Sunday Mr X had managed to convince me that going to downtown Seattle and taking part in all the pre-game fanfare would be a 'once in a lifetime experience' and 'so much fun'. I was skeptical.
Now I'll admit that it was not nearly as bad as I had thought.
Ok, it was better than that.
The mood was infectious. It's hard not to get all hyped up when you are surrounded by a sea of blue and green faces. Yes, FACES! It seems that most of the people there were smurfs or related to them.
There was plenty of good-natured ribbing everytime anyone was brave enough to walk by in a Panthers jersey, and there were a few. I can only imagine what it's like to walk down a street and have about 200 people booing you. They smiled though and there was a lot of back and forth joking but no harassment which? I had actually expected that so it was a nice surprise.
We went to the events center and it was full of games and free food and give-aways.
There was a stand where they were doing free face painting and airbrushing. Girl X wanted to get the Hawk's symbol so we stood in line and waited. By the time we got to the front, the mood had taken me over and I can't believe I'm even admitting this but I got one too.
When we left, the streets were virtually empty. Something I had never seen before!
The downside to all this is that the crazy feeling is still there enough to have made me convince Mr X that we need to go to the Mariner's fan fest this weekend. He already bought the tickets so I really hope the crazy lasts long enough to carry me through to Saturday!
Monday, January 23, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Guilt
I am amazingly good at blaming myself. During the Year That Was Black and Desperate I blamed myself for everything.
I wasn't good enough. I wasn't a good enough mom to Girl X. I was a terrible wife. I was an awful friend. I should have been a better daughter. I didn't do enough for others. I should have known something was wrong and said something, anything to the Dr because he could have waved his magic stethoscope and fixed everything for me.
And I know that's nonsense, but I have become a professional at the blame game. There are days where I think I must enjoy torturing myself because I am so damn good at it.
Recently, I've even found a way to blame myself for my MIL's mental illness. Perhaps if I had converted or just once not rolled my eyes and instead simply smiled, maybe the last time I saw here, the time I looked at her in such disgust she could not have missed it, maybe that was the thing that pushed her over the edge.
And again, I know that her problems were there long before I came along and would have been there no matter what I did or did not do.
When Girl X was first born and it was essentially just the 2 of us, the guilt was a 2 ton truck with blaring sirens I wore on my back every day.
For the brief period that her 'sperm-donor' and I were together and I was home with her, I felt guilt for not working and taking control of the finances. Something that would get us out of that hole in the wall we lived in. And when I did work, I felt guilt for knowing that I had just left her in the care of someone who would probably leave her in her crib for the time I was gone. My only saving grace was a neighbor who would listen for her and get her when he would inevitably leave.
When I could no longer kid myself about what our life was and left him, I felt guilt because I knew that he was never going to be what she needed and would most likely disappear once the restraints (me) were gone.
I felt guilt because I was working all the time in a vain attempt to pay all the bills and pay off the insurmountable debt that being married to him had left me.
I wasn't there enough. I missed so much time. So much that I can't get back. Knowing that there was no other choice didn't stop me from blaming myself when Girl X would scream and cry everytime I left her at her baby sitters. It wasn't that they weren't good to her or that they didn't love her because they did. She was adored there. But it wasn't me. It wasn't her one solid thing.
By the time Mr X came into the picture, I was itching for change. I could feel it. I just couldn't reach it.
Girl X distrusted men. She would allow only my father and brother within 5 feet of her. Any other male and she would scream bloody murder.
When Mr X bent down to say hello and shake her hand, she smiled at him. It stopped me in my tracks.
He played on the floor with her for 2 hours. She would not leave his side. It was amazing.
And I felt instant guilt. She needed a father. I had been doing my best to keep every male on the other side of my wall. I thought it was wise but I never considered the fact that it wasn't what was best for my daughter.
In many cliched ways, in ways that it's sometimes hard to admit, Mr X saved us.
He brought that change we needed so badly.
I don't buy into that 'you complete me' and 'he's my soul mate' stuff. Barf.
But I do believe that we fit. Pieces of a puzzle that were missing.
My life has turned 180 from where I started. And so has Girl X's. I am endlessly grateful for that.
There are moments where I still feel guilt. Especially when I see Baby X and the stages he is passing and I realize that I missed much of this with Girl X.
And then there are the moments, brief and sweet, where she lays her head in my lap as we watch a movie. She sighs and gently brush back her hair with my fingers. She smells like grape shampoo and peppermint. She giggles when the Robot busts out some Britney Spears dance moves. I smile and she snuggles in and whispers "mom, you're the best". I can let just a little bit of that guilt go.
There are many things I never thought I'd have and do now, but none I prize so highly as contentment.
I wasn't good enough. I wasn't a good enough mom to Girl X. I was a terrible wife. I was an awful friend. I should have been a better daughter. I didn't do enough for others. I should have known something was wrong and said something, anything to the Dr because he could have waved his magic stethoscope and fixed everything for me.
And I know that's nonsense, but I have become a professional at the blame game. There are days where I think I must enjoy torturing myself because I am so damn good at it.
Recently, I've even found a way to blame myself for my MIL's mental illness. Perhaps if I had converted or just once not rolled my eyes and instead simply smiled, maybe the last time I saw here, the time I looked at her in such disgust she could not have missed it, maybe that was the thing that pushed her over the edge.
And again, I know that her problems were there long before I came along and would have been there no matter what I did or did not do.
When Girl X was first born and it was essentially just the 2 of us, the guilt was a 2 ton truck with blaring sirens I wore on my back every day.
For the brief period that her 'sperm-donor' and I were together and I was home with her, I felt guilt for not working and taking control of the finances. Something that would get us out of that hole in the wall we lived in. And when I did work, I felt guilt for knowing that I had just left her in the care of someone who would probably leave her in her crib for the time I was gone. My only saving grace was a neighbor who would listen for her and get her when he would inevitably leave.
When I could no longer kid myself about what our life was and left him, I felt guilt because I knew that he was never going to be what she needed and would most likely disappear once the restraints (me) were gone.
I felt guilt because I was working all the time in a vain attempt to pay all the bills and pay off the insurmountable debt that being married to him had left me.
I wasn't there enough. I missed so much time. So much that I can't get back. Knowing that there was no other choice didn't stop me from blaming myself when Girl X would scream and cry everytime I left her at her baby sitters. It wasn't that they weren't good to her or that they didn't love her because they did. She was adored there. But it wasn't me. It wasn't her one solid thing.
By the time Mr X came into the picture, I was itching for change. I could feel it. I just couldn't reach it.
Girl X distrusted men. She would allow only my father and brother within 5 feet of her. Any other male and she would scream bloody murder.
When Mr X bent down to say hello and shake her hand, she smiled at him. It stopped me in my tracks.
He played on the floor with her for 2 hours. She would not leave his side. It was amazing.
And I felt instant guilt. She needed a father. I had been doing my best to keep every male on the other side of my wall. I thought it was wise but I never considered the fact that it wasn't what was best for my daughter.
In many cliched ways, in ways that it's sometimes hard to admit, Mr X saved us.
He brought that change we needed so badly.
I don't buy into that 'you complete me' and 'he's my soul mate' stuff. Barf.
But I do believe that we fit. Pieces of a puzzle that were missing.
My life has turned 180 from where I started. And so has Girl X's. I am endlessly grateful for that.
There are moments where I still feel guilt. Especially when I see Baby X and the stages he is passing and I realize that I missed much of this with Girl X.
And then there are the moments, brief and sweet, where she lays her head in my lap as we watch a movie. She sighs and gently brush back her hair with my fingers. She smells like grape shampoo and peppermint. She giggles when the Robot busts out some Britney Spears dance moves. I smile and she snuggles in and whispers "mom, you're the best". I can let just a little bit of that guilt go.
There are many things I never thought I'd have and do now, but none I prize so highly as contentment.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
If It's a Battle Of the Wits, I'm Losing.
I am fully willing to admit that there are moments where I am totally out of my league. It's just harder to admit that I am being outsmarted by someone who has yet to master the ability to walk upright (getting closer everyday).
"Ok Baby X, we have to hurry up and get out of here. I'm going to grab your shoes, you wait here."
"Barazzack!" I don't want to leave. I want to stay and play with my toys.
"I'll be right back and then we're off ok?"
"AAAARRAAGGGG!!" No! I have plans to shove this block in Cat's mouth. We're not going.
I go to his room, grab his shoes, check his bag and come back to.........
Him. Sitting on the floor looking at me with this smirk on his face, his pants and socks in a pile next to him and his diaper on the other side of the room.
It's lunch time and we're at the mall. I buy him some fish, milk and a cookie. I lay it all out.
"Cookie?"
"No, not yet Baby X. Lunch first." and I point to his fish.
"Cookie." And he hangs his head so dejectedly but I have to stand firm.
I push the cookie further back to what I think is out of his reach and give him a bite of his fish. He smears parts of it over his face. I dig into his bag for those handy wipes I actually remembered to shove in there.
I look back to realize I did not put the cookie far enough away for he has taken a chunk of it.
He looks at me and as fast as he can, shoves it in his mouth. Ha! Try taking it away now crazy lady!
"Ok Baby X, we have to hurry up and get out of here. I'm going to grab your shoes, you wait here."
"Barazzack!" I don't want to leave. I want to stay and play with my toys.
"I'll be right back and then we're off ok?"
"AAAARRAAGGGG!!" No! I have plans to shove this block in Cat's mouth. We're not going.
I go to his room, grab his shoes, check his bag and come back to.........
Him. Sitting on the floor looking at me with this smirk on his face, his pants and socks in a pile next to him and his diaper on the other side of the room.
It's lunch time and we're at the mall. I buy him some fish, milk and a cookie. I lay it all out.
"Cookie?"
"No, not yet Baby X. Lunch first." and I point to his fish.
"Cookie." And he hangs his head so dejectedly but I have to stand firm.
I push the cookie further back to what I think is out of his reach and give him a bite of his fish. He smears parts of it over his face. I dig into his bag for those handy wipes I actually remembered to shove in there.
I look back to realize I did not put the cookie far enough away for he has taken a chunk of it.
He looks at me and as fast as he can, shoves it in his mouth. Ha! Try taking it away now crazy lady!
We've been doing baby signs for a few months now. Baby X will sign 'all done' when appropriate and occasionally 'eat'. Mostly he just looks at me like I'm nuts. I keep trying though. I'm hoping that maybe someday he'll be able to tell me what it is he wants when he bites my leg. (Yes it hurts).
The other night I was signing 'more' and saying it as I fed him his dinner. He looked at me and said 'more?' I made the sign for 'more' again without saying it.
"More?"
I got so excited I carried him to Mr X and told him.
"Go on Baby X! Show daddy what you can do!"
He looks at me and makes the sign for more.
I sigh and we start to go back upstairs.
"More?"
I run back down to show Mr X.
Baby X signs for 'more'.
This continued for awhile. Long enough for Mr X to think I'm crazy and Baby X to realize he now had a very fun game to play with mommy.
It's a very sad day when baby is smarter than mom.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
100
This is my 100th post. I so need to shut up from time to time. I think blogs are what happens when you've been in a house with people under 4 feet tall for too long.
Anyway, in honor of my 100th post, here are my 100 things:
1. I have been married twice
2. Mr X was happy bachelor before me.
3. My ex-husband was a liar, a cheat and a drug addict
4. I had terrible taste in men
5. I left him after I found drugs in my house
6. Mr X is 8 years older than me
7 I always call him a cradle robber
8 I've been described as odd on more than one occasion
9 Olives freak me out because it feels they're watching me
10 Don't talk to me about feet
11 I don't get along with my sister
12 I didn't like my mother very much either
13 My dad rocks
14 I love being pregnant- minus the freaking out bit
15 I once broke my foot tripping over a brick
16 I can no longer straighten my pinky without the aid of my other hand
17 I got it caught in a drill press
18 I worked for a temp agency because I get bored easily
19 I'm dyslexic
20 I love to create
21 I go overboard for my kids parties
22 I made all the decorations for Girl X's 7th birthday
23 The theme was Alice in Wonderland and I made the flowers from the movie
24 I also drew Alice and the Cheshire Cat
25 I love decorating cakes
26 I knitted Girl X's first jumper
27 It was the first thing I ever knitted
28 I'm mostly boring
29 I love practical jokes
30 I cannot raise one eyebrow a'la the Rock
31 Mr X can and it makes me crazy
32 I have 2 siblings, 3 step-siblings and 2 half-siblings
33 My mom was married 4 times
34 My worst fear is being her
35 I am terrible at math
36 I love That 70's Show
37 I hate reality TV
38 I have green eyes
39 No one else in my family has green eyes
40 I don't know what I want to be when I grow up
41 Journalist
42 Teacher
43 Something in medicine
44 Something in law
45 Someone could pay me to make cakes for them every day
46 I hate driving on the freeway
47 I don't talk to anyone I ever went to school with
48 That Laffy Taffy song makes me want to rip off my ears
49 I laugh even if I don't get the joke
50 I took 2 years of French
51 All I remember is how to call someone my little cabbage head
52 I want to go to Greece
53 And Spain
54 And maybe Italy
55 oohh! Ireland. Yeah. Ireland
56 I hate flying.
57 I panic for months if I know we're flying somewhere
58 I have never lived completely by myself
59 The only time I came close, I had Girl X
60 I have never been a bridesmaid
61 Sometimes I wish we lived closer to my parents
62 I feel guilty for taking their grandkids so far away
63 But I love living here
64 My parents used to send me to camp every summer
65 I hated it
66 I once threw up in the top bunk while sleeping
67 I had told them I was sick but they didn't listen
68 I didn't realize I had done that until 2 days later
69 Poor lower bunk
70 I got my first kiss at camp
71 I was 12 and his name was Robbie
72 I will not be sending my kids to camp
73 I made spaghetti the night we brought Baby X home
74 I think of it every time I make it for dinner
75 I love his kisses
76 I love that he likes to cuddle
77 My first born, labor lasted less than 4 hours
78 She rarely wanted to cuddle
79 Some times I think about where we could be
80 Then I see Baby X and know that it's ok
81 I love blue
82 I hate orange
83 I don't really like pizza
84 I hate pizza sauce
85 I love Vietnamese food
86 I'll never tell my MIL that
87 I can't stand the smell of vanilla
88 I love the Gap's Heaven
89 I can watch Casablanca anytime
90 I love older movies far better then today's
91 I'm not talking about movies made in the 80's either
92 I can't carry a tune
93 I love to belt it out in the car
94 I don't have a cell phone
95 I don't really like talking on the phone
96 I'm lousy at making friends
97 I'm afraid that my kids might inherit that
98 I'm not as funny as I think I am
99 I'll laugh anyway
100 I love my life
Anyway, in honor of my 100th post, here are my 100 things:
1. I have been married twice
2. Mr X was happy bachelor before me.
3. My ex-husband was a liar, a cheat and a drug addict
4. I had terrible taste in men
5. I left him after I found drugs in my house
6. Mr X is 8 years older than me
7 I always call him a cradle robber
8 I've been described as odd on more than one occasion
9 Olives freak me out because it feels they're watching me
10 Don't talk to me about feet
11 I don't get along with my sister
12 I didn't like my mother very much either
13 My dad rocks
14 I love being pregnant- minus the freaking out bit
15 I once broke my foot tripping over a brick
16 I can no longer straighten my pinky without the aid of my other hand
17 I got it caught in a drill press
18 I worked for a temp agency because I get bored easily
19 I'm dyslexic
20 I love to create
21 I go overboard for my kids parties
22 I made all the decorations for Girl X's 7th birthday
23 The theme was Alice in Wonderland and I made the flowers from the movie
24 I also drew Alice and the Cheshire Cat
25 I love decorating cakes
26 I knitted Girl X's first jumper
27 It was the first thing I ever knitted
28 I'm mostly boring
29 I love practical jokes
30 I cannot raise one eyebrow a'la the Rock
31 Mr X can and it makes me crazy
32 I have 2 siblings, 3 step-siblings and 2 half-siblings
33 My mom was married 4 times
34 My worst fear is being her
35 I am terrible at math
36 I love That 70's Show
37 I hate reality TV
38 I have green eyes
39 No one else in my family has green eyes
40 I don't know what I want to be when I grow up
41 Journalist
42 Teacher
43 Something in medicine
44 Something in law
45 Someone could pay me to make cakes for them every day
46 I hate driving on the freeway
47 I don't talk to anyone I ever went to school with
48 That Laffy Taffy song makes me want to rip off my ears
49 I laugh even if I don't get the joke
50 I took 2 years of French
51 All I remember is how to call someone my little cabbage head
52 I want to go to Greece
53 And Spain
54 And maybe Italy
55 oohh! Ireland. Yeah. Ireland
56 I hate flying.
57 I panic for months if I know we're flying somewhere
58 I have never lived completely by myself
59 The only time I came close, I had Girl X
60 I have never been a bridesmaid
61 Sometimes I wish we lived closer to my parents
62 I feel guilty for taking their grandkids so far away
63 But I love living here
64 My parents used to send me to camp every summer
65 I hated it
66 I once threw up in the top bunk while sleeping
67 I had told them I was sick but they didn't listen
68 I didn't realize I had done that until 2 days later
69 Poor lower bunk
70 I got my first kiss at camp
71 I was 12 and his name was Robbie
72 I will not be sending my kids to camp
73 I made spaghetti the night we brought Baby X home
74 I think of it every time I make it for dinner
75 I love his kisses
76 I love that he likes to cuddle
77 My first born, labor lasted less than 4 hours
78 She rarely wanted to cuddle
79 Some times I think about where we could be
80 Then I see Baby X and know that it's ok
81 I love blue
82 I hate orange
83 I don't really like pizza
84 I hate pizza sauce
85 I love Vietnamese food
86 I'll never tell my MIL that
87 I can't stand the smell of vanilla
88 I love the Gap's Heaven
89 I can watch Casablanca anytime
90 I love older movies far better then today's
91 I'm not talking about movies made in the 80's either
92 I can't carry a tune
93 I love to belt it out in the car
94 I don't have a cell phone
95 I don't really like talking on the phone
96 I'm lousy at making friends
97 I'm afraid that my kids might inherit that
98 I'm not as funny as I think I am
99 I'll laugh anyway
100 I love my life
The One Where I Get All Rambly and Off Topic.....
Because I never do that. Ok, well not that often. Shut up.
I realized the other day that I am way behind in these stories I have talked about (sometimes with myself) like Girl X's adoption and that whole process and the preceding drama and I think I promised someone a picture of that awful rubber band tie I bought Mr X (stop laughing) and the other bagillion ideas I had that I can't remember right now.
I've thought about actually writing these ideas down but then I start thinking about all those little scraps of paper with things like 'purple cow' and 'shoe meet brick' and 'that funny thing the goose did to my brother' and Mr X finding them and wondering if it's some kind of code and then I have to explain it to him which leads me to the story of my old crazy neighbor (she kept pickled eggs under her kitchen sink to ward off the 'hoogie boogies' and that's a whole 'nother story) and that time she freaked out because someone had dumped a bunch of those Always pads tab thingies in her yard that had a spade on it and said 'remember your symbol' and she thought that it meant some spade gang was out there warning her they were going to kill her with a deck of cards and that's just more than he really wants to know and wow! That is a run on sentence. Are you still with me? Did you pass out trying to read all that in one breath? I'm sorry. See? I told you I was going to get rambly and when I get rambly I tend to run on. And on. And I can't remember now what I was going to finally remember to talk about. I need to go back a minute.
Ok, right. John Wayne. That's what I was going to remember to talk about. I'm about to post these pictures that will appear up at the top. I have yet to figure out how to move them down here where I want them without losing everything I just wrote and we do NOT want to go there again. Oh no. We do not want that.
That second one is the awful felt (FELT!) painting Mr X bought off of some police auction site. I've comforted myself with the thought that the artist (The hell? What made this guy wake up one day and say 'hmmm, I think I'll paint on material normally reserved for puppets!') is sitting behind bars for making bad art. I've had it hidden in a closet with poor John Wayne facing the wall. I couldn't take his pleading any more! "Come on pilgrim, just set me on fire. This ain't art, this is crime, pilgrim" Which tells me I have to stop watching John Wayne movies with Mr X.
So, Girl X got him that first one for Christmas but it's all in charcoal and it looks so much better and it's NOT ON FELT!! So we should be able to get rid of the felt (barf!) one right? No. Mr X wants to pass it on to Baby X someday because he is convinced it will be worth something. Unless felt suddenly becomes scarce and unmake-able and therefore worth more than gold, I predict Baby X will someday bury it in the backyard with that bedazzled bird.
And this all leads me to the reason my grandmother told a bunch of people (after swearing them to secrecy and telling them they were the only ones she was telling) that we were related to John Wayne.
See, my Grandmother was crazy. It's why she was so much fun. I've never felt the need to ride roller coasters because I've been in a car with her. Do you know what it's like to go the wrong way on an exit ramp and then drive 2 miles the wrong way on the freeway before having 2 state patrol officers stop you and turn you around?
I do.
And it was funny because she kept getting mad at everyone else for driving the wrong way and we kept telling her that she was going the wrong way but she didn't believe us.
She used to get lost all the time. She'd be driving down the road and say "I don't think I'm supposed to go down that way. I'll be lost." and then she'd turn that way and we'd be hopelessly lost. But without trips like that, we'd never have found that one Chinese restaurant that gave us steamed rice topped with gumdrops. No, we didn't ask for the gumdrops. That's just how they served it.
Or the time she flashed a bag boy at our local grocery store after asking him if he'd ever seen a woman with one boob. She had two, but they were attached to each other. She was a lot of fun at parties. She never drank more than a teaspoon of champagne. That was her thing. "I'll just have a teaspoon of champagne."
And her house! She had a couch. It disappeared 12 years ago under some boxes that apparently mated and then never moved out. She was a packrat. A packrat that multiplied daily. Her house is a scavenger hunt.
But that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about this thing about us being related to John Wayne and let me just preface this by saying, we are not. As sad as that makes Mr X, we are most definitely not related.
My grandfather's uncle had a child out of wedlock. In fact, I have the court papers that show he paid a grand total of $245 in child support in 1930-something. My grandmother was certain that the mother's maiden name was Wayne (it wasn't) and since John Wayne's real last name was the same as hers, they must be related. She was sure that John Wayne was my grandfather's cousin. My grandfather just shook his head and sighed.
And um, I'm not really sure why I had to go through all that other stuff to tell you this one little thing but I hope that it makes up for taking so darn long! And I will try to remember to post the picture of the rubber band tie and so on.
Blackouts
Last night I was typing out my entry and I was really into it and it was long and then the power went out and I lost everything. Irony? I had just been typing how frustrating it is that I can't highlight and copy everything I right so that if I lose it when I try to publish or save as draft I can just paste it back in. I was steamed!
Plus, I can't sleep when it's quiet. I know this sounds odd, but it's too loud! I hear every creak and step and it keeps me up. To make it just that much better, our fire alarm kept beeping and it's a shrill beep. Ours are hardwired and I guess the backup battery was bad. I tried to ignore it. I tried to stop it (barstool wasn't tall enough for me to reach it). I even tried talking to it.
*beep*
Can you just save that for later because I'm trying to sleep?
*beep*
Come on, you're loud. You're going to wake up Baby X (because I figured maybe it didn't like me since I was always setting it off while cooking but it couldn't have anything against Baby X, right?).
*beep*
If you stop beeping, I'll make Mr X put in some uber-expensive top of the line battery.
*beep*
You are mocking me.
*beep*
You've been talking to the laundry room haven't you?
*beep*
Forget what he told you. We worked it out, I learned my lesson. Please stop.
*beep*
I hate you.
*beep*
I did finally fall asleep about 2 hours later. 20 minutes later the power came back on and woke me up.
I'll try to get the entry I was working on up later today.
Plus, I can't sleep when it's quiet. I know this sounds odd, but it's too loud! I hear every creak and step and it keeps me up. To make it just that much better, our fire alarm kept beeping and it's a shrill beep. Ours are hardwired and I guess the backup battery was bad. I tried to ignore it. I tried to stop it (barstool wasn't tall enough for me to reach it). I even tried talking to it.
*beep*
Can you just save that for later because I'm trying to sleep?
*beep*
Come on, you're loud. You're going to wake up Baby X (because I figured maybe it didn't like me since I was always setting it off while cooking but it couldn't have anything against Baby X, right?).
*beep*
If you stop beeping, I'll make Mr X put in some uber-expensive top of the line battery.
*beep*
You are mocking me.
*beep*
You've been talking to the laundry room haven't you?
*beep*
Forget what he told you. We worked it out, I learned my lesson. Please stop.
*beep*
I hate you.
*beep*
I did finally fall asleep about 2 hours later. 20 minutes later the power came back on and woke me up.
I'll try to get the entry I was working on up later today.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Laundry-Gate
After today, I learned that Baby X's little experiment with his shampoo bottle last week was merely practice for the Stupid Thing I Did, Weekend Edition. I had a fight with my laundry room. The laundry room won.
When Mr X built the laundry room, he put a little shelf above the washer and dryer. I use it for the detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, baby detergent, woolite, stain remover, bleach pen, rags, dusters.... basic laundry things and a few cleaning supplies I use often. The shelf runs the entire length of the washer and dryer. Except that it isn't one long board. It's 2. And the brackets that support it? They aren't centered. It's never been a problem before today.
I've always left the caps off or loose on the bottles because laundry has to get done at lightening speed here. I have 1 minute and 24 seconds while Girl X plays with Baby X before school to sort, wash and start the dryer. Then he notices I am not in the room and decides that he can not live another second without me (even though he just spent the last 7 minutes ignoring my pleas to play) and begins screaming and beating his sister.
Point is, I do not have time for caps. I laugh at caps. Ha!
Today they laughed at me.
I started the wash and set the brand new, nearly full, 1.36 gallons of All back on the shelf exactly where it had been sitting for 3 days.
And the shelf had had enough of my arrogance and tipped.
Bottles went flying, soap! Everywhere! My hair! The walls! Yeah, EVERYWHERE!
"AARRAACCKKKK!!!"
Soap. Me. Ack.
The only thing I can be really relieved about, is that it wasn't a school day. Because I would have been thoroughly screwed.
And of course most of the bottles went flying behind the washer and dryer. I had to pull them out to clean it up, which, the All? Was being carefully held up because it had gotten stuck between the washer and the wall so really the spill wouldn't have been too bad.
It wouldn't have been too bad if I HAD KNOWN THAT BEFORE I MOVED THE DAMN WASHER!
The walls were covered in sticky blue soap. The floor was a mix of blue, green and clear and their were dryer sheets floating everywhere. Damn 240 count box.
And I thought the shampoo was difficult to clean up? Ha!
The shelf chose that moment to right itself. It was mocking me. MOCKING me!! It was as if it was saying "You dared to attempt to defy the laws of gravity! Suffer the consequences! Fool!"
Soap is sticky.
I figured the best way to clean this was not going to be paper towels. I won't need to pour any detergent for awhile. I'll simply use one of the 8 towels it took me to wipe up all that soap.
Then I had to get a wet cloth and try to scrub down the walls and get rid of the sticky. It took just the other side of forever.
So now, all caps are tightly twisted on the bottles. The heaviest ones are balanced safely where it can't tip. My laundry room smells disgustingly good.
And I will forever deny this moment when Mr X brings it up over the next several years.
When Mr X built the laundry room, he put a little shelf above the washer and dryer. I use it for the detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, baby detergent, woolite, stain remover, bleach pen, rags, dusters.... basic laundry things and a few cleaning supplies I use often. The shelf runs the entire length of the washer and dryer. Except that it isn't one long board. It's 2. And the brackets that support it? They aren't centered. It's never been a problem before today.
I've always left the caps off or loose on the bottles because laundry has to get done at lightening speed here. I have 1 minute and 24 seconds while Girl X plays with Baby X before school to sort, wash and start the dryer. Then he notices I am not in the room and decides that he can not live another second without me (even though he just spent the last 7 minutes ignoring my pleas to play) and begins screaming and beating his sister.
Point is, I do not have time for caps. I laugh at caps. Ha!
Today they laughed at me.
I started the wash and set the brand new, nearly full, 1.36 gallons of All back on the shelf exactly where it had been sitting for 3 days.
And the shelf had had enough of my arrogance and tipped.
Bottles went flying, soap! Everywhere! My hair! The walls! Yeah, EVERYWHERE!
"AARRAACCKKKK!!!"
Soap. Me. Ack.
The only thing I can be really relieved about, is that it wasn't a school day. Because I would have been thoroughly screwed.
And of course most of the bottles went flying behind the washer and dryer. I had to pull them out to clean it up, which, the All? Was being carefully held up because it had gotten stuck between the washer and the wall so really the spill wouldn't have been too bad.
It wouldn't have been too bad if I HAD KNOWN THAT BEFORE I MOVED THE DAMN WASHER!
The walls were covered in sticky blue soap. The floor was a mix of blue, green and clear and their were dryer sheets floating everywhere. Damn 240 count box.
And I thought the shampoo was difficult to clean up? Ha!
The shelf chose that moment to right itself. It was mocking me. MOCKING me!! It was as if it was saying "You dared to attempt to defy the laws of gravity! Suffer the consequences! Fool!"
Soap is sticky.
I figured the best way to clean this was not going to be paper towels. I won't need to pour any detergent for awhile. I'll simply use one of the 8 towels it took me to wipe up all that soap.
Then I had to get a wet cloth and try to scrub down the walls and get rid of the sticky. It took just the other side of forever.
So now, all caps are tightly twisted on the bottles. The heaviest ones are balanced safely where it can't tip. My laundry room smells disgustingly good.
And I will forever deny this moment when Mr X brings it up over the next several years.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Just.... Awwwww......
This was just one year ago. He was 6 weeks. He was really that tiny.
He weighed 6 lbs 7 oz at birth. 3 weeks later he weighed 5 lbs 7 oz. At the time of this picture he had just barely topped 7 lbs. He sounded like a kitten when he cried. Mostly he just eyed us all with this intense stare.
It always amazes me how quickly they change. To go from this tiny, completely helpless, fragile person. To the Tower of Terror, capable of flattening unsuspecting cats everywhere.
I've forgotten who we were before him. It was the same with Girl X. It just seems that he's always been here. So when I realized the date, and realized that under different circumstances I'd be talking about my 2 year old, it seemed more surreal than I could have imagined. I still wonder who they would have been. Yet, at the same time, I cannot imagine Baby X as someone else. I think it's how I've accepted what is now, and not what it could have been.
****************************
He weighed 6 lbs 7 oz at birth. 3 weeks later he weighed 5 lbs 7 oz. At the time of this picture he had just barely topped 7 lbs. He sounded like a kitten when he cried. Mostly he just eyed us all with this intense stare.It always amazes me how quickly they change. To go from this tiny, completely helpless, fragile person. To the Tower of Terror, capable of flattening unsuspecting cats everywhere.
I've forgotten who we were before him. It was the same with Girl X. It just seems that he's always been here. So when I realized the date, and realized that under different circumstances I'd be talking about my 2 year old, it seemed more surreal than I could have imagined. I still wonder who they would have been. Yet, at the same time, I cannot imagine Baby X as someone else. I think it's how I've accepted what is now, and not what it could have been.
****************************
I can't tell you how many times I've heard "Oh, (insert number here) is my favorite age!" and always for different reasons.
I haven't found my favorite age yet. I love the newborn period. Multiple night feedings and all. I don't mind the sleep deprivation.
I love it when they get more mobile and learn to roll, crawl and walk. Each discovery is like a miracle to them. You can see it in their eyes everytime they do something new. "Ha! Did you see that? I am AWESOME! Next stop, the world!"
I love the terrible twos and threes. For the temper tantrums because come on, it's pretty funny that someone under 4 feet tall and all of 30-35 lbs can stop everyone and command their attention simply by throwing themselves down, screaming and pounding their little fists. It's even funnier to see their reaction when you do it right along side of them. Not that I've ever done that or anything. And the things they say and do.
One morning, I think Girl X was 4, she decided to make oatmeal. I was asleep as it was 5 am and I had no idea she was up. But she didn't want oatmeal. No, this was for Cat. Because Cat likes oatmeal. Except that she couldn't reach the bowl. So she just used the drawer with all the handtowels and dishclothes in it. With the dishclothes and handtowels still in it. But Cat didn't like the peach oatmeal. So she dumped some blue Blue's Clue's applesauce in it. Because Cat prefers blue oatmeal. Except that he doesn't. I don't know about you, but there isn't much more I could do but laugh as I washed all my towels and dishclothes and cleaned blue oatmeal out of the drawer.
When she first started school, she'd come home every day very excited about the things she had learned that day and the things they were going to do tomorrow. But when I'd ask her what it was that she learned or what they were doing the next day? "I don't know."
And now, my pre-tween. Attitude and all. Wild imagination, great with stories, loves her brother to the point that she will actually let him play with her prized possession (a Mickey Mouse she takes everywhere and uses to scare away bad dreams). She's temperamental, but sweet. She's smart but gets bored so easily. She's silly.
I haven't found my favorite age yet. I love them all. I'm looking forward to what comes next with her.
And I can't wait to see what Baby X makes in my towel drawer for Cat. I just hope he doesn't put Cat in the drawer.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Diarrhea-rama
Don't worry, I'm not going to be mean and get all descriptive on you or anything. I totally blame the internet. It seems every one in here with kids is passing it around. Stomach bug through the monitor. I think the point can be made with this:
5 AM- Baby screaming. Smell hits me before the door does.
5:05 AM- Baby screaming. Me in the bathroom hosing him down with the shower head.
5:10 AM- Baby screaming. Ears ringing. Dirty jammies soaking, clean jammies half on. Note to self- pants don't fit over baby's head.
5:20 AM- Baby magically inhaled contents of cup without actually touching it to his lips. Yawn in awe. Both crash.
6:00 AM- Baby screaming DIRECTLY IN FACE AND OHMYGOSHWHAT THEHELLISGOINGON???
Seriously, this kid rarely ever cries. I've been lucky. Really lucky. Girl X was the same way. Which is probably why I have this crazy idea that I want to keep reproducing. This morning was nuts. He didn't want me to hold him he didn't want to be put down he didn't want to play he didn't want to not play no juice yes juice not hungry HUNGRYHUNGRYHUNGRY and so tired. I got desperate. Let me tell ya', Winnie the Pooh is a freakin' lifesaver that early and I am now all kinds of strangely in love with the Disney channel because it made him finally STOP THE EAR SPLITTING SCREAMING.
Now most kids when sick get really lazy right? I mean, when your ass is exploding every 30 minutes making that chapped ass match your eczema who really wants to run around and tear the house apart. Right?
So what the hell is wrong with my kid? Did someone not give him the memo that sick=mellow? It was like someone gave him a bunch of pixi sticks and set him loose.
*He dumped his shampoo all over the bathroom floor resulting in his second hose off of the day. It took forever to get that all off of him. It took just next to eternity to get it off the floor. Twice that since you have to keep preventing a certain somebody from using the shampoo to paint the walls.
*He put his disposable sippy cups just under my rocking chair enough that when I sat down, the lid popped off spraying pedialyte EVERYWHERE. And he laughed. This time he skipped the hose down and just got wiped down and his 3rd outfit of the day.
* He stuffed half soggy cheerios into the fireplace vent. As in, 'hmmm tastes bland, I'll hide it here she'll never notice.' Except that he had to taste every cheerio first.
* He sat on Cat and refused to move. I was doing dishes, Baby X was watching Sesame Street (he lalalaloves Elmo). It was only the desperate cry of one very freaked out kitty that saved him since I thought that Cat was downstairs. I tried to tell him to get off but he just smiled at me and chirped 'Cat'!
* He continued to practice this whole walking thing since it seems to be the latest craze. Plus we all clap and cheer like a bunch of idiots everytime he takes more than 3 steps.
* Stick one finger up each nostril, turn to me smiling and say 'cookie'. I had to leave the room.
* Hand me the phone, say 'dada' and then proceed to hang up on him after I call. Giggle maniacally.
* He has this great trick of removing his pants at will. He's been able to do it since he started crawling. It's an art form. Today he also learned how to remove his diaper. He figured it out in time to pee all over the carpet and one very groggy and freaked out Cat (which, get over it buddy. It was only a few drops and I've seen you pee all over Mr X's lunchbox when you were mad at him. Deal). He was quite pleased with himself until he realized that I had been holding out on him. Here was this great toy in his pants that magically sprays liquid and it's fun to poke and how dare mommy not tell him! He gave me The Look. And it is eerily just like Mr X's Look.
5 AM- Baby screaming. Smell hits me before the door does.
5:05 AM- Baby screaming. Me in the bathroom hosing him down with the shower head.
5:10 AM- Baby screaming. Ears ringing. Dirty jammies soaking, clean jammies half on. Note to self- pants don't fit over baby's head.
5:20 AM- Baby magically inhaled contents of cup without actually touching it to his lips. Yawn in awe. Both crash.
6:00 AM- Baby screaming DIRECTLY IN FACE AND OHMYGOSHWHAT THEHELLISGOINGON???
Seriously, this kid rarely ever cries. I've been lucky. Really lucky. Girl X was the same way. Which is probably why I have this crazy idea that I want to keep reproducing. This morning was nuts. He didn't want me to hold him he didn't want to be put down he didn't want to play he didn't want to not play no juice yes juice not hungry HUNGRYHUNGRYHUNGRY and so tired. I got desperate. Let me tell ya', Winnie the Pooh is a freakin' lifesaver that early and I am now all kinds of strangely in love with the Disney channel because it made him finally STOP THE EAR SPLITTING SCREAMING.
Now most kids when sick get really lazy right? I mean, when your ass is exploding every 30 minutes making that chapped ass match your eczema who really wants to run around and tear the house apart. Right?
So what the hell is wrong with my kid? Did someone not give him the memo that sick=mellow? It was like someone gave him a bunch of pixi sticks and set him loose.
*He dumped his shampoo all over the bathroom floor resulting in his second hose off of the day. It took forever to get that all off of him. It took just next to eternity to get it off the floor. Twice that since you have to keep preventing a certain somebody from using the shampoo to paint the walls.
*He put his disposable sippy cups just under my rocking chair enough that when I sat down, the lid popped off spraying pedialyte EVERYWHERE. And he laughed. This time he skipped the hose down and just got wiped down and his 3rd outfit of the day.
* He stuffed half soggy cheerios into the fireplace vent. As in, 'hmmm tastes bland, I'll hide it here she'll never notice.' Except that he had to taste every cheerio first.
* He sat on Cat and refused to move. I was doing dishes, Baby X was watching Sesame Street (he lalalaloves Elmo). It was only the desperate cry of one very freaked out kitty that saved him since I thought that Cat was downstairs. I tried to tell him to get off but he just smiled at me and chirped 'Cat'!
* He continued to practice this whole walking thing since it seems to be the latest craze. Plus we all clap and cheer like a bunch of idiots everytime he takes more than 3 steps.
* Stick one finger up each nostril, turn to me smiling and say 'cookie'. I had to leave the room.
* Hand me the phone, say 'dada' and then proceed to hang up on him after I call. Giggle maniacally.
* He has this great trick of removing his pants at will. He's been able to do it since he started crawling. It's an art form. Today he also learned how to remove his diaper. He figured it out in time to pee all over the carpet and one very groggy and freaked out Cat (which, get over it buddy. It was only a few drops and I've seen you pee all over Mr X's lunchbox when you were mad at him. Deal). He was quite pleased with himself until he realized that I had been holding out on him. Here was this great toy in his pants that magically sprays liquid and it's fun to poke and how dare mommy not tell him! He gave me The Look. And it is eerily just like Mr X's Look.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
*ahem*
Because I know some of you who are reading this, I know you are not shy, in fact, I know some of you to be like me and never shut up already! Not that that's a bad thing right?
Thursday, January 05, 2006
He Means Well......
Mr X is an awesome husband. He laughs hysterically at my spastic exercise face, but would never even dream of trying to capture it on film (I so would). He puts up with my inane movie chatter during his favorite flicks. He indulges me when I think it's funny to dress the kid's up like oh, say, Humpty Dumpty or a bunny even if it's not Halloween.
So I know that he really thought this was an awesome idea and for most people it would be.
He got me this pedicure set (and I asked but he said 'no, definitely pedicure') and some foot shaped sander thingy also for my feet.
Why is this odd?
Because I can't even say the word 'foot' or 'toe' without mine curling up and maybe dying a little inside.
I am extremely ticklish plus, ew. I mean, feet? Ugly and ew.
My neighbor's kid has webbed toes and she spent one of our cookouts showing them to me and I thought I would DIE!!
One of the rare, and the last, times I went to sleep without socks, Dog licked my foot. I don't know what ever possessed him to do this. I do know he still twitches everytime he sees bare feet and I can jump really high.
The thought of getting a pedicure makes me want to cry.
I know it's pathetic and just weird, but there it is.
So why would my husband do something like this? He has met me. He knows me very well.
This has to be a practical joke right?
So I know that he really thought this was an awesome idea and for most people it would be.
He got me this pedicure set (and I asked but he said 'no, definitely pedicure') and some foot shaped sander thingy also for my feet.
Why is this odd?
Because I can't even say the word 'foot' or 'toe' without mine curling up and maybe dying a little inside.
I am extremely ticklish plus, ew. I mean, feet? Ugly and ew.
My neighbor's kid has webbed toes and she spent one of our cookouts showing them to me and I thought I would DIE!!
One of the rare, and the last, times I went to sleep without socks, Dog licked my foot. I don't know what ever possessed him to do this. I do know he still twitches everytime he sees bare feet and I can jump really high.
The thought of getting a pedicure makes me want to cry.
I know it's pathetic and just weird, but there it is.
So why would my husband do something like this? He has met me. He knows me very well.
This has to be a practical joke right?
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Moments in Which I Am Truly a Spaz
My one and only real resolution for the year is to be healthier. This involves eating better, and exercising.
The eating better part is not a big deal to me. I'm not a big fan of chocolate or sweets in general so I don't mind not having them. And ok, exercising doesn't really bug me either but........
Mr X once foolishly said I looked like I was having a seizure while doing my pilates. Something about the way I was moving and the look on my face. And I kind of already knew I looked ridiculous (who doesn't when they're all sweaty and contorting themselves?) but I did not need to hear it.
Which leads me to my main point that as much as I sort of want too, I can't join a gym. All those equally sweaty people making those strange spastic faces? Or worse, working out and not making those strange spastic faces. No, instead they'd all be looking at me and thinking 'oh good Lord! Maybe we should call 911?'
Combine that with my natural grace and it's a recipe for disaster!
I can't even jog a mile on my own treadmill without falling off and that just doesn't seem like something I want to do in public. I fall down in my driveway enough I don't need a whole new crop of people thinking I'm a drunk.
Mr X got me a mini-stepper for Christmas as requested. It has those stretchy elastic pull thingies for your arms. The first time I got on and tried to use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping I punched myself in the nose and fell off the stepper. Mr X burst out laughing and chucked my shoe at him. It felt so Jerry Springer!
I no longer use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping.
I do yoga a few times a week. As spastic and clumsy as I am, I have a strange ability to contort myself in those odd positions. These are always accompanied by Seizure Face but hey, whatever. No one is watching but Cat (and he laughs) and Baby X.
Tonight Baby X did downward facing dog, followed by trying to balance himself in that position with his arms behind his back.
Mr X is now begging me to not do yoga in front of Baby X in fear that I will forever damage his boy-ness.
The eating better part is not a big deal to me. I'm not a big fan of chocolate or sweets in general so I don't mind not having them. And ok, exercising doesn't really bug me either but........
Mr X once foolishly said I looked like I was having a seizure while doing my pilates. Something about the way I was moving and the look on my face. And I kind of already knew I looked ridiculous (who doesn't when they're all sweaty and contorting themselves?) but I did not need to hear it.
Which leads me to my main point that as much as I sort of want too, I can't join a gym. All those equally sweaty people making those strange spastic faces? Or worse, working out and not making those strange spastic faces. No, instead they'd all be looking at me and thinking 'oh good Lord! Maybe we should call 911?'
Combine that with my natural grace and it's a recipe for disaster!
I can't even jog a mile on my own treadmill without falling off and that just doesn't seem like something I want to do in public. I fall down in my driveway enough I don't need a whole new crop of people thinking I'm a drunk.
Mr X got me a mini-stepper for Christmas as requested. It has those stretchy elastic pull thingies for your arms. The first time I got on and tried to use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping I punched myself in the nose and fell off the stepper. Mr X burst out laughing and chucked my shoe at him. It felt so Jerry Springer!
I no longer use those stretchy elastic pull thingies while stepping.
I do yoga a few times a week. As spastic and clumsy as I am, I have a strange ability to contort myself in those odd positions. These are always accompanied by Seizure Face but hey, whatever. No one is watching but Cat (and he laughs) and Baby X.
Tonight Baby X did downward facing dog, followed by trying to balance himself in that position with his arms behind his back.
Mr X is now begging me to not do yoga in front of Baby X in fear that I will forever damage his boy-ness.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Ways in Which to Annoy My Husband
I'm a movie talker. I don't do it when we're in the theaters, but at home, I can't help it. It's why Mr X usually wears headphones. I can talk and he doesn't have to hear me.
Tonight he didn't.
Tonight he made me watch Star Wars III. I don't mind really, but it's definitely not my usual thing.
Tonight, I got The Look for the following:
*Repeatedly referring to the movie as Star Trek. At first, it was an innocent mistake but when he started getting annoyed, it was just funny.
* When the Chancellor turned to whats-his-face-that-turns-into-Garth-Vader and said "I have good news", without missing a beat I shouted "I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico!"
*Repeatedly asking when 'Garth' Vader was going to show up. Yes I know it's Darth. But Garth is funnier.
* Asking if he ever noticed that his mom kind of looks like Yoda, only not so wise.
* "Water, you will pass Mr X-ey one"
* "You kind of look like that Dog thing honey."
"That's a Wookie Mrs X"
"Bless you."
"What?"
"I thought you sneezed."
* Telling my increasingly less patient husband that Garth Vader was hot with that mask on and the heavy breathing? What a turn on! I bet he made great dirty phone calls.
*Asking why Captain Picard wasn't in there fighting with the force.
* Asking who the gold man was about 6 times. And no I don't remember.
* Telling him R2D2 looked like a trash can on wheels and that I dressed as him for halloween one year as a kid.
* Telling him I wanted an R2D2 for my birthday so I wouldn't have to dust anymore.
* Repeatedly referring to Samuel L Jackson as Julien and saying that it would be so much more kick ass if he'd start doing that speech he always did in Pulp Fiction. Can you picture Yoda as John Travolta? Doing the twist with Uma? Uh-huh. Totally kick ass right?
He went to bed before the movie was even over. His headphones are charging so there's always next time!
Tonight he didn't.
Tonight he made me watch Star Wars III. I don't mind really, but it's definitely not my usual thing.
Tonight, I got The Look for the following:
*Repeatedly referring to the movie as Star Trek. At first, it was an innocent mistake but when he started getting annoyed, it was just funny.
* When the Chancellor turned to whats-his-face-that-turns-into-Garth-Vader and said "I have good news", without missing a beat I shouted "I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico!"
*Repeatedly asking when 'Garth' Vader was going to show up. Yes I know it's Darth. But Garth is funnier.
* Asking if he ever noticed that his mom kind of looks like Yoda, only not so wise.
* "Water, you will pass Mr X-ey one"
* "You kind of look like that Dog thing honey."
"That's a Wookie Mrs X"
"Bless you."
"What?"
"I thought you sneezed."
* Telling my increasingly less patient husband that Garth Vader was hot with that mask on and the heavy breathing? What a turn on! I bet he made great dirty phone calls.
*Asking why Captain Picard wasn't in there fighting with the force.
* Asking who the gold man was about 6 times. And no I don't remember.
* Telling him R2D2 looked like a trash can on wheels and that I dressed as him for halloween one year as a kid.
* Telling him I wanted an R2D2 for my birthday so I wouldn't have to dust anymore.
* Repeatedly referring to Samuel L Jackson as Julien and saying that it would be so much more kick ass if he'd start doing that speech he always did in Pulp Fiction. Can you picture Yoda as John Travolta? Doing the twist with Uma? Uh-huh. Totally kick ass right?
He went to bed before the movie was even over. His headphones are charging so there's always next time!
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Poking the Bear
The bear being Baby X and the poking being those evil evil vaccinations! And before I get any comments via here or e-mail, I vax because the alternative, for me, is far scarier. I'll be damned if I'm going to take a chance on that!
Check-up was good, kid is a total string bean; lean and lanky. He had 2 nurses to give him the shots. I laid him back and he flirted with them and talked until *jab* *jab* AARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And OH!! The look he gave them! Because he was just so OFFENDED!
Here he was flirting away, batting his baby blues, smiling that toothy grin, cooing softly, he'd gently tough their arms with his hands and dip his chin and then, OH AND THEN!! The pain! They had the nerve! to give him shots!
They left them room as I consoled him and then redressed him. I put his little Santa hat back on him. *sniff sniff* He smiled at me and things were right again.
Until we walked out into the hall.
Baby X has always been a happy baby. Full of smiles, friend of all.
We stepped out into the hallway and where he spotted the nurses.
He threw his head back and began to WAIL!! OH the HUMANITY!! He laid his head down on my shoulder and just SOBBED!! PITY ME!! Those awful awful people hurt my poor little legs!! And OH! How they HURT!!
He'd peek back up to see if they were still there and wail even louder! The other nurses were fawning over the poor poor baby. His Dr came out to see what the fuss was and I just shrugged my shoulders 'it's not me!' I got out to the receptionist to make our next appointment. He flirted with both receptionists as he always does.
When one of the shot nurses came around the corner, he stuck out his lower lip and sniffled. Little tears running down his cheeks.
More fawning for Baby X.
By the time we got out of there, he was smiling and laughing and carrying on as he always does.
My little Ham.
Check-up was good, kid is a total string bean; lean and lanky. He had 2 nurses to give him the shots. I laid him back and he flirted with them and talked until *jab* *jab* AARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And OH!! The look he gave them! Because he was just so OFFENDED!
Here he was flirting away, batting his baby blues, smiling that toothy grin, cooing softly, he'd gently tough their arms with his hands and dip his chin and then, OH AND THEN!! The pain! They had the nerve! to give him shots!
They left them room as I consoled him and then redressed him. I put his little Santa hat back on him. *sniff sniff* He smiled at me and things were right again.
Until we walked out into the hall.
Baby X has always been a happy baby. Full of smiles, friend of all.
We stepped out into the hallway and where he spotted the nurses.
He threw his head back and began to WAIL!! OH the HUMANITY!! He laid his head down on my shoulder and just SOBBED!! PITY ME!! Those awful awful people hurt my poor little legs!! And OH! How they HURT!!
He'd peek back up to see if they were still there and wail even louder! The other nurses were fawning over the poor poor baby. His Dr came out to see what the fuss was and I just shrugged my shoulders 'it's not me!' I got out to the receptionist to make our next appointment. He flirted with both receptionists as he always does.
When one of the shot nurses came around the corner, he stuck out his lower lip and sniffled. Little tears running down his cheeks.
More fawning for Baby X.
By the time we got out of there, he was smiling and laughing and carrying on as he always does.
My little Ham.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
This Message Brought to You by Baby X
Dear Readers,
I have taken over Mommy's blog just long enough to tell you that all is once again well. Your concern has been greatly appreciated. I can now fishhook my sister, pinch my mommy, poke Cat in the eye or butt (whichever is closer), and pick up cookies. Yes, dear readers, my (Favorite!!) finger has returned to all it's functional glory as evidenced by the picture below.
Again, thank you truly,
Baby X
**Yes, that is his finger in his nose.
I have taken over Mommy's blog just long enough to tell you that all is once again well. Your concern has been greatly appreciated. I can now fishhook my sister, pinch my mommy, poke Cat in the eye or butt (whichever is closer), and pick up cookies. Yes, dear readers, my (Favorite!!) finger has returned to all it's functional glory as evidenced by the picture below.
Again, thank you truly,
Baby X
**Yes, that is his finger in his nose.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Oh. Gah! That's Blood! I Mean.... Gah! **UPDATED** 2x because it just wasn't long enough!
I don't really swear very often. I've learned to censor myself since I have a couple of midget parrots who listen to EVERYTHING I SAY AND THEN REPEAT. Usually at totally innappropriate times. Like in the middle of dinner with my grandparents when Girl X (3 at the time) told them to pull her damn finger she had to fart. I nearly choked on my water and my Grandpa had to leave the table because he couldn't stop laughing.
Tonight? It was not a night to test my censorship abilities.
I believe fuckity fuck came out of my mouth a number of times. In my defense, it's not often that I see Baby X's blood on the outside of his body. (You know, as opposed to all the times I've seen it on the inside of his body. What?)
The evening started out well enough. We were waiting for Mr X to get home. It was the first night all week I didn't feel like I was going to keel over from running around all day and night. Baby X had decided that Girl X's door was fun to play with.
We banged as loud as we could with our hands. She'd open it and say boo. Back and forth. He laughed. It was great fun for all. (Gee, I'm so glad we have all those interesting, loud and educational toys for Baby X.) Then Girl X peeked around her door at me. She started to close her door when I saw Baby X was playing with the hinge of the door. The hinge that is inside her room. And we were outside. Um.
"Don't close the door!"
She was like a millisecond from having it totally shut. She quickly opened it.
Huh. There's a little spot of red on the door. Now where did that come from?
Look at Baby X.
Oh Shit! Oh Fuckity Fuck!
He was doing that noiseless scream. Typically reserved for when something really really really hurts. Duh mom! Of course it hurt! What a stupid thing to say. And you just sat there for what seemed like an eternity with this 'uhhh' look on your face while I BLED!! Hello? BLED I SAY!!!!
I grabbed him and ran into the bathroom. How bad could it be? It was just a door right?
uhhhhhhh.
The pad of the tip of his finger was a little more than halfway off.
Gah!!!
I grabbed gauze and tried to stop the bleeding. Yeah. What was that? I've got this BLOOD coming out of my finger, which? I have so much more to say about that! And you stick some kind of papery stuff, hold my finger up and squeeze? What is wrong with you? I mean really! I'm bleeding. You're supposed to drop everything and make it better. Like instantly! And the finger? Oh my GOSH people! Readers? Out there seeing these words right now? I have to tell you. It wasn't just any finger ok? It was my FAVORITE finger. The one I point at everything with. I use it to poke my sister in the eye. I use it to shake indignantly at my mom or my sister or my dad when they won't give me cookies... mmmm cookies. What was I saying? Oh right. The finger. And oh! THE BLOOD! Wow. Just. My favorite finger and. Blood. And she sticks, what was that? Gauze? Yeah. Gauze on my finger. For what?
The blood kept coming so I said 'Gah!' Grabbed a band aid because you know, nothing says good mom better than a SpongeBob band aid on a half chopped finger. What is a SpongeBob? And what is this thing on my finger? First, there's the blood and now there's this strange blue thing stuck to my finger and it won't come off! Help me!
We get to the hospital right in time for everyone else to get there too. By now, Baby X isn't screaming anymore. Girl X is still crying because she feels HORRIBLE because OH MY GOSH MOM I CUT OFF MY BROTHER"S FINGER AND AHHHHH!!!! So, I had to keep telling ehr accidents happen and if she only knew some of the things she had to go to the hospital for...... er. um. Accidents happen. He won't remember it later anyway.
We go to check in and there is noone there. We're in an emergency room and there is NO ONE TO HELP US! HELLO?? There is a line forming behind us. I finally say screw being polite. "Hello? Anyone help?"
Check in and am told to wait. Which, I expected I mean. Finger. Not life threatening.
We walk over and look at the fish tank. Fish? Oh I like, wait. What is this thing on my finger? I want to point at the fish and there is this thing on my finger! Gah!
"Look mom! Dead fish."
What? No. I don't think that's dead. I mean, dead fish float to the top and this one is just kind of hanging out in the coral with his face down in where we can't see it and his tail sticking straight up.
Dead fish float. Right?
When that fish finally did come out, uh. I wish it had stayed in. It was ugly. So ugly. Mom! My finger! Remember? My favorite finger? The one I use to stick up my nose?
Waiting to get called back and I decided we all needed a bathroom break so I told the nurse and she said not to worry.
And when we came back she said 'sorry, I just let someone else go in front of you. You'll get called back soon.'
Of course. You can sit in a hospital waiting room for an hour and they won't call you back until you get up to use the restroom. Never fails.
We finally get taken back to a room.
Where we get to wait and wait some more. Only now? No fish to look at it!
2 1/2 hours later, the Dr walks in and spends all of 2 minutes looking at his finger before he asks me what I'd like to do. What? Did I get a medical degree in your waiting room? What???
If we had been seen 30 minutes earlier, he wouldn't have hesitated to start stictching. But, now it was borderline. It was starting to clot and heal. It was iffy whehter he really needed a stitch or not.
I chose not. Because really? This kid would have been pulling on it and chewing on it and if it wasn't 100% neccessary, why bother. And yes. He will have a scar. But once it's too late for stitches, he would've had one anyway. Did you even think to mention how it HURT to have that strange guy pulling on my finger and bending it like that? Oh and what about that stupid joke with Girl X? Offering her a pony in exchange for me? What was that? Although, maybe I should have said yes. I bet he wouldn't have let my finger, my favorite finger!, get hurt.
So after 3 hours what did we get?
A band-aid.
They were going to wrap it up in some red stretchy stuff- ha! A big red bump where his finger should be!- but Baby x, like me, has a latex allergy. So instead, a giant band aid (no SpongeBob?!?!) that wrapped aorund his finger about a hundred gazillion times! What the.. I mean come on! Of all the darned things... Really? I mean. Really? How am I supposed to bend my finger? Do you know how hard it is to fishhook someone when you can't bend your finger? Well. I do. What next? Wrap up my arm so I can't grab Cat? Gah! Are you all getting the magnitude (do you like how I, a babe of barely a year, can use such big words like magnitude and indignant?), of this? It's my FINGER! I need this finger. A lot. I pick up cookise with this finger! Oh for the love of........ yawn..... uh. ZZZZZZZ....................
So then we had to wait for discharge papers. And after 30 minutes, it dawned on me that I was waiting for someone to tell me how to care for a band aid. A BAND AID!!!
So I left.
Without the papers.
I'm expecting the discharge paper police to show up at my door at any moment. Right behind the favorite finger police.
UPDATED:
Mr X likes to point out how I'm all long winded (and so?) and yes, I totally could have finished this post neatly in like 6 words.
Baby. Finger. Door. Blood. Ouch. Band-aid.
But that does not capture the full picture. The magnitude mom! It's my ffffffavorite!! Zzzzzzzzz
So. It's long. But what did you expect from me?
*Updated AGAIN*
Today we went stocking stuffer shopping. Baby X has been his normal happy self until someone talks to him and then he gets all solemn and holds up his finger and I SWEAR HIS EYES GET WATERY!! and starts "uuuhhhh huh uhuhhhuh uhhh oooo" and then he smiles sweetly. I think it means 'look! Crazy people hurt my finger! Call CPS! I'll smile so she doesn't get what's up! Come on! Dial! Dial!' Actually mom, I'm trying to tell them about this stupid thing you stuck on my finger, my FAVORITE FINGER AGGG!!! and I can't bend it and would they be so kind as to give me a cookie. Then I smile to show them how cute I am. And as soon as I can coordinate myself, this thing is coming off. OFF, you hear me? Now where's my cookie?
Tonight? It was not a night to test my censorship abilities.
I believe fuckity fuck came out of my mouth a number of times. In my defense, it's not often that I see Baby X's blood on the outside of his body. (You know, as opposed to all the times I've seen it on the inside of his body. What?)
The evening started out well enough. We were waiting for Mr X to get home. It was the first night all week I didn't feel like I was going to keel over from running around all day and night. Baby X had decided that Girl X's door was fun to play with.
We banged as loud as we could with our hands. She'd open it and say boo. Back and forth. He laughed. It was great fun for all. (Gee, I'm so glad we have all those interesting, loud and educational toys for Baby X.) Then Girl X peeked around her door at me. She started to close her door when I saw Baby X was playing with the hinge of the door. The hinge that is inside her room. And we were outside. Um.
"Don't close the door!"
She was like a millisecond from having it totally shut. She quickly opened it.
Huh. There's a little spot of red on the door. Now where did that come from?
Look at Baby X.
Oh Shit! Oh Fuckity Fuck!
He was doing that noiseless scream. Typically reserved for when something really really really hurts. Duh mom! Of course it hurt! What a stupid thing to say. And you just sat there for what seemed like an eternity with this 'uhhh' look on your face while I BLED!! Hello? BLED I SAY!!!!
I grabbed him and ran into the bathroom. How bad could it be? It was just a door right?
uhhhhhhh.
The pad of the tip of his finger was a little more than halfway off.
Gah!!!
I grabbed gauze and tried to stop the bleeding. Yeah. What was that? I've got this BLOOD coming out of my finger, which? I have so much more to say about that! And you stick some kind of papery stuff, hold my finger up and squeeze? What is wrong with you? I mean really! I'm bleeding. You're supposed to drop everything and make it better. Like instantly! And the finger? Oh my GOSH people! Readers? Out there seeing these words right now? I have to tell you. It wasn't just any finger ok? It was my FAVORITE finger. The one I point at everything with. I use it to poke my sister in the eye. I use it to shake indignantly at my mom or my sister or my dad when they won't give me cookies... mmmm cookies. What was I saying? Oh right. The finger. And oh! THE BLOOD! Wow. Just. My favorite finger and. Blood. And she sticks, what was that? Gauze? Yeah. Gauze on my finger. For what?
The blood kept coming so I said 'Gah!' Grabbed a band aid because you know, nothing says good mom better than a SpongeBob band aid on a half chopped finger. What is a SpongeBob? And what is this thing on my finger? First, there's the blood and now there's this strange blue thing stuck to my finger and it won't come off! Help me!
We get to the hospital right in time for everyone else to get there too. By now, Baby X isn't screaming anymore. Girl X is still crying because she feels HORRIBLE because OH MY GOSH MOM I CUT OFF MY BROTHER"S FINGER AND AHHHHH!!!! So, I had to keep telling ehr accidents happen and if she only knew some of the things she had to go to the hospital for...... er. um. Accidents happen. He won't remember it later anyway.
We go to check in and there is noone there. We're in an emergency room and there is NO ONE TO HELP US! HELLO?? There is a line forming behind us. I finally say screw being polite. "Hello? Anyone help?"
Check in and am told to wait. Which, I expected I mean. Finger. Not life threatening.
We walk over and look at the fish tank. Fish? Oh I like, wait. What is this thing on my finger? I want to point at the fish and there is this thing on my finger! Gah!
"Look mom! Dead fish."
What? No. I don't think that's dead. I mean, dead fish float to the top and this one is just kind of hanging out in the coral with his face down in where we can't see it and his tail sticking straight up.
Dead fish float. Right?
When that fish finally did come out, uh. I wish it had stayed in. It was ugly. So ugly. Mom! My finger! Remember? My favorite finger? The one I use to stick up my nose?
Waiting to get called back and I decided we all needed a bathroom break so I told the nurse and she said not to worry.
And when we came back she said 'sorry, I just let someone else go in front of you. You'll get called back soon.'
Of course. You can sit in a hospital waiting room for an hour and they won't call you back until you get up to use the restroom. Never fails.
We finally get taken back to a room.
Where we get to wait and wait some more. Only now? No fish to look at it!
2 1/2 hours later, the Dr walks in and spends all of 2 minutes looking at his finger before he asks me what I'd like to do. What? Did I get a medical degree in your waiting room? What???
If we had been seen 30 minutes earlier, he wouldn't have hesitated to start stictching. But, now it was borderline. It was starting to clot and heal. It was iffy whehter he really needed a stitch or not.
I chose not. Because really? This kid would have been pulling on it and chewing on it and if it wasn't 100% neccessary, why bother. And yes. He will have a scar. But once it's too late for stitches, he would've had one anyway. Did you even think to mention how it HURT to have that strange guy pulling on my finger and bending it like that? Oh and what about that stupid joke with Girl X? Offering her a pony in exchange for me? What was that? Although, maybe I should have said yes. I bet he wouldn't have let my finger, my favorite finger!, get hurt.
So after 3 hours what did we get?
A band-aid.
They were going to wrap it up in some red stretchy stuff- ha! A big red bump where his finger should be!- but Baby x, like me, has a latex allergy. So instead, a giant band aid (no SpongeBob?!?!) that wrapped aorund his finger about a hundred gazillion times! What the.. I mean come on! Of all the darned things... Really? I mean. Really? How am I supposed to bend my finger? Do you know how hard it is to fishhook someone when you can't bend your finger? Well. I do. What next? Wrap up my arm so I can't grab Cat? Gah! Are you all getting the magnitude (do you like how I, a babe of barely a year, can use such big words like magnitude and indignant?), of this? It's my FINGER! I need this finger. A lot. I pick up cookise with this finger! Oh for the love of........ yawn..... uh. ZZZZZZZ....................
So then we had to wait for discharge papers. And after 30 minutes, it dawned on me that I was waiting for someone to tell me how to care for a band aid. A BAND AID!!!
So I left.
Without the papers.
I'm expecting the discharge paper police to show up at my door at any moment. Right behind the favorite finger police.
UPDATED:
Mr X likes to point out how I'm all long winded (and so?) and yes, I totally could have finished this post neatly in like 6 words.
Baby. Finger. Door. Blood. Ouch. Band-aid.
But that does not capture the full picture. The magnitude mom! It's my ffffffavorite!! Zzzzzzzzz
So. It's long. But what did you expect from me?
*Updated AGAIN*
Today we went stocking stuffer shopping. Baby X has been his normal happy self until someone talks to him and then he gets all solemn and holds up his finger and I SWEAR HIS EYES GET WATERY!! and starts "uuuhhhh huh uhuhhhuh uhhh oooo" and then he smiles sweetly. I think it means 'look! Crazy people hurt my finger! Call CPS! I'll smile so she doesn't get what's up! Come on! Dial! Dial!' Actually mom, I'm trying to tell them about this stupid thing you stuck on my finger, my FAVORITE FINGER AGGG!!! and I can't bend it and would they be so kind as to give me a cookie. Then I smile to show them how cute I am. And as soon as I can coordinate myself, this thing is coming off. OFF, you hear me? Now where's my cookie?
Note to Women Everywhere
I know it's winter and the perfect time to skip shaving every now and then. When you're all bundled up no one knows. Your significant other is sworn to secrecy at the risk of limbs they hold dearly.
However, if you are going to wear capris; in freezing! icy! weather, shave. And for the love of all that is good and holy, put some lotion on your legs!
When you can map New York City on your legs from all the cracks, it's time to use some lotion.
And the reason my son looked at you so oddly lady at the dentist's office is that he's really only seen that much hair on a leg on his dad. And he was pretty sure you were a woman. Not, as you stated, because he is mentally retarded.
The hell?
Yeah.
THE HELL!!
However, if you are going to wear capris; in freezing! icy! weather, shave. And for the love of all that is good and holy, put some lotion on your legs!
When you can map New York City on your legs from all the cracks, it's time to use some lotion.
And the reason my son looked at you so oddly lady at the dentist's office is that he's really only seen that much hair on a leg on his dad. And he was pretty sure you were a woman. Not, as you stated, because he is mentally retarded.
The hell?
Yeah.
THE HELL!!
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
"What's that? What's that?"
Baby X has found his voice before his feet. While his sister is home, I hear him screaming through the house for her as they chase each other through the hall and into the kitchen. Back down the hall again with him, like a siren, dropping the first letter of her name and the last part of it completely.
"Gog!' at the sight of our Dog or any dog now. "Goggoggoggoggoggoggog mama."
Yes. That's a dog.
"ARCKHS! Mama!" sends fear into our cat and causes him to quickly run as he realizes he has been spotted.
"No." When I say it's bedtime or bathtime.
Please get Cat's head out of your mouth Baby X. "mrmphnauuu" Translation? "No."
"Wow" when the lights on the Christmas tree come on. Or the camera flashes. Or mommy managed to take yet another spill down the driveway in front of all the neighbors.
And the current favorite "sss tat?" and he points to whatever it is that has caught his eye. Sometimes to the same thing over and over again.
"sss tat?" My nose.
"sss tat?" Ow. My eye.
"sss tat?" Mauu mauhth.
Today it was at the book store. Up and down the aisles.
"wow. sss tat?" To the children's section.
"sss tat? gog?" Yes. Picture of a dog on a book.
"sss tat?" Um. 'That' is one very grumpy looking person glaring at me for my stroller being in her direct path. "No. ARCKHS!" Not a cat honey.
When we got to the front to pay for my copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (I love that story!) there was another little one. A 7 month girl with the sweetest toothless grin!
And suddenly, Baby X stopped talking in a language I could almost understand.
They touched hands and smiled and laughed and babbled their own secret language.
Baby X: My mom puts me in stupid hats. Does yours?
New baby: No. But she keeps putting me in these flowery dresses and it is so last season!
Baby X: Nah. You look fine. Does your mom poke you when you're sleeping? I pretend to stay sleeping and then wait an hour and start screaming. As soon as she comes in the room, I go back to sleep. I figure eventually she's going to learn right?
New baby: Dude! That's brilliant! My mom pokes me too! I'm going to start doing that too.
And when it was time for new baby to go, Baby X waved and said "Bye-eye!"
"Sss tat?" and then he noticed the female clerk and went into flirt mode.
Just as when he was tiny and new, I find myself wondering just what it is that goes through his mind each day. What is he thinking? What is he trying so hard to tell me?
Mr X bets that it's that he hates his hats.
"Gog!' at the sight of our Dog or any dog now. "Goggoggoggoggoggoggog mama."
Yes. That's a dog.
"ARCKHS! Mama!" sends fear into our cat and causes him to quickly run as he realizes he has been spotted.
"No." When I say it's bedtime or bathtime.
Please get Cat's head out of your mouth Baby X. "mrmphnauuu" Translation? "No."
"Wow" when the lights on the Christmas tree come on. Or the camera flashes. Or mommy managed to take yet another spill down the driveway in front of all the neighbors.
And the current favorite "sss tat?" and he points to whatever it is that has caught his eye. Sometimes to the same thing over and over again.
"sss tat?" My nose.
"sss tat?" Ow. My eye.
"sss tat?" Mauu mauhth.
Today it was at the book store. Up and down the aisles.
"wow. sss tat?" To the children's section.
"sss tat? gog?" Yes. Picture of a dog on a book.
"sss tat?" Um. 'That' is one very grumpy looking person glaring at me for my stroller being in her direct path. "No. ARCKHS!" Not a cat honey.
When we got to the front to pay for my copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (I love that story!) there was another little one. A 7 month girl with the sweetest toothless grin!
And suddenly, Baby X stopped talking in a language I could almost understand.
They touched hands and smiled and laughed and babbled their own secret language.
Baby X: My mom puts me in stupid hats. Does yours?
New baby: No. But she keeps putting me in these flowery dresses and it is so last season!
Baby X: Nah. You look fine. Does your mom poke you when you're sleeping? I pretend to stay sleeping and then wait an hour and start screaming. As soon as she comes in the room, I go back to sleep. I figure eventually she's going to learn right?
New baby: Dude! That's brilliant! My mom pokes me too! I'm going to start doing that too.
And when it was time for new baby to go, Baby X waved and said "Bye-eye!"
"Sss tat?" and then he noticed the female clerk and went into flirt mode.
Just as when he was tiny and new, I find myself wondering just what it is that goes through his mind each day. What is he thinking? What is he trying so hard to tell me?
Mr X bets that it's that he hates his hats.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Get Her a Padded Suit
"Mrs X, this is the school nurse. Your daughter fell off the monkey bars while doing a back off with a half twist. Don't worry, she broke the fall with her face. Can you come pick her up? She's easy to see. The egg she now has doesn't fit in the room so part of her will be sitting on the curb when you pull up."
Ok, so the egg wasn't quite that big. And I really have no idea what she was trying to do. I do know that this is not the first time she has tried to do it, and landed on her face. The nurse has my number on speed dial. Has since Kindergarten when Girl X decided to take a boy up on a dare.
I believe it started when he said something about girls in skirts are sissies. Something that my little skirt-wearing tomboy wouldn't take sitting down. The school has this slide that seems to go on forever. Facing downhill. Screaming for kids to break the rules and ride it backwards and upside down.
She waited until all the kids were being called to go back to class and she knew the playground patrol would be busy. She climbed to the top, layed down on her tummy and went backwards down the wet slide and straight into the bark and dirt at the bottom.
She walked back to class without saying a word.
No way was she telling! One, she probably would have cried the way I did when I saw her after school and she was not giving some boy the satisfaction. Two, she was pretty sure she had done something stupid and therefore, trouble!
The teacher asked her about the hole in her tights. Did she fall? Girl X shrugged and went back to work.
She got off the bus at the end of the day and we walked home. She didn't say a word until we got to the garage.
"Mom. I have to show you something."
When she lifted her shirt, she had angry red cuts and scratches from her chest to her bellybutton and all across her abdomen. It was beginning to bruise underneath the cuts.
She healed but she didn't learn.
I make regular trips to the nurses office now. I have no doubt that it will continue as, I believe I've mentioned this before, she has inherited my gracefullness and my husband's sense of adventure. Someone who managed to break her foot tripping over a brick and someone who thought parachuting would be fun (after my look of death, he settled for shopping on black friday and dinner with his mom).
Note to Baby X: Mom can only handle one daredevil at a time. Please stick to trying to make Cat pull you around the house by his back legs and eating his tail. Thanks.
Ok, so the egg wasn't quite that big. And I really have no idea what she was trying to do. I do know that this is not the first time she has tried to do it, and landed on her face. The nurse has my number on speed dial. Has since Kindergarten when Girl X decided to take a boy up on a dare.
I believe it started when he said something about girls in skirts are sissies. Something that my little skirt-wearing tomboy wouldn't take sitting down. The school has this slide that seems to go on forever. Facing downhill. Screaming for kids to break the rules and ride it backwards and upside down.
She waited until all the kids were being called to go back to class and she knew the playground patrol would be busy. She climbed to the top, layed down on her tummy and went backwards down the wet slide and straight into the bark and dirt at the bottom.
She walked back to class without saying a word.
No way was she telling! One, she probably would have cried the way I did when I saw her after school and she was not giving some boy the satisfaction. Two, she was pretty sure she had done something stupid and therefore, trouble!
The teacher asked her about the hole in her tights. Did she fall? Girl X shrugged and went back to work.
She got off the bus at the end of the day and we walked home. She didn't say a word until we got to the garage.
"Mom. I have to show you something."
When she lifted her shirt, she had angry red cuts and scratches from her chest to her bellybutton and all across her abdomen. It was beginning to bruise underneath the cuts.
She healed but she didn't learn.
I make regular trips to the nurses office now. I have no doubt that it will continue as, I believe I've mentioned this before, she has inherited my gracefullness and my husband's sense of adventure. Someone who managed to break her foot tripping over a brick and someone who thought parachuting would be fun (after my look of death, he settled for shopping on black friday and dinner with his mom).
Note to Baby X: Mom can only handle one daredevil at a time. Please stick to trying to make Cat pull you around the house by his back legs and eating his tail. Thanks.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
How I Found My Faith
There is nothing more frightening then seeing your child lying in a hospital bed and listening to the Dr say 'Just one more test.'
When Girl X was a baby it started. Frequent high temperatures. 3 am, checking her temp and Oh lord! No. 105? Really. That's bad. What to do? Cool cloth. Tylenol. She's so red. Her breathing is so painfully slow. Hospital. I can't tell you how many times we repeated that scenario for the next 2 years. Once by ambulance.
She had been off that day. Not eating well but still playing. Pedialyte and cuddling. Bedtime. Check on her at 11 pm. She's hot. Red. Taking her jammies off and her skin feels like fire. Breathing is rapid now. Then she started seizing. I don't really know how high her temp was. I didn't check.
I called for an ambulance. My neighbor in the next apartment heard me and came over.
I wasn't particularly religious at that time. Truthfully, I feel that I had lost my faith. But seeing her there, seizing, shaking. I found myself on my knees begging God for mercy and strength. Begging for her.
I heard the sirens and snatched her up. Ran down stairs half panicked. Jumped in the ambulance when they had barely opened the doors and cried for them to please go now. They took her from me and began their routine. My neighbor grabbed my hand and we prayed together now.
Just one more test but no answers.
Months passed and the fevers seemed to be under control. No more febrile seizures but still no answers.
She turned 3 and started preschool. Time passed.
"Did you ever notice something off?"
And then I watched her even closer than ever. She turned 4 and we finally got an appointment with a neurologist and finally. An answer.
Complex Partial Seizure Disorder. Not horrible but yeah. Tests. Sleeping and awake. They watched her brain do it's thing. MRI to see if they could tell where it was originating from. It was awful. They had to give her an IV and put her to sleep. It was loud. I sat in the room with her and tried not to cry. Things could be worse. We were at Children's Hospital. I had looked around and knew, things could be worse.
She didn't shake. She just went somewhere. Her fingers would work themselves as she stared, vacant. Not there. Don't move her. It's confusing to be playing in your room and then suddenly. Blink. The kitchen. She doesn't understand how she got here. She would cry. Disoriented. She said it smelled funny. She had trouble with her bladder.
Nights of sitting by her bed. Listen to her breath. Touch her hair. Kiss her cheek. Cool. Not hot.
Watching her play then her fingers begin working. Eyes blank. Hold her hand. Brush her hair from her eyes. Kiss her head. It's over. Play with her. Don't cry in front of her. Don't look worried. Don't scare her.
The Doctors and tests scared her.
Hold her closer. Watch her when she eats. Can't have her choke.
The medication.
Here's a little puzzle for you.
To get a one month supply of Girl X's meds in the US cost us $565 by the time she was at her full dosage. $565 a month.
We ordered a 3 month supply from Canada. Same meds. Same Brand. 3 months for $216.
$565 for 1 month. $216 for 3 months.
Can you explain that one to me? Because I haven't found anyone who can tell me why and have it make any sense.
The medication. We had to build up to it slowly. Half a pill a week at a time until she was taking 6 pills a day.
6 pills a day for 3 years. No slumber parties away from home. She can't shower by herself. She can't ever be left alone in the tub. She could have a seizure and drown.
2 years seizure free. We could begin taking her off the meds. Slowly. Too fast could be very dangerous for her.
Please God let this work. Please God let her be free now.
I had found my faith. I had found it in the back of an ambulance listening to the siren. I found it in the loud banging of the MRI. I found it in her eyes when she took her last pill.
3 months now and no seizures. 3 more months and we can breath. 3 more months and the likely hood of her ever having another seizure is so low it's laughable. Almost.
She will always be more likely than those who have never had a seizure to have one. Her brother is more likely than others to end up with the same affliction. The risk is small, but it's there.
We watch. We wait. We pray.
Slowly, Girl X is able to focus more easily on her schoolwork. Her reading has caught up to grade level. Getting better daily. Her memory is improving. The medication did it's job but it also took over part of her brain. Numbed it. Slowed it down. It had to. Now it's out of her system and it's like those parts that were sleeping are waking up, catching up.
We don't know what caused her seizures. Was it genetic? The constant high fevers? A fall? A fluke? We'll never know.
I found my faith when my kid got sick. It stayed when she got better.
We were lucky. We were blessed. It could have been so much worse.
When Girl X was a baby it started. Frequent high temperatures. 3 am, checking her temp and Oh lord! No. 105? Really. That's bad. What to do? Cool cloth. Tylenol. She's so red. Her breathing is so painfully slow. Hospital. I can't tell you how many times we repeated that scenario for the next 2 years. Once by ambulance.
She had been off that day. Not eating well but still playing. Pedialyte and cuddling. Bedtime. Check on her at 11 pm. She's hot. Red. Taking her jammies off and her skin feels like fire. Breathing is rapid now. Then she started seizing. I don't really know how high her temp was. I didn't check.
I called for an ambulance. My neighbor in the next apartment heard me and came over.
I wasn't particularly religious at that time. Truthfully, I feel that I had lost my faith. But seeing her there, seizing, shaking. I found myself on my knees begging God for mercy and strength. Begging for her.
I heard the sirens and snatched her up. Ran down stairs half panicked. Jumped in the ambulance when they had barely opened the doors and cried for them to please go now. They took her from me and began their routine. My neighbor grabbed my hand and we prayed together now.
Just one more test but no answers.
Months passed and the fevers seemed to be under control. No more febrile seizures but still no answers.
She turned 3 and started preschool. Time passed.
"Did you ever notice something off?"
And then I watched her even closer than ever. She turned 4 and we finally got an appointment with a neurologist and finally. An answer.
Complex Partial Seizure Disorder. Not horrible but yeah. Tests. Sleeping and awake. They watched her brain do it's thing. MRI to see if they could tell where it was originating from. It was awful. They had to give her an IV and put her to sleep. It was loud. I sat in the room with her and tried not to cry. Things could be worse. We were at Children's Hospital. I had looked around and knew, things could be worse.
She didn't shake. She just went somewhere. Her fingers would work themselves as she stared, vacant. Not there. Don't move her. It's confusing to be playing in your room and then suddenly. Blink. The kitchen. She doesn't understand how she got here. She would cry. Disoriented. She said it smelled funny. She had trouble with her bladder.
Nights of sitting by her bed. Listen to her breath. Touch her hair. Kiss her cheek. Cool. Not hot.
Watching her play then her fingers begin working. Eyes blank. Hold her hand. Brush her hair from her eyes. Kiss her head. It's over. Play with her. Don't cry in front of her. Don't look worried. Don't scare her.
The Doctors and tests scared her.
Hold her closer. Watch her when she eats. Can't have her choke.
The medication.
Here's a little puzzle for you.
To get a one month supply of Girl X's meds in the US cost us $565 by the time she was at her full dosage. $565 a month.
We ordered a 3 month supply from Canada. Same meds. Same Brand. 3 months for $216.
$565 for 1 month. $216 for 3 months.
Can you explain that one to me? Because I haven't found anyone who can tell me why and have it make any sense.
The medication. We had to build up to it slowly. Half a pill a week at a time until she was taking 6 pills a day.
6 pills a day for 3 years. No slumber parties away from home. She can't shower by herself. She can't ever be left alone in the tub. She could have a seizure and drown.
2 years seizure free. We could begin taking her off the meds. Slowly. Too fast could be very dangerous for her.
Please God let this work. Please God let her be free now.
I had found my faith. I had found it in the back of an ambulance listening to the siren. I found it in the loud banging of the MRI. I found it in her eyes when she took her last pill.
3 months now and no seizures. 3 more months and we can breath. 3 more months and the likely hood of her ever having another seizure is so low it's laughable. Almost.
She will always be more likely than those who have never had a seizure to have one. Her brother is more likely than others to end up with the same affliction. The risk is small, but it's there.
We watch. We wait. We pray.
Slowly, Girl X is able to focus more easily on her schoolwork. Her reading has caught up to grade level. Getting better daily. Her memory is improving. The medication did it's job but it also took over part of her brain. Numbed it. Slowed it down. It had to. Now it's out of her system and it's like those parts that were sleeping are waking up, catching up.
We don't know what caused her seizures. Was it genetic? The constant high fevers? A fall? A fluke? We'll never know.
I found my faith when my kid got sick. It stayed when she got better.
We were lucky. We were blessed. It could have been so much worse.
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