Reminiscent of an eighties commercial where an old lady disappointingly looks at her hamburger and proceeds to inquire about the insubstantial beef patty, a reader of this blog recently asked, “where’s the dysfunction?” Whether you’re hungry for beef or dysfunction the phrase, “where’s the meat?” gets to the heart the matter. This inquiry has led me to one conclusion: that apparently my narrative on how I incurred grievous injury while attempting to change a diaper, or on pulling a piece of dental floss out of my child’s butt, or on sleeping with a butcher knife under my mattress on a mini-trip with my kids, doesn’t satisfy some people’s insatiable thirst for depravity.

So here’s a confession: I have a potty mouth. And at times a temper. I was not blessed with a plethora of patience and when my limit has been breached I am ashamed to report that my vocabulary tends to become rather colorful. I have gotten slightly better over the years, able to occasionally muffle an obscenity just as it is hitting the air, or sometimes tweaking a consonant just in time to ever-so-slightly distort the forthcoming expletive. At times I wonder, does it really matter if the words I spew in the heat of anger and frustration are official profanities in the English language? I rather think it’s the delivery of the message that makes the most impact; however, I certainly prefer not to curse as I don’t condone that language by my children (of course, I pull a bit of the “do as I say, not say as I say” routine and reinforce that those words are not acceptable). I absolutely do not choose to do it. In fact, I work very hard to control it.

While often swimming in a sea of chaos and resentment it is difficult to always behave in a manner that is commendable and respectable. Although I certainly have many things to be thankful for, raising children with ADHD while being afflicted myself, makes for some very harrowing, if not downright dogged moments around here. It is very unfortunate that the time of day when my two younger children (ages 9 and 5) often begin throwing ridiculous tantrums because their medication is wearing off rendering it extremely difficult to cope with situations rationally, my medication is also wearing off (and yes, this process can have the same effect on adults as it does children). Needless to say, our household can become a very undesirable scene between the hours of 3 and 5 pm.

Initially, I try to respond patiently and rationally. Unless you have raised children like this and have dealt with similar issues day in and day out, you just can not fathom the stress induced by these incessant tribulations. Once I feel my blood pressure has reached the boiling point, I know little can save me. I have incorporated breathing techniques which do help temporarily; however, if the chaos ensues this only serves to delay the gasket from blowing.

Luckily, I’ve always had a speedy recovery. Immediately as soon as the demands, screaming, or kicking the bedroom door stops, my breathing returns to normal and my sense of calm reinstates. That is, up until recently. Something is different in me now. I imagine that along with having larger issues weighing on my mind, it’s because I have finally reached a breaking point and realize that this can not continue. Instead of coping one day at a time, it is imperative to stop this cycle. Something must change. Only nothing is as simple as it should be when ADHD is involved.

The other day after coming home from school the two younger kids behaved beautifully the entire evening. They were both sweet, agreeable and cooperative. Usually they tend to take turns, like only one of them can behave at a time. When my husband came home he even jokingly asked what I had done to them. Reveling in the pleasantness of the atmosphere, I realized that this is what it’s like to have “normal” children. I know all kids sometimes misbehave and need consequences. But for children with ADHD, it is the lack of coping skills (which leads to intense overreacting) that is one of the many elements separating them from the norm. Traditional strategies can be very challenging to implement and do not always work.

In any case, there you have it. Dysfunction. I imagine it’s a little disappointing if you were chomping for something as “juicy” as the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal–I’m saving that for another story.

I am not extremely drawn to poetry so it was a little peculiar when I was sick the other day and this poem kind of materialized out of nowhere. I was actually working on a post I have partially written when I found myself fighting the rhyming verses that kept materializing. So, this was produced instead.

ReGeneration

Perhaps I had it coming,
But I don’t remember well
Why I often wore the welts of belts
When I was small Michele.

My father’s rage often hit the roof
While my mother simply played aloof.
She’d say his name in that horrid whine
As if that would suddenly help this time.

When as a child I lie in bed
Anger and fear swirling through my head
The kind and gentle face I saw
Was the apparition of my grandpa.

While lying there I began to cry.
For the thought that he would someday die
Sent floods of salty streams to flow
To soak the core of my pillow.

I greatly envied my own mother
Having a father such as he,
And I equally resented her
For choosing mine for me.

Our fathers represented
The likes of day and night.
The gentle one had been to war;
The other learned to fight.

From the childish vision of my dad
I often thought all men were bad
Then I recalled the other man who
Showed us warmth so kind and true.

Now I’m grown and he is gone
But I am lucky he lived so long.
I’m only sad my kids didn’t see
Just why he was so special to me.

It’s quite ironic, this circle of life
For now despite my childhood strife
My once hurtful father is no more–
He’s now the grandpa my kids adore.

Wouldn’t it figure that this, being the first really beautiful day in over a week and possibly the most beautiful so far this year, I would be too sick to go out and enjoy it? Today was also the day I was really looking forward to because it’s the only one this week I had wide open without prior obligations.

Last night was absolutely horrid. I was unable to sleep at all except for possibly a few minutes here and there due to (pardon the tmi) the droves of relentless post-nasal drip. I believe I took every legal cold-related product on the market (plus a few illegal ones) without benefit. I even made myself a mug of hot green tea at 3 am which did seem to provide enough relief to allow me about 8-10 minutes of sleeping upright before awakening to the myriad of symptoms accompanied by a kink in my side.

I was hoping when I got up this morning that after taking a shower and another fistful of remedial products I would at least improve enough to be able to meet my friend out for coffee and conversation.

Nope. Still feel like shit.

And I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I’ve popped what because I am having to ingest both the maximum doses of ibuprofen and aspirin every few hours. Since I can’t keep track, I just throw back more pills when something starts terribly hurting again. I am kind of thinking those two aren’t even supposed to be taken simultaneously.

Anyway, in case you are wondering: no, this entry really does not serve a purpose other than lamenting on my pathetic condition. And instead of actually writing 1,000 words, I decided to include a picture. As one would expect after a night like I had, it is certainly not very flattering.

This is me at about 7:00 this morning; unfortunately, with little to no improvement since.

What do you think? Should I make it my avatar?

I now strongly advise that you go wash your hands!

I am a woman who, despite motherhood, wants to live life to the fullest. I reside, however, in a community in which the means I have chosen to accomplish this are often criticized. I am here to provide my perspective, to encourage mothers to self-reflect on their needs, and to impugn the critics of my pursuit. I am optimistic that in time, women will reach a balance between caring for others and caring for themselves.

Firstly, the title of this work I imagine is a foreign concept to some. The terms traveling and housewife do not often go hand in hand. By substituting the latter word with one more befitting, the resulting phrase will conjure recognition. Ah, yes, the traveling salesman! Once upon a time, they were a welcome sight providing the rare opportunity to make a purchase without leaving home and offering immediate gratification to boot. During the fifties, people appreciated the service they provided so much that in 1951 alone, they were a $7 billion industry. These days, the majority of us are less than thrilled to find one on our doorstep. Many home-owners even go as far as to affix “no soliciting” labels in plain view to discourage one from ever ringing their bell. Much like a traveling salesman of today, as a traveling housewife I often feel as though I am living in the wrong era. He and I briefly coexist, sharing a tiny dot on the time line–he nearly obsolete, I narrowly preceding the domestic revolution.

In our loss of appreciation for what was once a respectable line of work, I find a glimmer of hope. It proves to me that, albeit slowly, we are capable of molding our community sentiment to fit the needs of the times.

Today traveling salesmen are nearly extinct. Harder to shake, however, has been the other role epitomized in the fifties; the oppressive role of domesticity. As I reproach the popular mindset of a bygone era, I challenge the adoption of a new mindset. One in which a ‘traveling housewife‘ would not be the subject of gossip and condemnation. Firstly, we need to nullify the misconception that in order for a mother to be a good one, she must adopt a selfless affect, always ready to serve others, regardless of her own needs.

Perhaps it would help if we consciously appreciated mothers as the world’s most substantial and influential volunteers; volunteers that are responsible for cultivating in the rising generations the confidence, values, and flexibility needed to govern and contribute to society. These volunteers almost always sign on with the support of a donating collaborator and the conception that they are commencing a partnership. Soon after the baby business takes off, she comes to realize that the job is exhausting, frustrating, under appreciated, and comes with little to no time off. Ever.

Is it our wish that those who bear this invaluable responsibility become so depleted they eventually grow resentful or worse, apathetic? The solution is to allow or, rather support mothers to intermittently take time to indulge her whims and rejuvenate her spirit in order to maintain a healthy sense of well-being. While it may seem that I would purport such a theory for selfish reasons, in essence, it would come to benefit each member in her family. Furthermore, if implemented by the majority, it would perpetuate the betterment of society on the whole.

While each woman has her own preferred method to rejuvenate herself, the pursuit I have chosen in order for me to ‘live life to the fullest’ is exploring some of the amazing places earth has to offer. Experiencing the world beyond the familiar corridors of this nation is paramount to my vitality. Perhaps a fusion of curiosity, intuition and fascination lead to my affinity to travel. Much of it is the novelty of seeing diverse people, places and customs. One thing is absolute: exotic food, enchanting people, and eclectic experiences generate new insights not found in the comfort of conventional surroundings. These elements together are unequivocally the best means to replenish my sense and sensibility.

Do not mistake me, motherhood is often an immensely rewarding job, the benefits from which aren’t measurable in profits or net worth; indeed they are priceless. Some are able to find that cooking, cleaning, and caring for their family is enough to endow their emotional needs. Notwithstanding the rewards and the tremendous love I have for my children, I long for more.

Because I am so passionate about my travels, it would not benefit my family if I were denied these occasional escapes (99% of my time is spent alongside them). My children have no doubt in my love and dedication to them. Devoting time to replenish my soul only enhances my ability to reinforce those elements. Furthermore, by sharing with them my enthusiasm, they are rendered the confidence to use their imaginations and ingenuity to follow what gives them joy.

With a more flexible attitude (one in which a ‘Traveling Housewife’ is not subject to scoffing and criticism) toward the stringent role held to us, I feel, in turn, a change will occur. Once we start taking more time to replenish our emotional well-being, happier mothers will begin to emerge. It is cliché, but true, that a happy mom is fundamental to a happy family. Promoting my position from “housewife” to “traveling housewife” has literally saved my family business.

I haven’t driven off of a bridge yet. Thought you should know. And since I will be unable to post for a few more days, I thought I would give an update on my friend who was scheduled to give birth last week to a baby boy with a host of problems, including a major heart defect.

She delivered him last Wednesday, April 9th. The good news is that he is hanging in there. But it is still a very tense and worrisome game of wait-and-see. The open-heart surgery which was originally planned to take place when he was about a week old was urgently moved up and performed within hours of his birth. In addition to only having three chambers instead of four, his heart was not properly connected to the lungs; therefore, making it impossible for his little body to circulate oxygen. He does have other congenital anomalies, but the heart obviously gets priority.

She is not able to pick him up or feed him as his chest has been kept open to relieve pressure and allow for swelling. Additionally he is hooked up to many machines and she said there must be 20 different tubes coming in and out of his tiny body. He is kept unconscious to aid in healing, and I imagine for pain management. At one point on the very day of his surgery and, therefore, the day he was born, he surprised the nurses by awakening. He began to stir and nearly pulled out the tubes that had been placed in his tiny little nose. I think he must certainly be one strong little guy to go through the trauma of birth, open heart surgery and a plethora of sedatives and other drugs and not only open his eyes, but have the strength to move!

But the doctors have cautioned her not to thank them yet, for he is a very sick baby. She was at the hospital two days ago shortly after they had re-closed his little chest, when he suddenly began losing blood at a rapid rate. She had to stand there, powerless to do anything while helplessly witnessing this distressing and heart wrenching sight. He lost 100 cc’s of blood in a very short time, which has to be a lot for a 7 lb infant. They were able to stabilize him and gave him a transfusion and meds to coagulate his blood. Then, yesterday while we were speaking on the phone, she got another call from the hospital reporting that he was not doing well and had excess air in his chest. They were working on putting yet another tube in his chest to expel the air.

I know it has been extremely difficult for her physically and emotionally. She was released from the hospital Friday, while her newborn will be there for a minimum of several weeks. His problems are so severe that she had to deliver him at a hospital 90 miles from home, so they are not even in their own hometown. She’s been fortunate to be able to stay with her sister, but has been there for several weeks now which is hard for her, as well as her two-year old son. Taking care of him and driving to the hospital to be with her baby every free chance she gets, which is during her toddler’s nap time and late at night, has been grueling.

This brings me to the reason my blogging may suffer considerably over the next few days. I have agreed to take her two-year old for a while, giving her a chance to rest and spend more time at the hospital at her newborn’s side. I know there is a lot in store for me. My emotional state hasn’t been the best lately due to my own personal circumstances, which has dwindled my patience to nothing and my house to be neglected. Our new temporary addition is still in diapers, throws copious amounts of food on the floor when he eats, leaves a trail of destruction everywhere goes, needs constant attention and doesn’t always sleep through the night. In other words, he’s typically terribly two.

What was I thinking?

I remind myself that I was thinking how even at this critical moment in my life, someone I have been friends with for 16 years has it much, much worse. So, I’m bucking up, dusting off my diaper changing skills (uh oh, remember what happened in my last post?), and preparing to change my frame of mind.

This ought to be fun, right?