeping. There are obvious pros and cons either way, but he’s been back for dinner and to help me tuck the kids in every night and there isn’t a con that could ever out-do that.

*******

Aiman is officially in potty training mode and I’d like to point that we’re both still alive. We waited until he was officially three to actively start this certain growing pain if he didn’t train before then. He’s been aware of the concept for a long time, but had zero interest of actually using the toilet, neither were we pushing him to do so. It’s getting better and easier and hopefully we’ll have it down completely by the end of the year, otherwise known as THE NEXT THREE DAYS.

But to note, nothing will really happen if he’s not trained by then. I’ll just have to accept the potty-training-induced influx of laundry, something I might add, I was not anticipating and not thrilled about.

Wish I had some elves to help with THAT.

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Manaal and I have been on THRUSH! treatment for about a week or so now and let me just tell you it is a pain. The suspension she’s taking smells bitter and she absolutely hates the taste, understandably. After a few doses and her negative/distressed reaction to it every single time, I called her doctor for an alternative or if I could mix it with milk or baby food and he agreed it would be a good idea. So that’s exactly what we’ve been doing and it’s been easier for her to take it.

I have to apply miconazole after every nursing and boil/sterilize anything that she might’ve put in her mouth. So far, so good. Goodness, I’m really hoping this is the last time we deal with THRUSH!

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My mom, Saad, the kids, and I spent a quiet Christmas together. We don’t celebrate it for obvious reasons, but it would be a lie if I didn’t admit that I love this time of year. From Fall onwards is my favorite part of the year, and something about seeing the houses lit up on our street and the cheery atmosphere of The Holidays just makes it extra pleasant. My two younger sisters and my dad took a trip up to Seattle for a mini vacation/adventurous exploring and that was pretty neat for them. Hopefully we’ll have a big family trip somewhere sometime in the coming Spring or Summer.

********

MCAT studying has officially been halted until the Spring semester when there will be, hopefully, more stability in everyone’s schedule. I say “everyone” because I’m fortunate enough to have my sister adjust her work and school schedule, and then Saad to come back and finish up his semester here, and maybe even my mom-in-law if either of them can’t make it….all for me to get at least 4 straight hours to study.

That’s the plan, at least.

The only thing that’s been consistent with studying is how consistently it’s been a crapshoot. At one point I was even going to bed at 8pm, waking up at 2am and then studying until the kids got up. As you can imagine, this didn’t last long as it’s a crime against your body’s natural rhythm to wake up at that time and then force your brain to focus on equilibrium constants and nephrons, etc. rather than passing out at the table. Or it is against mine.

Personally, I’ve done some impressive eating-my-face-off in the past week or two. One example of this talent of mine is buying this case of soft chocolate chunk cookies from the grocery bakery. There were two rows of big, decadent chocolate-y cookies in each package and I thought Aiman, Saad and I would really enjoy them later that day. Well, after grocery shopping (alone with both kids) I was so freakin’ hungry and tired and thought “Gee! One of those cookies would be a great sugar/energy burst until I can get my hands on real food.”

Let’s just say that the same time the following day, there weren’t even crumbs left in the package.

At first I was simultaneously disgusted and impressed with myself, but now I’m mostly just trying to ignore the extra chine looking back at me in the mirror and denying that my belt latches into one hole over from the one it used to.

image credit: delish-blog.com

Chewy, chocolate chunk cookies are basically the devil.

Shortly after posting it I noticed another white spot on the inner part of Manaal’s cheek, only this spot was larger and looked meaner. This time I kept an eye on it and looked around the other parts of her mouth — you see, I’m learning.

As it turns out, there were other spots, patches even, all over the back of her mouth going down her throat as far as I could see. It didn’t look like the harmless milk or milk related residue anymore. I called her doctor and explained what I saw, to which he said sounded exactly like thrush.

THRUSH.

THRUUUUUUUUSSHHH.

It feels more and more dramatic the more I repeat it.

So my pumpkin’s got thrush, which by association and breastfeeding, means that I more than likely already have it too or will get it soon. Although I’m asymptomatic right now, I’m not too excited about the “stabbing, shooting, piercing” breast pain commonly associated with it when it really sets in. Actually we’re both relatively symptom free, thankfully, aside from the patches in her mouth. What’s more uncomfortable for her at this point is the timing of everything — teething pains, persistent congestion, recent vaccinations, so her legs are pretty sore, and other very literal growing pains on top of this thrush.

I found this informative and comprehensive article. After reading the many sites and pages I found about it, they’re sort of starting to drive me nuts. They, as in the yeast in the yeast infection. The damn things are so stubborn and opportunistic, easily transferred and hard to control. I’ll have to boil, sanitize, sterilize nearly everything and even then I feel like the one thing that I might forget will set off the infection again. Not to mention avoiding passing it on to Aiman and everyone else in the house.

What’s really the worse part though, is seeing how much misery Manaal is going through. Why can’t the universe just leave babies alone? WHAT DID THEY EVER DO TO ANYONE? The most heartbreaking part is their inability to communicate any of their pain; so helpless these little creatures are.

We’ve got to be really dedicated to our treatment plan and hopefully this will be the first and last time we ever have to deal with thrush. Seeing PumpkinCakes being such a trooper is motivating as she’s always been and always is, thankfully.

For now we will:

image via ww2poster.co.uk

And then the milk-or-milky-related residue said — Okay, it’s didn’t say anything this time. Or previous times for that matter, but strange conversations with the weird things developing on Manaal’s inner top lip aside, things were getting worrisome.

Consulting Dr. Google, who doesn’t require a co-pay by the way, it came down to one likely conclusion based, at least, on Google Image, Dr. Google’s highly informative Physician Assistant. From what I researched and imaged, it looked like thrush, which is basically a yeast infection of the mouth and/or throat. It’s also pretty contagious and usually passed back and forth between nursing baby and mother.

This brought the onslaught of Let’s Boil EVERYTHING We Can Think Of That’s Possibly Infected. I hesitated to tell Saad because if someone who knows my husband doesn’t use the word “germaphobic” to describe him, then that person doesn’t know him at all. Admittedly he can keep things pretty spotless, but at the same time, telling him about a possible bacterial infection of any kind isn’t the best way to get him to relax, we’ll say.

But I told him anyway.

I also called her Pediatrician to make an appointment for the following morning. We got to his office and waited to be seen— this is where I’m going to go off on a small (I hope) tangent.

Parents, if you’re taking your toddler, preschooler, general NON NEWBORN, to see the doctor, whether for a check-up or worse, an infection or illness, please use some common sense and courtesy and wait in the proper waiting area (i.e. NOT in the newborn waiting area).

We were sitting in the general waiting area when a mom and her preschooler came in. Her daughter was coughing from the moment she came through the door, yet for whatever reason, the mom thought it was perfectly fine to seat herself and her coughing kid in the newborn waiting area, with –get this– newborns waiting in there. And it wasn’t some open space for everyone; the newborn area is sectioned off by a wall with clear bold signs that it’s for newborns.

It took the receptionist to ask her to sit elsewhere, but seriously, why? If I was a parent with a newborn I’d be pissed beyond words at someone coming in there with a coughing older child.

Anyway.

Manaal’s doctor came in and after talking about it, he took a look and within five seconds confirmed it was NOT thrush, but something patches that develop in breastfeed, congested babies. I forgot to ask what it’s called, but a remedy for it? Vaseline, thinly applied a few times a day.

So that was our potential run-in with thrush that turned out to be a similar looking completely harmless-something-else, with a side of inconsiderate-people-rant.

She’s warm, milk-or-milk-related-residue free , and dandy!