Haiku To Help Ivy

UPDATE

Ivy has received the treatment! Click here to read the post where her mother announced it.
Thank you to all who posted about this and signed the petition! The internet can be used for good!
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This little girl needs
treatment because she’s always
in the hospital.

She is young, vibrant.
You can see the life in her
eyes, the sweetness, love.

Only two years old,
she has been in hospitals
countless, painful times.

Her story is one
that no child her age should have.
Sickness. Blisters. Pain.

Her immune system
does not do the job for her
that it really should.

She misses out on
things that little kids her age
should get to enjoy.

You can help her… She
needs treatment that’s being denied.
Sign the petition.

Her mom wants her to
have treatment so she’ll have a
chance at normal life.

Please don’t turn away.
Help her. It costs you nothing.
The worth is priceless.

A few moments, place
your name on the document,
her life could improve.

Thank you, in advance.
Thank you for helping this child
turn her back on pain.

I just want to be that happy owl.

I’ve always felt a little bit crazy.

When I was a kid, I thought I was “crazy” because I liked things that it seemed the majority of other kids around me didn’t like.  I enjoyed reading, while they seemed to think it was a chore.  I barely gave a thought to what my hair looked like.  If it was clean?  I was okay.  I was more interested in climbing trees and building forts than making sure my hair smelled like Pantene.  I didn’t always know what was “cool.”  I didn’t always really care.  I had a shirt that said, “Dare to be different.”  I embraced that message.  There was a tree branch on that shirt, and 4 owls perched from it.  One was hanging upside down, and smiling.  That was me.

Different.

In grade school, my friends told me I was “crazy” because I liked to act silly and question standards openly. If something funny occurred to me, I wanted to share it. I suppose it was already obvious back then that my “filter” had bigger holes than people thought it should. And my penchant for crass humor was already making itself known. Can’t imagine where I got that from. *shifts eyes to father* I cannot deny being called “the loud one.” Or even, “the annoying one.” Or maybe, “the OMG AVOID HER AT ALL COSTS one.”

In high school, I was always searching for something to make me feel right.  All of a sudden, the “crazy” was more than just an oddity or a quirk.  Something was missing.  I asked myself often what it could possibly be.  “Is it fun?  Maybe I should not read so much anymore.  Maybe I should do some smoking, some drinking, some partying.  Maybe I should skip classes and flirt.  Maybe it’s a boy that’s missing.  I should get one of those, or two, or maybe three.”  It all made me happy.  Momentarily.  But then none of it made me happy.

I pushed on into college and grad school.  A young adult now, I was “crazy” silly to my friends, “crazy” ridiculous when I was drunk, and “crazy” bitchy and controlling to my boyfriend.  Add in “crazy” anti-social during those times when I just wanted to be alone in my apartment.  Which was often.  I have always really enjoyed being alone.  I think, maybe, because there is no pressure to hide exactly how one feels when alone.

No one is there to see how crazy you really are.

Over and over I’d have these periods when I felt that the “something” that would make me happy was always just a few steps ahead of me.  And I kept chasing it, doing the things I thought I was supposed to do, following the plans that I was supposed to make and follow through with.

Every day, going through the motions.  Hiding the anger I had at people as much as I could, pushing it down most of the time.  Hiding the tears, hiding the sadness.  Pushing on.  Past the crazy.

My outward “crazy” was manageable.  When the anger seeped, it was mostly rants that had a humorous edge.  If they stung a little more sometimes than others, I could usually cover with follow-up humor.  I never started fights, never hurt anyone physically.  But the anger was always there.  The sadness was always lingering just below the surface, too.  Humor is often a cover for so many things, did you know?

“Just be funny.  Just be ‘crazy.’  Then they won’t know you’re… well, crazy.”

Taking just a few more steps.  To try to catch The Happy.  And a few more, and a few more.

I put all my hopes into the things I thought would make me happy… my jobs, my studies, my boyfriend.

That was unfair of me.

No one can carry such a burdon for someone else.

That was unfair to me.

Because when you put all of your hopes for happiness into something else, or someone else, and then they fail you…

[And they WILL fail you because nothing can make you happy, and no-one is your perfect answer.]

… all you have left is the crazy. And you might try to get away from that, too, in the only way you know how.

Funny thing is, if you survive that, you might somehow still push it down and keep on taking a few more steps. Thinking that you can still chase down that happiness all by yourself.

I’ve denied to myself that I need help.  I’ve told myself that I don’t really feel crazy.  Not really.
I’ve kept telling myself that “The Happiness” is just. around. the. next. corner.

“I just need to take a few more steps!”

But for the first time in my life, now that I’ve been a mother for almost two years, I do feel like I’m actually crazy sometimes.

People: there’s this little person who’s running around in my house and he needs me all the time.

Even when I need to be alone with my crazy, he needs me.  When I’m feeling distant, when I’m feeling weak… He’s there. And he needs me.

And he needs me to not be crazy.  But he’s not giving me time to take a few. more. steps!

Somehow, that is making the crazy that wasn’t Really Crazy, you know, the one that I could just push down and ignore? It’s making that crazy grow.  The angry crazy is leaking out when he needs me, and when he doesn’t, the quiet, sad crazy is taking over.

For myself, I’m afraid of the latter.

For him, I’m afraid of the former.

Why?  Because every moment I need to myself, he is there.  Every toy has to be slammed into my face. Abruptly, he will run up and scream right in my ear.  For No Reason.  He dances around because he has to pee, but when I put him on the toilet, he looks down at his penis, grins, and then shakes his head, “No-No-No-No.”

30 seconds later, he is peeing on my coffee table.

Some days, I am amused. This is what being a mother is about, right?  This is what kids are supposed to do!

I know this.  And some days, I cope with it all brilliantly.  Some days.

But other days, I honest to goodness have to fight the urge to slam my fist through a window, fling dishes into the wall, or God Forbid, throw my son out the door or scream in his face.

And I’m not speaking in silly exaggerations.  I am not trying to color my words so they will be interesting.  I am not trying to spice up the page.  I literally fight the Real Life Urge to ACTUALLY do those things.

So far, I’m winning, but it would only take one weak moment for me to lose something I may never get back. That frightens me in a way I don’t know how to express.

I cannot stress to you how much I would never, never, never want to hurt my son.  I love him abundantly.  I give all of myself to keep him safe and happy, every day.  And still, I feel that I fail him repeatedly, because I have raged at him in my mind so many times.  In my mind, I am a monster.

And sure, sometimes I raise my voice, even yell, and I’ve thrown a toy down or walked out of the room when I couldn’t take it anymore.  Will those things hurt my son?  It doesn’t seem like it, if you take any one of those instances by itself.  But a lifetime of memories filled with those instances, for my son?  I don’t want that.

I want him to remember me as the owl who hung upside down. Not the one who came screeching at his face with its claws out, or hid behind its tree and cried all the time.

It’s time for me to admit that I need more than prayers, extra sleep, or a place to write about my feelings. It’s time for me to admit that I need help, and seek it out.

I can’t keep chasing after a happiness that eludes me, always a few steps ahead of where I am. I cannot keep trying to hold inside an anger that makes my chest tight and often seeps and leaks out, hurting others. I cannot keep denying that I am exactly who I am, and that’s okay. It’s okay if I’m crazy. It’s okay if I need help.

I don’t know exactly what kind of help I need, but I’m hoping the doctor I make an appointment with will have some idea. I’m hoping I don’t just get dismissed again, like I have in the past. I’m hoping that with all my heart.

Do you think it just might work out?

I’m almost afraid to believe that.

It makes me feel a little bit crazy.

When it rains, it pours!

Well slap my ass and call me Sally!

I had really just come to the conclusion that the Top Mamma People decided I was “Teh Suck,” because I signed up to be one… gee, over a month ago? But I got the e-mail tonight! They have added Braden’s beautiful little face to the collage!

I want his gorgeous mug to stay in that collage, but for that to happen, I need your help! Yes, I am asking you to help me AGAIN! Gosh!

All you have to do is click his face on my left sidebar… once you get to the page, find his face again, and click it.

That’s all you have to do! If we keep getting clicks, we stay there… if we don’t – they kick us hosers out and we have to paint a big “L” on our foreheads!

Booooo! @ Braden & Me being Losers!

Don’t let us go out like chumps, my friends! Click, click, click my baby’s face!

Here’s Your Chance

I’ve been pretty busy this week and I’m seriously behind on my blog reading.  It wasn’t until today that I read this post at Daring Young Mom, and my heart goes out to the victims.

No. More than that.  My heart aches, it seizes up, it trembles. 

I can close my eyes and mentally picture my entire home covered in mud.  Everything ruined.  A little blonde haired boy stands in the middle of the room I picture, smeared with mud, looking for his paci.  My lip quivers as I truly empathize with these people.

Please - read the entire post.  If you can, please help.  We beings who live and breathe, work and love on this earth can do nothing better than love one another in a practical way whenever there is opportunity to do so; whenever there is need, and we are capable.  Often we get too rushed, too tied up, to see those opportunities.  Slow down for a minute and look.  Show your Humanity.

PS: If you can’t afford to make a donation, you could always post about this and see if you can send more people to Daring Young Mom to read, learn and help in any way they can.  Locals can get their hands dirty if they are strapped for money.

Help A Sister Out, Ya’ll

I started my blogging career off over at Myspace (*throws up in mouth a little*). Over there, I have a relatively new myspace friend named Tina (screen-name is Yabbo).

She recently posted a blog asking for help. She has a ten-month old cutie named Mikey, and a silly, kind hubby named Joe.

She is having sleepy-time troubles with Mikey and would really like to hear the opinions, advice, and experiences of other mommies.

Now, you KNOW that when I said “sleepy-time troubles” a special string in your heart twitched. And probably, it felt nostalgic… and maybe it made you a little sick to your stomach.

The following is the content of her recent post (with her permission):

[PARENTS PLEASE READ - I NEED HELP!

No, not MY parents...

Anybody who has kids, I need your help. I don't care if you're an old pro or a rookie mommy like me. Mikey is driving me crazy with his fighting of sleep. When I tell people that my boy fights sleep or doesn't sleep well, I just get that ,"Yeaaaah, I know," reaction. It's the same thing I got when I first had Mikey and I would tell people that I was having a hard time and couldn't stop crying. I really needed help, somebody to talk to, and it was like nobody understood where I was coming from. Well, except Joe, but I needed womanly help. Joe really couldn't identify what was going on with my body.

So, mommies and daddies, I need help. Not a reassuring nod or smile (I can't see you, so it won't help anyway), I need stories and ideas. I want to know if your kid(s) has/had sleep issues. What did you do to help them sleep independently? How did they learn to just go to sleep by themselves?? It upsets me that something that seems to simple is the most difficult and aggrivating thing in my life.

Here's my story.

So at first Mikey wouldn't sleep alone. So we started co-sleeping. Dr.Sears said it was great. And it was. I say again, it WAS. Mikey is 10 months old now, and I would like to share my bed with my husband ONLY. My shoulders hurt from the way I have to sleep every night with a baby next to me. Don't get me wrong, it is wonderful seeing his one-toothed grin in the morning, but I really need time alone with Joe, you know? It is interesting that the websites I listened to that told me co-sleeping is so great have no ideas for getting the kid out of your bed. No exit strategy. Does George Bush run these sites?? I have been getting Mikey to sleep in his crib for naps, but they only last for half the time they do when I hold him or sleep beside him. And then he's grumpy and generally unpleasant. I'm planning on doing cry-it-out for night time soon. I just want him to get used to sleeping in his crib a little longer, thinking maybe it will help.

So, now your turn. I need ideas, people. And since the co-sleeping people think I should sleep with my son until he's 30, I'm not turning to them. Besides, they're strangers. I need help from people that know me and my family.

Thanks alot!]

So… can ya help a sister out, ya’ll? It would be REALLY nice if you, Dear Reader, would comment here and offer your words of kindness, advice, experience, and wisdom!

Don’t worry about writing “too much” or “too little,” in fact, don’t worry – just write!

Us mommies (and daddies) should always try our best to help out other Parental Units in need.

And if anyone out there is currently feeling the same woes as Tina, comment that, too! Hey, you might get some ideas from the comments here….

And if you don’t have kids, you can always offer a kind word… and direct your friends/family with kids to this page.