I don't know how the WAHMs do it

Last week I pretended to be a work-at-home-mom (WAHM). Masquerading as a graphic designer, I created and tweaked (and tweaked and tweaked) a cover for the book my brother is publishing.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience; while my creative interests have ranged all over the map throughout my life (writing, photography, random crafts, and now design), I've always felt very fulfilled when creating. It makes me feel whole.

Problem is, while I'm off feeling whole, my children are running wild with the knowledge that mom's attention is diverted. We had all manner of ... incidents, including the time my toddler found and squirted white board cleaner in her eye while no one was looking. I took a break to flush her eye over the bathroom sink (she loved that!) while my sabbatical-taking sister held her down.

I don't know that I could have done it without the help of my sister, or at least not during waking hours. And with the baby's still somewhat erratic sleep schedule, I wouldn't have wanted to try in the dark of night -- I value the little sleep I get far too much. (On the other hand, I often work best in the wee hours, lol, so maybe I would have anyway and just skipped sleep altogether!)

Anyway. It was lots of fun, and I'd offer to do it again in a heartbeat. But it's given me a whole new appreciation for women who actually make a living at home while simultaneously making life worth living for their children. I have a looooong way to go before I learn to multi-task that effectively.


~RCH~

The difference between them

When my toddler was born, she seemed to me like an old soul. I believe that we exist before we are born physically, that the essence and intelligence of our spirits are eternal, so in some sense we're all old souls -- but it was more than that with my toddler. She seemed wise. Her lack of language simply kept her from expressing things we, her parents, were too primitive to understand.

This persistent belief colored the way I looked at her: I often wondered why she would behave a certain way -- cry in church for instance, lol -- when she, of all people, knew better. I'd watch in bewildered awe, and sometimes impatience, as she played with her toes -- doesn't she know about toes already? -- and have to remind myself that while her spirit may be old, this body stuff was still a whole new ballgame for her.

I felt differently about the baby from the start. She seemed completely new, blank and empty as the West Texas sky, just waiting for experience to find and fill her.

I don't know why I sense that difference between them, or if there's even anything to it. I certainly don't mean to imply that the baby is less intelligent, or the toddler less pure.... I guess these perceptions say more about me as a parent than it says about either of them.


~RCH~

Update again

DH just called again; he's on his way home after unloading and sorting just three plane loads of hurricane refugees. Looks like that's all we're getting for now.

I wonder if that means my sister's scheduled Red Cross shift, registering incoming refugees from 10:30pm to 7am, will be shortened. Or maybe they'll just have her help in some other way. Hmmmm.


~RCH~

Correction and update

Thank goodness, yesterday's bad news proved to be simply misinformation. DH went to the airport where he, his colleagues, and about 20 ambulances from this city and from small towns all around the region waited for three hours for the planes full of refugees to arrive. Rumors circulated about the delays and the condition of the passengers, but in the end ... nothing. Officials sent everybody home yesterday afternoon with no clear timeline on when the hurricane victims would actually arrive.

A frustrating waste of resources, sure (especially the ambulances -- these tiny West Texas towns can't afford to lend out indefinitely what, in many cases, is their only ambulance), but at least the two dead passengers rumor proved untrue.

Everyone went back today, and the planes finally came. DH called me after unloading the first two; as many as four or five more planes full are expected. He said they hadn't seen any serious illnesses or death so far, but that the experience still ranks as the most sobering and sad of his life: These people have nothing, he told me, but limp garbage bags filled with their few possessions; everything and anything else they may have once owned is lost. They are lost.

He said didn't know when he'd be home, but it might be after my sister (who is here on sabbatical) leaves at 10:30pm to volunteer overnight with the Red Cross. If I didn't have the two little girls to look after, I'd go too.


~RCH~

Here come the 'Fugees

DH left about 30 minutes ago for the airport; he and his fellow residents will meet two planes of hurricane refugees from the Gulf coast states and do triage, sending the worst off to area hospitals and the rest to the long-abandonned Reese Airforce Base just west of here. Well, the rest except for at least two -- they got word that two passengers have already died in transit.

Wow.

I returned from my trip with the girls on Monday, and have put off blogging because I wanted to upload some happy vacation pics and pretty day photos to share with you all. But that seems so pointless now.

I've been trying to wrap my brain around this natural disaster all week, trying to put myself in the proverbial shoes of the people floating around New Orleans on closet doors, waiting to be rescued, or holed up with thousands more, getting antsy and agressive, in a football stadium that's falling apart. I can't do it. I just can't fathom what it's like for them.

And now they're coming here, to what must seem like an alien climate of dust and horizon compared to the lush swamps they're used to. They seem like aliens to me, a little. I told DH to tell them they're in our prayers -- and they are, every day -- but somehow even praying for them hasn't quite humanized the refugees for me. I don't say that to be cruel.... I'm not sure I can articulate what I mean very well, or at all.

Their whole experience is just so inconceivable to me -- not the disaster, even in its tremendous scope, but the fact that they've been living on nothing for an entire week; that they've been scooped up and brought here, bewildered and bedraggled, with no idea what's in store for them next; that they have nothing to go home to, even if they could go home....

They; them; a separate entity. There but for the grace of God go you or I, but I guess it's somehow comforting to me that I can't imagine the refugee experience, that I get to stand a step away from the tragedy and shake my head with a gentle tsk-tsk at their loss and the region's unpreparedness for it. I need it to feel alien, if you know what I mean.

I try to avoid news of the disaster lately; it just gets more horrible all the time.


~RCH~

Scheming: New and improved!

So at the suggestion of a commentor on a previous post, I decided to try my hand at opening a SpreadShop at spreadshirt.com. You can see what I've got so far -- which admittedly isn't much yet -- by visiting Leonine Designs and purchasing one of every item listed. :-D

I've so far got three targets in mind: My sisters -- or women like them -- who could make any t-shirt look good (and by the way, girls, might there be any interest in a Likes Me Pink shirt?); a group of women on a private message board for moms whom I've become quite close to in the last year; and people who want to support organ and tissue donation (though there's no scheming there -- any profit I make from green ribbon apparel I'll donate to UNOS in honor of my best friend Kathryn).

The shop is open for business, but don't despair at the sparse offerings so far. I've only been at this since last night at around 1AM. I'll put more thought into it, work on some real designs, and make Leonine Designs the coolest custom apparel shop you've ever seen. Watch out, suckas! ;-)

In the meantime, though, please feel free to run up your credit cards at my shop.


~RCH~

[PS - Spreadshirt doesn't offer stationary products, so if you're looking for a handsome black and white journal, you can still help supplement my grocery budget and feed my children by purchasing this one at the Cafe Press site.]

Visitors and opposable thumbs

I'm falling down on the blogging job, and will probably continue to this month. Right now we're entertaining visitors -- I'm cooking more than usual (on a good day, you're lucky to weasel dinner out of me; now I'm making all 3 meals), schlepping kids to area attractions, and refereeing nearly constant fights between the toddler and her 7-year-old cousin.

Oh, and let me tell you: I am just sick to death of cartoons. If we never see another one, I will be thrilled. And the Doodlebops! 7yo changed the channel from my beloved and very educational Sesame Street this morning to force my toddler to watch the Doodlebops! Grrrrrrr. Doodlebops are the devil. Being the gracious host, I said nothing, but ... sheesh.

Anyway.

So we're entertaining right now, will have a week off, and then the girls and I are headed to see my family for the duration of the month. I'll blog if the mood strikes, but I anticipate having too much fun to bother. :-)

In medical news, I burned my thumb Saturday morning while scrambling eggs for our guests. My special talent -- my super power, as it were -- is making a huge mess in the kitchen. (DH insists I could make a mess simply boiling water, and I imagine he's right.) As I scrambled the eggs in the pan, some fell out over the side. I reached over to get it out of the way and touched the burner directly instead of the eggs.

OUCH!

I dunked my thumb in ice water the rest of the morning, and covered it with aloe vera gel thereafter. It blistered up on Saturday, the blister popped and peeled on Sunday, and as of last night it still hurt pretty much all the time. Not merely when the burned spot (which is actually fairly small) touched something, but constantly.

I kept showing it to DH. "Is this okay? Is it supposed to still hurt?"

Yes, he'd tell me. It's fine. You did the right thing with the ice water and aloe; there's nothing much to do for it now.

"But it's red and the skin is broken and it hurts. What if it's infected? Can you look at my thumb to make sure it's not infected?"

It's fine, he'd say.

"What if there's an infection and it gets necrotic, turns black, and falls off? What if they have to amputate and I'm left without an opposable thumb on my dominant hand? That happened to a girl from church, you know; not her thumb, but she had lupus and her toe got infected and before she knew it her whole foot turned black and now she wears a prosthetic leg from the knee down! (Not that you'd know it from looking at her; she's gorgeous and walks with nary a limp.) But back to me: What if it's infected? How will I function without an opposable thumb? How will I take care of the girls?"

He'd roll his eyes, look again, and tell me my thumb was fine -- healing according to schedule -- stop worrying.

It still hurts today, but less than it did yesterday. So I guess he's right, lol. I expect to resume full use of my thumb within the next few days. Yay.


~RCH~