More. Just more.

Sleep hasn't come easily since Friday  I am having a hard time not inserting myself in the tragedy - A hard time separating my life from the lives of others.

It's not that I'm scared.  I'm not.  I haven't felt worry during the school day - I'm not any more cautious today than last week.  Seriously.  If it is going to happen, sadly, there is little or nothing I can do to stop it.  And I don't believe it will mostly because who DOES believe it will?  Who thinks that way?  It's a horror beyond horror and can stop a person from functioning.  Living in terror is no way to live. 

But, I'm having a hard time not putting myself there - I keep inserting myself.  In the dark hours of the day, I keep inserting myself, my students, and my child.   I can't sleep soundly.   I think of the horror of trying to keep children safe.  And I think of those poor little souls' horror as they waited and listened and cried for their mamas.  I keep feeling how scared they were.   They died.  Nobody could save them. They were killed.  Sweet, sweet babies.  Each one of them innocent. 

I know I could step in front of a bullet for any child.  That doesn't concern me. I could.  What keeps me awake is the thought of their terror.  I see these little faces.  And in those faces I am imagining,  I see the faces of my students - They trust me so much. These little people spend more awake hours with me than they do their parents.  I spend more awake time with them than I do with my own child.  These little people that are so sure I love them and can keep them safe.  I can not stand the thought of them terrified for their lives.  How horrible it must have been to be a teacher to those 20 sweet and innocent children - The person standing in place of their parents.  I often remind myself that each one of the children in my class is someones Eli.  The center of someones world.  I know I could do whatever I could to protect them.  What keeps me awake is - Could I give them comfort in that moment?  Could I ease their terror?  Would my presence ease the fear just a bit?  How could I comfort all of them at once?  How could I be for them what I'd want someone to be for Eli in sucha  horrible moment? 

So, I watch my students walk down the hall to get a drink or use the bathroom and I imagine those kids in Newtown.  Those poor, sweet kids.  And I know how their teachers felt. I think I know anyway.  Only, I hope I'll never really know.  I hope and pray (yes, even in school) that I will never be called upon to comfort a child in their darkest hour.  I hope I will never see a child die. I do not know how I could survive that. 

I am a parent too.

Being a mother,  I can't help but insert myself as a parent in the horror.  I can't say that I am loving Eli more in light of the hell that has been endured.   Nor am I  holding him closer. I know what I have and I always have known what I have.  He is my gift - A gift I am barely worthy of.   I love him so deeply it scares me.  Sometimes I can't remember where I end and he begins.  I can't separate my life from his.  He's at the age, I know, where he needs me so deeply and I am so ever present in every moment of every day.  An age where sometimes I wish he would be able to step away from me for just a moment.  He needs me in every aspect right now.    But, his need for me won't end in a year or two or more.   I know that too.   I will love him like this always and he will need me like this always.  No more tomorrow than today.  No more today than yesterday.  I love him until I ache and I have since we came together. Sometimes this love makes me cry in joy or sorrow or fear.   I am not special, though.  I love him like all mothers love their child.  I love him fierce and gentle.  Angry and forgiving.  Wild and calm.  I love him more than my life.  It's this love that keeps me from sound sleep right now.

It's this love that means I can't help but insert myself there - In the role of parent who doesn't know and is terrified and searching.  I insert myself as a parent who loses it all and has to decide how to lift her head and walk forward.  The horror is too much.  I'm no more special than any other mother - Nobody out there is chosen because she can handle it.  Nobody thinks this is a load they can bear. 

It can be any single one of us.  At any single time.  And then what?  Then what?  How?

Then grace finds us, if we're lucky.   If it has to.

Please, God.  Not me. 

Here's what I know - I will sleep soundly again.  Someday soon, I will pull my blanket up to my chin and turn on my side and drift off easily. I will fall asleep blissfully again as my interruption is only temporary.    That day will come sooner for me than for others who are broken tonight. I will sleep as soundly as I possibly can since becoming a mother.  It's not as soundly as I once did because before Eli I didn't have the world to lose.   Some parents will never close their eyes again without seeing their child because those parents have lost the world.  They will see their child's fear - Someday they may be lucky to close their eyes and see their smiles.   I know there are mothers out there that are tonight who are wondering about their child's last minute.   I am awake because I can't stop thinking of mothers who have had to say goodbye far too early.  Mothers who right now are on their knees - Broken. 

And God forgive me.  Tonight, I am so thankful I am not that mother.

And I pray I never will be.   

More Later...

It was my grand intention to avoid all things "hot topic" or "political" in this blog.  But, the senseless killing of chilren and teachers and ensuing things I am reading and seeing may drive me there.

I am going to school soon.  An elementary school.  Public school.  And you know who is coming with me?  My God.  And you know who is coming with my 21 students? Their God.  Their truth.

 I will not stop them in line and ask them to leave God behind. 

No, I won't lead them in prayer.  Why would I?  Why should I?  This is a public school and they are young.  So very young.  They have families that have faith and beliefs and I honor each one of them.  Just as I'd want my own honored.  So, no I will not lead them in prayer.

But, a God I believe in is kind and loving.  He does not stop at the door of the schools and wave his hands in defeat and say, "Well, they don't organize prayer in there.  I wash my hands of what happens."  Who would want to beleive in that God?

I will pray a thousand times today.  Help me find the patience.  Help me keep these kids safe.  Help me teach them.  Thanks for that laugh.  Thanks for this opportunity.  

My students will too - In their innocent and sweet way.   In a way that is right for them.

And I believe God loves that best of all.

So, when I read that violence happens in school because God isn't allowed there, I recoil.  And I get mighty disgusted.  He is allowed there.  He is most welcome.  And even if he wasn't - I do believe he'd still love us all the same. 

We Interrupt This Bad Ass Mood...

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you
Tomorrow I'll miss you
Remember I'll always be true
And then while I'm away
I'll write home every day
And I'll send all my loving to you

I'll pretend that I'm kissing
The lips I am missing
And hope that my dreams will come true
And then while I'm away
I'll write home every day
And I'll send all my loving to you

All my loving, I will send to you
All my loving, darling I'll be true

The Beatles



The last two weeks with the Fuss were hard.  Like bring you to tears hard.  Something was going haywire and I didn't know what it was and I couldn't find it and I couldn't fix it.  So, man...We struggled.  He buckled at any form of correction.  He refused most every request.  He ranted.  He raged.

He was the Captain, you see.  And everyone needed to listen to him.  And when we didn't we were naughty.  And he was going to get us.  And he would be happy to rant and rage at you for 10  minutes or more to get his point across.  Plus the sound that makes my skin crawl was made often.  "Eeeeeehhhh" in a sassy and obstinate tone. 

He had a lot of grievances.  A lot. 

And he was unpleasant. 

And not particularly kind.

Nor patient. 

The Elf on the Shelf was not going to work because he (and I quote), "...didn't even ask for one!  You didn't even ask me if I wanted one!"  Plus, it was good the Elf was watching when he was ranting at me because, "He can tell Santa that you're being naughty and YOU won't get any presents!" 

And the worst of it all was how much he beat himself up for his three-ness.  In between the raging was a self-beating guilt ride.  He was a naughty boy.  He wasn't nice.  Nobody would want to be his friend.  He did bad things.  For sure the worst of the two weeks was how much he put on himself.

Plus, also, the worst was when I ran out of wine and he kept falling asleep in the car and I couldn't LEAVE him in the car to go get wine and there was no Single Mother With Sleeping Crab Ass Kid in Car wine store drive through where I could buy wine.  Marrieds - Count this as another perk - Someone to pick up wine or watch child while you go out for wine. 

And I missed my funny and happy little man and hoped he'd return soon.

And he did.  A lovely weekend with only normal tired, hungry, sassy stuff but  nothing that brought me to tears. Not even after a well meaning but much cursed fireman gave him a badge sticker and told him, "Now, you're the chief and you can tell you mom what to do today." 

Bad Fireman.  Bad.  Bad.  Bad. 

But, still.  He was lovely. 

Then tonight. Tonight I want to remember.  Tonight I was putting his sweet little self to bed after a night of cotton ball snowball fights where you declared over and over, "We're having a blast Mom!  This is a blast!"  And a night of two popsicles just because and when I let him have the second one he said, "Wow!  Thank you Mom!  You are my very best friend!"  And then snuggling and watching Rudolph where he gets just a little bit closer when Bumble is on and tells me he would really like the toys on the Island of Misfit toys especially the gun that shoots jelly because EVERYONE would love that cool thing. 

And then...All snuggled in sweetly with his puppy, two batman toys, a tape measure, his Knight sword, and four carefully selected books.  He asked me to sing him the closing his eyes song. 

So I did.  I sat  on a stool next to his bed and rubbed his head and sang.   And he smiled at me.  Just smiled.  He was his one year old self to me at that moment.  The sweet and simple toddler that I used to put in his crib and tell, "You is smart.  You is brave.  You is kind"  Yes.  I'd just read The Help and fancied myself Minnie.

But, it was that sweet little honey of a smile and he moved me to tears.  Well, not literally.  Figuratively to tears. 

Then he sat up, came to sit on my lap without word, and just hugged me tight.  Rocking his little self against me.  For a minute.

Be. Still.  My.  Heart. 



Side note:
The last time I sang him this song he smiled at me too.  And I thought we were having a tender moment until he said, "Ugh...I don't like that song. It is waaaaay too long. You just KEPT ON SINGING."  

We interrupted that  tender moment....

Also, the last time he just came to me and sat and sat while hugging I gushed to him about how much I loved him and he told me, "Eww.  Your breath stinks.  Were you drinking booze?" 

We interrupted that tender moment too...

Christmas is Upon Us Now...

I do love all the somewhat iconic Christmas traditions.  Songs, stories, etc. That's why I get a little excited when they appear.

Indeed.  I just saw a Chia Pet commerical.  Those just don't get old.  Which I mean figuratively, of course, as the same commercial has been on since my youth.  So, literally they get old.  But, figuratively?  Nope. 

Also, I heard The Christmas Shoes today.  I am not alone in fact that this song makes me laugh, am I?  The idea is sad enough.  Mom going to meet Jesus on Christmas.  Kid is short on money to buy her one last gift.  Stranger spots him the cash.  But, I'd like to meet the little kid who is running to the local five and dime to buy his mom a gift that will make her look beautiful and choses shoes?  And it's a boy in the song.  Unlikely.   Call me insensitive.  It's an absurdly funny song.  Earings I might buy.  A hat even.  Necklace. Scarf.   Watch.  But, Christmas shoes? 

I might burn in hell.  That's okay.  I know there are plenty of you giving me a virtual nod right now who will be joining me. 

As soon as I see old lady clapping off her lights and settling in for sleep, I will know it's time to start shopping. 

And, for what it's worth.  Someone let Eli know I don't want the shoes if Father Fate gets me back.

A Woefully Late Post of Thanksgiving





“I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual…O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.”
-Henry David Thoreau

I meant to post earlier.  Like for Thanksgiving, I meant to.  I thought of it often - The abundance in my life and how thankful I am for all of it.  For the family that brought me here and supports me and loves me.  For the friends that are just like family and make my life richer.  For a career that matters and I know matters in spite of where we are right now as a nation and state in education.  For a house that keeps me sheltered and warm and full. And, also, keeps me in touch with both wildlife and my killer instinct. 

 For my little Fuss. 

Always for him.  Above all - I am thankful for Eli. I would not be here in this little state of gratitude if he wasn't in my life.  It is simply that simple.  It is his being that makes me know how abundant my life and possessions are.  He anchors me to life. 

It is an imperfectly perfect life we have.  Certainly, this isn't what I ever envisioned or planned.  It was all supposed to be just a bit more traditional.  But, it didn't work out that way and I wouldn't have it any other way.  A three year old doesn't usually tell his mom he would like a baby in the house so that he can have a friend here.  A three year old doesn't always bring his mom the phone and say, "Mom, call the doctor to see if he has more sperm."  No.  We are not traditional.  We are imperfect.  And all at the same time we are completely perfect.

But, I say again - It is our little nontraditional life that opens my eyes to the world.

I was so scared telling people my plan.  So scared someone would get all judgy and righteous WITH ME and I would get all angry and defensive WITH THEM.    And maybe, just maybe, if enough people were judgy and righteous maybe I'd second guess this all.  At the very least, I'd eat a sleeve of girl scout cookies and a pint of ice cream. 

But, nobody did.  At least not to my face.  Nobody burdened me with their reserervations and objections.  And nobody that really mattered to me ever let on to anything but love and support. 

This isn't what a parent dreams for their child.  I know that - I know that because I'm a mother now and I have this recurring vision of Fuss' wedding day.  He's grown and kind and ever so happy.  And he's about to make a family of his own.  He's going to have a wife and give me grandchildren.  And I am simultaneously relieved and joyful.  Relieved that his life will be full of all the joys that being human brings, but also full of the struggle and heartaches and humanity of life.  I am so relieved that, unlike me, he will share those joys and struggles with someone.  Someone to multiply his joys, and share the burdens of the hard times.  Someone to call his and someone to love.   And I am joyful that he is so happy.  Plus, also, I have a pretty f-ing fantastic dress and I've lost weight.  Also,  somehow I have heels on and really?  With feet this size and width heels are just out for me, but in my vision I have them.  And my feet don't even hurt.  So, really?  Why wouldn't I be joyful - My son is happy and I'm semi-thin and I'm wearing great clothes and heels?  

But, my point is - In spite of any denial she may make - This isn't what my mom would have hoped for me, so my heart fills when I think of how fantastic she's been.  My heart fills when I think of her.  She loves us so much.  Supports us.  She is Fuss' only grandparent and fills that role perfectly.  She fills it with endless love and chocolate milk and even a treat drawer.   She never once made me second guess myself when I decided to have a child.  And she was there every step of the way in ways I share and in ways I don't.   So, my gratitude cup could not be fuller.  Thank you.  Thank you. I appreciate you more than you will ever know.  And I love you so much. 

My sister did the single kindest thing for me that anyone has ever done.  I told her in December that 2008 was the year.  The year I'd stop talking and start basting (those of you around for the duration know what I'm saying).  She gave me the kindest gift at a time when very few people knew what was looming around the corner.  A book -  A pregnancy book.  And a sweet little onesie that I will have forever.  My first baby things - But, they were so much more.  Almost a silent nod of approval and gentle nudge to move forward.  To follow this dream.. They were exactly what I needed.  Thank you.  I love you. 

A special thank you to my sister's amazing boys.  He loves you so much - WE love you so much.  He may not have a father, but he has men (and a very tall boy) to look up to and love.  And love he does.  You fill such a spot for one little boy and I could not be more thankful.

My brothers, my sisters-in-law, my nephews, and my niece.  My nontraditional little family was welcomed into the bigger family.  And for that I am thankful.  It fills my heart to see Fuss' pure joy with his cousins.  I only slightly want to flick him in the head when he is thankful for his stuffed puppy and cousins and not me.  Only slightly.  Mostly, I love that he will turn his back on me to run off with his Uncle or cousin.  It has all been even more than I hoped.  Thank you.  I love you all.

My friends - Oh my friends.  Friends come and go in life - Move forward and back.  But, so so many friends provided support through my years of grieving the loss of my dream to the years when I visioned a new dream to the time I made it happen.  So many shared in my joy of this life and make this daunting task of parenting alone just a little bit easier.  And now still.  "That Girl" (you know who you are), I thank you often for your wise words, your counseling, and your humor.   And somewhere out there is a friend who is lost from my life.  But, she was there too. I miss the friendship we had, but am thankful it was part of my life when I needed it most.  It carried me often when I felt I couldn't stand.    And I am so very thankful for friends gone and friends here.  Thank you - I love you more than you know.

But, maybe today  my biggest gratitude is something I have been giving a lot of thought to.  At any given moment I have to power to say, "This is not how my story ends."  I have changed my story before.  A room away from me sleeps the bravest and hardest and most rewarding thing I have ever done. I am stronger and braver than I give myself credit for.  So, there is no reason that I can not change the things I do not like in life - Make myself healthier and better.  And change it for me, and for those I love most.   My story does not have to end like this. 

So - Here's to a giving of thanks.  There is so much to hold onto and embrace.  So much.  Abundance. 

 

2012: The Year of the Dead Animal

 

And, yes...A bird was harmed

 

It almost seems impossible that I would have another run in with a bird this week.   But, I did.  It's true.  Or rather, a bird had another run in with me this week.  Or with my house anyhow.

 

It was cleaning morning.  It wasn't necessarily going to be, but when Fuss was "Hi-Ya-ing his beloved stuffed friend around and I asked what he was doing and he said he was fighting the dust because we had lots of dust...Well, then I knew it was time.   So, cleaning it was. 

 

The late fall sun is brutal and unforgiving to an unclean house.  Every speck of dust floats in the air and mocks you.  Every streak of unlean on the window screams.  And there were plenty of streaks, I tell you.  P.L.E.N.T.Y.  This will be important to note as it speaks to my innocence on the harming of birds.  I have a bird grudge, for sure - And fairly so, if you ask me.  I had one barge uninvited and unannounced into my house for goodness sakes.  So I don't like them and they don't like me, but I wouldn't hurt one on purpose. 

 

Fuss was my fairly able assistant in the dusting.  In other words, he sprayed and halfway wiped and then I did quality control.  Like actually got the dust.  But, we did well.  A full bottle of cleaning stuff later and one shelf of the entertainment center was done.

 

He was happily spraying shelf two and there was a thud.  A loud one.  Like check the window for cracks loud.  And I had done everything possible to keep this from happening.  Surely, the bird that smashed into my window was visually impaired.  Or he'd just had a fight with his girl, or lost his job, or got caught doing something unsavory by his mother because those windows all but announced themselves.  They were far from clean.  In fact,  it was probably easier to see through the ground than these windows.

 

Fuss and I rushed to the window to see what was the matter.  There it was.  A beautiful, bright red, cardinal.  Dead.  Or rather dying -  His little birdie feet twitched and such as he said his final goodbyes to this world. 

 

I looked at Fuss.  He looked at me.  He looked at the bird.  In my mind I quickly prepared my grand parenting moment.  Oh, I would comfort my child, alright. I would teach him about life and spirit and heaven.  All whilst staring at the twitching legs of a red cardinal.  Certainly that was scary.  Seeing something injured.  Something that normally flies free or, you know, in my house.  I was about to impart what I believe in death and life and God.  It was damn good talk.  It really was.

Except...

"He's not getting up," Fuss tells me.   "He must be dead.  You should put him in the garbage can."

 

Okay.

 

That brings this spiritual party down a notch.

 

But, I'm still willing to try.  You know - My child needs comfort.  He just saw something die.  Of course he needs my words.

 

Only he didn't.  He just needed to keep on spraying.  I knew this because when I started talking about Heaven he told me as much.

 

"I just need to keep cleaning."

 

Maybe we can talk aferlife later, huh?

So I strapped on my gloves and got the small rake and the dustpan.  They have seen more than their fair share of critters this year.  I think of them as my coroner tools.  This year, many have met their demise here.

It began with beheaded critters.  Victims of an owl with a taste for brain, I presume.   Then the mice began to mock me and I had to declare war.  Then the vole.  I actually felt bad about the vole.  He was cute.  A lovely shade of brown, a tiny tail, and cute little digger feet.  I apologized to him, but explained my right to defend my house as I tossed him in the garbage.  Then the bird in the house that I saved.  Now the bird I TRIED to save from this fate by not washing my windows all summer. 

 

Well...My garbage is multi-purpose this year. 

 

The garbage man must be very curious.

 

I call it the morgue. 

 

 



 

 



No Birds Were Harmed in the Writing of This Post

"What is it about a beautiful sunny afternoon, with the birds singing and the wind rustling through the leaves, that makes me want to get drunk?"

Jack Handy

I'd like to say I was shocked about what I'm about to share. But, I wasn't. Startled, certainly, but not shocked.  In a year I have trapped several mice and a vole in my house, there is little left to shock me. 

 

Let me set the scene:

It was morning.  Fuss was playing some version of shooting bad guys and knocking things over.  I was polishing off cup of coffee number two. It was sunny.  Lovely.  Shaping up to be a fantastic morning. 

 

I was busy toasting a waffle. Store bought. I used to make homemade waffles for Fuss back when he was brand new to eating and I was all sure I'd do that forever. But, then I discovered the ease of toasting a store bought waffle. Turns out Trader Joe makes a whole grain waffle that's a a whole lot easier and a whole lot less messy. Who knew?

Anyhow I hear, "Tweet. Tweet. Tweet." (Which isn't really the sound a bird makes, now is it?).

That's not the would be surprising part. We have an unnatural number of birds in our yard due to the fact that my neighbor landscapes with bird seed and bread squares.    She also cuts tenderloin up for her dogs and serves it to them on paper plates along with a vegetable side dish. She's like a caterer to furry and feathered friends.  So, that explains that.  

Anyhow...It wasn't the tweeting that alerted me to possible trouble. It was the volume of the tweeting. It was as if there was a bluebird on my shoulder. Only there wasn't because I was inside the house and in the kitchen.

Ever. So. Slowly.  I crept to the door that separates the mudroom (the dirty little secret of my house) from the living space .  Ever. So. Slowly. I open the door just a hair to listen.  And there it is.  A sparrow roughly the size of a pterodactyl in full out tweeting panic.  Little bastard was in my house. 

Calmly and with great poise I slammed the door shut and screamed, "F&%K ME!!!!!!!!!!!" and ran for my life.  Three year old ears are not always reliable, mercifully.

"Why did you yell 'Oh me" mom?" Parenting disaster averted.

Ummmm.  I stubbed my toe?

But, wildlife disaster still in progress.

Plus, I had to save my child.  It's what mothers do.  We fight grizzlies.  We run through fires.  We wrangle sparrows. 

It did not seem right to dial 9-11. Even I recognized that. 

So, I did the only thing I could.  Wallowed in self pity for just a moment. Possibly two. 

Confidential to those who think it would just be easier to do this parenting gig alone:  This is a moment I would disagree with you and have a fairly good argument for my side. 

Birds are meant to be free. I would free the bird. He clearly was not content with the accomodations. And I was none to anxious to put him up any longer. 

And then I took action to save my child from certain wild animal doom.  My plan was as follows:


First - Do not let said child know what was going on.  While he fancies himself a great helper and I certainly have lied to him in the past about how great of a helper he is, this wasn't time to hone those skills.  Nope.  A three year old armed with a Nerf gun and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle moves could only make this situation worse.  Much.  Much worse. 

Second - Never go into battle unprepared.  Protect oneself first.  I needed a suit of armour.  Fast.  No need to risk being pecked in the head by giant bird.  Or worse - Pooped on.

I donned a laundry basket.  Don't judge.  It was perfect.  It had holes in the side that allowed me to see whilst moving through the mudroom to the escape door. With the stealthiness of a horrified elephant I opened the door and ran to the door to the outside to unlock it.  (Note to self:  Get a key made for the deadbolt so it can be opened from the OUTSIDE).

I then ran with same stealth elephant like panic back to the safety of the kitchen. 

Shout out in gratitude for the bird for not making an appearance or staging an attack while I unlocked the door.  He could have.  I was vulnerable -  What with a basket over my head and all.

With the basket still on my head, I ran a lap to the outside of the house, threw open the door, and waited.  An eternity.  Like 45 seconds of an eternity until the little SOB flew out to sweet freedom. 

He wasn't nearly as big as I thought he was.  I doubt he could have carried either of us off in his talons afterall. 

Next on my to do list:

1.  Call handyman brother to patch up the hole in the awning where the Sparrow family has set up residence.

But, not tonight.  Tonight I just may need a glass of wine. 

What exactly is it about birds in my house on sunny day...
 

That Hairy Thing Dodged a Bullet

It seems to me that we should really just have an "eject" button for those times when our cherubs horrify us. Like badly.

Eli and I have to work on reading three digits numbers, because that ability is the last thing between him and going alone to the male locker room at the YMCA.  That and the fact he's three.  The age thing is a barrier, fo' sho', but not enough that I wouldn't consider sending him alone if I knew he could get the locker opened and himself changed and, you know...Not be among naked  grown men. 

I mean, really.   Eli has discovered his love of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  It was love at first sight and he's fallen hard.   As a result, I am often the victim of really bad ninja moves.  The turtles were tained for 15 years, according the book I've read 432 times since Sunday.  Eli's only been in training for 2 weeks. And he's three.  And not a turtle, incidently.   So, the moves are bad, but not painful and that helps.

He knows no boundries when it comes to his ninja powers.  Home.  The Store.  The YMCA.  In the locker room.  While I'm naked. 

Tonight I was left searching for the eject button.  I'm in a half stage of dresshood praying he won't do his usual thing and say, "Booooooooooooooobs..." like a three year old pervert.  No worries.  He's honing his turtle moves.  My anatomy was seemingly of no concern to him as he jumped from a stool and practiced karate chopping me. Plus also, he was shooting at me, because even though the Ninja Turtles' weapon of choice is a sword, Eli can't let his boyness go long enough to stop shooting everything with imaginary guns (where the heck do they get this). 

Then, he says (and I quote), "I'm going to shoot your (pause while he searches for word)...I'm going to shoot your hairy thing." 

Yes, friends, THAT hairy thing. 

Oh.  My.  

Eject.  Eject.  Eject.

A rush of gratitude to the locker Gods that it seemingly went unheard by other ears.  Glad my hairy thing and I dodged the bullet of humiliation.

Tomorrow we begin three digit number instruction.

"I think he's mellow...Like me"

Confidential to Laura - I told you I was going to make you the subject of a blog.  Here it is...You're fabulous.  But, you aren't mellow. 


So...Last night was Book Club.  Or should I say, "Book Club."  The quotes are important -  What with the fact that very few of us actually READ the book and all (Except for Aileen the show off).   It's a term we use lightly.  We like wine and snacks.  But we like each other and enjoy the sorta, kinda regular once a month meetings nonetheless (which is a cool ass word, I might add.  I mean really - Three words squashed into one...AWESOME).

My dear friend Laura is many wonderful things.  She is kind and generous and funny and thoughtful and loyal beyond belief and full out fantastic.  She is not mellow.  In fact, she may be the antithesis (another cool ass word) of mellow.   Laura doesn't leave too much to the imagination when it comes to what she's feeling.  She isn't exactly known for being passive or quiet or really anything to the left side of alive.  It's what is best about her.  

It's also what is funny as hell about her. 

When Fuss was "a-brewin'" in my utero, Laura would greet us with her oxygen depriving hug (few things make you feel more loved than a hug from Laura).  She'd then get as close to the baby bump as possible and shatter the sound barrier with a 'HELLO  BABY!!!  IT'S LAURA!!!! HOW ARE YOU BABY???!!!!"   She'd stand back and make her intentions clear...She did this so that when baby exited said uterus and was out and about in the world, he/she wouldn't startle when she was around.   Incidently, it works - I've seen Little Laura number one sleep IN HER ARMS through some fairly intense noise.

Laura is a kick ass mom - She has two of the cutest, sweetest little people of her own now.  Which leads to the mellow thing...

So, she's holding Little Mr. Laura (carbon copy of Mr. Laura) at Book Club and we're all ooing and ahhhing about what a good baby he is.  Sidenote:  Good baby?  Like what does a bad baby do? Steal the car keys?  Sneak some booze in his bottle? Anyhow, Laura says (and I'm not making this up), "Yeah...I think he's more mellow, like me."  

Hush silence.

Glances at each other to gauge reactions. 

Followed by uproarious laughter.  

And then a night of teasing...

Mellow.  Little Mr. Laura is a mellow baby.   His mother is not a mellow woman.

I have danced on tables at Mexican Fiesta enough with this woman to know she isn't mellow.

I have smiled at people as our volume and energy drew attention to our table enough to know she isn't mellow.

I have eaten lunch and dinner and drank margaritas enough at LaFuente (sometimes both on same day) with this woman - I know she isn't mellow.

I have laughed until I wet myself with this woman.  She is not mellow.

I have seen her engage perfect strangers in political arguements. Mellow? Nope.

I have seen her take charge of a room or a situation and been ever so thankful that she is not mellow.

I have watched her make this lovely little life for herself.  A lovely little life she has fought for and worked for and MADE happen.  A mellow woman couldn't have done that.

I have known her and loved her and admired her long enough to know.  She.  Is not.  Mellow.

And if she ever changes her way and becomes mellow...Well, I would be heartbroken.

Goals

We should always self improve.


So....

I will proofread.  Sometimes.


I will learn to use Saran Wrap.  Eventually.


I will not scream my throat sore.  Most days.


I will only THINK but not SAY those four letter words.  But I will type them.


I will clean my house.  Tomorrow.

Goodbye Summer, My Old Friend...

I know.  I know.  Summer ended over a month ago.  But, here's the thing - My denial of summer ending just ended hours ago. 

It's cold.  And it's only going to get colder.  Plus, it might snow.  Not today, I mean, but eventually.  It's very likely that will happen, you see.  And then I'll have to shovel and that hardly seems fair to me.  If winter would just be so kind as to direct the snow to the grass only, it could all be forgiven. 

Why is this a shock every single year?  And why do I disdain the season that I once loved?  Winter.  Oh winter. 

Fall was always my very favorite season.  It's what I missed the most when I lived in California.  Hands down.  I did miss my family, mind you, but I could visit them and talk to them on the phone.  I couldn't talk to fall.  Couldn't smell it.  Or walk in it.  I missed in a whole awful lot.  Obviously, not in the aching way you miss your loved ones, but in a desire, longing, nostalgic sort of way.  Loves me some pumpkin farms.  In Victorville, we had pumpkin parking lots on the very busiest of all roads.  Not the same.  I loved fall. I still do, in fact.  And I'm willing to forgive fall the crap weather of this year.  Forgive - Not forget.  Watch yourself fall. 

But, fall has fallen out of favor (seriously, did not intend the pun) to give way to a passion for summer.  Oh how I love summer.  Now that Eli is here and mine and a buddy - Oh how I love it.

Summer means time.  Days and weeks stretched out in front of us to do what we want.  Stay up late?  No problem - We can sleep in.  Don't sleep in?  No problem we can take a nap and then stay up late again.  Want to go to a park?  Vamanos.  Beach?  We're there.  Pool?  Yes, indeed I will set aside my dignity and don a swimsuit.  Park?  Let's pack a snack and go.  And when we're at each and every one of those places, he wants to play with me.  ME. 

It was always my dream to be a stay at home mom.  And I could and would gladly do that in an instant.  Except for one little, itty, bitty issue.  Eli likes a house to live in.  And food.  And he keeps on growing.  What the heck is that all about?!  Summer gives me a chance to try the stay at home mom thing on for size.  And to try it on in it's most flattering season.   It fits well, mostly.  No Suzy Sunshine here - There were days I wanted to peck my eyes out.  Days I counted the minutes until bedtime.  Days I had dreams of work.  I might have even cried once. 

But, mostly, it was bliss and I wouldn't change it for the world. Even though it was so hot I not only suffered the discomfort of thighs sticking together, but the indignity too.

We beached it often - Our favorite being when we visited our most awesome friend Mary (shout out to Maaaaarrrry!) in Michigan.  Sidenote:  Why, oh why, do they get gloriously clean and beautiful Lake Michigan and we get floating sludge and human waste.  Not fair.  

We discovered a love for hiking.  Little man was an exceedingly good sport when I got us lost on a loop trail.  Indeed - A loop.  Like a circle.  But I missed the turnoff.  I'd say I'm the only person in the world who could do such things, but I would lay money my sister could as well.   . 

We swam.  At beaches and pools.  Eli discoverd the joy of standing over a fountain with countless other small children while the water entertained him.  Indeed, they do enjoy that. 

We rode bikes.  Correction - Eli rode his bike and I chased him yelling threatening things about how I'd give it away to some other child if he did NOT STOP AND WAIT FOR ME!!!!

We played with people.  Two dear old friends made a stop in Wisconsin on their vacation and we enjoyed that visit very much.  It was like no time had passed at all, in spite of it being 12 years since I'd last seen them.  I value that.  If only 2,000 miles didn't separate that friendship.  But, we will play again...We will.


We camped.  Twice.  With no showers or bathrooms.  Well, the second time we snuck away to a hotel at night, but during the day we had no bathroom.  That was roughing it.  He loved camping.  What isn't to love when you're a little boy?  Dirt.  Treasures.  Campfires.  He had strong desires to earn his Campfire Badge, but it turns out he was too young for mom to let him start a fire.  He did, however, earn his Beer Fetching Badge by learning Uncle Randy's prefered beer and how to open it.  I am very proud.  Plus, I am very hopeful that he doesn't tell his teachers about that. 

We did museums.  And indoor play places.  And anywhere that was running the air conditioning and wasn't our house.

Summer - My old friend.  Thanks for the great time.  This time in Eli's life is short and precious.  I am his everything and he wants to be with me ever so much.  A magical little stage and I thank summer ever so much for our time together. 

Next summer will end with Eli starting school.  Real school.  And every year after that, that's what will happen.  I am trying for the life of me to figure out how that happened.  Where the last three years went?  And I can't.  I get it now - All of you who said, "It goes so fast.  Cherish each moment."  I do get that.  The days are long...The years are short.  And then they're gone and you'll never get them back.

So, I am thiankful tonight for summer and my time with Eli.  For the times he was my best buddy and the times I wanted to run screaming from this parenting gig.  Someday, maybe very long from now, he will look back on his childhood and I'm glad he will be able to remember us.  And carefree days.  And special outings.  I am glad. 

Adios Summer.  I WILL enjoy winter.  There are a million memories to make here too..

You can't write this stuff

Seriously...

A student who is perhaps the kindest and most gentle spirit I have ever met brought me a flat brown booger and announced, "This fell out of my nose and onto my lap.  I don't know what it is."  It's a booger.  Throw it away.  Also, wash your hands.

Another student ate her toenail.  Toenail. No joke.  Every five minutes  like clockwork I tell her to put her shoes back on.   I passed on my regualarly scheduled reminder in favor of not interrupting a story.  Bad idea.  She peeled it right off and popped it in her mouth.  I would like to say I handled it with grace and dignity.  But just as  20 Kindergartners were hanging on my words to find out what Marcel the Sheep did to help his turtle friend that was stuck under a big pot of vegetables I shouted  "GET THAT OUT OF YOUR MOUTH.  YUCK.  YUCK.  GROSS.  WE DON'T PUT THINGS LIKE THAT IN OUR MOUTHS!!!!" 

I would like it on the record that I let countless booger eatings go every day.  You can't find everything.  Toenail - I had to intervene.  If you know "The Toenail Story" you know why.

Many moons ago I cleaned a podiatrist office on the weekends.  I'd vacuum up giant crusty toenails - This was bad.  Very bad.  I never cared much for feet.  Like, I know they won't hurt me.  Logically, I know this.  But, if you come near me with your bare foot my heart will being to pound and I'll break out in a cold sweat.  I might also scream and run for my life.  I.  Don't.  Like.  Feet.

So, anyhow...Vacuuming was bad enough what with the sound of toenails being sucked up and all.  But, one day I was wiping down the exam chair.  And I kneeled to get to a low lying part of the chair.  I was summer.  I was in shorts.  Yes.  I got a toenail stuck on my knee.  And people who go to a podiatrist to have their toenails sawed off do not have delicate and lovely feet.  Or toenails.  Trauma.  Clearly or I certainly wouldn't have interrupted Marcel the Sheep to scream across the room. 

Speaking of feet.   What age is it reasonable to expect self grooming?  Because, seriously...It wont' be much longer I find these things all that cute. 

An Open Letter To My Son

Hey Little Darlin'

First and foremost I love you.  And I have wanted you for nearly ever.  Our story is long and detailed and complicated.  And ever so simple.  Girl wants family.  Family never happens.  Girl orders sperm.  Girl has family.  Simple as that, but much, much more complicated.  But, that's our story and I promise to share with you all the details you desire as you age.  However, I will not splash them across this, our little corner of cyber life.  At least not right now on my very first blog.  I do have a filter issue. 

Which brings me to this blog.  Raising you - My 'Fuss.  I was ever so happy to give up all sorts of things for you.  I don't resent or regret a single one.  You are worth all I gave up.  And now you're 3 and I think it's time I take a thing or two back.  Perhaps to find a thing or two of my own.  I like writing, I think. I  like a finished product anyhow and I enjoy the planning and process.  So, this is my thing - My NEW thing.   Plus, I can fill it with stories of us so that one day, you'll have it and you'll know.  I tried that once - Remind me to give you the journal I kept during my pregnancy (very patchy entries) and first year of life (also patchy, sorry).   But, I like this format.  I think.  I like the idea of writing to you, about you, about us, about life...I like the idea.  That's me - An idea person. Sometimes I lack follow through.  You'll learn that.  It's not my finest trait. 

But I digress.

You, little man, motivate me in so many ways.  I'd love to present us as perfect and neat and orderly.  But, goodness...We are not.  We are fun and we laugh a lot and love each other's company.  Someone recently said, "He's mama's boy."  Well, duh?  We're a mom and kid family.  It's us and we're a good set.  I really think we sincerely LIKE each other. 

But, I digress.

I read a blog or an article or something where a mom wrote a letter to her children in which she was "being honest.:"  She knew that, like her own mother, she'd forget all the uglies and remember only the beauty of mothering in years to come when her children were grown.  She would some day say things that all moms say to their grown children as they parent, "YOU kids NEVER acted like that."  She wanted her children to know, when that day comes, she was wrong.  Her kids DID act that way and she just didn't remember them.  As your Grandma also remembers 4 perfect and cherubic children, I want to try my hand at that.  So, you know...So you can remind me when your son or daughter is misbehavin' and I don't remember such things...

Little Man,

You are the most fascinating person in the world to me.  Not to everyone, but to me.  I could talk to you all day.  I could listen to your reasoning and your curiosities and your plans for hours on end.  I could talk about you non stop. I think about you almost always.  

You are funny.  You are smart.   You are damn cute.  You are sweet.  You are polite.  You are good.

You are also a pain in the ass.   It's true.  You are.  You jump off of nearly everything and onto me with little regard to my readiness or desires.  Hot cup of coffee in my hand?  No bother - If you're on the top of the couch and spot my back in a general vicinity - You're jumping.  If I am mowing the lawn and make a sweep near a chair or picnic table you happen upon - You're jumping.

And speaking of lawn mowing.  You have a very bad habit of chasing me while I do it and trying to yank my pants down.  Nice.  Love that.

You have a mind of your own and notions and plans that can't be altered or bribed away.  If you had it in your head that you will sneak up on Grandma when you arrive in her house, there is hell to pay if she says hello first.   If you want to bring a 15th matchbox car to bed, you will.  Lord knows you will.  You don't crack fast when I dig my heals in.  You put up one hell of a fight.  Time outs are battles and can last long.  You are stubborn. 

When you've decided you won't say hello or thank you or some other friendly comments to somone, you won't.  I get embarrased by that.  "Eli, say hello to (insert name of friendly face)."  "NO!"   Lord.  Help. Me.

Sometimes you do have fits at the grocery store.  I went all postal on some old lady staring us down and judging us at the grocery store a few weeks ago.  You wanted gum.  I said no.  You will eat a pack of gum in no time, so you get it ONCE IN A WHILE. This wasn't once of those whiles.  You had other opinions.  Tears.   The old lady found you ill behaved and muttered words.  Certainly, she had children and grandchildren who once had a fit, I wondered (aloud...Like Loud...In her direction).   Your behavior was unpleasant, I admited.  But, it was also age appropriate.  Her's was simply unpleasant.  So, you can be a monster.  But, man I love you and will go all Mama Bear when my cub is being unloved.

You jumped on the display beds at Kohls.  I used to get all snarky inside my head at parents who "let" their children do that.  Sorry parents.  Now my kid has done it.  I abandon a full cart (also judged that pre Eli) and carried a screaming you out of the store.  That wasn't fun.

You have strange collections.  Acorns?  Really?   Bags and buckets of acorns.  You are part squirrel.

But, I digress...

First and foremost I love you.  And I love this crazy ass journey we're on. 

Oops. I just swore again.

More than you'll ever know little man,

Mama